Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  “No… wait.” The line went dead for a minute and then Pete spoke. “Shit!”

  “I know.”

  “Frickin’ hell, we were only there a few nights before.”

  “The police have brought me in for questioning.”

  Again there was silence. Alex could hear him breathing.

  “Pete?”

  “You aren’t… You weren’t involved in some way, were you?”

  “No, I’m not! I’ve got my pass card but the police say it was used to gain entrance.”

  “You’ve got your pass on you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a shame but I suppose it could it have been cloned.”

  “I guess. I know credit cards get cloned so maybe my pass card was cloned somehow.”

  “All right. They said your card had been used in the burglary. Did they show you the evidence? You know they sometimes say things just to get a response. They hope they can get you to confess. A sure sign is whether they’ve cautioned you. If they’ve not done that—”

  “No they haven’t.”

  “I think you’re fine then.”

  “But we were there, Pete.”

  Again, just the sound of breathing on the line before he spoke. “Look, Alex, I don’t want you to bring me into this. I don’t want you to mention I was there.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Shit, I just remembered I sent Ellen’s rent to you. Have you transferred it to her folks?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you see? It looks suspicious.”

  Alex thought about Jackson’s interest in the lottery money. Would a few grand from Pete look suspicious?

  “Alex? Don’t mention me being involved. It looks bad for both of us. Worse for you because of the money. OK?”

  “Fine,” Alex said. When he ended the call he had a sick feeling in his stomach.

  Tanya Wilson arrived late and apologized, blaming the traffic. She was petite, in her sixties with glasses and a severe haircut. Her age was in her hands rather than her face, which was smooth and expressionless. Before Jackson and Dixit returned, she asked for an update. She already knew about Ellen’s death and the break-in at Highclere. She took notes about the questions concerning their interest in his lottery win and his departure to study Egyptology.

  “You’ve not confessed to anything?” she asked when he finished.

  He responded, “I’m not guilty of anything!”

  “They’ve not cautioned you or charged you?”

  “No, just said I’m helping with enquiries.”

  “OK,” she said without giving anything away on her face, and Alex wondered whether she believed that he wasn’t guilty of anything. This woman would be a great poker player, he thought.

  She knocked on the door to signal they were ready. Five minutes later, Jackson and Dixit stepped into the room and sat. Dixit was opposite Alex, the manila file placed deliberately in front of him, one hand on top. Jackson sat opposite the solicitor.

  The inspector pointed to the recorder on the table. “Before we start, would you object if we recorded this?”

  Wilson nodded agreement.

  Dixit switched on the device and introduced everyone.

  “Good,” Wilson began, “because, for the record, my client is here on his own free will to help with your enquiries. You have not cautioned him and I understand he has already made a statement that he had nothing to do with either Miss Champion’s death or the burglary at Highclere Castle.”

  Jackson said, “Accepted.”

  Dixit said, “Before we took the break”—he nodded towards the solicitor—“we were just talking about the access to the back entrance to the building.” He paused as if hoping Alex would comment then opened the folder. There was a grainy black and white photograph on the top. Dixit slid it towards Alex.

  “Do you recognize this person?”

  The picture was from above. A man wearing a baseball cap.

  Wilson leaned across and whispered to Alex, asking if it could be him. He nodded.

  Wilson said, “That could be anyone.”

  “The picture was taken from the security camera inside Highclere Castle over the rear entrance. I believe it’s you, Mr MacLure.”

  Alex said nothing.

  “The picture was taken just before the cameras failed. Only this wasn’t from last night. This was from Wednesday night. Early hours of Thursday the 12th–12:13am. Do you deny that this is you in the picture, Mr MacLure?”

  Alex hadn’t considered that the cameras recorded images, but then he had just shown Pete around. It stuck him then that he’d used his pass card. Dixit knew his card had been used.

  “I think it’s me,” Alex said. “I was there.”

  Wilson jotted down a note. DC Dixit nodded. “You used your pass card to gain entrance to the rear of the building.”

  “I did. I was there to look for clues about Ellen’s research.”

  “Why so clandestine? Why did you disable the cameras?”

  “I went late because”—he almost said we before remembering Pete’s warning—“I didn’t want to be disturbed. I wanted the peace and quiet to think about her research.”

  “And to case the joint.”

  Wilson leaned in and whispered that the best startegy was to stay silent now.

  Alex shook his head. “No. I did not burgle Highclere. And I didn’t need to case the joint, as you put it. I know the exhibit. I’ve been there many times.”

  Dixit said, “You disabled the security cameras.”

  “No.” Alex shook his head firmly. “You can see I didn’t because you have a photo of me entering. It would be odd for me to go in and then worry about security, don’t you think?”

  “Let’s talk about the timing of this.” Jackson used a friendly tone. “Three days before. You must admit it looks suspicious.”

  “It’s a coincidence. I’m innocent. As I’ve told you, Ellen was my friend. She’s the last person I would want to hurt, and I’m interested in her research not the artefacts from the exhibition.”

  Dixit put the photo back in the folder. “Let’s talk about that, shall we?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Hurting Miss Champion.”

  Alex was about to protest when Dixit continued: “Let’s go back to the evening of Saturday 7th.”

