Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  “Ellen’s dead, Alex. Your friend is dead.”

  THREE

  Alex nursed a cup of coffee. It was his second but the hangover was still there. He assumed the fog in his head was the result of the bottle of red he’d knocked back last night. Maybe it wasn’t a hangover. Maybe he just felt rotten.

  The café overlooked the canal, a short walk from Paddington station.

  London had over sixty miles of canals. They ran around North London like an inner ring road, coming south into Paddington and then round to Islington via Regent’s Park. The Grand Union met Regents Canal at Little Venice, a pretty spot just a hundred yards away.

  Alex sighed at his own reflection, as if the image was of someone who could sympathize. There was no beauty in this day.

  Ellen was dead.

  It had hardly begun to sink in. His friend—strike that—his best friend since university was dead.

  On the towpath, a man was untying a barge. Alex could see a woman on board, laughing. Ellen used to laugh a lot. She could also be very serious, especially about her research, her fascination with Egyptology. Her enthusiasm had been so infectious that he’d finally caught the bug and changed career. She was explosively bright, like a neutron star, dazzling and chaotic. And yet at other times she could sink into a dark place.

  Alex tracked a young man past the window. He entered the coffee shop. Wiry, haunted eyes, tousled dark hair. It was Pete.

  Alex raised his hand. Pete nodded, pointed at the counter and mouthed something about a drink. Alex showed him he already had one. A few minutes later Pete pulled up a bar stool. He didn’t speak, just stared out of the window. The barge Alex had watched being untied had now gone and another was manoeuvring into the space. Dark, oily water churned around the stern.

  A long minute passed. Pete took a slug of his coffee.

  “I’ve just got back from the house,” he said, his voice edged with pain.

  The house: the bungalow where Ellen had lived.

  Alex turned to look at Pete. He didn’t really know him. Ellen had introduced him once. He was her landlord while she was staying near Highclere Castle—the mansion where Lord Carnarvon, the 5th Earl, used to live.

  Pete held his hand out in front of him. It shook. “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Sorry. Of course. You must be… devastated.”

  “Numb. Numb is the best way I can describe it.”

  Ellen hadn’t just been Alex’s friend. They’d had a brief fling after university. And even though they’d agreed to end it, the closeness had never gone. As far as he knew, she’d never been with anyone else, never shown any interest. Alex had a spare room. He could have rented it out but he didn’t. He thought of it as Ellen’s room. She could stay whenever she wanted to. She had some things there. What was he going to do with them?

  Alex said, “So what was it like—the house?”

  Pete stared outside. “Like matchsticks. Hardly anything left. It was flattened, wood strewn everywhere. It’s hard to believe it was a house.” He paused and seemed to be on the verge of tears.

  Alex said, “You can’t blame yourself.”

  Pete put his fingers over his mouth and sighed. The bungalow had been destroyed by a huge gas explosion. It hadn’t made the national news but Alex had seen the photo on the website of a local newspaper.

  Pete said, “I was responsible for the house, responsible for the gas.”

  “Did you know there was a leak?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have the boiler serviced?”

  “My aunt had it checked before she went away. The certificate will have gone, but I’m trying to trace the plumber who did it. We’ll need the proof for the insurance.”

  “And how’s your aunt taking it?” It was her house. Pete just looked after it because she was abroad somewhere.

  “Oh, definitely more upset about Ellen getting killed than worrying about the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if she stays in the Canaries as a result. Nothing to come back for, not really.”

  Alex finished his drink and pushed away from his stool. “Well, good to see you, Pete. I guess I’ll see you next at the funeral?”

  Pete nodded and then said something Alex didn’t expect. “Did she tell you about her research, Alex?”

  “A little. Why’d you ask?”

  “When I saw her last week, she was really excited about it. Seemed to be making real progress or had a breakthrough.”

  Alex smiled, recalling her face, her eyes bright with excitement. “That was Ellen. She could be so thrilled over little things. I’m good with numbers and numerical problems.” Alex almost laughed at the memory. “I worked out that she was looking at a cuneiform number rather than a hieroglyph. It represented eight. I also realized a symbol might be a surveyor’s measuring rope. You’d think she’d solved The Times crossword puzzle, she was so happy.”

  “She mentioned treasure or gold. I think she was following clues to something hidden.” Pete looked intense. “You don’t think…?”

  “What?” Alex hadn’t really been listening.

  Pete said, “Maybe Carter and Carnarvon hid something. I read that they were in trouble from the Egyptian authorities after finding King Tut’s tomb.”

  Alex winced. Ellen hated Tutankhamen’s nickname.

  “So, do you think Ellen had found something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “No.” Alex thought about the last time he’d seen her, at the weekend. Two days before the explosion. Two days before her death. She’d seemed a little agitated, stayed a night and was gone in the morning when he got up.

  Pete gripped Alex’s arm. “Maybe you should do it for her.”

  “Do what?”

  “Finish the research. She must have been close to finishing, with the breakthrough and all.”

  It seemed like a reasonable idea. After all, his own research wasn’t making much progress at the moment. He could complete her research and make sure Ellen got the recognition. But then he really didn’t know much about it.

