"...Get a restraining order, or whatever you have in England."
"You're forgetting about Mr. Blake." Matt felt bolder now. "I'm working for him, not you." He turned and walked slowly back to his car.
It took six attempts before the engine fired, belching a dark cloud of smoke from the exhaust. Not quite the polished departure he was hoping for.
Back at the office Ken Habgood still seemed to be smarting from Shelley Carpenter's visit and threat of legal action. "I'm sure she can't do anything," he told Matt. "I've been on to James Freelander while you were gone. He says we've done nothing wrong -- providing Edward Blake really is the dean at the Helios Academy."
"And your lawyer friend will defend you in court if Blake isn't?"
"You're not going to spoil my day, kiddo. I suppose you did find out."
"Find out what?"
"That Edward Blake is the dean."
"I know he's living at apartment eight. I saw him being thrown out of there yesterday evening -- on my own time."
Ken shook his head. "No out-of-hours payment in this job, kiddo."
"Not much pay of any sort."
Ken snorted. "You can always go back to working with the police. Aren't they desperately short of numbers?"
"Not that desperate."
"So that's it then," Ken said. "Shelley Carpenter and Edward Blake are partners, and Blake's partner is having a ding-dong with a young member of staff. Blake wants to sack him. Now he's got the photos he'll make the man leave the Academy in disgrace."
"Ken, Ken, Ken, that's exactly what I thought; but now I'm starting to worry. Which are we -- Sherlock Holmes or Dr. Watson?"
Ken frowned as he stuck a stamp on an envelope. "That's Blake's bill done. Let's hope he's a prompt payer. What's this about Sherlock Holmes?"
"We're making an assumption from flimsy evidence. Sherlock Holmes always gets it right. Dr. Watson puts two and two together and makes five-and-a-half."
Ken simply shrugged. "Drop this in the mail box across the road. The sooner it's posted, the sooner I'll get the money and I can pay you."
Matt took the envelope. The name and address were correctly aligned in the window for once. He'd set up a template on the computer for Ken to get it in the correct position, but it regularly ended up too high or too low for the postman to read in full.
Matt had one foot on the top of the stairs when a young man barged his way in through the downstairs door. Black silky trousers and a bright red shirt. It could be Shelley Carpenter's lover, but with clothes on it was hard to be sure.
Matt put his head down, staring at the envelope as the large man pushed past. Ken could deal with this one on his own. From the sound of voices coming from the office this might be a good time to have an hour off for an early lunch. And if he delivered Blake's bill by hand rather than mailing it, Habgood Securities might even get paid before the end of the month.
Ken should be grateful.
Chapter Five
A GROUP of students had come out to sit on the lawn in front of the Academy in the late morning sunshine. A few of the younger girls turned to stare as Matt drove through the gates, but the older students, a mixture of boys and girls, seemed to be more interested in each other than in an old Mini. He was surprised to see Blake, still in his dark gray suit, talking to one of these groups. Blake glanced up as Matt waved the envelope.
"It's for you," he called to Blake. He pointed up at the apartment block. "I'll push it through the door."
As Matt was walking towards the door of number eight he heard footsteps on the gravel and turned to see Blake hurrying towards him, smiling.
"I'd better see what it is. Not the bill I hope." He sounded rather breathless even though he'd only come a few yards.
"Ken Habgood likes to keep his accounts up to date," Matt told him. Well, it was true. Perhaps he should have added that Ken did it because he was always short of money rather than through efficiency.
Blake reached out. "Let's see the damage then." He took the envelope and opened it, raised his eyebrows, then gave a low whistle, but not through his nose this time.
"It's what you agreed in the office." Matt thought it worth defending Habgood Securities' charging rates. "The price is all-inclusive. There were no extras."
"I should hope not." Blake laughed as he said it. "I have to admit those pictures you took were better than anything I expected. You certainly know how to handle a camera."
Matt shrugged at the compliment. If only Ken could show a bit of gratitude like this from time to time. "Is there any chance of seeing the prints?"
