by Malia Zaidi
"No, no I am sure it has a different meaning. In fact, I have a vague idea what the code may be."
"And?" Jeffrey gives off an air of exasperation.
"It reminds me of a code we used as boys. Not just Caspar and me, quite a few boys in our school knew of it. We thought we were very clever, leaving these coded notes which our teachers could not read, though in reality, it was not terribly clever."
"Were you able to decipher any of it yet?" I ask.
"Not yet. But if I am correct in my assumptions, it is not going to take very long. Caspar only wrote about ten pages, and those all seem to be made up of short sentences, almost as though he was making brief notes rather than writing about any one event."
"And how do you know it isn’t all meaningless?"
"I don’t, but what if he wrote down something leading us to his …" Daniel falters for a second, "his murderer."
"Why don’t you explain the code to us? My mind is still clear enough, tonight, to take on some new information. If we all know it, we could work through the book together."
Daniel considers Jeffrey’s suggestion, and I can tell he is uncertain about entrusting his friend’s diary, and thereby his private thoughts, to us. After a moment though, his face clears, and he nods.
"Fine. Let me go and fetch it and some paper."
He gets to his feet, scraping the chair on the tiled floor, and leaves the room. We remain silent while we wait for him to return, which he does in due time, carrying the ominous journal and a small writing pad and pencils. Like eager students, we crowd around him.
"Here, see this," he says and opens it to the first page. What meets our eyes is a set of neat letters and numbers written in a slanted, angular hand. Each line consists of no more than three words, and ends in a number.
"You recognize this?" Jeffrey raises his eyebrows.
"At least I think I do. Look," he tears a piece of paper from the writing pad and draws a small chart.
1 2 3 4 5
A- A B C D E
B- F G H IJ K
C- L M N O P
D- Q R S T U
E- V W X Y Z
"Oh, I see!" I cry, excitedly.
"Yes. It’s really very simple, we were only boys so it seemed remarkably clever to us then, but it is far from mind-boggling. You combine a letter and a number to represent the new letter. So, B3-A5-C1-C1-C4 is …"
"Hello!"
"Exactly, as I said, not very complex, just a nuisance for whoever finds himself confronted with it."
"Well, whatever Caspar wrote this journal, he considered the precaution of writing in code a necessity."
"It wasn’t exactly lying about the room either," I interject with a small grimace. "It was in the drawer of his bedside table, pushed spine-side-up against the back. You could only find it if you felt around for it."
"How mysterious. Do you think we ought to call the police, surely they will want to see it?" Briony asks wide-eyed. We give each other questioning looks.
"If we find anything, we will tell them. Thus far, all we have is our late friend’s journal." Jeffrey answers diplomatically. He is keen to start the process of decoding.
"Why don’t we each take four rows per page," suggests Daniel, his eyes alert. "There are sixteen on each page, and nearly ten pages are filled. It should not take terribly long."
Daniel passes around pencils and paper, and we sit crowded around the unassuming diary. As we begin, silence descends on the room, and all we hear is the scratching of lead on paper. It takes a few lines to get into the rhythm. Daniel is much quicker than the rest of us and has his lines translated first, waiting us to finish, so he can turn the page.
After ten pages of tedious work, Jeffrey lays down his pencil and stretches his fingers, making them crack. "This is futile, if you ask me." He leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes.
"I must say, it isn’t Shakepeare." I also put down my pencil, my finger stiff, though my mind is whirring and alert.
"I can’t say I am surprised, but all of this must have some meaning. He wouldn’t have bothered with the secrecy, if it did not."
"Perhaps he wanted to annoy anyone who tried to read it?" Jeffrey yawns.
"It was hidden, I don’t think he expected it to be read. Besides, he couldn’t know he would be dead soon." Nobody argues with this, and Daniel goes on, "Let us put together what we have translated thus far."
With less excitement than we had shown minutes ago, we puzzle together each page of translated work.
