The Genesis Inquiry

by Olly Jarvis

  A couple of young lackeys ran on to the stage, picked up the stand and carried it off.

  The audience cheered.

  Kline kicked the air then started striding up and down the stage, generating more electricity in the crowd. ‘When are we going to start thinking in a different way?’ he shouted.

  A hush descended over the auditorium, each soul hanging on his every word.

  Kline held his arms up to the heavens. ‘Governments will never see it. Emission targets by 2050, blah, blah blah.’ Another head shake. ‘Haven’t they read the data?’ He moved forward to the edge of the stage. ‘That’s too late.’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘Don’t they want to keep the Arctic?’

  There was an unsettled murmur of agreement from the multitude.

  ‘You are the ones who can save this planet.’ He pointed out at the audience, eyes blazing, moving his finger from one to the other. ‘Because you can be damn sure no one else will.’

  Lizzie felt like he was staring straight at her, his eyes boring in – just at her. It made her breathless.

  ‘Our world is warming faster than anyone predicted.’ He paused, with an expression of deepest sorrow. ‘Our oceans are choking with plastic… we’ve even turned the orbit around our planet into a garbage dump of broken satellites.’

  A kid with a Chinese accent jumped up and pulled down his mouth cover. ‘What can we do, Dr Kline?’

  ‘The capitalist model cannot, does not, and never will address climate change.’

  There were more shouts from the audience, a myriad of accents discernible in the throng.

  Kline held out his arms. ‘Because there’s no quick buck to be made in saving our world.’

  ‘So, what do we do?’ people called out again. ‘Tell us?’

  Kline made a theatrical about-turn and walked back across the stage. ‘We retrace our steps.’

  The crowd fell silent, in communal confusion.

  He lowered his voice to a whisper as if about to reveal some great secret. ‘We go back to the beginning and we start again.’ The endearing whirr of his undertone carried into the mic and out through the sound system. ‘Back to our genesis.’ The word Genesis reverberated around the auditorium. Kline crouched down like a father talking to a child. He put a hand on one knee. ‘Only I know the way, but if you are as committed as me, I will show you.’ He nodded. His voice was soft and kindly. ‘I promise I will show you.’

  There was a delay while the congregation tried to decipher his meaning but then, gradually, one by one, people got to their feet. It wasn’t long before everyone was clapping and cheering, and even Lizzie and Greg were swept along.

  Kline stood back up, in total control of the room. ‘Socrates knew the secret. He taught it to his greatest student, Plato. Plato told his best student, Aristotle. It’s all there in the history books.’ He padded up and down. ‘And who was Aristotle’s best student?’ he shouted, punching an arm in the air.

  ‘Alexander?’ someone called.

  He immediately gestured in the direction of the voice. ‘Yes. Alexander the Great.’

  The hum of the crowd was growing with every revelation, reminding Lizzie of the sound of a beehive when her mum had taught her how to reach in and take the honeycomb.

  ‘Is that right?’ Greg shouted towards Lizzie’s ear.

  ‘Yes,’ she hollered back in wonder. ‘They did teach each other. I just never really thought about it!’

  Kline leaned forward again, a signal that he had more to share. ‘Alexander used that knowledge to conquer the whole of Europe.’ He scanned the room with a finger. ‘The greatest conqueror that ever lived. He was dead by the age of thirty-two, the same age as me now… and the secret died with him.’ He looked out at the sea of faces with complete authority. ‘Until now.’

  The meeting carried on for an hour. Lizzie watched enrapt as Kline whipped them all into a frenzy, followed by moments of calm, then coming back again and again to his unique angle on history and his promise to teach information-hungry minds something those in power could never understand. A doctrine for the educational elite of the future.

  By the time the meeting was over, Lizzie felt totally energised, like there was still a chance her lifetime might not just be about witnessing extinctions and the final death knell of an ecosystem previous generations had taken for granted. Kline had made her feel anything was possible.

