by K. M. Ashman
‘Don’t worry, Mr Jones,’ she said gently, ‘there’s an ambulance on the way.’
His hand crawled forward through the blood to touch her leg and she heard him mumble something unintelligible.
‘Shhh.’ she said, ‘try to keep your strength, they won’t be long.’
‘The coin,’ he mumbled through his smashed teeth.
‘Don’t worry about your coin,’ she said, ‘I’ll keep it safe for you.’
‘Listen.’ he hissed suddenly, using the last of his strength, ‘too late… important… the coin… be careful…’
‘Careful,’ she said ‘what do you mean, careful? Who did this to you?’
----
It was three hours later when the policewoman left India’s flat. The librarian was wrapped in her dressing gown and she lay on the sofa, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She had scrubbed the blood from her hands and put her clothes in the bin, knowing full well she could never wear them again after they had been soaked with the blood of a dead man.
India sipped her coffee. After they had taken the body away, the questions had started, first in the back of the police car and then at her place. She told them about the victim’s visit to the library and his request to research the mysterious necklace but as the policewoman had said, it was probably a coincidence and he was most likely the victim of an unrelated mugging. After they left, India had stood for almost ten minutes under a scalding shower, desperate to wash away the remains of the night.
At last it was quiet and as she sipped her coffee, she contemplated the last few hours. The strange Mr Jones, the necklace, the murder, it all seemed so surreal, like something from a cheap gangster film. However, what made it even stranger was the fact that he had used the last of his strength to warn her of some unknown danger, possibly linked to the coin he had left at the library. She crossed the room to her bookshelf and drew out a book on ancient coins but before settling down, she went to the kitchen to search for something stronger to drink. It was going to be a long night.
----
The ringing was incessant. Over and over again it screeched, reaching deep into her subconscious, forcing her up from the depths of the sleep her body so desperately craved. For a few seconds she struggled to remember why she was on the sofa, covered with nothing more than her dressing gown. Her memories soon came flooding back and she sat up, holding her head in her hands. The half bottle of vodka she had found at the back of the fridge had seemed like a good idea at the time but boy did she regret it now. She searched for her ringing phone between the cushions before finally finding it under the sofa. On the screen she saw the words ‘Jenny Work.’ India groaned. Why on Earth would the library manager be ringing at six- thirty in the morning? She focussed on the green button and cleared her throat in an attempt to sound half-human.
‘Hello, Jen,’ she said, ‘what’s the matter?’
‘India,’ said the voice, ‘thank god, where are you?’
‘At home,’ she answered, ‘why, where did you think I was?’
‘Oh, India, you took so long to answer, I thought…’
‘Jen.’ interrupted India, ‘get to the point. It’s stupid o’clock, I’ve had an awful night and I need to go to bed. Now what’s the matter?’
‘India, I need you to come in to work, right now.’
‘Now? What on earth for?’
‘It’s the library,’ said Jen, ‘it’s on fire.’
----
Despite the urgency of Jen’s call, there was no way India could meet people in the state she was in, so showering quickly and after applying some cursory make up, she stared at the gaunt face in the mirror.
‘It’ll have to do,’ she groaned at herself and picked up her car keys from the hall table. After a moment’s pause, she replaced the keys and picking up her mobile called a taxi. The last thing she needed now was to lose her license.
----
An hour after she had received Jenny’s call, India stood in the drizzling rain surrounded by police officers. Two fire engines were packing up while the crew of a third were throwing smouldering books out of one of the library’s windows to the roadway below. The whole scene was shimmering in flashing blue lights and the police were moving early-bird joggers past the scene of the fire. She spotted Jenny standing under an umbrella talking to a female police officer and walked over to join them.
‘Jen, what’s happened?’ she asked, interrupting the conversation.
‘India,’ said Jenny spinning around, ‘I’m so glad you’re safe. For a while there, we thought you may be still in the library.’
‘No, I’ve been home all night,’ she said, ‘I’ve had quite a traumatic evening of my own, as constable Deeley can testify.’
‘Hello, Miss Sommers,’ said the’ police woman, ‘we meet again.’
‘We do, why are you still working?’
‘Oh, you know, short staffed, government cuts, that sort of thing.’
‘You know each other?’ interrupted Jenny.
‘Constable Deeley was the one who interviewed me last night,’ said India.
‘Last night? What happened last night?’
‘Sorry, Jenny, you haven’t heard, have you? A man was stabbed in the car park. I was the one who found him.’
‘Oh my god,’ said Jenny, ‘is he…?’
India nodded, confirming the unfinished question.
‘How awful,’ she gasped, ‘are you okay?’
‘I’ve been better. So, what happened here?’
‘I don’t know much but the firemen are making the building safe as we speak. Apparently, they managed to contain the worst but there is still a lot of damage.
‘How did you find out?’
