Denied to all but Ghosts (47 page)

Emily peered at him enquiringly as if she had
misheard his last statement but said nothing and left the room, she
felt insensate and completely bewildered as she clutched the audio
device tightly in her hand.

Remaining in the library having interviewed
Emily, Cavendish rang the servants’ bell. After a minute or two
Kate Watercombe ambled into the room, Cavendish could tell from her
gait that she had already been drinking.

“You are a most welcome guest, Herr
Cavendish, but I’d be grateful if you would stop ringing the bloody
servant’s bell, we have much better things to do than run after
you. What do you want?” Cavendish stood by the fireplace as if
warming his backside against the virtual flames of a roaring
fire.

“My apologies, Kate, but I’d be grateful if
Brother Christian could collect Mr Asimov and bring him here.”

Kate rolled her eyes in an exasperated
manner.

“You know we are trying to prepare for this
evening’s entertainment, we could do without all these
interruptions! And another thing, will you stop bloody smoking
indoors, nobody else does it, so I don’t see why you should!”

Cavendish fired a disarming smile, which
prompted her to remember the events in his bedroom earlier in the
day.

“Oh, all right then,” she conceded as her
neck flushed, “I’ll go and find Christian.”

“Thank you, Kate. And could you ask him to
stand by to answer the bell when I’ve finished with Asimov?” Kate
shook her head in disbelief at his audacity, and left the
library.

After about ten minutes, the library door
opened and Searsby escorted Zach Asimov into the room. Cavendish
was beginning to wonder if the confused expression that Asimov
presented the world was actually his habitual look. He offered
Asimov the same seat that Emily had only recently vacated before he
too resumed his seat.

“How are you feeling, Zach?” asked
Cavendish.

“I’m feeling much better thank you, Herr
Cavendish.”

“We are all friends at the seminary, Zach,
please call me Marchel. How do you find it here?”

“I think it’s lovely, Herr Cavendish, the
room and the food’s great.”

“It is lovely isn’t it? Somewhere where one
can get a little peace and quiet.” Asimov nodded in response.
“You’ve had a tough time, Zach, not many people have been through
what you have just experienced.”

“I don’t know,” said Asimov, “but it was
horrible, I can’t remember much about it really.”

“No, you were in a state of shock; it’s the
body’s way of protecting us. The doctor said you’ll be fine and I
have to say you are looking much better already after a good
night’s sleep.” Asimov again just nodded his head. “I’ve got a few
questions for you, Zach, nothing stressful; just tell me what you
can.” The slow, unsure nodding continued.

“How well did you know Robert Patterson?”

“We were going to France together, you know,
a summer on the Med. That’s why we ended up in Plymouth.”

“Why France?”

“He said he had a contact there, someone who
would buy the letters I got back for a lot of money.”

“And who was that?”

“I don’t know. Bob said the less I knew the
better. He said he didn’t want to worry me with things like money.
He is a very generous man.”

“So it was you who took the letters? Sorry
Zach, that was an unfair question, I know you stole the letters.
Whether you admit to it or not is not pertinent to my
investigation. I’m not here to punish anyone; I’m just here to
establish the truth. What I would like to know is how you came to
know of the letters; after all, they were private letters. You
don’t strike me as being a thief.”

“I’m not a thief, Herr Cavendish, Bob told me
they were his letters and that he had lent them to Miles and he
hadn’t given them back. He said it would be much quicker if I was
to simply take them back than to go through the courts. He said not
to worry as Mr Goldstein wouldn’t say anything when he realised the
letters were gone.”

“So what happened?”

“I was to take the letters when Bob told me
to and catch a train to London and eventually hand them over to
Bob. But suddenly Bob said there was a change of plan and told me
to get the letters straight away and take a room in Bristol and
wait for him to call. I didn’t like that, that’s when I began to
find it all a bit frightening. Bob rang and told me to get on a
train to Plymouth and meet him at the hotel. I don’t remember much
after that except for the helicopter ride.”

“What day did Bob tell you to take the train
to Plymouth?”

“Tuesday, around about lunch time.” Cavendish
paused briefly to consider the time line.

