The Judgement Book

by Simon Hall

  Dan breathed out with relief. ‘Is that all? Well, I don’t know about it in our first house. It depends how big it is and what we can afford. But one day, certainly, yes. I’d love one too. They make great toast.’

  She smiled at him, but mistily. ‘Yep. Great toast. What more could we ask for?’

  He was about to reply when a thundering barrage of noise assailed them. The helicopter had risen from below the cliff like a great yellow bird of prey. It hovered just a couple of hundred yards away. The side door was open and a figure leaned out. He seemed to be looking at the edge of the cliff. Even from where they sat they could feel the rushing downdraft of the helicopter’s rotors. It poured out, beating and bowing the grass and gorse around them.

  They stood and Claire pointed along the coastal path. A line of yellow-jacketed figures was striding fast towards the helicopter. There were a couple of uniformed police officers at the back.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she shouted.

  ‘No idea, but they’re spoiling the peace and quiet. Shall we go and have a look?’

  Dan put Rutherford on his lead and they walked towards the group. They’d gathered on the cliff top where the helicopter had hovered. It had flown west, following the line of the coast.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Dan asked one of the police officers.

  ‘Suspected suicide, sir,’ the constable replied in a Cornish burr. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s common along here. It’s a pretty spot to jump to your death.’

  Dan reached for Claire’s hand and turned to walk away. It felt ghoulish to stay. He’d had enough of death for one week. The weekend was supposed to be a respite. But she stopped him and said, ‘Hang on a minute. A suspected suicide? Given what happened on Thursday with Freedman I’d better check that’s all it is.’

  She reached into her pocket for her purse and showed the policeman her warrant card. He couldn’t hide his surprise.

  ‘Not really one for CID, ma’am,’ he said, straightening his cap. ‘It’s just a suicide. Sad, but it happens a lot around here.’

  ‘I’d like to check anyway,’ she replied. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We had a call from a woman saying there was someone standing on the edge of the cliff, with arms outstretched, who pitched forwards and fell. We turned out in case the jumper was lying badly hurt at the bottom of the cliff, but there’s no sign. The helicopter hasn’t found a body, but that’s not unusual. The tides and currents around here are ferocious. We only find the remains of about half the suicides.’

  On the cliff behind the policeman the rest of the group had clustered together and were examining an object. Claire strode over. One was holding a small plastic lunch box.

  ‘What’s that?’ she said sharply. ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Just on the cliff, love,’ the man replied, looking up at her. ‘It was weighted down with a big stone. There’s a bit of paper in it. I reckon it’s the guy’s suicide note.’

  ‘Drop it,’ said Claire in a commanding voice. ‘Put it down on the grass and don’t touch it again. Any of you.’

  ‘Who the hell are you...?’ he began, but Claire cut him off.

  ‘CID. Just do it.’

  The man hesitated, looked as if he was contemplating challenging her, but did as he was told. Claire walked forward, squatted down and stared into the box. Dan did the same. The plastic was opaque, but clear enough to make out some of the note inside.

  The piece of paper was folded in half. There were lines of scrawled handwriting, but the words “Judgement Book” were clearly visible.

  Chapter Eight

  TWO SHOCKS AWAITED THEM when they got back to Charles Cross.

  Adam, Dan and Claire watched as a forensics officer carefully opened the lunch box and used tweezers to extract the note. The man slipped the piece of paper into a clear plastic evidence bag, sealed it, and handed it to Adam. They jogged up the stairs to the MIR and he held it out so they could all see it. The message was brief, just a few lines, and took them only seconds to read.

  Adam laid the bag down on a table and swore loudly, then again, a stream of snarling profanities such as Dan had never heard him use before. The detective walked over to the window and stared out at the ruined church. Claire just stood, shaking her head in disbelief. She had turned pale.

  The second victim of the Judgement Book, the person who’d committed suicide by jumping from the cliffs of a Cornish beauty spot was one of their own, and it was a woman. Inspector Linda Cott.

