Solomon's Key

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Yes, but remember, don’t print anything about a second victim or missing body parts.’

  She stood. ‘Will I get an exclusive if I obey you?’ Her voice went an octave lower when she said obey.

  I was aroused. ‘It’s a possibility. That’s all I’ll say for now.’ I had to offer her something, I thought.

  ‘OK, see you tonight.’ She smiled. Her white teeth hypnotised me.

  Leaving the door open, she walked down the corridor. I knew that she knew I would be watching her. She was right. I was, and she would be seeing me tonight.

  KP returned, shut the door and sat down. ‘Is she going to print?’ Without waiting for a reply to her question, she said, ‘I thought she was a bit obvious.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she’ll print anything untoward, she knows it would be a mistake.’ I kept a straight face by willpower alone. ‘What do you mean, obvious?’

  ‘You men have no idea.’ She rolled her eyes and let out a wry laugh. ‘She was giving you the come on, thrusting her chest at you, and flapping her eyes. She’d do anything for a story.’

  ‘I didn’t notice.’ Lying seemed to be the best policy.

  ‘You noticed all right, that’s why she was doing it.’

  Trying to move the conversation away from Sally Renshall’s breasts I said, ‘What about the call?’

  ‘It was made from a kiosk on the High Street. I’ve sent forensics there. I think it’ll be a waste of time.’

  The High Street wasn’t far away, I thought. Slumping back in my chair, I felt like I’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Did you deposit Miss Renshall in forensics?’

  She clucked. ‘Yes, she’s there giving them all an eyeful.’

  I brought my hand up to my mouth, feigning a cough to hide my grin. Steering her away from Miss Renshall, I asked, ‘Has Ali contacted GCHQ yet?’

  ‘They wanted her to send the messages over to them. Said they had the right equipment there to decipher it. Ali persuaded them that it would be better to work on the clues in the context of all the other evidence and the overall investigation.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘We have other evidence?’

  She smiled. ‘Anyway, they’re sending someone tomorrow morning, a Miss Suzie Palton. They made it quite clear that we would be paying her expenses.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ***

  I was catching up with my backlog of paperwork when KP stuck her head round the door. ‘Gov, DI Leckwith from Knightsbridge. Should I show him in?’

  I looked at my watch. It was ten-past four. ‘Who?’

  ‘The DI who was in charge of the Irene Stone investigation.’

  ‘Oh Yes! Come in and take notes will you?’

  A painfully thin man came through the door. Gaunt skin stretched over prominent cheek bones. His sunken eyes looked as though they carried the sins of the world. I pointed to a seat.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Not for me, Sir.’ He leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘Gives me wind.’ I saw KP writing and hoped she wasn’t recording DI Leckwith’s bowel problems.

  ‘What can you tell me about the Irene Stone murder?’

  ‘Yeah, that was a weird one, for sure.’ He pulled out a tatty old notebook from a side pocket of his raincoat and flipped over a couple of pages.

  ‘Here we are, the twenty-first of October 2002. I was running it through my mind on the way over here. Parents had gone to the ballet, and left her in the house alone. They returned, and went to bed thinking their daughter was in her room asleep. The mother found her about twelve the following day, both hands missing, blood all over the bed. I couldn’t prove it, but I reckoned the killer was still there when the parents came home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What he did, the sexual abuse, sawing off her hands, waiting for her to bleed to death, it would have taken a lot longer than the time the parents were gone.’

  ‘What makes you think he didn’t leave before she was dead?’

  ‘No, he couldn’t have done. She was tied up with…’ He referred to his notebook. ‘Yeah, forensics found a couple of strands of green nylon cord. The killer took the cord with him. He wouldn’t have been able to do that unless she’d been dead.’

  ‘What about the message hanging from her ear?’

  ‘Bloody thing! Nobody could make head or tail of it. We even co-opted a suit from the Home Office. A crypto’ something or other. He didn’t have any luck either. In the end, we gave up. Figured it wasn’t going to give us the killer’s name, anyway.’

