by Alan Veale
401Dox@PROV427
It was a puzzle she had set him to solve. With Emma’s paranoia for security she would have made sure the message was plain enough for him to work out, but impossible for a stranger. So how hard could it be? He was satisfied it was not an email address, and he was ninety-nine percent certain the @ symbol was simply shorthand for ‘at’. Fair enough. Emma was trying to tell him where she could be found. She had gone to ground somewhere, and if today’s events were anything to go by, rightly so. All he had to do was unravel this cryptic jumble of figures and letters. He made himself as comfortable as possible, staring at the first six digits and trying to close his mind to everything else. Minutes later he was sound asleep.
*
It was a beautiful hat, and the face underneath its broad brim was Emma Dearing. Billie reached out a hand to help her aboard but she ignored him. The skirts of her dress brushed his uniform trousers as she swept past, eyes fixed on the ship’s entrance ahead of her. He watched her from behind, admiring her slim feminine shape as she mounted the ramp, gloved fingers lightly brushing the handrail. Captain Smith stood to one side as she boarded Titanic, and he gave a slight bow, but she took no notice. A blast on the ship’s whistle brought a cheer from the dockside. The leviathan was about to sail.
He could see her at the far end of a narrow corridor in a purple gown, but still with a broad-brimmed hat. He called her name. No reaction. She turned a corner out of sight. He followed and found himself facing a bank of three elevators. The middle one was moving. He looked for the staircase but instead found a face he’d seen before. Beaming broadly at him was an older man with deep-set eyes, wispy grey hair and a full beard. Dressed in blue jeans with an open-necked grey shirt and the sleeves rolled up, he looked out of place in the sumptuous panelled interiors of First Class.
‘Billie! I’ve been looking for you. Great job you did back there. C’mon, want you to see something.’ And he turned to lead the way down another corridor.
‘Er… Mr Cameron? I was looking for Emma.’ He ran to catch up with the striding figure and fell into place at his side.
‘She’s looking at this morning’s rushes with Leo. Don’t worry. You’ll catch her later.’
They crossed the First Class lounge on A deck and found yet another corridor, Billie struggling to keep pace with the slightly taller man. There wasn’t a soul around. He stared at the trappings of luxury that he knew would soon be under water. Time was running out, but perhaps most of them were in the lifeboats this time?
‘In here,’ said Cameron, pushing open the door to cabin A36. ‘Have you met Vic Garber, Billie?’
He found himself staring up at the gentle face of Titanic’s designer, Thomas Andrews, or at least the actor playing the role. They shook hands and he was invited to look closely at the plans spread out for examination in the centre of the room. He felt drawn in to the detail, Indian-inked onto fine white parchment sheets displaying the skeleton of the very ship in which he was standing. Garber was talking excitedly about water flow and temperature levels, but Billie’s attention was drawn to the corner of the sheet where Cameron had placed a finger. Right next to Andrews’ title as designer was the build number for Titanic: 401.
He knew the number had to be important, but then so was the need to find a lifeboat. And if he couldn’t find Emma, he would need to report back to Ed. Had he managed to pump the water back out of the hole in the side? Of course he must have. He was an engineer.
Twenty-Two
A nurse took Billie to Ed’s private room. On the way he noticed the name on her badge was Vikki. He was relieved her surname was not Garber. She had intercepted him as he reached the cafeteria, woken from his slumbers by an auxiliary nurse who complained he had been snoring. Now he was starving. Twenty-four hours had passed since he last had a meal—if you could count the breakfast at that budget hotel as a meal. Right now, he could kill for another one, but first he had to see Ed.
More corridors, but nothing like the ones in his dream, and Ed’s room was G12. Billie drew a deep breath as nurse Vikki held open the door, her eyes meeting his with a silent reminder not to tire her patient.
‘Hiya, Slaphead.’ The words slipped out before he could stop them.
This wasn’t the place for macho banter, and the man lying there was in no position to counter with his usual wit. But at least he wasn’t swathed in bandages like the Invisible Man, and he was both conscious and recognisable as the friend Billie had known for nearly six years. Approaching the bed, he took in the saline drip, the ECG monitor and other electrical equipment with cables snaking out of view.
Ed’s face looked swollen and bruised, beard stubble deepening his complexion against snow-white pillows. A smile briefly began to form, but gave up as moist eyes glistened and his lips mumbled two words: ‘I’m sorry.’
Billie sank into the chair at his side. He felt a huge weight of responsibility, but another apology seemed pointless. There were tears in his own eyes as he spoke. ‘I just want to give you a hug.’
‘Not a good idea, mate,’ breathed Ed softly.
‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. This is all my fault. You wouldn’t have been here if I hadn’t told you about Emma.’
‘Correction,’ countered the voice from the bed. ‘It was my shout. My idea to drive down. Don’t suppose you found her?’
‘Who? Emma? No. And the sister disappeared too.’
Ed turned his head slowly and winced. ‘Looks like you were right after all.’
‘How’s that?’
‘You are no good with women. You keep losing them.’
