Enigma Variations

by Bradley W Wright

  “Yeah, Powick. Tiny little cow town or village or whatever you call the cuts here. Two hour drive.”

  “That’s where the asylum is.”

  “What asylum?”

  “The one Elgar worked at. Where he met Cellini’s mad descendant. I drove out there yesterday. Forgot to tell you. Angela James gave me the tour.”

  “Who’s Angela James?”

  “Estate agent. Wanted to sell me a nice house but couldn’t.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I told you about this after I met Benderick. I need coffee,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

  “Then follow me and see if you can figure out the coffee machine. I’m an engineer and it’s beyond my understanding.”

  I pulled on some clothes and followed Ashna down to the kitchen. While the coffee brewed I told her the story. “When Elgar was a young man he got a job as the conductor and composer for the orchestra at the Worcester County Pauper and Lunatic Asylum. While working there he met an inmate who claimed to be a descendent of Cellini.”

  “I remember this now.”

  “Yeah. So Dworkin, and probably Jutting too, both think the dark saying is some kind of magic incantation. Did I tell you about the scene in Cellini’s autobiography where he summons demons?”

  “I need to read this book.”

  “Anyway, Dworkin is probably in Powick because of the asylum. He probably wanted to visit the place where he believes Elgar learned the dark magic.”

  “Got it. Well, we need to go there right?”

  “Yes. How accurately can you track his location?”

  “Very. I’ve got GPS coordinates from his phone and I can watch them change in real time as long as he keeps the phone with him.”

  “Okay, let’s get a car.”

  Ashna, who had spent a fair amount of time in India and was therefore more familiar with the disorienting sensation of driving on the left side of the road, piloted the rental car. We blasted through the suburbs which seemed not quite as hellish as California suburbs, and into the countryside. There was no rain this time. I gave Ashna a full rundown of everything that had happened since I arrived in London and we talked it over while we drove, periodically pausing to check Dworkin’s location on Ashna’s laptop.

  “How did you get suckered into a psychic reading? That’s not like you.”

  “It wasn’t a psychic reading. It was tarot cards.”

  “Whatever. Same idea. Are you going soft in the head?”

  “I don’t know why I went in. But the point is, it was unsettling. And it did actually give me some insight, I think.”

  “What kind of insight?”

  “I’m still trying to work it out. Mainly, it confirmed or maybe reinforced my feeling that there’s something truly weird about Jutting. What I saw when I went to his house was a facade carefully designed to convince me he’s a trustworthy business partner.”

  “That doesn’t seem unusual. He’s in financial trouble right? He needs the money from Ortoli.”

  “Yes. But he wasn’t just hiding some kind of financial dysfunction. It was something more than that.”

  “Okay. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. If we get the notes back from Dworkin, our job is done. Who cares what Jutting’s up to. Maybe he’s sacrificing babies in his creepy basement. Maybe he’s watching old Teletubby episodes. Maybe he’s filming segments for his elementary magic YouTube channel. Who cares?”

  “I guess you’re right but I have a feeling we haven’t dealt with him for the last time.”

  ****

  Ashna’s GPS coordinates took us through Powick where we passed by the housing estate I had visited the day before, and out into farmland, following the course of the river Teme which snaked through the landscape, crossing through fields and copses. We slowed when we were about a quarter mile from our destination and pulled off the road on a shoulder shaded by a massive oak tree. The coordinates seemed to be located in a grove of trees up ahead.

  "Let’s leave the car here and bushwhack along the river."

  Ashna nodded. "Let me just try something first. I think I can activate the mic on Dworkin’s phone so we can listen in and see if we can learn anything that way." She fiddled with her laptop for a minute, typing rapid fire commands into a terminal window. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” She increased the volume and a tinny crackling sound came through the laptop’s little speakers. We listened intently for a couple of minutes while the sound continued, growing louder and softer in some kind of rhythm.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “No idea. Wait.” Ashna held up a hand. There was a clank like metal on ceramic and then more crackling.

