The Aachen Memorandum

by Andrew Roberts

  ‘No one too close, Ah hope?’

  ‘No, in fact I’d never even met him.’ True again. She smiled.

  ‘Do Ah get a kiss goodbye?’

  ‘You certainly do.’ The kiss lasted easily long enough to raise the eyebrows of any Sexual Hygiene Inspectorate officer.

  ‘Where will you be?’ he asked.

  ‘South Hampton today and Dover early tomorrow to cover the King coming over the Bridge. He’s due at 08.00.’

  ‘Why so early?’

  ‘Ah don’t rightly know. The Commission didn’t want any big demonstrations in his support Ah suppose.’

  ‘I’ve got your pager and watch-phone numbers, haven’t I?’ She nodded. ‘Maybe dinner when you’re back?’

  ‘Ah’d love that.’ (‘Love’, not ‘like’, or ‘that’d be fine’.)

  ‘Can I kiss you goodbye again?’

  ‘Ah’d love that, too.’

  ‘I can’t help feeling we’ve done this before,’ he said, watching her reaction closely for any scintilla of recognition of the power-cut kiss. She just smiled and drew his head back towards hers by the lightest of touches behind his neck.

  That next kiss would have had the S.H.I. officer rapping on the windscreen with his clipboard.

  Eventually she drove off. Horatio stayed waving at her auto until it disappeared around the corner and he could no longer hear it. Being electric that was not long, but it seemed it. He then walked along the high street, away from the Rectory. It was only thirty or forty metres but he soon convinced himself he was being watched by everyone in the village.

  From the honeysuckle and clematis outside it, Number 4, Ibworth High Street, looked like a city-dwellers’ ideal of what a weekend country cottage should be. But Horatio was too much on his guard to judge anything by appearances any more. As he walked around the side of the house he prayed his hay fever would not make him sneeze. The thumping of his heart could probably be heard in Basingstoke.

  Why should creeping around people’s houses have to be done by him, rather than some Hunky-Regular hero? Before the class and sexism legislation there had been a popular fictional character called Bond. Now he would have known how to deal with situations like this. Someone conventionally macho like him would have fitted the bill far better.

  Horatio peered in at the kitchen window by the back door. As he put his hand up to the pane he felt a sudden sharp jab in the small of his back.

  ‘Hands up! If you make any sudden movements I’ll put a bullet in you!’

  His hands shot up.

  ‘I’m a rambler,’ said Horatio, proud of the cover he’d concocted for himself, ‘and I’m exercising my Right to Roam.’ He was about to turn around and explain about the recent Private Property (Ramblers’ Rights) Directive 77/107 when the voice – deep, husky, but, he thought, a woman’s – added: ‘The slightest false move and you’re dead.

  CHAPTER 16

  11.33 TUESDAY 4 MAY

  ‘Whatever you say.’

  ‘Are you armed?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’ A hand started checking under his armpits, between his legs, right down to his socks. Having been frisked professionally hundreds of times, prior to entering practically any public buildings during the latest Tenth May bombing campaign, Horatio could tell she was an amateur.

  ‘Get inside. Slowly and quietly.’ Horatio opened the door and took a few paces into the dingy kitchen, his hands on top of his head and the muzzle of the gun stuck firmly into his ribs. He wondered whether twenty-nine was old enough for an obese, terrified, unfit male to have a heart attack. ‘Now walk very slowly into the next room and sit on that settee under the light where I can see you.’ As he turned round to sit down, Horatio made out a large, ugly, rather hairy woman in her late fifties or early sixties. She was pointing, slightly gingerly, a heavy pulse gun at him. It looked old-fashioned, but no less lethal for that.

  She sat down on the other end of the sofa.

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  ‘Well, I’m not a rambler.’

  ‘I’d guessed that.’

  ‘My name’s Horatio Lestoq. I was the man who found Admiral Ratcliffe’s body on Sunday. I’ve since found that I was mentioned in his will, and after that I was charged with his murder. Right now I’m on the run from the police.’

