The Death Pictures (43 page)

Tomorrow would be better. That was when the defence began their case. Kid would go into the witness box to tell the jury he hadn’t killed McCluskey. The best of luck to him, Dan thought, it would have to be a hell of a performance. The evidence against him looked compelling.

That evening, Dan took Rutherford for a run, then, in a fit of energy, cooked some pasta for his tea. He even managed to fry some greening bacon and boil down a tin of tomatoes to make a passable sauce. Rutherford padded into the kitchen to watch the rare spectacle. Dan thought he detected a look of amazement on the dog’s face. He ought to cook more often, he thought, not just unwrap and heat up. But then, there were lots of things he should do. He still hadn’t managed to find a cleaner for the flat, despite months of telling himself to.

The thought about the talcum powder was still bothering him. Why? It couldn’t be anything to do with the Death Pictures, surely? Of course not. How could it? But it wouldn’t stop teasing his brain, so resignedly he did what he’d promised himself many times now he would never do again. He scrabbled under the bed, got his notes and the prints out and worked through them. He swore this time really would be the last.

What was he looking for now? A tin of talcum powder? Dan breathed out a deep sigh and shook his head. His ideas were getting ever more absurd, through desperation probably. He still thought the answer was in the cascade of numbers, but he couldn’t see anything in the pictures which might lead him to it, talcum powder or not. He slapped the notes down on the coffee table. It was ridiculous.

His mobile warbled, a text message. He picked it up, glad of the distraction.

It was Claire. They’d said they might meet up later tonight if she could get away.

‘Working late again, can’t make it, very sorry. But look forward to the weekend, need a cuddle! x’

He didn’t mind not seeing her, felt tired and knew how seriously she took her job. He liked and respected that. She was similar to Adam in many ways. He would have to tell his friend about Claire soon. He knew he wasn’t looking forward to that at all. Perhaps over a beer, it was about time they went out for another drinking session. And beer always softened the impact of unwelcome news.

Claire’s message lifted his spirits. It was something to look forward to, just what he needed. By the weekend, Kiddey’s trial would probably be over and the answer to the Death Pictures riddle revealed. It’d be off his mind and he’d be free to relax and enjoy himself. About time too.

Perhaps he’d treat them, take Claire away for a night at an inn in Cornwall somewhere. If they found a dog-friendly place, Rutherford could come too. He always felt guilty about going off and enjoying himself and leaving his faithful dog behind. The three of them could do an energetic cliff-top walk, then reward themselves with a good meal and a few beers afterwards. Perfect.

Dan started to tap out a reply on his phone, then stopped, sat very still. He felt suddenly frozen by realisation. He sat rigid and stared at the mobile, kept staring until the letters blurred, lost their meaning. Nothing around him registered, apart from the phone. The phone… the phone… the phone… The first picture had a mobile in, didn’t it? Of course it did, he knew them by heart now. And he always thought it was in the numbers, didn’t he?

A memory flashed into his mind. The first time he’d met McCluskey, that interview in his studio. The artist’s teasing answer to one of his questions.

“I’d consider the studio by far the best place to solve the riddle. All the information you need is here in front of you. If you were to buy some prints of the pictures elsewhere, it may not be. It may, but then again, it may not.”

Suddenly the enigmatic words made sense. If this vision, this idea of how the puzzle worked was right, it would explain exactly what McCluskey meant. The one small but now so very obvious difference between the original paintings and the prints hanging on the studio’s walls. The two tiny numbers inscribed on each… Shit, was this it?

He calmed himself. Steady. Take it easy. You’ve got it wrong enough times before. Steady. Prepare for more disappointment. Let the excitement wane. This is just another hopeless, useless guess. But he was breathless. He couldn’t convince himself he was wrong again. He didn’t think so, did he? His heart was racing. Calm…

Dan reached for a pen, knocked it clumsily off the coffee table, bent down to retrieve it. He was surprised to see how much his hand was shaking. He grabbed a piece of paper, anything, began writing, using the phone as a guide. He tapped out the numbers.

