The Magna Carta Murders (The Ralph Chamers Mysteries Book 12)

by P. J. Thurbin

  Later that evening Ralph received a call from Commander Renton.

  “Sorry to call you at home, Professor Chalmers. I’ll come straight to the point. There’s been a development.” He bowled straight on in a style that Ralph had come to recognize.

  “I heard that you’d been asking questions of the people at the British Library about the Magna Carta manuscripts.” Ralph interpreted that as a statement rather than a question. So he kept quiet. “Its not been made official yet so I would request that you treat this in confidence but an employee from the British Library was killed today when he fell onto the track at Euston.”

  “I heard on the news that there’d been an incident at Euston, but it didn’t go into detail,” Ralph replied.

  “What I’m concerned about is that the people we spoke to at the library tell us that you were enquiring about a possible fake document. The man that died today worked in the department that liaised with the couriers from T24 when the manuscripts at the unification event were being transferred. I must remind you, Professor, we’re already investigating a possible murder of a T24 courier, and now a second man has died. And then there’s that business at Runnymede. I’ve spoken to Colonel Stigart about your involvement and he tells me that you have some ideas that I wish you had consulted with me about before going off at ‘half-cock.”

  Ralph tried to control his temper.

  “I object to you speaking to me like that, Commander Renton. I’m working for Colonel Stigart and I’ve discussed all of this with him, and with Inspector Linham. So, although you may see my actions as unauthorised, I can assure you that I am acting under instructions.”

  There was a period of silence where he could almost hear Renton sucking in his breath.

  “I apologize if I was out of order, Professor. There’s a lot at stake here, and I’m under a lot of pressure from my bosses and the Minister to clear up this mess. If you’re free sometime this week, perhaps we could talk this out over a pint.”

  “That sounds a good idea, Commander. I’ll give your office a ring in the morning and we can check diaries. There are one or two things that’ve come up that I’d appreciate your views on.”

  It was best to pour a little oil on the waters when things get rough, thought Ralph as he wished the Commander a good evening.

  _______________________

  Chapter 6

  Finding a parking space in the South Kensington area is always a nightmare. With tourists heading for the many museums and shoppers crowding in to Harrods and the myriad of boutique stores in Knightsbridge, it was always busy. Ralph had decided that it was too much of a hassle and had taken the tube to Gloucester Road. It was a beautiful day and he enjoyed the 10 minute walk to Imperial College. The tall lime trees lining the streets cast shadows over the elegant buildings that housed many overseas embassies with their National Flags fluttering in the slight breeze. He wondered when Julian Assange of WikiLeaks fame would emerge from the Ecuadorian Embassy to face trial. No doubt he would be looking to the law that the Magna Carta had created to provide a fair hearing. The roads were busy with the red buses that the tourists loved and black cabs whose drivers stared impassively ahead as they waited for the traffic lights to turn to green. The pervasive subdued hum told you that London was alive and well.

  He had called his friend Bob Rhodes who headed up the Department of Mechanical Engineering at Imperial, and arranged to have a chat. Since meeting with Jack Riley at Slough, he was convinced more than ever that at some point in the process of moving the manuscripts to and from the London unification event, Mankovich had tried to make a swap. He believed that it was no coincidence that the courier at T24 and the man from the British Library had both either died or been killed in such close succession, and to his mind, they must both somehow be involved in the plot; either it had failed, or else they were now surplus to needs, but in either event they had been silenced. He was convinced that if he could find out more about the stages in the transporting of the manuscripts, it might lead him to Mankovich. He ran up the college steps.

  “Professor Rhodes will be down in a minute, sir. If you’d like to take a seat,” said the neatly groomed woman behind the reception desk once Ralph had introduced himself and told her who he had come to see.

  Ralph sat down to wait in one of the chairs alongside the wall a few feet from the desk and flicked through a magazine. It was one of those promotional publications that all of the colleges now used to attract students and sponsors. It ranked Imperial number two in the world and first in Europe, along with Cambridge, based on an assessment by the Times. Cambridge must be slipping, he thought with a smile. Pictures of prominent alumni included Alexander Fleming, Roger Bannister and H.G. Wells, along with a string of other well-known names. He was aware that Imperial focused on research and that it relied heavily on attracting grants and sponsorships. The papers had run a number of articles about the stress this placed on staff to keep the funds flowing in. He had experienced something similar at Kingston, albeit to lesser extent. He had heard rumours that staff had been sacked, allegedly for failing to meet targets.

  “Ralph. You made it. How do you like our new building?” His friend sported the traditional garb of an academic: brown leather laced shoes, grey slacks, open necked check shirt, and a well-worn sports jacket with leather elbow patches.

  “Bob. Good to see you. Yes, it all looks very smart. You must be attracting a lot of sponsors or wealthy overseas post graduates?”

  He realized that his comments had been prompted by reading the magazine and not his own sentiments, but his friend seemed slightly distracted and appeared not to hear what he said as he led the way to the lift without comment.

  “Seriously, Ralph it’s good to see you,” Bob said when the doors closed and the lift started its ascent. “It’s been a long time. I don’t think I’ve seen you since that consulting job we had with the European Space Agency over in Darmstadt. Those German frauleins weren’t half bad, as I recall.”

