Solomon's Key

by Tim Ellis

  I looked up briefly. ‘Something urgent?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Suzie Palton.’ She dispensed with formality and flopped in a chair. We were all tired. It had been a gruelling five days, and it didn’t look as though it was going to get any easier anytime soon.

  ‘Good riddance,’ I said, carrying on signing claim forms and requests for leave.

  ‘We need her, Sir. You need her. As Father Jacob said, there’s likely to be another two murders.’

  ‘Not if we catch the bastard first. And anyway, we don’t really need her to decipher any more messages; Father Jacob has given us everything we need.’

  ‘We’re nowhere near identifying a suspect yet. If Suzie goes, she’ll cause a right stink, and your head will be the first one on the chopping block. You’re already in the shit with the Chief. What did she say to you after you bollocked Suzie?’

  I grinned. ‘That I had to be nice to her for the sake of inter-agency co-operation.’

  KP nearly choked laughing. ‘You’ve done a good job following orders then.’

  ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘The paperwork can wait. You need to get round to her hotel and stop her from leaving.’

  I banged my pen down and threw myself back in the chair. I knew she was right. I could imagine Sir Edwin phoning the Chief on Monday morning and the fall-out afterwards. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  ‘OK,’ I said, resigned to eating humble pie. ‘I’ll listen to you this time.’

  ‘Good. It’s about time you saw some sense.’

  I shrugged on my coat, closed my briefcase and heaped up the in-tray again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. We’ll need to get out and start interviewing the suspects.’

  ‘Thanks to the three helpers we’ve had today, at least we’ve got some now.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I traipsed down the corridor like a beast of burden.

  ***

  After a journey, which would have been safer in a 4x4, or with snow chains on my tyres, I arrived at the Jumeirah Carlton Tower hotel and parked my car outside. The car park had a barrier, and as I wasn’t a resident, I didn’t have access.

  The main entrance to the hotel was grand. Based on this alone, it deserved its five-star rating. The floor was red and gold marble throughout. The velvet curtains and seats were in the same colours. Coffee tables were made from cedar, and I could hear the rain forests screaming in their death throes as they furnished humans with the very best wood for occasional tables.

  This is going to take a nice chunk out of my budget, I thought.

  I breezed up to the Reception desk. The clock on the wall indicated it was seven thirty-five. A very smart young woman, wearing a crisp red and gold uniform, greeted me with a smile of perfect white teeth. ‘How can I be of service, Sir?’

  I showed her my warrant card and said, ‘Which room is Miss Palton in?’ I was glad she didn’t get flustered or act stupid and call the manager. I didn’t need the hassle today. The hotel had obviously trained her well.

  ‘Miss Palton is in one of our presidential suites on the top floor, Sir, number two-two-seven.’

  I smiled. ‘Thank you. Julie,’ voicing the name displayed on her badge. I informed her about my parking arrangements and number plate should anyone have the audacity to complain. I made my way to the elevator. ‘Bloody presidential suite,’ throbbed in my mind. The pound signs were clouding my judgement. This bitch is taking advantage of my good nature, I thought. I pressed the ‘up’ button to call one of the two elevators. There was a ‘ding’ immediately and the doors of the left elevator opened. I stepped in and pressed the ‘P’, which I presumed was for ‘Presidential’. There must be a whole floor of presidential wannabees up there. Well Suzie Bloody Palton wasn’t going to be one of them, not on my budget.

  Another ‘ding’ and the doors opened. I stepped out and turned right in the direction of the two-two-six to two-thirty sign. I knocked quietly on the cedar door of number two-two-seven and waited patiently – nothing. The cow’s probably out on the town and charging it to expenses. I banged harder then heard a muffled, ‘Don’t be so impatient.’ Eventually the door opened a crack and a wet head without makeup or a welcoming smile peered round it.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but she had already turned and started to walk back into the room, so I followed her into the ‘bloody presidential suite’. I could smell fresh roses, tulips and daffodils. Although her dark blue satin dressing gown clung like a second skin to her back, buttocks and legs, and affected my eyesight, I did manage to notice the fantastic view of London. The suite was definitely of presidential standard, with a living room, bedroom, kitchen and even a damned sauna. The red and gold furniture matched the deep pile carpet. On one wall hung a sixty inch flat screen plasma television and underneath it, inset into the wall, a CD/DVD player. How the rich and famous live, I thought.

