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

by Murray Bailey

  “I think my friend left me a clue.”

  FOURTEEN

  DI Jackson answered a call from DS Limb.

  “I’m at the scene, Boss,” Limb said. “I’m standing on the slipway by Putney Bridge.”

  “Any sign… of anything?”

  “No sign of either MacLure or the guy he described. The same one I saw chase him outside the hospital. But that’s not all.”

  Jackson waited.

  “There are sheds here, like he said: rowing clubs. I’ve been all round the outside and there’s no trace of any blood. Not that I could see anyway.”

  “Could it have been washed away by the tide?”

  “Doesn’t come up that high. He said they were between two sheds. And the bullet hole… well there are lots of holes in the sheds. They’re made of wood and pretty old. Maybe there’s a bullet hole, but I couldn’t find anything… and no casings.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “No, and no one reported anything to the Met. If there were gunshots, surely—”

  “So you think he’s lying?”

  “He’s not lying about the guy after him, but something doesn’t smell right. I think we should bring him back in.”

  “Not yet,” Jackson said. His twenty-five years’ experience said “wait”. DS Belmarsh hadn’t found anything incriminating about the dog walker/cleaner. Yes, she’d worked at a dodgy club. Yes, it was run by the Slimowicz’s, who were suspected of organized crime links. But that’s where it ended. He looked at their wallboard with its photos, connecting lines and questions. They were no closer to solving this. He sighed.

  “OK, Sergeant, time to come back to base.”

  Vanessa’s cousin Simon brought them sandwiches and took away the ones Alex had bought. The packet was squashed and damaged. While they ate, Vanessa asked more about Alex’s recent experience with the police and being chased through the cemetery. He told her he was staying at Pete’s although he didn’t like the guy. She told him she enjoyed travelling to exotic places, now lived in the Putney area and was currently studying for a psychology degree. She asked a bit about his interest in ancient Egypt.

  “Wait!” she exclaimed. “I’ve just realized the connection… that girl who was killed in the gas explosion. She was at that Highclere place too, wasn’t she? Is she the friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, poor you.”

  He shrugged, a little embarrassed, “So you see, I’m pretty jumpy about this whole thing now. I don’t think I’ll be up to leaving the café for quite a while. Do you think I can stay here until it’s dark?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’ve another idea,” was all she said as she got up. After speaking in whispers with Simon, she returned with a big smile.

  “There’s a room upstairs,” she explained. “It’s a studio flat that my uncle rents out. He’s the owner of the building. Anyway, it’s empty at the moment. The last tenants moved out a few days ago and it needs redecorating, but… Anyway, come and take a look.”

  She led Alex through the rear door and up the stairs, past the toilets on the landing. At the top of the next flight was a door.

  There was a smell like old cooking fat but it looked bright and clean.

  “What do you think?” Vanessa asked.

  “Nice, but I don’t understand.”

  “You can stay here for a few days. As long as you want in theory… though my uncle will be decorating soon and want to let it out.”

  “How much?”

  She shook her head. “No. No… unless you want to rent it after it’s refurbished. Then you can work something out with my uncle. Now, if you’d like to stay, I’ll show you where everything is.”

  The tour didn’t take long. The kitchen was at the back of the lounge and she showed him the contents of the drawers and cupboards. There was a small toilet and shower room combined. A bedroom had a double bed that took up most of the space. Apart from that, there was just a sofa and coffee table.

  “I’ll get you some bedding. I have a spare set at home,” she said.

  They were standing by the window. The paint was chipped and the glass in severe need of a clean but it would do.

  “It’s very, very kind of you,” he said.

  “Great. What about your stuff from Pete’s house?”

  “To be honest, I don’t have much stuff there.” Alex shrugged. “Just some clothes… Everything else is at my place in Maida Vale. The main thing at Pete’s is my laptop.”

  Vanessa said, “You’re suggesting you go out on the street again—with that thug and a shooter out there? I don’t want to be a mother hen but I’m not sure it’s safe for you to get your laptop just yet. Maybe we can sort something out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll go.”

  “But like you said there’s a shooter out there.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m a bit nervous about it but I’ll borrow Simon’s coat to look different, even though I doubt anyone’s looking for me.”

  He shook his head. “You make me feel foolish.”

  “Nonsense! I’ll be fine. Make yourself at home and I’ll be back in a jiffy with some bedding.” She grinned and he wondered what she was planning.

  Twenty minutes later she returned with two black bin liners. The first had a duvet and sheets. The second contained clothes. When she handed the bag over, she gave a wry smile that he tried to interpret.

  “These were my ex-boyfriend’s,” she said. “I’m not sure how long you’ll want to stay so you’ll need something to wear. He was bigger than you, but not too much.”

  From the bag, Alex put on a blue football shirt. “A Chelsea supporter, I guess. Why are you laughing?”

  “The size of the shirt. I guess my ex was bigger than I remember! There’s also some hair dye in the bag. Just in case you want to change your image. You’d look very different with black hair.” She left him again because she had a lecture to attend, with a promise to return later with a takeaway.

