Butterfly Grave (Murder Notebooks)

by Anne Cassidy

‘Leave Skeggsie alone, Rory. I’ve told you before . . .’

  ‘Or what?’

  Joshua looked at Rose and then seemed to hesitate. ‘You know what. Just remember the last time.’

  Joshua walked off and Rose followed. She glanced back and saw Rory in the same position as before, his face pale and round. She had to hurry to keep up with Joshua, who was walking swiftly, his shoulders rounded. A tinkle of laughter came from a nearby group of people as they turned off the front and headed towards the back streets and Stuart’s house.

  FIVE

  The next morning Skeggsie drove them to the hospital. It was a twenty-minute drive and no one said much. When they parked outside Joshua sat for a moment, not opening the door.

  ‘Do you guys mind if I go and see Stu on my own? I don’t think he’s ready for anyone who’s not close family.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He pushed the handle and the passenger door opened.

  ‘I’ll make my own way home. Just expect me when you see me.’

  ‘I’ll come and pick you up,’ Skeggsie said.

  ‘No. I’ll get the bus.’

  ‘Right,’ Skeggsie said.

  ‘Maybe you two can spend a bit of quality time together,’ Joshua said with a wan smile.

  They watched as he walked towards the entrance of the hospital, his big coat flying out behind him. Then Skeggsie spoke.

  ‘There’s something I want you to look at. It’s at my house.’

  He drove off and Rose felt her spirits sink. This had to be something to do with the notebooks. The car shot along the dual carriageway and then turned off for Whitley Bay. She sat silently, holding in her irritation. After what Joshua said the previous evening about leaving it until they got back to London Skeggsie was still going on about it.

  ‘I’ve decoded some more of the notebook,’ he said. ‘There are some puzzling bits and I’m not sure how to tell Josh. I mean I wouldn’t tell him now, with all this going on, but I’ll have to tell him sometime.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve had this decoding programme running on the text for days now. You remember I told you that the code changes every few lines? Like on one line A equals L? Then two lines down it changes and A equals P. It seems that the basic key is the same on each page. Paragraph, Line, Letter. So it’s paragraph four, line three, letter two. The only thing is that every couple of lines the page number changes. So you get two lines of text then the code doesn’t work any more. You have three hundred and forty-eight other pages of The Butterfly Project to choose from. Well, that’s not strictly true because at least a hundred of the pages are covered in drawings and diagrams but it leaves approximately two hundred and forty-eight pages to go through until you start to get a word. So a couple of days ago . . .’

  ‘Enough about the code, just tell me what it says.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Skeggsie spoke, his voice tight.

  ‘I’ve printed off a page of it and I’ll show it to you when we get back to my house.’

  ‘Don’t go all moody on me. I just can’t get excited about a silly old code!’

  Skeggsie put the radio on loud. It was a talk station. Rose would have preferred music but she let it go rather than ask him. The traffic was moving slowly.

  Rose slipped into thinking about the notebooks.

  Joshua had taken both books from the man who had given them the information that their parents were still alive. The first page of each was a photograph and there were some maps and diagrams and pages and pages of coded writing. It wasn’t until they found a dog-eared copy of The Butterfly Project among Brendan’s belongings that they thought they might have a way to break the code. Skeggsie had been working on one of the books ever since.

  After crawling through traffic they finally reached Skeggsie’s house. Rose waited while Skeggsie unlocked the Chubb lock then the Yale and then punched in a code for the burglar alarm before they went inside. She was reminded, for a second, of the way that Skeggsie used to lock the Camden flat door every time someone came in or went out. Lately he had not been so nervous about security.

  ‘Come up to my room,’ Skeggsie said.

  Rose trudged up the stairs behind him. Once in his room she looked around and saw, without surprise, that it was arranged almost identically to the one he had in London. On one side was a neatly made bed. On the other was a big desk. Here the only computer he had was his laptop. On the wall behind it was a large picture of the Angel of the North. Rose’s eyes were drawn to it. It looked like some computer-generated alien, its face featureless, its body striated with ridges. Its wings were vast, one giant slab of steel cutting through the soft rounded body.

