The Genesis Inquiry

by Olly Jarvis

‘Not great, my house has been burgled, I’m here now.’ She could see that the woman outside was waiting for her dog to take a shit. Ella put her face up against the window to see if she took out a poobag. She didn’t.

  ‘Oh Ella, I’m sorry, that’s all you need.’ Simon stopped.

  Ella sensed he was deciding whether to say more. ‘All OK with you, Simon?’ She watched the woman continue on her way, leaving the steaming turd behind.

  ‘Fine.’ Another pause. ‘I know this is a bad time, but I thought you should know…’

  ‘Know what?’ She heard him take a deep breath.

  ‘Some members of the committee have been giving Desmond a hard time about his choice of Inquiry Chair.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said, suspecting what was coming.

  ‘They say you should’ve made some progress by now.’

  ‘It’s not been easy, Simon,’ she replied, realising that her voice had gone up a few decibels.

  ‘You don’t have to convince me, Ella,’ he replied, sounding slightly wounded.

  She winced. ‘I’m sorry, I know what you did to get me this.’ She could see Broady studying her as she did her usual pacing up and down.

  ‘The committee is meeting at six tonight,’ said Simon. ‘At De Jure.’

  ‘And they are going to sack me?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can stop it,’ Simon replied.

  ‘They’re going to replace me?’

  ‘Yes, with another silk, John Newport-Hartley.’

  Ella glanced over at Broady. ‘What? Not that pompous arse?’

  ‘They’re going to give him a week or two before pulling the plug on the whole thing. Now that Cameron Shepherd is dead…’

  ‘Because there’s no one to kick off anymore?’ She sat down in a chair, resigned to her fate. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Have you made any headway at all?’

  ‘Not really,’ she sighed.

  ‘They need proof of progress. You can go to the meeting and try and persuade them, but they’ll want to see something concrete.’

  Ella thanked him for the heads up and ended the call. ‘I take it you heard that?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Broady replied, sitting down on the side of the bed.

  ‘There’s a meeting at six. I need to be there to stop them sacking me.’

  ‘So, we go to Oxford first?’

  She checked her watch. ‘No time.’ It was another blow. ‘There’s no direct train from Oxford to Cambridge, we’d have to come back via London.’

  Broady got up and stared out of the window.

  They were running out of time.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Neither said much on the journey back.

  Ella watched the fields and suburbs fly past as the train rolled on, beating out its rhythm on the tracks. She dreaded its arrival in Cambridge. What she would give for just a few more days.

  Like two defeated soldiers, they alighted the train and began a slow trudge across town. By the time they turned up Trumpington Street towards De Jure it was 5.30 p.m.

  Ella mulled over everything they knew so far as they passed the ancient colleges on either side. ‘You know the Cambridge cell-site they found on Matthew’s phone records?’ she said to Broady. ‘I suppose it would cover all of these buildings – this whole area?’

  ‘I guess,’ Broady replied.

  Was she missing something? Her mind started to race. ‘We’ve just assumed he was sitting in his room at De Jure.’ She stopped outside Corpus Christi, admiring the golden yellow colour of the stone that takes a building half a millennium to earn. She stared at the great, ribbed arch. ‘He could have been at any of these colleges,’ she said, waving an arm in an arc.

  Broady watched her. ‘What’re you thinking?’

  She took out the list they’d got from the British Library and read it again. ‘Just a hunch.’ Her eyes refocused on the entrance to Corpus. ‘We need to go to the Parker Library,’

  ‘Parker Library?’ he replied. ‘Where’s that?’

  She pointed at the arch. ‘In there, Corpus Christi.’ She ran up the steps and showed her pass to a man standing at the entrance, with Broady following.

  The full splendour of New Court opened up in their line of sight, framed by the archway with its ridged ceiling. They turned right along the path that ran alongside the lawn, then left towards the far corner. Inside the doorway, they went up the staircase and into the library. They stood for a moment, catching their breath. It wasn’t a large chamber, but long and thin with a curved, high, panelled ceiling. They walked the length of the room, past wooden cabinets with glass fronts, displaying ancient scraps of paper with writing in some forgotten script.