JACK ADLTR PAYM 10
JACK PAYM MON 7.20
RACE WIN 4
INV WITH COLEM 20
SUIT AT JONES 6
MARLAND THF PAYM 12
Several dates are written chronologically at the top of each page, and we see that the journal is less than a year old.
"It looks like a catalogue of money, does it not? Bookkeeping?" Briony is the first to offer her suggestion, twisting a curl around her finger.
"Yes, exactly." Jeffrey nods and absently pats Briony’s hand, a gesture both sweet and condescending. I hope she views it as the former.
"He has kept a record of his spending and income. Quite an ordinary habit, is it not?" I ask, trying to hide my genuine uncertainty, not having ever been much in the practice of doing so myself.
"I agree, it looks like simple bookkeeping. My question is, why use code? And what is ‘JACK ADLTR’? A name, do you think? I can’t remember any Jack with a last name beginning ‘Ad—’. We have known a lot of the same people, having been friends since childhood." Daniel furrows his brow, running a finger over the words as though this might help him to decipher their hidden meaning.
"What if ‘ADLTR’ means something else," I point to the translated pages. "‘PAYM’ undoubtedly means ‘payment’ and ‘MON’ is probably ‘Monday’. ‘ADLTR’ could be an abbreviation for the service he is paying this Jack person."
We all sit still for a few moments, running possible options through our minds.
"Alterations, maybe?" Briony sounds unconvinced.
"No ‘d’ in that, though." Jeffrey shakes his head.
I cannot help but notice that this strange course of events has created a situation in which we are all—including Jeffrey and Briony—firmly united. It is good to see my cousin and her husband closer again if only for the moment, however much I wish the circumstances were different.
"Add letter? Would that make sense?" I suggest, certain it does not, but nevertheless eager to make a contribution.
"Not sure what it could mean …" Daniel looks unconvinced.
"Nor am I." We smile across at one another. It has grown pitch-black outside and it feels cozy sitting here, in this room of glass, with people I like all hunched together around a little table lit by the gentle golden glow of two lamps.
"Does ‘ADLTR’ recur in any other line?" I take up the sheaves of translated words and glance over them.
"Anything?" Jeffrey asks.
"No, not that I—" I reach the end of the fifth page. "Wait, here is another mention of it." I point to the short line toward the bottom.
CHARL ADLTR PAYM 12
"Well, let us assume ‘CHARL’ stands for ‘Charles’. Charles requires a payment of 12 Pounds for whatever ‘ADLTR’ is."
"If we leave the deciphering of that particular abbreviation, the remaining ones are reasonably plausible." Jeffrey’s eyes run down the list once more.
"What about ‘THF?’" asks Briony.
I can tell she is eager to draw Jeffrey’s interest, for as she says it she looks directly at him, flattering him with her attention.
"‘THF’ could be anything starting with ‘the.’" Jeffrey scratches his head, leaving a tuft of blond hair standing at an odd angle.
"Yes," Briony agrees slowly, "but he has kept all other notations as separate words. It would be strange if he broke the pattern by combining two. Also," she sounds more confident, her voice gaining strength, "he never uses articles or sentence form, so why would he h
ere."
"You could be right." Jeffrey sounds surprised. I feel almost insulted on Briony’s part for his apparent lack of confidence in her intelligence.
"Certainly she is." I try not to be too defiant in my support. "I would not have thought of that."
Briony smiles gratefully, and I return it, wishing I knew which leg, in that jumble under the table, is Jeffrey’s, so I could give it a nice kick. Suddenly, an idea crosses my mind, and before I have time to think of it’s insinuations, my mouth has taken over.
"Thief!" Everyone stares at me. "Thief. ‘THF’ could stand for thief. What if Caspar knew this Charles to be a thief." As I am speaking, the implications of this possibility occur to me. Oh dear.
"‘Charles thief payment 12.’" Daniel’s voice is even. He looks across at me, and I know his mind and mine have reached the same conclusion.
"Blackmail?" I word this as a question, though from the tight expression on Daniel’s face, I need not take this precautionary step.
"Oh." Briony bites her bottom lip, and Jeffrey swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
"Yes."
