by Olly Jarvis
‘You want to try those – dots, picture?’ asked Jay.
‘No,’ interrupted Broady. ‘They’re too obscure, don’t risk it.’
‘I agree,’ said Ella.
‘What about “Holmes”?’ suggested Lizzie.
‘OK,’ Ella replied. ‘But that’s it.’
Broady nodded.
Jay tapped it in. ‘Shit’ He closed his eyes in frustration. ‘Two tries left.’
‘Let’s stop,’ said Ella. ‘No more tonight. Come on, let’s eat.’
Broady sighed. ‘That chilli smells mighty fine.’
‘Can someone clear those maps away,’ Ella asked, walking over to the kitchenette and taking some bowls out of a cupboard.
‘You cooked it?’ Lizzie put her hands on her hips. ‘You never cook.’
Ella ignored the observation and handed her the bowls and some forks. ‘You can lay the table.’
Broady went into his room and came back with a bottle of red wine. ‘I got this in duty free,’ he said. ‘It’s a Bordeaux.’
‘Good call,’ said Lizzie. ‘I’ll get some glasses.’
Ella handed him a corkscrew and went back into the kitchenette. She brought out a French stick on a board and some butter, handing them to Jay to put on the table.
When she came back again carrying the pot between a pair of oven gloves, everyone cheered and raised their glasses.
She felt choked up.
For the first time in years, she realised she was happy.
Chapter Forty-Four
Ella sat bolt upright, sweating, her heart pounding. The same nightmare. It always took a few minutes to realise it was a dream, before she remembered that it had really happened.
She got out of bed, pulled on a pair of joggers and went into the kitchenette to get a drink. It had become a familiar routine over the years.
She waited while the kettle boiled, then noticed the door to the balcony was ajar. She moved closer. She peeked through the gap in the curtains. It was Broady.
‘Hi there,’ he said. ‘Come and join me.’
She pushed open the door and walked out into the cold air.
‘It’s a clear night, take a look,’ he said, patting the telescope which was sitting on a tripod.
She bent down and put an eye to the lens. She instinctively pulled away at the sight, then back again. ‘Wow! I’ve never seen this kind of detail before… the colour. Is it Mars?’
‘Full marks,’ said Broady. ‘The Red Planet. It’s in a great position tonight.’
‘Orbits,’ she said, remembering what Desmond had said about Newton. She stood up straight.
‘Yeah,’ said Broady. ‘It’s busy up there.’
Ella laughed. She liked the easy way he used words.
‘We never think that everything’s moving all the time,’ he said.
She looked up at the night sky. ‘Like the heavens are breathing.’
Neither spoke, sharing the spectacle.
‘You’ve got goose bumps,’ he said gently brushing her arm. ‘Put this on,’ he said, unzipping his fleece.
It was a long time since anyone had looked after her, shown her any tenderness. She always felt so neglected, battle-weary.
He stood behind her and put the top around her shoulders, letting his hands rest there a moment. ‘So, what’s next?’ he asked, almost in a whisper.
She turned around. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The inquiry, what are we going to do tomorrow?’
‘Oh, I think we should check out the libraries, see if anyone remembers Matthew.’ She could see he wasn’t hopeful it would bear fruit. ‘I know they have thousands of visitors, but—’
‘But we’ve got nothing else to go on?’
‘Yeah.’ The wind blew a few strands of hair across her face. She swept it back. ‘And I don’t think we’re going to be able to open that file.’
Broady bent down and looked through the lens. ‘That may not be a bad thing.’
She waited for him to take his eye off. ‘Why?’
He smiled without humour. ‘Because if we did get in, we’d actually know something.’
She mulled it over, realising Broady was ahead of her.
‘Like Jay said, knowledge is power.’ He tilted his head. ‘And powerful people usually become more of a target.’
His words made her shiver.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ella and Broady got the train down to King’s Cross. They had decided it was safer if Lizzie and Jay stayed in Cambridge. They’d reluctantly promised not to stray far from the apartment, and only then for the purposes of internet searches.
