The Last Enemy

by Jim Eldridge

  Jake’s brain was not quite taking this in. What had changed? Had Gareth swung into action?

  ‘Yess!’ exulted Guy. ‘Freedom, here we come!’

  He headed for the door. Jake hurried after him, worried that the door might slam shut before he got out.

  Jake and Guy followed the uniformed constable along the corridor, then up the stairs to the main police station. The first person he saw was Lauren, who rushed towards him and threw her arms around him.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Did they treat you all right?’

  ‘Apart from keeping me locked up, and not knowing what was going on,’ grumbled Jake.

  He looked towards where a man in a dark suit was in discussion with the desk sergeant and filling in forms.

  ‘So, Gareth came through,’ said Jake.

  Lauren shook her head.

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of him,’ she said.

  ‘Then who’s the guy in the suit?’

  ‘He’s from Pierce Randall. He’s representing the other man they’re holding.’

  ‘Guy de Courcey,’ said Jake. ‘So, where’s my solicitor?’

  ‘Bex!’ called Lauren.

  Jake was suddenly aware of a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in extreme goth fashion, who was engaged in a deep conversation with a uniformed constable. The young woman, Bex, turned, and came towards Jake and Lauren.

  ‘Bex was at uni with me,’ explained Lauren. ‘She was studying Law. She’s just graduated.’ Almost apologetically, she added to Jake in a whisper, ‘She was the only person I could get at short notice on a Saturday night.’

  ‘Hi!’ Bex beamed. ‘You must be Jake.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jake smiled. ‘Thanks for getting me out.’ Then, frowning, he asked Bex, ‘I assume I am being released?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Bex nodded. ‘The Force is with us!’ Then she added, ‘Mind, it’s only on a temporary basis.’

  ‘How temporary?’

  ‘You know, bail conditions. And you’ve got to hand in your passport. I told them you’d bring it in later today. Which obviously means you can’t leave the country.’

  ‘Bail?’ asked Jake. ‘How much bail? And who puts it up?’

  Bex shook her head.

  ‘This is police bail, under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984,’ she said. ‘It relates back to Sections 3, 3A, 5 and 5A of the Bail Act 1976, where a suspect is released without being charged.’

  Jake shot Lauren a quick glance to show he was impressed.

  Bex continued, ‘Basically, it means you’re out, but they can call you back for further questioning.’

  ‘Being out is good,’ said Jake.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Bex, ‘I’ve filled in most of the forms. All you have to do is sign them.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jake, with more enthusiasm this time.

  ‘OK.’ Bex smiled. She turned to Lauren. ‘Thanks for this, Laur. It was great! I mean, this is a murder case! How cool is that!’ She smiled again, said, ‘Ciao!’, and then headed for the door.

  Jake looked after Bex as she disappeared, still bewildered by what had happened.

  ‘You sure she’s really a goth?’ he asked.

  Lauren shook her head.

  ‘This week,’ she said. ‘Last week she was a preppy. She tries different phases. I think she’s checking out which one works for her.’

  ‘All that stuff about section this and section that was impressive,’ said Jake admiringly.

  ‘You want my opinion, being a lawyer works for her.’

  ‘Jake!’

  Jake turned and saw Guy standing beside them, still smiling, although Jake was sure there was more than a hint of relief in Guy’s smile this time, for all his bravado about being used to being locked up in various prisons.

  ‘Guy,’ said Jake, ‘this is Lauren, my girlfriend.’

  ‘A pleasure.’ Guy beamed. ‘I’m Guy de Courcey.’

  He held out his hand and Lauren shook it.

  ‘Earl Guy de Courcey,’ said Jake. ‘He’s an aristocrat.’

  ‘But a very poor one.’ Guy grinned. Turning back to Jake, he said, ‘Actually, I was wondering if you felt like getting together later today, after I’ve got myself cleaned up. It appears I’m involved in the business of these books, whether I like it or not, and you seem to know all about them, so I’d like to pick your brains some more.’

  ‘Lauren knows a lot more about them than I do,’ said Jake.