Blake shook his head, rather quickly. "This job is closed as far as I'm concerned. It was ... done on a moment of impulse." He scratched his right ear and frowned. "To be honest with you, Mr. Rider, I wish I'd never asked you to get involved."
For some reason Matt felt embarrassed for Blake. "I take it Shelley Carpenter is your partner?"
Blake seemed surprised. "How do you know her name?"
Matt realized he'd said more than he should have done. That dog had sharp teeth, and he didn't fancy seeing either the dog or its owner again. He had to be careful not to reveal that Shelley Carpenter had been in Ken's office this morning. "You mentioned her name -- when you came to see us yesterday." Almost certainly Blake had done no such thing.
"What good memories you detectives have." The dean spoke with a certain amount of admiration in his voice.
Matt nodded, relieved that Blake seemed to be accepting the hasty explanation. "I'd better get back to the office."
"Not so fast." Blake shook his head. "I need a promise that you'll forget about this job."
"If that's what you want. As long as you pay the bill."
"I'll pay the bill, of course, and now I'm asking you and your boss to let things rest." Blake turned round anxiously: most likely to make sure that none of the students was near enough to hear what he was saying. "I've been wanting to see you -- away from your office. You seem to be a pretty bright young man."
Matt wondered whether he should be pleased by the description. Neither pretty nor young applied, but the word bright was probably best taken as a compliment.
"Would you be interested in doing another job for me? A private one."
A thousand reasons for refusal rushed through Matt's head. For one thing Blake was a pain, and for another the photographs by the swimming pool seemed to have stirred up trouble. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the man pushing his way up the stairs at Ken's office had been Shelley Carpenter's lover. The man had a wide moustache, which he sort of remembered from the pool. There hadn't been time to take in everything.
"Sorry," he said. "I can't see it working."
"It's all about Ken Habgood, isn't it?" Blake asked. "I could tell by his attitude when I came to see you. You're the one with the brains. Your boss didn't have a clue how to get the photographs. Using a paraglider was a stroke of genius."
Matt was about to jump to Ken's defense when something inside him suggested he should at least hear what Blake had to say. This could be his chance of making some cash on the side. Goodness knows, he and Zoé were going to need it when the baby was born. Maybe before that -- if the Mini continued to fall apart. Had he been daft or what, in getting Zoé pregnant? He'd suggested an abortion, but with her Catholic upbringing Zoé had been adamant. They would have the baby. And now he was both thankful and relieved that she'd dug in.
Zoé occasionally suggested that he should branch out on his own, but he couldn't stand the thought of worrying where the next job was coming from. On the other hand, wondering if Ken would have enough money in the pot at the end of each month was hardly a healthier proposition. Zoé always told him he was impulsive, but if you want something you have to jump for it.
He stared at Blake. "Go on."
"This is confidential." Blake glanced around again, rather too furtively for Matt's peace of mind. "I expect you know the headquarters of the Helios Music Academy is in Prague."
Matt just nodded.
Blake lowered his voice. "I don't want anyone here or in Prague getting wind of what I'm about to tell you."
"Okay," Matt said. He couldn't think of anything connected with the Academy that could require this sort of secrecy.
"I'm ... " Blake paused and frowned. "Prague was occupied by the Nazis in 1941."
"Yes."
"I'm sure you've heard tales of looted gold and art treasures."
"Plenty," Matt agreed. Looking at the expensive way Blake was dressed, maybe he was dipping his hands into a hoard of Nazi treasure from the bottom of some Swiss lake. This sounded interesting.
The big man gazed around again, but not so fast this time. He seemed absorbed in what he was saying. "The treasure I'm trying to track down has nothing to do with gold. To me, with my great love of Czech classical music, the treasure I'm seeking is beyond price."
Matt decided that this didn't sound so interesting after all. Blake's idea of value might not be his. "Czechoslovakia? I don't even know how to spell it, let alone speak the language."
"Czechoslovakia doesn't exist any more," Blake said. "It's the Czech Republic and Slovakia now. It has been, since the end of Communist rule."
"I still can't speak the language."
Blake didn't even smile. "But you must have heard of the Czech composers. Men like Dvorak and Smetana."
