The Gods' Gambit

by David Lee Marriner

  “Elizabeth would have told me if there was something like that,” James interrupted.

  Stockton raised his arm to silence him. “That’s only a hypothesis... Now … the gangsters hired a house close to the Haslemere Centre where Miss Eden taught a fashion course. William Leroy lived in it. His corpse was also found there. His death occurred just a few hours after the death of Miss Eden – a drug overdose. Drawings and the address of a rich family in Southampton were found during the search of the house.”

  “How was Elizabeth abducted?” asked James.

  “The abduction was perpetrated by William Leroy and one of the women from the gang. They attacked Elizabeth in a street behind the Haslemere Centre. Five minutes after Elizabeth Eden finished her tuition session her car was caught on the CCTV cameras of a nearby bank. Behind the wheel was William Leroy. The car that followed him was driven by the woman shot by Mrs Pema Boonliang…” Stockton went on to say that he thought Elizabeth had been killed accidentally, probably when resisting or trying to escape. Leroy had hit her with his handgun on the back of the neck. The gun was subsequently found in Leroy’s house together with Elizabeth’s jewellery. After committing the murder, William Leroy took cocaine together with a synthetic narcotic. The combination proved fatal. His body was found a few days later. A postman smelled the rotting corpse and alerted the police. “The gang decided to kidnap you as well. They already knew you because of Elizabeth Eden,” Stockton concluded.

  “So, they planned that sophisticated attack only because they were familiar with me?”

  “I believe they were after a ransom … and maybe something else…” Stockton paused.

  “What could that be?”

  “We’re still working on it,” Stockton said evasively.

  “I see. Can you at least tell me who the people in the gang are, apart from William Leroy?”

  Stockton rifled through the papers on his desk. “We know who the dead ones were. The man that detective Bellin killed at the gateway of your estate was David Farhuck. He was fifty-four years old and lived in London. The woman killed with him was Rose Masterson, twenty-four, from Somerset. The name of the other woman is Margaret Stone, thirty-two, also from London. Do any of these names ring a bell?”

  “No,” said James in a hollow voice.

  Stockton took two photos from the pile in front of him and showed them to James. “These are Farhuck and Masterson. Have you seen them before?”

  James took a close look and shook his head. “Somehow they don’t look like criminals,” he commented, partly to the detective, partly to himself. “Give me some details about them.”

  Stockton hesitated. “I’ve given you enough details already.”

  James raised his voice. “Not enough at all.”

  The muted choir of voices of the police officers working at the desks behind James suddenly stopped.

  The detective moved his chair back to the edge of the desk and stared at James. “In here I say when something is sufficient.”

  James pulled himself together and apologized. “I’m only asking you for details that the media will publish soon enough.”

  Mention of the media had a sobering effect on Stockton. “David Farhuck owned an estate agents business. He let private and commercial property on a national scale. Father Indian, mother English. Divorced, three children living with his ex. Rose Masterson had a little accounting firm in Somerset. Not married. Margaret Stone was a housewife with an eight-year-old son. You know about William Leroy.”

  James looked surprised. “Apart from Leroy, all the others look like completely normal people. How could they be involved in kidnapping and killing?”

  “Perhaps they wanted to lay their hands on a huge amount of money. They must have had a good reason for that. As for their ‘innocent’ biographies, I wouldn’t be so impressed. There have been serial killers that were known as kind neighbours and exemplary citizens.”

  “Why did they choose Elizabeth as their target?”

  “You’re a famous writer and probably wealthy. They hoped to extract good money from you. There might be another reason. We’ll talk about that later when we get more evidence.” Stockton fell silent and pulled the computer keyboard closer.

  “I really do need to know more,” James insisted.

  “We’ll get more information when we catch the remaining two of the gang. Now – please – I have to work.”

  James realized that this man would talk to him no more. He stood up and started to walk away but then turned back. “If I were you, I wouldn’t rush to add the ‘Islamic’ hypothesis to the investigation of Elizabeth’s murder,” he said.

  Stockton didn’t answer immediately. His expression seemed rapt and his lower lip hung loosely. Deep in his dark eyes malice sparkled. He smiled and said, “We’ll talk again soon. Bye now.”

  * * *

  Walking out of the MI5 building, James realized how self-deluding he had been to think he would find peace after Elizabeth had been found. Now that the perpetrator had been found, having had a miserable death, he still didn’t feel any relief. On the contrary, he felt like he was trapped in a dark labyrinth with no exit. It’s all so surreal … strange… Answers. I need answers, he thought.

  Now, four people in the gang that had destroyed his life were dead, lost as potential sources of information. The police’s interpretation was based on partial field evidence, a few lab analyses and four dead bodies. That may look fine in a police report, but for him it was not enough.

  Answers.