  She turned to face me. I wished she hadn’t. The dressing gown stuck to her firm ample breasts and the nipples punctured the material beckoning my mouth like Turkish delight. ‘If you’ve come to apologise, don’t bother,’ she said. ‘I’m not in the slightest bit interested in any grovelling apology you might want to make. I volunteered to come here, and all I receive for my trouble is abuse. Well, I don’t need it. I’m sure Sir Edwin Fabian will be very interested in the way you treat people from other security agencies.’

  Don’t ask me how it happened, but suddenly we were kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes. It didn’t take me long to remove her dressing gown, so I helped her by taking off my shirt, trousers, and socks. It was obvious she wanted to take the lead in this sexual dance because she pulled me down onto the carpet and sat astride me. She guided me in and I entered her easily; she was as turned on as I was. Leaning forward, she kissed me roughly, and moved up and down as her damp hair, which smelled of freshly cut herbs, fell on my face. I felt her shudder, but she continued moaning, gyrating and kissing me and I kneaded her beautiful breasts. I felt her shudder three more times before I came myself and we lay there exhausted until the panting had ceased and we were breathing normally.

  ‘That was a surprise,’ I said nonchalantly, my hands behind my head as I examined the ceiling with its intricate coving and matching centre rose.

  ‘I wanted you from the moment I saw you,’ she said, lying on her back next to me. ‘Storming out seemed the only way to get you here.’

  ‘You mean you planned this?’

  ‘Well, not this exactly this, but something similar.’

  ‘I took an instant dislike to you when I met you at the station,’ I said, still not looking at her.

  ‘Yes, I know, but I’m sure you don’t dislike me now do you?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t even know you, but I think we can safely say I know you a bit better than I did before.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got the rest of the night to get to know each other properly.’ She propped herself up on her right elbow, grasped me in her left hand and began to gently bring me to full erection again, ‘So we’d better get started.’

  She must be ambidextrous, I thought, beginning to warm to this Suzie Palton from GCHQ.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sunday 22 December

  At some point in the night, we talked. Suzie hailed from Winchester. She’d had all the advantages of a pampered childhood as the only daughter of a top civil servant – privately educated at Cheltenham Girl’s College, followed by a mathematics degree at Lucy Cavendish College, Cambridge. Once the ease with which she manipulated numbers had been recognised, she was earmarked at an early age for the job at GCHQ. With her privileged background and all her contacts, it was hardly surprising Sir Edwin Fabian had rung the Chief.

  Even though I hadn’t had much sleep, I got up at five o’clock. Standing over the bathroom sink scraping the soap off my face with a free hotel razor, Suzie came in and draped her naked body over my back like a limpet. She put her hands in the water, soaped them and quickl
y brought me to a full erection.

  She’s insatiable, I thought. Shaving was the last thing on my mind. I nicked my neck, which immediately started to bleed as if I’d severed an artery. I gave up trying to shave, turned and walked us both into the shower. Suzie closed the door behind her.

  It was most definitely the best shower I’d had in a long time.

  After a full English breakfast, supplied by room service, and another sexual interchange in the kitchen, I finally extricated myself from Suzie’s clutches at six forty-five.

  Call me soft, but I agreed that unless we received another message, she could take the day off, and I would see her later.

  I had to go home first, get changed, and check that Harry and Lexi were all right. I felt guilty about staying the night with Suzie. I hadn’t seen much of Lexi since this case began. Staying out voluntarily seemed a betrayal, especially since she might be in danger. My conscience was eased somewhat by the fact I had organised protection for them both.

