by Jodi Taylor
‘I owe you a lot.’
‘Friends owe each other nothing.’
‘You’re Matthew’s mentor. He’s named after you.’
‘He doesn’t need me now. He has his parents back.’
‘Do you miss him?’
Ellis was a captain in the Time Police. His face showed nothing he didn’t want it to but the emotion was there just the same. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s well. And busy. He and his tutor are building a robot to Markham’s specifications.’
He managed to laugh. ‘That’s never going to end well.’
‘Yes, the whole building is braced for imminent catastrophe.’
‘I thought that was St Mary’s default state.’
‘Matthew . . .’
‘Max, there’s no need to say any more.’
‘No.’ I took a breath. ‘If you would like to, Leon and I would be happy to welcome you to St Mary’s to spend some time with Matthew. You know . . . if you would like to.’
‘Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.’
I nodded. ‘How is Leon doing?’
‘He is being surprisingly cooperative.’
‘He didn’t do it.’
‘I never thought he did.’
I looked around. There were cameras but the atrium was noisy. We should be safe.
‘Is that why you left the file?’
‘What file?’
‘No idea.’
He stood up. ‘It is good to see you again, Max.’
‘You too.’
‘My best to Matthew.’
I got up to go, too. ‘How’s North?’
‘Taking the place by storm.’
‘I thought she might.’
‘She’s not a secret weapon, is she? Because I could so completely see that.’
I laughed. We were walking towards the exit when I remembered something.
‘What happened to Donald and her egg?’
Donald was half of Donald and Hillary, the two dodos we’d used as bait for a very greedy man when I was seconded to the Time Police. Hillary had not survived. He’d been killed to make a point.
‘We managed to save the egg.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if they’d made an omelette out of it but remembered just in time that this was the new, nice me.
‘What happened to it?’
‘We returned it to Director Pinkerton who received both it and Donald in frosty silence.’
‘I can imagine.’
He sighed. ‘Yet another incarnation of St Mary’s that thinks badly of the Time Police.’
‘Never mind. A man – or an organisation – is known by the quality of their enemies. You can be quietly proud.’
‘As indeed we are. Anyway, when last heard of, Donald and Hillary 2 were both doing well.’
We halted and faced each other.
I said, ‘Take care.’
‘You too, Max.’
He hesitated and then put out his hand. I took it and then he walked away.
Returning to St Mary’s, we decontaminated all over again and then spent the traditional twelve hours in Sick Bay. None of us died of anything. Peterson caused some minor consternation with a small sneezing fit but it turned out he’d simply been too free with the black pepper.
We were released the next morning and then it was straight off to Dr Bairstow.
‘Interesting,’ was all he said at the end of our reports, and that was all we got. I thought at least we might rate a ‘satisfactory’, but obviously not.
‘We’ll give them . . .’ he paused, considering, ‘. . . five days to produce Leon.’
‘They will release him?’ I said anxiously.
‘I think so. If not, we’ll have to pop back and have another word with them, but I don’t think there’s any great will to keep him there. Remember it was Captain Ellis who left the file behind in the first place. The one that gave us all the information we needed to carry out our own enquiry.’
‘We didn’t find the killer though,’ I said, gloomily.
‘We don’t have to, Max. All we had to do was prove Leon’s innocence. Whoever did kill Monique is not our business.’
‘How did the Time Police even find out about Monique?’
‘Ah,’ said Peterson. ‘I think I can help you there. I asked Ellis and he said there had been a public tip-off.’ He considered that sentence. ‘I mean a tip-off from a member of the public.’
We thought about that in silence. We all knew who the killer was. Clive Ronan. In partnership with Izzie Barclay. Kill Leon’s first wife and tip off the Time Police that her murderous husband is hiding at St Mary’s in another time.
And it was worse than that. I hadn’t forgotten the tickets. If Monique had been killed before she could travel to England – before she could donate her blood – then Ronan hadn’t just killed Monique, he’d killed her children as well. If Leon ever found out . . .
And that’s how I came to lie to Leon.
He was returned to us – surprisingly intact – some three days later. Being the Time Police, they just dropped him on the South Lawn and pushed off again. I met him in Sick Bay where Dr Stone was checking him out.
‘No,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Nothing wrong with you at all, Chief. They appear to have treated you quite well. I hope you reciprocated.’
‘No comment,’ said Leon.
‘Please don’t tell me you’ve been channelling your wife again because that never ends well.’
‘No, both sides regarded each other with mutual distrust and suspicion. However, having nothing to hide, I answered all their questions fully and I think they were surprised by my cooperation.’
Dr Stone sighed wistfully. ‘Cooperation – I wonder what that’s like.’
‘Well, you won’t find out here,’ I said. ‘Can I take him away now?’
‘I’d have half an hour’s peace before facing the world if I were you. I’ll send in some tea.’ He disappeared.
Leon took my hand. ‘Max . . .’
‘Now don’t get all sloppy and sentimental, Leon. I’m always telling you, no matter what sort of trouble you manage to get yourself into, I will always come for you. No matter when or where – I will always come for you.’
He was silent.
‘What? What’s the matter?’