  Pete broke into his thoughts. “Let me get you another coffee.” He guided Alex back to the bar stool. “White? Sugar?”

  “White, one sugar. Just a small one though.”

  Pete went off. When he returned with two cups, Alex said, “It’ll be hopeless. We’d need her notes. My guess is they were destroyed in the explosion.”

  Pete rubbed his head, thinking. “But what if she didn’t have all her notes with her?”

  “Maybe, but I think it’s unlikely. She wouldn’t have left her laptop overnight at Highclere. She’d have taken it home. Do you know if it was found?”

  “There was nothing left except large items. Even the fridge was in pieces.”

  “Maybe the police picked up something valuable? I don’t know how these things work.”

  “Good idea.” Pete nodded. “I’ll get in touch with the Thames Valley cops, see if they found anything. Meanwhile, maybe you could check her stuff at your flat. She had stuff there, right?”

  Alex was pretty sure Ellen hadn’t left any research in his house. A few books and clothes, yes, but not her work. “Sure, I’ll check.”

  They drank in silence for a few minutes. Alex found himself watching the activity on the canal again.

  “I really cared about her, you know,” Pete said quietly.

  “Me too.”

  Pete swivelled, raised an eyebrow. He really looks like he hasn’t slept, Alex thought.

  Pete maintained the expression but said nothing.

  “What? You were about to say more, I think.”

  “We might have become an item. You know, it was early days but there was something there.”

  Alex didn’t comment straightaway. Was it likely that Ellen would fall for this guy? He didn’t think so. Ellen would have told him, wouldn’t she? Best friends talk about things like that. He’d been honest about the girls he’d date
d. In fact he talked to Ellen a bit like a guy.

  Was Pete Ellen’s type? She appreciated intelligence. Pete didn’t strike him as measuring up in that department. But then again, didn’t women sometimes go for the opposite, for the excitement? He briefly imagined Ellen intimate with this other guy and shook the image away.

  He tried not to sound dismissive. “We’ll never know.”

  “Yeah, sorry, it was insensitive of me to mention it.” Pete touched Alex’s arm again. “Oh, I almost forgot. She prepaid her rent. It’s like two thousand pounds. I can’t keep it. Can I transfer it to you and then you can pass it on to her folks?”

  “Surely you can just send it to them.”

  “Ah, you see, I said Ellen and I might have become an item. Well, I met her parents and they didn’t like me. Silly, I know, but I’d rather not be in touch. Please?”

  Alex thought about it. What did it matter? “Fine,” he said, and gave Pete his bank details.

  Pete finished his drink. “I want to help,” he said like an announcement. “She told me about getting close, about the treasure. Maybe she said something to me that didn’t register. You know, because I’m not into the Egypt stuff.”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh my God! I’ve got an idea.”

  Alex leaned forward, intrigued.

  Pete continued: “Highclere Castle.”

  “What of it? As I think I said, I’m sure she won’t have left her work there.”

  “No.” Pete was animated now. “We should go to Highclere. You and me. We should see if it triggers anything, any ideas and memories of what she said. And, you never know, maybe she did leave something out. You have a pass, don’t you?”

  While the British Museum exhibition was on at Highclere there was heightened security. Alex’s British Museum pass would get him in. He’d used it a couple of times visiting with Ellen. “Sure,” he said.

  And so they made a plan. They’d go tonight. Pete had access to a car, so they could drive to the remote spot.

  On the walk home, Alex realized he was feeling more positive. Doing something rather than moping about definitely helped. And who knew, maybe he could complete her research.

  FOUR

  Pete’s plan was to arrive after closing so that they wouldn’t be disturbed. The gatehouse was in darkness and the gates locked. They parked on the grass and climbed over fencing that bounded a field.

  Highclere Castle was not really a castle. It was a manor house that had once been classically Georgian in appearance. Less than 150 years ago it had been transformed to look castle-like with a central tower and ramparts.

  “I remember it from Downton Abbey,” Pete said, and quickly added, “Though I never watched it. It looks smaller.”

  At night, the main entrance doors were locked, and Alex led the way around the side, through tall wooden gates into a courtyard.

  “The servant’s entrance,” Pete said, and put on a baseball cap. He pulled it low over his brow. He handed one to Alex, who shook his head.

  “Come on, man,” Pete said with a laugh. “We’re a team, aren’t we? Put it on and play along.”

  Alex acquiesced and stuck it on his head. “The Egyptian exhibition was mothballed during the years of the TV series here,” he said. “Now it’s back and covers most of below-stairs. It’s bigger now too. Now that the British Museum has supported it.” He took out his museum ID card. “There’s extra security but, as I said before, my ID can get us in.”

  “What sort of security?”

  “Oh, most of the exhibits from the museum are in locked and alarmed cabinets. And there’s a security guard…”

  Pete shook his head. “You didn’t say anything about a guard!”

  Alex knew the guy would be upstairs in the comfortable office. He’d mostly like be watching TV or asleep. And, anyway, what if he did see them on the monitors? Maybe it would seem odd being there so late, but Alex could argue he was doing research.

  “He won’t be a problem,” Alex said as he swiped the card. The door lock clicked open.

