by S J Mantle
“You told them?”
“Yes, I told them the calls were about work.”
“Mike, you’re really mischievous. Did you piss them off a lot?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I really appreciate your support.”
“My absolute pleasure.”
While she waited for Mike to update her further, Harriet began to think about Nick. They hadn’t spoken at the funeral. He must know about her current predicament, but neither Mike nor Derek had mentioned that he’d been trying to contact her.
Smarting with indignation, she left the hotel to drive to a nearby supermarket for food and a bottle of wine. As she drove back, her thoughts returned to Nick. She wondered where he was living, whether he’d moved back into the family home. She couldn’t resist driving past. Parking up around the corner she walked back towards the house, keeping herself tucked into the fence line, conscious that it might still be subject to surveillance. She tiptoed down the side alley and through the back gate. There was someone in the kitchen, the lights were on, and she could hear soft music. She edged her way closer, until she could see into the garden room. There he was, in the company of the young DC he’d been flirting with. Rachel something or other, she couldn’t recall her surname. They appeared to be nearing the end of their meal.
Without warning, they began to kiss passionately. Harriet felt herself blush. She turned away, but something made her glance back and things had progressed. Plates had been pushed to one side and clothing was being removed at an alarming rate. Harriet fought back tears. With her heart beating faster than usual she knew in that moment Nick was no longer for her. Yanking her wedding ring from her finger, she beat a hasty exit, but not before she’d observed her soon-to-be-ex-husband thrusting himself into Rachel. She could no longer ignore Nick’s behaviour.
Later that evening, she wondered how her husband would try to justify his latest encounter. And so soon after Poppy’s death. She clearly didn’t know him. Was this behaviour out of character? Was it possible to live with someone, share a bed, have children with them, but never really know them? She worried about what she was going to say to the children. How would they cope, where would she live? Where would they live? Would there be a hideous custody battle?
Thinking about her relationship problems just made her feel sad and down, she would focus instead on her father’s note books which had now arrived. One entry jumped out immediately.
Today, in a suite of rooms in the Royal Palace, we came across a significant number of carvings: on pillars, over entrances, in the cornicing. The most exquisitely executed images of snakes, or vipers, I’ve ever come across, all identical in design, but not in size. Carved into the stone and marble. But there is no getting away from the fact that this part of the palace feels cold and sinister, and I’m not the only one to think so.
Reaching for the bundle of papers Mike had sent, she selected a crime scene photograph. The tattooed snake was identical to the sketches in her father’s note book. Now might be a good time to explore the historical aspects to this case, Harriet mused. She would travel to her father’s old university first thing in the morning.
CHAPTER 17
On Kate’s desk was a significant pile of laptops awaiting her attention. But instead she was staring out of the window. It was a beautiful summer’s day, far too lovely to be stuck at work. As she glanced at the clock, her mobile sounded.
“Is now a bad time?” asked her father.
“You sound anxious.”
“Do I? Well yes, perhaps I am a little. I understand from Cyrus that you are the model student: attentive, interested, a fast learner.”
“For the first time in my life, I really feel I belong and what I’m learning is worthwhile.”
“I’m so pleased; it was the right thing to support, rather than punish you. Anyway, I’ve called to ask for your help. Cyrus says you’re ready. I’m going to play you a recording of a telephone conversation intercepted between Cleo and an unknown male.”
“It’s me, I’ve found her.”
“Well done, but how?”
“With a bit of help from Steve Smith, we traced the car hire company and with the assistance of another contact, I had the car’s tracker hacked. All I had to do was follow the car.”
“Bloody well done, Cleo. Where are you?”
“Sheffield University, the History building. I’ve had a good look around and there is only one entry and exit point.”
“What the hell is she doing there?”
“Well I’d imagine what any self-respecting detective would do: following up a lead or seeking information. This is where her father was Professor of Ancient History.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Well, I’m obviously a half-decent criminal who does her homework.” Cleo laughed.
“Right then, I’ll send some of my people to take care of this.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea? Look what happened last time, it was a bloody disaster.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Cleo.”
“Really? Really? You have poor recollection; I advised against using your inexperienced cronies. The last job was a catastrophe, sheer recklessness on your part.”
“Whatever, but I’m using my people; hang around if you like.”
“Bloody hell, Dad.”
“We believe the conversation is about Detective Sergeant Harriet Lacey, wife of Superintendent Nick Lacey, you remember? The officer you sent the tape recorder to.”
“Yes, and you think Harriet Lacey is in danger?”
“We do. Word is that she has helped to turn the enquiry into our friends’ deaths around. It is now a multiple murder investigation, but someone close to the investigation is hot under the collar about this and wants her silenced. Harriet is extremely popular, tough, resourceful and intelligent. We can’t allow her to come to harm.”
“What is it that you want me to do?”