Billie was silent for a moment, unsure what to say next until a question from Ed gave him a prompt.
‘Robin?’
‘On his way. He said he’d catch the first train this morning.’
‘Thanks. Billie? You know this alters things now, don’t you?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s sorted. I won’t involve you anymore.’
Ed half raised a hand with an effort. ‘No! That’s not what I meant.’ He took some painful breaths while Billie registered a change in pitch from the ECG machine behind him. He glanced at the door, half expecting the nurse to come back in. Then Ed spoke again. ‘You’re in danger, Billie-boy. What happened to me can happen to you. Emma was right to disappear. There are some bad guys out there and you need… to take extra care.’
He turned his head towards Billie but closed his eyes after the effort of such a long speech. Billie waited a moment. ‘Ed, why did you run after the car?’
Moist eyes opened again, struggled to focus, then: ‘Ponytail. At the door. He was the driver.’
His eyes closed, and seconds later the nurse was in the room. Billie stood in concern as she checked her patient before indicating he should leave.
‘He’s asleep. Let him rest.’
*
A few hours later both patient and visitor displayed signs of improvement. Ed had slept well and was able to talk to his partner for around thirty minutes. In the meantime, Billie had devoured a cooked breakfast and reached a decision. When Robin returned from his visit the two of them sat in the café together and tried to plan the rest of their day.
‘Robin, I think I owe you more than a dinner at the Finnie. But if you can wait until payday.’
‘Forget it.’ He spoke softly with an Edinburgh accent. ‘Ed made his own decision. Sometimes being impetuous gets him into trouble. He’s quite capable of doing that without your help, so don’t ever think you pushed him into doing anything. I never did!’
Billie nodded. ‘Cheers for that. So you’re going to hang around for a while?’
‘Is that your way of saying you’re not?’
‘If it’s okay with you I’d like to look up an old friend.’
‘I thought that was what got you into this mess.’
‘Not that sort of friend.’ Billie managed a weak smile. ‘Ed’s in the best possible hands and he’s got you here now, so I thought I’d head to a library a
nd give myself some space. The Mitchell’s like a second home to me. I like surrounding myself with books and information, and Manchester Central Library is quite close. It’s where I started out over twenty years ago, so I thought I might go there for a while.’
Robin gave a little shrug. ‘Okay. Go. Ed will be in surgery for a few hours so I thought I’d pick up his car and get us booked in at another hotel. Somewhere a little more… suitable?’
Billie registered the raised eyebrows and slight smile. ‘Good point. Ed must be feeling better if he’s telling tales out of class. I’m so sorry, Robin. This has all been my fault.’
‘Ach, put away your guilt, man. You didn’t ask Ed to pick a fight with a moving car. I’ve told him I’m upping the insurance if he does it again. That’s what you get for chasing women, eh? So, what’s all this about a mysterious code? Ed said the Emma person left you a cryptic message. Mind if I see it?’
Billie passed him the envelope and Robin studied the address for a few moments before holding it above his head and squinting against the light. Then he removed the paper from the inside and repeated the exercise.
‘Sorry, Billie. You probably thought of this already, but have you considered what the address might be underneath?’
‘I never thought about it. Could that be another clue?’
Another shrug. ‘Possibly not. But in your circumstances, and if it were me, I’d be curious why this Emma girl didn’t just use a plain blank envelope. And if she chose not to, and the address underneath is not the one at Salford Quays, what does that tell you?’
Robin passed the envelope back before studying the sheet of paper that had been inside. Now Billie stared at the label bearing his name. Why didn’t I think of that? But one thought prompted another. He tore down the edges of both sides and opened the envelope flat before holding it to the light once again. With only one thickness of paper to penetrate, the outline of some lettering became clearer.
‘I reckon you’re right. That’s not a Salford address. I’m sure there’s two letter O’s together.’
‘Only one way you’re going to know for sure.’
It was a delicate exercise, but fifteen minutes later, following the application of a little water in the gents toilet, the label peeled off, revealing an address in Bootle, Merseyside.
Robin peered at the smudged ink. ‘Mr W Palmer. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ said Billie. ‘Not much. Emma told me before she has family in Liverpool, so this could be the family address. And the girl we met yesterday who claimed to be Emma’s twin also said she was from Liverpool. She certainly had the accent.’
‘You want to go there?’
‘Not on the strength of this… Shit!’ Billie shook his head. ‘I need to go back to the Quays to check something out.’
Robin held up a set of car keys. ‘Well I need to go and pick up Ed’s car before it gets clamped. So, what are we waiting for?’
*
They took a taxi while Billie explained how the police officer attending the scene had taken him back to where Ed had started his run, and where envelopes had been left on the ground. None had been picked up then, but he was fairly certain the name Palmer featured on at least one of the envelopes he assumed were bills. If he was right, then it should complete the connection, and indicate Emma had another name.
But accessing the car park for the apartments was to prove more of a challenge now the sliding gate was back in operation. They waited for a resident to drive in before slipping past the barrier and stopping briefly at the spot where Ed had fallen.