He took a deep breath. ‘I cooperated.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘I answered their questions because I couldn’t afford for them to use the truth cuff.’
My blood turned cold. The truth cuff was a nasty piece of Time Police kit. A cross between a lie detector and a torture device. Tell the truth and you’d be fine. Deviate even a fraction from the virtue of veracity and you’d be experiencing pain. The more you lied – the worse the pain got. That’s putting it simply but to be fair, simple is about all the Time Police can manage.
It was a struggle but I kept my voice steady. ‘Why couldn’t you afford for them to use the truth cuff?’
‘For the same reason I couldn’t look at you when they took me away. Max – I have to tell you this. There are some huge gaps in my life around that time. Long periods when I don’t remember anything. I’ve always assumed I never found her because I didn’t remember finding her. As soon as they read the charge I thought – what if I did do it? What if I had killed her in some sort of alcoholic rage and didn’t remember it?’
‘You didn’t,’ I said. ‘And I say that with complete confidence. The concierge who said you visited the building that night – Odette Duval – was Izzie Barclay. She spliced the tape. You were framed.’
‘Yes, so they said. But why would she do that?’
I shrugged. ‘Jealousy. Revenge. You name it.’
He shook his head. ‘But it can’t have been her. Mon
ique kept herself fit. Barclay wasn’t much bigger than you. Monique would have flattened her.’
I said quietly, ‘Didn’t they tell you? We think she was working with Ronan. That he actually – did the deed.’
He was quiet for a long time, thinking about it. ‘Tell me everything you did.’
I nodded. ‘OK.’
But I didn’t. I never mentioned the tickets. Not a word. Leon didn’t need the tragedy of knowing that Ronan’s intervention might have been responsible for his boys’ deaths. That Monique might have been on her way and Ronan killed her before she could leave France. That Leon’s whole life could have been different. I knew him well. He’d be out of the door and he wouldn’t rest until he’d tracked Ronan down. No matter if it took him the rest of his life. We’d said we wouldn’t allow Ronan to impact our lives any longer – although, to be fair, we’d never imagined anything like this – and he didn’t need to know, so I didn’t tell him. For the first and last time in my life, I deliberately lied to Leon.
And chalked up another reason to see Clive Ronan dead at my feet.
14
And so, after that small hiccup, back to work. All the Crete stuff was still strewn across my briefing table, just where I’d left it. As was the mug of cold tea squatting unpleasantly in the middle of it. Why the hell Markham wanted an assistant was beyond me. I lowered myself into my seat and began to hatch dark plans for swapping Rosie Lee with Mrs Shaw without either of them – or Peterson – actually noticing.
I said abruptly, ‘Are you pregnant?’
She looked up from her desk where she was pretending to do something. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Completely sure.’
‘Only I wondered if you’d been forbidden to lift heavy objects.’
‘What heavy objects?’
‘Like that mug of tea on the table over there.’
‘That’s a mug of tea? I thought you were using it as a paperweight. You always say don’t touch your paperwork unless I want to lose the use of my fingers so I didn’t.’
‘There’s something growing on the surface.’
‘Don’t be such a baby. That’s a slice of lemon.’
I prayed for patience. ‘Could you make some tea, please?’
‘I have to catch the post.’
‘It’s a quarter past eleven. The post doesn’t go till four.’
‘Mrs Partridge likes it delivered in good time.’
‘You’re practically in time to catch yesterday’s.’
Sarcasm doesn’t work well on Rosie Lee. ‘No, I’m not. Yesterday’s post went at four. Yesterday.’
‘Where’s my tea?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Right – that’s it. I’m trafficking you to Markham. I shall tell Mrs Partridge you’ve requested a transfer to the Security Section. She’ll be thrilled because it’ll get Markham off her back.’
She rose to her feet. We glared at each other. Showdown. This was it.
The phone rang.
We both looked at it.
‘Leave it,’ I said, waving her away. ‘You don’t work here any longer. I’ll answer my own phone.’
She snatched it up, listened for a moment. ‘Now? All right.’ She put the phone down. ‘Dr Bairstow wants you.’
She paused before the coup de grace. ‘Shall I bring your tea to his office?’
Mrs Partridge wasn’t in the outer office and I paused, uncertain whether to go in or not. His door was ajar and I could hear voices. He had a visitor.
I tapped gently on the door, all ready to go away again but a voice instructed me to come in so I did.
Dr Bairstow was Entertaining a Stranger. Not exactly a First, but certainly a Fourth or a Fifth. And the stranger was . . . ta-dah . . . female.
I knew he sometimes had the Chancellor of Thirsk University over and the two of them would share something potent from his bottom drawer and gossip over the old days, but I couldn’t think of any other non-St Mary’s-related female who’d ever been in here. You can disregard the Parish Council because he doesn’t actually regard them as members of the human race. Especially Mrs Huntley-Palmer.
And we had the best cups out as well. Mrs Partridge was laying them out on the briefing table. I counted them. Yes, there was one for me. It would appear I was to be included in this debauch.
He looked up as I entered. ‘Ah, Dr Maxwell, come in, please.’
He now had three women in his room. A bit of a record for him. And he looked reasonably happy about it.
