The Genesis Inquiry

by Olly Jarvis

  Chapter Twelve

  The bar in the Gonville was empty. She chose an armchair by the window while she waited for her four o’clock to arrive and opened up the book she’d bought on the Yorkshire Ripper. She remembered the case well, as a child, how the whole of the North of England had lived in fear. The case had become infamous, not just because of Sutcliffe’s thirteen victims, but because it had taken the police six years to catch him.

  Reading the details of his crimes was chilling, but she couldn’t see how there was any link to Aristotle, or any other polymath.

  ‘Miss Blake?’

  ‘Yes?’

  A smartly dressed man with short hair, parted neatly at the side, stood before her. He wore a serious, business-like expression. ‘DC McDonald, Cambridgeshire Police.’

  Ella got up. Her first thought was that he was too young to be out of uniform, or maybe she was getting old? ‘Thanks for agreeing to meet me, officer.’

  ‘It’s no problem. I’m based at Parkside, just across the Piece.’

  ‘Oh, right. Tea?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, eyeing up the cake stand.

  They sat down and she poured him a cup.

  ‘I should say I’m big fan,’ he said in a looser voice. ‘Although I bet you’ve got a few murderers off in your time?’

  She decided to ignore the barbed compliment and put it down to youthful idealism. ‘I’ve been briefed on the case but I just want to go over a couple of things, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Sure, fire away,’ he replied, putting a finger sandwich onto his plate.

  ‘Laptop, phone, suitcase and personal items missing?’

  ‘Yeah, unless he didn’t brush his teeth.’

  Outwardly, she laughed along with him. ‘Any CCTV?’

  ‘No.’ He picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

  ‘How come?’ She waited for him to swallow.

  ‘We don’t actually know when he left. We weren’t notified for a while, so there would’ve been hundreds of hours to check, not that we would’ve necessarily been able to identify him.’ He put the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and poured some milk into his cup.

  Ella watched him take a sip. ‘So where are the cameras?’

  ‘From his room there’s nothing until the street, just above the archway leading out. People coming and going all the time, often with bags. You can’t see much of them.’

  ‘Did you seize any footage?’

  McDonald’s affable demeanour vanished. ‘Oh, I see where this is going,’ he said, putting his cup back on the saucer. ‘Where do you people think we get the time and money for hundreds of man hours on a missing person?’

  She sat back to let him finish his rant.

  ‘We’ve got stabbings, robberies and drug dealers taking up all our bloody time.’

  ‘No one’s criticising your investigation,’ Ella soothed. ‘I totally understand what pressures you’re under.’

  She could feel him studying her.

  ‘Officer, I’ve just got some boxes to tick, that’s all.’

  Clearly recognising that language, McDonald calmed down and replied: ‘OK.’

  ‘Anyone been spoken to, friends, people he worked with?’

  McDonald hesitated, then with an exaggerated nonchalance: ‘He didn’t have any, just his brother and we spoke to him of course.’ He gave her a knowing look, one that people on the same side share. ‘An arrogant sod, if you ask me.’

  Ella didn’t reciprocate. ‘Has there been any proof of life since his disappearance? I’m assuming you’ve accessed his phone number and email account?’

  His agitation returned. ‘You know we can’t disclose any communications, save to say, if there was any proof of life, I’d tell you.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate that,’ she said, resolving to tread far more carefully. ‘You’re the expert, but that’s odd isn’t it? Usually something pops up eventually, right? Credit card use, travel arrangements?’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ McDonald replied, reaching for a scone. ‘Sometimes it’s a total flatline and then ten years later they turn up living in a cardboard box under Waterloo Bridge.’

  ‘And is there a reason why they leave their life behind?’

  ‘Life isn’t easy,’ he said, using a teaspoon to scoop up a blob of jam. ‘There’s usually a mental health issue in the background somewhere, tends to make coping harder.’

  Ella went to pour him another cup.

