by Will Adams
‘You were there? You saw it happen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why not report it?’
‘I tried.’
He launched into an extraordinary story about rooftop escapes, a phone call from a local pub, swarms of police. She listened in mounting horror. Fifteen minutes ago, she wouldn’t have believed a word of it. But now she did, she believed him completely. ‘This email my aunt sent,’ she said. ‘That man was talking about it too. He wanted me to forward it to him.’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’ll bet he just wanted to delete it.’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘This is going to sound crazy,’ he told her.
‘Crazier than everything else?’
‘Okay. It’s photographs of some old papers that your aunt wanted valued.’ He must have read bewilderment on her face, for he went on: ‘They’re valuable, don’t get me wrong. They were written by Sir Isaac Newton. Your aunt’s great-uncle bought them at Sotheby’s back in the 1930s. His name was Bernard Martyn. He was a physicist who worked for-’
‘Great-uncle Bernie,’ nodded Rachel. ‘Mum used to talk about him.’
‘I’m a Newton scholar,’ said Luke. ‘Those guys hired me to find his missing papers. I tracked your great-uncle’s lot to your aunt’s attic. I took pictures and emailed them off because my client had first refusal. Your aunt was happy with that. But she didn’t know what a good price would be.’
Rachel felt hollow. ‘So she emailed the pictures to me?’
Luke nodded. ‘I think she reckoned you could have them valued for her somehow. But then those guys showed up.’
‘Who are they? Who’s this client of yours?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you were working for them.’
‘They never told me their names. They never told me anything.’
‘And you didn’t think that odd?’ said Rachel. ‘You didn’t think that suspicious?’
‘These are the lost papers of Isaac bloody Newton we’re talking about, not nuclear fucking secrets. I just assumed it was some cranky old collector. How could I know this would happen?’
‘My Aunt Penny’s dead,’ said Rachel furiously. ‘She’s dead because you led those men to her.’
Luke blinked as though she’d slapped him. He was about to defend himself but then thought better of it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. If I’d had the first idea …’
The driver glanced around, spoke into the silence. ‘Listen, love, I’m sorry too, and all that, but we weren’t the ones who killed your aunt or zapped you with that taser. This email is the only evidence there is of what really happened this afternoon. If they can delete it somehow, they’ll get away with this and maybe even put my mate here in the slammer for the rest of his life for something they did. Is that what you want?’
‘Why should I trust you any more than them?’
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile, tossed it to her. ‘I got your address from a woman called Sonia, forget her surname, but she teaches law at Caius. She’s mates with a friend of mine called Miriam. Call Sonia. She’ll vouch for Miriam. Then call Miriam. She’ll vouch for me.’
‘And what’s your name?’
‘Redfern. Pelham Redfern.’
A bell tinkled faintly in Rachel’s memory. ‘I know that name,’ she said. ‘You’re the bastard who went out with Vicky Andrews.’
‘Ah,’ said Pelham. He scratched his throat uncomfortably. ‘Yes. Vicky. We did see each other for a-’
‘You broke her heart.’
‘Yes, well, sadly not every romance is destined to end in confetti and-’
‘She found you in bed with her sister.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, mate,’ said Luke. ‘You bedded her sister?’
‘More accurate to say that she bedded me,’ shrugged Pelham. ‘Some serious sibling rivalry issues there, if you ask me, with muggins here caught in the middle. And somehow I’m the bad guy?’
Luke turned helplessly back to Rachel. ‘Okay, fine,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can’t trust us. Not like that. But we’re not conmen or villains or anything like that, I swear we’re not. We’re people like you. Our friends are your friends.’
Rachel hesitated. She wanted to be angry with him, she wanted to be suspicious, but there was something about him that she instinctively trusted, and it would have been dishonest to deny it. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s say I believe you. What now?’
ELEVEN
I
Walters had been so intent on catching the BMW that he’d neglected to memorize its licence number. ‘The plates,’ he said, whirling around on Pete and Kieran. ‘Tell me you got their plates.’