  KP looked up from her note-taking. ‘Was there a newspaper left at the scene?’ she asked him. ‘There was nothing in the evidence list.’ The newspaper was obviously eating away at her.

  He thumbed through his notebook until he found the page he was looking for. ‘Yeah, there was a paper…Here it is, the Independent. It was strange, we never did figure out how it got there.’

  ‘Suspects?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a one. The girl had a boyfriend…’ He looked in his notebook again. ‘Friend’s stag night, had a hundred witnesses, including a stripper who….’ He glanced at KP. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t the boyfriend.’

  ‘Close family?’

  ‘No. There was a brother, but he lived in Cornwall. No one else.’

  ‘What did the parents do?’

  ‘Work, you mean?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He was retired. She’d never worked, but did a bit for charity now and again.’

  ‘What did the father do before he retired?’

  He riffled through his notebook scanning each page until eventually, he said, ‘No, don’t know. Figured it wasn’t relevant. I knew it wasn’t either of the parents. They were where they said they were. Friends vouched for them. He’s dead now. Committed suicide shortly afterwards, I recall reading it somewhere. Don’t know what’s happened to the mother.’

  ‘Any ideas on why the hands were taken?’

  He scratched his long thin nose. I couldn’t help thinking that he looked like someone out of a 1940s detective movie, James Cagney or Humphrey Bogart, maybe. Underneath his raincoat, he had on a crumpled double-breasted brown suit. He even wore a grubby trilby that he turned round and round in his hands.

  ‘Loads of speculation by the team at the time, but frankly, we didn’t have a clue. This was not a case I was particularly proud of. We expected there to be another killing, but nothing. We gave it six months and then it went into the unsolved pile. Expect you’ve had another one now, that’s why you’ve got me over here. I knew then there’d be another one sooner or later.’

  I ignored his probing, stood and offered my hand. ‘Thanks for coming DI Leckwith, you’ve been a great help. If anything else comes to mind, please give me a call.’ I passed him a card.

  He stood and shook my hand. His handshake felt as limp as he looked. He positioned his hat on his head at a jaunty angle with great care. KP opened the door. He turned to me before he left. ‘I hope you have more luck with it than I did, Sir. Damned case gave me nightmares and ruined my career.’

  I walked along the corridor to the toilet. It was empty. I leaned over a washbasin, pushed for cold water and swilled my face. I stood up and looked at the person in the mirror. Water dripped on my dark grey suit jacket, white shirt and black and grey striped tie. I remembered Angie saying that she’d only married me because I bore a striking resemblance to a young Clint Eastwood. I had laughed, and said she must have been disappointed then. That life had been stolen from me. I went back to my office.

  I sat there for a long time with my face in my hands and my eyes closed thinking of Angie. When I opened them again, it was dark outside. Apart from the light filtering in from the corridor through the frosted glass of my closed door, my office was in darkness. I switched the desk light on. It was six-thirty. Where had the time gone? I phoned Harry and told her I’d be late and not to wait up for me.

  I walked along the corridor to the Chief’s office.
She had already left for the night. The incident room was like the Marie Celeste. KP had made a note on the board about the phone call Sally Renshall had received. Forensics had provided a profile based on Sally’s description of the voice: White, London accent, 25-35 years old, well spoken, educated. It fitted in with my psychological profile. Irene Stone’s photograph and the details of the murder had been posted. The messages taunted me. The psychological profile and details of muti killings had been pinned to the side of the board. KP had also stuck up brief notes from my conversation with DI Leckwith.

  ***

  I walked into the Merry Widow pub on Jamaica Road in Bermondsey. It was close to the tube station. I could hear the boats on the Thames and see the lights on Tower Bridge. Along the road was the Royal Naval College. The Chief and I had arrived there by helicopter five months ago to attend a high-level conference on crime statistics.

  I felt in need of a drink. It was seven-fifty, I was early. The pub was busy with what appeared to be the locals sitting in their regular seats at the bar, playing darts, or feeding the ravenous fruit machines. A few, like me, obviously didn’t belong there. I ordered an extra-cold Guinness, and watched as the creamy top formed. At last it was ready. I downed half of it in one gulp, using the back of my hand to wipe the cream off my top lip.