  ‘I knew her,’ groaned Claire. ‘She was a great woman, talented, principled, thoughtful, kind, dedicated to the job. Everything you could ask for. She believed in policing. She always said the local police officer should be a part of the community, just like the priest or doctor. We used to talk about how difficult it could still be, as a woman in the force. She even talked me round once when I was thinking of quitting.’

  Dan was surprised, had never heard Claire mention it before. ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. She told me not to quit because the police needed women like me and that we really made a difference. She said she’d prove it and took me for a walk in the city. We popped into a couple of shops and pubs run by women. They were all really pleased to see her. They went on about what a difference it made to have a women’s perspective in policing. The men loved her too. She could mix it with anyone, from a tramp to a government minister. A real people’s police officer. I even saw a scarf I liked in one of the shops we went in, and she said she’d turn a blind eye if I wanted to buy it. It’s still one of my favourites.’

  Adam nodded, picked up the plastic bag, held it out in front of him and stared at the note again. ‘She was a fine singer too, did you know that? She used to front a folk band. They were well known locally, always in demand for gigs. In fact, she was quite a character all round. She came in to Tom’s school once to talk to the children. All the kids were shepherded into the hall, thinking they’d got to listen to this boring talk, and she stood up at the front and said, “It’s a lovely day, why don’t we go outside and have a kick-about instead?”’

  He smiled at the memory. ‘This poor young beat cop she’d brought along had to go in goal, and she played football with the kids. And all she said at the end was, “Remember, the police are your friends.” They still talk about it at the school. It was one of the best lessons they’ve ever had.’

  The room went quiet. Then Adam spoke again, his voice harder now. ‘She was a top cop, tipped to go on to a very senior rank. What the hell can the Worm have had that stopped her from reporting it to us, and made her kill herself?’

  He banged his fist on the table, making a line of computers shudder.

  ‘She’s about the least likely blackmail victim I can imagine. Shit! What was her personal life like, Claire?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir. I know she didn’t have a partner. But I didn’t get the feeling she was unhappy. She always said she’d find one when the time was right. We used to talk about how difficult it was to meet a decent bloke, the hours we have to work. And if you do, they tend to run a mile when they find out you’re a cop.’

  Dan sat down on the window ledge and kept quiet. He fiddled with some change in his pocket and stared at a pigeon which was preening itself on the flagpole outside. Again, he felt an intruder here, like a child listening to an intimate conversation between adults.

  ‘Well, we’re going to have to go through her background,’ said Adam. ‘And that’s never a pleasant task, especially with a colleague. We’d better call the search teams in. They’ll have to take her house apart. Don’t worry about the weekend overtime. I’ll sort that with the High Honchos. They won’t complain. We’re effectively hunting a cop killer now.’

  Claire picked up her mobile, walked to the corner of the MIR and started making calls.

  ‘At least Linda’s given us one thing,’ Adam growled to Dan. ‘She solved the riddle the bastard Worm set her. But it didn’t save her, did it?’ The detective’s neck had turned p
uce, a vein throbbing angrily. ‘Come and have another look at the note. Tell me what you think. We’ve got to get this guy.’

  Dan eased himself down from the window ledge, walked over to Adam and looked at the plastic evidence bag. He traced the words with a finger as he read.

  I’m sorry it has to end this way, but I don’t see any other choice. Given what I’ve done, there is no way I could ever continue as a police officer. I have only myself to blame for falling into the Judgement Book. I’m sorry, so very sorry. My job is my life, and without it I have no life.

  For those officers who investigate my death, I have solved the blackmailer’s riddle. The answer is ORIGINAL. I hope this helps you to prevent any more deaths.

  Linda Cott

  Dan read through the note once more. The handwriting was a little scrawled, but still perfectly legible. It looked like someone who was under pressure, but was trained or used to coping. It was similar to his own style when writing a script against a looming deadline.

  He imagined where the note had been written. In a car, parked by the cliffs, in the last few moments of Linda’s life, or at home, in her kitchen with a cup of tea, preparing for that final act, the fatal decision made.

  ‘What do I think?’ Dan said slowly. ‘Well, like you, I can only wonder what the blackmailer must have had. It would have to be dynamite, something like the magnitude of Freedman’s sex scandal. But why, if she solved the riddle, didn’t she use it to save herself?’

