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Rover, and watched the crowd disperse through his wing mirror. He drove pugnaciously, almost running down two elderly women who were slow to get out of his way. Geoffrey Fairfax was an example of a rare species, the middle-class thug. There was a strain of brutality that had little to do with punch-ups on the rugby field and much more to do with teaching the natives a lesson.
    ‘My father . . . ?’ I reminded him. ‘You were about to say?’
    ‘A remarkable man. To tell the truth, we hadn’t seen him at the club for a few months. Sadly, he seemed to have changed. He made some new friends, rather unusual company . . .’
    ‘Who, exactly?’
    ‘Hard to say. I wouldn’t have thought they were really his type, but there you are. He used to be keen on bridge, liked amusing the ladies, played a wristy game of squash.’ Fairfax pressed his hands against the lid of the box-file, as if concerned that my father’s ghost might escape from its casket. ‘Terrible business, I hope they find whoever was responsible.’
    ‘I thought they had.’ I sat forward, picking up an odd note in the solicitor’s voice. ‘This fellow the police brought in, the local misfit or mental case . . . ?’
    ‘Duncan Christie? Misfit, yes. Mental case, no. Two hours in a police van can be quite an assault course. He goes before the magistrate tomorrow.’
    ‘He looked deranged to me. I take it he’s guilty?’
    ‘It does seem like it. But let’s wait and see. Calm yourself, Mr Pearson. I assume Christie will be sent for trial and almost certainly convicted. Curiously enough, we used to represent him.’
    ‘Isn’t that a little odd? A firm like yours, dealing with mental cases?’
    ‘Not at all. We couldn’t survive without them. Christie kept us busy for years. Public mischief cases, antisocial behaviour orders, attempts by various busybodies to have him sectioned. One of my junior partners acted for him when he sued the Metro-Centre.’
    ‘Christie hated it.’
    ‘Who doesn’t? It’s a monstrosity.’ Fairfax’s voice had deepened, as if he was berating a parade ground of slacking troopers. ‘The day they broke the first sod any number of people feared what it might do. We were right. This used to be a rather pleasant corner of Surrey. Everything has changed, we might as well be living inside that ghastly dome. Sometimes I think we already are, without realizing it.’
    ‘Even so.’ I searched for some way of calming him. ‘It’s only a shopping mall.’
    ‘Only? For God’s sake, man. There’s nothing worse on this planet!’
    His temper up, Fairfax propelled himself from his chair, heavy thighs rocking the desk. His strong hands drew back the brocaded curtains. Beyond the leafy square and a modest town hall was the illuminated shell of the Metro-Centre. I was impressed that a suburban solicitor should give in to such a display of anger. I realized now why the curtains had been drawn when we arrived, and guessed that they remained drawn throughout the day. The interior of the dome glowed like a reactor core, an inverted bowl of light shining through the glass panels of the roof. A ten-storey office building stood between the mall and Fairfax’s burly figure, but the lights of the Metro-Centre seemed to shine through the structure, as if its intense luminance could penetrate solid matter in its search for this hostile lawyer squaring his shoulders.
    Undaunted, Fairfax turned to me, stubby forefinger raised in warning. Eyeing me shrewdly, he nodded at my scuffed shoes.
    ‘You may not know that the place is open twenty-four hours a day. That’s an extraordinary thought, Mr Pearson. A structural engineer at the club tells me that the design life is at least a hundred years. Can I ask what business you’re in? Your father did tell me.’
    ‘Advertising. I’m thinking of a career change.’
    ‘Thank God for that. Still, you’re probably sympathetic to these so-called super-malls. But you enjoy the luxury of not living