by Ellis, Tim
He’d had a feeling Randall was waiting for him. Well, now he’d turned the tables on him. Persuading Tabor to pretend to be him had worked like a dream. Not only had Randall and Molly been fooled, but he’d got rid of the last bastard his father had sired. Now, he was the only remaining son of George Hansen to carry on the family name, and he planned to do exactly that – with Molly.
Aftermath
Friday, December 7
No! It hadn’t worked. Yes, he’d wined and dined her, he’d bathed and massaged her, and he’d given her more than enough in the sex department, but she had no feelings for him. He was probably some girl’s ideal man, but sadly – not hers.
She threw Sam Nelson out at six saying she’d call him as soon as things settled down, but they both knew she wouldn’t. How did men do it? They could have meaningless sex until the cows came home, but for a woman it had to mean something – and it hadn’t with Sam.
What now? Should she go through the list of ten eligible bachelors until she’d tried them all? She didn’t know what to do anymore. She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be with just anyone. Surely it wasn’t wrong to want to share her life with someone she cared about and who cared about her?
Getting ready was a full-time job. She couldn’t put any weight on her ankle and had to hobble about the flat on crutches like an orthopaedic patient. And then when it came for her to put her trousers on, the left leg wouldn’t fit. She’d had to split the seam and find some pins – it was hardly the look she was after.
Tony arrived at eight o’clock. She made her way along the corridor and out to the car on her new crutches. If it hadn’t been for Tony, she’d have fallen on her face and her arse. It was clear she needed considerable practice if she wasn’t destined to become a laughing stock at the station.
Her team clapped her into the squad room.
‘It was nothing,’ she said.
‘I know,’ Frank said. ‘But we thought we’d clap anyway.’
‘Thanks. Haven’t you all got work to do?’
‘Not a thing, Gov.’
‘Good. I need a coffee then.’ Frank signalled Abby to go and make it.
‘The MPU found the body last night. They ran the fingerprints through the database – it’s someone called John Keating . . .’
‘Why are you looking at me?’ she said.
‘You have no idea who it is?’
‘No.’
Perkins walked in. ‘I do.’
‘I was just about to send a SWAT team for you.’
He smiled. ‘No need. Here I am with all the answers.’
Everyone sat down.
Abby returned with Molly’s coffee.
‘Go on then weaver of tales,’ she said. Tell us everything you know.’
‘This is the story of a falling out among thieves dating back to 1820. Has anyone ever heard of the Treasure of Lima?’
Nobody had.
‘The numbers in Professor Louis’ notebook were the coordinates of Cocos Island, which lies about 340 miles off the Pacific shore of Costa Rica. And if you weren’t aware, Lima is the capital of Peru.’
‘This all sounds a bit far-fetched, Perkins,’ Tony said.
‘A $100,000,000 is definitely not far-fetched, DC Read. In 1820, the Spanish Viceroy of Lima decided to transport the treasure that the Catholic Church had accumulated since the defeat of the Incas to Mexico. He hired a British brig called the Mary Dear. The Captain was a man named William Thompson . . .’ He looked around at the rapt faces. ‘Still with me?’
They nodded.
‘At the time, the treasure was estimated to be worth over $60,000, and included two life-sized statues made from pure gold of the Blessed Virgin holding the Divine Child. Unfortunately, Captain Thompson and his crew couldn’t resist the temptation. After killing all the passengers and accompanying priests they sailed to Cocos Island where they buried the treasure . . .’
‘You’ve set up camera haven’t you, Perkins? Tony said looking round the squad room. ‘We’ll be on: “You’ve Been Made to Look A Prat”, won’t we?’
The corner of Perkins’ mouth went up. ‘After burying the treasure, they decided to lie low and split the loot up at a later date. Unfortunately for them, the Mary Dear was captured and the crew put on trial for piracy. All but Captain Thompson and his first mate – a man by the name of Gideon Patch – were hanged.’
‘What saved them?’ Lucy asked.
‘They agreed to lead the Spanish to the stolen treasure, but when they reached Cocos Island the two managed to escape into the jungle. Thompson, Patch and the treasure were never seen again.’