The short walk to the British Library was another revelation for Broady. He marvelled at the beautiful old buildings, so much so that it made Ella see her own city with a fresh eye. As they joined the hordes of people queuing outside the library, Ella could see how hopeless their task was.
‘Come on,’ said Broady, pushing past the masses waiting for a bag check and flashing his badge to a guard.
His positive energy gave her a lift.
They were in.
‘Impressive,’ observed Ella, as she was engulfed in a tour group filing past in pursuit of a haughty-looking guide, holding up what looked like a selfie stick. ‘There are over twenty-five million books in this library,’ the guide announced to his party. ‘And millions more manuscripts.’
Ella and Broady exchanged a glance.
‘Just a minute, madam,’ said an officious looking man just past the bag check tables. ‘No one bypasses security.’
‘I’m a cop,’ Broady explained, showing his badge again.
‘Doesn’t mean you can push in,’ replied the security guy.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Ella offered, in the hope of avoiding having to go to the back of the line. ‘Do you want to have a look?’ she said holding open her bag.
‘Thank you,’ he said, having a cursory rummage. ‘But next time,’ he said, turning to Broady, ‘you can wait in line like everyone else.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Broady replied, clearly trying not to laugh. He whispered to Ella after the man had gone, ‘What is it with Brits and queueing?’
‘Nothing wrong with manners,’ she replied with a smirk, then led him up to the registration desk.
‘I’ll handle this,’ said Broady leaning onto the counter and showing his badge again, this time to a studious librarian in a tank top and thick-rimmed spectacles. ‘Detective Broady, Phoenix Police.’
The librarian looked up from his computer terminal.
‘We need a list of all the books borrowed by a man called Matthew Shepherd.’
The librarian half-raised an eyebrow and replied, ‘Firstly, in this country we can’t just hand over information without a court order. It’s called the Data Protection Act.’ With an almost imperceptible shake of the head, he added, ‘And secondly, this is a reference library, no one can borrow books.’
Broady opened his mouth as if about to reply but closed it again.
‘Sorry about my friend,’ said Ella, fighting the urge to laugh. ‘Ella Blake, I’m a lawyer.’
‘I know, I recognise you,’ replied the librarian in a more convivial tone. ‘I’ve seen you on the telly. Didn’t you get that woman off on appeal a few years ago? Wrongly convicted of murdering her husband?’
‘That’s right, Michelle Waters.’ Ella couldn’t help but enjoy Broady witnessing the adulation.
‘Is this about another appeal?’ the young man asked, lowering his voice.
Ella nodded. ‘Total miscarriage of justice. It’s an American death row case. Wish I could say more.’ She could see that the man was intrigued. ‘I have to confess we were just trying to cut corners – running out of time.’ She gave him a forlorn smile. ‘Come on, detective,’ she said, turning away from the young man.
‘What did you say his name was again?’
She turned back. ‘Matthew Shepherd, De Jure College, Cambridge.’
The librarian gave her a sympathetic n
od. ‘There should be a record of what texts he accessed if he was here this year.’ The man glanced surreptitiously at his co-workers, then began typing. ‘There it is… It’s printing off now.’
Ella felt a pang of excitement.
He handed her a sheet of A4.
‘Thank you for your humanity,’ she said in a sincere voice, usually reserved for jury speeches. She took Broady’s arm and ushered him away from the desk. ‘Damn,’ she said, as they stared at the list. ‘He looked at loads of sources, all ancient manuscripts.’ She ran a finger down the page. ‘Mainly written by early Christian monks.’ She glanced at Broady.
He pointed to one of the names. ‘Bede, I’ve heard of him.’
‘Yeah, he was made a saint. A monk born in the seventh century. He wrote The Ecclesiastical History of the English People.’
‘I guess we’re going to have to read them all,’ said Broady.
‘It would take months,’ Ella replied. ‘Besides, the originals will be in Latin or Old English – I’m guessing that’s not your forte?’
