Pemberly interrupted him. “We’ll deal with all that later. First things first. Let’s hear about that priceless treasure you mentioned in the phone call.”
That’s strange. Is that all he cares about?
Cautiously Gordon replied, “First I’ve got some questions. Where are we? Pardon my frankness, but this rat hole looks like a tenement. Why aren’t we at your office? Juan Carlos obviously hired you. I want to know what’s going on here. Who are you, exactly?
“Mr. Foxworth, may I call you Gordon? We’re going to get to know each other better, that’s for certain. Might as well be on a first-name basis. Call me Curtis. I was told to get you out of jail and find out what was going on. You have me to thank for your release, and of course Juan Carlos. He paid your bail and he’s trying to protect you by arranging a safe meeting place. My office is in London but far from here. This place was available, simple and close. I don’t question Juan Carlos. Neither should you. Now I want information. Talk to me.”
So Gordon Foxworth talked. He told about the ancient sarcophagus, the heavy locked wooden door and the boxes filled with books. “I took one of those boxes. I’m sure the cops have the books now since the box was in my hotel room.”
After Foxworth had told about the bookshop, its elderly owners, the items in the subterranean crypt and how valuable they might be, Curtis Pemberly said, “One last question. Who’s Juan Carlos?”
Gordon was stunned. “You know who…” Suddenly he realized something was terribly wrong. He stood, tried to appear nonchalant while sweat began to pour from his forehead, and stuck out his hand.
“Well then. I guess I should be going. I should get out of town before they come looking for me. Thanks for bailing me out!”
Curtis drew a small pistol from under his jacket.
“What the hell … What’s going on? What do you want from me?”
“Sit down. It’s not time to go yet. Tell me about Juan Carlos.”
Initially Gordon Foxworth tried to take the high road, refusing to say a word unless this man told him exactly what was going on. That didn’t work. An hour later Pemberly had what he wanted. A bullet in his leg, Gordon lay semiconscious on the floor and begged for his life. That didn’t work either.
Curtis Pemberly finished and calmly walked out the door. That evening he placed a call to Juan Carlos’s number. When he heard the word “Speak,” his response was short and sweet.
“I got this number from Gordon Foxworth. He’s been in a bit of an accident, you might say. Before his untimely demise, he told me everything. Call me.” He left his mobile number.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Year Later
For months the dank chamber below the basement of The Necromancer’s Bookshop had lain undisturbed. There was much that had to be done but even more that couldn’t be done.
Inspector Dalton told them a man who said he was a barrister signed the jail register as Curtis Pemberly and paid ten thousand dollars cash for the con artist’s release. He’d bailed Gordon Foxworth out of jail. Foxworth missed a court date a week later and a warrant had been issued for his arrest. An anonymous tip, probably from a homeless man looking for a place to sleep, led the police to a badly decomposed body in an abandoned East London flat. An autopsy was impossible at this late stage, but it appeared there had been a gunshot to his leg. That wouldn’t have killed him – Foxworth’s death was ruled inconclusive and the case was closed.
It was fortuitous indeed that Edward was alone in the bookshop the morning Curtis Pemberly walked in. Thomas and Belinda had taken the train to Brighton to spend a week sightseeing at the beach. As things turned out, it was far better for Edward to have met Pemberly than for either of his grandparents to do so. He didn’t need them involved in this.
Pemberly introduced himself and asked to speak with Thomas Russell. Edward explained his grandfather wasn’t there and asked the nature of the man’s business.
“I presume you know who Gordon Foxworth is.”
Edward tried to mask his surprise. “Certainly. And it’s was, not is, from what I hear. What’s this all about?”
“You have some very interesting things here in your store,” Pemberly said, gesturing at the crowded shelves around the walls. “And even more interesting things down there, I hear.” He pointed at the floor.