Dan swore under his breath. Could it really be a code? And so simple? Could it? Surely not, someone would have got it by now. But his hand was shaking badly, could hardly hold the phone.

The first letter made sense. Then the second. Then the third. It was working, making sense, the first four, five, six, seven. All ten. Shit! Shit, it all fitted. He’d got it. The answer was there, on the back of this beer-stained Indian take-away menu. It was there, staring at him. He’d got it. He’d bloody got it. Abi was right, it was there in front of him all the time. He’d bloody got it! Shit!

Dan flopped back on the sofa, his heart pumping and pounding. He reached up a hand to his chest to soothe it. He hardly dared believe it. He’d got it. He’d cracked the riddle. He’d got it.

He calmed himself again. Check once more, twice more, before you make a fool of yourself. But he knew it was right, knew it. He forced himself to go through the same process again. He checked it, came to the same conclusion, did it again.

He’d got it. He’d bloody got it. After all this time, all this thought and searching, all these humiliations, Advent, manhole covers, digging up people’s gardens, he’d finally bloody solved bloody Joseph bloody McCluskey’s bloody riddle.

He couldn’t help himself. ‘Yeeaahhhhhhhh!!!!!’ Dan shouted, making Rutherford jump up in alarm. ‘Sorry, old friend, sorry,’ he laughed, giving the baffled dog a reassuring cuddle. ‘See that space over there?’ he said, pointing to the wall. ‘I think we might have a very nice new painting coming there.’

He walked unsteadily to the kitchen and poured himself a generous glass of VSOP cognac, special occasions only. His hands were shaking so much he had to put the bottle down, try again.

He took a couple of gulps and calmed himself, leaned against the fridge and stared out of the window. The orange street lamps were lit, the road quiet, even the trees still tonight. He didn’t see any of it. His mind was spinning around what he’d found, as if in a reckless orbit.

When the glass was empty and he’d relaxed a little, he realised his discovery meant much more than just a new and fine painting for his wall. Very much more.

Dan poured himself another cognac, resolved to take this slower, actually taste it. He popped a couple of ice cubes out of the tray, slid them slowly into the glass, didn’t want the waste of any splashes. He swirled the liquid, took another deep sip, let his racing mind settle.

What he’d found was going to have profound implications for the murder trial tomorrow. How the hell was he going to explain it to Adam? Let alone Judge Lawless? And what would Lizzie say? Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of people who’d been captivated for months by the riddle of the Death Pictures. He could scarcely believe what he’d discovered.

There was no escaping it Dan thought, but he didn’t know whether to feel anger or the awe of admiration. Joseph McCluskey has made fools of us all.

Chapter Twenty-six

‘This is extraordinarily irregular,’ hissed the court clerk over the top of her half-moon spectacles. ‘Extraordinarily. I have never heard of anything like it. I can’t just grant you an audience with the judge in the middle of a murder trial. It could be highly prejudicial. It could bring the whole system into disrepute. I simply cannot allow it.’

Dan and Adam stood in the empty courtroom facing her. He’d slept fitfully, called Adam first thing in the morning, as early as he dared. They’d met outside court and Dan had told his story. Adam had gone from being scornful, to interested, to reluctantly convinced. Now they both had to see the judge, to explain it to him and see what action he decided to take. That was, thought Dan, if they could get past the clerk.

He swallowed his annoyance and tried again. ‘Look, I can’t tell you what it’s about. I can only tell the judge. It’s that sensitive. But I can promise you it’s something he must hear, and he must hear it before the trial resumes this morning. It’s very important indeed.’

She still didn’t look convinced, shook her head vigorously making her black robe flap waves around her. ‘No, I can’t allow it.’

‘OK then,’ growled Dan. ‘If we can’t see the judge in person, I’ll make him aware by putting it out on the radio and TV. Then, when all hell breaks loose and he issues a warrant for my arrest and has me rushed here in a police car, sirens screaming, I’ll tell him I did originally want to see him but you wouldn’t allow me to. And I assure you, that’s what will happen. It’s that serious.’