  Alex first called Nadja to check on Topsy. After being assured that his dog was well and happy, he dyed his hair. At first the colour seemed extreme so he washed it again and again until it resembled something almost natural. Finally, satisfied with the result, he settled on the sofa with his book.

  He turned to the contents page and studied the numbers. What was Ellen trying to tell him? What did the code mean? He went through the rest of the book and read the notes he had scribbled in the margins. Nowhere else was there anything that looked like a code.

  Taking a break, he stared out of the window and realized Pete would be getting up soon. Maybe he was already up and playing on his Xbox.

  Alex sent a text message, thanking Pete for the room and hoping he hadn’t been inconvenienced. Pete immediately responded, asking if Alex had found somewhere and that he didn’t want to know the address.

  Staying at Vanessa’s, Alex texted back.

  Of course, Pete didn’t know Vanessa, but the suggestion that he’d moved in with a woman felt like an achievement.

  He liked Vanessa and her crooked smile. He’d enjoyed chatting with her even though he was still tense after the incident. He recalled what she’d said about herself and how little he’d really learned, whereas she’d asked him lots of questions and seemed really interested. Could this be some kind of con? He’d read about modern slavery, how it started by someone on their own becoming indebted and then being trapped by financial commitments. He shook the thought from his head. It seemed ridiculous. Vanessa had been through a traumatic event with him; she wanted to help. And she was fascinated by what he had to say. He decided to retain some scepticism and, next time they met, he would make sure she spoke about herself.

  There was no TV but Alex used his phone and logged onto the café’s Wi-Fi. He found himself reading articles on modern slavery before forcing himself to stop.

  It was after eight in the evening when Vanessa returned. She had a white paper carrier bag.

  “Chinese for two
,” she announced, putting it in the galley kitchen. “I hope you like Chinese. I have chicken with yellow bean and cashew nuts, Chinese mixed vegetable and sweet and sour king prawns.”

  “Sounds great! And after what you have done for me, I should be buying you dinner.”

  “Another time perhaps,” she said with a brief flash of her cute one-sided smile.

  “Earlier you told me about studying psychology… as a mature student…”

  “I hate that expression. Makes you sound so old! But yes, I’m a mature student, the same as you, I guess. When I was young my parents were killed in a car crash… not sure why I told you that, apart from it may explain why I did a lot of travelling as soon as I could.” She laughed. “I should psychoanalyse myself!” After a pause she said, “The Chinese—we should start before it gets cold.”

  She fetched plates from the kitchen and they served up the food. When he sat down and tucked in, he realized she was studying him.

  “What?”

  She said, “You seemed uncomfortable when I mentioned my parents. It’s all right. I’ve accepted it—my parents getting killed, that is. It happened a long time ago and time heals. Anyway”—that crooked smile again—“I wouldn’t be who I am if it hadn’t happened, and I am happy with myself and my life.”

  He nodded. Time did heal. “My dad died… almost twenty years ago now. It doesn’t seem that long ago, but yeah, I get it.” He ate some more then said, “So where’s the best place you’ve been, since you’ve travelled so widely?”

  “I’ve been to every continent, though my favourite is Asia. Most people are amazed when I say my second favourite place was Cambodia—it’s the image of starvation and the Khmer Rouge that puts people off, but it’s such an unspoiled country, with hundreds of amazing temples.”

  “You said second favourite. What’s the first?”

  “Thailand. I found a little place on the coast that felt like paradise, hardly any tourists, no pressure, beautiful scenery and lovely people. I could have stayed there for ever.”

  “But you didn’t. You came back.”

  “It was a nice dream, but I had things to do. I hid away for over four months, but I’ve promised myself I’ll retire there one day.”

  “And now you’re a mature student. Where did you say you were studying your psychology degree?”

  She looked serious for a moment. “You’re full of questions all of a sudden.”

  “I…” He choked on a piece of green pepper.

  “Alex,” she said laughing, “I’m just winding you up. Actually, the degree is politics. Psychology is just a module I’m doing at the moment. I admit I’m a bit embarrassed about politics. Telling people that normally kills conversation dead. Truth is, I’m thinking of becoming a lobbyist for the environmental movement to try and do something, not just about global warming, but more fundamentally about the way we treat nature—to stop expanding at the cost of our rainforests and the quality of our air.”

  “Very commendable,” he said.

  They ate in silence for a while before she said, “Any luck with the code?”

  “The one in my book that my friend wrote?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged, “No. And it’s odd because she wasn’t really a numbers person. You know, some people are more crossword than sudoku.”

  “And what are you?”

  “Definitely a sudoku guy.”

  She thought for a moment. “Maybe that’s why it’s numbers. She’s written it precisely because you are that kind of guy.” She finished what was on her plate and stood. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  The announcement was so abrupt that he feared there was something wrong. “Everything all right?” he asked, following her to the stairs.

  She gave him her crooked smile. “No. No. It’s just that I need to get going.” Then she surprised him by affectionately touching his arm. “I have a class in the morning. I’ll come over later on.”