  ***

  ‘You’re late, Sir,’ KP said looking at her watch as if she were the DCI and I the Sergeant.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall in my office – it was nine-fifty. ‘I overslept,’ I mumbled.

  She raised her eyebrows. I knew she didn’t believe me. I never overslept. ‘You slept with her, didn’t you?’

  How in hell did she know? I must have looked satiated, guilty, or a mixture of the two. Feeling like the accused standing in the dock, I busied myself taking my coat off, and putting my briefcase and in-tray down. ‘It’s your fault,’ I said. ‘You said I had to apologise. If it hadn’t been for you pressurising me to go and…’

  Putting her hands on her hips, she said, ‘Don’t blame me for your promiscuity.’

  ‘The Chief also said I had to keep her happy.’

  She hit me on the arm. ‘Or the Chief,’ she said. ‘Was it worth it? Is she staying?’

  ‘I think so.’ I smiled. ‘But she took some convincing. Anyway, enough about my private life,’ I looked at her. ‘Note the emphasis on private. Tell me what’s been happening?’

  ‘Ali and the others finished going through the client files at eight-thirty last night whilst you were apologising to Suzie. They identified seven suspects. Paul has eliminated four of those, which leaves three to follow up today.’

  ‘What do you mean, he’s eliminated four? Have you double-checked? We don’t want to miss anything at this stage.’

  ‘Yes. Two are dead, one has immigrated to Canada, and the Canadian police have confirmed he is there. The last one is in the Scrubs doing life for murder, and he hasn’t escaped.’

  ‘OK, who are the three that are left?’

  ‘Brian and Pea have gone to visit Stephen Nailor in Hackney. Darwins lost his case and he went to prison for six months. His business folded then his wife and kids left him, and he became an alcoholic. After wrecking the solicitor’s car that represented him, he ended up back in prison. Nothing has been heard of him for five years.’

  ‘What business was he in?’

  ‘He was an electrician and had started to build up his own company, but following an altercation in a club, during which he glassed a man in the face, he was charged with GBH. Of course, he denied it, but a number of witnesses identified him. He blamed Darwins for not getting him off.’

  My lip curled. ‘It doesn’t sound promising.’

  ‘Ali and John have gone to Cambridge to see a Roger Gibbs.’

  ‘Cambridge?’

  ‘He used to live in Finchley, but moved to Cambridge three years ago.’

  ‘I hardly see him commuting back and forth to Cambridge. If he’s the killer, he must be living in London somewhere. Why did Patrick choose him?’

  ‘He was charged with rape and got five years. Said he was innocent and blamed Darwins for not proving it. There was a lot of press at the time, because everyone thought he might be connected to the Railway Rapist.’

  I didn’t need reminding of the Railway Rapist. Criminal profiling in Britain was based on David Canter’s astoundingly accurate profile of John Duffy, and the method he used to create it.

  ‘He sounds more promising. What about the third suspect?’

  ‘Get your coat, that’s where we’re going now.’

  I stood and grabbed my coat. ‘Lead the way, maam.’

  She turned and gave me a look as she stepped into the corridor.

  ‘What are Paul and Jane doing?’ I asked as I traipsed after her.

  ‘You never remember anything,’ she said rolling her eyes. ‘Jane is doing what you told her to do, trying to find a connection between a location at the centre of the Sigil and Darwins to identify a sixth victim. She rang Patrick earlier and he’s on his way in.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. What about Paul?’

  ‘He’s helping Jane, updating the board, and checking a couple of things with the four that have been eliminated. Also, we’ve got the three students from the house in Shaftesbury Mews coming in at eleven o’clock, someone has to stay here to interview them.’

  ‘Do Paul and Jane know what to ask them?’

  ‘How did the killer know India Soames stayed in and the others went out.’

  As usual, she was on top of things. ‘Where are we going?’ I felt like a rookie this morning. That’s what happens when you get in late, you lose the plot and everyone knows more than you do.

  ‘Wandsworth,’ she said striding along the corridor.

