Solomon's Key

by Tim Ellis

  Thanks for a fantastic evening.

  Please ring me today: 08780 474932.

  James.

  I slipped quietly out of the flat and made my way back to the Merry Widow. It hadn’t snowed during the night, but what had been on the ground had frozen solid, and walking without snowshoes was a dangerous activity. I nearly went sprawling a couple of times. With my five-o’clock shadow and creased suit I looked like a drunk who had woken up in an alley. Thankfully, my Mercedes SLK was still there and in one piece.

  ***

  Fearing black ice, the drive back to my flat was painfully slow, and I eventually arrived at six forty-five. I crept through the front door, but I needn’t have bothered. Lexi heard me and ran along the hall in her night-dress and slippers to greet me. I scooped her up in my arms.

  ‘Daddy, you weren’t here last night,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I know, Princess, daddy had work to do.’ It was only a little white lie.

  ‘You work too hard, daddy.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I agreed.

  I put her down and she ran back to the kitchen. I quickly got shaved, showered and changed, grabbed a piece of toast and a coffee, and then headed for the door.

  ‘Goodbye, daddy,’ Lexi said with a pout.

  ‘Goodbye, beautiful. I’ll try and be home early tonight.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’ I wondered if I could keep my promise.

  ***

  ‘Irene Stone was the first,’ I told the Chief. The smell of Brazilian coffee filled her office and gave it a homely feel. It was eight-thirty.

  Avril sat opposite me holding a cup and saucer in her lap. ‘But it was six years ago, why did he stop? And more importantly, why has he started again?’

  ‘There could be any number of reasons,’ I offered. ‘He might have been confined at Her Majesty’s pleasure, in a mental hospital, or out of the country in the intervening years.’

  ‘I suppose it gives us a clue if that’s what happened,’ she mused. ‘You’re definite that it’s the same killer?’

  ‘No doubt about it. Even if it wasn’t for the sexual abuse and the removal of the hands, the message leaves no doubt.’

  ‘Why did he take her hands?’

  ‘Who knows what’s going on in the killer’s mind?’ I said. ‘There was a case in Nigeria where the hands were used to attract customers to a shop. The man, who received the hands, waved them over his goods each morning and kept them under the entrance to the shop during the day.’

  She pulled a face. ‘It’s crazy, James. If this muti medicine doesn’t work, and it obviously doesn’t, why do people keep killing?’

  ‘The medicine itself is useless, but the belief in it is what’s powerful. If people believe, they can change the world.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She sounded unconvinced. ‘You were right then, we have got a serial killer.’

  ‘I would rather have been wrong,’ I said, getting up. ‘The cryptographer from GCHQ will be here soon, hopefully she can decipher the two messages and that will point us in the right direction before he strikes again.’

  ***

  I strode along the corridor to the incident room. It was eight forty-five. In comparison with the Chief’s plush office, the peeling light-green paint on the walls gave the impression of being in a different building. White flecks from the damp patches on the ceiling, swirled around the parquet floor as I walked, and I wondered when this corridor would be painted in the rolling programme.

  Heads turned and followed me as I entered and made my way to the incident board.

  ‘As you can see,’ I began, ‘Paul has found us a second victim. Irene Stone was murdered six years ago in Finchley, so she was actually the first. We therefore definitely have a serial killer to catch. You’ve all got a copy of the psychological profile?’ Heads nodded. ‘You’re also aware that our killer phoned Sally Renshall of the Daily Star yesterday? Forensics has provided us with a profile based on her description of his voice.’

  Jane shuffled on her chair. ‘Is the position of the victims significant, Sir?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m assuming it is. Any suggestions?’ I looked around, but no one had any.

  ‘Brian, did the house-to-house turn up anything?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘As usual, no one saw or heard a thing.’

  If we relied on witnesses for solving crimes, the clear-up rate would be zero.

  ‘Any luck with the CCTV cameras?’