  ‘Not for me thanks,’ he said, getting up, still holding the scone. ‘Got to get back for a meeting.’ He rolled his eyes.

  She stood up. ‘Well, thanks again for coming, and I’ll let you know if I turn up anything.’

  ‘I won’t hold my breath,’ he replied, taking a huge bite, then discarding what was left on his plate.

  She watched him leave, then followed him out into the lobby. ‘Officer, just one more thing.’

  He swivelled around. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Who decided to sign it off as a non-crime?’

  His mouth didn’t move.

  ‘I mean, who decided the case was closed. Was it you?’

  ‘Well, we have our internal protocols.’

  ‘So, a senior officer signed it off?’

  ‘Like I said,’ came the emphasised reply. ‘We have our protocols.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ella woke with a start. She was sweating. It had been the same dream, the same image, crystal clear. She checked her phone: 12.15 a.m. She could forget getting back to sleep. She put on some jeans and a fleece and went downstairs. There was no one around. She walked out into the car park and reached into her pocket for her cigarettes, then remembered she’d given up again. She watched the traffic for a while, thinking through the route to her old college. She smiled to herself, then set off along the Fen Causeway to Newnham. The breeze whistled through the grass.

  The solitude of the walk at that time of night helped clear her head. The sky was flawless, revealing a brilliant, full moon.

  Newnham Women’s College was an imposing Victorian building just beyond the main Sedgwick Campus. After showing her pass to the night porter and some discussion, she was allowed through to the library. Two students in pyjamas and fluffy slippers who were walking out held the door for her. Seeing the old wooden beams and the high, glass-panelled windows gave her a feeling of sanctuary. Ella remembered coming down from her room at all hours as an undergraduate, working late into the night in some hidden alcove.

  It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for – the Greek philosophers, and in particular a book about the life of Aristotle. She was soon engrossed. There was so much about him – the breadth of knowledge and the scale of his influence – that she hadn’t known. She picked out a selection of books before setting off back to the Gonville.

  Crossing the Fen, she had a strange sensation that someone was behind her. She stopped and turned. Just shadows fidgeting in the wind. Then something caught her eye. A figure, ducking down in the long grass. No, she was imagining it. Unsettled, she quickened her pace, then, telling herself it was just a symptom of her anxiety, she slowed. She had to try and find the old, confident Ella.

  She got back to the car park and stood for a moment, staring at the entrance to the Gonville. She thought about how much of her adult life had been spent in hotel rooms, away on cases. As she was about to go inside, she changed her mind and walked over to the van. She clicked the fob, slid open the side door and climbed in, turning on the battery light. She kicked off her shoes, pulled out the bed and lay down under the duvet. She let out a yawn.

  It was the closest thing she had to home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cameron Shepherd took a last spoonful, then sat back and pushed the bowl away. Nobody could make hopi corn stew like him but this batch didn’t taste good. Maybe he was just too anxious about the trip to eat a proper meal. The break-in at the office hadn’t helped.

  He got up, loosened his tie and took a beer out of the fridge.
He pulled the ring, went out onto the front porch and breathed in the Arizona air – his nightly ritual. Priceless downtime after all the craziness of work in Phoenix.

  An orchestra of bugs tapped out a familiar tune on the bulb above his head as he drank from the can. The Milky Way was so thick with stars it looked like a huge sequined scarf wrapped around the world. It always made him draw breath, made it worth the daily commute from the Sonoran desert ranch he’d grown up on. It would always be home, even with Matthew so far away.

  A coyote let out a high-pitched wail from some distant ridge as if calling to the constellations. Cameron let out his own bark which caused a cacophony of replies. He chuckled to himself. ‘Going to miss you guys,’ he said, before heading back in to finish packing.

  He put a foot on the pedal and threw the empty tin in the trash. Suddenly feeling giddy, he rubbed his forehead, then staggered sideways, putting a hand on the table to steady himself. He’d been overdoing it at work and all the worry about Matthew had only added to it. But now his vision began to lose focus. He had an overwhelming desire to sleep. In front of him were blurred images – people, moving around the kitchen. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating?

