The Scribe

by A A Chaudhuri

  Guilt rose up in him. ‘It wasn’t deliberate, Elizabeth,’ he said softly. ‘It just happened.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better, is it? After all the affairs, the lying, the disgusting sex tape, I’m just meant to accept it?’

  Stirling looked over at the watching guard. ‘Shush, keep your voice down, will you?’

  ‘Huh,’ Elizabeth sniggered, ‘there’s no point worrying about your reputation now. There’s nothing left to protect. We’re way past that.’

  Stirling swallowed hard. ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘I thought them taking you away and locking you up would make me feel better. But it doesn’t. I still feel empty.’ Her expression was sad, vacant.

  Stirling leaned in, whispered, ‘I didn’t do it, Elizabeth. I swear I didn’t.’

  His eyes were sincere, and she believed him. For once. But she was finding it hard to care whether the truth came out or not. She’d wasted her life on a man who’d rejected, hit and humiliated her. Why would she help a man like that?

  ‘I believe you, James. That’s partly why I’m here. But you can’t argue with evidence. Including proof in black and white of your violent behaviour towards women – more especially against two of the victims.’

  ‘Yes, and whose fault is that?’ Stirling barked. ‘I saw your latest sculpture, Liz. Pretty warped, don’t you think? When were you intending to give it to me? In here? After you’d grassed me up?’

  ‘I wanted to make you suffer, James; to have a little fun, mess with your mind. Ruin the reputation you don’t deserve. But I genuinely didn’t think they’d find anything concrete to connect you with the murders.’

  ‘Murder, Liz, not murders.’

  ‘That’s not true, James. What about those letters they found on your laptop? Your repulsive internet history? The riddles sent to DCI Carver, the letter sent to that girl and her flatmate?’

  ‘Maddy Kramer?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ Elizabeth looked away for a second then turned her gaze back. ‘Was she another of your conquests?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t,’ Stirling said firmly. ‘But I think she might be able to help me.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘I know you don’t owe me anything, Liz. And I probably deserve to lose my job, my reputation. But I don’t deserve to rot in jail for a crime I didn’t commit.’

  She’d made him suffer enough. And deep down, she wasn’t a cruel person. ‘What is it you want me to do, James?’

  ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in here, and it’s made me see things more clearly. I want you to contact Maddy Kramer. Convince her to hear you out.’

  ‘Why her? Hear me out about what?’

  ‘I believe she’s the key to clearing my name. But first, listen.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Any ideas, Ms Kramer, because I feel like my head’s hitting a brick wall.’

  After Stirling’s arrest, forensics had descended on his home and office like a flock of ravenous birds, picking at every nook and cranny for evidence, bagging up anything potentially interesting, including Stirling’s laptop, home computer and printer.

  It wasn’t long before the computer forensic specialists had found all kinds of incriminating evidence.

  Stirling’s browser history had turned up various pornography. But that was by no means the worst of it. Stirling had been on sites which promoted violence towards women, sites which talked about methods of killing, how to murder undetected, methods of disabling CCTV, where to buy guns, how to make small bombs and so on.

  And then there were the letters he’d written to Carver, Maddy and Paul, stored in his documents folder.

  It was all there – damning, irrefutable evidence: Stirling was the murderer. An expert at covering his tracks, at playing the part of a bumbling professor – making fools of them all.

  But Carver couldn’t rest yet; not until he’d solved Stirling’s last riddle, one he’d written and saved on his hard drive but hadn’t yet got around to sending. The document history told Carver that Stirling had written it the previous Sunday afternoon, the day of his arrest, presumably in the privacy of his office.

  It was now 3 pm on Monday, January 12th. Three days after Stirling had been formally charged with Bethany’s murder. Maddy had agreed to meet Carver for a quick coffee at Starbucks on London Wall. It was only half full, symptomatic of the usual post-Christmas lethargy, although the inhospitable weather didn’t help. It had rained hard all morning, and now it was blowing a gale.

