by Charlot King
“Yes, well the world can be a harsh place. You know we will back you. We can’t afford to lose you. But the fewer people know the truth the better. How can you join the front benches with this hanging over the party, we need your assurance you cut it out, and do it quick. Do you need any help? We have people for this kind of thing.”
“No, I will enjoy doing this myself, I’m a big boy. That way it can’t be traced back to the party.”
34. Black Velvet Shoes
Inspector Abley dislikes the drive from Parker’s Piece and Parkside Police Station to King’s College. It is such a short distance as the crow flies, but with the centre of Cambridge pedestrianised many years ago, the car’s just not a useful mode of transport in this city anymore. His Super has told him to join the twenty first century and get a bicycle, that it has improved the city centre no end, with no pollution, peace and quiet and a more relaxed feel. Abley can’t disagree. He remembers the snarl ups from the old days, but a bicycle is not something he will entertain. He won’t admit it, but he never had a bicycle as a lad, so wouldn’t know where to start. Now if they brought in golf buggies, that would be different. He has suggested it to one or two people, but they just look at him with derision, though Mrs Abley thought it inspired and said he could run her into the shops more often. Abley now drives up onto the forecourt at the front of King’s and places police ID in the car window. He turns off Radio 2, his seat vibrator and pops a mint in his mouth. The sun is shining brightly and already after having turned off the air conditioning he can feel it warming up. A uniformed officer comes out from the lodge entrance to meet him. Abley opens his door and the familiar bustle of Kings Parade invades his ears. A punt tout doffs his cap at Abley; they all know him well.
“What have we got here this time, Sergeant Lemon?”
Lemon, a tall lanky young looking Sergeant with a crooked mouth smiles at the boss he admires so much, hoping to be of assistance.
“Sir, it was reported by a Kara Anderson. She’s up there now. Member of the family apparently. I can’t get her to leave the scene. She’s, she’s very upset, sir.”
Abley pats Lemon on the back and beckons him to follow. They nod at the porter dealing with a bunch of tourists, as they brush past and into the quiet calm of the court inside. Abley breathes again and looks up at the sky. He should be on his way to Gog Magog soon and it is looking less likely. He exhales disappointment.
“Lemon, this is one of those days.”
“Sir?”
“One of those days where things keep getting messier.”
Lemon looks at his boss, wondering if he should reply, not knowing what to say.
Edward and Rebecca’s rooms have been ransacked. Police tape is across the open door. Abley ducks underneath, along with Lemon, having put on forensic shoe guards. A uniformed SOCO is dusting the room for prints. A table overturned, paintings slashed, drawers spilled, sofa cushions torn, a plant from the windowsill smashed and on the floor, all the soil spilled. In the bedroom, Kara sits on the floor, a bit flustered, picking up letters as Inspector Abley walks in, followed by Lemon.
“I’m sure my Sergeant has already asked you to stop touching anything Miss.” Abley goes over to Kara to help her up and remove her from the room. “Might I enquire as to the nature of your being here?”
Kara drops a letter and still holds a black shoe.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. I didn’t think. It’s just, just so awful. I didn’t want Rebecca to see all this.”
“It’s Miss Anderson, isn’t it?”
“Just Kat. Rebecca’s sister-in-law.”
Kara goes to shake the Inspector’s hand, but the Inspector doesn’t take up her offer, not shaking hands with anyone involved in a murder enquiry. Instead, in order to avoid making her feel embarrassed, and already having put on a plastic glove on his way up, he reaches out for the shoe Kara is holding and takes it from her.
“Thank you. I’ll take that. I didn’t realise Mr. Smythe-Jones was married. Or, has Rebecca another brother she’s not talking about?”
“No, we just haven’t set a date. You know how it is?”
“I can’t say that I do. Mrs Abley, well patience isn’t her strongest quality. But then not all women are like my wife.”
Kara smiles at the Inspector’s transgression into his own personal domestic circumstances.