  ‘I knew you’d come,’ Sally whispered in my ear putting her hand on my arm.

  ‘I was passing.’ I said then smiled and inhaled the perfume she was wearing. I had no idea what it was, but it made my head swim. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Vodka and bitter lemon.’ I’d never heard of it before, but it sounded refreshing.

  I ordered her drink and another Guinness for myself. Whilst I was waiting, I downed what was left of my first pint.

  I felt a million butterflies attempting to escape through the lining of my stomach. It had been years since I had been on a date.

  ‘I’ll find us a table whilst you’re waiting for the drinks,’ she said.

  I nodded and watched her as she threaded her way through the closely packed tables to an empty booth. She still had on jeans, but I noticed that they were a different pair by the motif on the back pockets. She had also changed the t-shirt for a pale blue long-sleeved satin blouse that she wore loose. I felt dirty all of a sudden, I should have made the effort and gone home and changed out of my suit. I was aware that my hand was shaking as I paid for the drinks.

  I snaked my way to where she sat and put the tall glass in front of her. She brought her hand up to steady it, as it wobbled on the well-used Tetley beer mat. It had obviously been beer-soaked many times and was warped out of shape. I sat opposite her, cradling my Guinness, enjoying the coolness from the glass between my hands.

  ‘I’m not here to talk about the murder, so don’t think you can pump me for information.’ I thought I’d lay my cards on the table right from the start so that there was no misunderstanding.

  She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. ‘Then why did you come?’

  ‘You invited me. I needed a drink. I’ve had a hard day. Pick one.’

  ‘Surprisingly, I didn’t invite you to discuss the murder,’ she said. I noticed her voice was slightly hoarse. ‘I did it because I wanted to get to know you. I’m one of those rare breed of reporters that you can actually trust.’

  I chuckled. ‘Yeah, I saw some pigs balancing on the telegraph wire outside with a couple of vultures.’ I thought I’d push my luck. ‘I also don’t talk in my sleep.’

  ‘Were you planning on sleeping?’ There was a gleam in her eyes, and her teeth flashed.

  It seemed that we both knew why we were here and what we expected from the evening. I relaxed and began to enjoy her company. She originally came from Doncaster. After completing her A Levels, she had done a journalism degree at Nottingham and been snapped up by the Daily Star after finishing with a 2:1. I told her about myself, but it was early days so I omitted any reference to Angie or Lexi. I didn’t want the sympathy vote or bad memories to spoil the evening. I liked Sally she was twenty-five, with a broad Yorkshire accent and an infectious laugh. Like me, she was a Capricorn.

  ‘Should we go?’ she asked softly. ‘My flat isn’t far from here.’

  We hadn’t spoken about what would happen at the end of the evening, but I think we both knew where it was leading. It was now ten-thirty. The time had flown by. I looked in her eyes and decided that it was the right thing to do. I hadn’t slept with another woman since Angie’s death. It had been a miserable year of declining every offer, and there had been a few. It just never felt right, but tonight, with Sally, it did.

  ‘My car is in the car park,’ I said lamely, as if I was looking for excuses.

  ‘Well, you’ve had too many to drink to think about driving. It’ll be safe in the car park; lots of people leave their cars here. It’s not far to walk, ten minutes at the most.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ I said, getting up and helping her out of the booth with my hand around her waist. Her closeness felt natural. I decided to keep my hand there as we walked out into the December night.

  Immediately, we were fighting against the wind, which must have come directly from the Arctic. I had left my coat in the car and Sally didn’t have a coat either. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was bloody freezing. I hoped I could make it to her flat without my extremities becoming gangrenous with frostbite and falling off in the gutter.

  ‘Number seven Anchor Street,’ she said, as she put the key in the lock. ‘Just in case you want to come back sometime.’

  I said nothing. Let’s see how the rest of tonight goes first, I thought.