  I waited, but nothing else appeared to be forthcoming. ‘To see…?’ I eventually said as we padded down the stairs.

  She craned her neck. A glimmer of a smile crossed her lips. ‘Lily Robertson.’

  We exited through the back door. Heavy snow fell on us as we walked towards KP’s car. ‘Go on,’ I said, ‘illuminate me.’

  ‘Lily used to be Larry,’ she said once we were in the car with the heater on and the condensation clearing from the windscreen. ‘Darwins represented her… him against the Dutch clinic that performed her sex-change operation, which apparently was a disaster. She was left scarred for life. They lost because Dutch law is a bit different from English law, and Lily swore she’d get even with them one day.’

  ‘Why don’t I feel optimistic?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see.’

  ***

  The semi-detached house stood in a quiet cul de sac. A three-year-old Ford Fiesta filled the driveway. What appeared to be a well-tended garden was a foot deep in snow, and there were net curtains up at the windows that looked as though a sniper with infrared sights wouldn’t have been able to see through.

  We squeezed past the car leaving deep footprints in the fresh snow. KP rattled the knocker on the green door. It opened and a strange-looking person appeared before us.

  ‘Er… Mr Robertson?’

  I could understand KP’s dilemma. Although Lily had on a mid-calf flowery dress, tights, ample breasts, long greying hair, and a layer of make-up, the rest of the body was clearly a male in his early fifties. A strong whiff of cheap perfume drifted up my nose. I knew this wasn’t our killer, but I was ghoulishly curious and thought I’d play along for now.

  ‘It’s Miss Robertson,’ Lily said in a deep male voice. The make-up did little to hide the stubble on her chin.

  ‘I’m sorry er… Miss Robertson. It’s just that…’

  ‘Yes, many people get confused. What is it that you want?’

  KP showed her warrant card. ‘DS Preston.’ She waved her hand towards me. ‘This is DCI Harte, Hammersmith CID. Could we come in and talk to you?’

  Standing to one side, she let us in, closed the door and ushered us into a dingy living room.

  ‘Please sit. Would you like tea?’

  I don’t usually accept offers of refreshment, but I felt thirsty. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’

  KP gave me a sideways glance as Lily went into the kitchen. ‘Dehydrated, Sir?’

  She was on form today. I smiled and sat down in an easy chair.

  We waited in silence
until Lily appeared carrying a tray. She put it down on a glass-topped coffee table, poured three cups and passed one to each of us. There was a small plate of chocolate digestive biscuits, I helped myself to two.

  ‘How can I help?’ she said sitting down on the sofa with her own cup of tea cradled in her hands.

  ‘There have been a number of murders recently,’ KP said.

  ‘The young women, yes I’ve seen the news.’

  ‘Can I ask where you were on…’

  ‘Me! What in heaven’s name would I be doing killing young women? I very rarely leave the house now.’

  ‘There is a connection to Darwins the solicitors.’

  ‘Ah yes, and because I threatened them, I am now a suspect?’

  ‘Precisely,’ KP confirmed.

  ‘That was a long time ago. I was angry that we didn’t win. The compensation would have made my life more bearable. I might even have been able to get the damage repaired. As you can see, I’m not the man or woman I once was.’

  ‘I’m a bit confused,’ I said. ‘What exactly did they do to you?’ In fact, I was a lot confused and in truth, the curiosity was eating away at my insides like a parasite.

  ‘They were meant to cut off my penis and testicles, then fashion a vagina in its place. Unfortunately for me, the butcher who performed the operation left me without either. I now have a permanent catheter inserted to urinate through.’ She lifted up the dress to reveal a plastic bag taped to her leg with a small amount of urine in.

  I cringed.

  ‘I can’t use the hormone tablets because the side effects make me ill and unable to urinate. So now, I’m neither a man nor a woman. If I were going to kill anybody, it would have been the butcher who did this to me.’

  Standing, I put my empty cup and saucer down on the coffee table. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Robertson. I see no reason to bother you further.’