‘I was on call,’ said Jenny, ‘duty key holder, though why they asked me to come out, I don’t know. By the time I got here, they had broken the doors down anyway. To be honest, I feel like a bit of a spare part. I’ve been here for bloody hours.’
‘Then why don’t you go and get some rest?’ asked India, ‘I’ll take over.’
‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ said Jenny, ‘that’s not why I called you.’
‘Why then?’
She pointed at a man in plain clothes speaking into a mobile phone.
‘He asked me to.’
----
Constable Deeley led them over to the man leaning against his car.
‘Have to go.’ said the man into the phone, looking up as they approached, ‘speak later.’ He placed the phone back into his inside pocket and turned to face the ladies.
‘Miss Sommers, I presume?’ he said.
‘Please, call me India,’ she answered and held out her hand.
‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘I’m Brandon Walker.’ He turned to the police officer. ‘Thanks, I’ll take it from here, could you ensure Mrs Evans gets home safe?’
Jenny gave India a hug of encouragement.
‘Give me a ring later, honey,’ she said.
‘Will do,’ said India and after her friend was safely in her car, turned to face the detective. ‘What’s this all about then? I hope you don’t think I have anything to with the fire?’
‘First things first,’ he answered, ‘I need a coffee.’ He opened the car door. ‘Coming?’
She stared at him for a while before answering cautiously.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but this had better be good, I’ve got the mother of all hangovers and after the night I’ve had, I would rather be in bed.’
‘Thanks for the offer,’ he smiled, ‘but a coffee will be fine.’
‘Very funny,’ she said, ‘you know what I meant.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘couldn’t resist. Anyway, all will be revealed in good time. Jump in, I know a lovely little coffee shop not far from here.’
‘At this time of the morning?’
‘Trust me,’ he said and flashing a disarming smile, he opened the passenger door.
----
India lifted the lid on her coffee and bl
ew it gently as the detective tucked into his sausage and egg roll.
‘You would think they would have learned their lesson about that,’ he said between bites.
‘Who?’
‘McDonalds.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The temperature of their coffee,’ he said, ‘there’s a woman in America got hundreds of thousands of dollars in compensation when she spilt one of their coffees in her lap.’
‘I thought that was an urban myth.’
‘I don’t think so, she spent seven days in a hospital and took them to the cleaners.’ Silence fell again as he finished his roll. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, finally wiping the sides of his mouth with his paper napkin, ‘it’s been a long night.’
‘What’s this all about?’ asked India, ‘why have you brought me here?’
He took a sip of his coffee and sat back in his chair, staring at the pretty librarian.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll get straight to the point.’
‘About bloody time,’ she murmured.
‘Basically, India,’ he said, ignoring her remark, ‘I need your help.’
‘With what?’
‘In solving a mystery and in the process, perhaps finding the killer of that man you found last night.’
‘Me? I don’t think so, you’re the policeman, I am just a humble librarian.’
‘You are but a very special one. I understand you are also a history lecturer and a numismatist.’
‘Part time lecturer,’ she corrected, ‘and coin collecting is only a hobby. There are far better experts in both fields than me. Whatever this is about, you would be better off going to them.’
‘I agree,’ he said, ‘but you are intrinsically linked to this whole situation. The guy who died, the necklace, the burning of the library, they all have one thing in common - you. If I didn’t know better, you could almost be a suspect.’ He paused, taking another sip as he let the implication sink in.
India looked shocked.
‘Anyway,’ he continued before she could say anything, ‘I have spent most of the night researching the experts in coins and ancient history but your name keeps coming up and as you have certain strengths in both fields, it makes total sense to use someone who can call on both disciplines.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, ‘how can anything I know be of any help?’
‘Before I go on, India,’ he said, ‘I need to know if you are with us on this. If you agree to help, then there is no going back. I have no idea where this investigation may lead but there may be danger involved and there is a faint possibility you could be hurt.’
‘Hurt.’ she said, cutting him short. ‘Now, just you wait a minute here, this is the twenty first century not a fifties film. How can the police recruit someone they know nothing about to do their dirty work for them? You know nothing about me, I have a job, a family and as for getting hurt well excuse me for being stupid but even if this weird offer has any substance, I think you will find you have certain responsibilities. What about duty of care, what about risk assessments, what about health and safety?’
Brandon waited for her to finish before taking another sip of his coffee.
‘Okay,’ he said eventually, ‘let me put it like this. First, I think you have been wrapped in that little cocoon of yours for far too long. As for knowing nothing about you, how about this. Your name is India Sommers and you live on your own in flat nine, Station Road. You are twenty-six years old and have been a librarian for four years after getting degrees in history and English at Aberystwyth University. Your hobby is coin collecting and you lecture part time in ancient history in your local college. Do you wish me to go on?’
‘Please do,’ she said astonished.