‘I did,’ said Pete, jotting the number down before he could forget it.
‘That was him in the passenger seat,’ muttered Kieran. ‘The one from the old bat’s house.’
‘I know.’ Walters clenched a fist. He’d thought he’d been so smart setting that fire. He’d taken it for granted that the police would have nabbed Luke by now, would be scoffing at his story, preparing charges of manslaughter and arson. Instead, he now had the girl and the driver as witnesses for his defence; and even their tame policeman had become a liability, a thread that could be followed back through his boss, first to Croke and then to them. Walters looked at him. He was standing open-mouthed in the road, radio in hand, evidently wanting to call it in but not knowing what to say. Walters marched over to him, clapped him on his arm. ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘If you still want to join us, I’ll put in a word for you.’
‘Yes,’ said the policeman uncertainly. ‘Thanks.’
‘And keep all this to yourself, right? National security. Above even your boss’s clearance. Can’t say any more. Not until you join us.’ He flashed him a smile, strode to the SUV. They all piled in and pulled away, leaving the policeman still standing there dumbly, doing his best mannequin yet.
‘What now, boss?’ asked Pete.
‘We find that BMW and get rid of that fucking email.’ He turned to Kieran. ‘How much of her password did you get?’
‘First six characters. Should be enough to break the rest.’ He set a programme running, turned to Pete. ‘Give us their licence number, then.’ He tapped it in, ran a search. ‘It’s a rental,’ he announced, thirty seconds later. ‘Company called Jonson’s Cars.’
‘Where are they?’ asked Walters.
‘Head office is St Albans,’ said Kieran, checking his screen. ‘But they’ve got a dealership here in Cambridge.’
‘Open Sundays?’
‘For another hour.’
‘Then give me their address. Let’s pay them a visit.’
II
‘What now?’ asked Pelham rhetorically. ‘What do you mean, what now? You check for your aunt’s damned email.’
Rachel nodded. She logged in on his phone and there it was.
‘My dearest Rachel,
The most extraordinary thing — some Isaac Newton papers have just been unearthed in my attic! It seems your Great-great uncle Bernard bought them at Sotheby’s for next to nothing, and now they’re worth a small fortune! And we always thought him the unworldly one! Anyway, I thought of you and your brother at once. Bernie doted on your mother, though she wasn’t much more than a girl when he died. I’m sure he’d have wanted to help.
Now this is all supposed to be terribly hush-hush, but apparently some terrifically wealthy collector is about make me an offer. Naturally I haven’t the first idea what the papers might be worth, and the nice young man who found them will only say they should fetch?20,000 or more. That would be wonderful, of course, and I think I can trust him, but he is here on behalf of this collector, after all, and I’d never forgive myself if I let myself be duped, not after that wretched episode with the barn roof! Anyway, to cut a long story short, I thought perhaps you or one of your colleagues might have some idea, so I’ve attached the photographs. Incidentally, not a word to anyone, especial
ly not my brood. They don’t know of this yet, so we’ll be able to put the proceeds towards your brother’s care, and no one will ever be the wiser. I’m sure that’s what Bernie would have wanted. How does that sound?
Your loving Aunt P
Tears threatened Rachel’s eyes; she had to bite the knuckle of her index finger to stop them. ‘These papers,’ she asked. ‘Where are they?’
‘Those men have them.’
‘Then why were they after me? If they’ve got the originals, why would they want copies?’
‘They don’t. We think they just want to deprive access to them to anyone else.’
‘Because they back up your story about Aunt Penny?
Luke shook his head. ‘There has to be more to it than that. They freaked out the moment they realized your aunt had sent you the email, which was before she even fell. So there has to be something in the papers themselves.’
Rachel held up the phone. ‘No way can we read a manuscript on a screen this small.’
‘We’ll be at my place in a minute,’ Pelham told her. ‘Send it to print and it’ll be waiting for us when we get there.’
