The Judgement Book

by Simon Hall

  Adam rubbed a hand over the stubble on his cheek. It never took long to accumulate. Like many dark-haired men, a clean-shaven look would always be a distant dream.

  ‘What do you make of the Worm saying that if we solve the riddles, we find the Judgement Book and save the victims?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Maybe exactly what it says. That we could save them if we break the codes. But would you trust the word of a blackmailer?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Me neither. But we’ve got to have a go at Freedman’s riddle, haven’t we? Because it’s part of the investigation, and it might lead us somewhere.’

  ‘And not just that one riddle, either,’ said Adam. ‘According to the blackmailer’s note, we’ve got four more victims to come. So, four more little puzzles.’

  Dan took the photocopy of the blackmail note from his pocket.

  ‘Careful with that,’ said Adam quickly, looking around. ‘I want the riddle stuff and the threat to the other victims kept quiet. It’ll cause panic if it gets out.’

  ‘OK,’ said Dan. ‘Understood. But I’ve been thinking about it.’ He pointed to the numbers.

  61, 43, 21, 51

  ‘I have to say I haven’t got much of a clue.’ Dan looked up at Adam. ‘I thought maybe coordinates, but that’s just guessing. Any ideas?’

  ‘Not a sniff.’ Adam sounded exasperated. ‘I hate riddles. Those other ones we’ve had to tackle nearly drove me mad. I’m a detective, not a puzzle freak.’

  ‘Fair enough. But I take it you don’t mind if I keep working on it?’

  ‘Go ahead. You’ve got that kind of weird brain which enjoys these things. You’re welcome to it.’

  Dan thought he’d take that as half a compliment. It was better than none. He finished the remains of his beer and swirled the glass. ‘Another drink?’

  Adam stood up. ‘No, I’d better be getting back. There’s lots to do. I shouldn’t really have come out. I just needed to get away from the office for a while. It gets on top of you.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Dan. ‘No worries, I could do with getting home. Your round next time then? Speaking of which …’

  They were interrupted by a shout from the corner of the bar. ‘Dan! You’re not going after just the one? That’s not like you!’

  A woman bustled over to them. Medium build, but carrying it elegantly, spiky dark hair with blonde highlights, perhaps forty years old or a little more. She smiled, but in the weary way of the professional host.

  ‘Hello, Sarah,’ said Dan, kissing the proffered cheek. ‘Let me introduce my friend Adam. Or to be more exact, Chief Inspector Adam. He’s a detective, so none of your usual naughtiness please.’

  They shook hands. ‘How are you doing now, Sarah?’ Dan asked. ‘Getting back on your feet OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine now thanks, Dan. Life’s much more sorted. I know where I’m going again and I’m happy. Well, content anyway.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’ Dan noticed Adam edging towards the exit. ‘Sorry I can’t stop for a chat, but I’ve got to get back to work. Big story on.’

  ‘No problem, Dan.’ She escorted them towards the door. ‘Come in again soon. And drink more next time. It’s my livelihood! Good to meet you, Adam.’

  Adam slipped his jacket on as they walked back towards Charles Cross. A gathering mob of clouds had surrounded the sun and a cool breeze stirred and ruffled the oddments of litter in the gutter. It was the time of year when the fickle weather was one thing or the other, hot or cold, no ideal in between.

  ‘How do you know her?’ asked Adam. He was walking fast and Dan struggled to keep up. He could see the detective’s mind was back in the depths of the case.

  ‘She’s been working there about six months. She’s the bar manager. Before that, she had her own place, but the business went bust. She told me all this when I was in there one night having a beer. She seemed very bitter and keen to pour it out. Or maybe it’s just that people seem to like to talk to me.’

  They reached Charles Cross. Adam took the grey concrete steps two at a time.

  ‘I’m not going to come in,’ said Dan. ‘I want to get back and take Rutherford for some exercise. I’ve been neglecting him with all that’s been going on this week.’

  ‘No worries,’ called Adam, disappearing through the swing door. ‘I’ll call you if anything happens over the weekend.’

