by Maxine Barry
They weren’t.
Had Rosemary known it, she wouldn’t have felt quite so relieved. That bomb might not be ticking, but, less than a quarter of a mile away, another bomb was. For Lisle and Jim, in her rooms, were bagging the photograph of her Olympic archer friend and, the search over, were heading towards the door.
In the deserted and dark quad, however, Markie and Nesta still stared at one another in equal amazement.
‘But Callum and I have just found your father’s papers in Sir Vivian’s country cottage,’ Markie said.
Rosemary gasped again. Luckily for her, against the sound of traffic roaring up the Woodstock Road just a few yards away, neither of the other women heard it.
‘So that’s where it was!’ Nesta said, momentarily distracted. ‘I searched everywhere for it! Lisle was so cross with me!’
Markie couldn’t help but laugh at that. She’d just bet he was! But how had Nesta Aldernay and Lisle got together and why hadn’t they pieced it together and . . . No, she gave herself a mental shake. All that could wait.
‘But how did Sir Vivian come to have your father’s papers?’ she asked, dying of curiosity now.
‘Because I gave them to him,’ Nesta said, with earth shaking simplicity. ‘I was an undergraduate at Durham,’ she carried on, trying to keep the explanations short. ‘I found my father’s thesis in the attic, after my mother died. Because I was studying psychology too, I understood what I’d read. And, as luck would have it, I’d also studied Dr Naismith’s thesis as part of a summer course I did a year ago. I recognised the similarities. Then I did some digging, and found out that Rosemary Naismith had been my father’s supervisor.’
‘And you put it all together?’ Markie finished. ‘Wow. So all this time you knew. Why the hell didn’t you come forward?’ she asked angrily. All this time and effort she and Callum had been putting into it, when all the time, this woman knew . . .
‘But the papers said Sir Vivian had been mugged!’ Nesta groaned. ‘I thought it was a random act of violence. It wasn’t until I read the papers tonight that I put it all together! Part of me still can’t believe that Dr Naismtih killed him. It still seems so extreme!’
Markie shook her head, not in denial, but with the same sense of disbelief that she could sense in the redhead. It did seem bizarre. But she knew that Callum believed it, even if he’d never said so. And he knew the woman better than either herself or Nesta Aldernay.
Behind the War Memorial, Rosemary started to shake. She could feel herself begin to collapse. This was so much worse than she’d expected. It was a catastrophe. Brian Aldernay’s daughter! And Marcheta Kendall. They both knew now, and soon, that damned copper was going to come back and they’d tell him and it would all be over.
Rosemary reeled against the cold stone cross, feeling herself disintegrate. She could see years in prison stretching ahead of her. The disgrace and ignominy.
‘We have to tell Lisle,’ Nesta’s clear voice echoed around the quad.
In her hiding place, Rosemary fought back a sob of panic.
‘We’ll have to wait for him to get back,’ Markie agreed.
‘My car’s parked in the car park,’ Nesta said. ‘A VW Beetle. Shouldn’t we go to the Kidlington Police Station? We can’t sit on this any longer.’
But Markie hesitated. ‘Callum should be back by now—I was just on my way to his room to see. He’s got your father’s papers. He’s been at the Bodleian all afternoon checking it out. It makes sense for us all to go together,’ she pointed out with perfect logic. ‘Between us, we’ve got all the pieces of the puzzle now.’
‘OK. But let’s hurry!’
Rosemary shrank back even further against the stone cross, but she needn’t have worried. Nesta and Markie were walking so fast when they passed by the War Memorial that they were almost running.
But as Rosemary watched them disappear through Becket Arch, she began to function again. She had to kill them! All of them.
She pushed away from the War Memorial and headed quickly to the car park.
A Beetle. She saw it immediately. It was the only Volkswagen in the car park.
Luckily it was an old model, one whose boot could be opened from the outside without the use of a key. As in all the Beetles, the engine was in the back, so she walked to the front of the car to open the boot. Looking around furtively, she opened her bag, took out the cassette-shaped bomb and put it into the dark boot. She glanced at the buttons and hesitated.