  A gloved hand came over his mouth, and he felt himself being lifted and carried off. He tried to struggle but his body was too weak. In and out of consciousness, now he was somewhere else, sitting in his car. He could make out the sound of the engine running. He had no strength, unable to move.

  Muffled voices came from outside the vehicle. ‘Look everywhere, but don’t leave anything out of place.’

  He could smell the exhaust. The fumes seemed to envelop him. They were somehow inside the car. He gave an involuntary cough, then another. The full horror of what was happening dawned on his groggy consciousness.

  He felt his throat tighten, choking.

  He had just enough presence of mind to realise his future was lost.

  So much more to do…

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lizzie scanned the gardens under an angry sky and unpadlocked her bicycle. Still no Jay. She spotted Bob, the head gardener, pottering about outside the shed. ‘Sod it,’ she said to herself, and wheeled her bike around the lawn.

  She could see Bob through the open door, pouring water from a kettle into a mug, surrounded by tools and bags of compost. Boot marks had branded loose soil onto the wooden floor.

  She knocked nervously on the timber frame, still holding her cycle.

  ‘Looks like it’s going to rain,’ he said, stirring his tea.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, glancing heavenwards. ‘Have you seen Jay?’

  ‘Brew?’ he asked, pointing to the cup.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He turned to face her properly with an expression of mild curiosity. ‘He’s not here love.’

  ‘Oh. Do you know when he’s back?’ she asked, trying to sound blasé.

  Bob didn’t reply immediately. ‘You a friend of his?’

  ‘No… yes.’ She could tell he was sizing her up now, deciding whether to confide in her.

  He used a spoon to fish the tea bag out of his mug and dump it in an orange bucket, then poured in some milk from a carton. He sat down on some sacks of mulch and blew onto his drink. ‘It was his last day yesterday. He’s left.’

  ‘Left? Why?’ She leaned her bike up against the shed.

  ‘Well, he’s going away for a while.’

  She went in and sat down on an upturned crate. ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s not really my place, love.’ He stirred his tea.

  She was going to have to say more. ‘He asked me for a favour, but I was in a rush, and…’

  ‘All right, all right,’ he replied, sparing her anymore of the gushing confession. He looked at her as if he was studying her face for the first time. He put down the mug and reached for a plastic tub. ‘Biscuit?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she replied, trying not to sound impatient.

  He put down the tub and puffed out his cheeks. ‘He’s up in Court today.’

  ‘Court?’ Her brow furrowed. ‘What for?’

  He swigged at his tea then used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. ‘I don’t know the details, but anyway, that’s for him to say, isn’t it?’

  Still processing the information: ‘Has he got anyone with him?’

  ‘No. He ain’t got no family. Nice kid.’

  Lizzie’s mind was racing. ‘Magistrates’ Court?’

  ‘Err, no,’ Bob replied, scratching his head. ‘Crown, I think.’

  She got up. ‘So, it’s serious?’

  Bob didn’t comment.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, going back outside and retrieving her bike. She wheeled it back to the road. She was in two minds. She knew Cambridge Crown Court was on East Road, a modern non-descript building not far from Parker’s Piece. She checked her Rolex, an eighteenth birthday present from her mother. She could be there in minutes and still make the lecture. She got on her bike, stood up in the saddle, then, head down, pedalled off at full pelt.

  Ten minutes later she was through security and scanning the faces on the landing outside the courtrooms. A muscular man in a tight t-shirt with a roll-up behind his ear was arguing with a scrawny woman in stone-wash jeans. Her free hand jabbed at his chest as the other rocked a pushchair in short jerks, perfectly in time with her oratory. The toddler in the pushchair sucked intently on a sweet, transfixed by the defendants milling about and seemingly oblivious to his parents’ discord.

