The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1)

by Clarissa Draper

  DI Hardcastle spoke up now. “Like we have informed your clients, their car has been recorded by CCTV cameras at the time and location of a very brutal murder. They may deny it, but this we have proof of…” He took out the picture, car, and registration plate, clearly seen in the photo. The father looked carefully at the picture before looking at his son.

  “If I may continue,” said Theo. “If you were not involved in that murder, it would be wise to let us know what you were really doing there that night.”

  Ivan just stared at the wall in front of him, not blinking.

  “There’s no proof of any of this. My son was driving, and there’s no crime against driving around.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Richards. There’s not even a crime against climbing out of your bedroom window in the middle of the night with a bag and driving to your place of employment.” The boy turned his head to look at Theo. “We can’t even prove he stole the neighbor’s car. But can I tell you what is funny about lorries? They break down. Every week you come in on a certain morning and the bins are empty, you expect them to be. Dustcarts are usually so dependable.”

  “Blackwell…” DI Hardcastle began.

  “But, sometimes, when you least suspect it, dustcarts break down. And, they don’t get fixed before the officers in my team arrive to find a black bag. Now, because you’re young, I don’t want to see your life ruined more than it needs to be.”

  “Blackwell, I would like to speak to you outside.” DI Hardcastle pushed away from the table and headed toward the door. He stopped when he realized Theo didn’t follow him.

  “The choice is yours. We can pretend we never ever found that bag, bye-bye bag, and you can take the rap for a murder both you and I know you never committed. Alternatively, you could explain to us what the bag means, and what you were really doing that night. I will leave that with you to decide.” That said, Theo followed DI Hardcastle out.

  DI Hardcastle punched his fist into the wall when they left the room. “What are you up to, Blackwell? What bag are you talking about?”

  Theo explained the events of the early morning.

  “What are you playing at? Are you trying to make me look like an idiot? Why would you keep this from me until now? I deserve—”

  “You deserve what? First, I never knew the reason he left his house so early in the morning, and I still don’t. It might not mean anything. I don’t have the bag, and if he realizes that, he may not talk. Second, it was only just confirmed that the neighbor did not give Ivan permission to drive his car. You’re receiving the information as I am. You can’t seriously believe the boy is guilty of multiple murders?”

  “We found a scarf in his closet along with a lock pick, who knows what was in his black bag. He could have got rid of all the evidence he collected from the four murders this morning.”

  “He doesn’t own a computer, and I doubt he did code on the computer at school. The scarf will probably be given to his mother. He’s a petty thief. That doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  “If you screw this—” Hardcastle was stopped by the door to the interview room opening, as the solicitor beckoned them back in.

  “Ivan wants to make a confession about the stolen items,” the solicitor said. “He had nothing to do with the murders.”

  * * *

  When Sophia arrived at Theo’s office later that morning, he told her what had happened in the interview room. “Ivan didn’t murder anyone but has been charged with theft,” Theo said.

  “I don’t know what frightened me more, the thought of rifling through piles of rubbish to find the bag or finding the bins empty,” she said as he poured her a cup of coffee.

  “Sorry about the quality of that brew,” Theo said as she took a big gulp of the black liquid. “You were brilliant to spot him leaving the house. If you hadn’t noticed, who knows how long we would be wasting our time with that boy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I don’t suppose we would have waited long. The real killer would have done something to attract our attention again.”

  Theo took Sophia to the incident room. Dorland held up the Guardian he was reading when they entered the room. Sophia ignored them both and went over to the whiteboard. Pictures lined the board, and she ran her finger along them slowly, examining every inch of the photos.

  Theo moved beside her. She had her finger on one of Margaret’s crime scene photos—the picture of the door covered in the letter H. She turned around to face him. “Have you got anywhere with the H’s? Has anyone thought of what they may mean?” She tapped her finger on the picture, causing it to break loose from its magnet and fall to the floor. As she bent over to pick it up, she stopped. Kneeling down beside it, she cocked her head to the side and stared at it.

  “What do you see?” Theo asked.

  “I see eyes.”

  “Eyes? Where?” He grabbed the picture from her and held it close to his face—searching.

  “Not eyes to see with. It’s not the letter H but the let ter I. The killer painted the letters on the door and then took it off, placing it on its side. On its hinges they would be the letter I, not the letter H.”

  “What does it stand for?” Theo asked.

  “I do think it may give us the motive.” Sophia looked at the photo again. “Let me think aloud. Why would he just take down this door, the closet door?”

  “Perhaps he hates the closet because he was locked in it as a child.”

  She paced the room. “This is just speculation, of course, but don’t most serial killers have some sort of traumatic childhood? Where they are often severely punished or confined in some way? Most likely, our killer was locked away in the closet. That’s why he took the door down. This is his little way of sharing his motive. This is his way of telling us why he did this.”

