The Door That Led to Where

by Sally Gardner

  He was expecting to push the cart back to chambers alone but Mr Groat accompanied him up Chancery Lane.

  ‘What are you reading at the moment?’ he asked.

  ‘Our Mutual Friend, sir,’ said AJ.

  ‘Wonderful. One of my very favourites – Dickens’s description of the Thames, the finding of the body … ’

  AJ had been wondering if he would ever have the chance to ask Mr Groat if he had known his father. In the street light of Gray’s Inn, late on that Thursday afternoon, he took the plunge.

  ‘Mr Groat,’ he said, ‘did you ever meet my father?’

  ‘Lucas Jobey? Yes, I did. Although he was Baldwin’s client, not mine. I met him and your grandfather, Old Jobey. I never took a shine to him but your father was very different.’

  ‘I never knew him, sir,’ said AJ. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘I remember him as a handsome man with an eye for the ladies – or rather, an eye for one particular lady. Your mother was a lovely young woman, full of hope, and Lucas Jobey was determined to marry her, despite, I believe, some family difficulties.’

  ‘It never happened,’ said AJ.

  ‘Oh, the marriage went ahead, all right. I remember that Baldwin attended the ceremony.’

  ‘So I’m not a bastard then – sir?’

  ‘Not in any legal sense.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said AJ quietly.

  They were just outside 4 Raymond Buildings when Mr Groat’s mobile rang.

  ‘Where is the blasted thing?’ said Mr Groat, fumbling in his briefcase. ‘Hello? Yes.’ There was a long pause before Mr Groat said, ‘When?’ He reached out and held on to the railings. ‘Thank you,’ he said and ended the call.

  AJ took the phone and put it back in the briefcase. Mr Groat was gazing into a vague and distant place.

  ‘Has something happened, sir?’ AJ asked.

  ‘In a word, yes. Mr Baldwin died an hour ago.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The wheezy sound of a vacuum cleaner acted as an alarm for AJ. Elsie was always up at six and she liked to hoover before switching on the radio to listen to the international disasters as she called them. AJ crawled out of bed. He had hoped to see the professor before he went back through the door but there was no time. The consequences of Mr Baldwin’s murder were taking up nearly every minute that could be squeezed from a day.

  ‘I’m off to work,’ he told Elsie when he was dressed. ‘Then I’m going away for the weekend with Slim.’

  ‘Where to?’ she asked.

  ‘Nowhere special.’ AJ felt his cheeks go red. He wished he was better at lying. ‘Slim’s a bit down after his break-up with Sicknote.’

  ‘You’re a good friend, you are,’ said Elsie. ‘But when you come back, maybe you should go and see your mum. Jan was down here yesterday in tears. She said to me she’d made a right royal mess of things.’ Elsie lowered her voice as if Jan might have her ear glued to Elsie’s front door. ‘She said the Slug had moved out.’

  ‘I will,’ said AJ. ‘On Monday.’

  He closed the front door and for a moment tried to imagine his mum having any regrets at all. In the dim morning light the concrete steps of the stairwell sparkled. When he was a little lad he had believed he and his mum were rich because the stairs had diamonds in them. He could hear Jan shouting at Roxy. Things must be bad.

  It was still early when he arrived at Raymond Buildings. He would have to wait until the doors were unlocked. He stood on the step and checked his messages. All were from Slim, who sounded more worried with every text he sent. AJ texted him back.

  ‘calm it armit,’ he wrote. ‘cu at 6’.

  He waited in the rain, regretting that he didn’t own a proper winter coat. The one thought that kept him warm was the release that Mr Baldwin’s death had brought about. The weight of a mountain had been taken from his shoulders. Although if – and it was a big if – he could find the documentation it would help Ms Finch win the case. And it wouldn’t do his prospects any harm either.

  AJ was now so wet that he rang the bell on the off-chance that one of the cleaners might still be there. To his surprise, Morton’s voice snapped down the entry phone.

  ‘It’s me, Aiden,’ said AJ.

  ‘Stay there.’

  AJ watched through the glass as Morton came down the stairs.