  He held up two video tapes. ‘I’ve got a couple of tapes to watch today, but neither of the cameras were pointing in the direction of her flat, they’re on adjoining roads.’ He put the tapes down on his desk and squared them up. ‘I’m not very hopeful our killer could be on them, Gov. And we probably wouldn’t recognise him if we saw him. It certainly wouldn’t tie him to the crime.’

  ‘At the moment, we’re grasping at straws, Brian,’ I said, understanding his reservations. ‘Look for someone arriving in the morning and leaving between five and six with a bag or container. I know that covers ninety percent of the population, but we might get lucky.’

  I looked over at John. He had passed his Sergeant’s exam five years ago. He was now on his tenth application for a Sergeant’s post. Without my recommendation, he would remain a DC until he retired. I just couldn’t see John as a DS. ‘John, what’s the verdict on the boyfriend?’

  ‘He was where he said he was. Nothing there, Sir, an average Joe. As you said, he had nothing to do with it. He’s a wreck after her death.’

  I paced in front of them. ‘The six-year gap between the killings is as yet, unexplainable. One possibility is that he might have been in prison. John, I want you to do a countrywide search for recently released prisoners. See if there are any likely suspects there.’

  He nodded, and then made a note on the fluorescent pink post-it pad on his desk.

  ‘Pea, did you get anything from the parents?’ I didn’t know DC Sally Peacock very well. She had joined the team from robbery at Kensington. What I did know was that she was only twenty-seven, and appeared to be in it for the long haul. She was short, but well built with a light-brown bob haircut that didn’t suit her. I think John started the rumour that she played rugby for England ladies. It wasn’t mentioned in her personnel file.

  ‘Nothing, Sir,’ Pea said. ‘As far as they knew, she was enjoying her job and happy with her boyfriend.’

  ‘There doesn’t appear to be anything to suggest otherwise,’ I said. ‘Another possibility is that the killer left the country during the intervening years, and has just returned. Pea, you can check airport arrivals. I don’t know if they have records for departures from six years ago, but see what you can do.’

  ‘Right, Sir.’

  ‘Also, send an Interpol query for similar murders worldwide. If he was out of the country, he might be leaving dismembered bodies and messages somewhere else.’

  ‘Jane, did forensics come up with anything the second time round?’

  ‘No, Sir, and I think you’ve lost some friends there.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Well it’s a good job I’m not here to make friends then isn’t it?’ I didn’t realise I had any friends in forensics. ‘I want you to find Irene Stone’s mother. Interview her. See if she remembers anything else. And find out what job her husband did before he retired.’

  ‘KP and I also came up empty-handed. Gillian was well liked at Darwins. Nobody had a bad word to say about her.’ I pointed to the string of letters underneath the Linear B script. ‘Ali has deciphered the message, but it’s still rubbish. We’ve called in a boffin from GCHQ.’

  ‘Paul, any luck with Darwin’s client list?’

  ‘Mainly low-level criminals, one paedophile, a couple of fraudsters, drink drivers and so on. There’s no one that appears as a likely killer, serial or otherwise. I’m going to check on the whereabouts of a couple of weirdo’s for Tuesday, but I honestly think it’s a dead end.’

  ‘OK, work on that. I
also want you to investigate if there’s any way we can find out about mental health patients being released from Broadmoor and other secure hospitals. One idea is that the killer has been detained under the 1983 Mental Health Act because he poses a significant risk of harming himself or others, and he’s just been released.’

  Paul scratched his head. ‘I’ve not heard of a database of mental health patients that we can access. It’ll all be confidential, I’m sure. I’ll have to get on to the Department of Health, or better still, I’ll go over there and talk to someone.’

  Just then, Ted Salway, a tall uniformed sergeant from the front desk came in. He was accompanied by a tall striking slim redhead in a grey pinstriped matching skirt and jacket with a maroon blouse. She looked a bit young, and more like an Air Stewardess than a top cryptographer. I hoped she knew what she was doing. I noticed she was wearing stockings not tights, which piqued my interest. Her hair was long and wavy and reached her shoulders. Unusually for a redhead, she was not deathly pale and covered in freckles. She looked evenly tanned with just a smattering of freckles on her nose. All of a sudden, Sally came to mind. I smiled inwardly and hoped that she would ring.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Sir,’ Ted said, ‘Miss Palton from GCHQ.’ He stood aside and ushered her in with his hand.