‘Ah, I see,’ he replied with a sheepish smile.
‘There are translations but it would be a waste of time unless we knew roughly what we were looking for.’ Ella tried to think of another approach. ‘Hang on,’ she announced suddenly. ‘The cell-sites show he was only here a few days, right?’
Broady nodded. ‘Three.’
‘So, he couldn’t have read every page, he must have been searching for something specific in these manuscripts.’ Her mind began to focus in a way it hadn’t for years. ‘How many days was he at the Bodleian?’
‘Just one,’ Broady replied. ‘And that was after he’d been here.’
‘So, when he was here, he narrowed down the search. We need to go to Oxford.’
Broady nodded. ‘Brilliant.’ He was already setting off towards the exit.
‘Hang on,’ said Ella. ‘There’s something you have to see while you’re here.’ She led him through some reading rooms. There were rows of hundreds of people, sitting at desks, all silently beavering away on some important task.
She stopped at a glass case containing an ancient manuscript. ‘It’s the Lindisfarne Gospels, written by a monk called Eadrith in the seventh century on a little island off the northeast coast in the Kingdom of Northumbria.’
Broady tilted his head and gave her a lingering stare. ‘Maybe you can show it to me one day?’
She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away. Broady turned towards the case and she watched him take in the beautiful swirling illustrations and the detail, betraying the love bestowed on the pages by its author. ‘The colours are amazing,’ he marvelled.
‘The jewelled cover was replaced centuries later. The Vikings stole the original bindings when they invaded in 793 and discarded the actual manuscript because they worshipped Norse gods like Odin.’
‘You didn’t study law?’ asked Broady, bringing her back.
‘Not at first,’ Ella replied, ruefully. ‘I always wanted to be a historian.’
‘So, what happened?’
‘It’s complicated,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
Broady stayed put. ‘You do that a lot.’
‘Do what?’ she pretended she didn’t know what he meant, but she felt her cheeks flushing.
‘Shut people down.’
She hovered awkwardly for a second, wanting to say more. Something stopped her.
‘So, is this whole Shepherd thing about Christianity?’ asked Broady.
‘Maybe,’ Ella replied, grateful for the change of subject. She gazed at the ancient writings again, then at the sheet. ‘Or history, or both,’ said Ella, thinking aloud. ‘The monks were chroniclers, recording events.’
She could feel Broady studying her.
‘You’ve got an amazing mind,’ he said softly.
She laughed to break the intimacy and set off towards the exit.
They walked out onto the piazza, squinting momentarily as the sun hit their eyes.
‘Sir Isaac Newton,’ said Ella, pointing to a statue of a man, bending over, holding a pair of compasses, as if working something out.
‘Doesn’t look anything like him,’ Broady observed.
‘You’d know, I suppose,’ she scoffed.
‘Actually,’ said Broady, puffing out his chest, ‘he’s a bit of a hero of mine.’
‘Really?’ Ella didn’t know if it was another of his jokes.
‘Yeah.’ He took out his iPhone and swiped through his photos. ‘This is my favourite picture of him.’
Ella looked at the screen at an image of an austere man in a flowing white wig. He seemed to be looking through her, as if contemplating some great theory.
‘It was painted by Godfrey Kneller in 1744.’
Ella looked at Broady in wonder.
‘Check out the bottom left corner,’ he told her.
She looked closer. ‘A telescope!’
They broke into laughter.
‘You’re full of surprises, detective.’
‘The guy was one hell of an astronomer,’ said Broady, his voice full of passion. ‘What I like best is the two women in the circle below.’ He used his little finger to point at the image.
‘I see them,’ Ella replied. ‘She’s pulling something off the other woman’s face.’
‘It’s a blindfold, as if she’s seeing something for the first time.’
‘Yes,’ Ella agreed. ‘She’s finally seeing the truth.’
‘That’s what I think too,’ said Broady.
Ella looked at the American. She felt something. She had the acute feeling that Broady’s eyes pierced deep inside her soul.