  ‘I’d better call them, then.’ She made as if to press the ‘On’ button of the vid-phone on a small table beside her. Horatio talked quickly.

  ‘Please don’t do that. Two reasons. Firstly, I’m completely innocent, and secondly I have to speak to you, Mrs Dodson. I believe we are both in the most terrible danger. And the police can’t help us, either.’

  Naming her like that was a risk, but her age, familiarity with the house, unfamiliarity with the gun and general demeanour made him judge it one worth taking.

  ‘How do you know who I am?’ He exhaled.

  ‘I didn’t for sure, but it’s you I must see.’

  ‘How am I to know that you really are Lestoq?’

  ‘Look on the cable news channel. I’m there, complete with picture.’

  ‘Stay where you are.’ She crossed over to her modem on a table under the window and tapped into it, still covering him with the gun.

  Sure enough there were several screen pages devoted to him. It was a different photo from Marty’s on the 09.00 news. Horatio took a few seconds to recognise the video shot from the camera in Basingstoke police station, taken when Snell had told him to say cheese.

  ‘No great likeness, but it’s me.’

  ‘All right. It seems we’re on the same side. But instead of you asking me questions, can I just tell you straight off what’s happened here?’ At last she put down the gun. He dropped his arms. They had started to ache.

  ‘Yes. Yes, that’s a better idea.’

  ‘Sir Michael was always very kind to me. He’d been … a sort of … business associate of my husband’s and I came out to live here to take care of him, help bring up his granddaughter, cook for him sometimes, that sort of thing, after my husband died. I didn’t need the money or anything. We just got on well.’

  ‘I’d like to talk about your husband’s death, too.’

  ‘About Jake?’

  ‘I’ve reason to suspect he was murdered.’ She gave a start like she’d been jabbed with a cattle prod on high voltage.

  ‘Oh my God!’ She put her hands up to her face: ‘I knew it!’

  Horatio went over to sit by her on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …’

  ‘No, no … it’s all right.’ Then the words flooded out, interrupted only by occasional gasps for breath. Jean Dodson had been waiting for a quarter of a century to find someone to tell this to, someone who didn’t think her unhinged. Horatio just held her hand and listened.

  ‘I sort of knew it, you see – but I couldn’t get the police to make any enquiries about the man, Evans they said his name was, who was driving the truck – I knew it but I’ve never really been able to face it … I haven’t let myself think about it much for fear I’d go bonkers but Jake told me before he went out that day, he said, like specially, ‘Now Jean, when you go down the shops today, be sure to remember they’re changing the roads round this morning. Mind you go and drive on the right,’ and then I remember, clear as if it were today, he sang one of the jingles from the TV adverts: ‘Right is right, stay right and you’ll be all right!’ – you won’t remember them, you’re too young. They were on every channel that Christmas and New Year. So what I could never understand is why’ – she was sobbing now – ‘why would he forget his own advice directly after? It just didn’t make sense.’

  ‘I believe he was murdered. Was he at all frightened?’

  ‘He’d spent a fortune – we’d won the lottery a couple of years back you see – on security for protection for the house and us. He even used to carry around this stupid old gun.’ The words were being held up now by the sobs. Horatio didn’t know what to say. He was about to make some sympathetic
noises about making tea, but he knew that he had to get on.

  ‘Jean, there’s something else. I believe the people who killed your Jake also killed Ratcliffe.’

  ‘No, it was a woman who killed Sir Michael. The truck driver was a man called Evans. And he didn’t work for Atgas either. I called them up about two years later I was so disturbed, and the man from Personnel told me they’d never had a man fitting that I.D. on the staff. Not in 2019. Not ever.’ But Horatio was not concentrating on Evans.

  ‘A woman killed Ratcliffe?! How do you know?’

