The tatty blue door of the target flat opened and a girl walked out alone. Naturally pretty, she was easy on the eye, but looked a little dull without any make up. Her clothes were the kind probably worn by a student, Cossack thought, certainly not an office worker or anyone with money. In her hand was a plastic supermarket bag that was full of what looked like books and files. An old brown handbag was slung over her shoulder. Oblivious to her watcher the girl walked down the avenue and out of sight.
Cossack waited a few minutes just to make sure the girl wasn’t going to return for something forgotten. Then he left his car and walked over to the door of the flat. Hoping for no answer, he rang the bell and knocked hard on the door. There was no sign of movement. From his inside jacket pocket he took out his lock drill and started work on the simple Yale dead-bolt. Moving in close to the door to block anyone’s view of what he was doing, he pushed the thin blade of the drill into the lock and squeezed the trigger. Inside the lock the blade expanded and pushed the locking bolts outwards. At the same time Cossack applied a slight torque on the device and, once the bolts were in the correct position to unlock, the blade spun around. With a satisfying click the door unlocked without complaint. Cossack pushed his way into the flat and disappeared.
After searching the living room and bedroom top to bottom it was obvious he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for. The flat was small, there were few hiding places. He moved to the kitchen and started to go through the drawers.
The door bell rang.
Cossack froze. For a moment he considered hiding, but curiosity made him look towards the door. He decided to bluff it. He made his way to the front door and opened it.
At the door he found a young woman who stood alone. In her early twenties she had mousy brown hair and wore too much make-up. Her innocent eyes were dark, her skin was naturally tanned. Wearing black leggings and a raggedy checked shirt, Cossack took her for a student.
‘Is Ella in?’ the girl asked with a frown, uncertain of who the man in front of her was, but too polite to ask.
Cossack eyed her from her feet up to her face. When his eyes met hers he smiled. ‘Yes. She is in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘I was just leaving. Going back to the university.’ He smiled at her again and motioned for her to come in.
With an element of uncertainty the girl walked past him and headed for the kitchen. Cossack peered up and down the road before closing the door behind him.
‘Ella. Ella?’ she said as she walked in. Her face fell when she saw that the kitchen was empty. She stopped, snatched her phone out from her handbag and made to leave.
Cossack blocked her way.
‘Ella must be upstairs.’ He nodded towards the stairs behind him.
‘It’s okay, I’ll see her later,’ the girl said quickly and nervously. ‘I have a class. Got to go now.’ She made to walk past Cossack, but he moved to block her again.
Exaggeratedly he sniffed the air. ‘Do you smell that?’ he asked.
Confused and irritated the girl frowned and regarded him with a quizzical look. ‘No. Smell what?’
Cossack glared at her, his eyes narrowed. He relished the moment before replying. ‘The delicious aroma of fear,’ he said and grinned.
The colour drained from the girl’s face, her eyes widened. She staggered backwards and took a deep breath ready to scream.
Cossack lunged at her and threw a punch at her solar plexus. The air was forced out of her lungs, she curled up and fell to the floor winded. Her face reddened and her eyes bulged, she struggled to breathe. She tried to push her attacker away, but Cossack grabbed her arm and twisted it harshly around her back. Firmly, he placed his hand over her mouth and nose and held her tightly. Despite her struggles he easily pulled her head back close to his. Slowly he licked her ear. She writhed and tried to scream, but nothing other than a muffled groan came out.
‘You and I are going to have a little party,’ he whispered. He bit down on her ear hard, and fed off her fear.
Chapter 13
0832hrs – Cambridge
The early sun rose in an almost cloudless sky over the town. The streets came alive with the morning rush. Pedestrians walked briskly along the pavements. Cyclists whizzed past, they weaved in and out of the sea of cars that were stuck in a circus of seemingly endless traffic jams.