  Ralph nodded and smiled uneasily as the other occupants of the lift stared ahead, apparently oblivious to Bob’s garrulous remarks. Bob’s showing his age, Ralph mused as they made their way along the corridor to Bob’s office.

  The open windows provided a panoramic view over the London roof-tops. Bob made some coffee at a small table and handed Ralph a mug.

  “So Bob, what’s the next step up the greasy pole?”

  Bob laughed. “Not sure. I’ve got myself a few big clients and the coffers are full at the moment. You’ve no doubt been following the stories about how pressurized we are to attract research money.”

  “I know what you mean,” Ralph agreed.

  Bob got up and walked over to the window and looked out at the students walking past below.

  “You know Edwina and I are getting a divorce,” Bob said matter-of-factly.

  Ralph was stunned. Although Bob had sowed a few wild oats in his youth, he had always thought of him as a complete family man ever since he and Edwina had married some twenty-five years ago.

  “No, I didn’t know,” Ralph said. “I’m really sorry to hear it.”

  “We finally agreed to disagree. Edwina’s got her career at St. George’s Hospital and the kids have finished University. Can you believe it? James is engaged to be married.” He laughed. “I’m always busy here. All work and no play.”

  Ralph felt for his old pal. It seemed that any time he came close to thinking about settling down himself, another casualty of domestic bliss hit the rails.

  “Have you thought of going anywhere else? You know, getting a fresh start somewhere and putting it behind you?” Ralph asked.

  “As a matter of fact I’ve been offered a post at the Clausthal University of Technology, over in Germany. It’s in the mountains, so plenty of opportunities to improve my skiing techniques.” He smiled grimly. “There was no way that Edwina was going to move. We had a mighty row and that was that.”

  “So are you going to take the job?” It was Ralph’s
way of moving on. He was uncomfortable talking about personal things at the best of times; he had no intentions of getting drawn into Bob’s marital problems or being asked to take sides in what was obviously not the most amicable of break-ups.

  “Nothing’s finalized, but I think I’ll be off at the end of the next semester. My father was with an engineering firm in Bremen, so I was brought up there and speak fluent German.”

  “Yes, I remember how impressed I was when we were at Darmstadt,” Ralph said. “Good job I managed to catch you in time.”

  “So now you know my story, what about you, Ralph?”

  “Just the usual, you know,” Ralph sidestepped. The only thing he found more awkward than listening to the personal details of someone else’s life was when anyone asked him about his own. “But I know you’re busy Bob, and what I really called about was that I wanted to come over and pick your brains.”

  “Go ahead, then, fire away.”

  Ralph explained in general terms that he had been looking at the way in which the security surrounding the Magna Carta unification event had been handled. He couched it in terms of gathering material for a case study that he was writing.

  “So you know about the container that we designed?”

  “I spoke to Jack Riley at T24 and he mentioned that you’d been involved.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I got a call from a firm in Kent that’d been approached by the CEO of T24 about designing a secure and unique carrying device. Some of the environmental control aspects were to a tight specification and they asked me to help out.”

  “Did you ship them straight back to T24?”

  “Oh, no. That’s not what we do here. The specification had been written up by the British Library manuscripts’ people. A Doctor Brendan Ogilvy; nice chap. He and I worked together to come up with the design. It was a tricky one. As you probably know, those manuscripts are very fragile, and of course, extremely valuable, so they had to be secure. The firm that T24 worked closely with, Engineering Solutions, did the final design on the document holding mechanism as it had to be integrated with the fabrication process.”

  “And you were involved in the computer software that controlled the environment inside the containers?”

  “That’s right, that and the checks on the locking device as well as the overall design.”

  “Did you see the final containers?” Ralph asked.

  “No. The CEO at Engineering Solutions had a prototype made using our design and then they tested it to the satisfaction of the British Library.”

  Jack paused as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “I’ve got some outline drawings and a copy of the specifications, if you want to make it look realistic for your case study,” he offered.

  “No, I think I’m okay on that thanks, Bob. But I might make a visit to that firm you mentioned.”

  “If you can get in then you’re a better man than I am Gunga Din. I guess I’d better watch myself or the HR police’ll have me sacked for not being pc,” he laughed.

  Then to Ralph’s shagrin, Bob began to recite from Kipling’s poem.

  ‘E’ll be squattin’ on the coals

  Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,

  An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!

  Yes, Din! Din! Din!

  You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!

  Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,

  By the livin’ Gawd that made you,

  You’re a better man than I am Gunga Din.

  In their younger days, Bob had often recited poetry when he was a bit tipsy, but this was different. His friend must be more shaken by his marriage break-up than he had let on. Ralph could now see that his friend was close to a nervous break-down.

  “Well done, Bob. I can never remember the words to any of those poems we read in our callow youth. But you were telling me about the bloke at this firm in Maidstone.”

  “Sorry about that, I guess I got a bit carried away. Yes, the CEO’s a bit of a security freak. I suspect that they do a lot of military work over there, probably fabricating bits for the Ministry of Defense or whatever. Now we’re fully integrated into Europe, they could be doing all sorts top secret stuff for foreign agencies. I’ve got a card here that the CEO gave me when he was here, if you want it.” Bob fumbled around in his desk drawer and removed a creased business card that he handed to Ralph.

