by Lesley Kelly
‘Anyway,’ said Lucy, suddenly businesslike. ‘Fun as this is . . .’
She was having fun!
‘ . . .I don’t want to keep you because I know you’re super busy. What was it you wanted to know about the Museum?’
He kicked himself. If this wasn’t a date, of course she expected him to actually have a meaningful question to ask her. And, with a guilty start, he remembered that he needed to get back and do something about Marcus. Something, still not sure what.
‘It was about, I mean, an issue . . .to do with your Green Card machine?’
To his surprise, she nodded enthusiastically, the candle-shadows dancing around her face as it bobbed up and down. ‘I’m so glad you brought that up. I was going to say something, but Corinna said it was just trivia and I shouldn’t bother you with it.’
‘I’m really interested to hear whatever you have to say,’ he said, sincerely.
‘OK. And I really hope this is of some use, because every time I think about poor Nathan, it just makes me want to weep. But anyway, the thing that I think is odd is that on the night he was in the building no one was there.’
‘No one from the Museum? We knew that.’ Possibly this wasn’t going to be as interesting as he’d hoped. ‘Although, now that I come to think about it, how did he get in?’
‘I’m not sure. We sometimes give out the keys, but only to registered keyholders who tend to be long-term volunteers with us. But that wasn’t what I meant. No one was there.’
‘We know that – he was the only person in the building.’ He didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere, but the conversation was taking a circular turn.
Lucy put down her glass. ‘I’m really not making this clear. Let me start at the beginning. The Green Card Box, as you know, records everyone in and out of the main door. On the evening in question no one was recorded as entering the building. Not even Nathan.’
He frowned, as he tried to work out how this could be. It was impossible to get past a Green Card box. They were generally wired into the door mechanism. If someone didn’t get the all-clear – for example, because the HET was looking for them – the door just wouldn’t open. Most systems allowed for a manual overwrite to allow the door to be opened in an emergency, but you couldn’t erase the fact that a card had already been used because the data was transmitted in real time. In fact, the Green Card boxes were an extremely effective method of monitoring who had been where, and were either a huge infringement on individual privacy or vastly useful in tackling crime depending on your point of view. It might be that the boxes were susceptible to hacking. Could Bryce have used his skills in this area? But if so, why?
Lucy mistook his thought processes for disbelief. ‘It’s true – you can check the machine logs. Corinna was the last person out of the building at half past six. And there’s nothing else recorded until Corinna comes back in the next morning. When she found, you know, Nathan’s body.’
‘I do believe you, Lucy. And it is a very interesting point,’ he reassured her. He played absent-mindedly with the remaining bit of lasagne, moving his fork round and round the lentils. ‘But the question now is how on earth did he get in?’
‘I can’t work that out. We have two fire doors, one on the ground floor and one which exits onto the roof, but I checked and neither of the alarms went off.’
He considered the other available options. ‘A window then?’
‘It’s not that easy to open our windows. On the floors where we have exhibits – the ground, first and second – we operate a climate-controlled environment, to protect some of our more delicate artefacts. There’s a constant log of the temperature across the building. If a window was opened, we’d know about it.’
‘Did you check the temperature logs?’
‘Yes. And I’m ninety per cent sure nobody opened a window on any of the exhibit floors. And, to add to that, the windows are all locked, and even if somehow you had a set of keys, if you came in after hours you would set off the burglar alarm. And you would be captured on CCTV.’
‘Could someone have let him in?’
‘There would still be the same problems of showing up on the Green Card Box, or on CCTV. Aside from the issue of who would let him in.’
Corinna McFarlane seemed the obvious candidate to him. She’d obviously been very unhappy about their investigation, missing a meeting and then trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible. There is no way that she couldn’t think that the issues Lucy was raising were important. It was crucial, and he was amazed that none of the police who had attended the scene had followed it up. But then the police had been very quick to decide that Nathan McVie’s death had been suicide. He wasn’t aware that any other possibility had been considered. Was Corinna part of a cover-up, or scared for her safety? Either way, he’d suggest to Mona that they paid her another visit, first thing tomorrow morning.
‘Do you have any thoughts at all about how he might have got in, Lucy?’
‘Well, it seems to me the only remaining possibility is that someone got in via a window on the third floor. They are all skylights, though, so it wouldn’t be easy.’
‘But the burglar alarm? And the CCTV?’
‘There isn’t any CCTV up there. There’s nothing of value, just a meeting room and some storage. But whichever way I look at it, I don’t understand why the burglar alarm didn’t go off.’
‘Could Corinna . . .?’
The waiter chose that moment to reappear. ‘Everything all right with your meal?’ he asked, sweeping up the empty dishes.
‘Lovely. Can we have the bill, please?’ As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, Bernard put the question again. ‘Could it have been Corinna that Nathan was meeting with? She could have left the alarm off when she left for the night, then they both could have got back in?’
‘I suppose so. But why?’
‘I don’t know. But I think we’ve overlooked a possibility about Nathan’s death. Everyone assumed suicide, in fact I think some of my colleagues were very keen on that being what happened. But we never considered whether he might actually have fallen. Could he have been trying to get out?’
