Everything in Its Place

You nodded. It cost you nothing, which was the alarming part. Ward glowed like a woman whose body politic had just come back from the brink, and the room seemed to warm by a degree.

“The sensible view,” she said. “I’m glad we understand each other.” She slid a page from the folder in front of her and turned it round with one finger, as one lays down a winning card. A clipping from the Sentinel, quoting Rudd outside the works gates two days before: Crane will answer for it. “You see how things stand. A man says it publicly, and within the week the man he said it about is dead.”

Under the table, Jonah’s shoe found your ankle with the delicacy of a boy who is determined to be noticed. You noted the kick. You also noted the clipping, and the fact that Ward had had it ready in the folder before you’d arrived. Order, in her mouth, had the neat, loaded sound of a gun being cleaned.

“It’s tidy,” you said, which was true, and which was exactly what worried you.

“Tidiness is a public service, Dr Voss,” said Ward. She poured the last of the tea. “I’m sure Sergeant Rook would appreciate a clear lead.”

She leaned back, quite satisfied, and slid a small cream card across the cloth. “And since we understand each other, the Chamber would like to retain you. A short report on social harmony in Saltmarsh. Generous terms. A fee, a desk, a seat at the table.” She smiled, as at a tidy sum. “You’d find us very reasonable people.”