‘Christ, he was lucky!’ Robin shook his head and looked back up the road as if he could spot the speeding car that so nearly killed his partner. ‘Okay, Billie. Let’s go on that paper chase.’
There wasn’t much to see. The area where Billie last spotted the envelopes was free of litter, and marked only by two foot-long skid marks from the Mercedes. Billie found himself wondering if the police stood any chance of tracing the vehicle. Had they even returned to the scene? He and Robin searched back and forth around the few cars occupying spaces, ducking heads to look under the vehicles. A crisp packet and two circulars promoting sheds and greenhouses were all they discovered.
‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ observed Billie. ‘How many occupants of these flats are going to invest in a garden shed?’ He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. ‘Ah well, the wind must have blown them away. It was worth a try.’
As they turned back for the gate Billie reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Dunno. It just felt warm in my pocket. Still does. Think the battery might need replacing, it’s getting low and I’ve had it a while.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Ach. It might be nothing. Let me know if it keeps happening.’
As they left the shelter of the apartment block and crossed open ground, a flash of something white caught Billie’s peripheral vision. Nestling beneath some low-level plants by the side of the path was a grubby white envelope. He reached out with slender hope, turning it over and finding it still sealed. The apartment address was clear to see beneath the cellophane window. More important was the name of the addressee: Ms E Palmer.
*
‘Pure instinct,’ was Ed’s response to Billie’s question. ‘A knee-jerk thing. Promise I won’t do it again.’ He shut his eyes and tried to blank out the images of his Mercedes encounter.
‘But you thought you knew the driver?’
Eyes open again, caught between embarrassment and a need to explain. ‘No, I didn’t know him. I’m pretty sure he was the guy we met at the door when we arrived. He held the door open, remember?’
‘I know there was a guy but I couldn’t have told you what he looked like.’
‘Yeah.’ Ed turned away as if the topic was closed. As Billie stayed silent, he tried again. ‘I never told you this, but I got mugged once.’
‘What? You?’ Astonishment evident in Billie’s voice.
‘Yes, me. You needn’t broadcast it to the whole ward! It was two years ago, in Boston. Got my phone swiped by some sonofabitch in a shopping mall. Stupidly I’d left it on the table in front of me while I was having coffee and I only just caught a glimpse of the guy as he slipped it into his pocket.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I chased after him. First mistake. Should have let it go. I’m insured, I could have locked my data, done a full cloud restore, but no. I saw red and ran after the punk. He had a car waiting. Mercedes SUV. Sped off before I could reach him, and I didn’t even get a look at the plate.’
Billie nodded his understanding. ‘So, when those tyres screeched under Emma’s apartment building?’
‘It did something in my brain, yeah. Sort of made me think I got a second chance. Sorry. Look can we change the subject?’
‘Sure. I’m only grateful you’re still superhuman enough to have survived this particular episode. Any thoughts on the discovery I made with Robin?’
Ed forced a weak smile and looked again at the envelope Billie had proudly laid on the bed for inspection five minutes earlier.
‘I think it’s illegal to open another person’s mail, but what the heck. I don’t suppose our femme fatale will be that bothered. Utility bill, eh? Seems pretty conclusive, and just the one occupant? Bang to rights. Emma Dearing is Emma Palmer.’
‘Or the other way around. My bet is that’s her grandfather at the Bootle address.’ Billie paused. ‘You agree, then? I’ve got to go and see what I can find there?’
‘You have. But for Christ’s sake take care. You’ve only got one life, Billie. Look what happened to me!’
After further discussion Billie agreed to spend the night at a hotel Robin had booked, before travelling to Liverpool by train. Ed was due further surgery, and his partner would be at hand if needed, leaving Billie free to play detective armed with Ed’s Fersen Marine charge card to cov
er expenses. He later joined Robin in the cafeteria and found him looking through a copy of the local paper.
‘He’s looking a lot better, isn’t he?’ said the affable Scot. ‘Right, my turn. Just so you know, I’m not going to mention anything to him about the local news, not yet. Might worry him a wee bit. But I think you should take a look.’
Robin stood up from the table, leaving Billie to take in the newspaper headline: WOMAN’S BODY PULLED FROM SALFORD QUAYS.
Twenty-Three
Billie did not sleep well that night. There were all sorts of reasons: a surprisingly firm mattress, pillows a little too soft, and he couldn’t even open a window for fresh air because he was on the twelfth floor of a forty-seven-storey tower block. But the main thing that kept him from deep slumber was the identity of the body in the Quays.
He had learned very little from the newspaper. The discovery of a body did not make front page news, and the story had been tucked away on page five next to speculation about how the new Prime Minister might implement the result of June’s European Referendum.
Emergency services attended Ontario Basin at around nine o’clock this morning after receiving a number of 999 calls. The woman was pulled out shortly afterwards but was pronounced dead at the scene. The police do not believe she had been in the water very long, and they are appealing for potential witnesses to come forward if they saw or heard anything unusual in the area the night before.