They held each other’s glares for a long moment, then she huffed. ‘Oh very well then, I’ll go and ask if he’s prepared to see you. But I can’t guarantee he will.’

‘Nice bluff,’ said Adam, as the door closed behind her.

‘I wasn’t bluffing. I hate jobsworths like that. The only way to deal with petty officialdom is to scare them with trouble from their seniors.’

Dan leaned back against the witness box, stared at the empty dock where Kid had sat. What would happen today, he wondered? If his solution was right, it could turn out to be the most extraordinary day of his life. He noticed his hands were still shaking. They hadn’t stopped since last night. He looked over at Adam. The detective was gazing down at his polished black shoes. Going through similar thoughts about what the day would bring, no doubt.

The door opened and the clerk beckoned testily.

‘He will see you,’ she said, her face set and stony. ‘But he says it had better be very, very good indeed.’

‘It is,’ said Dan grimly.

Judge Lawless’s chambers were effectively a grand office. Thick red pile carpet caressed Dan’s shoes as he stepped hesitantly in. Dark stained wood panelling on the walls shrunk the space and created an air of intimidating magnificence. By the lead-paned stone window stood a large and antique looking wooden desk, and behind that the glowering judge.

His wig rested on a corner of the desk, facing the door, as if it too waited to meet them. It was the first time Dan had seen the judge’s hair. Tightly cropped and silvery, it seemed to say the man beneath it would tolerate no prevarication. Small wonder journalists called here talked about how they shuddered. Dan suddenly began to have doubts about what he was going to say, and imagined the judge bawling him out for wasting his valuable time. Come on, pull yourself together, he thought. You’re sure of your story and you’re here to help.

The judge studied them for a moment, then spoke. His voice was quieter than in the courtroom, but just as acidic.

‘My clerk says you have something extremely important to tell me. I sincerely hope it is. It is most irregular and, probably, highly inadvisable for a judge to have a private audience with a journalist in the middle of a high-profile murder trial.’

He didn’t invite them to sit down on the stern-looking red leather armchairs, and he spat out the word ‘journalist’ as though it tasted rank. Not good omens, thought Dan. He slipped his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking, then thought the judge might find that disrespectful so put them behind his back.

‘Judge Lawless, thank you for your time,’ Dan began, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘I think I can guarantee you will find what I have to tell you very important and that it will have a significant impact on the case.’

‘I will be the judge of that.’

Dan took a deep breath. Thanks for making me feel so at ease, he wanted to say. Thanks for telling me to go ahead, do what I think is my duty, the right and just thing. He had no difficulty stopping himself saying it.

‘Your honour, you’re aware of the riddle of the Death Pictures, that Joseph McCluskey set before his death?’ A slow nod from the judge, but a glance at the clock too. It was almost ten, the scheduled restart time for the case. ‘Well, I’ve been trying to solve it, and last night I think I did,’ Dan continued. ‘I believe I’ve found the secret message contained in the pictures. If I’m right, it has grave implications for this trial.’

Judge Lawless studied him with that icy gaze. ‘Go on,’ he said slowly.

A hint of interest now, Dan thought, just a hint. ‘Your honour, it would help if I could show you how I came to the solution.’ He fumbled in his satchel for his notes and the prints. ‘May I?’

Judge Lawless rose from his chair. He was taller than Dan expected. ‘I’ll come around there and you can spread your props out on the table,’ he said.

Dan did, laid out the ten Death Picture prints in order. Adam stood back and watched, silent, arms folded. He’d seen it already.

Dan put a finger on the first picture. ‘I worked through them many times without getting anywhere,’ he said. ‘But the key to cracking the puzzle came to me last night, when I was sending a text message on my mobile phone. You use a mobile?’

‘Of course,’ he said coolly. ‘Just because I’m a judge, it doesn’t mean I’m entirely out of touch with the world. Don’t believe everything you people write.’

Dan didn’t know what to say. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.