  Alex waited.

  “You got a takeaway and watched a movie, yes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you had an argument.”

  He was taken aback. “No.”

  “We spoke to your neighbours. One of them said you had an argument.”

  Alex shook his head. “Well, we didn’t. If you mean the busybody in number 4, then she’s unreliable. She’s a crackpot who will complain about anything and everything. I once left my bike in the communal hall for a short while. It was only there for a few minutes and she knocked on the door to complain and ask me to move it.”

  Dixit said, “You had an argument on Saturday night.”

  Alex thought back to the evening. Ellen had been agitated early on. She said someone had followed her. Later, while they were watching the film, she’d jumped up and shouted. She said he was outside, but it was dark, and when Alex looked he couldn’t see anyone. She’d then been cross with him. Had she raised her voice again, maybe a bit? Alex had calmed her down by going outside and looking. Again he saw no one, and that was it.

  He told them the story.

  Dixit looked dubious. “So you didn’t argue.”

  Wilson stepped in. “Detective, my client has answered. Miss Champion shouted at someone outside. Someone she thought had followed her.”

  Dixit looked hard at Alex. “And you didn’t think to tell us this earlier? Don’t you think we would have wanted to know about someone following her?”

  “Not really,” Alex said. “That was how she was. She always thought she was being followed or someone was looking at her suspiciously. She was paranoid. I told you, she
was on medication. She didn’t like taking it because she could think better when she wasn’t medicated, and that’s when she was more likely to be paranoid. She’d also get cross if I questioned whether she’d taken her medication.”

  Jackson tapped his fingers on the table. There was no other sound for a while, before he said, “Why do you think she was murdered?”

  “Was she definitely murdered?”

  “Let’s assume she was for the purposes of this exercise,” Jackson said. “And let’s also assume that the burglary was connected. Do you agree that it’s too much of a coincidence?”

  Alex nodded thoughtfully. “It seems that way.”

  “You’re a bright guy, so what’s your theory? You must have one.”

  “All I can think is that if someone killed her and that same person… or people… broke into Highclere Castle, then it was to do with her research. That’s why I asked whether her briefcase had been found.”

  “It was,” Jackson confirmed.

  “And?”

  Dixit said, “It was damaged and open. We found no evidence of research.”

  “So it was taken.”

  Dixit gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “If it had been there it wasn’t found.”

  “Shame.”

  “Any other theories?” Jackson asked casually.

  Alex shook his head.

  Dixit said, “You are a karate expert.”

  “No.”

  “You have a book on karate.”

  “I studied it for a few years a while back. I made it to second kyu.”

  “Black belt.”

  “Two down from black belt. I wasn’t very good so I stopped going. To be honest I didn’t like getting hit, and the closer I got to a black belt the more it seemed the higher grades tried to prove themselves better.”

  The detectives said nothing, waiting for Alex to say more. He didn’t.

  Wilson said, “Well, if that’s it—”

  Jackson held up a hand. “One minute.”

  Dixit pushed his chair back, stood and left the room. Jackson informed the recording and then introduced DS Belmarsh. She entered, took Dixit’s seat and opened the file.

  “Tell us about your relationship with the deceased.” She then repeated her assertion that Alex was more than good friends with Ellen. From the file she removed a photograph of Nadja wearing very little.

  Belmarsh said, “I’m showing Mr MacLure a photograph. Please could you tell us her name?”

  “Nadja Dabrowska. She cleans for me once a week and walks my dog.”

  “She used to work at Jaimeson’s.” The detective paused for a long beat, although her right hand reached back and forth. “It’s a lap dancing club.”

  “I’ve not heard of it. I didn’t know. And it’s irrelevant. She cleans and walks my dog. I don’t care what she used to do for work.” Alex looked at Jackson as he spoke, avoiding Belmarsh’s dopey eyes and irritating arm movement.

  Belmarsh said, “She’s very attractive.”

  “So?”

  “You were having a relationship with her.”

  “No,” he said, looking at Jackson.

  Belmarsh said, “Let’s talk about the money in your bank account.”

  For a moment Alex wondered whether she was referring to the money transferred by Pete. Did the police have access to his account? Eventually he said, “I won the lottery. I told you that.”

  “You looked unsure for a moment. What’s the truth?”

  Wilson leaned in. “He’s told you, he won the lottery.”

  Alex said, “If you’ve checked, you’ll know it’s true.”

  “So no one gave you money to gain access to Highclere Castle.”

  “Of course not.”

  Belmarsh took a letter from the file. “I’m showing Mr MacLure a letter from the museum confirming his appointment. It’s addressed to you.” She handed the letter to Alex. “For the record, Mr MacLure is nodding.”

  “Sure.”

  Belmarsh pulled another piece of paper from the file, spun it, and then, with her pen, pointed to a signature at the bottom.

  Jackson said, “DS Belmarsh has placed a second letter on the table. She has indicated a signature.” He paused and, looking at Alex, said, “Mr MacLure, please confirm that this is your signature.”

  “It is.”

