Читать книгу No One Is Sacrosanct - David Balaam - Страница 6

Lionel Lancaster poured Christine a large brandy. “Here my girl, get that down you. You look like you have had a nasty shock.”

Christine could barely remember getting a taxi to the Guardian's offices and making her way up to the executive suite where Lionel Lancaster met her. His cheery greeting turned to one of concern as soon as he saw her. He sat her on the black leather sofa and poured her a drink. Christine took a sip, then another. “I don’t usually drink this early, but thank you, I needed that.”

Lionel sat opposite her but said nothing. He knew she would talk to him eventually. He suddenly rose and picked up a photo from his desk. “This is Mandy at her book launch. She said you deserved credit as well but you wouldn't take it for some reason.”

Christine took the framed photo and smiled at her friend holding up a copy of The Rope Killer.

“I couldn't. Professional detachment.” She said wearily, handing back the photograph.

“Lionel . . . I was sent a note at my hotel this morning which caught me unawares, to say the least.” She sipped at the brandy. Lionel said nothing. “Did Mandy leave any notes about the Rope Killer here?”

“Yes, maybe. She did all her research on her office laptop, but she was not good at keeping written references. Something we often argued over.”

Christine smiled. “I can imagine who won that argument.”

Lionel nodded in agreement. “So, what is it you are looking for that the police don’t know about?”

Christine opened her handbag and passed the envelope to Lionel. She knew fingerprinting it would be of no use, especially if it was Marcus Hartmann. Lionel read it, folded it neatly and handed it back. “If he died then you have an imposter. If he did not die, then you have a murderer still at large.”

Christine had just heard aloud the very thoughts she dared not utter herself. Lionel could see she was hesitating. Wondering if she could trust him. “Christine. Anything you say in this room, I promise you, will remain confidential until you tell me otherwise. I do have a paper to run after all. What are you thinking?”

Christine stood and stretched. She paced the large office, looking for distractions, but although the room was filled with many objects and antiques, she could only focus on the obvious. “During the investigation, Mandy asked Graham King to try to decipher an anagram we found in a notebook belonging to Peter Dunfold. He said he could not make anything from it, and I had forgotten all about it. But what if he did solve it, and told Mandy.” Lionel’s eyes widened.

“I did not know that, Christine. There was no mention of it in the book.”

“No, she couldn’t use it. Even at the trial, we couldn't produce the notebook as Superintendent Jarvis had taken it.”

“But if he did somehow find an answer and told Mandy, she also told someone else. Who is this friend by the sea?”

“That is the worrying aspect. He is my old boss DCI Crane. He had a stroke and is in a nursing home near Scarbrough. But if she did tell him, why didn't she tell me?”

“To protect you, I guess. But from what, or whom?” Lionel offered. “How long are you in the UK for? I will be happy to help check anything out if you want me to.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lionel.” Christine said, reaching for her coat and handbag, “but I need to visit Bell Street and speak to some colleagues first. I promise to keep you updated with any developments, and thank you for the brandy, it helped a lot. In fact, coming here has helped a lot.” They shook hands and Lionel escorted her out of the building into a waiting taxi. “Bell Street Police station, please.”

Christine cleared security and was escorted to the fourth floor, her old office. “DCI Dallimore. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. We can talk in my office.” Christine was used to summing up people. He certainly looked the part; Thirtysomething, thick light brown hair neatly parted on the left, smartly dressed, sensible tie with Windsor knot, pale cream shirt, and showing just enough beard growth not to be taken as un-shaved. Very ‘noughties’.

“I imagine this was your office once,” Dallimore said, making small talk.

“Yes, it was, but I see nothing much has changed, except the staff,” Christine said, turning half round to scan the outer office for familiar faces.

“Is DS Flynn still here?”

“Yes, he is. He should be back soon.” Dallimore said, wanting to get on with the meeting, and wondering why an ex DCI was here. There's nothing for her here after all. “So, how can I help you, Christine?”

“Mandy Silver and Graham King were friends of mine and both were involved in the Rope Killer case. I find it more than a coincidence they have both died within a few months of each other, under suspicious circumstances, inspector.”

“Suspicious? In what way? Ms Silver, I believe, was a hit and run. Most unfortunate, but hardly suspicious, and Mr King I know nothing of his circumstances. Please enlighten me.”

At least Christine had his attention. It just remains to be seen how intuitive he is. “One unsolved aspect of the Rope Killer case . . .”

“Apart from Hartmann not being arrested, you mean.” Dallimore shot in.

Christine kept her cool. “. . . was the missing black notebook, and its contents. Before it disappeared, via Chief Superintendent Jarvis, I asked Ms Silver to see if Mr King could identify an anagram, the only one I managed to remember. Mr King was the Guardian’s crossword compiler. Unfortunately, he could not.”

“And . . .” Dallimore asked knowing there must be more.

She wasn't sure why, but she decided not to mention the note signed MH. Not yet, at least. “What if he did finally solve it and told Mandy . . . Ms Silver. His editor told me he had never taken a day off work and was the fittest man he knew, but died of a heart attack.”

Martin Dallimore leaned back in his chair, bemused, and slightly concerned a retired DCI wanted him to investigate a dead-end case.

“You want me to look at these deaths. See if there is anything suspicious?” Christine nodded silently. “It would give Mandy’s parents some closure as well.”

Dallimore smiled and nodded. “I will keep this just between us for now. How can I reach you?”

“Something else, please Martin. Do you have the address of where DCI Crane is? I would love to see him before I return home, for old time sake.”

“Of course, but from what I hear, he may not recognise you, let alone talk to you.”