“I have no idea…”
“Oh come now, Edward. I may call you Edward, right? Of course I may. You know precisely what I’m talking about. Gordon saw some interesting things that night. He told me all about them. They sound fascinating – something the news broadcasters would love to have as their lead story one evening. But you know the thing that surprises me? Even though your grandfather literally fell into this discovery, and even though Gordon Foxworth was arrested for being here, nothing’s been made public. Someone’s keeping all this very quiet. Very quiet indeed. And that, my good man, is why I’m here. I’m here to help your family keep it that way.”
At that point two customers entered the store. Since he was running the place alone, Edward asked Pemberly to come back at five p.m. The man leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’ll be back promptly at five. Keep this to yourself. Tell no one about my visit. Lives could be at stake here.” He turned and walked out the door.
Yes indeed, you smarmy bastard, Edward thought to himself.
Promptly at five Pemberly returned. Without a word of acknowledgment Edward closed and locked the door behind him. He walked to the table in the back room and Curtis followed.
“We can talk here.” Edward waved to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“I want to see the chamber.”
Edward spoke harshly. “That’s not going to happen. Sit down and tell me what you want.”
“Have it your way,” the man said smugly as he sat. “You will show me. I promise you that.” He told Edward he had information to trade, what he wanted in return for it, and said that he personally had sent Gordon off to eternity.
Two hours later Curtis Pemberly was at home, a satisfied man. Things had gone extraordinarily well the past few days. A jailer who listened to Gordon’s call owed Curtis a favor. So he’d passed along a tip that Gordon Foxworth was talking about treasure hidden in London. Curtis acted quickly, bailing Foxworth out of jail before whomever he’d called could arrive. With proper persuasion Gordon had revealed everything – what and where the items were, who to contact, and what little he knew about Juan Carlos Sebastian – just a name and a phone number.
Tomorrow Curtis would be a hundred thousand euros richer. He couldn’t have cared less about the artifacts, simply some ancient stuff in the crypt of an old church. Extortion was his game and this had gone well. He had played masterfully against a surprisingly weak opponent, Edward Russell. Once Curtis revealed that he’d killed Gordon, Edward had caved in and trembled in fear. In exchange for learning what Gordon had told Curtis, Edward was willing to pay the money. Of course he was, the puny weakling! All this was satisfying indeed. And Curtis downplayed one important part – the information about Juan Carlos Sebastian. Curtis had plans of his own for the mystery man – another extortion! This Juan Carlos person would pay up too before this was over.
That trembling, pitiful bookshop owner tried to stand up to me at first, but he was no match. He’s weak – he’s actually scared of me. That made Curtis smile. Tomorrow when I go back to give him my information, I’ll make him show me the chamber even though I don’t give a flip about what’s there. It’s a matter of principle. And maybe I’ll stop back by in a few months to get more money from this spineless little shit. This could go on for a while!
When Curtis’s mobile phone rang at ten p.m., he saw the blocked caller ID, answered and had a ten-minute conversation with Juan Carlos Sebastian. He revealed very little – there was an ancient sarcophagus and a locked door beneath an occult bookstore, but Juan Carlos wouldn’t have a clue how to find the exact location. There were dozens of necromancy shops in London, after all.
Exciting thoughts raced through his h
ead as Curtis lay in bed. This is incredible. I’m certain I’m going to be able to sell the same information to this man Juan Carlos, whoever he is. How about that! Two scores in one!
Curtis Pemberly slept well that night, the slumber of a man on top of his game, who was playing to win the jackpot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At eleven the next morning Curtis Pemberly confirmed a hundred thousand euros was safely tucked into his bank account. Thank you, Edward! This was working very satisfactorily.
He went to the bookstore around twelve and found the bookseller finishing up with a lone customer. Just as yesterday, he walked to the front door, locked it and hung a sign that said, “Back at one p.m.”
Today Edward’s demeanor was submissive. “We can go to the back again if that’s all right with you.”
Curtis loved the dominator’s role. “It’s fine. And by the way, you will show me the chamber today.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll show it to you once we’re done here. Did the wire transfer arrive?”
