The Judgement Book

by Simon Hall

  He’d certainly received a sizeable one that morning, Dan reflected.

  But it wasn’t Sinclair who held their attention. It was the woman sitting next to him, upright, dressed in a black suit and with a large folder on her lap. Julia Francis.

  The marathon they were running had just grown more arduous, as if some mischievous tormentor had kindly attached a ball and chain to their legs.

  ‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ said Adam heavily.

  ‘Likewise,’ she retorted. Neither she nor Sinclair got up from their chairs, so Dan and Adam pulled over a couple of seats from the corner of the room.

  Adam hadn’t even had a chance to sit down when Francis said, ‘Before we begin, Chief Inspector, I give you two warnings.’

  One more than last time, Dan noted. My, they were doing well today.

  ‘First, I refer you to the objections I made when you most recently came to see me with …’ Again that disdain-laden pause, ‘… a journalist in tow.’

  ‘And again I refer you to my responses,’ replied Adam smoothly.

  Francis nodded, her pale blue eyes even more watery in the sunlight beaming from the window. ‘Further, I have advised my client to say nothing which could in any way incriminate him. That, I suspect, may mean he says nothing at all.’

  Adam didn’t reply, instead turned his body pointedly away from her and to Sinclair.

  ‘The truth of any allegations contained in that blackmail note are not my concern,’ he said. ‘I am trying to catch the person who sent it. Thus, I must ask you –’ he hesitated, seemed to be searching for a way to phrase the question, then added, ‘whether you have had any conversations of a personal nature in the Ginger Judge?’

  ‘Don’t answer that,’ Francis said immediately.

  Sinclair glanced at her, nodded and said nothing.

  Adam pursed his lips. ‘I see. Then let me ask this – if you have been in the Judge lately, have you noticed anyone hanging around? Perhaps looking over at you? Getting a little too close?’

  ‘Don’t answer that.’

  ‘Seeming like they were trying to eavesdrop?’

  ‘Don’t answer that.’

  ‘Anyone who was talking to the landlady, Sarah? Someone who might have appeared close to her?’

  ‘Don’t answer that.’

  Adam went through a series of questions, pleading the importance of the case and his need for help, much as he had with Robinson. He got the same response each time. But unlike in the barracks, he didn’t get angry. Dan suspected the moment Adam saw Julia Francis he was resigned to learning nothing from the interview.

  The detective leaned back heavily on his chair, shook his head, said wearily, ‘Is there any point asking you anything?’

  Sinclair shrugged, looked again at Francis. ‘I think you’ve answered your own question, Chief Inspector,’ she replied.

  Adam got to his feet. ‘Then we’ll be going. I haven’t got time to waste. Mr Sinclair, some of my colleagues will be contacting you regarding the allegations contained in the note. And Ms Francis, before you ask, I must warn you that yes, you are still a suspect in this case.’

  It was a cheap shot thought Dan, most unlike Adam, but he couldn’t blame his friend. The morning had passed and they were no closer to catching Sarah’s accomplice.

  The clock on the wall said the time was just after twelve. They had less than 31 hours.

  To add to their frustration, when they turned out of the Civic Centre they were greeted by a traffic jam. A solid line of buses and cars tailed back from the roundabout and up the hill towards Charles Cross. The odd horn blared, but most drivers suffered the familiar irritant in resigned silence. It was the English way. As so often in a major city in modern times, it would have been quicker to walk.

  Adam stared at the tailback, swore under his breath. ‘Right, let’s not waste time,’ he said. ‘Brainstorm with me. I want a list of possible suspects and ideas about how to catch our second Worm.’

  Dan pulled on the handbrake, thought for a moment. ‘The most obvious possibility is the worst. That it’s someone we haven’t seen or even had any hint of yet.’

  ‘Yep. But that doesn’t help us. So let’s work through who we have seen, and think if any of them could be involved.’

  ‘From the start?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘As wild a possibility as you like?’

  ‘Yes. Just start thinking.’

  Dan edged the car forwards, a handful of precious yards progress. ‘Yvonne Freedman.’