  A faint voice, a distance from the phone, came over the speakers. “Don’t eat all of it Lester.”

  “I won’t.” It was Dworkin’s voice, sounding like he was speaking through a mouthful of cereal. “We need to go get more supplies though.”

  “We can’t go out in the car. Someone might see us.”

  “Nobody here knows. If Jutting knew where we were his people would be here already.”

  “I guess we could just pop over to the market quickly.”

  “Let’s go now. I’m tired of these fucking bran flakes. I want something else.”

  “You’re an awful beast, Lester. I wish I hadn’t agreed to help you.”

  “You keep saying that,” Dworkin retorted around another mouthful. “But you’ll gladly take your share of the money when I figure out the enigma. Not that stupid money will matter anymore.”

  “Fine. I’ll put my shoes on. Bring your wallet. I’m not paying for your food with my stupid money.”

  Ashna turned to me. “Lovely pair.”

  “Yes, true gentlemen of the highest class,” I replied. “That must be the accomplice who drove Dworkin away after he broke into Jutting’s house. Let’s wait for them to go out. I’ll go search their hideout while you follow them. You can warn me when they’re on the way back.”

  “Deal.”

  Five minutes later we heard an engine roar to life and the silver blue Citroen I had seen racing away from Jutting’s house pulled out of a driveway up the road. We ducked down as it passed.

  “Good luck,” Ashna said.

  “Thanks.” I got out of the car and walked up the road while Ashna turned the vehicle around and headed out after Dworkin and his accomplice. The sun was hot and the road was dusty but I could feel damp, cool air coming up from the river which was only twenty feet away, down a rocky embankment covered with long grass and weeds. I entered the trees and shortly after came to a two-story stone house hidden in the center of the copse. Birds fluttered in the branches above and the sound of water flowing grew louder as if the river had narrowed.

  The house looked suitably ancient, crouching among the trees. It was a simple rectangle with a steeply pitched roof of red ceramic tile. Moss grew in abundance on the stone walls and among the tiles. One wall was completely covered with a heavy growth of ivy. I walked around to the rear and found that the river flowed right along the back edge of the house. Looking down into the water, I saw a school of minnows pass through a sun dapple, shining and then gone like tiny flashes of light. An embankment had been built up and a massive water wheel stood motionless just above the surface of the river. The wheel, clearly unused for the last hundred years, was rotting slowly into the ground. Grass and weeds grew up through its paddles and the axle was so corroded I could almost see sheets of rust flaking off. The place must have been a mill at some time in the distant past. A stone and wood structure was built up around the wheel forming a kind of platform above and just above that was an open window. Placing my feet carefully and testing my weight before climbing higher, I scaled to the platform, got a foot up on the window sill, and pulled myself up by reaching inside and grasping the moldering jamb. The walls of the house were nearly two feet thick, giving me plenty of purchase on the sill. I crouched there for a moment, eyes adjusting to the dim light and su
rveying the room.

  An unmade bed was jammed into one corner with a battered suitcase resting on the floor beside it. The suitcase was open and nearly covered by a haphazard pile of clothing. Across the room, one straight backed wooden chair gray and warped with age was pushed up against the wall. A low Moroccan table next to the bed held a scattered mess of pocket change and crumpled receipts. I started a timer running on my phone, put it back in my pocket, and jumped down. The floorboards sagged under me alarmingly, squeaking and complaining. The house, like the water wheel outside, appeared to be slowly rotting away. A book lay open on the bedside table. I flipped it over and read the title: The Magus: A Complete System of Occult Philosophy. Definitely Dworkin’s room. I searched his suitcase and under the mattress but found nothing. There was nowhere else to hide anything in the bare bedroom, I would have to search the house. Outside, I found a landing with narrow, dark steps leading up, presumably to an attic, and a slightly wider set of stone steps curving down toward the ground floor. There were several other doors leading off the landing—more bedrooms I guessed. I stood and thought for a moment. Dworkin had either hidden the goods somewhere other than his room or taken them with him. If he had hidden them it would be downstairs or attic, not another bedroom. I decided to search the downstairs first. If he stashed them it would have been quick, as an afterthought before going out. He would have had the laptop and notes out somewhere, working on the riddle.