  Maddy hadn’t expected Carver to call. She was surprised by the level of excitement she’d felt on seeing his number come up on her phone. Was it the thrill of helping him with his investigation, or purely of seeing him again? Perhaps both? She couldn’t be sure.

  She stared down at the letter, which a member of Carver’s team had printed out for him. Of all the riddles so far, this was the most cryptic, the hardest to decode.

  Dear DCI Carver,

  This is my last letter to you, and I intend to make it my best work yet. So far, you’ve not done brilliantly at solving my puzzles, despite the help of your beautiful legal eagle.

  Better luck this time, although you’ll be far too late to save my final victim. I killed her before I killed Bethany.

  “Unrequited love does not die; it’s only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded.”

  For years I placed my trust in certain people, Chief Inspector. People who had responsibilities towards me, people who I should have been able to count on. But my trust in those people was cruelly shattered. Obliterated forever. Like a broken mirror that can never be fixed.

  She died in the trapezoid within the wilderness of yew where royalty have walked. There is only one way to find her. Make sure you take the right path.

  Good luck, Chief Inspector. It gives me so much pleasure sending this to you, knowing that you’ll never find her. Knowing that day after day, your mind will be tortured by not knowing where she is, and yet knowing she’s somewhere out there.

  Equity is not about justice for all, but only those who deserve it. Those who do not deserve it should be treated accordingly.

  That is fair, Chief Inspector.

  That is Equity.

  Maddy read the letter in silence three times before she looked up at Carver. ‘She’s dead already?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘This is the sickest one yet. I assume you’ve spoken to Stirling?’

  ‘I have, but he won’t talk. Or rather, he’s adamant that he didn’t write it, and therefore has nothing to say. He’s been driven hard – hours of questioning. But hasn’t broken once. Insists he had nothing to do with any of the murders, knows nothing about the letters, and that aside from watching a bit of porn every now and again, he’s done nothing wrong. He claims he’s been set up.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘How can I? The evidence is overwhelming.’

  Maddy held Carver’s gaze. Despite what he said, she sensed he wasn’t being entirely frank.

  ‘But?’

  Carver sat back and sighed. ‘But it’s still there … this little niggle at the back of my mind that keeps making me question: is he our man?’

  ‘I know, I feel the same way. What if the real killer hacked into Stirling’s system? Framed him that way? I mean, he’s clearly computer-savvy; he managed to disable the CCTV at Channings.’

  Carver smiled. She didn’t miss much. ‘Someone’s looking into that possibility for me. I should hear back any time now. Stirling’s DNA is our biggest problem.’

  ‘I agree that complicates things.’

  Carver gestured to the letter. ‘For now we have to focus on this. I’ve Googled the saying about “unrequited love”. It’s by an author named Elle Newmark, from The Book of Unholy Mischief.’

  ‘I wonder whose unrequited love the author of the letter – be it Stirling or not – is referring to? The killer’s, or the next victim’s?’

  Carver shook h
is head. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe both. Looking at this, do you have any ideas on victim or location? We know what the subject is – Equity – that’s obvious. And all this talk of digging graves makes me suspect she’s lying six feet under. But where? We need to find the body, Ms Kramer … before the press get wind of it.’

  Maddy sipped her coffee, which was now almost cold. ‘Can I borrow a pen?’

  Carver produced a biro from his inside coat pocket, handed it to her, then watched her highlight certain words: “trust”; “unrequited love”; “trapezoid”; “wilderness”; “yew”; “royalty”.

  She looked back up at him. ‘Okay, so as you said, the subject is Equity, so the victim must have some connection to Equity. At law school, the Equity module mainly consisted of learning about different types of trust, fiduciary relationships, rights and obligations.’ She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Maybe the victim’s a Trusts lawyer.’

  Carver’s back went rigid.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Suzanne Carroll. She’s an old friend of Stirling’s from Oxford … a Trusts partner at a firm in Putney. I questioned her a couple of days after Ryland was found. At the time she maintained they weren’t lovers, but I saw them in action on Stirling’s memory stick. Just before I arrested him. I’m certain she covered for him the night of Ryland’s murder.’