‘Until now?’ Molly ventured.
Perkins shook his head. ‘Not quite. Apparently, the two did make it off the island. Years later, they joined forces with a man named John Keating, but greed got the better of them again and the crew mutinied. That was the last that was ever heard of them . . . until now.’
Molly took a sip of her coffee. ‘Keep going, Perkins. Stop pausing for effect.’
‘The current players in this story are ancestors of those that were involved with the treasure during that time. Father Nathan Grove is probably dead somewhere in the Americas . . .’
‘Costa Rica actually.’
They all turned to see the Chief with Archbishop Henry Godfrey and Father Jimmy Fleming dressed in civilian attire.
‘Carry on,’ the Archbishop said.
Perkins checked his notes and continued. ‘Marshall Grant killed Father Nathan Grove and took his place, but before that, Marshall Grant was Karl Lindgren – remember that he took his mother’s surname – who was the ancestor of the First Mate Gideon Patch. Obviously, John Keating was the ancestor of his namesake, and that just leaves the ancestor of Captain William Thompson . . . Who I believe was Father Nathan Grove . . .’ He glanced at the Archbishop.’
‘Very good, Dr Perkins,’ the Archbishop said. ‘Yes, Father Grove chose to stay in the Americas for a reason – the treasure.’
‘No, you’ve lost me,’ Tony said. ‘Why did Grant/Lindgren kill the priest?’
‘For what was inside this,’ Perkins said holding up the silver engraved mneme. ‘The code that Professor Louis used for the combination are characters in the range 179 to 218 from a standard computer code page – number 437. The transcribed combination to unlock the mneme was “FORGETMENOT”.’ He unrolled a small piece of paper and began reading:
‘Follow the shoreline until you reach a creek.
Follow the creek that flows inland at the high water mark.
Now go seventy paces, west by south.
Now you will notice an opening in the hills.
Go north and walk into the stream.
You will then see a smooth rock rising up such as a cliff.
About where your shoulders meet the cliff you will notice a hole, just large enough for a finger or thumb to fit into.
Here you must put in an iron bar and turn.
Behind this is a door that opens up to the treasure.’
The Archbishop held out his hand. ‘Which now belongs to the Catholic Church, if I’m not too much mistaken. Captain Thompson left instructions on how to find the treasure. I’ve been to the Vatican and spoken to the people in charge there, and an expedition is to be launched to recover the Treasure of Lima.’
‘In the end, it was all about money,’ Tony said.
‘The Archbishop nodded. ‘Yes, but quite a lot of it I would say.’
Tony raised his hand. ‘We should get a finder’s fee.’
‘That’s an interesting idea, Detective. I’ll speak to the Pope personally on your behalf.’ He turned to Molly. ‘I believe you have a press briefing soon?’
‘Yes.’
‘No mention of the Treasure of Lima is to be made to the press. It would cause all sorts of problems for the Catholic Church.’
‘Doesn’t the treasure belong to Spain?’ Abby asked. ‘They could certainly do with some of it at the moment.’
‘Sadly no,’ the Archbishop said. ‘It belongs to the Catholic Church, and that is an end to the matter.’
He and Father Fleming left.
After the press briefing she got stuck into the paperwork, which was enough to put anyone off being a police officer. Also, she was not looking forward to the meal she’d promised to have with DI Rolly Waters from Vice later.
***
He woke up at five and lay there listening to Kiri’s breathing.
When they’d got back to Carreg Cennen Barn and revealed the men’s faces, they discovered that one of them was Gary McCann – the CEO of Lotus Systems. In the end, it was all about money. He was stealing top secret programs from the MoD and selling them on to the highest bidder, but Jim O’Connor had found out.
‘We need a house,’ filled the darkness.
He’d been waiting for her to broach the subject and here it was – like a fire-breathing dragon in the bed with them..
‘I had a house once. Terrible things happened in that house.’
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘I know.’
She sat up cross-legged and stared at him. ‘How do you know?’
‘I’m a detective, remember.’
‘Are you angry?’
‘No, I’m not angry. I’m afraid.’
‘I know, but you can’t let what happened before ruin the rest of your life.’
He cried.