“So, might I ask the nature of your visit, Miss Anderson?”
Kara pauses, smiles, then gives the Inspector the rather dull response.
“I was coming to get some more of Rebecca’s clothes, and all this. I saw a man running down the stairs as I came up.”
Kara wipes away a tear from her cheek, looking strained. Abley smiles at her and then puts the shoe down on the bed.
“Would you be able to describe this man? He might match the description of a spate of burglaries we have had recently.”
Kara looks surprised and stares at the shoe.
“The man, Miss Anderson?”
“Oh, yes. I didn’t see much of him. He was young, longish hair. Quite an athletic build.”
Abley looks at Kara straight in the eye and smiles again.
“Perhaps you can come down to the station when you get the chance to give us some more details.”
“Yes, of course. But I don’t remember anything else, really. It is just so upsetting for poor Rebecca. Do we have to tell her? I think it will positively tip her over the edge, Inspector.”
Abley doesn’t doubt Kara’s concerns, from every angle Abley is wondering if Rebecca didn’t do it. Maybe Rebecca even came back and trashed her own place?
“Yes, we will have to tell her. Are you two close?”
“Very. She sees this place as all that is keeping her near to Edward. Feels like she’s being made to move on too quickly, coming to stay with us.”
Kara picks up the other black velvet shoe from the pair, the bows have been torn and a buckle is broken.
“Luckily we’d taken most of her things over to our house already. Most of this is just Edward’s belongings and a few items of Rebecca’s she would no doubt have brought over in time.”
Abley takes the other shoe.
“Please don’t touch anything else, Miss. Have you been with Rebecca at all today?”
Kara wonders what the Inspector is getting at.
“Yes.”
“So you left her at your house while you came over here. She couldn’t have come over here herself?”
Kara sees what the Inspector is getting at. Could Rebecca have made it over?
“I don’t think she would have had time, Inspector, do you?”
Abley places the other shoe on the bed.
“Were these her favourites?”
“No, I don’t think so. Jonathan bought them for her actually, but she never wore them much. I think they are rather pretty, don’t you? Don’t worry. I’m not about to touch them again. Just if someone had bought me shoes like this I think I would have worn them.”
Abley thinks Kara looks far too sad to continue the conversation and anyway he wants to get out of here and to the you-know-where to play his round. He hasn’t got time to be talking about shoes.
“Right, well. Thank you Miss Anderson. If you can see yourself out, I need to talk to my Sergeant.”
Kara nods, looks around and then leaves. Abley returns to Lemon, who is talking to the SOCO in the drawing room.
“Lemon, let me know if you find anything interesting. Can you brush a pair of black velvet shoes for prints and do a DNA? They were broken. Who burgles a flat and breaks shoes?”
“I know sir, you’re right. It’s a bit iffy.” Lemon looks at the shoes.
“Iffy?” Abley looks at Lemon, who shrugs. Abley then watches Kara leave the court from the window, sighs and then starts to walk down the steps himself.
35. Plant Science
Elizabeth enters the Downing Site of the university. The pseudo rhombicuboctahedron shaped stone sundial casts shadows in the courtyard. Edwardian architecture looms down on Elizabeth’s frail frame while she climbs the steps to the imposing double oak doors which allow entry to the Botany Building. At the Department of Plant Sciences reception, the office secretary is eating sandwiches at her desk.
“Hello Professor Green. Not seen much of you this week.”
Elizabeth has known the receptionist for at least fifteen years.
“Hello Mrs Howcroft. How are we today?”
“Mustn’t grumble, Professor Green. Mustn’t grumble, although my leg is playing up something rotten this morning. This damp weather.”
“Damp?”
Elizabeth looks out the window onto the pure blue sky.
“Yes, the spring fen mists play havoc with me hip.” Mrs Howcroft says. Elizabeth smiles inwardly at this hypochondriac. She is as regular as the sundial outside. Glass always half empty, always with a tale of woe.
