The King's Prerogative

by Iain Colvin

  Eventually Craig broke the silence.

  ‘Just let me know when you’d like me to drive.’

  ‘Okay, I will do. I’m fine just now.’

  Lynn looked at the dashboard clock. Six-fifteen. It was getting dark outside and she switched on the headlights.

  ‘It looks like we’ll have to find a room for the night in Warboys, if they have such a thing as a hotel,’ she said.

  ‘I know. Lynn, I’ll pay you back every penny, I promise.’

  ‘Oh it’s not the money. Tongues will wag you know, I’m a married woman.’

  Craig knew better than to dig a hole for himself by saying anything, so he just smiled at her. He liked Lynn Simon. She was smart and funny. He decided that part of the reason he liked her was that she was like an older version of Fiona.

  Long minutes went by. They passed a signpost that told them that they were 24 miles from a place called Royston and 42 miles from Cambridge. Craig suddenly jerked upright in his seat.

  ‘That must be it!’ He thumped the dashboard and burst out laughing, causing Lynn to lose control of the steering wheel briefly.

  ‘Craig! For God’s sake, you nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she yelled back at him. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘My dad. He said something cryptic on the phone and at the time I had no idea what he meant.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘When he passed on Brian’s phone number he went on to say that the bank had found a cash difference.’

  Lynn shot him a look. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well I had no idea what he was on about. Why would I be remotely interested in a cash difference at the bank? But I think he was using a code. I think he transposed the numbers.’

  ‘He did what?’

  ‘It’s a trick you learn when you’re a bank teller. I remember telling my dad about it and he thought it was quite clever. He likes curiosities like that. Usually if there’s a cash difference either you’ve screwed up and handed over the wrong cash to somebody, or you’ve written an entry down wrongly in your cash book. Obviously, you want it to be the second one because that’s a simple clerical error that can be corrected quickly.’

  ‘Okay, but I still don’t get it.’

  ‘Well one of the first things you learn to look for is whether the difference is divisible by nine. That usually means you’ve made a mistake writing the figures down.’

  ‘Divisible by Nine?’

  ‘Yep. It only clicked with me when I saw that road sign we passed back there. Cambridge was 42 miles away and Royston was 24 miles away. 42 minus 24 is 18. Divisible by nine.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Any transposition of two numbers is divisible by nine. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I think my dad was telling me to look at the numbers he gave me and transpose them.’

  Lynn tried some simple arithmetic in her head. ‘Okay, I get it now. But why would your dad go to such lengths? Why didn’t he just tell you the actual number?’

  ‘I’m not certain, but when I asked if he had spoken to the police about me going to see a literary agent in Edinburgh, he said he hadn’t. But how else would the police have known to come round and speak to you? We didn’t tell anyone else.’

  Lynn frowned. ‘You don’t mean he thinks his phone has been tapped by the police?’

  ‘Maybe he does, or maybe Brian Irving planted the seed in his head that it might be. Maybe he’s just a bit paranoid.’

  Lynn looked at him strangely and muttered something about chips off old blocks.

  Craig picked up a piece of hire company documentation from the door pocket and started scribbling on the white space on the back. He worked out six different possible combinations of the four digits in the Warboys phone number.

  ‘Could you stop at the next place we get to? We may as well try these numbers.’

  ‘Why not. I could do with stretching my legs anyway.’ Lynn was still not convinced.

  They drove on for a few miles until they reached a village called Puckeridge. She spied a red telephone box on a street corner and pulled in. Craig jumped out of the car, bounded over to the kiosk, opened the heavy door and had dialled the first number before the hinges closed the door behind him. Lynn watched as he tried number after number. Eventually he left the telephone box and walked back to the car.

  ‘No luck?’

  ‘No. Two wrong numbers, a no reply and the others were unobtainable.’

  Lynn drove off again. ‘Do you think the number that rang out could be Brian Irving’s?’

  ‘Who knows.’ Craig’s excitement had given way to a new feeling of despondency.

  Lynn had another thought. ‘Did you play around with the local part of the number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe your dad switched the dialling code too, do you think?’

  Craig spun round and looked at Lynn. ‘Do you know what, I didn’t even think of that, how stupid of me. Of course he could have done that. Why wouldn’t he?’ He started to scribble numbers again, only this time working with the dialling code. He reasoned that the zero must be in the right place so that gave him four possible variations of the remaining three numbers. Craig gambled that his dad would probably have transposed the same two digits in both the STD code and the local part, so he hoped that would mean he just had four numbers to try.

  After a further mile they reached a petrol station and Lynn pulled in. Craig found the public payphone inside the little shop and started dialling the numbers he had written down. The first number was unobtainable but when he dialled the second number it was answered at the third ring.

  ‘Hello, Station Hotel?’ It was a female Scottish voice, polite and with a Highland accent.

  ‘Oh hello, I’m looking for a Doctor Brian Irving, is he staying with you?’

