by Maynard Sims
McKinley followed his gaze to the gray-haired man standing at reception desk sharing a joke with Tom McLeod.
“Are you sure?” McKinley said.
“Positive.”
“That’s Bill Morris.”
“You know him?”
“I should do. He’s head of human resources. He’s worked here longer than me.” McKinley started walking. “Come on. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
They reached the reception desk. “Hi, Bill,” McKinley said casually.
Morris turned. “Hello, John. I was just telling Tom here the one about the prince and the cottage cheese. I’ve told you that one, haven’t I?”
“Many times, Bill, many times. This is Tevin Madaki. I believe you two have met.”
Bill Morris shifted his attention to Madaki and narrowed his eyes, searching his face, looking for some point of recognition. Finally he shook his head. “No, sorry,” he said. “I think you must be mistaken.”
“No mistake,” Madaki said. “In the elevator earlier. You spoke to me.”
“Sorry, old son,” Morris said. “Now I know you’re mistaken. I’ve been in meetings all day. Stuck in the office. No lunch. No breaks. I’ve not been out of my room.”
“Would you mind telling Mr. Madaki what you were doing at about eleven this morning?” McKinley said easily.
“Of course,” Morris said. “At eleven I was…” His voice trailed off. “Actually I was…” Morris looked flustered. “I fell asleep,” he blurted out eventually.
“But I thought you said you were in meetings all day,” McKinley said.
“And so I was but…but…”
“You’d better come clean, Bill,” Tom Macleod said from behind his desk.
Morris glared at his friend for the briefest of moments and then seemed to sag.
“I was running late today,” he said, staring down at his shoes. “I’m never late. Twice in thirty years, that’s all. I pride myself on my punctuality. But today I fell asleep on the train and found myself at the end of the line. Watford, for God’s sake. Bloody Watford!”
“What time did you get in?”
“Midmorning. A little after ten. I should have been here at nine. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Your timekeeping isn’t an issue, Bill,” McKinley said. “I know you’ll beat yourself up over it, but what I need to know is what you remember about this morning.”
“What I remember is feeling bloody tired, unable to get myself going. I didn’t arrive until gone ten. I made a cup of tea, sat down at my desk… The next thing I knew I was staring up at the clock. It said twelve fifteen. My tea was still sitting on the desk where I’d put it down. Stone cold. I hadn’t taken a sip. I’d fallen asleep again!”
“So you were asleep for nearly two hours?” McKinley said.
Morris nodded his head. “I’ll make up the time. I worked right through my lunch hour today. I’ll do the same for the rest of the week.”
“Bill,” McKinley said. “Your timekeeping isn’t an issue. Tell me, did you dream while you were asleep?”
“It was the sleep of the dead. No dreams. Nothing. Why?”
McKinley shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it does to me. Why all the questions? I’ve told you I was late… I’ve told you I fell asleep. I can only say I’m sorry so many times. I’ve assured you it won’t happen again. Is the third degree really necessary?”
McKinley looked at him hard for a moment and then his whole demeanor changed. “No, you’re right. It’s totally unnecessary. Thanks for your time, Bill. Come on, Tevin. Let’s find you a taxi.” McKinley took Madaki by the arm and steered him out through the double doors onto the street.
“And that’s it?” Madaki said as they hit the pavement.
“That’s it.”
“But he was in the elevator with me! What about all the things he told me?”
“He doesn’t remember. Pushing him won’t change that. We have to look at the wider issue. I believe you when you say he was in the elevator with you. The question is how? Bill believes he was asleep all that time, and yet he was walking around the building, riding the elevator and talking to you. What does that suggest?”
“That something possessed him temporarily.”
“Exactly. And something with an agenda against Schroeder. An ally. And that idea opens up a whole new can of worms.”
“Do you know what I think?” Stern said as he blew across the top of his third cup of tea to cool it.
“I have no idea,” Bailey said.
“I don’t think you’re dealing with a common or garden dybbuk at all.”
Bailey was taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”
Stern took a mouthful of tea and sat back in his seat. “A dybbuk is a minor demon in Jewish mythology; a disaffected soul, seeking redemption by latching on to a soul of another and trying to live out its destiny by proxy, through the host. The entity you’re dealing with seems to have much loftier ambitions.”
“What do you think it is then?”
Stern smiled and shook his head. “I’m not going to commit myself just yet. I have ideas but I need to go back to the synagogue and consult a few books and some ancient texts. Can we meet tomorrow?”
“Here again?”
Stern shook his head again. “No, I’m finished in Hatton Garden for this week. Can you come to Stoke Newington Synagogue?”
“I can’t see a problem with that.”
“Good. Tomorrow. I should have the information for you by then.”
“You’re sure you won’t commit yourself now?”
“No. That could be dangerous. If this is what I suspect it is, then you need to be prepared. There could be consequences if you try to tackle it without the necessary knowledge. Bad consequences.”