Five minutes, Faisal had said.
She knew that Callum was not in his room, but for how long would the two women wait for him? Not more than five minutes surely? But then they had to walk back.
She decided to wait. She glanced at her watch, her finger hovering over the red button. As soon as she heard them coming, she’d set the bomb going.
* * *
In their car, Lisle and Jim headed back towards the incident room. Lisle wanted to get an APB out on Rosemary Naismith as soon as possible.
But it was the rush hour, and progress towards the college seemed so slow.
* * *
Nesta hurried back into the car park, her heels clicking. Rosemary Naismith heard her clearly.
Unaware of the danger she was in, she pressed the red button on the unstable, untested bomb. There was a slight click and then the green light came on. Rosemary closed the boot and quickly raced towards the main lodge gates. She was so far gone in panic and bloodlust now that she was no longer thinking straight.
But she felt in perfect control.
As she stepped out of the main gate, her face was resolute.
Back in St Bede’s car park Nesta got into the booby-trapped Beetle.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lisle walked forward quickly, ready to pounce in the unlikely event that the tall blonde giant should make a dash for it. ‘Hello, Dr Fielding,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve been wanting to catch up with you all day,’ he added, with biting sarcasm. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ His lips twisted grimly.
Beside him, Jim grinned wolfishly.
‘I want to know just what’s been going on,’ Lisle demanded ominously.
Simultaneously, Callum said ‘Inspector Jarvis, I have that evidence I promised you.’
Both men broke off and looked at one another.
Oblivious to the passing traffic and pedestrians, Lisle sighed heavily. ‘What exactly did you find?’ Lisle snapped again, in no mood to play forty questions. ‘And I want details this time, not the bare minimum that you gave me before.’
Callum held up his battered leather briefcase. ‘As I told you on the phone a while ago, I found out why Sir Vivian was killed,’ he said simply. ‘And I think I know who did it as well.’
Lisle nodded. ‘Yes I know, you said. Dr Naismith. Yes, I agree. Did you know her current partner is an Olympic champion archer with a crossbow? It’s not too great a leap to suppose that the lady herself is conversant with how it works.’
Both men seemed unaware that they were stood in the middle of the pavement outside the entrance to St Bede’s, beside a busy street, where anyone could overhear them. Now that he’d finally met up with Lisle, Callum wanted nothing more than to unload his burden onto the police, get back to Markie, and put this whole sorry episode behind him.
He suddenly realised how natural the thought of going back to Markie had been. Already, it seemed, his subconscious was beginning to think of her as someone permanent in his life. He felt himself tense as he thought of what he’d have to do tomorrow. Breaking up with someone was never easy—especially when you knew how special they could be to you. But that was just the trouble—he couldn’t afford for Markie Kendall to mean so much to him.
Luckily for the three men, the commuters milling around them were too busy trying to get home, walk to bus queues or get to their parked cars to bother with the huddle of men blocking the stream of pedestrian traffic.
As people dodged around them, Callum began to explain his day’s activities.
&nb
sp; ‘As I told you, I found a fifteen year old thesis in Sir Vivian’s study in his cottage,’ he began crisply. ‘It was by a man named Brian Aldernay, and . . .’
‘Aldernay!’ Lisle all but shrieked.
Both Jim and Callum stared at him in blank amazement. Lisle quickly snapped his mouth shut, and took several deep, calming breaths.
* * *
Unaware of the nearness of their men, in the car park and sitting in Nesta’s car, Markie and Nesta began to fasten their safety belts.
It was exactly two minutes and twenty-one seconds since Rosemary Naismith had armed the bomb.
* * *
‘Forget it,’ Lisle said gruffly, suddenly aware that the two men were gaping at him, as well they might. ‘I just recognised the name, that’s all,’ he explained feebly. ‘Please, carry on.’