Ella was glad she had walked to the Fitzwilliam Museum. The fresh air had cleared her mind. By the time she reached Trumpington Street her nerves had evaporated. It was only a painting after all, what harm could it do? If it was worthless, and it probably was, then no matter, she told herself. Nothing gained, nothing lost.
She walked up the white stone steps, past the great Corinthian pillars that supported the huge triangular gable, and into the impressive Hellenistic building of the Fitzwilliam Museum. Inspired by the architects of ancient Greece and Rome, it was a temple to the arts, a monument to learning. It had been built on the principles of inspiring creative and intellectual thinking, principles first introduced by the ancient Greeks in their museums of Alexandria over two-thousand years ago.
Ella sped through the busy rooms past hordes of tourists who shuffled along admiring the works. Dashing in between the exhibits and the tourists, she headed straight for the basement labs. Darren had told her he was there working on a restoration project for the university.
‘Babes,’ Darren said delightedly when he saw Ella. He abandoned his desk and ran over to her.
Ella held out the supermarket bag with the painting and raised her eyebrows.
‘Is that it?’ he asked taking the bag. ‘The masterpiece? The stolen Monet that we’ve been looking for?’
Ella laughed. Looking around, the lab wasn’t quite what she had expected. There were no complex machines or men in white coats peering cautiously over dusty paintings. It was just a large, dated office with a few workbenches and some computers. Various pieces of technical equipment were strewn across the room. Two young students looked up from their desks for a moment and then continued with their studies in silence.
‘Yeah, this is it,’ Ella shrugged. ‘Sorry it didn’t come on a velvet cushion.’
‘Okay, let’s have a look at this masterpiece. Shall we?’ Theatrically Darren put his white gloves on. Ella giggled. He pulled the painting out of the bag and carefully laid it on one of the tables for inspection. Poring over it, he scrutinised every little detail of its surface.
‘Wow! It’s a very good portrait. Decorative and highly finished. Hmm. Francis Perryvall,’ Darren said looking at the bronze plaque. ‘I’ve never heard of that name before. But I’ll look through our archives, there may be other paintings of him, or by him. I take it you don’t know who he was?’
‘No, sorry. Can you tell how old it is?’
Darren frowned and stroked his chin. ‘Well. I’d say it’s not all that old babes, certainly not from 1537 anyway. The paint would have faded more and there would be a lot more crackelature on the canvas. This is in very good condition. A little dusty, but that’s easily fixed. Could be early twentieth-century, maybe late nineteenth at the oldest. I can’t tell who painted it from the style and there’s no visible signature. X-rays might reveal something though.’
Ella looked down at the painting, she was about to say something but stopped. She sighed deeply.
‘I’m gonna have to do some proper research, it could take a while. But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth anything,’ Darren reassured.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ella lied.
‘Look. I’ll scan it in and do some print off’s, show them around on the net. And maybe the little professors will see something I’ve missed.’ He nodded to the students behind him. ‘You never know, it could still be a rare piece, or an early piece by a novice master. Very occasionally one surfaces out of the blue, they can be worth a fortune. Trust me, there are still plenty of clues to look for.’
Ella brightened a little. ‘Thanks Darren, you’re a star.’
*
Watching the world g
o by, Ella sat on the wall by King’s College and munched hungrily on a sandwich. The town was packed with students taking advantage of the good weather. Tourists swarmed around the colleges and shops with their cameras and shopping bags. The sun was warm on her face, the sky was blue. It was a perfect day.
But Ella’s thoughts were elsewhere. A line from the poem nagged at her. In secret I ask . . . She wondered, there were secrets, she was certain of it. Something occurred to her that made her stop eating. She frowned as she contemplated it. The letter was in her handbag, she reached for it.
Just as her fingers touched the letter, her phone rang. There was no caller name and she didn’t recognise the number. Annoyed by the interruption, but curious all the same, she answered it. ‘Hello?’
‘Is this Ms Ella Moore I’m speaking to?’ asked the male voice in a serious, formal manner.