‘There’s a huge skylight that lights up the stairwell. He could have been reaching for that, but why would he not just have gone back the way he came?’
Bernard closed his eyes for a second, trying to picture the scene. He recognised the description of the large skylight at the very top of the building, but as a mere Museum visitor he’d never been above the second floor.
‘Lucy, please say if this puts you in an awkward position, but I’d really like to have a look at the third floor.’
‘Do you want to come in first thing tomorrow?’
‘Tell me if this is crazy, but is there any chance we could go now?’
She looked at him a little uncertainly. ‘Corinna might be annoyed.’
‘I’ll take full responsibility. It could really help our case.’
She reached into her bag and pulled out a cluster of keys on a chain. ‘Well then, let’s go.’
‘Wait.’ Bernard reached for the keys. They were attached to a key ring, which featured a small replica of a black-and-white face mask, its mouth distorted to the side. ‘Your key ring.’
‘Oh, yes, that is interesting. It’s a copy of a Mbangu mask. It represents a hunter who has been stricken with disease. It’s very rare to see an African mask that actually depicts illness. Usually they are . . .’
‘African?’ Bernard interrupted her. ‘Not Native American?’
‘No.’ She looked surprised. ‘We’re working on an exhibition next year about African responses to pandemic. Ebola, of course, was devastating for several African countries. Corinna has been back and forth there over the past few months.’
He stared into space, wondering where Africa fitted into Helen Sopel’s disappearance. Had she been drawing their attention to the Museum’s exhibition? It was too much of a coincidence that the civil servants were meeting there, but he couldn�
��t piece it all together. Maybe Mona would . . .
‘Bernard?’ Lucy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Do you still want to go to the Museum?’
‘Yes, sorry.’ He got to his feet. ‘We should hurry.’
10
Mona put her key into the lock and gently turned it. Pushing it open slowly, she peered into the dark of the hallway, trying to establish if there were any signs of life. Her initial assessment was that the coast was clear, and with her back against the wall, she slowly and silently made her way up the stairs.
‘Mona! You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.’
So close. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘I’m making steak and kidney pie for tea, but it won’t be ready for an hour or so. Would you like a cup of tea to keep you going?’
‘No, I’m fine. I just need to get a bit of work done before I eat.’
‘Oh, well, I’ll see you then.’
She sensed her mother’s disappointment. It couldn’t be easy, stuck in the house by herself all day. Mona was probably the first person she’d spoken to today. She hesitated. It wouldn’t kill her to go and get that cup of tea, have a quick chat before she looked at Helen Sopel’s text messages. On the other hand, she could just have a quick look at the mobile, check out if there was anything urgent on it, then head downstairs. She ran up the remaining stairs.
Sitting cross-legged on the single divan in her childhood bedroom, she turned on the phone, and waited as a number of texts downloaded. She scrolled through the list of recent calls. As Simon had indicated, there was one number that had suddenly started appearing over the weekend, and had been calling, and been called, repeatedly over the past few days.
She jotted down the number then flicked over to the text messages. There were very few from the number she was looking for, but then Simon had talked about numerous furtive phone calls. Perhaps Helen and Anneka preferred to talk rather than text.
The six messages she could see revealed very little. In fact, unless they were in code, she was pretty sure that they were shopping lists. Cheese, bread, deodorant. Diet Coke (2 bottles). You wouldn’t have to be a master of deduction to take from this that Helen was hiding out, probably somewhere not very far away, and Anneka was keeping her supplied.
She picked up her own phone and dialled Paterson’s number. It went straight to voicemail. She checked the time, and realised that she was in the middle of the couple of hours during which Paterson’s wife insisted that he didn’t answer his phone. The second Mrs Paterson had very particular ideas about how engaged the Guv should be in the nightly ritual of tea, bath and tooth-brushing for his young kids. As often as not the Guv broke this particular rule, but it would appear that tonight he was behaving himself.
‘Guv, we need to bring Anneka Tomas, Helen Sopel’s assistant, in for questioning, ideally tonight. I think she knows where Helen is. Call me when you get this.’
Mona rearranged the pillows on her bed, trying to make herself comfortable while she went over the options in her head. Anneka would have realised it was missing by now, but they had no way of knowing whether she would have managed to alert Helen to that fact. If she had, there wouldn’t be any further calls to it, and knowing that they had been found out, there was every chance that Helen might decide it wasn’t safe for her to stay where she was. If she didn’t yet know, they had a tiny window for action before Helen realised she hadn’t heard from Anneka for a while. Usually, in this situation, she’d have given Marcus the number in the hope that Helen would continue to use it and they would be able to trace her location. But Marcus – and Bryce – were out of the picture, and she didn’t know who else to ask.