  ‘Maybe she did,’ said Adam. ‘Maybe the Worm just laughed at her and said I’m going to expose you anyway. Maybe she simply didn’t trust him and didn’t bother trying.’

  Dan thought for a moment, tapped a finger on the edge of the desk, then said, ‘Anyway, how was she supposed to show she’d cracked the riddle? We’re only going to know that by finding the Worm’s letter, aren’t we? So far, we’re working on half the story, just having her suicide note.’

  ‘Yep,’ replied Adam. ‘Come on then, let’s get down to her house and find the other half.’

  He looked over to Claire. She was still on the phone, but gave him a thumbs-up.

  ‘The search teams will be assembling within an hour, I’d say,’ Adam continued. ‘All our detectives will be here soon too, weekend or not. I won’t be able to keep them away and I won’t try. A dead colleague is the best motivator you can get.’

  Claire insisted on driving. Dan knew she often liked to make a point of taking control, although he couldn’t help but wonder if this was something to do with Linda’s death. They stopped on the way to her house to buy some newspapers. Adam hopped out of the car.

  ‘Won’t be a mo,’ he said. ‘I want to see the Freedman coverage.’ His face and neck were still flushed, his tie hanging well down from his collar.

  Dan waited for the detective to disappear into the shop. ‘You OK?’ he asked Claire, leaning forward to whisper into her ear and rub a hand over her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah, just shaken. It always gets to you, something like this, no matter how tough you think you are.’

  She reached back from the driver’s seat and squeezed his knee.

  ‘There’ll be no chance today, but maybe we can have dinner tomorrow night?’ Claire went on. ‘My place? I’d like to cook. Maybe we can have a chance to talk about some of the stuff we didn’t manage earlier?’

  ‘Agas and toast you mean? Sure, I’d like that. It’d be a great way to round off the weekend.’

  Adam opened the car door. He was carrying a pile of newspapers. Will Freedman’s face stared out from all the front pages. The story dominated the headlines.

  “MP’S SEX, LIES AND SUICIDE”

  “PROZZIE MP TOPS HIMSELF”

  Adam leafed through the papers. Tabloid or broadsheet, the story was the same.

  “MP IN SEX BLACKMAIL SUICIDE”

  “MYSTERY OF SEX BLACKMAIL SUICIDE MP”

  “TRAGEDY OF SEX SUICIDE MP”

  ‘I wonder if all these stories made Linda’s mind up,’ Adam said quietly. ‘It would have been her in the headlines next.’

  Linda Cott lived in a small, terraced house in a quiet cul de sac off Mutley Plain, less than a mile from Charles Cross. It was an oddly mixed area, lines of Victorian terraces, many converted into flats and bed-sits for students, but also plenty of middle-class families, although the numbers were dwindling in the face of the students’ relentless invasion. The tensions between the two lifestyles formed a staple story for the local media.

  Linda’s front garden was paved, apart from the edges where a few well-tended rosebushes reached out from the flowerbeds. Their buds were starting to blossom. The house was whitewashed, with pale blue windowsills and looked neat and well cared for. A Neighbourhood Watch sticker was slightly askew in the double-glazed glass of the front door. A police locksmith fumbled with the mechanism for a couple of minutes and it opened.

  Adam stepped inside, onto a ‘Home Sweet Home’ mat. He wiped his feet respectfully and Dan and Claire did the same. The hallway was carpeted in beige, as was the living room. A white-tiled kitchen at the back looked out onto a small garden. The lawn was evenly trimmed, coloured sprays of wakening flowers lined the wooden fences.

  Upstairs, there were two bedrooms, both with double beds. The bathroom was also white and stark. A yellow rubber duck sat on the edge of the bath, the first hint Dan had seen of any real spark of character. No one spoke. There was no discussion of what they were seeing, no banter, no attempt to lighten the mood. They found no sign of any blackmail note or frantic attempts to solve a riddle.