"I've heard of them."
"Good, then we're getting somewhere." Blake motioned to Matt to move nearer the Academy building. "There is the possibility, and I have to stress it is only a possibility, that some early music manuscripts from these Czech composers, music that perhaps is completely unknown today, could ... still be in existence waiting for someone to find it."
"You don't sound very convinced," Matt told him. He'd done idiotic things for people on a whim, but nothing quite as hasty as embarking on a Czech treasure hunt. "So what exactly is this unknown music, if that question makes sense?"
Blake put his hand on Matt's shoulder. "This is what makes it so exciting. I simply have no idea. I know the manuscripts were in Prague at the start of the war, but that's all. To tell you the truth I'm so desperate to find them I'd ... even try contacting the dead."
Matt started to laugh before he realized Blake wasn't smiling. "Don't bother to include me. If you want a séance, you can get on with it yourself."
Blake scratched his ear. He seemed to have a problem with it. "When I say I'm desperate to find the manuscripts, I really mean desperate. And that's where you come in. Here, take my card. It's got my cell phone number on it. You might want to contact me."
"I haven't agreed to anything."
"I can't see you turning it down, not when I've told you more about it. Come with me to the Academy library. I want to show you some microfiche records from Prague."
Matt could see no harm in looking. "Don't assume too much." The mobile on his belt played its usual tune. He pulled it out and looked at the screen to see who was calling. Ken Habgood.
"Hi, Ken."
"Where on earth are you, kiddo? In the local hospital? I've been worried sick. I only sent you across the road to post a letter."
"I delivered it personally. I'm with Mr. Blake now."
"Then come back -- smartish." Ken lowered his voice. "It's that young stud you photographed by the swimming pool. He's been giving me a hard time for the past hour. And he's still here."
*
THE STUD, in the black silky trousers and the bright red shirt, turned out to be Martin Smith. Matt realized where he'd heard the name before. Zoé knew him as the piano teacher at the Academy who conducted her little orchestra in the town once a week, aka Martinek Kovar -- the man with the little stick who was obsessed with Bohemian music.
Black haired, tall and muscular, Smith had deeply hooded eyes.
He could easily be Czech, as Zoé said. On his top lip he had a long moustache onto which he'd rubbed some sort of oil or grease so that it stood out sideways and glistened. He'd have looked more at home on a Victorian penny farthing bicycle than standing here in Ken's office in the twenty-first century -- although the red shirt looked too modern and tasteless to be authentic period dress.
Matt reckoned their visitor would be in his late twenties, and as far as he could judge not the sort of man an older woman would normally fancy. But then perhaps Shelley Carpenter wasn't too fussy about who she slept with -- after the odious Blake.
"I'm glad you're back, kiddo." Ken looked exhausted. What on earth had Martin Smith been saying to him?
"Anything I can do to help?" Matt decided to act all innocent. It was possible Martin Smith wouldn't recognize him as the photographer on the paraglider. Hopefully the helmet had hidden his face.
The stud sniffed. "You've ruined my future at the Academy by taking those photographs. Academy rules are strict. Members of the teaching staff are not to have liaisons of a sexual nature with each other, and I've been reported to the principal."
Matt frowned. "Are you sure about losing your job?" If Blake and Shelley Carpenter were living together, that must come pretty close to being an affair. And Shelly Carpenter was the violin teacher. Maybe there was one rule for the teaching staff and one for the dean.
"Academy staff are not to conduct affairs of a sexual nature during Academy hours," Martin Smith explained, as though reading Matt's thoughts. "And afternoons count as Academy hours, even when everyone else is in London."
Matt wondered if the man had been crying. It would explain the dark rims round his eyes, although they looked to be a permanent feature. Weren't dark rims caused by liver problems? Zoé would know about things like that. He looked at his watch. She'd be calling here shortly. She'd started work early this morning and was due to finish mid-afternoon.
Ken coughed politely. "Mr. Smith thinks he has a bit of a grievance, which is why he's come to see us."
"And what have you been telling him?" Matt asked, trying to stir things up a bit.