  “Pete?” The other guy had taken a few steps away. “Really, there won’t be a problem. I’ve a right to be here.”

  “But I haven’t.”

  “We’ll blag it. Not a problem.”

  Pete took another step away. “You go in. I’ll just do a quick recce outside.”

  Alex was about to respond but Pete had gone. He stepped into the hallway and hit the light switch. There was nothing in here, just a long corridor. Alex went to the end and through a door. A few minutes later Pete came in behind him, a little out of breath.

  Pete said, “Are the lights a good idea? I thought we would use torches.”

  “Why? We’re not being secretive.” Alex studied Pete’s face for a moment, suddenly concerned. “You better not be up to anything. This is about Ellen’s research.”

  “Sure, I just thought… I just don’t want us to be disturbed.”

  “We won’t be. The guard can’t see the basement lights from his room, plus the house is pretty hidden. Lights down here aren’t going to attract anyone. And, on the off chance we get discovered, how bad would it look if we were snooping around with torches?”

  “Fair point.” Pete stepped past. They were at the bottom of some stairs. “Where are we?”

  Alex walked on into a small room. “This is the start of the exhibition,” he explained. “These are all genuine artefacts from Carnarvon’s collection. They are all from tombs, so we have lots of these doll-like things called shabti, as well as personal items like combs and jewellery.”

  “Good, when you explain things, keep it simple for me. None of the fancy historical names. OK?”

  “Not a problem.”

  Pete walked around slowly and asked a few questions about items that were displayed inside secure glass cabinets. Finally, he said, “Anything leap out at you?”

  “No.”

  They descended a ramp and saw a large cabinet with a more modern display. It was about Lord Carnarvon. There were photographs and toys from his childhood but also diaries and photographs relating to his work with Howard Carter.

  “Carter was really the Egyptologist,” Alex said. “Carnarvon financed his digs, most of which weren’t very successful.”

  “Have you read these diaries?”

  “No, but I know Ellen did. She was interested in the man as well as the history.”

  Pete tried the cabinet. “Can you unlock it?”

  “To get the diaries, you mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t have a key. I’d need to be here on official research. We’d have to come back… Hey!”

  Pete had a penknife out and was trying to jemmy the lock. Alex grabbed his arm and pulled it away.

  “Don’t…” Pete’s eyes flared with anger but it was only brief. “Sorry, you’re right. Maybe we’ll come back… officially.”

  Alex led them onwards into semi-darkness. The next display was a glimpse at what Carnarvon and Carter allegedly saw before they broke into Tutankhamen’s tomb. Pete peered through a slit in blackened glass. “Wow! It must have been incredible.”

  “Yes, but it’s of no interest to us. It’s all fake.”

  They proceeded through a blackout screen and Alex hit the lights. A wall of gold dazzled them. “Wow!” Pete said again.

  “The main exhibition,” Alex said. “This used to be mostly replicas, but most of the artefacts in glass cabinets are real.

  “What about this?” Pete touched the huge, ornately carved box-like object that had blinded them with reflected light.

  “It’s an outer casket. The sarcophagus was surrounded by a series of caskets like this. And no, it’s not real gold.”

  “So Ellen wouldn’t have been interested in it.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “And this is the famous death mask?” Pete was standing in front of a glass cabinet.

  “Again a replica.”

  “Shame. So apart from Carnarvon the man, what else was
she interested in?”

  “At the moment her focus is… was on New Kingdom communication.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Pete said with sarcasm.

  “You see the hieroglyphs on everything?” He ran a hand over the carved symbols on the casket. “Well, it was really an ancient language mostly used by priests and the higher echelons of society. They believed it was the language of the gods. A more cursive form developed, but everyday writing was cuneiform. Cuneiform was widely used internationally in the region. It was literally a wedge-based alphabet that could be easily written in clay.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pete studied a royal-blue and golden vase.

  “Ellen was particularly interested in hidden and double meanings. I couldn’t help very much because I’m a numbers guy rather than language. She showed me some symbols and it was part of a puzzle she was solving.”

  Now Pete looked interested. “See them anywhere—these symbols? What are they? What are we looking for?”

  Alex was already checking out the hieroglyphs. “Lots, but in particular you could look for spirals, pillars and geese. Maybe anything that looks like cuneiform.”

  “The wedges.”

  “Right. Like an arrow with the head the wrong way round.”

  They both completed a circuit of the main exhibition. Alex shrugged. “I don’t see any of them.”

  “Go round again. Maybe you missed them or maybe you’ll spot something else she might have been interested in.”

  They spent almost an hour in the room, with Pete going back over items and showing frustration each time Alex drew a blank on Ellen’s research.

  There was one more exhibition room. The old kitchen had been converted, with glass display cabinets all around. Pete led the way.

  Alex said, “This room used to just contain the Carnarvon family memorabilia. The items you now see are all mostly from the British Museum, minor Egyptian artefacts that weren’t displayed in London. These are genuine, but any link to Carnarvon is tenuous at best.”

  Pete did a quick circuit. “So nothing else?”

  “The research room.”

  “What? Where Ellen did her research?” Pete could barely contain his excitement.