  Dan drove home, gave Rutherford a brush as an apology for not spending much time with him, then took the dog for a run. When he got home, he showered and rang Claire’s mobile. Her answerphone clicked in. Nothing unusual, she often wouldn’t pick up a call when working on a case. He left a message.

  He found a pizza in the bottom of the freezer, tried not to look at its best-before date, sliced some greening ham to go on top and ate it in front of the TV. The pizza tasted of nothing, but at least it was food. His report took the top slot on Wessex Tonight, followed by Freedman’s obituary and the live political reaction to his death that Lizzie had arranged.

  It was detailed and comprehensive coverage and an impressive show. They had their disagreements, but in truth Lizzie was an excellent editor. He wondered what she thought of him. She never said, but he thought he understood, or hoped so anyway. She always wanted him on the most important stories. That was about the highest compliment she could pay.

  What would life be like, living with Claire he wondered? No more frozen pizza, he hoped. Would she finally get him organised enough to eat some fresh food? And how would Rutherford cope with the move? Not to mention having another master? What about packing up the flat? He was hopeless at such chores. And what about renting or selling it?

  He’d have to find an agent to help, and notify the council and the bank and all the others about his change of address too. But no matter what problems he thought up, he knew how much he was looking forward to them moving in together.

  ‘Times are changing, old fellow,’ he told Rutherford, stroking the dog’s head. ‘And do you know what? I’m enjoying it.’

  Claire called just after eight. It was a brief chat, she was still working on the blackmailer inquiry. They had a missing girl to deal with too, but she didn’t go into details and Dan didn’t ask, despite the sharp bite from his journalist’s instinct. They’d agreed early in their relationship that she wouldn’t talk too much about her job so as not to compromise her. In return, Dan had promised Claire that he wouldn’t talk about her with Adam. And then Dan had agreed with Adam that he wouldn’t talk about him with Claire. It was a complex set of arrangements, probably a unique relationship triangle, but it seemed to work.

  It was busy, Claire said, but she’d agreed to work on Sunday so they could have Saturday together as they’d planned. Would it be better to forget the weekend and let her get on with the case, Dan asked? He would understand. It happened. No, she said, she very much wanted to see him. Needed to see him, in fact. There was lots they had to talk about.

  He thought he sensed something behind the words, a need to free an invisible tension, and a tingling of concern began to awaken. But as the evening slipped by and he sipped at another can of beer and half-watched an old war film on the television, Dan came to believe it was only his imagination.

  If there was a problem, something bothering her, Claire would have said. She was fine. He was fine. All was well.

  Or so he hoped.

  Chapter Seven

  A FLAWLESS SHEET OF silver sea encircled them. Dan had never liked heights, and tried not to look down. He stared determinedly at a passing tanker, so small in the distance. Around them screaming gulls circled and wheeled, delighting in the freedom of the air. A mischievous wind pulled playfully at their clothes, flapping them back and forth. Between its buffeting blows they could hear the rhythmic wash of waves on the rocks below.

  A tang of salt from the swirling spray dampened their faces with its sticky, dancing mist. Even Rutherford was stilled by the moment. He stared at the view, his face turned instinctively into the wind, his sleek
fur smoothed by its caress.

  St Agnes Head was stunning, even on an overcast day like this. Dan reached out an arm and pulled Claire closer. She half turned, and smiled. He tried to avoid driving at the weekend. He always felt he spent more than enough time in the car for work. But the panorama made the hour and a quarter journey from Plymouth to the north Cornwall coast worthwhile. They’d set out early and the traffic was light.

  It was more than the view. There was a “feeling” about this place, as the great legends told. No wonder it gave rise to so many tales of magic. He sneaked a glance at Claire. She had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply.

  ‘That way Wales,’ said Dan, pointing north. ‘That way America,’ he added, turning his finger to the west. He waited a moment for her to look, then pointed back to the car. ‘And that way the pub!’

  She dug him gently in the ribs. ‘In a while. Let’s enjoy a bit more of the walk and a chat first.’