  ‘Ever seen it? Close up, I mean,’ Skeggsie said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Its wings are the width of those of a jumbo jet.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Josh and I were going to go but now I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘There’ll be time. Get Christmas out of the way.’

  Looking down at the desk Rose saw the notebook that Skeggsie had been working on. She sat down on the chair and picked it up. She hadn’t seen it for a while and she lifted the front cover to see the familiar photograph of Viktor Baranski, the former Russian navy man who had become a millionaire businessman. He had settled in London and was rumoured to have given secrets to the British government. It was also thought that he was involved in trafficking.

  They knew that her mother and Brendan had been investigating Viktor Baranski and his organisation. They were looking into the discovery of five dead eastern European girls who were found in the back of a lorry. One of them was only fifteen. They built a case against him but then in 2006 he disappeared and turned up dead, in the North Sea. At the time it was said that he’d been killed by the Russian secret service as a reprisal for giving their secrets to the British. According to ex-Chief Inspector Munroe it was this very event that triggered their parents’ disappearance. Baranski owed money to German gangsters and they blamed Brendan and her mum for not getting what they were owed.

  Was any of it true? None of them knew for sure.

  Rose flicked through the pages of code. On one was a diagram that she recognised. It showed a coastline and a village. It was Stiffkey in Norfolk, where their parents had stayed in a cottage. Weeks before Rose and Joshua had found the remains of an identity bracelet there that had belonged, they thought, to Viktor Baranski. It was also the place where Joshua and she had been roughed up and threatened by Lev Baranski, Viktor’s son, the man in the silver SUV. Rose closed the book because she did not want to remember it. She saw that Skeggsie was holding a single sheet of A4 paper. He put it in her hand.

  ‘This is the section I decoded. Read it.’

  She took the piece of paper.

  Operation VB

  Viktor Baranski at an event in his restaurant, Eastern Fare, 15th July at 17.30.

  Afterwards will be making visits to other business concerns, Property Ventures in Holborn and Elite Buildings in Mayfair.

  Approx. 20.30 he will then go to the flat of his mistress off Oxford Street.

  He is expected to be there for a couple of hours.

  He is to be picked up after spending time with this woman. He will have to be intercepted inside building before his driver knows that anything has happened. Important to use restraints and gags.

  Take care about SVR surveillance. Take note of people, cars and cameras.

  Once in custody Baranski should be passed on to B.

  Change cars.

  B will take him to Stiffkey.

  B will hand him over to F.

  B will wait until operation is complete.

  B will help dispose of evidence.

  Rose felt uncomfortable. She read it over again and found herself frowning. Viktor Baranski’s body had been found near Cromer, which was twenty or so miles from Stiffkey. So this document, plan, whatever it was, had been written while Baranski was still alive. It was
in fact a plan to abduct him.

  ‘What’s the SVR?’ Rose said.

  ‘The SVR is the Russian foreign intelligence service. Part of what used to be the KGB. Spies.’

  ‘So you think that the Cold Case team kidnapped Baranski in order to hand him over to the Russian secret police?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But what about the case of the suffocated girls, the trafficking? Why was he not arrested for it?’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t have enough evidence for a trial. Possibly this was how they decided to resolve it. Hand Baranski back to his own people so that they could deal with him.’

  ‘Perhaps they thought that Baranski would be taken back to Russia and put on trial.’

  ‘I don’t think so. That’s why I’m a bit worried about showing this to Josh.’

  Rose read over the document again. It didn’t take long for Skeggsie’s words to sink in.

  ‘You think B stands for Brendan?’

  Skeggsie nodded.

  ‘And Brendan was the one who handed him over? At the cottage in Stiffkey?’

  ‘It would make sense. That’s where you found Baranski’s identity chain.’

