Read (2012) Cross-Border Murder for Free Online Page A

pursue. And on this I definitely do not want to be quoted.”
    I waited.
    “Have you ever heard of the Canadian scientist Dr. Gerald Bull?”
    I had a feeling I had read something not too long ago in Time or Maclean’s magazine. The bartender had brought his refill. “Was he the one who was assassinated by the Israeli secret service in Brussels?”
    “Yes. About five years ago. Experts think it was an Israeli hit. But who knows? A book about his unusual life came out not too long after he was killed. Most of the major magazines ran excerpts from it. In brief, he had early on developed an artillery piece capable of sending instruments into space. It was called the HARP program and was funded at first by both the American and Canadian governments. When funding for the project ceased, he became embittered and turned to developing a super cannon. Near the end its completion was being financed by Iraq. But he had sold earlier stages of his advanced artillery weaponry to South Africa, Israel and China. In other words, he was a player on a very dangerous, not to say, secretive, field. What a lot of people don’t know is that Professor Monaghan did some work for him and had visited Bull’s firing range at Highwater on the Quebec-Vermont border. Some of us were aware of it at the time but we assumed that Professor Monaghan was only a minor participant, and of course none of us knew, then, what Bull was really up to.”
    “So why do you think any of this is pertinent?”
    “I have my reasons. I don’t intend to say anymore.”
    “Okay.” I said. “It’s an angle I’ll check out.” But I knew it would be like looking for finger-prints in a garbage dump. I certainly did not have the resources to get behind the scenes of international intrigues, particularly if they involved the secret services of one or more countries. It might, of course, explain, I thought, the high-level government interference in Professor Montini’s trial. But something about it didn’t seem quite right to me.
    When we were outside the faculty club I asked Gina to wait for me at the top of the stairwell. “A minor detail I forgot to ask him.” I turned, hoping she would not follow me. I was counting on the fact that she probably had a distaste for watching anyone get progressively drunker.
    He looked up in surprise when I returned. He had difficulty hiding his annoyance.
    ““Did the police question you,” I asked. I did not sit down.
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “I believe because my office was next to his and I worked in the same department.”
    “What did you tell them?”
    “Nothing of significance. I probably confirmed what they already knew, or would find out on their own anyway. But no more than that. I was not, I believe, a co-operative witness.”
    “Did you see or hear anything of significance that you did not tell them?”
    He shook his head, but I noticed that a slight hesitation preceded it.
    “Did you have an alibi.”
    “Not that I recall.”
    “Most innocent people don’t.” I said in as friendly a tone as I could muster.
    “Most of my days,” he explained, “are a kind of ritual. I drink in the afternoon. I leave, eat in a nearby restaurant, go home, read and fall asleep early. I get up early and try to get most of my work done before noon. I try to give value for the money I earn. I have a few drinks at lunch and do an hour or two more of work. I didn’t drink quite as much back then. But It’s not the kind of routine that provides for a life of alibis.”
    “No one to confirm your presence at home that evening?”
    “I live alone.”
    “You know something about Mrs. Montini that you hinted at but did not mention. I think, maybe, because Gina was present.”
    He looked past me to see if Gina had re-entered the club. Doing so was in itself an admission. The fact did not escape him, “It was nothing really.”
    “Then why not share it with me. I won’t inform Gina unless it’s truly pertinent.”
    He shrugged.