“It did. Lucky for you to have moved quickly. I have another party who could use my information. He’s a mysterious man named Juan Carlos. But you’d better be careful. He could be more fearsome than I am!” Curtis was having a ball, positively ecstatic playing the master-servant game with this puny man.
For half an hour Edward took notes as Curtis told him everything. When he mentioned Juan Carlos’s name, Edward asked about him. Curtis smugly replied that he was a shadowy collector. That was all he’d say.
Edward wanted to know more, but it couldn’t be helped. Don’t worry about what-ifs, he thought to himself. With Gordon Foxworth out of the picture, one loose end had been tied up. One less person alive knew about the crypt. Thinking last night on the whole Curtis Pemberly thing, Edward knew a hundred thousand euros was a small price to pay. He had to find out what Curtis knew. Then he could wrap up another loose end that was still untied – the one sitting right in front of him.
Playing role of weak fool masterfully, Edward assumed a meek countenance when Curtis finished talking. He bent his head slightly, subserviently.
“Tea?”
Curtis glanced at his watch to impress upon Edward how busy he was. “Yes,” he snapped. “Make it fast; then we’re going to see the crypt. I’ve things to do.”
“Sounds as if you’re dying to see it,” Edward murmured, smiling as he turned away and put the kettle on the burner. “And I’ll make it fast.”
Ten minutes later Edward puttered around the kitchen, humming a tune as he cleaned up the mess on the floor. He glanced at the table. “Curtis, would you care for another cup of tea?”
But Curtis didn’t answer. His head lay on the table, the shattered teacup and saucer on the floor where it had landed following the first long drink of Edward’s excellent brew.
Edward smiled. “You think you’re such a smart man. You shouldn’t drink tea with the proprietor of a sorcerer’s shop. Even if they found your body, they’d never figure out how you died. Okay. It’s time. Now you get to see the chamber.”
He hauled the body downstairs, stuck it in a heavy plastic construction bag he’d bought just for this purpose, and made a mental note. This Juan Carlos might appear one day to steal the things in the crypt. That was unlikely, but Edward would be ready just in case. He’d have a plan.
Killing that man was fun, his bad side said over and over inside his head.
——
Any further work on the sarcophagus and the heavy wooden door would require the help of others. The Russells – Edward, Thomas and Belinda – unanimously agreed that was not an option. The crypt would remain their secret. More vexing was the fact that his aging grandparents were of no help whatsoever. A true outsider, a third party, would eventually have to be enlisted. For now things were on hold, unexplained and unfinished.
Whatever moral responsibility the trio should have felt to contact the antiquities people was easily outweighed by the excitement of a once-in-a-lifetime discovery. We’re good, law-abiding citizens, Thomas and Belinda said to themselves whenever this subject arose. This find is ours – in our basement – and we want this for ourselves.
Now that Edward had used the chamber to dispose of a body, he didn’t want anyone nosing around down there, especially his grandparents. Over two nights during the Russells’ vacation, Edward had dug up floor stones, removed soil underneath and buried that asshole Curtis Pemberly in the chamber he had wanted to see so badly. The dirt went out the back door and into a dumpster one bucketful at a time. He bought lime to eliminate the odor, spreading the white powder liberally over the body inside its sturdy plastic bag. He replaced the floor stones and swept them clean. Even with careful examination, it’d be hard to tell they’d ever been moved.
In the coming weeks Edward focused on finishing his thesis. He earned that third PhD in record time. When he began work on it, Edward had promised himself a prize when it was done – a trip to Ephesus to visit the place where the apostle Paul had lived two thousand years ago. But the tantalizing anticipation of what they’d found in St. Mary Axe Street put that trip on hold. He had more exciting things to work on. Now he could concentrate on the crypt.