  He pulled out his phone, called Drake. ‘Drake, call Suzanne Carroll’s office, demand to speak to her now. If she’s not in, find out where she is. If no one knows, find out when she was last seen.’ He rang off.

  ‘She’s not been reported missing?’ Maddy asked.

  ‘Not as far as I know. Which makes me think, if she is the final victim, the killer’s lying about having killed her before Bethany. She may well still be alive.’

  ‘Which makes Stirling innocent.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps he got Carroll to cover for him because he got scared.’ Carver glanced at his phone, his heart thumping at the thought of what Drake was going to come back with. He looked up at Maddy. ‘Let’s get back to the riddle. What about location?’

  ‘Well, the reference to royalty means it could be a palace or castle, I suppose.’ She frowned. ‘But then wilderness implies it’s somewhere outside, maybe in a formal garden of some sort.’

  ‘And what of this trapezoid thing? That’s got to mean something, surely?’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Maddy grabbed her iPhone lying on the table, went to the internet and typed in “trapezoid”. The connection was slow. ‘Come on,’ she muttered. Finally, it loaded, and brought up over a million results. She read out the first. ‘The trapezoid is a four-sided flat shape with straight sides that has a pair of opposite sides parallel. Called an isosceles trapezoid when the sides that aren’t parallel are equal in length and both angles coming from a parallel side are equal.’

  ‘Is that supposed to be helpful?’ Carver joked.

  ‘Hang on, don’t be so impatient!’ They shared a fleeting smile, before she looked back down and typed another search into her phone. Carver was still smiling inside, put in his place by his amateur sleuth. His incredibly attractive amateur sleuth. ‘What are you typing in now?’

  I must stop thinking like that, he told himself.

  ‘Famous trapezoids.’ This time there were over eight million results. But nothing helpful. ‘There’s only one thing for it, I’ll just go for broke.’

  Carver leaned forward, trying to read Maddy’s next search upside down. ‘Trapezoid, yew, wilderness’.

  ‘Hmm, only 85,000 results. We’re getting closer.’ Maddy gave Carver a playful smile. It made him feel awkward – unusual for him. For a split second, he pondered why she had that effect on him.

  Maddy cast her eyes down the list of results, hoping to spot something useful. And then she saw it. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed – so loudly she attracted the attention of a nearby table. She felt herself flush, mouthed ‘Sorry,’ then turned her attention back to Carver, who was looking mildly amused.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Sixth entry down.’ Maddy turned her phone around to give him a better look.

  ‘Eight breathtaking garden mazes. Hampton Court.’ Carver looked up. ‘You think that’s where she is?’

  She didn’t answer, clicked on the entry. ‘Hampton Court Hedge Maze, to be precise.’

  ‘Where royalty have walked,’ Carver mumbled. Maddy read out excerpts from the entry.

  ‘This popular trapezoid-shaped feature of landscape architecture in Surrey, England, has been delighting and disorienting visitors since the late 1600s … The third-of-an-acre maze with its seven-foot-tall yew hedge walls marked a departure from popular garden maze design. It was created with a multicursal, meaning multiple paths with numerous dead ends, instead of a unicursal, meaning single path, configuration, making it a pioneer of puzzle mazes … still one of the hottest outdoor attractions at Hampton Court Palace.’

  Maddy returned to the results page and clicked on another link. It brought up various photos of Hampton Court Maze. ‘Look at the heading.’ She turned her phone around again for Carver’s benefit.

  He read out the caption: ‘Photos of the Hampton Court Maze in the Wilderness section of the Hampton Court Palace gardens.’

  He looked at Maddy and grinned. ‘You’re a genius, Ms Kramer.’ Just then, Drake called.