  She sat down and placed her head in her hands. Theo sat on the edge of a table and watched her. Sophia jumped up quickly. “They are eyes. Not the letters, but the ones on our faces. He didn’t just paint one I, he painted several, and they are eyes. Eyes that see.”

  “See what?”

  “All right, let’s say we are children locked in the closet. Now make sure you take into account the eyes. What do you think that means?”

  “Most likely they relate to the child looking out of the closet,” came a voice from the corner.

  Sophia stopped and smiled at Dorland. “Thank you. That was my thought exactly. Now let’s take it a step further. What do you think the child would have been looking at? Take into consideration that a closet door is usually found in a bedroom, what do you think he saw?”

  The room became still.

  Finally, Theo spoke up. “Are you saying he saw his mother lying there like that as a child?”

  “That may be the case, but I doubt it. See if this makes any sense. If the boy was in the closet when he saw his mother like that… let’s say she was murdered and this is revenge, on whom would he take his revenge? It would most likely be against the person who committed the crime, not the women who resembled his mother. I think he saw his mother in the position that we found Margaret, but she was alive and he hated her because of what she made him witness.”

  “You think she was a prostitute?” Dorland asked. He put the newspaper away.

  “If she wasn’t, she was probably very promiscuous,” Sophia replied.

  “She could be a single mother trying to support herself. What about the father?” Dorland asked.

  “You think the mum locked him in the closet and made him watch her have sex with other men, so he is killing women who resemble his mother? That seems a little far-fetched,” Theo said.

  “It may not be as cut and dried as that,” Sophia said. “The mother may have been very demanding and critical of him because she hated his father, maybe even to the point of being abusive.”

  “Why did he kill the author? Did she remind him of his mother?”

  “I actually think that she was different somehow. She represented another group that he ha
ted.”

  “He had something against writers?”

  “Only some, I guess.” Sophia looked at the code on the board. “We will have to crack the code. We could come up with all the reasons behind why he did those murders, but until we know who he is, there’s no way of catching him.”

  “That is easier said than done,” Theo said.

  “It’s never that hard, code solving. Once you have an idea behind it, it is mainly trial and error from there. Substitute letters, ones that fit with ones that don’t.” With that, Sophia walked out of the room. Theo chased after her.

  He followed her to his office and watched her rummage through her bag. Holding the code papers, she sat down on the sofa. The room was cold and smelled like stale coffee. “What do you plan to do after this is over?” He placed his coffee on the desk.

  Sophia looked up and said, “What do you mean?”

  “Your case has ended,” he said. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought it up.

  “The Masters case wasn’t my only case.”

  “Oh, so you return to MI5?”

  “Have I left?” Placing the papers down in front of her, she sat back on the sofa. “What are you trying to say?”

  He shook his head. “Just curious.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out one strand of hair at a time.

  “Do you want me to be quiet?” he asked her.

  “Yes. If you want me to catch your killer.” She snatched the papers back up but just as quickly brought them down. “Look, I should have told you about Marc and the case and my job.” She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. Hopefully I will be the only innocent person injured in this matter. I learned my lesson the hard way. I seem to live my life that way.”

  “Are you hungry? I can order some food.”

  She nodded. He went to find a takeaway menu somewhere. When he returned to his office with a Chinese menu, he found her curled up on the sofa—asleep.

  Chapter 30

  Sophia sipped her hot and sour soup while she worked on the code. Theo had eaten his Peking-style spare ribs and now slept at his desk. The soup was just what she needed. At last, she dropped the spoon in her empty bowl and turned toward Theo’s desk.

  “Wake up, Theo, you need to ring everyone. I know who the murderer is—and it’s not Ivan Richards.”

  Silence.

  “Theo, are you asleep?”

  “No, but I think I’m dreaming. Did you say you know who the murderer is?”

  “Yes. How soon can you gather everyone to the incident room?”

  Theo sat up and looked at the clock. “It’s after eight. Everyone has gone home for the night. Just tell me who the killer is; we’ll go pick him up.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “So no one will come?”

  “I never said that, but—” he picked up the phone receiver.

  “Good.” She walked out of the room.

  Thirty minutes later, ten officers in various degrees of irritability sat or stood in front of Sophia. She began. “I’ve placed a computer keyboard in front of all of you. It will help you understand what I’ll be explaining. It took a while to understand the brackets but when I finally did, well, it all made sense. The man who came up with this code was incredibly intelligent. But I believe the cracker has been equally as intelligent.” She smiled at everyone, realizing exactly what she was saying.

  “What does it say? Does it give us the name of the murderer?” Deveau asked, slapping Theo on the back.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Sophia replied. “That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? But he does tell us who he is. And we’ll be able to pick him up first thing tomorrow.”

  “Why not tonight?” Deveau asked.

  “Because it does not tell us where he lives. It only tells us where he works. And where he works… well, it’s closed,” Sophia explained.