While wrapping up his thesis, Edward had snatched an hour here, an hour there to examine the ancient books that had been in the chamber. He’d already looked through fourteen of them, the ones he took to his flat and then returned. Now he tackled the rest, cataloged every one on a notepad, and listed what scant information he could glean from casual observation. He had no formal education in the medieval Welsh most of them were written in, so he gave a couple to his professors at the University of Central London for study. A couple in Latin he tackled himself. Still others were in French and old English. Those he put aside for now since they were likely more recent. There were around fifty volumes total, of various sizes and thicknesses, tucked safely into the shelf behind the counter.
The one book that Edward treated differently was the one he’d examined more closely at his flat – the one in Latin that was about the Battle of Badon. This one could be unique – a critically important manuscript any major museum would pay big money to own. If this book confirmed the existence of King Arthur and his band of knights, it could be a rare prize.
The Russells agreed to keep the Badon book in a safety deposit box at the bank just around the corner. The plan was that Edward could pick the volume up whenever he had a free moment, study it, then take it back for safekeeping. Eventually they might turn it over to experts at Oxford University, where scholars could translate, study and authenticate it. But that couldn’t happen right now. Revealing the existence of a fifteen-hundred-year-old book would raise all sorts of questions as to its provenance. Thomas, Belinda and Edward weren’t telling anyone about the crypt. So into the bank vault it went. And there it would stay for years, ignored and eventually forgotten.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By mid-2008 Edward had moved in with his grandparents and was running the bookshop. He was a huge help – he fixed every meal, prepared afternoon tea, ensured they had their cocktails every evening promptly at seven and provided much-needed company for the elderly couple. Edward was their succession plan and they were thrilled at his willingness to assume that responsibility.
Eagerly learning about the many strange things they offered for sale, Edward soon was assisting the unusual customers who traipsed through The Necromancer’s Bookshop, buying ingredients for potions, spells and charms. He was eccentric and strange, and he fit in perfectly. He sold capes, wands and ancient books of magic. He used the Russells’ extensive Rolodex of connections to locate anything and everything customers needed for their often-bizarre rituals and ceremonies. It was amazing to him that there were so many of these people – witches and warlocks, magicians and conjurers – in a civilized, twenty-first-century metropolis like London. As he visited with customers, he learned more and more about the dark arts these individuals practiced.
Edward couldn’t have c
ome at a better time – shortly after he arrived, the Russells’ health began to rapidly deteriorate. Belinda often told Edward how fortunate they were that he had come to live with them; within just a few weeks after he left university, they just didn’t have the stamina to get out and do the things they’d done before. Thomas knew his decline began the day he fell into the chamber, but now Belinda wasn’t feeling well either. They were lethargic much of the time. They struggled to get to the shop with Edward, and many mornings, too weary to get out of bed, they sent him off alone.
Edward got their assent to hire an assistant – a man his age with whom he’d become friends at the university. That allowed Edward more freedom to run home during the day and take care of his grandparents. He was a caring, giving man. He fluffed pillows, opened drapes to allow sunlight into their room, cleaned house and brought their meals in bed. What a blessing, they said often to each other. And they thanked him too. He pooh-poohed their gratitude. “You’d do the same for me,” he’d respond.
At home one day Thomas and Belinda had the conversation they’d put off for a long time. At dinner that evening they told their grandson they were considering moving to the coast of Portugal, to a place where some expatriate friends were living out their golden years. It would be a good climate and perhaps would give their failing health a boost. They closed the shop for a week and the three of them made a trip to see the facility. The place was idyllic – the weather and scenery were beautiful, and the Russells had accumulated sufficient funds to buy a home and live comfortably. That trip was very difficult for the older Russells, but Edward had been a prince to help in every way possible. They were hoping Portugal might be the ticket to recovery.
A month after their return, they made Edward an offer he enthusiastically accepted. A deal was struck, giving their grandson the store and the building for a million dollars – a fraction of its value. With his significant assets Edward could have paid cash, but his grandparents wanted a monthly income for their retirement. Edward’s payments would cover their needs and provide a cushion for extras they might want. Their own wealth would remain available in case of a crisis. They made an initial deposit on the Portuguese property and began packing.
The Crypt Trilogy Bundle Page 9