‘How? Do I need to download all these attachments?’
‘No. I’m on my company’s cloud network.’
‘You’re on what?’
‘Give it here.’ He took his phone back from her, worked it one-handed as he drove. ‘All done,’ he said, tossing the phone over his shoulder to her. ‘And you might want to forward your aunt’s email on to some friends. The more copies of it and of the Newton papers that are out there, the happier I’ll feel.’
She nodded and set to work. The smart-phone was still busy with the printing, however, and was slow as treacle as she tried to type out a covering note. Then suddenly it froze altogether. The screen blinked black then began to reset. She tried at once to log back into her account but now it wouldn’t recognize her. ‘They’ve locked me out,’ she said bleakly. ‘Those bastards have locked me out.’
III
The lights were on in Benyamin’s office. Avram was about to ring the buzzer when a young woman emerged, head in the air with laughter as she talked into her phone. He kept the door open with his foot, hurried up the steps. It was a while since he’d been here. The lobby had been painted cream and teal, the walls hung with works of characterless modern art. ‘Who’s there?’ called out Benyamin, when he knocked.
‘Me. Avram.’
Footsteps, brisk and purposeful. The office door swung open. ‘What do you want?’ scowled Benyamin, his voice low enough to suggest he had company.
‘We need to talk.’
Benyamin nodded and beckoned him inside. A well-dressed Yemenite woman was studying architectural plans pinned to a slanted work table. ‘Forgive me, Anna,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to pick this up again tomorrow.’
‘What if Zach calls?’
‘Don’t worry about Zach,’ he assured her. ‘I can handle Zach.’ He escorted her out, locked the door behind her, led Avram over to a pair of tattered red armchairs slouching around a low glass table. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What brings you here?’
‘You know what brings me here.’
‘It’s on, then?’
‘Tomorrow night.’
Benyamin nodded several times. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get around to it. I was beginning to think you were all talk, like the others.’
‘We’ve been waiting for the right time.’
‘And what makes this the right time? Have you had one of your signs?’
‘We’ve had many signs.’
‘I must have been looking the other way.’
‘Even a sceptic like you must have felt the earthquake, Benyamin.’
‘That?’ snorted Benyamin. ‘That was your sign?’
‘It put fissures in the Dome of the Rock. What else would you call it?’
‘I’d call it an earthquake,’ said Benyamin. ‘After all, if He is prepared to use earthquakes to get His way, why not bring the whole Dome down while He’s at it? Or aren’t His powers up to that?’
‘He doesn’t want to bring it down Himself. He wants us to do it. That’s why we call it a sign.’
‘Strange how your God uses earthquakes for signs only in earthquake zones,’ he said. ‘Why is that, do you think? Wouldn’t it be more impressive if He made them happen in places without geological faults? And, while we’re at it, why does He always bring down the cheapest housing, killing poor people by the tens of thousands, while leaving alone the houses and offices of rich people designed and built by structural engineers and architects like myself? Does He hate the poor that much, do you think?’
‘I didn’t come here to discuss theology, Benyamin,’ said Avram. ‘I know you don’t believe. But I do, others do. Others who’ll be moved to do the things we both want precisely because of their belief, because of these signs. And do you honestly care why they do those things, so long as they do them?’
Benyamin shrugged. ‘You’re right. I don’t care. The earthquake was a sign. What do you need?’
Avram realized, a little too late, that he’d just set himself up for mockery. But there was nothing for it now. ‘I want to be sure that our charges work,’ he said. ‘I want to make sure the Dome implodes completely.’
Benyamin shook his head. ‘Implosion is a technical term,’ he said. ‘It happens when exterior pressure is greater than interior pressure. What you’ll be doing is knocking out support pillars and letting gravity go to work.’
‘But we’ll bring it down, yes?’