All this would be so much easier if she could actually speak to Paterson. She scrolled through her phone’s address book, and looked for his home phone number. When she’d added this to the address book, against the entry she’d typed ‘Home Number ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES,’ to make sure that she didn’t accidentally ring it and get a bollocking. She might well still get into trouble, but nobody could deny she needed his help immediately. Paterson would know what to do. She dialled the number, steeled herself to explain to Mrs Paterson that she was phoning from work and felt an increasing sense of anti-climax as the phone rang and rang.
She groaned in frustration. Laying the two phones side by side on the bed, she wondered what to do. Not only was she losing valuable time in catching Helen, in the meantime, she had the thorny problem of what to do with the phone. It should be securely held under lock and key, but where exactly was safe these days? Somewhere in Fettes, where Ian would know about it? Hand it over to Stuttle for safekeeping? Neither option appealed.
There was also the issue that if Anneka had enabled her Track My Phone option, she might even now be sitting looking at details of where her phone had last been switched on. Given what she’d been using the phone for, she’d need a brass neck of no mean order to actually turn up and demand it back, but considering Simon’s description of working with her, and her own experience of meeting her, it couldn’t be ruled out. There was also the possibility she might not come alone. She could be sitting outside her house at this very minute, in a car with the lights off and someone large and menacing in the passenger seat.
She looked over at her window. This was Bernard-level paranoia.
Or was it? The high death count to date on the investigation suggested that some degree of caution should be followed. She leapt off the bed and switched off her light. Peering cautiously from behind her curtain, she scanned up and down the road, and could see nothing out of the ordinary. She heaved a sigh of relief, and feeling slightly sheepish, let the curtain fall into place. Her safest bet was to switch off the phone, and keep it on her person, at least until the Guv came up with a better idea.
At that very moment, her phone started ringing. The Guv must finally have wriggled free of his domestic duties. She snatched up her phone but it wasn’t making a sound. On her bed, Helen’s phone was lit up. She leaned over, trying not to touch it in case she accidentally answered it. The number was the one that she’d hoped to see. It looked like Helen didn’t know that the phone had been stolen, which was interesting. Anneka should have been round there as soon as she noticed it was missing. Was there some reason Anneka had been detained?
She was tempted to answer it, but had no clear plan of what she would say. This was so frustrating! Marcus would have had the whole thing sorted by now. The ringing stopped, and a few seconds later the phone binged, to indicate a text message had arrived. Very, very carefully, Mona pressed the button to read it.
Setting off now. Museum meeting at 8 and if not in touch by 9.30 you know what to do
She considered this message for a moment, her mind working overtime. She reached for her own mobile, and pressed Bernard’s number.
‘Bernard, are you still with that woman from the Museum?’
‘Er, yes? Hang on.’ She heard him murmuring apologies, no doubt to the woman in question. He was probably moving himself to a discreet distance before continuing the conversation.
‘Great. I need you to ask her if she can let me in there tonight.’
‘Ah, right, funny you should say that. I’ve just asked her the same thing.’
‘You want access to the Museum? Why? Actually, tell me when I see you. Where are you?’
She noted the name of the restaurant, and ran down the stairs, pulling her coat on as she went. ‘Mum!’
Her mother limped slowly out of the kitchen. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m so sorry to do this, but I need to go out.’
She looked horrified. ‘But what about your tea?’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency.’ Any guilt she felt was being entirely swamped by adrenaline.
Her mother turned back to her cooking. ‘It always is.’
11
Bernard hoped that Mona would find the café OK. He had discussed its merits with her once before, while stuck in a car waiting for a Health Defaulter to show. He’d sun
g its praises, noting the many awards it had won, but she’d claimed never to have heard of it, because all-vegetarian menus never appealed to her. He could believe that. As a former health promotion specialist he’d been able to point out to her the many shortcomings of her diet, which from what he could see consisted largely of coffee, Diet Coke, packets of crisps and the occasional takeaway curry when she finally remembered to eat. Maybe, when all this was over, they could both come here to celebrate. Assuming they were both still alive.
Here she was now, standing in the middle of the room, scanning the tables. He waved. ‘That’s my colleague here now.’
Lucy swivelled round. ‘Oh, she looks nice.’
Mona gestured him over, with a manner that was less suggestive of niceness than of extreme impatience.
‘Back in a mo.’
He hurried over. Mona looked at the tables surrounding them and appeared to decide that it wasn’t private enough, shoving him less than gently toward a quieter area near the door. ‘Right, don’t talk, just listen. I spoke to Professor Bircham-Fowler, and he told me what Helen and the other civil servants were up to . . .’
‘How did he . . .?’
‘No talking, just listening.’
He nodded.
‘They were running an illegal drugs trial in Africa, using street children. Several of them died after taking the drugs, and Jasper Connington had a fit of conscience and told the Professor. He was preparing to denounce the trials in Parliament when he had his heart attack.’
He stared at her.
‘I’m finished now, Bernard, you can say, “that’s terrible.”’
‘That is terrible. And Helen was caught up in all this?’
‘It appears so. And I got a message on her mobile saying she’s coming to a meeting at the Museum at 8pm tonight.’ She pointed in Lucy’s direction. ‘Your friend from the Museum, can we trust her?’