“Did you ever see Bob talking to anyone when
you were together or did he make any phone calls?”

“No”

“You mean Bob never used his phone?”

“He rang for pizzas.”

“Don’t you think that constitutes talking to
someone, Zach?”

“Not really, I think it constitutes ringing
for a pizza.”

Cavendish paused and pretended to write
something in his notebook to hide his exasperation. “When he
ordered pizzas, did he ever say anything that struck you as being
odd?”

“No.”

“Fine, I think that is enough for today,
Zach. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Can I go home soon?” asked Asimov
plaintively

“When I think you have finished helping me,
yes, you may go home.”

Cavendish smiled weakly at the forlorn
Asimov. He had decided to treat Asimov with kid gloves and was
disappointed not to illicit anything useful. He decided a break was
necessary before continuing. If had no useful leads by the end of
the session he regretfully concluded he may have to be more
forceful.

The inquisitor put away his notebook and
lifted himself out of the armchair, Asimov copying his movements,
and walked to one of the large windows overlooking the lawn and
watched Beckett pacing deliberately in seemingly ever decreasing
circles whilst drawing heavily on a cigarette.

Cavendish was reminded that as a child he had
once visited a zoo somewhere, the location escaped his memory, and
watched a large polar bear in its compound. The enclosure did not
strike him at the time as being overly small; he remembered that
contained within the white washed walls was a pool of sorts
allowing the bear to swim. The bear was a rescue animal from a
circus. All it did, all day long, was take two steps to the right,
turn around and take two steps to the left. He was too young to
know of the concept of being stir-crazy yet he knew the bear was
very unhappy. He later learnt that the zoo was blamed for the
bear’s condition, nobody cared that it had been rescued. There was
a moral to that story which one day he would explore.

Beckett took a final draw on the cigarette
and clearly burnt his fingers. He hastily dropped the cigarette and
brought his burnt digits to his mouth whilst shouting expletives at
the offending butt, audible through the open window.

Asimov had taken a position next to
Cavendish; he giggled and for the first time spoke without
prompting.

“Bob likes to swear; he made me laugh once
when he ordered a pizza and suddenly shouted, ‘Fucking Frisia, I’m
not going to fucking Frisia!’ Well something like that. I know
Frisia is in Holland, it made me laugh anyway.”

Having walked across to the fireplace,
Cavendish pressed the servants’ button on the wall. A few seconds
later, the library door opened and Christian Searsby entered
serenely to collect the perpetually bemused Zach Asimov and
escorted him back to his room on the second floor. As the pair
departed, Josh Houghton entered the library and threw himself into
Cavendish’s armchair.

Cavendish stretched his arm, rested it on the
mantelpiece, and faced the detective. Houghton imagined Cavendish
taking a pipe out of his pocket. Instead, he produced a cigarette
and diligently lit it.

“You know, Josh, it is a much under rated
pleasure smoking a cigarette indoors.”

Houghton smiled gravely.

“It will kill you, Marchel.” Cavendish
shrugged his shoulders to demonstrate his disdain for the
inspector’s concern.

"Is Dr Spelman being looked after?” Cavendish
asked.

“Yeah, she saw Beckett briefly before being
whisked away by my sergeant. Blanch was shown some vintage dresses
and stuff, I think she wanted to share the moment with
someone.”

“Yes, our Emily is a fascinating woman,
winning hearts and minds. Talking of hearts, how is Thomas?”

“He’s in a bit of a state, Marchel. I think
you’d better have a word with him.”

“Do you mean I should have a ‘word’ with him,
or have a plain old fashioned chinwag?” Cavendish smiled whilst
exhaling an expansive plume of cigarette smoke.

“You know what I mean. I can see why you
brought him along on this trip,” confessed Houghton as he followed
the rising smoke on its journey to the ceiling.

“You can?”

“Yeah, he really is your everyman; you knew
he and Dr Spelman would hit it off.”

“No I didn’t. I know I have a reputation and
I’m keen to keep it, but if people think I brought Thomas along as
a fall guy then they are mistaken.”

“So why did you bring him along?” asked an
intrigued Houghton.