“You are to go to Sheffield with a small team and keep an eye on Cleo. You are only authorised to act if you assess that there is a danger to life. Cyrus will brief you. And good luck.”
“Thank you, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate being given a second chance.”
“You’ve earned it, now stay safe please and do not underestimate Cleo.”
CHAPTER 18
Harriet parked her car in a Visitor space. As she opened the car door, the heat of the day hit with full force. It didn’t take long to find the History Department, she’d been to the eighth floor of the tower many times before. It was surprisingly quiet, but the absence of students was soon cleared up by the receptionist. Of course, it was the Summer holidays, this meant there was only a skeleton staff on campus.
It was less than five minutes before Harriet noticed a male sauntering down the corridor towards her. As he got closer she estimated he was at least 6 ft tall, well built, but not fat. He was wearing denim jeans, a casual shirt and beige baggy cardigan. His hair was auburn, layered and collar length. And he was clean shaven. As he got closer, Harriet thought he looked vaguely familiar.
He reached out his hand and introduced himself. “Hello, I’m Professor Andrew Hudson.”
Harriet jumped to her feet. “No, really? I had no idea,” she said.
“And you are?” he replied, smiling, but he looked slightly bemused.
Harriet did not reply; she was staring at the man.
“How can I help you?” he said with obvious amusement.
“Well, I’ve come to see you,” she said, still staring at him intently.
“Well, you’ve got me,” he replied.
“Good God, a Professor? Are you serious?”
“That’s a bit rude,” he said feigning hurt.
“There must be some mistake?” said Harriet.
“No mistake. And you are?”
“Ah, I’m Harry Lacey, but you knew me as Rayfield,” she said.
“Harry Rayfield. No, it can’t be, are you sure?” He was scrutini
sing the woman before him.
“Yes, of course I’m sure, it’s just I don’t usually look like this. It’s complicated.” Harriet removed the wig and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Oh, there she is… nice hair, that’s much better.”
“Well, are you going to discuss the merits of Doric pillars with me or not?” she said grinning.
“Yes, of course, but hang on a minute, it’s starting to come back to me…”
“You’re going to talk about the drunken incident, aren’t you? I was so drunk that it took my roommate two days to move me from her floor to my room.”
“And we…”
“Yes, um, well, I remember kissing you, kissing you a lot, and I remember you leaving, but I don’t recall the bit in the middle. I was too embarrassed to say anything to you, and that was it essentially, the end of a great friendship. You were my best friend and I was too cowardly, too mortified to speak to you about that night. But if I recall correctly, you studiously avoided the subject and me as well,” said Harriet, blushing slightly.
“I know. Well, I was embarrassed too. Suddenly I found myself snogging my best friend. It was confusing and I didn’t know how to get back to being just friends again. It was easier not to speak about it and to leave and never see you again. And yet I have never forgotten and often regretted not putting things right. You know, I really am very sorry.”
Unexpectedly, Harriet felt butterflies in her stomach; she took a deep breath.
“That’s really good to know. But if you don’t mind, we should get on.”
“Yep, no problem, I will do my best to assist, come down to my office.”
As she followed him down the corridor, she thought he’d changed little since their student days together. His sharp wit and his boyish charm were still very much in evidence.
Andrew’s office was a large corner room, framed by windows, light and airy and untidy. Two large well-worn brown leather sofas occupied the centre of the room. A large desk ran along the wall on the far side; it was piled high with a multitude of papers and a heavy desk lamp. Every conceivable piece of wall space had been covered in framed maps and pictures and much of the floor was occupied by boxes containing an assortment of bone fragments and pottery. A man’s room, thought Harriet to herself, as she made her way to one of the sofas.
“Okay,” said Harriet after a short pause. “I’m interested in the period of Macedonian history around 336 BC, before the Persian invasion. I am keen to know more about the dynamics of Olympias, Alexander and Philip’s relationships, about Philip’s death and the aftermath.”
“Okay, but it might take some time.” Andrew gave a wry smile. There was a glint in his eye that she recognised.
“Well, how about you start and I will tell you if you are on the right track?” she said smiling.
“Perfecto, but first I must have a coffee. Do you still take yours with no milk or sugar?”
“How on earth did you recall that?”
Laughing, he said, “You had a huge effect on me Harriet.” Harriet laughed too, but she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Professor Hudson, stop flirting.”
“Okay,” he said grinning.
“Let me see, where to start, there are significant gaps in our knowledge, so some of what I tell you will be supposition. It’s not disputed, however, that before Philip came to power, Macedonian society was rural and pretty unsophisticated, dominated by aristocratic families whose main source of wealth and prestige were their herds of horses and cattle.
“Philip II was in many ways a visionary, for he made a military way of life for Macedonian men. It became a professional occupation under him that paid enough to allow soldiers to be soldiers all year round, unlike in the past when they had only been part-time.”