  He glanced to his side, was taken aback that Adam didn’t look surprised. ‘Yep,’ the detective said.

  ‘You’ve considered her?’

  ‘You know my suspicious detective’s mind. What if – say – Yvonne had known about the prostitute before Freedman killed himself? What if she’d had enough of her husband? She’s told us he was never there in her life, or Alex’s. She might have been in the Judge, chatting to a friend, telling her about it all. Sarah could have bugged the conversation, approached her later, teamed up with her. It could even have been Sarah who told her about the prostitute.’

  Dan couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice. ‘You’re suggesting she blackmailed her own husband? You mean to say that she guessed he might kill himself, so nicely ridding her of the man she wanted out of her life anyway?’

  ‘Well,’ Adam mused, ‘she wouldn’t necessarily have had to suspect he’d kill himself. She could just have calculated the scandal would have given her a good reason to divorce him and get the house and enough money for her and Alex to live on.’

  Dan breathed out heavily. ‘It sounds a bit far-fetched.’ He tapped a finger on the steering wheel. ‘But then again …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, we’ve tackled more bizarre crimes. I never cease to be amazed at what people will do. And in fairness, she was pretty bitter. She clearly wants some kind of revenge on what she sees as the “establishment”. I suppose it could all fit.’

  Adam nodded. ‘You starting to be convinced?’

  ‘Not convinced, but it’s a possibility.’

  Ahead, they could see flashing blue lights and a crumpled car being shunted to the side of the road. ‘There’s the reason for the jam,’ Dan said. ‘It should ease up in a minute.’

  ‘Let’s keep going for now,’ Adam replied. ‘Who else is on our little menu of suspects?’

  They crawled forwards a couple more yards. The sun sneaked out from behind a roll of cloud, making the car feel warm. Dan rolled down a window. The sun went back in again. He sighed.

  ‘In order of the people we’ve met – or in this case, haven’t – Linda Cott?’ he said.

  ‘You mean, faking her death to become Sarah’s accomplice?’

  ‘Yep. Her body still hasn’t been found.’

  ‘True. But we did find her blood on the rocks below where she jumped. And as for not finding a body, that’s not unusual around there. The tides are vicious.’

  ‘She could have had a motive. We’ve got some evidence she was getting frustrated in her career.’

  ‘Who doesn’t? But enough to turn her into a blackmailer?’

  Dan thought for a few seconds. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘And that stuff about her being involved in …’ Adam hesitated before finding the word. ‘Well, dogging. That would have been incredibly powerful material to blackmail her with.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘And Sarah seemed very sure she had something nasty over Linda. Dogging would certainly fit the bill.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘OK then,’ said Adam. ‘Linda’s an unlikely candidate, I agree. Let’s keep going. Next?’

  Dan chuckled, couldn’t help himself. ‘Superintendent Osmond?’

  Adam rolled his eyes. ‘You mean to get back at the rotten police force around him, to expose their corruption and incompetence by offering himself as a sacrifice? Being turned to become Sarah’s accomplice after she taped him talking about his drink driving, and
persuaded him to join her crusade to highlight all that was wrong in society?’

  The two men exchanged a look. ‘No,’ they said together.

  The traffic started to move. Dan shifted the car into first gear, allowed it to trundle towards the roundabout.

  ‘Julia Francis?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like to say so, but probably not.’

  ‘She does have a chip on her shoulder about the establishment thing, though. There’s her history of civil liberties work. Maybe she thinks the state is infringing too far on people’s lives, just like Sarah does. And there’s no hint of her being in the Judgement Book. Perhaps that’s suspicious in itself. Maybe Sarah bugged her raging about how she hated the system and afterwards persuaded her to join the plot?’

  Adam considered this. ‘I’d like to believe it, but it’s a long shot,’ he said finally. ‘I hate to say it, but despite all my run-ins with her I’ve always got the impression she’s pretty straight.’

  Dan indicated, turned the car towards Charles Cross. The ruined church loomed ahead.

  ‘Almost home,’ he said.