  He found himself surprisingly content to agree. ‘Fine by me. It’s magnificent here. I can feel it massaging away the tensions of the week.’

  They turned from the headland and followed the coastal path along the cliffs. It was well-worn, in places more patches of dry and cracked earth than thriving grass. Further inland were the stone ruins of old mine workings, grey tumbledown towers of engine houses rising from the yellow gorse and grey and brown brambles.

  ‘There was a big mining industry here once,’ Dan said. ‘The tunnels used to go right out for miles, under the sea even. Dangerous business, but lucrative at the time.’

  ‘What were they mining?’

  ‘All sorts of stuff. Copper, tin, arsenic.’ Dan hoped he’d remembered right. It was a long time since he’d covered a story on Cornwall’s mining heritage.

  Rutherford found a stick and scampered circles around them to show off the prize. Dan wondered where he managed to conjure it from. There wasn’t a tree for miles. He tried to wrestle it from the dog, then gave up, found a tiny twig, picked that up and Rutherford dropped his and jumped for it. Dan bent down and picked up the stick.

  ‘Stupid dog,’ chuckled Claire. ‘He never learns, does he? Why is someone else’s stick always better?’

  ‘It’s the canine equivalent of the grass always being greener.’

  He threw the stick towards the mine workings and Rutherford sprinted after it. The dog vanished into the gorse. All they could see was a dismembered head floating about the bushes, appearing and disappearing as he hunted for the prize. His mouth hung open in what Dan always thought of as his smiling face.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ said Dan. ‘It won’t be long before you’ll have to take him out too. If we’re sharing the bills, cooking and chores, we’re sharing the dog-walking duties. I’m not the only one who’s going to be embarrassed by my stupid friend.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘So am I.’

  They stopped for a quick cuddle. To an observer it could be a sickly sight, a couple entranced and entwined. But when you were a part of it, you didn’t notice and didn’t care. It was one of the joys of the hypocrisy of love. Rutherford bounded up and nosed his way between them. He’d lost the stick. Claire stroked his back and Dan patted his head.

  ‘He doesn’t like missing out on anything,’ Dan explained. ‘I think he’s looking forward to us all being together too. I broke the news to him last night. I was a little worried what his reaction might be. For as long as he’s been around, it’s been just him and me, you see. I thought he might be jealous. But he was delighted.’

  ‘Idiot,’ said Claire. ‘But cute idiot.’

  She yawned, stretched out her arms. ‘You OK?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Just a little tired from last night. I was up late.’

  ‘The missing girl?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but …’

  Claire sighed. ‘The perils of going out with a hack. Promise not for use in stories?’ Dan agreed and she told him about Alex Freedman’s disappearance.

  ‘We found her though,’ Claire added. ‘At a friend’s house. Upset, but fine. I took her home – after I’d had a little chat.’

  ‘About her dad’s fondness for younger women?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Dan steeled himself to ask. Despite years of being a journalist, raising some of the toughest of questions, there were still areas where it felt uncomfortable to tread.

  ‘And?’

  ‘No hint of anything like that. I didn’t ask the question directly, but she knew where I was coming from. She said he wasn’t a great dad, that he wasn’t around enough, but he’d never ever … well, you know.’

  Claire raised a hand to her mouth and stifled a laugh. ‘What?’ Dan asked.

  ‘What Alex said. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘She said her dad was “an arsehole”, but he wasn’t “that big an arsehole”.’

  Dan smiled too, couldn’t help it. ‘Kids, eh?’

  Claire looked at him, paused, said softly, ‘Yeah.’ Another hesitation, then, ‘Kids.’

  She seemed to want to add something, but instead pushed a stray lock of windblown hair back behind an ear, looked at Dan expectantly. He nodded.

  ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking. You reckon her anger towards her dad was just the usual teenage rebellion thing?’

  She studied him, and he couldn’t read her expression. Finally, she said, ‘Yes, I do, thankfully.’

  ‘And Mrs Freedman?’