  James walked like an automaton to his car, zigzagging through the packed car park. Once inside his car he touched the ignition but didn’t start the engine. He sat deep in thought for some time. Eventually, he pulled out his mobile and dialled a number. “Peter, it’s James Whiteway. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Superintendent Peter Oliver was silent for a moment before he asked shortly, “Where are you?”

  James explained, adding that he had just met with Stockton. The superintendent gave him the address of a bar where they could meet.

  He arrived there a quarter of an hour after James and settled opposite him at a table for two. “We’re better off talking here,” he said, as if trying to excuse himself for not inviting James to his office. “I heard what happened to you. How are you holding up?”

  “Not very well. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” James related his conversation with Stockton. “My indicator of trust in the abilities of detective Stockton is in the red zone.”

  “You can complain officially…” The superintendent saw the disappointment on James’ face. “I’m not washing my hands of it. I just want to remind you of official procedure,” he added.

  “Actually, I don’t care about Stockton’s abilities. I feel uneasy because he’s hiding information. That’s a pity. He seems quite influenced by my removal from the Costov case.”

  The superintendent looked out of the window. He was thinking. “I’ll talk to you as if you’re one of ours. In fact, I’m not talking to you on this subject at all,” he said with a meaningful look into James’ eyes.

  “Everything stays between you and me,” James reassured him.

  “Yesterday, the crime lab sent Stockton the chemistry analysis report. It described an unknown substance. It was found in a syringe on the woman killed at your estate. That substance was identical to the one used to drug Stefan Costov.”

  “Impossible!” James exclaimed.

  The superintendent looked at him without blinking.

  James took a deep breath. Thoughts, facts, events and images from these last few fateful days started crossing his mind with incredible speed. The diverse multitude of information started to arrange itself into a sensible picture, although it still bore some blank spots. It’s impossible, unbelievable, and yet… He clenched his fists under the table. He needed to calm down. “What do you think about all this?” he asked.

  The superintendent avoided answering the question directly. “I know you’re
sincere. That’s why I’m going to ask you something. Is there even the slightest possibility that your fiancée was involved in some mess behind your back?”

  For a long moment, James’ face was illuminated by some inner light. “Believe me,” he said in a low tone, “nothing like that happened. I would have known. We had been inseparable since we met.”

  The superintendent leaned closer to James. “What Stockton told you is only part of it. The police are working on the other part quite intensively. Stockton briefly touched on it when the three of us met at your home. It’s about the possible involvement of Elizabeth Eden with Islamic fanatics. After yesterday’s crime lab report there’s an indication of her possible involvement with the people who killed Stefan Costov. She may have been kidnapped and killed because those people felt she was a threat to them. In line with this hypothesis, their attempt to kidnap you could have been fuelled by the same motives. They wanted to find out if Elizabeth had told you something about them. And to get money from you, of course—”

  “Peter, I’m sure you’ve been too busy to think about chronology,” said James.

  “Let’s skip the riddles, James.”

  “You invited me to join the investigation on Costov. That happened first. Now, MI5 suspect that Elizabeth had been connected to the same criminals who killed Costov.”

  “I admit this is a strange twist of events. But the lead on your fiancée must be investigated.”

  “Could she have been involved with those people before I started working on Costov’s case? That would have been an almost mystical coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yet – a possible one. Before or after, if she had been in contact with them, wouldn’t you want know?”

  “I don’t, because it’s nonsense.”

  “I’m not here to argue with you, James. I don’t share Stockton’s enthusiasm on that. But there are procedures,” the superintendent reminded him.

  “You’re right. Let’s stick to the matter and consider Costov’s murder separately. The theory that he was killed by Islamists is not defendable. There’s no basis for it.”

  “We consider the possibility that the fanatics took cover behind the bloody Sumerian ritual. New tactics. Their motives could well have been political. Costov was an enemy to Islam because, in their eyes, he worked for the US government.”

  James immediately saw a contradiction in that hypothesis. “MI5 found plans for another kidnapping in William Leroy’s house. By kidnapping two people in such a short space of time, they would have attracted the attention of the whole police force.”

  “The theory is that the second kidnapping was planned by William Leroy alone. This plan definitely differed from the others. Maybe they hired him just to kidnap Elizabeth,” explained the superintendent. “They might have killed him exactly because he tried to involve them in a second kidnapping. Or maybe he never intended to inform them about his plan and his death was an accident. We may never know for sure.”

  James again asked the question that the superintendent had avoided answering. “Okay. Tell me what you make of all this.”

  “Regarding the investigation, my opinion is meaningless now. I was transferred to another job.” The superintendent paused briefly. “I can only tell you that things happen. Things I don’t like. I have the nasty feeling that strong political winds are blowing through our department. It’s getting more difficult to do real police work.”

  “Stockton gave me some data about the gang. He didn’t mention anything about their connection to Islam,” said James.