"It's ... like we said to Miss Carpenter." Ken sounded uncomfortable. "These people aren't our clients. If you do a job for one person there's bound to be someone else down the line who doesn't like it." He looked at Matt for further help.
"Ken's right. Mr. Blake commissioned us to do a job. Like the boss says, we're sorry, but that's life."
Smith obviously didn't see it this way. "You simply can't get someone's post taken away for something they do in private. It's intrusion. There has to be a law against it."
Here we go again, Matt thought. This was almost an exact rerun of Shelley Carpenter's line of attack. It wasn't usual for the party on the wrong end of a surveillance to come rushing round to complain, and never before had he known two people do it on the same day. No wonder Ken looked a bit peaky.
"I keep telling you, Mr. Smith," Ken said. "It's not our fault. Mr. Blake paid us to take photographs of Miss Carpenter by the pool. We didn't ask you to be with her."
"You knew I'd be there." Smith sounded a broken man. Even the ends of his moustache had started to droop. "I've got my mother to look after."
Ken sighed. "Mr. Smith, I won't say you got what was coming to you, because we're not here to make judgments on anyone's behavior. But if you'd stayed away from Miss Carpenter we wouldn't be having this conversation now."
"And what's Mother going to say when she knows why I've lost my post at the Academy? She earns little enough money from her church meetings."
"Church meetings?" Matt wondered why he was even remotely interested in this man's mother. It was just that he was intrigued to know how a woman could earn money from a church meeting.
"It's not really a church, but that's what she likes to call it." Martin Smith twiddled the ends of his moustache so that they drooped less. "She uses the spirits to help people with their problems."
"What does she do, work in the local bar?" Ken asked in his usual crass manner.
Smith didn't smile and probably didn't even get the joke, such as it was. "She holds séances. Contacts the spir
its of those who have passed on."
Ken seemed completely insensitive to the occasion. "Can't your mother get the spirits to help you keep your job?"
To Matt's surprise, Martin Smith took Ken seriously. "Mother has helped me many times. She'd help me now, I know, but if she contacts the spirits on my behalf they may tell her what I was doing with Shelley Carpenter. It will break her heart if she finds out."
"I know someone who went to a fortune teller once," Ken said thoughtfully. "She told him he'd be married and have four children before he was forty. Only trouble was, he was gay." He laughed loudly, probably an attempt to break the tension, but Smith received the intervention with a stony silence.
"I don't think Mr. Smith came round here to discuss fortune tellers," Matt said. It was strange that Blake had mentioned contacting the dead, when Smith's mother made money out of doing it. Well, Blake wouldn't catch him going down that line. He turned to Martin Smith. "Ken's right. Mr. Blake paid us to keep an eye on Miss Carpenter, and it's just tough that you happened to be with her."
"My misfortune, yes." Smith went to the door. "I don't know what sort of a man you think I am, but I don't go round screwing every bit of skirt I can find at the Academy. Shelley Carpenter is totally to blame for this. She enticed me."
"That's not what Mr. Blake ... "
"Ken," Matt interrupted quickly. "Don't say any more."
Smith went to the door. "I'm going home. I have to break the news to Mother about losing my post."
Matt couldn't help feeling sorry for the musician from the Helios Academy -- assuming the man was telling the truth. "Have you actually lost your post, or are you afraid you'll lose it?"
Ken clapped his hands as though the interview was over. "I can't believe you deserve the sack for what you've done, Mr. Smith. I can put you in touch with a good lawyer."
Matt shook his head. "Leave it, Ken. This has absolutely nothing to do with us."
Martin Smith went to the door. Standing in the shadow at the top of the stairs the dark rims around his eyes looked more pronounced than they had when Matt arrived. "I hope you're both proud of yourselves."
Matt heard him walk slowly down the stairs and go out through the door into the street. Ken looked up, pulled a face, and shrugged. "You'd have thought his mother would have seen it coming."
"His mother?"
Ken laughed. "If she's in touch with the spirits they ought to have given her a warning."
Academy of the Dead Page 4