  At the bottom of the steps I found a massive kitchen with a floor of age-darkened terra cotta tile and a high ceiling stained by a couple hundred years of smoke and grease. Along one wall were wooden shelves and a roughhewn hutch bearing plates and cups. Lined up on the opposite wall were a venerable iron AGA range, an enormous farmhouse sink, and a small refrigerator that might have been purchased new in nineteen fifty three. Directly opposite the stairs was a heavy door which looked like the main entrance to the house. I continued forward into the kitchen and began looking around.

  On one high shelf a whole pear floated in a dusty bottle full of amber liquid. The bottle was unmarked and sealed with wax and cork. Homemade pear brandy, I guessed. Probably very old. I couldn’t help myself. It went into my pack after a quick wipe to remove the most egregious dust. I made a quick search of the space but there were few places to hide anything. A closed door was recessed under the stairs. To the right of that was an arched passageway leading off the kitchen. I opened the door first and peeked through, expecting a pantry. It led instead to a dim, cave-like space that must have once been the working portion of the mill. I saw machinery seized with rust connected to the axle of the water wheel, a pile of broken furniture, several old armoires with sheets draped over them, and, far in the back, the unmistakable form of a Citroen DS from the early sixties, gray with thick dust.

  I closed the door and moved on through the passageway into what appeared to be the main living space. It was stone floored and high ceilinged with monumental rough-hewn beams. A bewildering array of antique furniture and carpets on top of moth eaten carpets filled the room. I searched through a roll top desk, a wardrobe of oak stained nearly black, a steamer chest, around and under broken down sofas and chairs covered with Moroccan tapestries to hide the threadbare upholstery. Satisfied finally that I would not find the notes or laptop in the living room, I went back through the kitchen, ran up the steps to the landing, turned and kept going up to the attic.

  The steep climb took me up through a square opening and into a garret that stretched the full length of the house in one unbroken volume. I stopped at the top and scrutinized the space. The ceiling of the attic was the peaked roof of the building. There was no insulation or finishing, just the bottoms of the tiles which must have weighed forty pounds each. Dust motes swam in small shafts of sunlight that entered through irregular holes where the tiles were misplaced or chipped. The far end of the attic was piled with boxes and plastic bags. Nearer the stairs, next to a dormer window, were a small table, chair, and wooden file cabinet. There was a lamp on the table but nothing else. It had to be the filing cabinet. The drawers were locked. I bent and used a little flashlight I had brought to peer into the antique brass keyhole in the top drawer. I didn’t have much practice with old locks. This one looked like it had four tumblers. I patted down my cargo pockets, found my lock picks, and worked the lock for a few minutes. It didn’t want to budge. Laying down the picks, I took a quick break and checked the timer. I had been in the house for twenty three minutes. Too long. I got my tension wrench back in the lock and was raking the tumblers again when I heard a car coming up the driveway, crackling over branches and dry weeds. I went to the opposite dormer and looked out. Dworkin and his accomplice had just pulled up, returning from the store. Why hadn’t Ashna alerted me? I unlocked my phone and swiped away the timer app. There were three text messages and a missed call. She had tried but the volume was off. I texted her back quickly.

  —In the attic. Stay put. I’m going to hide and wait for Dworkin to show me where the goods are. Might be a while.—

  I glanced out again. They were climbing out of the car. Dworkin’s friend was thin and frail looking, dressed in a white button up shirt that billowed out of brown corduroy pants. He removed a white trilby and fanned his face with it, revealing patchy hair plastered with sweat.

  Moving away from the window, I threaded my way back, looking for a place to hide. The boxes and bags seemed to be full of antique artifacts. I saw a set of china packed with bubble wrap, a bag split open showing old wool suit coats, a box of tarnished candlesticks, three infantry sword hilts poking out of a canvas tote. In one box I found what looked like a World War Two era German pistol but when I picked it up and examined it I saw that it was a lighter made to look like a gun.