Callum nodded uncertainly. How had the policeman come across the name of Aldernay before? Did he know more than he was letting on? ‘The thesis was a brilliant one, and nearly completed. From Sir Vivian’s notes on it, I knew that the student concerned had been a graduate here, and had been killed in a bicycle accident before he’d had the chance to present his D.Phil.’
Lisle’s eyes narrowed. ‘Which added up to what, exactly?’ he asked ominously. Just wait until he got back home to Nesta . . . .
* * *
At that moment, Nesta was reaching for the car keys, about to turn the ignition. It was now two minutes and fifty-eight seconds since the bomb had been armed.
* * *
‘I also found out that Brian Aldernay’s supervisor at the time of his death was . . .’ Callum began, but Lisle was not about to be robbed of his moment.
‘Rosemary Naismith,’ he said flatly.
‘Yes! Did you know this all the time?’
Lisle shrugged, not about to divulge to a member of the public what the police did, or didn’t know. ‘This thesis. I take it that it’s relevant?’
Lisle was enjoying himself enormously. He wouldn’t have been human if he didn’t enjoy besting one of the best brains in Oxford—in the country, even.
Callum found himself smiling slightly. It was never a good idea to underestimate the police, it seemed.
Blissfully unaware of the drama taking place in car park just a few hundred yards away, neither men would have been so happy if they’d known how Rosemary Naismith had spent her afternoon.
* * *
In the Volkswagen Beetle, Nesta turned the ignition and revved the engine.
They now had less than two mintues to live.
* * *
‘Yes, it’s relevant,’ Callum said firmly, and was bumped from behind when a secretary leaving the college, and hurrying to catch her bus, failed to see him in time and jogged his elbow in passing. Callum instinctively half turned, and began to walk slowly down the alleyway, towards the college car park, and Lisle and Jim fell into step beside him.
They could hear the sound of a car revving in the car park now, but none of them paid much attention, save to step to the side of the alleyway to make room for it when it happened to pass by them.
‘This thesis was, save from a few finishing bits and pieces, the same thesis that Rosemary presented as her own D.Phil, about nine months after Aldernay’s death,’ Callum explained bleakly. His words echoed off the narrow walls of the alley. Apart from a dim streetlight it was dark and eerie in the narrow passageway.
Lisle suddenly shivered. For some reason he felt a grim, dark, nasty sensation of impending disaster. It was a repetition of what he’d been feeling all day, only stronger. More urgent. He couldn’t understand it. He was not used to ‘feelings’ like this. His career had been based on good old-fashioned foot work, research and logic.
He tried to shrug it off.
* * *
In the car park, Nesta put on the headlights and the heater. ‘You don’t mind if we wait a minute for the old buggy to heat up, do you?’ she asked Markie, who was also shivering.
She glanced ruefully at the windscreen, which was fast misting up, and shook her head. ‘No, not at all.’
Outside, the three men were only a few yards from the postern gates that led to the car park.
‘So you’re saying that she stole this chap’s work?’ Jim Neill said, picking up the thread of Callum’s argument.
Callum nodded. ‘Yes.’ Catching Lisle’s look of disbelief, he shrugged and smiled sadly. ‘It’s not as hard as you might think. Brian and Rosemary were researching in the same field. Everyone who mattered would have known that. And every serious academic I’ve ever known keeps his work and research and theories top secret. Sometimes even from their supervisor. I doubt Rosemary’s own supervisor knew much about her original work for instance.’
‘They’re so close-mouthed and possessive, I suppose, ’cause they’re scared someone’s gonna pinch their ideas?’ Jim guessed sardonically.
Callum sighed and nodded. ‘You know,’ he said wearily, ‘I’m getting really fed up with research. With teaching even. With Oxford. All the academic in-fighting and back-biting is getting me down.’
Lisle and Jim exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. That was quite some admission for a University Don to make!
‘But what I don’t understand,’ Callum carried on, as the three men stepped through the postern gates and into the car park, ‘is how Sir Vivian got onto it all in the first place. All this happened years ago.’
Lisle snorted. ‘I think I can answer that . . .’