‘Oh, yes. You’ll bring it down.’ He frowned. ‘Why would you even think otherwise? Has something changed since we last …’ He realized the answer for himself, burst out laughing. ‘It’s the earthquake, isn’t it? They’ve put up scaffolding and buttresses in case of another shock. And now you’re worried that even if you take out the pillars, the Dome will stay up. That’s it, isn’t it?’ He rocked delightedly back in his chair. ‘Your sign!’ he taunted. ‘Your precious sign! What a perverse God He is, to make your task so difficult.’
‘Please keep your voice down,’ said Avram. ‘Do you want people to hear?’
‘Why? Won’t your God protect us from eaves-droppers?’
‘I’m getting tired of this,’ said Avram. ‘Will you help or not?’
‘I don’t see how I can. A situation like this, I’d need to get inside, examine the work up close. Not a chance in hell they’ll let that happen. Not a chance in hell they’ll let any kafir inside. Not with the repairs going on. It’s your precious sign at work again, making life easy.’
Avram leaned forwards. ‘Signs aren’t meant to make things easy,’ he said. ‘They’re meant to make them significant. They’re meant to make our people receptive to His message, so that their hearts will flood with belief and they’ll have the strength to do the hard things that will need doing. The things that need steel.’ He forced a smile, let his anger subside, sat back in his chair. ‘What if I could get you footage?’
Benyamin shrugged. ‘It would be better than nothing. But not much. It’s impossible to gauge structural strength accurately from video. You need to see the thing itself, the materials, the workmanship. My advice, just put charges on everything.’
‘We don’t have enough. Or the men to carry them.’
‘Then you have a problem.’
Avram nodded. ‘There is one solution I can think of.’
Benyamin gave Avram a sour look. ‘One more than I can,’ he said.
‘Perhaps you’re weakening,’ suggested Avram. ‘I could understand that. It’s been three years now, hasn’t it? Over three. Perhaps you don’t feel so strongly any more.’
Colour flushed Benyamin’s face. ‘I feel strongly.’
‘Then come with us tomorrow night. See the repairs for yourself. Examine the pillars and the scaffolding. Tell us where to place the charges. You can finally do something to avenge Elizabeth. It was Elizabeth, wasn’t it?’
Benyamin’s express
ion stiffened. ‘You know it was.’
‘And Judy and Rosanna?’
‘I remember their names,’ said Benyamin tightly. ‘You think I could ever forget their names?’
Avram nodded. ‘You don’t have to decide now,’ he said. ‘All I ask is that you listen to my plan.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Not now. Tomorrow night. I’ll explain everything then, and I’ll show you something that will make even you believe.’
‘What?’
Avram got to his feet. ‘Tomorrow night. Be ready when I call.’
‘Very well,’ said Benyamin. ‘Tomorrow night.’
IV
‘All done?’ asked Walters, turning into the Jonson’s Cars lot.
‘All done,’ nodded Kieran. ‘I’ve changed the girl’s login details, and I’ve deleted every mail and attachment in all her folders, including the one from her aunt, and those photos.’
‘And she didn’t forward them anywhere first?’
‘She didn’t forward it, no. But it’s possible she downloaded or printed it.’
‘Shit. Then we still need to find them.’
He parked by the rental office, went inside. A bored young woman with peroxide hair and vivid pink lipstick was slouching behind a cheap pine desk. ‘Yes, sir?’ she asked, sitting up a little straighter. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘I’m after information,’ said Walters.
‘About our stock or about our prices?’
‘About one of your cars. A red BMW soft top. I want to know who’s driving it.’
She gave a gulping kind of laugh. ‘Are you serious? I can’t tell you that!’
Walters didn’t have time for subtlety. He took out his wedge, counted off?500 in twenties, slapped them on her desk. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
She stared hungrily at the money. ‘Do you have the licence number?’ she asked. He gave it to her. She tapped keys, checked her screen. ‘It’s a business rental,’ she said. ‘Goldwood Laboratories. They’re over at Cherry Hinton Science Park. You know it?’