  ‘Good morning,’ AJ said.

  ‘Is it?’ said Morton. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  It occurred to AJ that Morton hadn’t been home.

  ‘Are you squeamish?’ Morton asked him.

  ‘No. I don’t think so,’ said AJ.

  ‘Come on. There is someone I need to see.’

  That was all the explanation AJ was given.

  Morton was no more forthcoming when their taxi drew up at an impersonal office building, and AJ felt it would be a mistake to ask any questions. A lift took them to the basement where the door opened with a judder and the low light made it feel as if they were in a submarine. A man in a white coat appeared in the corridor. He had a face divided by a bridge of eyebrows that ran as straight as Roman Road and overshadowed his eyes.

  ‘This is very good of you, Ron,’ said Morton, shaking his hand. ‘I owe you one.’

  The man pushed open a door on which was a nameplate that read:

  R E Haggerty

  Senior Forensic Pathologist

  ‘And this is?’ said the man, looking at AJ, the drawbridge of his eyebrows rising.

  ‘Aiden, a baby clerk,’ said Morton.

  AJ stood up a little straighter.

  ‘So, Aiden,’ said Mr Haggerty. ‘You are one of the chosen few. You must be a bright lad.’

  The room was clinically bare apart from a long white table.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Mr Haggerty.

  The chairs scraped across the floor as Morton and AJ pulled them out, the same sound as the chairs at school used to make.

  AJ sat down. Through the open door to the next room he could see on a trolley a figure covered in a cloth, a toe sticking out, white and waxy. With a shock he realised he was looking at the corpse of Mr Baldwin.

  ‘This is an intriguing case,’ said Mr Haggerty. These are, of course, only the initial findings. More work needs to be done.’

  Morton nodded.

  Mr Haggerty collected two files and put them before him, then, staring at no one in particular, started.

  ‘The post mortem shows that Mr Baldwin swallowed arsenic trioxide, known as white arsenic.’

  ‘White arsenic?’ interrupted Morton. ‘Wasn’t that used in the early nineteenth century? You never hear of it now.’

  ‘Yes, they called it the inheritance powder,’ said Mr Haggerty. ‘It was very unpredictable. Some victims were struck down instantly, some died in eleven hours or so and others took two weeks.

  ‘Whoever murdered Mr Baldwin wanted him to take time dying. I would say the murderer knew what he was doing, even took a perverse delight in killing. One has to ask oneself why, in this day and age, would anyone go to so much trouble?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ said Morton. ‘I gather that what you are about to tell me is not what I want to hear.’

  ‘Let’s start with the clothes Mr Baldwin was wearing at the time he was taken ill. His suit was made in Saville Row, his shoes were from Lobbs. But the interesting thing is his scarf. It looks as good as new but in fact was made by Mare Brothers of Clerkenwell Road, who went out of business in 1900. The tailors kept meticulous records and the Mare family put them online in 2012. The scarf was purchased in December 1826 by a Mr Dalton.’

  AJ struggled to arrange his features.

  ‘I suppose his first name wasn’t Samuel by any chance,’ said Morton.

  ‘Actually, it was,’ said Mr Haggerty.

  ‘A coincidence, that’s all,’ said Morton. ‘Mr Baldwin was in the middle of a fraud case and his client swears that he received the snuffboxes in question from a Samuel Dalton. It must be an alias. There’s no record of the man ever having existed.’
>
  ‘Except in 1826,’ said Mr Haggerty.

  ‘That’s no help to us,’ said Morton who, unlike AJ, was having trouble taking all this in. ‘So you’re telling me that Mr Baldwin swallowed arsenic given to him by some nutcase who is keen to enact a nineteenth-century style murder. Do you think it could be one of his clients with a grudge?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Mr Haggerty. ‘A client with a grudge and a degree in toxicology. As you may know, I’m writing a book about historic cases of poisoning. One I’m particularly interested in took place early in 1813. To me it’s obvious that the perpetrator had studied the effects of poison as an entire family died within a matter of hours. There was a great deal of interest in it, because the supposed murderer was a seventeen-year-old servant girl. It seems most unlikely that a servant would have an apothecary’s knowledge of poisons.’