“I never knew that.”
“Philip also allowed the sons of Macedonian nobles to receive education at Court. With the result that these young men developed a respect and fierce loyalty to their King. This allowed Philip to keep their fathers from interfering with his authority.” He paused for a minute.
“Philip’s marriages are interesting in that he was polygamous. He appeared to marry to strengthen his position. His first marriage is thought to have been to an Illyrian Princess called Audata; this sealed an alliance with the Illyrians, preventing an impending attack. Audata gave birth to a daughter Cynane.
“Next, he married Phila, princess of Elimea. Some believe Nicesipolis of Pherae in Thessaly was the next wife, and that she bore him a daughter, Thessalonica. Then in 357 BC he married Princess Olympias from the neighbouring country of Epirus. A year after this, she bore him a son named Alexander, later known as ‘Alexander the Great’. She also bore him a daughter named Cleopatra.
“Philinna of Larissa may have been next. She bore a son, Arrhidaeus, later called Philip III of Macedon. Then Meda of Odessa, daughter of the king of Thrace, and finally Philip married Kleopatra, a Macedonian of noble birth and niece to General Attalus. Whether Kleopatra bore him any children is much disputed, some historians believe there was no time to have done so, between the marriage and Philip’s death. But there are references to both a boy and a girl and some sources even name the boy. In truth, it’s unlikely that we will ever know for certain. Are you still with me, or are you glazing over, like so many of my students?” he asked.
“No, I am very much with you.” Raising her head from her note book she said, “This is fascinating. I only wish that I had listened more actively when my father used to talk so animatedly about Philip.”
“Ah yes, the great Professor Rayfield. Incredibly knowledgeable, with amazing insight. He is considered this country’s expert on Philip’s reign. I presume you have spoken with him?”
There was a pause. “Sadly, no,” Harriet told him. “He’s now very poorly and suffering from a rare form of dementia called Primary Progressive Aphasia. It’s debilitating.”
“I’m so very sorry to hear that. Do you want a break?”
Harriet shook her head.
“The truth is that very little is known about the character of Philip, or for that matter, his domestic life. Contemporary authors showed little interest in Macedonian internal affairs. What we do know is that the procreation of heirs seemed to affect a royal wife’s status.”
“That sounds predictable,” said Harriet.
“Well, we are talking about at least three hundred and fifty years before Christ.”
“What about Olympias, what is known about her?”
“References to Olympias are rare; it’s thought that she was nearly eighteen when she married Philip, as possibly his fourth wife. She is variously described as beautiful, sullen and arrogant, with a dangerous and violent temper. Some historians think that she enjoyed her high position because her son was accepted as the next in line to the throne. It appears the first-born son Philip Arrhidaeus was deemed incapable of succeeding his father, due to some ambiguous mental disability.
“Olympias is recorded as having a fascination with snakes and for keeping a considerable assortment of large tame serpents with her. She is also recorded as being a devout member of the orgiastic snake-worshipping cult of Dionysus. Some say she slept with snakes.”
“What does that mean, slept with snakes?” asked Harriet.
“Well, it’s not clear, but you are a woman of the world, use your imagination.”
“You are joking! I mean that’s really quite disturbing; this is not fact, right?”
“It’s not clear what is meant by the sources. It could be myth, it could be truth.”
Harriet shuddered; this was not something she wished to dwell on.
“Carry on, carry on.” She was beginning to enjoy herself. By mid-afternoon the Professor has produced a couple of good bottles of Shiraz and some snacks which were improving Harriet’s enjoyment no end.
“Historians Livy & Polybius suggest that the silver and gold mines, at Pangaeus, were the exclusive possession of the King, and allowe
d him to generate currency. It’s believed that the King would divide the rewards of war between himself and his men. During Philip’s and Alexander’s reigns this was a considerable source of income. We are pretty sure that gold and silver loot, taken during the European and Asian campaigns, were smelted into ingots and stockpiled.”
“Do you know, I think I’m very lucky to be alive today. For there is such freedom and equality of opportunity, far beyond the imagination of the women living in Philip’s Macedonia. Western girls today can strive to be pretty much anything they want. And yes, there is still chauvinism and unfairness, but in many ways challenging this defines the modern women. Take the police service for example: for all its protestations of parity it is still far from that. If you’re a woman who wants to get on, you need to be completely single-minded and focussed on your career. There is no room for diversions, and luck plays a huge part. If you have enlightened managers it helps, if you don’t, it can be miserable. In my experience, female managers often become masculine to fit in, which is a great shame. Personally, I think ‘ordinary women’ are bloody amazing. Intelligent, driven, and yet also nurturing. It’s so sad that society fails to appreciate those qualities. To me, many so-called successful men have lost definition. In truth, they are emasculated, cared-for, mothered and nurtured by their far more capable women. Many have lost that raw masculinity that once defined men.”