  ‘Keep going,’ Adam replied. ‘This is useful.’

  ‘OK, Sinclair or Robinson. As for motive, again to expose the rottenness of the world around them, again after being taped by Sarah talking about their own misdemeanours and her persuading them to join her great crusade. A sort of way to make up for what they’d done.’

  ‘Possible, but a bit crime fiction. You are prone to it. That sounds like something from a book. Long shots, surely?’

  ‘Yeah, but we don’t know much about them, do we? We got nothing in those interviews.’

  ‘We’ll keep working on them, but I can’t see it.’

  They reached the Charles Cross roundabout. Sunlight flared through the open stone arches of the church’s windows. A couple of magpies hopped across the grass. A mist of rain began drifting from the sky, conjuring a fragile rainbow over the city. The sight would usually make Dan smile, but not today. Even a brief lull of contentment felt a far distant emotion.

  ‘Well, that’s about it,’ said Dan. ‘I reckon …’

  ‘Hey!’ Adam interrupted. ‘I don’t believe it! I nearly forgot him.’

  Dan couldn’t hide his puzzlement. ‘Who?’

  The detective pointed at the ruin standing proud in the centre of the roundabout, traffic edging around it. ‘The church jogged my mind. Maguire.’

  ‘The priest?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘How about – getting fed up with all the horrible things he hears in confession. Ground down by the world’s endless sin. Wanting to hit back at a rotten society. He could have been in the Judge, been bugged saying something, got together with Sarah that way. And he’s got form too, that previous conviction for burglary.’

  ‘I don’t know. It sounds pretty wild to me.’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Adam. ‘Until you remember the clues we’ve got so far.’

  Dan thought for a moment, closed his eyes, groaned. ‘Of course. “Open original memorial church.”’

  ‘Exactly!’ Adam hissed. ‘Church – what if it’s his church? What if the Judgement Book’s safely hidden in an original memorial in his church? Come on, quick, turn the car around. Let’s go and see him.’

  The little priest was on his hands and knees, polishing hard at a flagstone. He seemed intent on his work, didn’t look up as they walked towards him. The church was deserted, their footsteps echoing from the stone and rainbow glass. The air was still and cooler than outside.

  Still he rubbed away at the floor, the yellow cloth flicking busily back and forth. The surface was smooth, inscribed with faded letters, a name and a date, but they were faint and worn, eroded by the countless years and pairs of feet which had passed by. Dan noticed Maguire was wearing jeans under his cassock.

  They stopped just feet from him, waited. Adam coughed pointedly. ‘I sense trouble,’ Maguire said, without looking up.

  He shifted his position, finished rubbing at a corner, then got up, dusted himself down and they shook hands. He was sweating. Dan wondered if it was from the exertion of his work, or something more.

  ‘Police footsteps,’ he explained. ‘I knew it was you the moment you opened the door. You manage to walk in an ominous way. And you let the door shut a little too hard for a believer.’

  Adam didn’t smile. ‘Why do you say you sense trouble, Father?’

  ‘Because you haven’t just popped in for a cup of bloody tea, have you, Breen?’ he snapped, dabbing at his forehead with a sleeve. ‘I read the papers. They’re full of your blackmailer case. And they say it isn’t over. I take it I’m still a suspect and that’s why you’re here?’

  Adam knelt down, ran a finger over the stone Maguire had been polishing. Dan knew his friend well enough by now to see he was playing for time, deciding on his tactics for handling the interview. On the drive to the church, the detective had hardly spoken. He sat, staring out of the windscreen, silently thinking.

  ‘What are you going to say to him?’ Dan asked finally, as they rumbled down the hill towards the church.

  ‘A little test, I think,’ was the cryptic reply.

  Dan bent too, studied the writing. He could just make it out. The light seemed to slide from the polished stone, only briefly held in the shallow grooves of the words. They were in loving memory of a Thomas Hubball, a notable parish priest from some time in the 1600s, although the exact date was too worn to discern.

  Adam tapped a finger on the stone. ‘A memorial,’ he said slowly.