  ‘Thanks Ted. Welcome Miss Palton,’ I said to the young woman, who I guessed was about twenty-eight. ‘You’re just in time to help us out of the mess we find ourselves in. We have a serial killer on the loose with zero leads. We have two messages that he’s left for us and we can’t make anything of.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll need a desk and somewhere to plug in my laptop, and please, call me Suzie.’

  ‘Ali, can you sort Miss… eh, Suzie out and work with her, fill her in on what’s been happening. See if you can be of any help.’

  I left Ali to sort Suzie out. ‘KP, I’d like you to arrange to interview all the staff at Darwins, take some uniforms…’ I saw Paul, in the middle of putting on his coat, sidle over to Suzie as she slipped a wafer-thin laptop out of a bag. Everyone turned in the direction I was looking.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Paul exclaimed. ‘What have you got there?’

  Suzie smiled. ‘If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.’

  He stroked it as if it was a puppy. ‘I thought they were still theoretical. It’s got a quantum chip in it hasn’t it?’

  ‘Paul…’ I said. ‘Stop salivating.’ I turned to KP. ‘Drag him away before he starts taking it apart.’

  I saw Terri Holmes sauntering along the corridor with a folder in her hand.

  ‘Right, we all know what we’ve got to do, so let’s get doing it.’ I went to meet Terri and diverted her into my office.

  ‘No DNA. Nothing I haven’t already told you,’ she said, handing me the Gillian Wilkinson folder and sitting in one of the easy chairs. ‘The killer is obviously familiar with forensic procedures.’

  I sat on the edge of my desk in front of her. ‘We have a second one.’ Terri looked fantastic. She oozed autumn colours in a reddish-brown knitted polo-neck top, which emphasised the firm roundness of her breasts. Underneath she wore a light beige skirt, which fell to the top of brown leather boots. She smelled like freshly fallen leaves.

  Her head shot up, and her eyes flashed accusingly. ‘That was quick. Why haven’t I…’

  I held my hands up in surrender. ‘It happened six years ago in Finchley.’

  ‘Oh!’ I saw the tenseness leave her. I bathed in the glow of her smile.

  ‘Could you take a look at the PM report for this second, or should I say, first murder.’ I turned round and reached for the Irene Stone file, which lay on my desk, and passed it to Terri. ‘See if there are any similarities, besides the sexual abuse and missing body parts. I really don’t want to exhume the body unless you say it’s necessary. It will immediately alert the press that we’ve got a serial killer, and the family will be devastated.’

  ‘I’ll take a look.’ She stood up so that her breasts were level with my mouth. ‘Will you be at the Christmas party this year?’

  As far as I was aware, Terri had never shown any interest in me, and yet this morning, I got the distinct impression I was being pursued. ‘Wild horses…’ I said.

  ‘I’ll see you there then.’ She spun, wafted out of my office and along the corridor like an autumn breeze.

  I wondered what that was about. Was she unhappy with her consultant surgeon? Was she looking for an extra-marital affair? Was I reading something into nothing? Despite the dull ache of Angie’s death, I began to feel as though rays of sunshine were forcing their way through the dense cloud that had been the last year of my life. First Sally, and now Terri. I was beginning to feel human again.

  Ali knocked and popped her head round the door. ‘I think Suzie has got something.’

  ‘Already?’

  She pouted her lips. ‘Remember, this is her job.’

  I smiled. ‘I wasn’t criticising your efforts, I’m just surprised that she’s got something so quickly.’

  She hunched her shoulders. ‘She made it look really simple. What took me all day, took her an hour.’

  I followed Ali out into the incident room and stood over Suzie.

  Suzie craned her neck to look at me. ‘Don’t stand over me,’ she said. ‘You’re blocking out the sun and fading my tan.’

