The Victim in Victoria Station by Jeanne M. Dams

the bottom of my bifocals.
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œI want to copy these names down. It isn’t a very long list, just one, two … nine of them altogether, and I’ve just realized that with the salary figures, we’ve got a company hierarchy here. That guy must be the boss, see? Walter Spragge. He makes by far the most money. And this one must be his second in command, and so on. It might be useful to have these names—what’s that?”
    â€œThe list,” Nigel said patiently. “I printed it out while you were talking.”
    â€œOh.” One-upped by technology again. I do hate being made to remember how old and out of date I am. “Well, fine. Now, if I had some phone numbers to go with these names—”
    â€œPersonnel records. Coming up.” He printed it without even asking. “Now, Mrs.—Dorothy, I’d like to get out of this, if you don’t mind. The longer I’m in their files, the better their chance of catching me at it.”
    â€œOh, heavens! Yes, get out right away!” Nigel’s screen returned to its normal list of choices (“the main menu,” he had explained), and then after a moment or two began to display a brilliant array of fish, swimming amid waving green fronds.
    â€œScreensaver,” he said in response to my querying look. “It isn’t good for a screen to sit displaying the same image all the time—burns it in. So there are moving patterns available, like this one. I rather like it.”
    â€œMmm.” I pored over the lists in my hand. “Nigel, we need to find out something about these people. I’m sure Spragge must be the boss—the manager of the London office.”
    â€œManaging director, he’d probably be called,” said Nigel, nodding. “And this Hugh Fortier, he’d be the assistant to the director. The others—oh, sales staff, probably, a couple of secretaries, an accountant. Not easy to tell which are which from the salary figures, except that this one must be the lowliest secretary.” He pointed to the name Peter Grey, with a salary figure that would be adequate in my part of America, but in London, where living expenses are extremely high, would be meager in the extreme.
    â€œHe might be willing to talk,” I mused. “He couldn’t have much company loyalty, being paid a pittance like that.”
    â€œUnless of course he’s a ghost employee, on the payroll but doing nothing at all. He’d not be likely to spoil a sweet arrangement like that.”
    I looked at Nigel in admiration. “You’re getting good at this! I never would have thought of that.”
    â€œYou have one great handicap as an investigator, Dorothy,” he said with a disarming grin. “You assume people are honest.”
    â€œIt is a limitation,” I admitted cheerfully. “However, now that I think about it, the fact is that most people
are
basically honest. You get the twisters, of course, who automatically choose the dishonest way to do anything. And then there are the pathological liars. They don’t always even know they’re making it all up. But for the average person, going about life in straightforward fashion and following the rules is much easier than thinking of a good scam or a convincing lie.”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    â€œI do say so. At any rate, the assumption works well enough as an operating procedure. You call it a handicap; I call it my biggest strength. I take people at face value, you see, which usually makes them like and trust me, so they talk to me. Which gets me back to the problem at hand. Nigel, I have to talk to these people.”
    â€œOh, no! No, tell me we’re not back to that again! Look, Dorothy, show a bit of sense. You think one of these people is a murderer. Just what do you plan to do, ring them up and ask them if they did it?”
    â€œWell, probably not. Though I might just surprise