Ella didn’t recognise the man’s voice. She hesitated, worried by his tone. ‘Yes,’ she replied sharply and defensively.
‘My name is Detective Constable Pepper, from Cambridgeshire police. Ms Moore, do you live at 53 Kings Avenue?’
Ella’s stomach jumped into her mouth. ‘Yes. What’s this about?’ she asked quickly, her heart beat hard and fast in her chest.
‘I’m afraid you have been burgled.’
Chapter 14
1321hrs – Cambridge
When Ella reached her flat, she saw that the front door was ajar. There were no police cars on the street or officers standing by the entrance. Other than the open door everything looked normal. Cautiously, she pushed the front door open and entered straight into the small living room.
Immediately she saw the mess. She put her hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. All the drawers had been pulled out. Their contents, and everything else that had been on the shelves, had been mercilessly thrown onto the floor, trodden on and crushed. Open CD cases and books were strewn all over the place, pictures of her and her friends were lying on the floor, the glass smashed.
‘Hello, anyone there?’ she shouted before a lump caught in her throat.
A man appeared at the kitchen door. Ella jumped and tensed up before she noticed he was holding out his police ID. In his mid fifties, he had short white hair, a red face with a bulbous nose and was considerably overweight. He wore an old, ill fitting dark navy blue suit. His tie, which was twenty years out of fashion, hung loose around the collar of his pale yellow shirt. The top button was undone.
‘Ms Moore?’ asked the man.
Ella nodded, the lump in her throat prevented speech.
‘I’m DC Pepper, but please call me Tony.’ His tone was soft and sympathetic. He moved towards her with his warrant card held out. The leather wallet was old and battered, much like its owner.
While Ella leaned forward to inspect the ID, DC Pepper looked Ella up and down. She noticed his eyes were held momentarily on her breasts. She took an instant dislike to him.
‘Please, let’s sit down in the kitchen. There’s a few things I need to discuss with you,’ DC Pepper said gesturing back to the kitchen.
Reluctantly, Ella walked through and pulled out a chair by the table. The kitchen was relativity untouched, a few drawers hung open but nothing looked seriously out of place. DC Pepper pulled out a chair next to her and sat down. A stale smell of cigarette smoke and coffee wafted into her face.
‘At eleven o’clock this morning, a neighbour of yours made a call to the station to report suspicious activity at this address. I was in the area finishing another job so control asked me to drive by and a have a look. Whoever burgled the place was long gone,’ DC Pepper explained. ‘The front door was open, but it didn’t look forced. There’s no broken glass or damage. I entered the flat to check if anyone was in and found it like this. There was a mobile phone bill on the kitchen table. I assumed it was the resident’s, so I called it. You answered.’
Ella blew her nose noisily into a tissue. The stench of the man was making her eyes water.
‘I know it’s upsetting, but please don’t take it personally. These villains are usually opportunists, they’re just after whatever they can find. They don’t consider the victims as real people.’
Ella nodded and sniffed. She had nothing of real value anyway.
‘Are you able to take a look around? I’ll make a note of anything missing.’
‘Yes. Fine,’ Ella said, recovering from the initial shock. ‘But I’m still a student, I don’t have anything valuable at all.’
‘It’s usually drug addicts who do this. They look for things that are easily and quickly sold in the pubs. In and out as quick as possible. They’re only after their next hit and they’ll do anything to get it,’ DC Pepper explained.
‘I suppose so, poor souls.’
‘Oh, one other thing. Do you have a flatmate, or a friend, or a partner who stays here?’
‘No, just me. It’s a one bedroom flat. Why?’ Ella frowned. ‘No one else has the key, other than the landlord, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
The detective looked lost in thought for a second. ‘No, it’s nothing. Just routine,’ he said and wrote something on his notepad.