  “That would be nice.” Then he paused because of the expression on her face. “What’s up?”

  “Your hair—it looks fine, almost suits you, but when you spoke, your eyebrows just went up. You need to colour them too! I’ll tell you what, I’ll bring some mascara with me tomorrow. That’ll do the trick. And why don’t I pick up your things from your friend’s house?”

  “Would you?”

  “Not a problem. Send me his details and let him know I’ll be in touch.”

  “He works nights.”

  “Not a problem. Maybe I’ll get chance to pick them up in the morning.”

  They exchanged numbers and he followed her down the stairs, her brown hair tied in a long ponytail swaying across her back.

  “Tomorrow, tell me more about your research. When I nipped out earlier I googled your name and Egyptology. You’ve written a paper on the gods of ancient Egypt. Perhaps you can tell me about it tomorrow?”

  “I’ve hardly made any progress with my own research,” he said. “Ellen’s research was much more successful, although…”

  “Although what?”

  He shrugged. “To be honest I’m trying to find out. I think she was onto something but I don’t really know what she had discovered. It looks like she linked something between Tutankhamen and Moses.”

  “Really?”

  “Just a possibility. That and some numbers—eight, twelve and forty—that seem to have special meaning.”

  She opened the door and checked the street before turning back. “Tomorrow,” she said, raising a finger, “tell me about your paper, and be careful… be careful you aren’t too critical because there’s something I’ll need to warn you about.” Then she slipped out and closed the door behind her.

  FIFTEEN

  The thing Vanessa had said about crosswords and sudoku played on his mind during the night. If they were a message for him, then Ellen was using numbers to express words. By morning he had it. In a film they’d recently watched together, spies had sent coded messages to one another using a book.

  Alex leapt out of bed and snatched up his book and checked the numbers.

  259252356124071912

  Only now he saw there were slightly larger gaps between some numbers. Deliberate? He hoped so. The first number was 259, the second 25. Let’s see. He turned to page 259 and counted 25 lines. The next number was 2. He circled the second word on the line.

  Isis

  “Bloody hell!” Alex said out loud. Ellen had a fascination with the goddess Isis and it couldn’t be a coincidence. The code was a triumvirate of page, line and word numbers. He marked it up.

  259-25-2/356-1-2/407-19-12

  Alex turned to page 356 and read the second word: is

  On page 407 the word was key.

  “My God, she’s telling me Isis is the key!”

  He paced the room. What did that mean? And then a thought struck him: sudoku not crossword. He texted Vanessa:

  When you manage to get my stuff from Pete’s, please check there’s a phone as well as my laptop.

  A moment later she replied:

  Already been and dropped off with Simon. See you later.

  Alex dressed quickly and rushed down to the café. It was almost seven in the morning and already busy. The smell of sizzling sausages and bacon was intoxicating.

  “Morning,” Simon called. He scooted out from behind the counter and dropped Alex’s bag on the floor. “Cooked breakfast for you?”

  “And coffee, please,” Alex said as he opened his bag. Everything was inside: clothes, laptop and Ellen’s phone.

  Not Isis.

  Numbers not letters.

  He keyed in 1515 as the code.

  The phone unlocked.

  Alex spent the morning going through Ellen’s emails on the phone. He’d hoped there would be a special message for him, probably in the Drafts folder. But there was nothing. His second expectation was to find a critical message about her research in the emails. Some were personal and many related to her interest in Egyptology but n
othing jumped out as important. After almost two hours of reading and re-reading, he gave up.

  When Vanessa knocked on his door he was browsing research papers about Isis on the Internet. She had a large cafetiere full of steaming coffee and a couple of mugs.

  “Thanks for the bag,” he said. “I hope it wasn’t any trouble.”

  “You’re welcome, and no trouble at all.” She gave him a wry smile. “I didn’t see anyone suspicious, although I can’t say I liked your friend.”

  “Not really a friend.”

  “Everything all right?” she asked. “You seem sad this morning, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  He shrugged. “It’s just… Well, I worked out the code. You were right that the numbers related to words.” He fished out Ellen’s phone. “The clue was Isis.”

  She looked concerned.

  “Not the Islamic State!” He laughed. “The goddess Isis. I translated it to 1515 and it unlocked my friend’s phone, but either I’m missing something or it wasn’t the big clue I supposed.”

  They sat and she plunged the coffee.

  “Tell me about your paper… the one on religion.”

  “Yesterday you warned me to be careful. What did you mean?”

  She smiled. “I’m Jewish. I know, it’s not obvious, but I’m not Orthodox, not practising. But I am interested. I know there’s a connection between Judaism and ancient Egypt, so I’m interested to hear that side of it, if you know anything. Over and above the Exodus and Moses stories, that is. Whenever there’s talk of ancient Egypt and religion, it’s often used in an anti-Semitic way.”

  She poured the coffee and seemed to be watching for his response.

  “Well, I can assure you I’m not anti-Semitic, though I understand. You do know that the name Hebrew probably comes from the Egyptian word Ibiru? It means people who have stepped outside the law.”