  She rummaged around in the bucket and took out her phone, then hung back to wait for Greg in the foyer while he went to the gents. She watched the other excited students collect their phones, full of chatter about what they’d heard. She noticed the burly man again, this time without the young blonde. He appeared to be almost running up and down the entrance hall, manically checking faces. His panicked expression was incongruous with his physical stature.

  By the time Greg returned they were one of the last out into the alley. As they turned right towards the Parade, Lizzie glanced to her left just in time to see Kline being ushered out of the stage door by some dutiful flunkies. The blonde girl was amongst the entourage.

  At the same moment, Kline looked to his right and acknowledged Lizzie with a nod, one comrade to another. It went through her like a bullet. She watched him climb into the back of a Range Rover with blacked-out windows. She felt exhilarated but at the same time a tiny qualm tickled the back of her mind. A paradox between the message and the mode of transport.

  She dismissed it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ella checked her watch again. She’d been waiting at the police station for half an hour and there was no one else in the queue. Even some mad woman with a grouchy Shih Tzu who had come in after her had been allowed to rant on at the sergeant about her neighbour. It had to be McDonald’s way of getting back at her. She got up and walked back over to the uniformed officer behind the glass. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. ‘How much longer is he going to be?’

  He looked up momentarily, then back at whatever he was reading. ‘I said he’ll be out when he gets a moment,’ he said in a patronising tone. ‘We’re very busy.’

  She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Touché,’ she muttered to herself. It occurred to her that he was probably watching her on a monitor inside the station, laughing with his colleagues. She walked back to her seat and carried on trying to make sense of Cameron’s note. She’d got nowhere other than deduce that it was some kind of riddle. She’d even rewritten each letter as a number in the alphabet, wondering whether it was some kind of code.

  A buzzer sounded and a door opened. McDonald strutted into reception with a haughty expression. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Blake,’ he said with a dash of sarcasm.

  She refused to rise to it. There was no escaping the fact she needed him on side so she followed him obsequiously into a side-room with a glass door. It had a table but no chairs. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, peering out at inconsequential goings on at the front desk.

  Ella took a deep breath. ‘Well, firstly I want to apologise for a few things I said, you know, in the heat of battle.’ She waited for an olive branch, but he remained tight-lipped. ‘I know how professional you are and what a great officer you are, Stubbs told me how much work you’d put in.’

  He unfolded his arms.

  She put her bag on the table. ‘If it had been me prosecuting, I’d have been as angry as you were.’

  He shrugged, still more interested in the desk sergeant outside. ‘All’s fair in love and war, I suppose.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very generous. I’m sure I don’t deserve it.’

  He didn’t disagree. ‘Was there anything else?’

  She had wondered whether he was going to admit to snitching on her to Desmond but decided against bringing it up herself. ‘Yes, just this – on the Matthew Shepherd Inquiry.’

  He refolded his arms. ‘What about it?’

  ‘I was informed by the Phoenix Police Department that his brother Cameron has been killed in a car crash. He was due to co
me and see me – to speak to the inquiry.’

  McDonald didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘And your point is?’

  ‘I don’t really know, I just thought because there was a death, I should tell you right away even though, on the face of it, it doesn’t seem to have any bearing on Matthew’s disappearance.’

  ‘You were right to come to me,’ McDonald replied, puffing out his chest slightly. ‘But as you say, there’s no evidence it has any relevance to either my or your investigation.’

  Ella was about to mention the letter but something stopped her. She picked up her bag. ‘I suppose you’ll make contact with the Americans and tell them about Matthew, just in case?’

  He gave her a condescending smile. ‘It’s on my list.’

  ‘Great,’ she said, reaching out to shake his hand. ‘Shall we agree to keep each other in the loop?’

  He stared at her hand as if it was infected. ‘My investigation is closed, remember?’

  ‘Of course, understood. Yes, well, thank you again, officer.’