  I looked out of the window like an idiot. It was the middle of December and snowing again. Everywhere was shrouded in white or a slushy grey. I pulled up a chair and sat behind her, my dislike of her immediate.

  ‘The messages are alphabetic letters, but in ancient languages. The one left at the first murder seven years ago was written in a mix of early and late Semitic. The more recent one, as Ali has already identified, was written in Linear B.’

  ‘So what do the messages say?’ I asked, my impatience getting the better of me. I didn’t really want a lecture on semiotics.

  ‘They don’t say anything yet,’ she said, pointing to a jumble of letters on the screen. ‘This is the partially deciphered message from the Irene Stone murder.’

  TQOYUMMQEKZFMZPQEADQSUMSGQMZC

  ‘Why are the M’s and E’s in bold?’ I asked.

  ‘The killer has given us a clue. The majority of the message is in early Semitic, but those letters in bold are late Semitic. The reason he’s mixed the two scripts is because the early script has no J, V, or W. He’s used the M and the E from the late script to represent two of these letters.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why aren’t the M’s and E’s, J’s, V’s or W’s?’

  ‘That’s the clue. If the symbols corresponded to the actual letters they normally represent, they would have appeared as blanks, and they don’t. That’s why it doesn’t mean anything yet.’

  I was getting confused by this conversation. ‘I could do with a clue myself,’ I said.

  She sighed and hunched her shoulders. ‘It’s a sub-sti-tut-ion code.’

  She said it slowly, emphasising the syllables in substitution as if she were talking to a person with learning difficulties.

  I stood up. Ali turned towards me. I think she thought she might try to stop me if I attempted to throttle Suzie. ‘Which is?’ I asked through gritted teeth. I knew I should have been grateful that she was here helping us out, but there was something about Miss Suzie Palton that had burrowed under my skin like a parasitic mite.

  She seemed to be oblivious to the effect she was having on me. ‘One letter of the alphabet is replaced by one following or preceding it.’

  ‘Well that should be easy enough to crack,’ I offered, giving her the benefit of my non-existent experience in cryptography.

  She demonstrated her exceptional patience in the face of a hostile force by not responding. Scrolling down the screen she said, ‘And this is the one from the Gillian Wilkinson murder, which Ali has partially deciphered and you’ve already seen’.

  ‘They’re both still gibberish,’ I said

  To h
er credit, she ignored my ungraciousness.

  ‘What we have to do now is find the pattern. There is always a pattern. To add to the difficulty, we don’t know where each word starts and ends, which is important because each word will probably have a different pattern and could be substituted with letters going forwards or backwards in the alphabet. Thankfully, I have a piece of software, which should make things slightly easier.’

  I was beginning to see that this was not going to be an easy task, but she obviously knew what she was doing. ‘I’ll let you get on with it then,’ I said magnanimously.

  Feeling totally inadequate, I went back to my office.

  ***

  It was three-fifteen. I suddenly realised I was starving. I walked down the stairs to the first floor and along the corridor to the cafeteria. It had recently been refurbished as part of the rolling programme. I could still smell paint. The new blue tables and chairs matched the blue and white linoleum.

  There were a few uniforms between shifts sitting at tables, but it was largely empty.

  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector, what can I get for you today?’ the rotund grey-haired old woman behind the stainless steel counter asked. Everything else in the cafeteria had been replaced except for Nancy. It seemed like she had been there forever, but now she sported a new blue and white striped uniform.

  ‘Is there anything nice on the menu?’ I asked.

  Nancy glared at me. ‘It’s all nice. But seeing as it’s you, I’ve got some wonderful cottage pie. To finish it off, I’ll put some red cabbage with it.’

  ‘That sounds great,’ I lied. She busied herself scooping enough pie onto a plate, from the ceramic dish it had been cooked in, to feed Africa. She then disappeared round the back for a while and returned with a jar of red cabbage. She started to heap the red cabbage onto the cottage pie and said, ‘Say when.’