The Judgement Book (27 page)

Dan stopped himself before he could wonder whether they would still be together for a photo next Christmas, or the one after, and whether there might be an addition to the family in that picture.

He remembered the day well. It was one of those rare photographs that felt genuine, captured their happiness, no need for forced smiles. It’d been taken by a passing rambler he’d waylaid. For once they hadn’t even had to struggle to get Rutherford to sit still.

They’d gone for a walk out from Princetown, around King’s Tor, then back to the Spray of Feathers Inn for a pint and a pie. Rutherford had got himself stuck in a gully and they’d had to pull him out. Claire fell backwards as the dog escaped, Dan had burst into helpless laughter and she’d tripped him, pulled him down with her and they’d rolled together in the snow.

And now her voice was in the room, screaming and vicious, bouncing from every wall. The two words from that row, in the MIR.

“Selfish arsehole!”

Dan felt a sudden urge to pick up the photo and throw it against the door, enjoy the cascading shards of shattering glass crashing around him.

Where the fuck was Claire? Why was she ignoring him? Avoiding him? Tormenting him? How could she do this?

He felt like running around her flat, kicking out at the TV, the stereo, the bookshelves and the CDs, picking up the plates and glasses and bowls in the kitchen and smashing them onto the floor.

Dan stared at the photo. He took a couple of deep breaths, turned away, closed the flat’s door with an exaggerated calm and walked slowly down the stairs, one leaden foot automatically following another. It was over, his career, his relationship. He might as well start facing it.

Unless …

He could never explain where the idea came from, how the defiance fired so quickly through his mind. Perhaps it was the instinct of survival, the human willingness to believe. All he knew was that it was there, a firework in the night. It was a chance where before there was only hopelessness, a possibility where previously there was none.

Dan stopped, reached out a hand, gripped the banister.

The idea was growing.

The only thing they had was that they’d solved the riddle. It might not have led them to the Judgement Book, but that was all part of the blackmailers’ plan to humiliate them. To get another one over on the establishment. To lead them to a false book and laugh at them. To enjoy their defeat and despair.

So would the second blackmailer be able to resist if they were offered the chance to witness such a humiliation in person?

The thought gathered impetus. Dan started jogging down the stairs.

One last chance, he thought. Maybe we’ve got one last chance to save ourselves. But we’ll have to move fast.

He didn’t notice he’d already stopped thinking about Claire.

Chapter
Twenty-four

T
HE
MIR
SMELT OF
defeat. It was hot, despite the open windows and the air tinged with the sour staleness of dry sweat. Dan was reminded of a night spent covering the last General Election, the local Traditionalist Party headquarters, a group of dedicated and driven people who had stayed up all night in hope to await a result which had rendered all their months of work worthless.

Now it was apparent in the MIR. The movements of the people slow and laboured, lacking urgency or energy. There was nothing left to try for. And it was captured in each expression. No belief, no spark, no hope.

Adam stood, head bowed over a pile of files and a spread of papers. The bin beside him was full of empty coffee cups and screwed up balls of paper. He didn’t look over when Dan walked in. There were a couple of other detectives on the phones, but their voices were hushed. One kept glancing over at Adam, as though worried for his superior’s sanity.

Dan tried to force some enthusiasm into his voice. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘We’re not,’ said Adam curtly, shaking his head. ‘We’re stuffed. We’ve got no leads and almost no time left.’ He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was exactly midday. ‘Seven hours and no leads. We’re stuffed.’

Dan knew he couldn’t talk in front of the others. He had to get Adam somewhere private, and fast. He didn’t have much time. The lunchtime news was on air at half past one. If he missed that, his plan was finished before it had begun.

‘Can I have a word?’ he asked the detective.

‘Go ahead. I haven’t got anything else on at the mo,’ Adam replied sarcastically. ‘Just trying to catch a blackmailer, save a few more people from suicide and myself from humiliation and the sack.’

The anger that made him want to smash up Claire’s flat singed Dan again.

‘It would be better – if I could have a quick word – in private,’ he said in a strained voice.

‘I’m not leaving the MIR until there’s no hope left.’

One more try, thought Dan. Hold your temper. One more.

‘It’ll only take a minute,’ he said determinedly. ‘Please.’

‘Here or nothing,’ replied Adam dismissively, looking back at the papers on his desk.

‘Adam, for fuck’s sake!’ shouted Dan. The two detectives stopped talking into their phones. The room fell silent. Adam looked up, his eyes narrowing. Dan couldn’t tell if he was surprised or angry. He wasn’t sure he cared.

‘I’ve got a fucking idea that might just help us and I want to talk to you about it in fucking private! Is that clear enough for your thick cop head?’

Adam glared at him, stood up and strode out of the MIR. Dan followed, checking the door was shut behind. The detective stopped sharply in the corridor outside.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he snarled. ‘Never talk to me like that, or you’re out of here and we don’t speak again. Got that?’