  “David Farhuck’s father was a Muslim. The girl from Somerset had a relationship with a young Muslim. I don’t know about the others. My former team and Stockton are digging in that direction. We’ll get more answers when the last gangsters are caught.”

  “If this ever happens. It’s probable they’ll be ‘caught’ dead. All members of this gang die before having a chance to open their mouths,” James said with irony.

  “You’re beginning to understand my feelings,” the superintendent said and rubbed his forehead as though he wanted to remove something sticky. “It’s a bad situation when the security services begin to depend too much on politics.” He shook his head. “Do you know, we were on the brink of a diplomatic scandal because of the shooting involving inspector Bellin.”

  “Thanks God she did what she did,” said James. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”

  “Regrettably, some people in deep armchairs don’t see it from that perspective.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Woodsman Green Forest and Brighton, UK

  “The number is unavailable. Please call later. Or why not try by text?” said a recording of a pleasant female voice, which James was listening to for the third time.

  Lino had not responded to his calls, or his texts.

  James put his mobile in his pocket and increased his pace. Walking in the forest helped him to think and regulate his elevated heartbeat. His mind was jumping from one assumption to another without exiting his whirlpool of thoughts.

  The cult… Elizabeth… Costov… The assault… The police misled… Lino’s world conspiracy theory… Loops of a chain with joined ends… Deadlock… The cult was the source of evil. They killed Elizabeth and our unborn girl. They attacked me in my home. Why? What motive could they have? Something dark from Elizabeth’s past before we met? No. Why would they wait so long before acting against her? That doesn’t make sense. What was the link between Elizabeth, me, Costov, Knut Vebber? It was something of paramount significance for the cult. So significant that they killed unscrupulously and brutally, and were ready to die for it.

  James struggled not to wander away from a rational frame of thinking, although all of the events looked so mysterious. He analysed for some time the possibility that the motive behind Elizabeth’s murder had been his own work for the police. Logic demanded him to consider that the cult somehow had found out about his involvement in the Costov case. They could have kidnapped Elizabeth for revenge or as a means to control him. However, this scenario wasn’t realistic. His work alone was not of crucial importance in solving the crime. Peter Oliver also used other professionals. James wouldn’t be able to play the game of the cult unnoticed. It looked like destiny had crossed his path and that of the cult twice, on two unrelated occasions. The aggression against Elizabeth did not occur as a result of his participation in the police investigation. That conclusion brought him back to the starting point.

  Answers. I need answers.

  Some of them could be provided by Lino Mancini. Lino had studied this cult for years. James regretted not paying enough attention to his theories and discoveries. Only in the light of the Costov case had he realized that his Italian friend was not a delusional eccentric. The danger he warned of was real. James realized that so-called common sense was the greatest defence of that dreadful cult. Probably, anyone who attempted to drag the beast out of the dark would face rejection and disregard.

  He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Yes, of course… Lino’s strange reaction during our last video conversation. His attempt to undervalue his writing. Now his unwillingness to return my calls… There can be only one reason. The cult has somehow discovered what he’s doing and has shut his mouth.

  He quickly pulled out his mobile and dialled Lino’s number. He heard the familiar automated message and hung up. An answering machine responded from his home landline as well. James surfed the Internet on his mobile and found the phone number of the National Library of Florence. If all was fine with Lino, he would be working at this time of day.

  His call was transferred twice before reaching the department his friend worked in. After a short delay, a secretary informed him, “Senior Mancini is busy and unable to speak.”

  “I’d like you to give him a message, would you?” James asked. “Please, tell him that I understand. He must know that he’s not alone.”

  James almost instantly felt his heart begin to beat normally. His mind cl
eared. The flashing thoughts and emotions did not dominate him anymore. They were still inside him, but he didn’t feel lost among them. Because he had made a decision.

  He dialled another number. “Hi, Irina. I need to travel urgently. We won’t be able to see each other tomorrow before you fly home. I wondered if you could meet me this evening.”

  “What a coincidence. I was just picking up the phone to call you,” responded Irina. “I’m staying late at the office tonight. Could you drop by?”

  “I’ll be there in about an hour and a half.”

  “Wonderful.”

  * * *

  In the late afternoon, the road to Brighton was already busy. James drove above the speed limit and overtook a number of vehicles. A dark blue BMW kept up with him at a distance. James noticed it and deliberately made some quick and rather hazardous manoeuvres. The dark blue car invariably followed suit.

  It remained behind James on the streets of Brighton, too. He turned sharply into the road where the MI5 headquarters building was situated and pulled up outside. He saw the BMW appear in his mirror. It was moving slowly. Suddenly, it picked up speed and drove away.

  * * *

  Irina pointed to the table and four chairs which filled almost half of her small office. “Take a seat,” she said. She stood up and walked towards the coffee machine holding a mug. “Coffee?”