by Simon Hall
‘At the request of Eleanor Paget, by any chance? On the off chance, extreme as it might be, that something untoward could happen to him.’
‘We’ll never know. But a dreadfully suspicious person like yourself might well think that.’
Dan bought them another couple of pints. The pole dancing had ceased, happily, but a strip tease act had replaced it. Given his physical qualities, the only explanation for the man performing the divestment was that he had been drinking heavily, and quite possibly of large measures of true absinthe.
‘Are you ready for the final detail of Paget’s little story?’ Adam asked, when Dan returned.
‘Hang on, I might need this first.’
He took a gulp of beer and listened, as Adam continued.
‘Being the suspicious sort I am, I had another look at those reports of when Paget and Clarke met at that business lunch. What I wanted to know wasn’t in there, so I sent Claire out to do some more inquiries. How’s life with that woman of yours, by the way?’
‘What?’ Dan asked, thrown by the conversational tangent. ‘Err, well, I’m seeing her later.’
Adam chuckled into his beer.
‘What?’ asked a piqued Dan.
‘Your tone. It was like – later, I’m going to be washing my underpants, then ironing them. If I feel daring enough and the mood takes me, I might even do some hoovering too.’
‘OK, fair enough. I’m not exactly overwhelmed with passion, but I’m trying to give it a chance. So, why the sudden interest in my love life?’
‘Just asking. Just wondering. Just that – I reckon you’d like Claire. I might even have a tiny suspicion you think so yourself.’
Dan felt his face growing oddly warm. ‘Then I’ll look forward to being introduced to her another time,’ he said determinedly. ‘Now, aside from the matchmaking – Eleanor Paget.’
‘Eleanor Paget indeed. So, her meeting with Gordon Clarke.’
There had been about thirty people at the lunch. It didn’t take the fabled Claire and her detective powers long to track down several who had noticed how Clarke and Paget first met. And their view was uniform.
Paget had made the first move. She’d plotted a vector straight for him and made a point of talking to him, with a beaming smile, a willing laugh and a general and very obvious sense of fascination. And understandably enough he had reciprocated.
Now Dan swore again, but this time at the ultraviolet end of the spectrum’s blue. Adam produced a fatherly look of disapproval.
‘Would she have known in advance who was going to be at the lunch?’ Dan asked.
‘Yes. A list was circulated.’
‘So, she had plenty of time to do some research on the other guests. Just as we might expect of a diligent businesswoman like her? To maximise the networking opportunities.’
‘Yep.’
‘And look up Clarke, and you find the links to – if not exactly love for – one Edward Bray.’
‘Yep.’
‘And an idea sparkles. A re-run of what happened with poor Mr Wicks and Mr Masters. If fortune favours her, if Clarke should fall for her and if the situation is handled and fomented nicely.’
‘Yep.’
‘It all adds up.’
‘Yes,’ Adam said emphatically. ‘I would say that it does.’
The two men sipped at their drinks. The office party and its amateur stripper and pole dancer constituents were heading out of the door, arguing about where to go next. It was like a travelling circus. An older man walked in with a woman holding his arm.
Dan nudged Adam, whispered. ‘That’s Joseph McCluskey.’
‘Who?’
‘The famous artist. You know, the one who’s dying. The one who says he’s going to set that riddle in his last paintings. It’s all over the media, you must have heard of it. The puzzle of The Death Pictures, the papers are calling it. I might have a go at it myself. I’ve always liked riddles.’
Adam stared at the man, without showing much in the way of interest. But Dan had been awaiting his opportunity and added, ‘Talking of riddles, I think I may have an idea what the answer to Bonham’s is.’
Now he did have Adam’s attention. ‘What? Really?!’
‘Yes, really.’
‘What – who his other victims were and where their bodies are hidden? He’s never said anything about them. In prison he’s always refused to answer any questions about who else he killed.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Come on then, don’t mess about, tell me. Is it because he murdered loads more people?’
‘Not quite. Not exactly.’
Dan rummaged in his satchel and found the piece of paper he’d printed out earlier. It was a copy of the periodic table. He wrote the characters from Bonham’s riddle beside it.
992 619U
‘Right,’ Adam said, with impatience which would impress a five-year-old. ‘So?’
‘I don’t think I should just tell you what it says. You might take offence. It’s better if you work it out yourself. Match the atomic numbers with their elements. It helps if you look at the puzzle in a slightly different way.’
Dan wrote:
9 92 6 19 YOU
The detective groaned and shook his head, but started working through the numbers. One by one, he wrote the corresponding letters in the margin by the side of the table. It took less than thirty seconds to decode a riddle which had stood for more than fifteen years.
When Adam had spelled out the word he sat back, swore and stared.
‘The bastard,’ the detective added at last. ‘So it was all a bloody taunt. There were no other victims.’
‘I think you’re right. That riddle was just his little game to have some small way of getting back at the police and the justice system.’The two men sat in silence for a good couple of minutes. A barmaid dropped a glass and it smashed on the floor, but they hardly noticed.
Eventually, Dan prompted, ‘What do you do about Paget then?’
‘What?’
‘Come on, leave Bonham behind. He’s the past. This is more important – Paget.’
Adam blew out a lungful of air. ‘What can I do? I reckon I pushed it about as far as I could with what I said in her office earlier. It’s doubtful whether she’s even committed a crime. All she’s done is manipulate. As far as I can tell she hadn’t directly told, or even asked Clarke or Masters to go and carry out an attack. I’m guessing, from her reaction she had no idea Clarke would kill Bray. I suspect she was hoping he’d just have a fight with the man, or renew their vendetta, or something like it, something to distract Bray from the hospice for a while so she could get on with sorting out the takeover. Given where the negotiations had got to it wouldn’t take that long. By the time he was back on her case the deal would be done.’
‘Yes,’ Dan said thoughtfully. ‘And Bray was very much against it. It sounds like perhaps he wasn’t quite such a bad sort after all.’
They finished their drinks and headed back to the police station. Adam wanted to get an early night to be fresh for Annie and Tom tomorrow. Dan had his date with Kerry, which he had now performed dutifully and satisfactorily, if not, in truth, actually enthusiastically.
He sat back on the sofa, yawned hard and debated whether to have another glass of whisky, but decided against it. He was tired out and a good long sleep would be very welcome. Sometimes oblivion could be such rich bliss.
As Dan got up and readied himself for bed, he thought about what Adam had said as they stood on the steps of Charles Cross and wished each other a Merry Christmas.
‘It’s turned out OK, having you around. Better than I expected, anyway. You were even quite useful at times.’
The detective had clearly studied at the same school of praise and compliments as Lizzie.
‘Thanks for the glowing tribute,’ Dan replied, with a grin. ‘In return I can say that it was pretty much OK, being around.’
They shook hands, Adam headed for the police station door
s, then stopped and over his shoulder said, ‘You know what? It surprises me to say this, but I’m going to anyway, as it’s Christmas and all that.’
He hesitated, then added, ‘I reckon we might just benefit from having you join us again sometime– if you’re up for that.’
Dan nodded hard and noticed his grin growing. ‘You know, I think I just might be,’ he replied.
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