Dan saw his finger jab out at his friend’s chest. ‘Then never put me down like that again – who the hell do you think you are?’

‘I’m a senior detective with a vital investigation to run …’

‘And you’ve asked me here to help! And I’m as much in the shit as you are! And I’ve got an idea, and we haven’t exactly got anything else, have we?’

Adam’s mouth opened as he tried to snap back, but Dan didn’t give him a chance. ‘I’m only in this because of you! It’s not just your bloody life that’s on the line here. It’s mine too. So do us both a favour. Lift your head from the pit of your selfish misery and listen to me, will you?’

The two men glared at each other, their faces set just a few inches apart. Neither blinked. A ridiculous thought grew in Dan’s mind. Were they going to fight, here, in the police station? Then Adam closed his eyes for a second and nodded.

‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have done that.’

Dan felt the rage cool. ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.’

Adam put out a hand and Dan hesitated, then shook it. ‘Let’s forget it,’ they both said at the same time.

‘OK, what’ve you got?’ asked Adam.

‘It’s got to be quick if it’s going to work. You ready for this?’

‘Go on.’

‘We need to find the Judgement Book, but we don’t know where it is. But wouldn’t finding the other blackmailer be just as good? It would stop them revealing the Book and give us a chance to find it.’

‘True. But there’s just the one tiny problem. We’ve got no idea who or where he or she is.’

‘Right. So we have to make him come to us.’

Adam couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. ‘And how do you plan to work that little miracle?’

‘Our blackmailers want to humiliate us. So let’s give them the chance to do it, and to a huge audience. I don’t think they’d be able to resist.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning we’ve cracked the riddle and we know it’s a fake. But they don’t know we’ve cracked it. So let’s use that.’

‘How?’

Dan thought fast. ‘Here’s how it runs. I go live on our lunchtime news to say you believe you’ve worked out where the Judgement Book’s hidden and you’ll be going to recover it later this afternoon. I guarantee the other blackmailer is watching. They know how close you and I are. They’re bound to want to see what I’m up to and how you’re getting on with the case.’

Adam sounded more interested now. ‘OK. But how does putting all that out help us?’

‘The blackmailer knows we’re going to find a fake book. They’ll know we’ll look stupid. They’ll know that once I’ve put it out on the TV that all the television cameras, the snappers, the whole of the press will be there to witness it. They’ll know lots of ordinary people will also turn out if it’s somewhere as public as Charles Church. I reckon they’ll think they can blend in with the crowd and so come to witness our humiliation in person. I tell you, they’ll find it irresistible. There’s your trap.’

Adam nodded slowly. He reached for his tie and pulled it up to his collar and straightened it. Dan almost smiled, almost. He’d didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see his friend’s little idiosyncrasy.

‘So we put lots of plain clothes cops in amongst the crowd,’ the detective said. ‘And tell them to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.’

‘Yep,’ said Dan.

Adam breathed out heavily. ‘It’s still a long shot.’

‘Yep,’ repeated Dan. ‘It is. But the simple point is this. What else have we got?’

The detective nodded. ‘I think that’s the winning argument. Come on, let’s do it.’

Dan drove straight back to the studios, slewing the car around the back streets and rat runs, avoiding the inevitable tailbacks of the city’s main roads. He knew he was going too fast, but he hardly noticed.

It was half past twelve. The lunchtime bulletin was on air in an hour. He parked badly, across two spaces, and ran up the stairs, his head full of how he needed to play his idea. He had to get it just right. Lizzie was standing in the corner of the newsroom, talking to the sports team. Talking at might have been a better description. Her animation said it wasn’t an amicable conversation.

‘Got a story for you,’ he panted to Lisa, the lunchtime news producer.

‘I’m OK for lunch thanks,’ she replied, looking up. ‘I’ve got enough stuff.’

Dan gritted his teeth in irritation. Producers who were only interested in filling their slot were a treasured hate. Never mind the quality of what was being offered, they were happy just to have any stories to take up their allotted time. They were computerised hacks, working automatically to a template without the input of thought, and there were far too many of them.

Plus, if his plan was going to work, he had to make it on air. There wasn’t much time to argue the case. He usually hated melodrama and fuss, but on this occasion it might not be a bad strategy.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ Dan shouted, as angrily as he could. He noticed only a few people had turned to look, so he slammed his satchel down on the floor and flung his arms up into the air for added affect. ‘Give me strength!’ he bawled.

That was better, more heads were turning now. The newsroom was quietening, but most importantly Lizzie hadn’t noticed. More histrionics were required.

‘I’ve come running back in here to offer you a corking exclusive and all you do is tell me you’ve got enough stuff!’ Dan ranted, his voice even louder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lizzie’s head snap over.