  Finally, a limp shake. ‘My pleasure, mind how you go,’ he said, in a voice she recognised as reserved for decrepit old ladies.

  Ella made her way outside, relieved that her sycophantic apology was done.

  Parker’s Piece was filling up with groups of students sitting cross-legged in circles, surrounded by bikes lying on their sides. Ella watched a huddle passing bottles of cheap cider around and enjoying the spring evening. She got on the bike she’d borrowed from the hotel and cycled across the space towards the centre.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Simon Carter was waiting for her in the Eagle, sitting at a table with a bottle of wine and four glasses at the ready. The log burner inside the old brick fireplace was glowing. Simon’s dress sense of jeans, jumper, tweed jacket and a scarf made her smile. ‘I’m sure these are the same clothes you wore thirty years ago,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.

  ‘But they have been washed, once,’ he replied, brushing some imaginary dirt off his collar.

  ‘How’s the inquiry?’ he asked, pouring the wine.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t ask.’

  He laughed. ‘Like that, is it?’

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t say anything,’ she teased. ‘With you being on some committee or other.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, winking. ‘I’ve got your back.’

  She rested a hand on his arm. ‘You always did.’ She felt a surge of affection for her old friend.

  He suddenly looked grave. ‘They’re going to need something soon.’

  ‘I know, I know. Trouble is, I haven’t really had a chance to get going.’

  ‘I guess it takes a while?’

  ‘Yeah, like a case. Lots of dead ends and then a breakthrough opens it all up – that’s what I need.’ She thought about running the note by Simon but it felt unprofessional somehow. Desperate.

  ‘Anyway, cheers,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘It’s good to see you working again.’

  ‘Cheers,’ she replied, deciding against it.

  ‘So,’ he said, after taking a sip. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  She had dreaded him asking. ‘Nothing to tell,’ she replied, giving his arm a reassuring rub.

  He touched her hand. ‘I doubt that.’

  She started to relax for the first time in ages. ‘I suppose I went back to work too quickly, afterwards, you know. My head was all over the place. I lost a murder I should’ve won. Client got off on appeal, blamed me.’ She took a slurp.

  ‘Bar Standards Board?’

  ‘Yeah, they cleared me, but the whole process took ages. I wasn’t fit for anything by the end of it, so I took some time out. A year turned into two and…’

  ‘It’s scary when you lose your balance like that.’

  It felt good to talk about it. ‘Totally, I was always so strong, then suddenly, I was a mess. Couldn’t trust myself.’

  ‘To keep it together?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She’d forgotten how well he knew her.

  ‘Hello,’ said Lizzie, arriving at the table with a chiselled young man in tow. ‘Are we late?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Ella. ‘You remember Simon Carter, don’t you? Dad’s friend?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, leaning over the table to hug him. ‘We had dinner last week.’

  Ella was thrown. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you guys…’

  ‘She is my god-daughter,’ said Simon.

  ‘Of course she is.’ Ella watched his mouth form into a sheepish smile. She couldn’t work out why she was so bothered, whether she was just jealous, or whether it was the realisation that she knew so little about her daughter’s life.

  ‘This is my friend, Greg,’ said Lizzie, grasping Greg’s arm with both hands.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Simon.

  Still knocked out of kilter, Ella struggled to connect as the three others exchanged pleasantries.

  ‘Mum? You going to say hi to Greg?’

  ‘Of course, sorry, miles away, great to meet you,’ she gushed, trying to compensate for her detachment.

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Ella,’ he said, piercing her with his blue eyes. ‘Heard so much about you.’

  She could already tell he was a heartbreaker. He had the calm self-assurance of a much older man. ‘Are you a student too, Greg?’

  ‘Yeah, politics, I’m doing a PhD in international politics.’ He ran his fingers through his blond mane.

  ‘Sounds fascinating,’ she said, realising she’d been gulping down the wine.