  “We could phone his employer, get the employee’s records and pick him up tonight. Where does he work?” Dorland asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “I thought you said—” Deveau started, but Sophia cut him off.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to quickly explain the code first. Then you can give your feedback. If you don’t like the way I solved it, you may not agree with what it has to say. Let me do a quick demonstration of what I did.”

  Turning on the computer, she pulled up a blank screen. “The first number was 24, the second was 12, the third 33, and the fourth 23 and so forth. When I figured out the first digit was the row and the second was the finger, I knew it had to be either A, F, or J because a semicolon is not a letter. I assumed it would be the A because that’s a common letter; but I wrote all three down since it could be anything at this point.”

  “I’m not following—” Deveau said.

  Sophia ignored him and continued, “I started on 12 next, which would be the first row. Now my assumption was that it would be the row that started with the letter Z, which I found to be the correct assumption. So the number 12, according to my understanding, had to be the letter C. Now the third number, the number 33, was to be on the third row and the third finger, leaving us with the letters W or the letter O.”

  The men were all running their fingers around the keyboard trying to keep up with her. Some nodded in understanding, others looked puzzled.

  “All right, I think I’m getting it,” said Theo.

  “That’s when I came to realize where the star came in. It represents the hand, the hand the finger is on. If the number had a star in front of it, it means it was pressed by the right hand. Meaning *33 was the letter O. The fourth was *23 which meant it was the right hand on the second row, with the third finger. That would give us the letter L. The brackets were confusing until I understood what they were for. A typist, when they properly lay their hands on the keyboard—”

  “Hands on home row, hands on home row,” said Theo. “I remember typing class.”

  Sophia smiled and said, “Which may be harder to understand for those who only use one finger to type. Finger one of the left hand starting at F and the first finger on the right hand starting at J. Then I wondered, what about the letters G and H? That’s where the brackets come in.”

  “They point to the letters in the middle,” said Dorland, getting up from his chair and moving closer to the board.

  “Exactly. They point to the letters T, Y, G, H, B, and N. Once I figured that out, it was not long before I got both the codes solved.”

  “And they make sense?” asked Deveau.

  “Yes. The first says: A collection of good books, with a soul to it in the shape of a librarian, becomes a vitalized power among the impulses by which the world goes on to improvement. You see what it means, don’t you? That’s why we can’t pick up the killer tonight; we have to find out where he works.”

  “What one… what? What the hell are you talking about?” Deveau asked.

  “The library,” Sophia said, throwing her hands in the air. “Where the killer works.”

  “Are you saying our killer is a librarian?” asked Theo.

  “Yes.”

  “Why the hell is the librarian killing women?” Deveau asked.

  Theo added, “That’s a good question.”

  “This is crazy.” Dorland went to his computer and started typing. “What does the second code say?”

  “No happy ever after. The end,” replied Sophia.

  “That’s the second code?” Deveau asked.

  “It makes perfect sense if you think of it,” Theo said. “There’s something about these women the librarian does not like. It may have to do with their choice of books. Or maybe not. I don’t know yet. He knows where they live because he has access to their addresses. They know him because they see him at the library, and who would suspect a nice librarian of anything devious?”

  Dorland was online, checking a library website. “There must be close to a hundred libraries in London. Which libra
ry does he work at?”

  “I have it narrowed down to three,” said Sophia, the idea finally coming to her.

  “Why only three?” Theo asked.

  “Because I’ve only been to three different libraries.”

  “Do you think this case still revolves around you? Why did the killer single you out?” said Deveau.

  “I think the best thing to do,” Sophia replied, ignoring him, “is to go to all three and get a list of names and addresses of all personnel and track down each of them.”

  Theo grabbed the mobile from his belt. “We don’t want him to get spooked and escape. We’ll need plainclothes officers to get the information.”

  “Yes but—” Sophia started.

  “But, nothing. We can’t take any risks, can we?” Theo interrupted.

  Deveau spoke up in his booming voice. “Come in at five tomorrow morning. I want to get an early start on these libraries. Go home and get what sleep you can. Everyone better be on top of his game. I want this killer caught.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sophia said. “I think I know what library he works at.”

  “How?” Deveau questioned.

  “It’s a case with MI5 so I can’t tell you any details; but, with that case, I frequent a certain library. Normally, I’m there looking for a specific book but I have, in the past, taken out books on code breaking and cryptography and computer codes and the like.”

  “And?”

  “I was in that library a few days ago looking for a book, and a man…” Sophia stopped. It had to be that man. She often got help from that particular librarian.

  “You think you would know what he looks like?” Deveau asked.

  “I can see his face right now.” She shivered.

  Chapter 31

  Sophia stood with Theo and his team outside the library she had visited only days before, waiting for it to open. Police units had surrounded all three libraries armed with search warrants. She was nervously wringing her hands, twice dropping the books she wanted to return. When a tired-looking, young woman finally opened the library, Sophia handed her the books. “I need to talk to the librarian.”