  ‘Then perhaps you’d both like to join me for a spot of lunch.’ He jerked his thumb at the man in the dark suit, who was still talking to the desk sergeant. ‘My new solicitors appear happy to pay my bill for the moment, so we might as well take advantage of it.’

  ‘Actually, Pierce Randall also know a great deal about the hidden library of Malichea,’ said Lauren.

  ‘Yes, but they’ll only tell me what they want me to know,’ said Guy, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘Whereas you two, you’ve been there, from what Jake tells me. So, how about it? Lunch on me?’

  ‘Great!’ Jake nodded. ‘Twelve o’clock?’

  ‘Twelve it is. The Belvedere in the Strand. Just ask for me. I’ll reserve us a table in the restaurant.’

  ‘That’s everything ready, Lord de Courcey,’ said a voice.

  They turned to see the solicitor from Pierce Randall standing beside them.

  He looked tough. Slimly built and tall, with piercing eyes, up close Jake could see that his clothes were the best. As always, with everyone involved with Pierce Randall, money spoke.

  ‘Excellent!’ Guy smiled.

  ‘I have a car waiting outside for you,’ added the solicitor.

  ‘Good.’ Turning back to Jake and Lauren, Guy asked, ‘In case I need to get in touch with you, let me have your phone number.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Jake. ‘When I pick up my mobile and my other stuff from the desk sergeant, I’ll phone mine through to you. What’s your number?’

  ‘Small problem,’ sighed Guy. ‘I haven’t got myself sorted out with a UK mobile yet.’ Gesturing towards the solicitor, he said, ‘These guys are going to do that for me. But I can always use the hotel phone till then.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jake hesitantly. He wrote his mobile number down on a piece of paper, and gave it to Guy.

  ‘Great!’ said Guy. ‘See you two later.’

  With that, he followed his solicitor out of the police station.

  Jake went over to the desk.

  ‘So, is that everything for me too?’ he asked. ‘Can I take my things and go?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said the desk sergeant. ‘There are some forms to sign, and you have to make an appointment to bring in your passport.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Jake. ‘Let’s have the forms.’

  The young man watched from across the street as Jake Wells and Lauren Graham got into their car.

  The sniper rifle he’d used to kill Alex Munro was safe, destroyed. There was no chance of that ever being used as evidence leading to him.

  The next stage in his plan was Jake Wells and his girlfriend.

  It was all about The Index. The Holy Grail. That one book with an untold worth. And it was going to be his. But to get his hands on it he had to be careful, and clever. Put the right amount of pressure on the right people. Tighten the screws. Cause some pain.

  As he watched Jake and Lauren drive off, he smiled to himself.

  Wait till you get back to your flat, he thought. You’re in for a big surprise. A very unpleasant surprise.

  Chapter 5

  As Lauren drove them back to their flat, Jake filled her in on Guy de Courcey.

  ‘If Pierce Randall are to be believed, his family had The Index and the Journal of the Order of Malichea in their library at their stately home until very recently.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ exclaimed Lauren. ‘The Index!’

  ‘That’s what Guy said Alex Munro told him.’

  ‘And then someone shot Alex Munro and framed you for it.’

&nbs
p; ‘Me and Guy,’ said Jake.

  ‘Why?’ asked Lauren.

  Jake shrugged.

  ‘Who knows? To divert attention away from the real murderer and get away with it, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, but why you, particularly? And why this Guy character?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jake. He frowned. ‘Tell me again about Gareth. About not being able to get hold of him.’

  ‘That’s all there is to tell,’ said Lauren. ‘I phoned his house, and I spoke to his wife, who hung up on me. At least, I assume it was his wife. I’ll tell you one thing, she sounded really frightened.’

  ‘I’m still a bit puzzled as to why the police let me go so easily,’ said Jake. ‘Even with your friend Bex and all that stuff about bail regulations.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t,’ said Lauren.

  ‘They had enough to hold me,’ pointed out Jake. ‘The entry in Munro’s diary. The CCTV footage of me in our car in Crouch End at the right time. But they let me go. And without a high-powered solicitor, or Gareth, to threaten them on my behalf.’