  ‘Not as fascinating as why you’re in Cambridge.’ He gave a conspiratorial grin. ‘Everyone’s talking about it. Is he the genius everyone says?’

  The question caught her off guard. ‘So I’m told.’ She wasn’t comfortable saying more to a stranger.

  Lizzie shot her a look.

  Ella changed her mind. ‘People tell me he thinks the answers are already out there.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Lizzie.

  ‘You know why this was your mum’s favourite pub?’ asked Simon, coming to the rescue.

  ‘The Sauvignon Blanc?’ suggested Lizzie.

  Ella laughed along, though she knew it was a dig.

  Simon gave Lizzie an impish nudge. ‘Your mum could never get over the fact that this was where Watson and Crick announced over lunch that they’d found…’ He leaned into Ella as they said in unison: ‘The secret of life.’

  Even Lizzie laughed. ‘DNA?’

  Simon nodded. ‘Just imagine what it must be like to make a discovery like that.’

  ‘I guess they were a bit like your genius, Ella,’ said Greg.

  Taken aback, she inclined her head towards Lizzie’s companion. ‘What do you mean?’

  He ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘They didn’t invent anything,’ he replied, as if it was obvious. ‘The double helix was always there, in all of us, that beautiful shape. They found a way for the world to see it – the answer was already out there.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ Even Lizzie’s date had a better understanding of her task than she did.

  Lizzie rested her head on his shoulder.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ella set off on her bike towards the Gonville. She was annoyed with herself for being so distracted during the meal. Cameron’s letter was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She’d noticed Lizzie pick up on it. Ella’s obsession with her cases had always hung over the family like a dark cloud. She knew only too well how Tom had been affected by it.

  Almost without thinking, she stopped outside De Jure, put the cycle on the stand under the arch and headed up to Matthew’s rooms. Perhaps she would have a moment of inspiration. Going to the scene of the crime when she prosecuted murders always helped her get inside the killer’s head, gave her the edge over her opponents.

  She went through the locks and opened up, turning on the light. Being there after dark made her feel more connected to Matthe
w. She imagined him beavering away, night after night. She stood in the middle of the room and tried to look at it afresh.

  He and I are the inverse of here and there she repeated to herself over and over. The phrase hadn’t come up on google. She was convinced he was the key. I must be Matthew she told herself. She kept coming back to the idea that it was about polymaths. If he was the last polymath, maybe the inverse was the first. She racked her brain. Socrates. Even if she was right, what was Matthew trying to tell her? She scoured the room until she found a book on Socrates. She flicked through looking for annotations. Nothing. It occurred to her that Pythagoras might have been earlier and then went through the same process. After flicking through another book, she discarded it on the desk and sat down.

  ‘Think, think,’ she said out loud. ‘What did Matthew expect me to know?’ She thought it through again. ‘Here must be Cambridge,’ she said, getting up again because as a barrister, she always thought better on her feet. ‘He would probably expect me to assume there is Arizona. The last scholar to come from Arizona to Cambridge.’

  Still muttering to herself she scanned the shelves again looking at all the great works and biographies, hoping something would stand out. ‘Matthew came from there, so the inverse would be Cambridge to Arizona.’ She tapped her chin as she read the spines. ‘Who was the first man from Cambridge to go to—’ She stopped, racking her brain. ‘Lord Darrell Duppa!’ she shouted, remembering the Cambridge classicist who had arrived in Arizona in the nineteenth century and gave Phoenix its name. Ella was sure she’d seen his name somewhere in the room.

  Frantically pushing over piles of books, she searched the shelves again until, out of the corner of her eye, Ella saw the word Duppa on a spine on one of the shelves. A long since out-of-print biography of the man.

  She carefully pulled the book off the shelf wondering whether she was even on the right lines. With a sense of trepidation, she opened up the hardback cover.

  A surge of excitement rose up. A small rectangle in the centre of the pages had been cut away and tucked into the space was a memory stick. She took it out and held it between two fingers, rotating it for a better look.