‘It’s a great story, a really top exclusive,’ he yelled. Lizzie was moving now, walking fast towards the producer’s desk. ‘You’d be mad not to run it, absolutely barmy.’

Lisa gaped at him, raised her hands placatingly.

‘OK, what’s all this about?’ Lizzie cut in. She was standing beside Dan, and tall today he thought. Bad news, that meant big heels. He had to get his spin in first.

‘I’ve just come running back with a great story about the blackmail case and our alleged lunchtime producer here tells me she doesn’t want it.’

Lizzie glared at him. Dan could hear a stiletto grinding into the carpet.

‘What is it?’ she snapped. ‘It had better be damn good after all this fuss and leaving Exmoor without my say so.’

‘It is damn good. I told you it would be.’

‘So then?’

Dan bent down and fumbled in his satchel for his notebook. He knew exactly what he was going to say, but he wanted Lizzie to think he was quoting it, word for word, from a secret source.

‘The police have worked out where the Judgement Book is. They’ve solved a series of riddles which have led them to it. They’re going to recover it this afternoon. It’s the end of one of the biggest and most bizarre cases in the region’s history.’

The whole newsroom had gone quiet. Everyone was watching.

‘On air,’ she barked. ‘Lead story. Go on then, get writing. What are you waiting for?’

‘You,’ she added, turning to Lisa. ‘Get a better nose for news or get looking for another job.’

Dan walked over to his desk, logged in to the computer and began working on his script. He kept his head down to avoid having to look at Lisa’s tears. He put a note in his diary to take her for coffee tomorrow, explain and apologise – if he still worked here tomorrow.

‘Some breaking news this lunchtime on the blackmailer case,’ began Craig. ‘We have an exclusive report for you on extraordinary developments. Our crime correspondent Dan Groves is with us.’

A camera spun and focused on him. Dan put on his most sonorous broadcast voice and intoned, ‘Craig, I can tell you this. The police think they have discovered the secret location where the Judgement Book is hidden. I’ll say that again, because of the importance of the story. The police believe they have discovered the location of the Book that’s been used to blackmail several prominent local people, led to the suicide of two, and is said to contain the scandalous secrets of many more.’

Craig nodded, and put on his serious face. Every time he did it, when introducing stories of death and disaster, Dan couldn’t help thinking back to Christmas, the newsroom party and the presenter’s drunken karaoke of Jake the Peg, complete with bizarre dance. If only the viewers knew what really went on, he thought. And that applies just as much to the way I work and the things I do, probably more so in fact. Much more.

Which is why I’m about to say what I am.

‘Dan, what more can you tell us?’ Craig asked.

‘The police want to keep the Book’s location a secret, so they don’t have large crowds of people and the media to deal with when they recover it. But I can tell you this. They believe the Judgement Book is hidden right in the centre of Plymouth, at a well-known landmark, probably one of the city’s most famous. In fact, Charles Church …’

Dan stopped, only for a second, just enough to make the mistake clear, to let it linger. He tried to force his eyes to widen as though shocked with himself and put a false fluster into his voice.

‘I’m sorry,’ he continued. ‘What I meant to say was the police believe the Judgement Book is hidden in a well-known Plymouth landmark and they intend to recover it sometime around four o’clock this afternoon.’

Dan had to sit for ten minutes in the studios’ relaxation room after the broadcast. The base of his back was damp with sweat and his heart was racing. The trap was laid. The only question now was whether it would work.

He closed his eyes and lay back on the reclining chair. The room was quiet, still, soft with its thick cream carpet and matching curtains, but the peace just amplified the barrage of his thoughts. His mind oscillated like a frantic pendulum, from thinking it was a great plan which couldn’t possibly fail, to ridiculing himself about how stupid it was.

The only conclusion he came to was that they’d see soon enough.

Adam called after the lunchtime news. He’d watched the bulletin from Charles Cross and praised Dan’s act. He found it convincing he said, and he wasn’t alone. They’d had scores of calls from journalists asking if the police really were going to recover the Judgement Book from Charles Church at four o’clock this afternoon. The official line was “We do not comment on irresponsible press reports”, but the implication was clear.

The media would be there.

Many other people had rung the station as well, to ask if they could watch. They were told the police couldn’t stop them from gathering at a public place. It was their right.

Adam had made his plan. He, and a small team of police and forensics officers, would walk into the church and down to the plaque where they would go through a charade of trying to unscrew it. They would take their time, making it look as though detailed forensics work was slowing their progress. Plain-clothed police officers and detectives would fill the crowd, searching for anyone who might be the blackmailer.

Dan wondered how they could do that. The blackmailer wasn’t exactly going to advertise his presence. But Adam was confident his officers would spot someone behaving suspiciously or nervously. It was a large part of a cop’s job, he said. It became second nature.

Onlookers would be kept behind a cordon thrown around the walls of the church. The edge of the roundabout made a natural boundary which limited the number of people who could watch. That was their hunting ground.