  ‘I was surprised that Bex seemed to get you released so quickly,’ admitted Lauren. ‘I mean, Bex knows quite a bit about the law, but she’s not the sort of lawyer who’s going to scare the police. Maybe they felt that if they were letting Guy de Courcey go, they had to let you go as well.’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way, though, does it.’ Jake shook his head. ‘I think there’s more going on here than the police said.’

  ‘Gareth pulling the strings behind the scenes?’

  ‘Maybe. Or someone else is.’

  They reached their block of flats, and Lauren parked. They caught the lift up, and unlocked the door of their flat. Jake was about to walk in, but Lauren stopped him and peered round the partly open door. Then she told him, ‘Someone’s been in here.’

  ‘What?!’ said Jake. ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘After what happened with your bag being taken from the British Library, and then you being arrested, I got a bit scared. Say there really is someone after you. Or after whatever they think you had in that case. So I left a small box just behind the door. If anyone opened the door, the box would be pushed back. But the intruder wouldn’t notice it, because the box was light.’ She stepped in and pointed at a small cardboard box behind the door. ‘There,’ she said. ‘It’s moved back from where I left it.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Jake admiringly. ‘You are so cool! You could be a secret agent.’

  ‘Be serious!’ said Lauren impatiently. ‘Someone’s been in our flat!’ A sudden alarming thought struck her, and she whispered, ‘Maybe they’re still here!’

  Jake shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘These people are professionals. You can tell by the fact that the lock and the door haven’t been damaged. Professionals like that would have someone outside watching for us to come home, and they’d alert whoever was in here and get them out.’

  ‘Unless they’re deliberately waiting for us in there,’ whispered Lauren.

  ‘Good point,’ admitted Jake. ‘OK, you go and stand outside. Dial 999 on your mobile and keep your thumb ready poised to press “call” if I yell out.’

  ‘Say they don’t give you a chance to yell out?’ asked Lauren. ‘Do you think we ought to call the police?’

  ‘And tell them what?’

  ‘That we think someone’s in our flat.’

  Jake weighed it up. It made sense. If there really was someone in their flat, waiting for them, it would be foolish to just walk in.

  But, if someone was after them, surely they’d have snatched them before they actually got into the flat. Unless they didn’t want to risk attracting witnesses. Inside their flat, there’d be no one to see.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Lauren.

  ‘I’ll take a chance,’ said Jake.

  He stepped inside. This is crazy, he admitted to himself. If there is anyone in here, all they have to do is wait until I step into the room where they’re hiding, and knock me out, or tazer me, or whatever they plan to do. And do it before I can shout out to Lauren to warn her.

  ‘I’m going to keep talking all the time!’ Jake called to Lauren. ‘If I stop talking, run and call the police.’

  With that he moved slowly along the short hallway. He could feel his heart beating faster. Calm, he told himself. Keep calm.

  ‘The kitchen first,’ he called. The door was open, and he could see at a glance there was no one in the tiny kitchen.

  ‘Kitchen clear!’ he called. ‘Moving on to the bathroom next.’

  The bathroom door was shut.

  ‘OK, I’m at the bathroom door,’ he announced. He wondered if Lauren could hear the fear in his voice.

  Keep it cool, he told himself urgently.

  He pushed the door handle down, and then shoved the door open hard, at the same time leaping to one side in case anyone had a gun aimed at the doorway.

  There was no movement or sound at all from the bathroom.

  He was sweating now, trying to hold himself together, expecting at any moment someone to appear, armed with a gun or a knife.

  ‘Going into the bathroom!’ he called. ‘And counting, one, two, three . . .’

  There was no one in the bathroom. He let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Bathroom clear!’ he called.

  He moved on to the bedroom. The door was closed.

  ‘OK, I’m about to go into the bedroom!’ he said. ‘I’ll keep counting!’

  He opened the door and stepped carefully in, all the time counting out loud so that Lauren could hear him, ‘One, two, three, four, five . . .’