Daniel has grown pale, and I wish I had never made the connection. What use is all this detective work? Caspar is still dead. And Daniel is the one getting hurt. I stay silent, not trusting myself to speak.
"Daniel, can this be?" Jeffrey leans forward, his hands interlocked in his lap.
"You knew him, Jeffrey." Daniel closes his eyes, rubbing his temples in a circular motion. When he opens them, they look tired. These few moments have added pounds to the weight of his eyelids.
"But why?"
"Why?" Daniel sounds incredulous and gets up, beginning to pace in the rather limited space. "He was not a saint, now, was he?" He shakes his head, angry for the first time.
"But blackmail. He had his own money?"
At this Daniel startles, regaining his composure before I can be certain it was not simply a trick of the light. "I always thought he did. We didn’t discuss it much."
"Naturally."
Jeffrey nods in understanding. We have all been taught from a young age, it doesn’t do to talk of money. Such an attitude is easy when money has never been a concern at all. I feel a tinge of shame. I am here with trunks full of beautiful things, in a grand villa, with a chauffeur and a cook and a maid, and none of it is remotely a result of my own merit.
"He said he had invested well. His mother came from wealth, and he inherited a fair bit when he came of age. He never really worked, but I never thought he supported himself with something like this." Daniel gestures at the journal. "Blackmail. My God, he could have had enemies everywhere he went!" He shakes his head in a hopeless, exasperated manner, dropping his hands at his sides.
"Look at the dates, this may not have been going on for long." Briony offers.
"Ha!" Daniel’s voice is sharp and tinged with bitterness. "I doubt very much this was a new proclivity of his. He kept a journal all the time I knew him. I am not saying he was blackmailing everyone from childhood on, but it appears he had quite an elaborate system in place. The irony is, he probably did use that money to invest and was able to live off those profits."
"So," I swallow, feeling a palpable density in the air, before managing to continue. "‘ADLTR’, could mean adulterer." I allow my gaze to touch upon Daniel’s face and hear Briony emit a small gasp beside me.
"‘Adulterer.’" He frowns and turns to face the window, his back to us. I watch his unhappy face reflected in the glass.
"Well …" Jeffrey says as though there is something to follow, but even he is out of words.
"Do you recognize the irony in it?" Daniel asks, still turned away from us, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, "Caspar was the one having affairs. He was as much a part of adultery and theft as anyone else." His voice rises, whether in anger or sadness I cannot tell.
I sift through the pages again, searching for some particular detail. Not finding it, I glance up to see Daniel staring at us, an expression of weary resignation marring his handsome features.
"There are no women’s names." I cannot be certain whether this is good or bad.
"So, he wasn’t blackmailing his lovers." Jeffrey vocalizes what we are all thinking.
"A gentleman and a fraud." Daniel rolls his eyes.
"Perhaps we ought to go bed." Briony looks around the table.
I cannot help but gratefully agree with her. Jeffrey is not hiding his exhaustion either, suddenly ten years older. Daniel has just discovered his closest friend was a criminal, and Briony is probably as overwhelmed by this drama as I am.
"Yes," I catch her giving me a grateful smile. "Let us stop for now. We should sleep on it and discuss what to do tomorrow."
"You’re right. I am so sorry about bringing all of this into your lives." Daniel gives Briony a contrite look.
"Don’t be a fool, man." Jeffrey gets up and claps Daniel heartily on the back. "None of this is your fault. We could not have known, none of us."
"I should have. I suppose I always knew he wasn’t the best of sorts, but he was a good friend to me and he never asked me for anything."
"Whatever else he was, remember him as your friend, Daniel. Don’t let all of this," I wave vaguely at the heap of papers on the table, "cloud your memories, the happy memories."
"Well said." Jeffrey sighs, and Briony and I get to our feet, carefully scooping together the diary and translated pages, which I hand to Daniel.
"Here, you keep these. We can decide what to do with them tomorrow. It is too late to call Dymas or the police now, and nothing more can be done today."
Daniel takes the bundle, holding it carefully as though the edges are searing hot and sharp as blades.