She held him until he stopped.
***
‘You have to tell him,’ he said to Marvin and Megan O’Connor.
Megan rung her hands together. ‘No, we can’t.’
‘Normally, it wouldn’t matter, but now we know that Ginny Moran is his sister, and the baby is a product of an incestuous relationship.’
‘We could just . . .’
‘You know he’s thinking of leaving Colleen for Ginny.’ The added complication was that when they took the bullet out of Colleen’s gut, they also had to remove her damaged womb and ovaries. Colleen could now no longer have children.
‘More fool him,’ Marvin said. ‘After all they’ve been through together. I can’t believe a son of mine would . . .’ His voice tailed off. He looked at his wife. ‘Mr Randall is right, Megan old girl. We have to tell him. It’s gone on long enough, and now it’s the right thing to do.’
‘What about our grandchild?’
Marvin shook his head. ‘What a mess. The young girl and her family deserve to know as well . . .’
Randall shook his head and stood up. ‘I haven’t got any easy answers, but I’m sure you’ll do what is right.’
He left them holding each other. Marvin was right – it was a bloody mess.
***
Saturday, December 8
Even though it was bloody freezing, she spent most of the day in her garage rummaging through her parents’ possessions. It was long overdue. She put most of it in black plastic bags for disposal. She had enough crap of her own without hanging onto other people’s even if it did belong to her parents. She wasn’t sentimental. The only reason she was in here was to see if she could find any clues to the identity of her real father – and she did. She found six love letters from someone who signed himself “W”, and a receipt for a double room from the Mallards Hotel in Brighton dated March 23, 1981 – nine months before she was born on December 20, 1981.
The new caretaker came up and introduced himself.
She shook his hand absent-mindedly.
‘Would you like me to put those black bags in the rubbish for you, Ma’am?’
‘Yes please.’ She hobbled back to the main building carrying the letters and the hotel receipt.
####
About the Author
Tim Ellis was born in the bowels of Hammersmith Hospital, London, on a dark and stormy night, grew up in Cheadle, Cheshire, and now lives in Essex with his wife and four Shitzus. In-between, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps at eighteen and completed twenty-two years service, leaving in 1993 having achieved the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 (Regimental Sergeant Major). Since then he has worked in secondary education as a senior financial manager, in higher education as an associate lecturer/tutor at Lincoln and Anglia Ruskin Universities, and as a consultant for the National College of School Leadership. His final job, before retiring to write fiction full time in 2009, was as Head and teacher of Behavioural Sciences (Psychology/Sociology) in a secondary school. He has a PhD and an MBA in Educational Management, and an MA in Education.
Discover other titles by Tim Ellis at http://timellis.weebly.com/
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Warrior: Path of Destiny
Warrior: Scourge of the Steppe
The Knowledge of Time: Second Civilisation
Orc Quest: Prophecy
Solomon’s Key
Jacob’s Ladder
Raga Man
As You Sow, So Shall You Reap
A Life for a Life
The Wages of Sin
The Flesh is Weak
The Shadow of Death
His Wrath is Come
The Breath of Life
The Dead Know Not
Be Not Afraid
The Twelve Murders of Christmas
Body 13
The Graves at Angel Brook
The Skulls Beneath Eternity Wharf
Footprints of the Dead
The Terror at Grisly Park
The House of Mourning
The Gordian Knot
Collected Short Stories/Poetry/Anthologies/Non-fiction
Untended Treasures
Where do you want to go today?
Winter of my Heart (Poetry)
With Love Project – The Occupier
The Killing Sands (Anthology)
The Writer’s A-Z of Body Language (Non-fiction)
Summer of my Soul (Poetry)
Also planned for 2013/2014:
The Song of Solomon (Harte & KP 2)
The Timekeeper's Apprentice
Orc Quest Book II: The Last Human
Whispers of the Dead (Tom Gabriel 2)
The Enigma of Apocalypse Heights (Quigg 6)
A Lamb to the Slaughter (Parish & Richards 10)
Through a Glass Darkly (Parish & Richards 11)
The Sword of Damocles (Stone & Randall 3)
Mortis Obscura (Farthing & Trask)