  ‘I saw her.’ Horatio’s mouth lolled open. ‘When the doorbell rang, Sir Michael said he expected it was you. He wanted me to be there to meet you to tell you what I just have about Jake’s death. For your newspaper. But he wanted to get what he called a ‘personal matter’ out of the way first. So he asked me to wait outside till he called me in to meet you. ‘Dr Lestoq and I will only be a few minutes. Then I’ll call you back in, if that’s all right, Jean,’ he said. He was always such a gent, in a non-sexist way of course. Anyway, I went out the French windows and waited on the lawn for a few minutes watching the doves. Then I thought I heard a call – well, more a sort of cry – and I walked over and looked in at the sitting room to check and I saw a woman standing over him holding one of the sofa cushions up against his face. She was big, and poor little Sir Michael was so small. He didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t even struggling. His hands had fallen down by his sides. I was so frightened I didn’t rush in or bang on the window or anything. I hope the Lord Jesus will forgive me for running away, I know I’ll never be able to!’ She broke down again and shivered with tears and remorse. Horatio did his best to comfort her, but he knew he was useless at that sort of thing.

  ‘By the sound of it what you did was exactly right.’ Horatio comforted her, patting her gnarled, hairy-knuckled hands. ‘It was all over by then from the sound of it. You’d have just been next, otherwise. So what did you do?’

  ‘I ran across the lawn as fast as I could and down the street and called the police. They arrived quite soon afterwards but too late to catch her.’

  ‘And just soon enough to catch me. Did you see her leave? What was she doing?’

  ‘No, I was too scared. I didn’t go out again.’

  ‘Do you think she saw you?’

  ‘Don’t know. Her back was to me. But she might have seen me running away.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go into The Free Fox? It’s much closer to the Rectory than this place.’

  ‘They hate me in there. I’m always getting the Enviromental Health onto them.’

  ‘But this is a bit more serious than late-night drinking!’

  ‘I know!’ She rocked forward, her head in her hands, tears flowing freely. ‘I know!’ Horatio wished he could ask her these questions less directly. But they had to be asked.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell the police that it was a woman who had killed him, and not me?’

  ‘I know I should have, but I was so flustered I didn’t specify who it was. I just said Michael was being murdered and put the phone down. You know how the police sell everything to the papers these days. They might have leaked my name. I was scared, so I didn’t say who I was or switch on the vid part of the phone. I made sure only to say my piece and hang up. I was scared. Anyhow I never got a look at her face, you see, because she had her back to me.’

  ‘Can you describe her at all?’

  ‘Not really. That’s why I’d be so useless to the police. I couldn’t say if she was thirty or sixty. She was quite tall though. Darkish hair. She wore a dark blue dress. It was a bright day outside and quite dark inside. We’d had the French windows open, but hadn’t put on lights in the room.’ She stopped, thought for a moment, and said, ‘Also …’ Then she stopped again.

  ‘Yes? What? … You really must tell me everything, Jean. For your own sake as well as mine.’

  ‘Well, Sir Michael gave me something to give to you and I didn’t want the police coming round asking questions and maybe turning this place upside down like they did to the Rectory.’

  ‘The police did that?’

  ‘I assume it was them. They came around about two hours after the first lot, the ones who took you away. Although they were in plain clothes they certainly looked like police, dressed alike, same age, short hair. Two autos full of them. They had guns too.’

  ‘But they weren’t in uniform?’

  ‘No. Except three of them wore the same long, dark green overcoats. They certainly weren’t just vandals though. I mean, they arrived with sledgehammers and saws and jemmies and things. And there was no, sort of, whooping and yelling like you might expect a load of hooligans to make. I thought of calling Sergeant Wilkinson, our local man, but I was worried they might realise that I was the original witness if I did. I suppose I could have called anonymously again, but I was so scared. I’m sorry, Dr Lestoq.’

  ‘Horatio.’

  ‘Horatio. Lovely name by the way.’ He loved her for that. ‘I’m going to leave here tonight, my sister’s coming round this evening to take me away.’

  ‘Now, Jean. The police are after me as you know. If I’m arrested again it’s essential that you tell them about the woman, otherwise I could easily get convicted. You must tell them it was you who made the call. They’ll protect you from the murderer until she’s caught. Will you do that for me?’ She thought for a moment and then nodded slowly. She really was fantastically ugly, he thought. ‘But there’s something even more important than that. You must give me whatever it was Sir Michael gave you. Why did he give it to you, by the way? He could just as easily have handed it to me himself if he thought I was at the door.’