“The south of France we are not, though we can’t complain, Mrs Howcroft.”
“Eh? I think you’re the only one here now. Don’t forget it’s Dr Grant’s fiftieth birthday lunch today.”
“Yes, I was coming in for -”
Not listening, Mrs Howcroft interrupts.
“They’ve taken him for an Italian in that new trattoria on St Andrew’s Street, The San Gimignano. Supposed to be nice. Left me manning the phones in the department. I don’t mind. Not with my intolerances. I couldn’t have eaten anything on the menu. It’s all wheat and dairy, isn’t it. I’m more of your raw macrobiotic. You could catch them if you hurry.”
“Thank you. I may give it a swerve today. I have rather a lot on.”
Elizabeth notices Edward’s keys are back in their place in the key cupboard behind Mrs Howcroft’s left shoulder.
“Are those Dr Wiley’s keys? Have the police gone now?”
Elizabeth looks at the name below the keys. Searching his room might turn up something. Mrs Howcroft glances at the keys then back at her computer.
“Yes, they were in again this morning. They’ve taken his computer, but came back to go through his papers, looking for clues one of them said. I don’t know what they were expecting to find. Hardly James Bond in here, is it Professor? Terrible thing though. Such a nice young man.”
Mrs Howcroft adjusts her collection of free toys from insurance companies, which are lined up beside her own computer. Elizabeth thinks on her feet.
“You know, Dr Wiley borrowed a book of mine, ‘Poisonous legumes of the British Isles’, and now I need it. I don’t suppose for a minute he’d mind me... I’ll take these and have a quick look if it is up in his room.”
Elizabeth goes through the door into the little office cubicle, reaches behind Mrs Howcroft’s head to take Edward’s keys.
“I’m not sure the police would approve of you doing that.”
Elizabeth has an effective rebuff to Mrs Howcroft’s concerns.
“As a matter of fact, I’m working as a consultant for the police again, Mrs Howcroft. That’s actually where I’ve been this morning. Working on this case in fact. Very interesting. Very exciting indeed. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, so I know you can keep a secret. I shouldn’t suppose they’d mind one of their own popping over the boundary, would you?”
Mrs Howcroft’s face lights up, excited to be in on this new development, ahead of anyone else in the department. Wait until she tells the others.
“Oh, well. I suppose that’s all right. Things will get a little more lively around here again. How lovely.” Mrs Howcroft smiles at Elizabeth as she watches her lift the keys on an old wooden fob from their hook. Elizabeth knows that by telling Mrs Howcroft, the whole department will find out about her fresh new reappointment by afternoon break, but she didn’t care. Coming back to the force as expert advisor was still buzzing around in her head, even if her head felt like cotton wool from the lack of sleep. She felt smug and was pleased with Mrs Howcroft’s reaction. It would indeed get lively again.
“Like you say, Edward was such a nice man. I’m sure he would’ve wanted to return the book to me. I’ll bring the keys down on the way out, Mrs Howcroft.”
Elizabeth smiles and walks out through the old hall and up the stairs. Mrs Howcroft goes back to eating her sandwich, and reading the local paper. The headline reads ‘Second Don dies in Cambridge choral calamity’. She begins to cut out the news and pin it to her collection board, full of Cambridge trivia, next to an article about bat punting tours run by a local firm, with pictures of bats flying over a crowd of tourists, some drinking champagne and laughing.
Elizabeth peers into Edward’s modest departmental study, now devoid of life and ambition. A square line of dust, and just a stray mouse mat where the computer once sat. Drawers now emptied, a couple left hanging open in the age old wooden desk. She casts her eye along packed shelves covering two walls and brushes her fingertips along the rows of books. It doesn’t take long to find what she said he had borrowed. She wasn’t lying, but it was a handy excuse. Then she notices a section on Kenya, and a book poking out a little more than the others. It is on the anthropological history of plants. Opening it, she finds an envelope between the pages and takes out a letter. Paper clipped to the pages inside are a few creased pieces of coloured A4 paper and photographs of local people, walking out of what looks like a large white marquee in the middle of nowhere. She flicks through them quickly to see graphs and spreadsheets. Using a tissue she wipes the dust as best she can from the chair and then sits down at the desk to read the letter. Facing the window she reads on.