  Maguire folded his arms. ‘I certainly can’t fault your ability as a detective.’

  ‘Do you have many in the church?’

  Dan studied the priest’s face. He was peering at Adam, but there was no hint of a reaction to the question. His silver hair shone in the mellow church light, making it appear as if he was wearing a halo.

  ‘The church dates from the thirteenth century, Breen,’ he said. ‘So yes, we’ve clocked up one or two over the years.’

  ‘Are there any which are particularly famous? Or important?’

  Maguire raised his eyes to the fluted columns of the church’s roof. ‘Holy Father preserve me. They’re all important, man. That’s why they were created. To mark the passing of our better fellows into the arms of the Lord.’

  He crossed himself with the same sense of theatre he’d shown when they had first met.

  Adam took a deep breath. ‘Then let me rephrase that. Are any of your memorials particularly famous?’

  The question received due consideration before the reluctant reply, ‘No, not really. We’re in Plymouth, not Westminster Abbey.’

  Outside, two sets of feet crunched on gravel. Adam nodded to himself. The preamble was over. Dan sensed the sting of the interview coming.

  ‘Then have any been duplicated?’

  ‘Duplicated?’ The priest’s voice was sharp with scorn. ‘What the hell are you talking about now, man? This isn’t a bloody factory. We don’t knock off copies of our memorials to stack the shelves of our local Ecumenical Discount Store.’

  Dan gritted his teeth to stop himself from grinning. A suspect he may be, and as such the rules dictated he had to be treated with dispassionate neutrality, but despite that, Dan couldn’t help rather liking Father Maguire.

  Adam frowned, but answered patiently, ‘I’m sorry, perhaps I’m not making myself clear. Have any new memorials been created to anyone already remembered here? Perhaps by their family? Or for some occasion like the anniversary of their death?’

  Again no sign of a reaction from Maguire. If he knew what Adam was hinting at, he was hiding it well. He didn’t look in the least guilty or worried, just mildly puzzled and more obviously irritated. ‘Not that I know of. Not that’s happened in my time here, anyway. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just – a possible line of inquiry.’

  The priest regarded Adam with suspicion. ‘I’ve heard that one before,’ he ba
rked. ‘On the TV it’s normally a prelude to someone being arrested. What are you up to, Breen?’

  ‘Nothing, Father, nothing. Just thinking out loud.’

  ‘Got me down as your number one suspect, have you?’

  ‘No, Father …’

  His voice rose. ‘Blackmailer Maguire? The priestly extortionist? The latest in a long line of Catholic Crooks? If it’s not the choir boys they’re after, it’s cash.’

  Adam held up his hands calmingly. ‘Father, please. I’m only following a possible lead, that’s all. We’ll leave you in peace now.’

  The tone of the detective’s voice had changed, become softer. Dan had seen it before. The interview was over. Maguire didn’t know the contents of the blackmail notes. He thought they demanded cash. Unless he was the finest of actors, the priest wasn’t Sarah’s accomplice.

  The church’s bell rang one, a jarring loudness in the quiet. The morning’s precious time had been wasted. There were now just 30 hours until the contents of the Judgement Book were revealed and they were no closer to finding it. Dan was growing ever more sure that he and Adam were both in there.

  There was an invisible clock, counting down the time to the end of their careers. It followed wherever they went. And its ticking was growing ever louder.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  IT WAS TWO O’CLOCK and the sun that had spent the morning battling to free itself from the shroud of cloying clouds had finally won through. The hurrying umbrellas disappeared from the city and shirt sleeves and cropped tops took their place, making their way to their destinations with easy leisure. From the window of the MIR, high above Plymouth, Dan wondered at how a change in the weather could transform spirits in an instant.

  On the window sill was his piece of paper with the final, most important riddle. He’d written the words in as many different combinations as he could think of, looked for anagrams, acrostics and patterns of any kind, wondered whether there could be hidden numbers or place names contained there, and come up with precisely nothing. He still had no idea what the solution could be.

  “See have mind good land, Plymouth.”