  After listening to what he had to say, Carver said, ‘Okay, that’s confirmed my suspicions. The real killer’s still out there and plans to kill Carroll last. She may yet still be alive.’ He glanced up at Maddy as he talked. ‘Ms Kramer’s worked out the location. Get a team of uniformed officers, CSOs and medics to Hampton Court Maze. Call ahead for someone to keep the gates open as it’ll be closing round about now. You, come and get me now. I’m in Starbucks on London Wall. I reckon we can make it there in just under an hour, depending on traffic.’ He hung up.

  ‘Carroll wasn’t in her office?’ Maddy said.

  ‘No, but she was in all morning. Left around one thirty. Didn’t say where she was going.’

  ‘So the killer did lie. She’s not dead yet.’

  ‘Let’s hope that’s true. Thank you, Ms Kramer.’

  ‘No problem, I just pray you find her in time.’

  Carver looked at his watch. 3.45 pm. ‘It’s winter, the maze is probably closed by now, or about to.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll make an exception for you.’ Maddy’s gaze lingered on Carver. He smiled; felt that awkwardness again.

  ‘Can I keep this?’ She gestured to the letter, rescuing him from his discomfort.

  ‘Sure, it’s only a copy. Any particular reason?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. It’s a theory I have. One I’ve only just thought of.’

  ‘Let me know if your theory comes to anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.’

  ***

  Forty-five minutes earlier, 3 pm

  Suzanne Carroll remembered running through Hampton Court Palace Hedge Maze – the most famous maze in the world – as a little girl, terrified of losing her parents, of not being able to find her way out. Back then, she’d found the narrow paths and seven-foot-high yew walls – designed and built for secret assignations – frightening rather than exciting. Now they were simply frustrating.

  It had taken her three attempts to find her way to the centre on this occasion, cursing as she’d hit dead ends, or found herself back at the entrance again, having been fooled into believing she was nearly there.

  It had been a dull, wet day, and with what little light there had been rapidly fading, and only forty-five minutes until closing time, she wasn’t surprised to find herself alone at the centre of the maze. It was deathly quiet, not a soul in sight.

  It had briefly stopped raining. But just then, she felt a faint spit. Suzanne wondered if Janis was on her way; whether the palace café was still open. There were also a few cafés the other side of Hampton Court Bridge. Perhaps they could grab
a coffee and shelter in one of those while they talked? Surely, they’d be safe to chat privately there?

  The rain became harder. Furious with herself for failing to pack an umbrella in her bag, she pressed herself up against the wooden trellis encircling the centre of the maze, praying that Janis would show up soon. She checked her iPhone for messages. Fifty had come through since she’d left the office just after one thirty, but she didn’t bother to look at them in detail. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Janis had made it plain that she wanted their meeting to remain private, and she’d readily respect that request if it meant finding a way to set James free.

  ‘Hello, you all right there?’

  Lost in her thoughts, Suzanne nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected interruption. A soft, husky voice. She looked up to see a nun standing there – tall, broad-shouldered, a little on the hefty side, although it was hard to tell for sure under the outfit. She had dark eyes and plain features.

  ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ The nun gave Suzanne a warm smile.

  Before the nun’s arrival, Suzanne had started to feel a little uncomfortable standing there, alone, the rain thrashing down around her.

  But the presence of a disciple of God was a welcome comfort and allayed her sense of unease. Even so, she did wonder what the nun was doing there on such a miserable, wet day. She smiled back.

  ‘Yes, an elderly lady, in her sixties. She’s the mother of a good friend. She told me to meet her here. At three.’ Suzanne glanced at her watch. It had just gone 3.10.

  ‘You look cold,’ the nun observed. She placed a hand on Suzanne’s shoulder. ‘I think I saw an old lady a little way back, looking rather lost. I know this place like the back of my hand. I often come here after praying in the royal chapel. I’ll go try and find her for you. You know the maze shuts at 3.45?’

  ‘Yes, I know. And that’s very kind of you.’ Suzanne was genuinely grateful. She was getting fed up of waiting in the cold, wet weather. She didn’t know if she’d ever find her way back to the centre if she went looking for Janis now.