  Lizzie saw Jay sitting on a metal bench outside Court One, a folder and a MacBook on his lap. She almost didn’t recognise him – in a suit that was too small and showed off a pair of mismatched socks. Even the shirt was too short, cuffs finishing halfway up his wrists. The white collar had a subtle, pink hue from being through a coloured wash. The fear on his face was obvious.

  He looked up as she approached. ‘Lizzie?’

  ‘Hi,’ she said, knowing instinctively that she’d made the right decision.

  His hands twitched as if lost for something to do, so different from his easy manner around the gardens. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She sat down next to him. ‘Bob told me where I could find you. You needed a favour?’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ He managed a bashful smile. ‘I’m sorry, I get it that we don’t really know each other, but—’

  ‘You didn’t know who else to ask,’ she said, taking control of the situation in the way she’d seen her mother do a thousand times.

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘And I know I can trust you.’

  For the first time their eyes met, then they looked away.

  He took a key out of his pocket. ‘It’s for my front door. I was hoping you could check on the place from time to time.’

  She went to take it, then changed her mind, folding his hand around it. She could feel it shaking. ‘Let’s see if I’m going to need to first.’

  He nodded. ‘OK.’

  Suddenly unsure, she frowned. ‘It’s not a sexual offence, is it?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, with a wince.

  ‘Violence?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ He took a deep breath, then exhaled. ‘When I was a kid, I got into environmental hacktivism.’

  It took a moment for the phrase to sink in. ‘What, you mean like computer hacking?’

  ‘Yeah, exposing huge corporations for the way they deal with waste.’ There was passion behind his eyes. ‘You know, polluting the environment.’

  She didn’t reply immediately. ‘That wasn’t what I expected.’

  He looked down at his hands. ‘I didn’t have a lot of guidance.’ He began to fiddle with a corner of the file. ‘My mum had issues, well, she was a junkie actually. I suppose it gave me another focus.’

  Lizzie tried to look like she was taking it all in her stride. ‘So that’s what you’re up for today?’

  He swivelled ninety degrees to face her full on. ‘No, they never report any hacks, don’t want to draw any attention to what they’re up to
.’ His fingers tensed up. ‘They’re breaking the law and no one gives a shit.’

  Lizzie realised she knew virtually nothing about the man, yet despite his disclosure, she felt a connection. She wondered if it was her own need to always have a project, to fix something or someone that was broken. ‘OK, you stopped doing that, so what are the charges?’

  His eyes contracted, then in a hushed tone: ‘I hacked into MI6.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ She looked at him anew.

  He blinked. ‘I know, I was an idiot.’

  ‘That’s jail,’ said Lizzie.

  He looked at his hands again. ‘I know.’

  She wanted to say something reassuring but nothing sprang to mind. ‘What does your lawyer say?’

  He had a sheepish expression. ‘I’m representing myself.’

  Lizzie gasped. ‘Are you mad? You could have one for free on legal aid.’

  ‘I did. I sacked him,’ Jay explained. ‘He said I had to plead guilty.’

  She frowned, confused. ‘But you did it, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but I got played,’ he replied, sounding exasperated. ‘I thought I was working for the government.’

  ‘What?’ she said, failing to hide her cynicism.

  Before she could ask anything else a female voice called out, ‘Jason Pitois?’

  He stood up. ‘That’s me.’

  The usher, an elderly lady in a black gown, came over holding a clip board. ‘Just checking you’re here. The judge has got a couple of sentences and then we will start your trial.’

  ‘How long has he got?’ asked Lizzie, getting up.

  ‘Shouldn’t be more than an hour,’ she replied, adjusting her gown before going back into the courtroom.

  An addict on autopilot, skin tightly drawn around his skeleton, meandered over in a pleading pose, an upturned hand already outstretched. They greeted him with icy stares causing him to do an about-turn before he could open his mouth.

  Lizzie refocused on Jay, still trying to work out if he was all there. ‘So how are you going to defend yourself?’