In the Beetle, Nesta turned on the windscreen wipers in a bid to clear the glass. She saw three men in the beam of her headlights.
Callum, being so toweringly tall and fair, was instantly recognisable, and was the first man that both the women instinctively looked at. As they did so, the bomb in the front of the car had been ticking away for four minutes and forty-two seconds.
Markie gave a short yip of surprise and fumbled for the window lever. ‘That’s Callum!’ she crowed, as Nesta looked across at her questioningly.
Looking out of the cleared windscreen, Nesta’s eyes moved to the other two men with him, and instantly recognised Lisle.
‘And Lisle!’ she breathed, a great smile of relief and welcome spreading across her heart-shaped face.
The three men glanced across as they heard the squeak of a window being lowered. Lisle recognised the comical little Beetle at once. He took a step towards it.
As he did so, Callum saw a dark head emerge from the window. A pair of dark blue eyes, and a wide smiling mouth. For a moment, his heart lifted, and all doubts and worries seemed to run screaming into the night. It was Markie. And he loved her. Nothing else mattered. All this heart-searching he’d been doing, trying to convince himself it could never work between them, as just the action of a coward. He hadn’t wanted to fall in love. He hadn’t trusted his feelings. Now, in a fraction of time, he saw it all so completely clearly.
All he had to do was trust her. To trust what they had together. It was just a matter of trust, that was all.
His heart soared. ‘Markie,’ he said softly, joyously.
Their eyes met . . .
And the car exploded.
Or at least, it seemed to.
Everything happened so fast, and yet in amazing slowness, that it was only later that the police bomb disposal experts were able to put all the pieces together and say what must have happened.
To the two women sitting in the car, though, everything changed in a heart-wrenching instant.
One second they were each looking at the men they loved, and in the next instant, at a wall of flame.
There was a ‘crummppph’ of sound, a tearing, squealing, rending sound, like a pig in pain. It was in fact the bonnet of the car being blown off its hinges and into the air by the force of the explosion. Although the experimental bomb had gone off according to schedule, it had not gone off as it was supposed to, in one single devastating blast. Instead, there was this first, primary explosion, which had only a fraction of the force it was capable of. It did, h
owever, send a wall of flame shooting up in front of the windscreen, and a rising, bilious cloud of curiously white and pale smoke engulfed the car.
Inside, the two women were thrust back by the force of the airwave deep into their seats.
Markie, with a scream of surprise, instinctively flung up her hand in front of her face, as a scorching wall of heat shattered the windscreen. Beside her, Nesta did the same. Simultaneously, they felt their arms sting to the laceration of a hundred tiny cuts.
Markie felt her chin and the top of her forhead flinch with tiny pinpricks of pain.
Nesta felt her right cheek tingle in sudden cold-hot numbness.
Luckily, both women’s cuts were superficial, and would heal quickly and without any scarring, but right at that moment, they weren’t even thinking about that. They didn’t have time to think about anything. The stench of burning metal and rubber assailed their noses as the spare wheel in the boot caught fire. The smoke went from white, to choking, foul black.
It seemed to envelop the car in a shroud of darkness.
‘Get out, Nesta! Get out!’ Markie heard a voice screaming in the darkness, choking in the smoke, and realised that it was her own. She tried to reach for the door, but something seemed to stop her.
Beside her, Nesta fumbled for the catch of her seatbelt, and Markie suddenly realised that it wasn’t a huge, death loving beast that was determined to keep locked in place, but only her own humble seatbelt. She too fumbled for the catch to free herself.
In the boot of the car, the main set of explosives in the bomb began to heat towards detonation point . . .
The three men outside the car seemed rooted to the spot forever, but it was, in fact, less than a second. Even so, it was hard to believe what they were seeing. Callum and Lisle screamed a horrified ‘NO!’ at precisely the same moment.
They both darted heroically forward as the car disappeared into a pall of black, evil-smelling smoke.
The fierceness of the fire, though, pushed them back in a wall of blazing heat that seared their faces, singeing their eyebrows and burning off the moisture on their lips in a matter of seconds.