  They walked slowly back downstairs. Adam sat heavily on the white sofa in the living room. There was a long silence, then he said, ‘Depressing, isn’t it? You feel like you’re trespassing through the layers of someone’s life. And you’re doing it because there is no life any more.’

  Dan looked around. There was a print of Dartmoor’s Hay Tor on the wall above the television. A group of people stood triumphantly atop the great granite rock, arms raised to the camera. Walking had been one of Linda’s hobbies. The lack of family photos was unusual, but Adam had said that both her parents were dead and she had no siblings.

  ‘The search teams are here, sir,’ said Claire, walking over to the window. Dan felt a sudden urge to hug her, to protect her from the savagery of the world. She was holding her stomach again. He hoped she wasn’t ill, ignoring it for the sake of the investigation.

  A police van had drawn up outside and the TAG team piled untidily out. A couple of neighbours watched from the safety of their gates.

  Dan couldn’t stop his mind from slipping back to earlier. A moment’s fatal resolution, a woman plummeting from the dizzying cliffs, a body shattered by the shocking impact with the unforgiving rocks. A gentle tide slipping in to claim the final physical memory of another broken hope, and a desperately lonely end to a once promising life.

  He shuddered and sat down next to Adam, watched as the search teams began their work.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ said the black-clad TAG sergeant. ‘Not only not a sausage, but not even a chipolata.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Adam.

  The question made the man grimace. He took off his cap and scratched at his balding head. When he spoke, he sounded hurt.

  ‘Quite sure, sir. We’ve tried all the hiding places there are. There’s no computer, no reference books, none of Linda’s personal papers and definitely no blackmail note. All we found was one drawer with bills, TV licence, passport, driving licence and that kind of thing. Nothing else at all.’

  Adam looked at him, then turned and stared at Linda’s house. Twilight was gathering and windows shone in the neighbouring homes. An occasional curtain twitched, but the interest in the show was waning. The weekly treats of take-aways and Saturday night TV took easy priority over cops going about another depressing investigation.

  The evening was mild and still. The faint blare of an advert drifted from an open window. A ginger cat made a more obvious show of its curiosity, watchin
g intently from a wall, its striped tail swinging.

  ‘OK, Sergeant, stand down your team,’ said Adam finally. ‘You’ve done everything you could. Thanks for trying.’

  ‘No problem,’ said the man, saluting. ‘Linda was a great boss. She once covered for me when my son was beaten up at school so I could go and be with him. A top officer. We all want to nail this bastard blackmailer. Go get him, sir.’

  Adam nodded, but didn’t reply. He turned and stared again at the house. The police van’s diesel engine growled and spluttered into life and it grumbled up the road. The bite of diesel fumes lingered in the air.

  ‘Sir?’ tried Claire tentatively. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Adam. ‘I was thinking. I don’t understand.’ He addressed the empty house. ‘Why give us the answer to the riddle, but nothing to show us how you got it, Linda? And what have you done with the blackmail note? You knew it would be vital for us. What was in it that was too horrible for you to let anyone else see?’

  Dan leaned back on the bonnet of the CID car and arched his aching back. The twin assaults of tiredness and hunger had ambushed him. It was coming up to half past eight. They’d set out for Cornwall at eight this morning and he hadn’t eaten since. A couple of breakfast slices of toast and a yoghurt was all he’d had all day. The excitement had kept the hunger caged, but now he needed to eat.

  Adam was still staring at the house, his hands in his pockets. The ginger cat hopped down from the wall and swaggered up the road. Claire bent down to stroke it, but the cat slipped past her outstretched hand. Inside her bag, her mobile rang out a muffled tone. She stood up and answered it. Adam didn’t move.

  ‘Sir,’ she said, when she’d finished the call. Then more insistently, ‘Sir?’

  ‘Sorry, Claire, yes?’

  ‘It’s the labs. They’ve got some news about St Agnes head.’

  Adam turned to them. ‘Come on then,’ he said wearily. ‘We’re getting nowhere here. I reckon Linda sanitised the place before she … well, you know. It’s a silent house. It’s not telling us anything. Let’s get back to Charles Cross.’