His face was serious. ‘A truth that Newton already knew.’
She looked at the picture again, then back at Broady, somehow lost for words.
Broady put the phone back in his pocket and flagged down a black cab.
The driver pulled over and wound down his window, resting an elbow on the frame. ‘Where to?’
Broady turned to Ella. ‘Which station for Oxford?’
‘Paddington,’ Ella replied so the cabby could hear.
Broady opened the door and climbed in after her.
They plonked themselves on the rear seat.
Ella had been putting it off long enough but knew there was one stop she had to make. ‘Can we go via my place? I need to collect a couple of things while we’re here.’
‘Sure,’ Broady replied.
‘Bourne Street, SW1,’ she said, leaning forwards. ‘And can you go up Horse Guards, so the tourist can see the Palace?’ she added.
‘No problem,’ he replied, chewing his gum.
The cab headed off down the Euston Road.
Ella had a chance to consider things while Broady gazed out of the window at the sights. They spun around Trafalgar Square and up past Buckingham Palace. She found herself thinking about her life, reflecting on her mistakes. They skirted around Victoria Station and past the embassies onto Eaton Square. She watched Broady, transfixed by the plush white houses with their matching porticos.
‘Here’s perfect,’ she said, pointing to a formal fronted, terraced house. The taxi drew up outside. She looked up at the house with a sinking feeling.
‘What a great place to live,’ said Broady, stepping out of the taxi.
Ella fumbled in her bag for the keys and then proceeded to work through the locks. She was sweating. She had thought the time away might have lessened the reaction. Hands shaking, she managed to open the door.
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Broady, entering the hall and seeing the modern artwork that adorned the walls. ‘Love the chandelier.’ He turned right into a huge study with books floor-to-ceiling on white, fitted shelves. ‘It looks smaller from the outside,’ he called back to Ella who was robotically picking the post up off the mat. ‘Didn’t figure you for the messy type though?’
‘What do you mean?’ she said, following him through.
There were papers strewn all over the floor.
<
br /> She walked around the desk; all the drawers had been pulled out. ‘I’ve been burgled.’
‘What?’ said Broady. ‘Oh, Ella, I’m sorry.’
‘I really don’t need this,’ she said, covering her face with her hands.
‘Hey, it’s going to be OK,’ comforted Broady, sliding a gentle arm around her. ‘We’ll take care of it.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘What is it you Brits say, we’ll sort it?’
She forced a smile, sniffed a couple of times and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry about that, I’m fine,’ she said pulling herself together and putting the guard back up.
‘Hey, nothing to apologise for.’
She took a moment. ‘Thanks, Hank.’ She walked through to the kitchen and tugged at the metal security gates that blocked the back door – padlocks all in place. ‘How did they get in?’
‘Let’s check out upstairs,’ said Broady.
Ella followed him up the winding staircase past all the books empanelled on the walls. Most rooms seemed untouched, though in her bedroom a few drawers were open, but all the windows were locked and secure. ‘It had to be the front door,’ said Ella, checking a bedside drawer. Her jewellery, a couple of rolls of cash and her and Lizzie’s passports were still there.
‘Then they had to have keys,’ said Broady.
‘And it doesn’t look like they’ve taken anything.’
‘I hate to say it,’ said Broady, ‘but this doesn’t look like a regular break-in.’
Ella agreed. ‘You think it’s got something to do with the inquiry?’
Broady tilted his head forwards in affirmation.
‘Bastards,’ said Ella, under her breath.
‘You going to call the cops?’
‘What’s the point?’ she replied, pulling out a holdall from under the bed and pouring in the contents of the drawer.
Broady didn’t disagree.
Her phone rang. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Jay phone, then realised it was her iPhone that was ringing. She huffed and fished it out. Simon Carter’s name was on the screen.
‘Hi Simon,’ she said walking over to the window and gazing out at an old woman in a fur coat on the pavement below.
‘Hi Ella, how are things?’