‘Dear Percival,
I trust this letter finds you in good health. It has been extremely hot this past week, hitting the high forties on occasion, making field work quite a trial. Although I feel like a fairly fit man it has been a bit of an ordeal. It still surprises me how night falls so immediately and without dusk, like a light has been turned off. I digress. You’ll be relieved to know this has not inhibited me in my quest to find the materials you need to make up your mind, and I do have information about Labzuu. Take a deep breath dear fellow; it would appear your instincts were correct. No one wanted to talk about it at first. But then my travails led me to someone just outside of Nakuru, on the outskirts of Njoro. He showed me a Kenyan research station with the Labzuu name attached. It all looked above board until he showed me how they were very actively conducting illegal experiments on people in the community. More specifically on the tribesmen and indigenous population, as opposed to those who have relocated because of the agricultural research and industry. People have been coming and going throughout the day with many different family groups, from elderly, to the young. It would appear that they are all receiving treatment, as many have cotton wool attached to their arms with plasters, if you care to observe in the photographs I attach. It is so hot that most are not wearing tops, so this is easily spotted. If you wonder whether it could just be that they are receiving HIV or Flu jabs or something useful, let me tell you I thought the same, so I did a bit more digging. It turns out, and I saw with my own eyes, they are responding to an advertisement in a local village offering nominal sums in exchange for small blood samples. I can only imagine that this is for DNA samples, as I saw another poster in a cyber cafe in Njoro with ‘Give DNA samples for a Kenyan shilling’ (less than one pound sterling if you were wondering). I thought it might be that there are scientists at the Egerton University in Njoro working on this with Labzuu, but I couldn’t find a link and I doubt it. There was nothing at the university itself. I had a good look without drawing attention to it.
I have attached some evidence to substantiate. I hope this will find you and help you to make all the necessary decisions you have in regard to Dr Eruna.
Your friend and faithful servant,
Ed
Dr Edward Wiley’<
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As Elizabeth finishes the letter she is not surprised, but quite pleased she has the evidence she needs to take to Inspector Abley. Perhaps now he will believe her that not all is right about that man, Dr Eruna. Elizabeth begins to stand up from the chair, but hasn’t heard someone come into the room. They hit her full on the head. She slumps onto the desk, unconscious.
36. No Couch Potato
Elizabeth rests on the sofa as Emily fusses around while a doctor quietly feels her pulse.
“I’ll get too hot.”
“Nonsense. If you’re tucked in you can’t go anywhere. Why don’t you buy a decent sofa blanket? What did you do with that nice one I got for you, for picnics and things?”
“I’m not about to cover myself in wool, am I?”
“Okay, okay. Static acrylic it is then.”
Inspector Abley has a bunch of flowers and is hovering behind the doctor.
“Elizabeth, hello.”
The Inspector edges into the room and closer to Elizabeth. His guilt is palpable.
“I can’t help but feel responsible. As soon as I ask you to come back to work, this happens. I knew I shouldn’t have -”
Elizabeth is having none of it. She’s perfectly capable of looking after herself.
“Nonsense. This was nothing to do you with you. I was in my own department for goodness’ sake. Everyone else was at a birthday lunch. There was no one there, it should have been safe as houses.” Elizabeth takes the flowers and rests them on Godric’s back, as Godric is currently whimpering like a dog on his knees with his hands draped on Elizabeth’s legs, in a completely over the top fashion.
“You could have died, Bunny.”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes and pats him on the head.
“Put these in a vase, will you Goddy?”