‘Good morning, sir.’ I nodded to his guest. ‘Ma’am.’
He turned to his guest. ‘How would you like me to introduce you?’
She didn’t need introducing. The resemblance was astonishing. I was looking at Celia North as she would be in another thirty years. It wasn’t North, though – this must be her mother.
I knew her name wasn’t Mrs North because North was actually Lady Celia North, although to be fair to her, she never mentioned it. Which made her mother the . . . hang on . . . Dowager Countess of Blackbourne. Mother of the current Earl of Blackbourne.
She smiled. ‘I can be whatever you find easiest. I do sometimes go by Mrs North. Or Lady Blackbourne, if it seems expedient. Professionally. . .’ and here she glanced mischievously at Dr Bairstow, ‘. . . professionally, I am known as Mrs Brown.’
For the first time ever, I saw the Boss stuck for words. There was a long moment and then he said politely, ‘I beg your pardon? You are Brown?’
‘Yes. I am the new Brown.’
No – I was lost, too.
‘What happened to . . . ?’
‘To the former Brown? Please do not be alarmed – he is alive, well and retired. And making his wife’s life a living hell, judging by her frequent requests for us to take him back.’
Dr Bairstow smiled. One of his genuine ones. Not one of the won’t you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly ones. ‘Please, if you have the opportunity, give him my regards. Does he know you are here today?’
‘He does. He says he hasn’t bothered to ask me to remember him to you because he’s convinced you won’t have forgotten him. He certainly hasn’t forgotten you.’
He said with some difficulty, ‘I know that Mrs Green . . . died.’
‘Yes, that was very sad. There was a new Green appointed, of course. I don’t think you have ever met him.’
‘No, these days, most of my communications go through the Chancellor at Thirsk. I tend to stay away from London. To mutual relief, I suspect.’
No, I still didn’t have a clue.
Mrs Partridge passed around the tea, looked at me and then shook her head severely at the biscuits which I took to be either a warning to them to behave themselves or gentle hint to me not to eat them all myself.
I was at rather a loss as to why I was here and what was going on, but the tea was good, the biscuits were better and it’s always fascinating to see Dr Bairstow interacting with a member of the opposite sex, so I thought I’d sit back, sip and wait.
Mrs Brown smiled at me and there was more than a hint of steel behind it. ‘So, Dr Maxwell, if you would be so good, tell me exactly what happened during your jump to Jerusalem.’
I hope I didn’t look surprised, but I did look to Dr Bairstow for guidance. That she knew we jumped at all was worrying. That she knew we’d been to Jerusalem was very worrying. I didn’t know what to say.
‘Mrs Brown is a member of the government department which supervises our activities, Dr Maxwell. You may speak without reserve.’
So I did. I told her everything. I explained the importance of avoiding Triple-S sites and how the idiot Halcombe had forced me to make the jump to witness the crucifixion. How North had been the hostage. How we’d honestly expected to die there. I emphasised how important it had been not to all
ow the pod to fall into Halcombe’s hands – although I did try to tone down the humane killer bit. Mrs Brown looked as tough as they come but it’s not a picture every parent would be comfortable with. That big, ugly bolt rammed into North’s eye as the computer counted down to our destruction.
I did, however, emphasise her courage. Because she’d been bloody brilliant.
‘To tell the truth, ma’am, I was looking for a way out but Celia was adamant. She was doing her duty and I must do mine.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that sounds very like Celia.’ She put down her cup and saucer. ‘She admires you very much, you know.’
‘No,’ I said honestly, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Oh yes. She frequently spoke of you. And not just in terms of wanting your job.’
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘I can’t believe it was anything other than to criticise my decisions and imply how much better she could have handled things.’
‘If you substitute the word differently for better, then yes, that’s spot on.’ She paused and turned her cup in the saucer. ‘And now, she tells me she wants to work for the Time Police.’
There was no clue as to how she felt about this.
‘There was a mutual attraction, ma’am. As an organisation, they were crying out for someone like her and I certainly think Celia will benefit from . . . more . . . structure . . . than she experienced here at St Mary’s. Having said that, she is missed a great deal. She made her own unique contribution to our organisation. She was competent, reliable and she always did her duty. Yes, I find myself missing her very much.’
She smiled. ‘I am immensely proud to hear you say so. Thank you.’
Dr Bairstow stirred. ‘Thank you, Dr Maxwell.’
I was dismissed. I stood up to go. Mrs Brown stood as well, and to my surprise, offered her hand.
‘I am very pleased to have met you at last, Dr Maxwell. I hope we shall meet again.’
‘As do I, ma’am. Good afternoon.’
Well, that was a bit of a turn up for the books. I mean firstly that North actually had had parents and not sprung, fully formed, from Zeus’s head. Or, if not his head, then some other part of him, although now I come to think of it, I couldn’t imagine North springing from anyone’s anything. Possibly more like Aphrodite, she’d beached herself in a giant shell on the shores of somewhere or other. I was so busy trying to remember where – Cyprus? Crete? No, Cyprus – that I was back at my office before I realised it. The mug of cold tea was still there. Rosie Lee, however, was not. Probably off catching next Wednesday’s post.