  They chatted on about old times. It was almost one o’clock when Ralph suggested it was time for something to eat. Bob led the way to the college refectory where they enjoyed the sort of lunch that is served every day at similar institutions all over the world.

  The anonymity of their crowded surroundings gave Bob a chance to expand on his views of the pending change to his lifestyle. This was a scene that Ralph had witnessed many times. He was certain that such stories had jaded his own views about married life.

  “At least one thing hasn’t changed over the years,” Ralph noted as he ate the last of his cottage pie.

  “What’s that?” His friend asked.

  “The college refectory’s still the best place in town to get a decent lunch and a pint,” Ralph said.

  “Too right,” his friend agreed as both men stood to give up their table to a man dressed similarly to Bob who waited patiently nearby.

  Bob went down with Ralph to the foyer and stepped outside in to the afternoon sunlight. He shook Ralph’s hand.

  “I’ll let you know when I’m settled in at Clausthal. Perhaps you’ll come over some time for a holiday?”

  Ralph said that it would be a great idea and that he would keep in touch. He turned and waved to his friend. He wondered if Bob would accept the offer in Germany. As for himself, he was more determined than ever to take the next step. He looked at the business card that Bob had given to him. A chat with the CEO of Engineering Solutions might prove interesting.

  ***

  Left to his own devices Ralph would have simply taken the train from Surbiton to Waterloo; relaxed with a coffee during the 90 minute journey to Maidstone and then caught a taxi to the firm. But Katie had been staying with him over the weekend and had suggested that they drove down in the Morgan. It was a beautiful day and a run through the Surrey and Kent countryside in an open top sports car would be a perfect way to enjoy the sunshine. They had watched reruns of the TV adaptation of H.E. Bates’ novel The Darling Buds of May that painted an idyllic picture of the Kentish landscape, the so called ‘Garden of England’. As they sped along in Katie’s classic car it was easy to fantasize that they were whisked back in time to that golden post-war era.

  The Morgan eased its way through the traffic on the M25 and once they had cleared the Gatwick Airport turn-off. Katie nudged the needle up to 80.

  “We’ll miss seeing the country-side if we go too fast,” Ralph shouted as he sank further down in his seat. With the top down, and at that speed, he doubted his words reached the short distance across the front seat.

  “I’m inside the speed limit,” Katie replied. “You’re always telling me that it’s good for the engine to have a good run once in a while when we’re in your Jag.”

  He thought it best to just admire the view and stop trying to look in the wing mirror at those monstrous articulated vehicles bearing down on them or at the speedometer. He knew that it was a lost cause to comment on Katie’s driving. It either distracted her or resulted in a big row. He flinched as she swung off to join up with the M20.

  “Churchill’s home’s around here somewhere,” Katie remarked once they were back at cruising speed.

  “It’s Junction 6, then we want the A229. The place is off Sandling Lane,” Ralph shouted to be heard over the road noise.

  “I thought Maidstone was on the river Medway?”

  “It is, but not the place we’re looking for. Look it’s lunchtime already and my meeting’s not until 3. Why don’t we find a place by the river and get something to eat?”

  They followed a notice to the river Medway and stopped at the
Malta Inn.

  “It’s a chain, Ralph, what do you think?”

  “It should be okay,” Ralph replied. “A chap I know at the gym told me that he and his wife eat at Beefeaters all the time. At least it’s by the river and we can eat outside and watch the boats go by. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  They parked and went inside to order. Ralph was surprised by the scope of their menu. It seemed a bit pricey for a chain, but at least they offered a wide choice and most of the other diners seemed to be eating enthusiastically.

  They ordered at the bar and then went outside and sat at a table overlooking the river. Within 10 minutes Ralph was tucking in in to his Atlantic cod and chips, mushy peas and tartare sauce. Katie had risked the Grilled Salmon Bearnaise.

  “This is perfect, Ralph. Aren’t you glad I came? Left to your own devices you’d be in some dingy pub eating a pork pie and sipping a glass of warm beer.”

  He had to admit that she was right.

  “”For your dessert?” Asked their server in an accent that was definitely not from Kent.

  “Polish?” Asked Katie.

  “Yes. My grandmother used to tell me tales of her father who came to England in 1940 with the Polish Air force, or what was left of it, and I always thought it sounded romantic. We have Caramel Apple Crumble Pie on the menu, sir.”

  “She has your number, Ralph.”

  “No thanks. Just coffee for me, thanks,” he said.

  “For me as well,” Katie said, “But make mine decaf.”

  “I thought apple crumble was your favourite,” Katie remarked once their server was out of earshot.

  “Well it sounded good, but if this Kirby fellow is as grouchy as he sounded on the phone, I’ll need to have my wits about me. Dessert always makes me sleepy.”

  “You take everything so seriously, Ralph. Here we are sitting in the sun after a lovely meal and you’re still worrying. But I wouldn’t swap you for the world.”

  ___________________

  Chapter 7