  “The document is a letter which accompanied an application for the position of researcher. In the application you say you have a MA in Egyptology and claim to be enrolled for a PhD in Archaeology at Macquarie University—that’s in Australia—specializing in ancient Egypt and the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Dynasties.”

  Alex said nothing.

  Belmarsh said, “We’ve spoken to Professor Lloyd at the British Museum. She said it was Miss Champion who was interested in what she called the New Kingdom. She said that you were researching Pre-dynasties.”

  Alex exchanged glances with Wilson and continued to stay silent.

  Jackson said, “Have you spoken to an investigative reporter from the Daily Mail, Mr MacLure?”

  “No, I have not. I gave an interview to a reporter from The Sunday Times, but that was a mistake.”

  Jackson raised his eyebrows and waited for Alex to say more. When nothing was forthcoming he said, “Are you aware of the story about your qualifications?”

  “I saw the news this morning.”

  “The allegation is that your so-called master’s degree is in fact a diploma. Do you have a comment on that?”

  “It is a master’s equivalent.”

  “A correspondence course that took you a mere six months to complete.”

  “Still an accredited course.” Alex smiled tightly. “And, I’m published—papers in the Modern Journal of Ancient…”

  “That may be, Mr MacLure,” Jackson said, raising his hand to interrupt, “but what about the PhD claim? Are you enrolled at Macquarie University?”

  Alex swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Ellen had encouraged him to take this route as a fast track to getting involved in the research. OK, so he’d cut a corner.

  Jackson said, “Since you seem to be having difficulty, I’ll answer for you. You aren’t officially enrolled because the offer of the position was contingent upon evidence of your qualification, and they don’t recognize the diploma. Therefore, your application as a researcher at the British Museum was fraudulent.”

  Alex had seen Milwanee’s article on the Daily Mail website: Have-a-go Hero is a Fraud.

  Wilson shrugged, “It’s hardly a criminal offence to slightly exaggerate on an application form. Over eighty per cent of applicants embellish their CVs to persuade a prospective employer they are right for a job. Fake and fraud are words easily used by the British media to dramatize the news. Although his CV may have been given a favourable spin, Mr MacLure himself cannot personally be considered a fake. And as for a fraudster… he would have needed to have acted in order to make a profit or gain some unfair advantage. In terms of the law, I hardly need to point out the ridiculousness of such a claim.”

  Jackson stared hard at Alex. “You see, Mr MacLure, I have a theory forming. Perhaps you needed to take something from the Highclere exhibition—or maybe just be involved in the burglary. To do this you decided to work for the British Museum, thereby gaining access. Maybe Ellen Champion found out and you argued. Maybe you went to see her on Monday night and argued again. Maybe you had a bit of a fight and she died.” He paused.

  Alex shook his head. Did it really look that way?

  Jackson resumed: “Was it an accident, Alex?”

  “None of that happened. I am innocent.”

  Belmarsh said, “Or was it an argument about the other girl? Was Ellen jealous of the Polish tart?”

  “OK, that is enough!” Wilson snorted. She placed a hand under Alex’s elbow and they both stood. “Thank you. The interview is at an end.”

  Belmarsh made a closing statement and stopped the recorder.

  Before they left the room, Alex stopped at t
he door and looked back at Jackson. “You have got it wrong,” he said. “I really want to help with the investigation in any way I can.”

  Jackson nodded slowly. “Just don’t leave the country,” he said.

  TEN

  As Dixit and Belmarsh walked along the corridor, he said, “You didn’t get under his skin this time.”

  “I guess he fell for my charms after all. By the way,” she added, referring to DS Limb, “Mike’s here.”

  “Was he listening?”

  “No, just arrived. The boss is with him now.” She led the way through Chiswick Police Station into the car park. Jackson was there with Limb. Another man joined them. He held a tape recorder towards Jackson.

  He looked like a reporter and was asking the boss question after question. Jackson shook his head.

  Dixit read his lips: “No comment.”

  As they got closer they heard Jackson finally lose it. “You’re on police property. DS Limb, escort this gentleman out of the car park.”

  Limb stepped in the way. At first the reporter stood his ground. Limb went to grab or push the guy’s shoulder but the reporter slipped sideways.

  The guy said, “One more question. Is there a connection between the death of the Champion girl and the burglary at Highclere?”

  Jackson snapped: “Go away!”

  Limb took another step towards the reporter but the guy was now back-pedalling fast. He scuttled across the yard and through the gates.

  “Bloody hacks!” Limb muttered.

  Jackson shook his head. “Right, what did you find out?”

  “Nothing confirmed.”

  Belmarsh closed in. “Have I missed something?”

  Limb shrugged. “There’s a suspicion that someone else was looking after the bungalow. The old lady in the Canaries hasn’t been back for four months, so how could she be managing the property?”

  “But no idea who yet?” Jackson asked.

  “No, and the old biddy isn’t talking.”

  Jackson moved towards his silver Vauxhall Insignia.

  Belmarsh said, “Sir.”

  Jackson looked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “I still think we should have arrested him—MacLure, I mean.”

  Dixit said, “We don’t have anything. All we have is speculation. MacLure didn’t need to be in there just now. His solicitor kept reminding him, but I’d say he’s honestly keen to help.”