  ‘But just because Brendan handed Baranski over that didn’t mean he knew they were going to kill him.’

  ‘It makes some sense of the threats Baranski’s son made against Josh.’

  Rose remembered Lev Baranski shouting at Joshua, I have not forgotten my father’s death and I never will. It had happened at the cottage at Stiffkey.

  ‘Look,’ Skeggsie went on, ‘it says B will wait until operation is complete. B will help dispose of evidence.’

  Rose frowned. She read it over, studying each word.

  ‘But that could mean literally clearing away any evidence that Baranski had been in the cottage. That’s all. Handing the man over because of some deal done between the police and the secret services and then getting rid of any evidence. That’s what it implies! What were you thinking?’

  Rose’s voice was getting louder. Skeggsie’s was lower, calmer than before. It irritated her that he didn’t get upset about anything.

  ‘Could it mean that B had to dispose of the body?’ he said.

  ‘No! Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not. You’re reading too much into it. I think Baranski was probably handed over in good faith and that him turning up dead was the last thing anyone wanted.’

  ‘Um . . .’

  Skeggsie looked thoughtful.

  ‘Look, we shouldn’t mention this at all. Not until we get back to London. Agreed?’

  Skeggsie nodded.

  ‘I’ll walk back to Josh’s. I need the fresh air.’

  When she stepped out of the front door he called after her, ‘I won’t say anything, Rose. Not till we get back to London.’

  Rose headed away, walking swiftly along. Then she turned on to the Promenade, her head down, her thoughts muddled. She did not want to think about the things she had just read. She glanced at the sea. It looked muddy and flat, the sky a dirty white. After a while she turned off the front and headed for Joshua’s house. Turning into the street she almost came to a full stop.

  The silver SUV was parked further down. There was a woman sitting in the driver’s seat as there had been the previous day. She slowed down and looked again to see if the dog was there too.

  It was. A small Jack Russell type of dog.

  So what, if a woman wanted to sit in her SUV in the middle of the day two days in succession? She might have any number of reasons for that. Rose would not become paranoid. She should look at things sensibly. Approaching the SUV, she took a good look at the woman behind the steering wheel. The only thing she could see for sure was that she had short white-blonde hair. The woman seemed to move as if she knew Rose was looking. Rose made a dramatic tutting sound and looked down at her laces. She knelt on one knee and fiddled with the other shoelace. At the same time she looked at the SUV and saw the first letters in its registration – GT50 D . . . She closed her eyes and memorised it. G for Gold, T for Tango, 50 for golden wedding anniversary, D for Delta. She said it over and over in her head for a few seconds then stood up again.

  She walked past the car and went into Joshua’s house.

  SIX

  Just after two Rose had a call from Joshua.

  ‘Can you come down to the seafront? There’s a cafe at the far end. It’s the first turn after the pub, about twenty metres down. It’s the Blue Kettle. There’s someone I need to see there.’

  ‘Sure,’ Rose said. ‘I’ll get my coat and be there in ten minutes or so.’

  Rose was relieved to be going out. She’d spent the last couple of hours on Facebook and then read some downloads for college work. She was fed up and needed some fresh air.

  The Blue Kettle sat between a chemist’s and a charity shop. It was painted blue and the name was pretty but the window was covered with a thin wire mesh which suggested that it had been broken or had graffiti sprayed on to it at some time or other. The heat hit her as she opened the door. Joshua was sitting at a table by the wall reading a newspaper. There were half a dozen other people but the place did not look busy.

  ‘I’ll get a drink,’ she said. ‘You want one?’

  He shook his head, pointing to the mug in front of him.

  She bought a peppermint tea and sat down opposite him.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she said.

  ‘I saw Stu. He’s more awake now but he says he doesn’t remember anything about the fall. He’s a little bit out of it really. I didn’t feel I could ask him about the thing with Susie or why he was drinking. And I certainly didn’t tell him about the newspaper report.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time to go through all that when he’s better.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I don’t know how long that will take. He’s in a bad way. He says his head hurts.’

