Relf telephoned back within minutes.
Hale answered.
Eleanor stood beside Relf and indicated that she should keep the caller talking.
"Mr Hale?"
"Ben."
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere with bad coffee."
"You said seven people died."
"Because of the cipher. That's what I said."
"Who were they?"
"Not yet."
"Then why tell us?"
"Because you're treating Hart as though he was the only person who turned the system to his own use."
She put the telephone on speaker.
"Who else?"
"You need to understand what people were buying."
"We know about the documents. The histories."
"And where did those histories lead?"
Eleanor looked at Relf. He had opened his notebook.
"To a place to live," she said. "Work. People who would confirm the story."
"Sometimes. A passport alone wouldn't keep someone hidden for long."
"That was what Wycliffe paid for."
"Later, yes."
"And Hart?"
"He was meant to disappear."
"In 1989?"
"Yes. And stay disappeared."
"But he came back."
"As Weller."
"Then returned to Customs."
"That was the useful part."
Relf wrote something and turned the notebook towards her.
ACCESS.
Eleanor read it.
"You're saying the identity gave him more than cover. It let him take a position where he could get information."
"Yes."
"Did others do the same?"
Hale paused.
"Some."
"Inside the organisations investigating you?"
"Now you understand why catching Hart doesn't finish it."
Relf took the receiver.
"Give me the seven names."
"No."
"The dates, then."
"Not yet."
"Locations."
Hale hesitated.
"Three in Britain. Two in Hong Kong. One in France. One in Austria."
"Vienna?"
"Yes."
"And Marseilles?"
"Near enough."
"Were they murdered?"
"Four were."
"What about the others?"
"One was called suicide. Two were called accidents."
"Do you agree with those findings?"
"I don't know."
Relf let the silence continue.
"Years," he said.
This time Hale answered.
"1993. 1997. 2001. 2008. 2014. 2019. 2024."
Relf wrote each one down.
"The last was in Britain?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I'll tell you when we meet."
"Then arrange it."
Hale gave a short laugh.
"You haven't changed."
Relf's pen stopped.
Eleanor watched him.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You still think if you keep asking the question, you'll get the answer you want."
"Have we met?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Think about it."
Eleanor leaned nearer.
"You know him?"
Hale had heard her.
"He knows me, Doctor."
Relf kept his voice level.
"Who are you?"
"Benjamin Hale."
"I've never met anyone by that name."
"Not by that name."
The call ended.
Relf remained beside the telephone.
Eleanor waited before speaking.
"Did you recognise his voice?"
"No."
"But something he said?"
He looked down at the seven years in his notebook.
"He may know about the Wycliffe investigation."
"So do other people."
"Yes."
"He sounded as though he knew you."
"That may be what he wanted."
Relf replaced the receiver and gathered the papers from the table.
"When would you have met him?" she asked.
"I don't know that I did."
"If you did."
He closed the folder.
"Twenty-eight years ago would be somewhere to start."
"Wycliffe?"
"Yes."
"A witness? Someone you interviewed?"
"Possibly."
"Someone working on the investigation?"
Relf looked at her.
"I'll get the old personnel lists as well."