  ‘He said he didn’t want to have it around in case you got violent about the “personal matter”.’

  ‘Violent? Have you any idea what that might have been about?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So he gave you a package?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is it?’ He prayed she wouldn’t say that it was in the Rectory.

  ‘Up in my bedroom, I’ll get it for you. I’ll be glad to be rid of it.’

  She stood up from the sofa and went into the hallway. Then he heard her climb the stairs. Half a minute later she returned with a small brown envelope which she handed him.

  ‘There you are. Now I’ve done what Michael asked I feel a whole lot better. Oh, and Dr Lestoq, Horatio, please take that too.’ She pointed to the gun on the table by the sofa.

  ‘No, you keep it.’

  ‘It’s no use to me. I was terrified when I picked it up just now. I don’t think it’s even loaded. I was too scared to open it up to find out. I’ve got the bullets upstairs. Shall I get them?’

  He nodded. She left again, this time for longer. She reappeared with three boxes of shells and two old stun cartridges. He managed to fit all but one ammo clip in his pockets. The last one he left on the sofa table.

  ‘How did you get here?’ she asked.

  ‘A lift from a friend.’ Fear crossed her face.

  ‘Don’t worry, she went away long before I came here.’

  ‘How are you going to get back, then?’

  ‘Don’t know. I’ll have to risk the shuttle, I suppose.’

  ‘But the police’ll be watching the stations. You might get spotted.’

  ‘I’ve no other way.’

  ‘I’ll drive you back.’

  ‘No. That could be dangerous.’

  ‘My sister’s not coming for hours and I’m not doing anything here but waiting for her. Or the murderer. And I ought to do something for the person who’s trying to avenge the only two men in my life who’ve ever mattered to me.’

  ‘You could wind up on a charge for aiding and abetting. Thanks, but no.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s go.’ Jean had decided. ‘My auto’s in the next street. It’s a battered old green grade 7 methane. It’s so old it doesn’t even have a roof number! I’ll go out and get it started. Once it’s up an
d running I’ll turn it round and drive it up outside the front door. A beep on the horn means there’s trouble. Once I’m alongside you come out. Don’t bother to lock up, just get in quickly and we’ll be off.’ Horatio nodded.

  Just after she’d left, Horatio realised that he should have warned her to look underneath the car before putting her I.D. in the ignition.

  PART III

  CHAPTER 17

  12.05 TUESDAY 4 MAY

  Once safely onto the M3, and fairly certain they were not being followed, Horatio opened the gun, found it to be unloaded and slotted a stun-cartridge and full clip of ammunition into the butt. It gave a satisfyingly loud click when he pushed it shut. The stun-voltage dial read normal. Fine. Next he took the Admiral’s envelope from his pocket and opened it. There was a two-by-two centimetre microtape and a letter written on Rectory paper. He started with the latter:

  11.10 Saturday, 1 May 2045

  My Dear Horatio,

  I feel I can call you by your Christian, or ‘given’ name as we are supposed to say nowadays, although we haven’t met. I’m writing this in case you do not appear today, in which case I will ask Jean Dodson to deliver it to you in person. Please take care of her, she is an innocent in all of this and knows nothing about what her late husband and I did. I have recorded all that on a tape which should be enclosed with this letter.

  You must do whatever you think right with the knowledge that I am giving you. As a nonagenarian, I have only escaped the various Health Commission euthanasia programmes because I am rich. I’m in no position to say how you should act. I do know, however, that if I was your age I would shout it from the rooftops, despite the fact that it will render me as one of the blackest villains ever left unhanged. Perhaps I am. It’s certainly how I feel now. How I’ve felt for years.

  As I hope to be able to tell you face to face this morning – but wish to take no chances over – you are my grandson. That is why I suppose I initially expected you to know who I was in our talk today. It was naive of me, really, as I had agreed with Heather – the woman you know as your mother – that I would not contact you.