Nothing about this situation was making any sense. Including her two vastly different reactions to a man she could remember seeing in her dreams but not in real life. Until now, that is.
She frowned and tried a slightly different tact. "Why was Blaine in the car with you last night, anyway? Are you friends?"
Wetherton hesitated. "Not really. But my wife knows his wife, so we occasionally see each other during social events."
"And his wife's name?"
"Andrea Blaine."
"I mean before she married him."
He paused. "I think her surname was Grantham. Or something like that. I'd have to ask my wife to be certain."
She nodded. "Was his wife in the car last night?"
"No." He hesitated, and she had a sudden feeling he was searching for the "right" answer. Odd, to say the least, especially since she'd sensed no outright lies so far. Just avoidances.
"He said she was ill, but they had the tickets and he didn't want to waste them. He'd come by taxi, so I said we'd take him home. He doesn't live that far from us."
"You mean not far from your wife's house and not your Collin's Street apartment?"
"Yes. I'm afraid my ministerial duties often mean I work late. It's easier to have an apartment close by than going home and waking my family at ungodly hours."
And wasn't that a well rehearsed excuse. "Which is commendable, Minister." No sense in totally annoying him, as much as she might want to. "So, getting back to my original question—why was the general here, talking to you about the military budget, when you're the Minister for Science and Technology, not the Minister for Defense?"
"Easy. Certain military research allowances come out of the Science and Technology budget."
"But why? Isn't that why there's a Defense portfolio? To assign and control the military budget?"
"It's the Defense portfolio," he said patiently, as if he'd answered this question a million times. Or as if he were talking to a simple child. "Therefore, it concentrates on defense items.
Personal, big hardware items, small hardware items, etcetera.
The research section of the military is lumped in with my portfolio."
Well, there you go—she'd learned something new. "Just one more thing, Minister, and I'll let you get on with your work."
"Good."
"I need to do a sweep of your office. Just to make sure there're no bugs or anything."
"I can assure you, this office is swept regularly, and nothing has ever been found."
"I'm sure it hasn't, but it's still part of my job to check."
He muttered under his breath, and then ungraciously stood up. "I'll go get a cup of coffee." He paused. "And the door shall remain open."
"Minister, if I wished to snoop through your paperwork or filing cabinets, I'd simply pick up the phone and get a court order to do so."
He grunted and walked out. Knowing she was in full view of the secretary, she began her check, searching quickly and efficiently. She didn't find any bugs, but she did manage to place her own.
All she had to do now was sit back and hope it picked up some clue as to what the hell was going on with Wetherton— and what his true connection was to Blaine.
Eight
Gabriel showed his ID to the black-clad police officer keeping watch and ducked under the yellow crime-scene tapes.
The rotating red and blue lights of the nearby police vehicles washed across the night, splashing color across the white walled, ten story apartment block directly ahead. He looked up. The building had million dollar views over Albert Park Lake, which became part of the Grand Prix racing track when the Formula One party was in town, and yet the design of the building, with its small windows spaced far apart, was such that the views almost seemed unimportant. It was almost as if privacy and darkness had been the ultimate concerns.