‘You are single and your last relationship, with a man called Nigel, ended four months ago due to infidelity, his, not yours. You drive a Renault Clio, your parents live in Swindon and your cat is called Winston. When you were nine, you were taken down to the local police station by your father to get a bollocking when you were caught nicking sweets from the local shop. Your favourite colour’s red and your hair is dyed. Would you like me to bring up your sexual preferences?’
‘Okay stop,’ she hissed, looking around in embarrassment. She leaned forward across the table, ‘how do you know all this?’
‘Police database,’ he said, ‘think of it as big brother’s version of Google.’
She sat back, trying unsuccessfully to stare him out.
‘Okay,’ she said eventually, ‘and if I agree to do this, what about my job?’
‘You just say the word and you will be on unpaid leave from the council with immediate effect.’
‘Unpaid.’
‘Yes, they will be told you have gone on holiday for a few weeks while the library is being refurbished. There will be fewer questions that way but don’t worry, you will be adequately reimbursed by the relevant authorities.’
‘How adequately?’
‘Twice your current salary, plus expenses.’
‘And when it is over?’
‘Your job will still be there waiting for you.’
She finished the coffee and examined the legend around the rim. ‘Danger, very hot liquid’ it said, stating the obvious.
‘That reminds me,’ she said, ‘about the safety aspect, you never said anything about how dangerous it may be.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘it’s difficult to say really but as far as the good old health and safety executive goes, do you want the official view or my own?’
‘If I am to be working with you, I suppose I should have yours.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘it’s simple, screw em.’
Her eyes widened in shock. Everything about him screamed danger but despite her misgivings, it sounded too exciting an opportunity to miss. He was right, she had been in the library far too long.
‘Okay, Detective Walker,’ she said, ‘I think I am going to regret this but you have a deal,’
‘Good.’ he said, ‘and please, call me Brandon.’
‘Am I allowed to say anything to my parents about this?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t, why?’
‘Oh, you know, it would be quite a shock to find out their daughter is working for the police.’
‘Police?’ he said, ‘who said anything about working for the police?’
He turned to leave the building, leaving India staring open mouthed behind him.
----
Chapter 3
Rome 64 AD
Rubria knelt at her bedside, her hands held tightly together in prayer. She prayed earnestly, full of love and ultimate servitude to the Goddess Vesta, thanking her for her glory and the continued bounty of life. She had been up since first bell and had knelt in prayer for two hours.
Her cell was basic but spotlessly clean. The rough stonewalls were a stark contrast to the marble slabs in the main temple and the only furniture was a simple bed covered with a rough linen sheet. A tiny arched window pierced the thick walls high above her head, too high to be reached by any acolyte tempted to peer out at the city of sin but necessary for the passage of fresh air to the tiny cell.
All too soon second bell sounded and she raised herself from her knees to face the new day. She knew that outside the temple, the profile of the city would be looming out of the darkness once more as the miracle of the sun hinted at its imminent rebirth from the hell of night. She turned around and faced the doorway, not quite sure if her shivering was from the pre-dawn temperatures or apprehension about what lay before her.
It had been ten long years since she had been brought to the temple of Vesta to serve the goddess and at first she had missed her family so much, it hurt. Every day she had asked when she was going home, receiving only kindly smiles from her tutors in return and on one occasion, she had even tried to run away but had been caught no further than the gateway, peering into the dirty city that lay beyond. It had been an important milestone for Rubria and far
from being angry, the kindly teacher sat beside her for a long time giving her comfort and support.
That had been the first time the needs of the people had been explained to her. How the majority of the poor misguided masses needed their help and prayers to help them on their journey through the torture of life to the ultimate gates of heaven. How the starving and the destitute, the diseased, sick and the lonely all needed their help and how Rubria, along with selected others had been chosen by Vesta to help the needy. Soon the memories of home had eased and one glorious night she had been standing in her cell staring up at the dark sky through the window, when the Goddess blessed her with a vision.
The shooting star, the first she had ever seen had blazed across the heavens, radiating its fleeting glory into her cell for the briefest of moments and filling her with wonder at the bounty of Vesta. From that moment, everything changed. The lessons became easier, the mantras made more sense and she embraced the glory of the goddess with all her heart
Once a year, on the anniversary of Rubria’s arrival, her mother would visit her in the outer temple, suitably attired and saying the sort of things you would expect from a mother but despite looking forward to each visit, it was always a relief when the allotted time span was over and Rubria could return to her cell.
Finally the time had arrived when all she had learned over the last ten years would come to fruition. Today was her spiritual birth, her first step into the real service of the goddess. Since the retreat of one of the older sisters into her last ten years as a teacher, the pressures on the other five had been immense as they waited for her replacement to be nominated. Eventually it had been decided that replacement was to be Rubria and she knew that for the first time in ten years, she would be able to step outside the walls of the temple, albeit, always in the presence of an armed unit of Praetorian Guard. From now on, she would take part in all the ceremonies expected of a priestess of Vesta.