  ‘Well, she said Will was a good man who worked hard and meant well, and all that kind of platitudes stuff, but …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It didn’t even rise to the heights of being damned with faint praise. I could feel the anger. It’s fast taken over from the grief. That he could do that to her, and to Alex, seeing that prostitute and then leave them both alone in that way – leaving them to find his body …’

  Claire stopped abruptly, shook her head as if to clear it. ‘Look, can we talk about something else? I’d really like to leave work behind for a bit.’

  They walked on in silence. Sometimes no words were required. The cliffs, the sky, the sea were all. Dan glanced over his shoulder to where they’d parked the car.

  With a lover’s forbearance, Claire said, ‘Just a few more minutes. Then we can go and get you a beer. I’m really enjoying being out here.’

  ‘I must keep reminding myself I’m going out with a detective,’ mused Dan. ‘There’s no point trying to get away with anything. What am I going to do when it comes to buying your Christmas presents? And what if I ever have to arrange a surprise for you?’

  She pushed his shoulder playfully. ‘Like any good police officer, I know when to turn a blind eye. Don’t let any of that stop you spoiling me. If you do, then you’ll really be in trouble.’

  Claire pointed to a path that wound inland towards an old engine house. ‘Can we go and sit there for a while? I’d like a few minutes just relaxing and looking at the view before we head back. It’s so wonderfully calming.’

  Dan nodded his agreement. The brief moments of their weekend escapes were the perfect antidote to their working days. No savagery, crime, grimness and cruelty, just the pure and clean countryside. It was the ideal remedy for the human world.

  The track was thinner than the coastal path and bounded by gorse bushes. One pricked Dan’s calf. ‘Ow,’ he yelped, petulantly kicking out at it.

  ‘That really showed it,’ said Claire. ‘It won’t forget that lesson in a hurry.’

  ‘It made me feel better,’ was the best retort Dan could manage. His leg throbbed, but he scarcely noticed. It wasn’t that kind of a day.

  They reached a pyramid of fallen blocks, the ground around them shorn of overgrowth. Claire turned and scanned the surroundings. They could still see the band of blue-grey sea and the rugged line of cliff top. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘This is perfect.’

  Dan laid his coat on the
ground. They sat down, leant back against a stone and cuddled together. Rutherford sniffed his way around the pile of blocks, then trotted back and lay down beside them, his head resting between his paws.

  ‘Happy family,’ said Dan contentedly.

  Claire rubbed her stomach. ‘You feeling OK?’ he asked. ‘I noticed you were holding your tum yesterday. You’re not feeling ill, are you?’

  She held his look. ‘No,’ she said gently. ‘No, I’m absolutely fine. Full of life.’ She nodded hard, added, ‘Blooming in fact.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  They sat and admired the view. Claire looked about to say something else when a growing noise interrupted her. A yellow helicopter thudded its way through the air, following the coast from west to east. Rutherford stood to watch it fly slowly past, his head tilted to one side.

  ‘Rescue chopper,’ said Dan. ‘I wonder what that’s about. Maybe a fishing boat in trouble, or a holidaymaker fallen down the cliff.’

  ‘Mmm,’ replied Claire, cuddling into him.

  ‘What was this you said you wanted to talk about then?’ Dan asked. ‘House things, I guess? I’ve had a quick look at some of the finance and mortgage deals going at the moment, but I was going to tell you about that later. It doesn’t feel right now, all that mundane money stuff in the midst of this beauty.’

  Claire cuddled closer and nuzzled his neck. She whispered something he couldn’t catch.

  ‘Pardon? I didn’t get that.’

  She sat back and looked at him, but didn’t speak. Her expression was impenetrable, a mix of drifting mind, happiness and fear of reality.

  ‘Claire?’ he said, unnerved. ‘Are you OK? Claire?’

  She flinched. ‘Fine, yes. Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘Where? What? Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I’m fine. You won’t believe what I was thinking.’

  ‘What? Go on, try me. What?’

  Claire hesitated, rubbed her stomach again. Finally she said, ‘I was thinking about whether we might get an Aga. I’ve always wanted one.’