  No one was in the room. He went to the wardrobe, still counting out loud the whole time, pulled the door open and stepped back sharply, just in case anyone was hiding inside.

  ‘Bedroom’s clear!’ he called. ‘I’m moving on to the living room!’

  Still counting out loud the whole time so that Lauren could hear, still petrified and waiting to be attacked, he edged carefully into the living room. Everything looked the same, undisturbed.

  ‘There’s no one here . . .’ he began, and then he stopped.

  ‘What the hell’s that?!’ demanded Lauren, shocked, and he saw she’d come in and, like him, was staring at the window.

  There, in large letters on the glass, someone had written ‘Malichea’. Underneath was added: ‘Next time you die’.

  Jake could feel his heart pounding harder than ever and his throat had gone dry.

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ said Lauren. ‘When they see this it will prove there’s someone after us!’

  Jake shook his head.

  ‘They might think that we wrote it ourselves. It’s obvious that DI Bullen is suspicious of me.’

  Lauren sank down on to the settee. She looked as shaken as Jake felt.

  ‘I can’t live like this,’ she complained.

  ‘It’s the price we pay for getting mixed up with the hidden library.’

  ‘But we haven’t been involved for ages!’ Lauren pointed out.

  ‘Someone thinks we are,’ said Jake. He pointed at the words on the glass. ‘And now, with this, and me under suspicion of killing Alex Munro, it looks like we’re well and truly involved again.’

  ‘So, what’s our way out of it?’ asked Lauren.

  ‘I think our only way out is going to be working with fellow-accused, Guy de Courcey,’ said Jake. ‘If Pierce Randall can get him off, then maybe the case against me will collapse as well.’

  ‘And maybe, working with him, we might even get our hands on The Index,’ said Lauren.

  ‘Which is a long shot,’ pointed out Jake. ‘But, if we can, then that will solve everything.’

  Chapter 6

  They entered the palatial reception area of the Belvedere Hotel as the ornate clock behind the desk was striking twelve. Not loud bongs, but discreet musical chimes fitting to the aura of elegance of a time gone by. There was a distinct air of money here: old money, new money, any money, so
long as there was a lot of it. Guy de Courcey claimed he was broke, and his family had always been hard up, but Jake was sure that a hotel like this would have still been the kind of place where they would have stayed when in London.

  The furniture, the decor, even the uniforms that the hotel staff wore all looked as if they were from the London of Charles Dickens. As Pierce Randall were picking up the bill, it was definitely the right place for the recently ennobled Earl Guy de Courcey.

  Jake and Lauren approached the desk, where the receptionist on duty smiled a greeting at them.

  ‘May I help you?’ he enquired politely.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘We’re here to meet Guy de Courcey. Could you ring his room and let him know we’re here. Jake Wells and Lauren Graham.’

  The receptionist gave them an apologetic look.

  ‘I’m afraid Lord de Courcey checked out,’ he said.

  Jake and Lauren exchanged bewildered looks.

  ‘Checked out?’ repeated Jake. ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘But . . . we only saw him a couple of hours ago,’ said Jake, bewildered. ‘And we arranged to see him here at twelve o’clock. Did he leave any message for us?’

  The receptionist shook his head.

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. He left no messages.’

  ‘He didn’t say anything when he left about people calling to see him?’

  The receptionist hesitated, then said, ‘Actually, Lord de Courcey did not check out himself. He sent an emissary, who paid his bill and collected his belongings.’

  ‘Did this emissary have a name?’ asked Lauren.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t give out that kind of information,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘What did this emissary look like?’ asked Jake desperately.

  The receptionist looked suspiciously at Jake and Lauren.

  ‘Are you asking these questions in any kind of official capacity?’ he asked. ‘If so, I would appreciate it if you could show me some documentation, because we make it a practise never to discuss our clients.’

  Wary of journalists looking for gossip, thought Jake. He shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we’re concerned for his safety and we wanted to make sure that nothing unfortunate had happened to him.’