Free Death of an Expert Witness by P. D. James Page A

suggest to Establishment Department that one of us gets a transfer before we have the added complication of moving into a new Lab. I’m banking on Howarth—and Estabs come to that—concluding that it’s easier to find a forensic biologist than a document examiner.”
    Middlemass surprised himself. None of this rigmarole had occurred to him before he spoke. Not that it was unreasonable. There wasn’t another document examiner of his calibre in the Service and Howarth knew it. If he categorically refused to work in the same Laboratory as Lorrimer, one of them would have to go. The quarrel wouldn’t do either of them any good with the Establishment Department, but he thought he knew which one it would harm most.
    Lorrimer said: “You helped stop me getting the directorship, now you want to drive me out of the Lab.”
    “Personally I don’t care a damn whether you’re here or not. But just lay off bullying Bradley.”
    “If I were prepared to take advice about the way I run my department from anyone, it wouldn’t be a third-rate paper fetishist with a second-rate degree, who doesn’t know the difference between scientific proof and intuition.”
    The taunt was too absurd to puncture Middlemass’s secure self-esteem. But at least it warranted a retort. He found that he was getting angry. And suddenly he saw light. He said: “Look, mate, if you can’t make it in bed, if she isn’t finding you quite up to the mark, don’t take your frustration out on the rest of us. Remember Chesterfield’s advice. The expense is exorbitant, the position ridiculous, and the pleasure transitory.”
    The result astounded him. Lorrimer gave a strangled cry and lunged out. Middlemass’s reaction was both instinctive and deeply satisfying. He shot out his right arm and landeda punch on Lorrimer’s nose. There was a second’s astonished silence in which the two men regarded each other. Then the blood spurted and Lorrimer tottered and fell forward. Middlemass caught him by the shoulders and felt the weight of his head against his chest. He thought: “My God, he’s going to faint.” He was aware of a tangle of emotion, surprise at himself, boyish gratification, pity and an impulse to laugh. He said: “Are you all right?”
    Lorrimer tore himself from his grasp and stood upright. He fumbled for his handkerchief and held it to his nose. The red stain grew. Looking down, Middlemass saw Lorrimer’s blood spreading on his white overall, decorative as a rose. He said: “Since we’re engaging in histrionics, I believe your response ought now to be ‘By God, you swine, you’ll pay for this.’ ”
    He was astounded by the sudden blaze of hate in the black eyes.
    Lorrimer’s voice came to him muffled by the handkerchief. “You will pay for it.”
    And then he was gone. Middlemass was suddenly aware of Mrs. Bidwell, the Laboratory cleaner, standing by the door, eyes large and excited behind her ridiculous upswept diamanté spectacles.
    “Nice goings-on, I don’t think. Senior staff fighting each other. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
    “Oh, we are, Mrs. Bidwell. We are.” Slowly Middlemass eased his long arms from his overall. He handed it to her. “Drop this in the soiled linen, will you.”
    “Now you know very well, Mr. Middlemass, that I don’t go into the gents’ cloakroom, not in working hours. You put it in the basket yourself. And if you want a clean one now, you know where to find it. I’m putting out no more clean linen until tomorrow. Fighting, indeed. I might have known thatDr. Lorrimer would be mixed up in it. But he’s not a gentleman you’d expect to find using his fists. Wouldn’t have the guts, that would be my view. But he’s been odd in his manner these last few days, no doubt about that. You heard about that spot of bother in the front hall, I suppose? He practically pushed those kids of Dr. Kerrison’s out of the door. All they were doing was waiting for their dad. No harm in that, I