“So we sit on our hands?”
“Until tomorrow, yes.”
Chapter Thirty-One
From Hatton Garden Bailey drove to the hospital. He wanted to check on Simon Crozier’s progress, but if he happened to bump into Maria, then he wouldn’t complain. Since their kiss yesterday, he had heard nothing from her, even though the onus was on him to call her as he’d promised. But doubts were beginning to worm their way into his thoughts. He wasn’t sure now that he wanted to embark on another serious relationship. Too many had failed in the past and made him cautious. He didn’t consider himself ideal partner material and he was very aware that entering into a relationship with Maria had the potential to lead to heartbreak for both of them. Did he want to put her through that? Hell, he didn’t want to put himself through that.
The elevator doors opened and there she was. Maria Bridge, hair hanging loose, her skin glowing, looking more beautiful than ever. Her mouth dropped open as she saw him. “Harry!” she said.
“You look more beautiful than ever,” he said, giving voice to his thoughts.
She blushed, her hand reaching up to touch the bandage still taped across her nose. “Yes,” she said self-consciously. “The bandage is the latest fashion accessory.”
“Very becoming,” Bailey said.
“You would say that.”
“Seeing that it was me who broke your nose.”
“No!” She reached out and laid her hand across his arm. “No… I didn’t mean…”
With a smile, he put his finger to her lips, silencing her, and backed her into the elevator.
“I haven’t had a chance to call you,” he said as the doors slid shut behind them.
“I would have been too busy to take your call. Kiss me instead.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
“Actually I came in to see Simon,” he said as the embrace weakened.
“I thought you might have. He’s been asking after you.” A cloud passed over her eye
s.
“Is he a difficult patient?”
“No. He’s… He’s… He’s the worst patient I’ve ever had. It’s taking all our resources just to keep him in bed. And he needs to rest. He can’t afford to tear the stitches again. I’ll be having words with him when I see him later. He’s an arrogant, prissy and totally self-absorbed man, and I’ll be glad to be rid of him.”
“He’s shown you his good side then,” Bailey said sardonically.
“And yet you’re happy to work with him.”
“I know people, Rob Carter for one, who would totally agree with you. But I’m his friend. I see all the faults you describe and choose to ignore them.”
“Why?”
“Because without him, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I owe Simon Crozier my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he saved my life once.” He could see the question forming in her eyes. “Do you mind if we leave it at that for now? I’ll tell you, of course I will, but I want to see him, if that’s okay?”
“You’d better go on up to see him. Maybe after he’s seen you he’ll be more amenable,” Bridge said.
“You’ll be lucky.”
“Well, we can hope.” She pressed the button to open the doors and stepped out.
“Are you going to be around for a while?” he asked hopefully.
“No. I’m going off shift now. Call me at home later, once you’ve finished here. Or maybe you could pop round. My place is only a few minutes away in the car.” She took a small notepad from her bag and scribbled down an address. She handed it to him. “Only if you have time. No pressure.”
He took the piece of paper, folded it in half and slipped it into the top pocket of his jacket.
Bridge reached inside the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. “On your way now,” she said and skimmed his cheek with her lips. As the door closed, she gave a small wave and blew him a kiss.
The kiss he blew back to her was intercepted by the elevator doors.
“Where the hell have you been?” Crozier said as Bailey stepped into his private room. “I thought I’d been abandoned.”
“Things to do, people to see.” Bailey grinned and pulled a chair up to the bed. As he sat down he said, “I met up with Abraham Stern today.”
“Why?”
“We were advised to bring a rabbi on board, because of the nature of the dybbuk.”
“Was the meeting constructive? I don’t know Stern but I’ve heard he can be a difficult bastard.”
“He can be, but not today. He’s going to help us.” Bailey carried on, giving Crozier the gist of the meeting.
“Well, if it isn’t a dybbuk, what the bloody hell is it?” Crozier said.
“No, we’re still going with the dybbuk theory, but Stern seems to think there’s more to it than we think. He’s gone back to the synagogue to research it. We’ve scheduled a meeting for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Why is all this taking so long?”
“It’s only been a couple of days.”
“It feels more like a couple of weeks to me. I can’t stand this inactivity. My brain’s starting to ossify.”
“Well, wrap your little gray cells around this conundrum. Why were you attacked?”
Crozier narrowed his eyes “What do you mean?”
“Well, for a moment we’ll assume that it was Pieter Schroeder, or someone working for him who attacked you. So what was it about you that made you a target?”
Crozier shrugged. “I’d never even heard of Schroeder before all this.”
“Exactly. But what you were doing was researching Alvar Liscombe, who we now think was a past host of the Schroeder dybbuk. We need to go back to that research to see if there was anything there that might identify a weakness, an Achilles heel.”
“Difficult, seeing as all our data on Liscombe is gone.”