Together they walked around the flat and looked over the damage. The detective held his notepad in one hand, his pen at the ready. Fastidiously tidy, Ella knew where everything was. At least where it should be. A small wooden box in the bedroom held a small amount of jewellery, but it was all still there. An old phone and her cheap digital camera were still there too. In the living room the television remained intact, a small but modern flatscreen, something Ella thought would have been easy to take and sell. Her books, her CD collection, a few DVDs, all still there, albeit lying all over the place. She didn’t know whether to feel happy about it or not, but nothing seemed to be missing.
‘Are you sure?’ DC Pepper asked surprised. ‘They wouldn’t go to all this trouble unless they were looking for something.’
‘It all here, yes, I’m sure,’ Ella said brightening up a little. ‘Wait a minute. My laptop!’ She rushed over the to the corner of the living room. There was an overturned coffee table where her old laptop sat. The power lead was plugged in. But the laptop was missing.
‘It’s gone,’ she said throwing her hands in the air. ‘It was definitely there this morning. Oh no.’ She put her hands to her face realising her mistake. ‘My thesis, it’s gone. I haven’t backed it up for ages.’
‘And you’re sure that’s all that’s missing, Ms Moore?’
‘Is that all?’ she said sarcastically and laughed. ‘It was months of work, I’ve lost it all.’ She slumped onto the sofa and put her head in her hands.
‘But there’s nothing else of value here?’ the DC challenged.
‘No. It’s just as well I took the painting to the lab this morning,’ she said without thinking. ‘Now that would have been a disaster.’
‘Sorry? What painting?’
‘Oh, probably nothing really. My father died recently and I inherited a painting from him. It’s probably not worth anything, but I took it to a friend this morning to get it looked at.’
DC Pepper stuck the end of his cheap Biro pen in his ear and twisted it round, then he put the end in his mouth. A disgusting habit that Ella had noticed him doing three times before. The man was foul, she thought, no wonder there was no wedding ring on his finger.
‘I’m worried now, Ella. I have to admit,’ DC Pepper said in low voice, he waved his pen at her.
Ella noticed that he had dropped the ‘Ms Moore’ act. He sat down on a tatty old chair and looked at her like she was a child.
‘Let me explain what I’m thinking,’ he went on. ‘There was no forced entry as is usually the case in burglaries. Assuming you really did lock up properly when you left?’
Ella nodded that she had done.
‘So, let’s say it was picked then and not forced. Only the laptop was taken. No jewellery or other items which would be easily sold on for drugs. Granted, laptops are also very easy to sell, but
they also contain a lot of information that may be useful to the more organised criminal. Perhaps the kind of villain who has a bigger prize in mind? Like a valuable work of art that they couldn’t find anywhere in the house, despite having ripped the place apart.’ The detective paused and looked to Ella for a response. He let the theory sink in for a moment.
‘Was there anything else you inherited that could be worth something?’
‘No,’ she lied. The image of the strange gold signet ring flashed in her mind. It was in her handbag. She toyed with telling the detective about it but didn’t feel comfortable going into the odd details of her father’s will. He might think that the whole family was mad.
Pacing around the messy living room the detective tapped the pen, clearly a critical thinking aid of his, against his sweaty forehead. ‘Let’s just say, for a moment, Ella, that someone knew you had a recently acquired a very expensive painting.’
‘But,’ Ella protested. She stopped talking when the detective raised his hand at her.
‘Let’s just say, for arguments sake, that it was known somehow that you had the painting here. It’s not exactly high security. So they watch you. Wait until you leave, then they let themselves in quietly and have a look around. Oh no! they say, it’s not here. So what do they do?’
Ella shrugged and shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she conceded.
The detective snapped his fingers. ‘They take the laptop to try and find out more about you, more about the painting and where it might be. But to cover their tracks they make it look like a simple burglary.’ Smugly, he clasped his hands together and grinned as if he had just solved the case.
The Secret of Hades' Eden Page 12