  After a short pause the girl said, ‘He is, sir. If you’ll wait one moment please, I’ll try his room.’

  Craig could hardly contain his excitement. He was put on hold for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds.

  The soft Highland voice came back. ‘I’m sorry sir, there’s no reply at the moment. Can I take a message?’

  ‘Yes please. Can you tell him that Craig Dunlop phoned? And could you pass on the message that I’ll try him again later tonight or early tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Certainly sir, I’ll make sure he gets that message.’

  ‘Thank you very much. Could you tell me your address please?’

  ‘Certainly. It’s 54 Princes Street, Thurso.’

  ‘Thurso as in Caithness?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Thanks again. Bye.’

  Craig ran back to the car to tell Lynn the news.

  ‘He’s in Thurso.’

  ‘Thurso?’

  ‘Yes. The number wasn’t 0487 3179. It was 0847 3719. It’s a hotel in Thurso.’

  ‘What’s he doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know, he wasn’t in his room so I couldn’t speak to him. I said I’d phone again later, or tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ asked Lynn.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I think we should push on to Edinburgh tonight and think about Thurso tomorrow. How does that sound?’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea.’

  Craig checked the time. Just before seven o’clock. ‘I’ll drive for the next stretch if you like. I think we could be in Edinburgh by two o’clock if we’re lucky.’

  When they stopped for petrol on the motorway north, Craig phoned ahead to say they were on their way back and would it be okay for him to stay over again. Fiona said yes, of course it was. Lynn dropped Craig off at the Rankins’ house at 1:50 am.

  The rest of the family were asleep so Craig and Fiona took themselves through to the kitchen where Fiona made some hot chocolate while Craig brought her up to date with their time in Cambridge. Fiona added her tuppenceworth on the subject of his second hurried escape from the
authorities in less than a week, and asked if she should start calling him Ned Kelly. Craig laughed but pointed out that Lynn eventually agreed with him about Anson and that in fact it was she who had precipitated their speedy departure.

  By 2:45 Craig could hardly keep his eyes open, so Fiona showed him to his room.

  As she went to her own room she knew that sooner or later she’d have to come to a decision. What was she going to do about Craig Dunlop? The last few days had been a blur. No sooner had Craig reappeared into her life than she found herself swept up in his – what’s the word to describe this chain of events, she wondered – this crisis. She hadn’t had time to process her own thoughts, never mind ask him about his. She could see that he was scared, though that was only natural in the circumstances. But beyond that he seemed, well, different. Changed. More composed, despite the predicament he was in. She wondered if he’d done some growing up in the last year. She wondered if he was seeing anyone. She realised that she cared about the answer to that question and that’s why she didn’t ask it. Why had he come to her, of all people? Was it just coincidence, or desperation? Or something more? And how did she feel? He’d hurt her so badly. She’d hated him for what he did. She hated his immaturity. She hated his insensitivity. She’d been in pieces for weeks after he finished with her. Then she threw herself into her studies and the pain slowly subsided. But her confusion persisted. She couldn’t understand what went wrong. But at least she’d got over him. Or so she thought. Then a few days ago he walked back into her life. And she didn’t hate him after all. Far from it.

  She closed her eyes and tried to get to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  Saturday 19th March, 1983

  Fiona let Craig sleep in till nine o’clock even though he asked to be woken at half seven. When he came down to the kitchen Valerie, Denis and Fiona were sitting around the table reading papers and drinking coffee.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning, Craig,’ said Valerie. Denis was eating a piece of toast so he raised his cup in greeting.

  Fiona got up from the table. ‘Morning. Sleep okay?’

  ‘Yes thanks. But I overslept.’ He was a bit annoyed that Fiona had let him sleep late but he let it go. He was just happy to be back in that kitchen again.

  ‘Well I thought you needed it,’ said Fiona. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Oh yes please.’ He sat down beside Valerie. ‘Thanks for letting me descend on you in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Not at all, it’s good to see you. Fiona’s been telling us about your trip. It sounds like it didn’t work out as planned?’

  ‘You could say that. But one good thing is that in the meantime Brian Irving went to see my parents.’

  ‘Yes, so we gather,’ said Denis. ‘You must be itching to call him. Feel free to use the phone.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Fiona gave him a mug of coffee and he took it over to the telephone. He looked out the piece of paper with the Station Hotel’s number and dialled it.

  ‘Good morning, Station Hotel.’ It was the soft Highland voice again.

  ‘Good morning, I called yesterday and I think I spoke to you? I’m looking for Doctor Brian Irving.’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. I passed on your message. Give me one moment and I’ll try Doctor Irving’s room.’

  There was a short pause, then Craig heard Brian Irving’s familiar voice.

  ‘Hello, Craig?’

  ‘Hello Brian, at last! How are you?’

  ‘Fine, fine. Well, under the circumstances I mean. Sorry I wasn’t around when you called yesterday, you got my message then?’