  ‘He banged it in the fall. It’s bound to hurt.’

  ‘You’re right. I just . . . When I first heard that he fell I didn’t really think about the actual consequences. I was just glad that he was alive. But seeing him now I realise how badly injured he is.’

  ‘You can’t fall off a cliff and walk away.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said after a few moments, ‘I went to the police station and met this officer, Joe Warner. He’s an old friend of Stu’s. He’s one of those community police officers who go into schools and give talks about drugs and stuff. So he’s been looking into the fall, trying to find out what happened. He’s looked at the CCTV footage in the parking area near the cliff walk at Cullercoats. There’s no footage of Stu’s car because for some reason he parked in a street nearby. Maybe that’s another reason why he wasn’t missed. A car left overnight in the cliff car park might have raised an alarm. There is footage of a parked car, though, and a man getting out and walking towards the cliff path. Most of the car registration plate is visible and at one point the face of the driver can be seen. This was at about nine.’

  ‘Do they know who it is?’

  ‘He didn’t say but his phone rang while he was talking to me. He turned away to have a conversation and I looked at the printout in front of him. The name on it was Greg Tyler.’

  ‘Susie’s husband?’

  It made sense suddenly why they were sitting in the Blue Kettle. Rose looked up at the counter but there were only two women serving. Susie Tyler had said her husband was a partner in the business, which wasn’t doing very well.

  ‘Joe said they were talking to the man to see if he saw anything of the accident.’

  ‘Why? Do they think there’s more to it?’

  Joshua shrugged his shoulders.

  Just then the cafe door opened and a man came in looking flustered. He was talking on his mobile phone saying, ‘I gotta go.’ He was in his thirties, with longish hair. He was wearing a denim jacket which looked too tight. He took it off as he walked towards the counter and went through a door at the side. Moments later he was in front of the counter, his clothes covered up wi
th a white apron.

  ‘That might be him,’ Joshua said.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to him.’

  Joshua got up and walked across to the counter. He said something to Greg Tyler and the man frowned. Joshua continued talking and then turned and came back to the table.

  ‘He’s not exactly happy but he’s coming over in five minutes.’

  A while later Greg Tyler was sitting beside Rose, opposite Joshua. He was upright in the chair, not touching the table. In his hand he had his mobile and was glancing at it.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he said abruptly.

  ‘I want to know what you were doing at Cullercoats on Wednesday night when my uncle fell.’

  ‘Been talking to the law?’

  Joshua nodded. The man looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Look, for obvious reasons I don’t like your uncle. Susie said she told you everything when she brought your dog back. When me and your uncle had that fight in Morrisons I thought that was it, that he’d leave her alone. Then on Wednesday lunchtime I get a call from him. He wants to see me to talk things through. He tells me to meet him in the car park at Cullercoats that evening at nine thirty. I don’t want to do it. He’s the last person in the world I want to see but I was afraid he’d contact Susie so I told him I’d go. I get there early about nine. I sit in the car getting het up, angry. I get out of the car and decide to walk a bit to calm myself down.’

  Greg Tyler’s voice had risen. He seemed to notice it and carried on in lower tones. Rose leant forward to hear.

  ‘Then I hear some voices from further up the path. I went a bit closer and I see the dog running round. Two men were standing facing each other. At first I thought they were talking but when the voices got louder I see that they were arguing. Then one of them pushed the other. I stood back because I realised it was Stuart Johnson. I didn’t want him to see me. The other fellow walked off and Stuart was calling after him. Then he went after him.’

  He stopped as if expecting Joshua to say something.

  ‘To tell you the truth I’d cooled down by then and I was glad for a reason to scoot off. I left. I got back to my car and drove home, never said a word to Susie about it, nothing. Next day Susie comes into the cafe, in front of the girls here, and tells me that Stuart Johnson fell off the cliff. No one was more surprised than me.’