  Shit, thought AJ. Hadn’t Mr Stone said that a servant had been accused of murdering the Jobey family?

  ‘When are you showing this report to Detective Poilaine?’ said Morton.

  ‘I’m just about to send it over.’

  ‘Thanks, Ron,’ said Morton as they walked towards the lift.

  ‘Mr Haggerty,’ said AJ, trying to sound calm. ‘Where can I find out more about the 1813 murder? Is there anything online?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. But if you’re interested I’ll email my account of it to you.’

  Once out of the building, Morton checked his emails.

  ‘Better get back to Raymond Buildings in case Detective Poilaine turns up,’ he said. ‘Don’t say a word to anyone about our visit to Ron Haggerty.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said AJ.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. This arrived for you,’ said Morton. He handed AJ a thick envelope and hailed a cab.

  AJ waited until he was alone at his desk before he opened the envelope. Inside was a book, small and beautiful, with drawings and maps of London. AJ had never owned anything so old. Tucked in the back was what looked like Monopoly money. It wouldn’t buy anything here, thought AJ. Not even a sandwich. There was a note from the professor.

  ‘Things have taken a decidedly awkward turn,’ it read. ‘I assume that you will be going back through the door. Be careful. I will see you next week.’

  AJ put the book and the note in his pocket. His mobile rang.

  Slim said, ‘Can we go any sooner, mate? I can’t hang on until this evening.’

  ‘You’ll have to,’ said AJ.

  ‘I might be dead by then.’

  ‘Try not to be.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  AJ arrived at Mount Pleasant around six o’clock as planned but there was no sign of Slim. He waited at the corner of Phoenix Place and then started to pace back and forth. He heard a siren in the distance and images of a beaten-up Slim flickered ambulance-blue across his imagination. What if Moses had found him? Then what? Perhaps waiting until Friday had been a day too long. AJ told himself he had to stop thinking the worst about everything.

  Finally, at twenty to seven, AJ got through to Slim on his mobile. He sounded so faint that for a moment AJ wasn’t sure if there was anybody at the end of the line.

  ‘Slim – is that you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Homerton Hospital, in A&E.’ Slim’s voice sounded shaky, on the brink of tears. ‘Moses tried to kill me, man.’

  ‘Is anything broken?’

  ‘Just my heart. Sicknote sat in that pimped-up car of his filing her razor-blade fingernails while Moses beat the shit out of me. She did nothing. Nothing.’ His words stumbled on a choke. ‘I was saved by a copper. If he hadn’t turned up, I think I’d be in the morgue.’

  ‘Stay there,’ said AJ. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘What in? You don’t drive.’

  ‘Just stay there.’

  ‘Moses keeps texting me saying he is waiting outside to kill me.’

  ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can.’

  ‘You’re a real friend, bro.’

  AJ had taken fifty pounds from his savings account. He had planned to give it to Elsie towards the rent. But this was an emergency and of all the people he knew Elsie would the first to understand why he had to use it. He hailed a cab.

  Slim was squashed next to a vending machine, his face an explosion of bruises. His two black eyes were fixed on the sliding door of A&E. He looked more frightened than a rabbit caught short on a motorway.

  ‘Come on,’ said AJ.

  Slim had been given a crutch and he hobbled in an ungainly manner towards the taxi. The cabbie looked none too pleased.

  ‘If he’s drunk,’ he said bluntly, ‘I’m not taking him – or you.’

  ‘He’s just bashed up,’ said AJ.

  Slim sunk down as low as he could in the back of the cab. His mobile bleeped.

  ‘Was he out there?’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ said AJ.

  ‘Moses, who else? That was another text saying I’m dead meat.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked AJ.

  ‘I was staying with an uncle who has a garage round the back of Hackney Downs. I thought I was pretty safe there because it’s nowhere near Moses’s manor. Someone must’ve seen me. Y’know, I don’t think Sicknote would give a monkey’s if I was dead. Bloody hell. That’s a sad thought.’