“Because I like him, he’s my friend. He
doesn’t judge me or make demands, he...,” Cavendish’s words petered
out. Houghton viewed Cavendish quizzically

“Well, after all the things he was shouting
when you took his poor Emily away I’d say you’ve just lost a
friend,” declared Houghton sensitively.

“I really hope not,” said Cavendish pensively
as he too followed the passage of his cigarette smoke.

“So why did you take her away like that, you
must’ve known he was going to be pumped up.”

“I thought it would be kinder to Emily to end
her torment as soon as possible.”

“You’ve got some bloody strange ideas,
Cavendish.”

The Untersucher raised his eyebrows at
Houghton’s comment and abruptly changed the direction of their
conversation.

“What did you think of what Asimov had to
say, I take it you were listening?”

“Nothing much, but I’m wondering if Frisia
has any significance, it would be nice if it led to some Dutch
conspiracy,” suggested Houghton.

“Well, part of all this, I’m sure, is to
discredit me. It would be amusing if there was a Dutch connection,
you know how they hate my country.”

“I take it you mean Germany when you say ‘my
country.” Cavendish chuckled at Houghton’s correction and offered
him a piece of Dutch folklore.

“There is a saying in the Netherlands when
referring to the Germans that goes something like this, ‘We’ll be
nice to you when you bring our bikes back’.”

“Most droll, you’ll forgive me if I don’t
tell that one to the kids,” replied Houghton. "Do you think you'll
get much out of Asimov?"

"I hope so, the trail runs cold otherwise.
Still, I've a few days to work on him."

Houghton shuddered at the prospect.
Inquisitors were trained to extract information. He didn't like to
consider the extent of their skills portfolio.

“Why don’t you go see Tom before he smokes
himself to death?” suggested Houghton, suddenly keen to be
alone.

Beckett had ceased his pacing and was sitting
on a stone bench staring bleakly into the distant High Peak, stark
against the low cloud. Cavendish silently sat down beside and took
a cigarette out of its packet. He offered another to his partner.
Beckett took the cigarette without acknowledgement and accepted the
proffered light from the Zippo lighter. Both men sat in silence and
smoked.

Cavendish thought hard for something incisive
to open the conversation.

“Are you alright, Thomas?” It was hardly the
most penetrating opening he had ever used but it seemed
appropriate. Beckett responded to the mediocrity of the
question.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Marchel.”

“Sorry about earlier, I thought it was better
to get Emily out of the way.” Cavendish sensed a sudden tension in
Beckett as if he was a cobra arching his back ready to strike.
Cavendish quickly expanded his point. “I just wanted to clarify a
few things to eliminate her from the proceedings.” Cavendish sensed
the cobra relaxing.

“You mean you’re done with her?” asked
Beckett, turning his head to look at Cavendish.

“Oh yes, if you recall we only used her as a
means of revealing the puppet master, with Slingsby dead I think
the link is broken, my only route back now is via young
Asimov.”

“You’re not going to let the bastard who
killed Slingsby off the hook are you?”

“I’ll take care of him, don’t concern
yourself about that. You know, I believe him to be connected to the
man who was killed in the hotel room in Plymouth.”

“You must tell me about your adventures in
Plymouth,” said Beckett, who honestly did not give a damn about the
events at that precise moment.

“I will, Thomas, but for now we have other
matters to deal with. May I ask you a blunt question?” Cavendish
smirked his lopsided smile.

“You usually do, why stop now.” Beckett
sounded distant and troubled.

“Have you been sleeping with Dr Spelman?”

“No, I have not slept with her.” Beckett
spoke slowly, articulating each word in isolation.

“I thought not, there is no emotion in the
world as powerful as unrequited love, except perhaps unconsummated
love, and then the intensity of recently consummated love. The
emotional love may remain but its physical potency declines; we’d
all be burnt out emotional wrecks otherwise, frazzled by high
octane hormones.” Cavendish smiled to himself, pleased with his
analysis.

“So you’re not going to have a go at me?”
asked Beckett, returning his gaze to Cavendish. The German now
considered the cobra had morphed into something far more benign, a
young Labrador pup, perhaps.