  She went in first and switched the lights on. I was glad to be in the warm, my teeth were chattering. It had taken us fifteen minutes to walk the short distance from the Merry Widow. It hadn’t helped that we had been walking against the freezing wind most of the way and the snow had turned to ice.

  ‘You must be freezing, sit here by the fire.’ She guided me to the sofa and flicked on the electric fire on the wall. ‘I’ll make us a coffee. Do you take milk and sugar?’

  ‘Yes, two sugars please,’ I stuttered. It wasn’t how I’d fantasised the entrance to her flat. I envisaged it would be more ripped clothes strewn over the floor as we stumbled to the bedroom kissing, groping and grasping, but then, I didn’t have frostbite in my fantasy.

  ‘Here,’ she said pushing a steaming mug into my hands. I was beginning to thaw as I sipped the hot liquid. She disappeared into the hall leading off the fairly large living room. I was sat on a soft brown leather sofa and the room was clearly her work room as well as her living room. To the right of the sofa was a dining table that was piled high with books, papers and a laptop computer. To the left was the TV, DVD player and video recorder, which were all housed in a silver cabinet. The walls were decorated with flowery wallpaper and framed photographs of news stories she had obviously covered.

  ‘Are you warm enough yet?’ Sally said, as she came back into the living room wearing a red baby doll nightie that left very little to my imagination.

  I didn’t think they still made baby doll lingerie anymore, or for that matter, that anyone still wore them. She looked fantastically sexy, and I felt a stirring from the demon between my legs. ‘Warm enough for what?’ I asked, playing the game. I put my coffee on the table by the side of the sofa next to a rather old-fashioned lamp.

  ‘For anything your heart desires,’ she whispered, sitting in my lap. She smelled of cherry blossom and her lips were as soft as candy floss. Her tongue darted into my mouth like a hummingbird searching for nectar.

  Now this was how my fantasy went. I responded in kind. My hands explored her small firm breasts and those hard nipples that had aroused my interest earlier in the day. I clamped my mouth on first one and then the other, flicking my tongue over them and teasing them with my teeth.

  Her breathing was laboured, and I wasn’t exactly the picture of tranquillity myself. ‘Let’s go into
the bedroom,’ she said, grabbing my hand.

  She led me into her private sanctum. It was dark, but the light from the living room cast enough light to see by. She quickly jumped into bed. I stripped as if I was in the Olympics and Sally the gold medal. She lifted the duvet and I dived in beside her. I hadn’t noticed her remove the nightie, but she was warm and naked as she pulled me on top and guided me into her. I thought I might come then, but with an iron will I controlled myself. What would it look like, the famous James Harte unable to last five minutes, I’d be the laughing stock of the station, the Met’, the whole damned police force! I settled into a rhythm, she had her hands round my neck and her legs locked behind mine pushing me into her. She was kissing me in between moaning, I felt like Don Juan on a good day. God she was gloriously tight and I wondered why I’d waited a whole year to be involved with another woman. It was heaven on earth; this was what living was for. It generated feelings I thought had been lost forever.

  ‘Oh God!’ she cried. ‘Oh God! Yes! Yes!’

  I couldn’t hold back any longer and we shuddered together. I was sweating and panting with the exertion. I withdrew and lay beside her. We cuddled and kissed and I felt fantastic, as if the sunshine had come back into my life. We made love twice more. Just before I drifted off into a deep contented sleep, I wondered whether Sally could be the girlfriend I craved.

  Chapter Five

  Thursday 19th December

  Out of habit I awoke at five-thirty. Although I didn’t want to, I knew I had to get back to my flat to shave, shower and change my clothes. I wanted to be at the station early and get things moving. The cryptographer from GCHQ was expected first thing. I needed to tell the Chief about the Irene Stone murder. Suddenly, I thought of Angie, and felt a wave of guilt engulf me. I pushed it away, easing myself out of the bed so that I wouldn’t wake Sally, and got dressed. It was still dark, but there was enough illumination from the living room light, which had been left on all night, to allow me to fumble around and find my clothes. I got dressed in the living room and then found a piece of paper to leave Sally a note. I didn’t want to sneak out like a paying client.