"Yes, tomorrow."
We all turn to the door, Jeffrey the last in the line, is left to extinguish the lamps.
CHAPTER 15
The morning begins by summoning of the police, called by mutual agreement after a quick breakfast. Inspector Dymas promises to arrive before noon and stays true to his word, rapping the brass knocker at eleven twenty-eight. Briony leads him into the conservatory where he sits, unwittingly, in Caspar’s chair. We pass around the usual greetings; offers of tea or coffee are made and politely refused.
"You said you have found something I should be aware of?" Dymas leans back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, a gesture that in him expresses curiousity rather than rudeness.
"We found something you missed when you searched Caspar’s room." Daniel places the diary along with the papers of translated notes on the table and pushes them toward the inspector.
Dymas looks at them for a moment, then picks up the small, leather-bound book. Flipping through the first few pages, he frowns, creasing his forehead. Every movement of his face leads to another, an intricate network.
"What is this?" Dymas looks at us in turn.
"It’s a code." Daniel is the first to reply, pointing to the sheets of paper. "We were able to translate it last night. The code was not very difficult. Caspar and I used it as children."
"I see." Dymas takes one of the translated pages, his eyes dart across it, narrowing as he nears the bottom. "Are they all like this? So short?"
"Yes. Initially we thought it was bookkeeping."
"Bookkeeping?" Dymas sounds confused, and I chime in.
"Keeping a record of your money. Expenses, savings, earnings, and so on."
He nods and picks up another sheet of paper. "What is the importance of this? It is a good record, but why did he write it in code? Why did he hide the journal?"
Daniel flinches at the inspector’s questions.
"Caspar’s records weren’t purely of a legitimate nature." "Illegal gains, you mean?"
"Ill gotten gains, certainly," Jeffrey adds.
"I understand," Dymas says slowly and allows himself another moment to take in the strange words and numbers on the page, then places it carefully on the table. His face is difficult to read. "Mr. Ballantine was stealing?"
<
br /> "Blackmailing," Jeffrey supplies.
Dymas raises a thick eyebrow. "The names of his victims are recorded here? Do you recognize them?"
"No, not really. Some are abbreviated, and all of them are first names only. I might know them, Jack for example, but then, it’s such a common name, I could easily be mistaken." Daniel shrugs.
"The journal is less than a year old. Did you not say you traveled together these past months?"
"Yes, but again, we met many people, and he could have had other acquaintances I was never introduced to. He liked to gamble, go to parties. I am writing, and prefer quiet time to work. Some of our days were inevitably spent apart."
"What is your book about?" Dymas rests his large hands on the table.
"It’s a travel book." Daniel is uncomfortable answering, one can see in the tightening of his features. In fact, this is the first time he has mentioned his writing. Maybe doubts his abilities?
"Interesting. Well, I am glad you kept me informed. It may help us to discover someone on the island with whom Mr. Ballantine had illegal dealings, and who may have had a motive."
"How will you do that, with only first names? Even those are shortened in some cases. Here," Daniel points to a line on the paper in front of him, "this name, ‘CHRSTS’ or this one, ‘DARS’, or, ‘PHLIP’, or ‘ARSTO’?" Daniel turns to the inspector, frustration drawn across his face. "The most recent entries must have been made here on the island, there are only nine since we have been on Crete. Of those three have dubious connotations."
"Well, ‘CHRSTS’ is surely ‘Christos’ and ‘PHLIP’ must be ‘Philip’. I will make a list of the recent entries and ask my collegues to help. Which are the names of his blackmail victims?"
I wince at the word, still thinking of Caspar as the ultimate victim.
"Let me see." Daniel furrows his brow and runs his eyes down the last page.
Jeffrey and Briony, who have remained almost silent in the exchange, sit closely beside one another, tired and edgy, with lines drawn across Jeffrey’s forehead and visible tension in my cousin’s expression.
"Here we are." Daniel takes a pen to circle three lines on the piece of paper. "Look." He turns the page around to show it to us.