“But you’ve read most, if not all, of the files, so the knowledge in your brain hasn’t been destroyed,” Bailey said. “They attempted to eliminate you but failed. It’s possible that you have the weapon we need to bring down Schroeder locked up somewhere in your mind.”
“And what do you think I’ve been doing while I’ve been lying here? Playing Sudoku?” Crozier said. “No. I’ve been plowing through all I learned about Liscombe, trying to piece this together. I’ve gone over everything. I’m sure there’s nothing there.”
“Either that or you’re just not recognizing it. Simon, there’s got to be something. Why else try to kill you? Think about it. The Schroeder dybbuk has, by all accounts, been around for decades undetected. It must have known that the attack on you would raise questions, risk starting a Department 18 investigation. It must have considered it a risk worth taking.”
“So what do you suggest we do?”
“You need to allow someone into your mind, to see if they can unearth the thing, the nugget of information, you’re missing.”
“No,” Crozier said flatly. “I’m not having someone trampling through my consciousness. Find another way.”
“I’m not sure I can. You’re our best hope of defeating Schroeder before he sets his plan into action, because once he does, the chance of defeating him becomes nigh on impossible.”
“And who do you suggest goes dredging through my thoughts? You?”
Bailey shook his head. “That’s not where my talents lie. Within the Department there’s only one man who has the necessary skill and finesse. Robert Carter.”
“Out of the question!” Crozier said hotly. “You must be losing your mind to even suggest it.”
“I know you two don’t get along, but…”
“Harry, that’s the understatement of the year, the decade even. I despise the man. His methodology, his principals, his sheer disregard of authority, especially mine, is complete anathema to me. The thought of him inside my head, raking over my most private thoughts makes me feel physically sick.”
“It really is the only way, Simon,” Bailey said. “Look, sleep on it. It won’t be as bad as you think. We can sedate you. You won’t even know he’s there.”
“But I’ll know he’s been there. I’ll know, and he’ll know, and I don’t think I could live with that.”
“I can’t force you to do this, Simon, and I’m not even sure Rob would agree to do it even if you allowed it, but we are running out of leads in this investigation.”
“What about Everett Deayton. I thought he was a solid lead.”
“Everett is dead.”
“Accident?”
“Murdered. And they tortured him before they killed him.” Bailey stared into space, trying to drive down the feeling of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. Deayton had survived for years by turning himself into a nonentity. He knew danger was out there and did his best to present himself in as nonthreatening a way as possible, hoping that Schroeder would just ignore him. Bailey’s visit had changed all that. He didn’t believe that Deayton’s murder, just hours after he had been to see him, was a coincidence.
Schroeder, or his minions, must have had permanent surveillance arranged, keeping a watch on Deayton at all times. Bailey’s visit was a game-changer and steps had been taken with extreme prejudice.
“Everett told me yesterday that he knew something about Schroeder that made him a target. He wouldn’t tell me what it was in case I became a target too.”
“And you’re feeling guilty about it,” Crozier said.
“Of course I’m feeling guilty about it. I feel like I painted a bull’s-eye on his chest.”
“You shouldn’t. If Deayton knew there were forces out there ready to do him harm, he should have come to see me. The Department could have protected him. And we might have found out what it was he knew about Schroeder. As it is our investigation has hit a wall.”
“Which is why I think it�
�s vital you let us into your mind,” Bailey said.
Crozier sighed and sank back onto his pillow. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll try it, but I don’t hold out much hope. Does it have to be Carter?”
“He has the skill and the finesse…”
“Yes, I know. Don’t labor the point. When do you want to do it?”
“As soon as possible, I’ll speak to Rob . If he’s agreeable, then we’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
“Now leave me alone and let me rest. I’m going to need all my strength for this.”
“Thank you,” Bailey said and laid a hand on Simon Crozier’s shoulder.
“Piss off, Harry,” Crozier said and shut his eyes. He heard the door click shut as Bailey left the room and opened his eyes. He stared blankly into space, contemplating what the morning would bring. For the first time in many years he was truly afraid.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“You want me to what?” Carter barked into the phone.
Bailey repeated his request and waited for the swearing to stop. “So you’ll do it then?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Carter said, “And Crozier’s agreed to let me in?”
“He doesn’t like the idea any more than you do, but he understands the need to do it, and he understands the urgency.”
“Do you have any idea what I’m supposed to be looking for once I get in there?”
Bailey thought for a moment. “Anything that doesn’t hang right. Anything that seems out of place.”
“It’s Simon Crozier we’re talking about here. That man has as many walls as Windsor Castle, and I imagine any opening will be heavily guarded.”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you were up to the job.”
“What about you?”
“Not my forte. Besides, I won’t be there in the morning. I’ve got a meeting with Abraham Stern at the Stoke Newington Synagogue. He may have a fresh insight into Schroeder or, at least, the dybbuk possessing him.”
Carter was silent for a while as he chewed over the implications of what he was being asked to do. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll do it.”