  Halfway back there was a stack of boxes high enough for me to crouch behind. I stopped there and got myself into a comfortable position, seated on the warm wood planks of the attic floor. The wait might be long but I was nearly positive the little table must be Dworkin’s work space. Maybe it was his accomplice’s work space too. Based on the evidence, he seemed to be an antiques dealer who stored merchandise here in his attic.

  I heard them enter through the kitchen door below. Their voices carried upstairs and I could tell from the tone that they were arguing but I couldn’t understand the words. Heavy feet ascended to the landing and Dworkin’s voice became intelligible.

  “She was probably just a tourist.”

  “Maybe, but she seemed suspicious. Sitting in her car with a laptop?” The antique dealer’s voice seemed exasperated and had an edge of hysteria.

  “People do that all the time.”

  “Not in my experience.” Their footsteps continued up the stairs, ascending toward the attic. “I think you need to get rid of that stuff. You’re never going to solve the code. He had an internationally renowned cryptographer working on it. How are you going to figure it out? With your Bachelor’s degree in medieval literature? Is there a lot of code breaking involved in that course of study?”

  “I’m close. I just need to study the notes.”

  “I wish you had never involved me in this Lester.” They were in the attic now. The floorboards creaked under their weight. I heard a latch move and the window opening. “It’s like an oven up here. I don’t want the money anymore. It’s too much stress. Just take your stuff and leave.”

  Dworkin made a weird, keening sound, like an overloaded engine. “Fine!” He exploded. “Fine!” I heard a key go into the file cabinet lock and a drawer open. There was some fumbling in the drawer. “I’m leaving. Have a nice life Bertram.”

  Without thinking too much about it I stood, grabbed the fake gun I had seen earlier, and walked toward them holding the ersatz weapon low and by my side. It felt ridiculous but I gave it my best performance anyway, channeling the ghost of Philip Marlowe. “Stop Dworkin. Put the notes and the laptop down on the table.”

  Dworkin turned to face me. He held a thin black laptop with an external hard drive plugged into it
and a bundle of papers and notebooks bound together with a massive rubber band in one of his meaty hands. His buddy Bertram took a step back, shock draining the remaining color from his already nearly colorless face.

  “How did you find me?” Dworkin demanded.

  “It wasn’t hard. Jutting’s people will be here before long. Just give me the stuff and we can all get out of here before that happens.”

  “Was it Victoria? Did she double cross me?”

  “Victoria? Butler? How do you know her?”

  A cagey expression rippled Dworkin’s face but was quickly replaced by anger. “She’s the one who told me. The stupid bitch. Jutting had the notes. Who was working on it. When to break in. Where they would be.”

  “She told you?” My mind worked fast, putting pieces together. “Where? How?”

  “She came to the shop. Told me she needed to speak with me in private. Said she thought Jutting would misuse the knowledge. She’d heard of me! Knew I was the one to hold the power responsibly.”

  “So you came to London?”

  “Yes.”

  “And waited until she told you the time was right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sorry, Dworkin, but you’ve been played.”

  “No!” Dworkin slammed an open hand on the table. “I played Jutting. That cretin.”

  “Sorry, but you might as well be a puppet. You did exactly what they wanted you to do. Just put the notes and laptop down there and back away.”

  The overloaded engine noise started again. I braced myself. Suddenly Dworkin whirled and threw the laptop and bundle of papers and notebooks out the window. A second later I heard a splash. “If I can’t solve it no one can,” he said, face crumpling like a petulant child.

  “Fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. If I’m right those were fake anyway. A diversion.” I said, circling. “You knew that didn’t you? But you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Stay right there. Goodbye Dworkin. I hope we don’t meet again. I’ve had enough.”

  I took the stairs two at a time and burst through the kitchen door, my pack bouncing against my back as I jogged into the trees. I was hoping Ashna had parked in the same place and felt relief wash over me when I emerged from the woods and saw the rental car ahead. I waved and the engine roared to life as I jogged the rest of the distance.