  ‘Yes. Brian, what the hell happened, where have you been all this time?’

  ‘That’s a long story.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘I’ll try to give you the shortened version. First of all, I exhausted my research into Colonel Pilcher, he just seemed to disappear into thin air. So I continued researching into Hess and his flight to Scotland.’

  Fiona mouthed the words ‘Mitchell Library’ and Craig nodded.

  ‘Did you happen to go to the Mitchell Library?’

  ‘Yes, as it happens, why?’

  ‘It was one of our ports of call too. Sorry, I interrupted you. Carry on.’

  ‘I’ve been all over the country. The main libraries in Glasgow, Edinburgh and London, and every public record office I could find. I pieced together everything I could, and a pattern began to emerge.’

  ‘What pattern?’

  ‘Craig, I think there’s been a carefully staged cover-up around the whole Hess affair, stretching back to the war. And I’m almost certain it’s still going on today.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll explain everything when we have more time. But then in the middle of my research, something happened. I must have blundered. And that’s when I decided I had to lay low. I didn’t feel safe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I contacted one of the leading authorities on intelligence activities during the war, and that seemed to set off a chain of events outside of my control.’

  ‘Was it Clive Prior?’ asked Craig.

  The mention of the professor’s name pulled Brian Irving up short. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I went to see him. I saw him yesterday in fact.’

  ‘In Cambridge?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Yes. He told me you’d contacted him.’

  ‘How did you make the connection with Clive Prior?’

  ‘A mutual friend of a friend of mine. Another long story.’

  ‘Does he know where you are now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good, keep it that way.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I contacted Clive Prior and told him that I was investigating a letter that had been found on Hess’s person. I didn’t go into the whole story, I merely told him that the letter had come into my possession. That was on the Monday morning. The 1st of March.’

  ‘And you made arrangements to go and meet him?’

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t keep the appointment.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My office in Strathclyde University was broken into a few hours later, either on the Monday night or the Tuesday morning.’

  ‘It was? What was taken?’

  ‘All of my notes. The notes I took about Colonel Pilcher and some of the notes I’d researched subsequently.’ Brian paused for a second. ‘My notes included Claire’s contact details.’

  Craig had a terrible feeling that he knew where this conversation was heading. ‘Claire’s phone number?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Brian.

  ‘And her address?’

  ‘No, just her name and phone number. But when I read about Claire’s murder I couldn’t believe it was coincidence. That’s when I started putting two and two together. I dare say it would have been a fairly simple job for whoever broke into my office to find out where she lived from the details I wrote down. I feel awful about Claire, beyond words. I had the letter in my briefcase at home. Maybe if I’d left it in my office Claire would still be alive.’

  There was a long silence before Brian continued.

  ‘After I saw the news of her murder I thought about it from every angle. It can’t be a coincidence that I spoke to Clive Prior in the morning and less than twenty-four hours later my office was burgled. My first impulse was to contact you, to warn you. But I realised that I didn’t know your surname, or anything about you other than what you told me about your grandfather.’

  As Brian relayed the story, Craig could feel his skin prickling.

  ‘Craig, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’ Craig drew a breath. He wanted to say what was on his mind. It couldn’t have been that hard for a university lecturer to track him down, surely. He decided to bite his tongue for the moment to see where the conversation led.

  ‘I thought we got cut off.’

  ‘No I was just deep in thought. Clive Prior introduced us to someone he knew in the intelligence se
rvices,’ said Craig. ‘The professor told me he could help.’

  Fiona was listening to Craig’s side of the discussion and came over to sit beside him. She saw the worry deepen on his face.

  ‘Who did he introduce you to?’ asked Brian.

  ‘A Commander Anson, from the Home Office.’

  ‘I haven’t heard of him. How could he help?’

  ‘He told me that he could pull some strings with the police. He seemed to believe me that I had nothing to do with Claire’s death.’

  Craig knew what his next question needed to be.

  ‘Brian, why didn’t you go to the police?’

  Now it was Brian’s turn to pause.

  ‘Because I think the authorities have been trying to prevent this letter from getting out. I panicked, I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought I should keep a low profile until I could find you and we could decide how to handle it together.’

  Craig digested this information. Lord knows he could empathise with what Brian was telling him. He wanted to trust Brian. But if the events of the past few days had taught him anything, it was to accept nothing at face value.

  ‘Why did you leave the letter with my parents?’

  ‘Well, first of all, when I saw your name in the papers, that’s how I worked out how to get in touch with you. There aren’t a lot of Dunlops in the Stranraer phone book. In an ironic kind of way I used the letter as it was originally intended. To prove who I was, in the hope that your parents would pass on my message to you. In the end your father insisted that it was wiser for him to have the letter than for me to keep it. I couldn’t refuse. Now it’s my turn to ask you – why are the police after you?’

  ‘I panicked too. I felt like I was being fitted up for Claire’s murder because the police had no other suspects.’