The new arrival was in his early forties, had short black hair and sported a large handlebar moustache. He crossed the room to the bar with the brisk strides of someone who had taken his military training very seriously indeed. “Group Captain Simon Hailsham at your service,” he said, holding out his hand to Woodend. “Charlie Woodend,” the chief inspector replied. “Are you still in the airforce, Group Captain? I could have sworn that somebody or other told me you were the personnel manager at British Chemical Industries.” “So I am,” Hailsham agreed. “Using the old title is a bit of a bad habit, I suppose, but it’s a hard one to break.” “You’ve had sixteen years to try,” Woodend said. For a second or two, it looked as if Hailsham was searching for a good comeback line; then he seemed to abandon the idea and decide to change the subject instead. “I expect the reason you wanted to speak me so urgently is that I was probably one of the last people to see poor old Gerhard Schultz alive,”