  AJ was thinking to himself that he had two problems and both of them appeared insurmountable. First, how would Slim climb over the fence in the state he was in, and second, what would he do with Slim once they were through the door?

  AJ took out the Useful Hints for Travellers book that the professor had sent him and read.

  It is an unconventional rule that the inns most frequented are those whose charges are the most reasonable. We may add that a traveller whose deportment is civil and obliging will always be better served than the rude and overbearing. Wherever one stays nothing is more unwholesome than to sleep in a room that has been a long time shut up. The windows should be opened immediately.

  AJ flicked through the book to find what he would be expected to pay. And how far the professor’s money might go.

  The cab dropped them at the corner of Phoenix Place. In the darkness the car park looked dangerous in a way that only derelict places can.

  ‘Well,’ said Slim. ‘What now?’

  The news that AJ expected Slim to climb over the fence did not go down well. In a catalogue of complaints, all of them were to do with the fact that his bones hurt and that Moses would find him.

  ‘That’s called paranoia,’ said AJ. He wondered how much to tell Slim before he tried to find the door. Seeing the mess he made climbing over the fence he decided to keep quiet.

  ‘I’m not staying here in this car park. That’s not the plan, is it?’ said Slim. He looked about him desperately. ‘I bet there’s a guard dog here and if there is it will just go for me – dogs always do. I will be the dog’s dinner. Let’s leave now.’

  ‘No,’ said AJ. ‘It will be all right, I promise. Just give me a moment to work this out.’

  ‘Work what out? We’re in a deserted car park with lights all round it, so whoever breaks into the car park can be seen. And no doubt we’re being recorded on CCTV right this minute.’

  Slim’s phone bleeped again.

  ‘What’re we doing here?’ said Slim. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’

  AJ took out his mobile phone in order to see better. In its beam he saw the dead growth that looked like the face of the devil.

  Slim was decidedly miserable.

  ‘If you think you’re going to hide me here you’ve got another think coming. This place is dead spooky. I want to go.’ In the distance they heard barking. ‘Oh no, that’s all we need,’ said Slim. ‘I told you there were guard dogs.’

  ‘Hey, you!’ came a voice. ‘This is private property. It belongs to the Royal Mail. You shouldn’t be here. You’re trespassing.’

  ‘Great,’ said Slim. ‘I wait all week, believing you can save me, only to be taken t
o a skanky car park where we’re going to be arrested and thrown into the jug. I won’t be any safer there than out on the streets.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ said AJ. He could see the security guard a way off.

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ the guard shouted.

  As the guard began to stride towards them the fog rose and with it the stink of the River Fleet.

  ‘Quick.’

  Slim looked at him as if he was deranged.

  ‘You gone mad?’ he said.

  ‘No – just do as I tell you. We don’t have much time.’

  Slim, resigned to a fate unknown, did as he was told.

  ‘Hold on to me,’ said AJ, helping him up.

  He could hear Slim’s teeth chattering, the bleep of his phone. He could hear the security guard in the fog, the whirl of the police sirens.

  And then, just when he thought it was too late, that maybe he had imagined the door, the house, the whole kaboodle, there it was. Never had AJ been so pleased to see anything as he was to see Jobey’s Door.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘It worked, Slim, it worked,’ said AJ, a huge grin on his face.

  They were standing in the ill-lit hall.

  ‘Where are we?’ said Slim. ‘This is beyond weird. I never saw a house in the car park.’

  ‘You know the best thing about being here?’ said AJ.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Moses will never find you.

  ‘How do you make that out? Moses is just as likely to find me here as anywhere else.’

  He took out his phone, stared at it and pressed all its buttons.

  ‘There’s no reception,’ he said, shaking it. ‘Where are we? In the Stone Age?’

  ‘The nineteenth century.’

  ‘I know you mean well, bro,’ said Slim, ‘but this place really gives me the creeps. It feels like a joint ghosts might hang out in.’ There was a sound from upstairs and he backed towards the door. A face lit by a single candle peered over the banisters. ‘See? I told you. A ghost.’