  ‘Can I help you?’ An elderly lady in green tights and a tartan skirt appeared from behind a bookcase. Her glasses were on a piece of cord around her neck.

  ‘Yes.’ Ella showed her pass. ‘I’m here on behalf of De Jure. We’ve got some questions about this man,’ she said, handing her a photograph of Matthew. ‘I don’t suppose you recognise him?’

  She put her glasses on the end of her nose and studied the picture. ‘It’s Mr Shepherd.’

  Ella and Broady exchanged glances.

  ‘You know him?’ Ella said, a little too loudly. An academic with greasy hair and beige cords who was pouring over a manuscript with a magnifying glass looked up and scowled at her.

  ‘Not really,’ whispered the librarian. ‘He came in occasionally. Very quiet and very polite.’

  ‘So why do you remember him?’ She could feel the blood rushing to her face.

  ‘He could read Old English,’ she replied, as if the answer was obvious.

  Ella’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘Do you remember what he’d look at here?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, sounding irritated that there might be any doubt. ‘The A Manuscript.’

  Ella could’ve kissed her.

  ‘Interesting name,’ observed Broady.

  ‘It’s also known as the Winchester Chronicle,’ Ella explained, ‘or the Parker Chronicle.’

  ‘Must be important to have so many names.’

  The librarian shot him a disparaging look. ‘It’s part of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.’ She refocussed on Ella with a kindlier expression and asked in a conspiratorial voice, ‘Would you like to see it?’

  Ella gasped. ‘Could I?’ She’d only ever seen translations.

  ‘Wait there.’ The old lady shuffled off.

  ‘It was the brainchild of King Alfred.’ Ella was in her element.

  ‘Alfred The Great, right?’

  ‘That’s him, he unified the tribes of Wessex and Mercia to fight against the Vikings.’

  The man with the magnifying glass gave them another dirty look.

  ‘When was this?’ whispered Broady.

  ‘Ninth century. He was a visionary, realised the value of education,’ she enthused. ‘He saw the need to create a national identity, to make us see ourselves as English, and fight as one, so he commissioned scribes to write the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, so that we could have a record of our own uniquely English, history.’

  The librarian came back wearing a pair of white gloves, holding a leather binder with some leaves inside. She placed it carefully on the table and opened up the pages.

  Ella marvelled at the sight. ‘There are nine manuscripts. Parts of the Chronicle, written in different hands, added to over time, even as late as…’ She looked to the librarian for assistance.

  ‘1154,’ she replied.

  ‘So, it’s a historical diary?’ asked Broady.

  ‘Exactly,’ said the old lady, evidently warming to the American. ‘It’s invaluable. This manuscript refers to events going as far back as the first-century AD.’

  ‘So, if this is the A, they go up to letter I, right?’ asked Broady.

  ‘Yes, the E is in the Bodleian,’ said Ella, with a glint in her eye.

  His eyebrows raised. ‘And the others?’

  Ella gri
nned. ‘In the British Library.’

  ‘But this one is the oldest,’ the librarian replied, oblivious to the breakthrough that had just been made.

  ‘Ella,’ said Broady, ‘You’re a one-off.’

  She smiled.

  Broady gave a slow head shake. ‘Matthew was focussing in on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. But why?’

  ‘That’s what we’ve got to work out,’ Ella replied, full of renewed vigour. She checked her watch. ‘It’s six o’clock, we’ve got to go.’ She turned to the librarian. ‘Thank you so much.’

  The librarian looked completely baffled as Broady took her hand and kissed it before he and Ella made for the stairs.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Ella pushed open the door of De Jure’s committee room.

  The last of the sun’s rays penetrated the high sash windows, putting the antiquated books lining the opposite wall in the spotlight.

  Breathing hard, Ella managed to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ between gulps of air.

  ‘Ella,’ said Simon Carter, standing up and staring at Broady beside her.

  Desmond was at the head of the table. ‘Miss Blake?’

  ‘I’m sorry to barge in like this,’ she said, taking in the people around the room. The dozen or so ageing academics and fellows from De Jure around the long table had turned towards them as they entered, craning to see the cause of the commotion.

  ‘Actually,’ Desmond said, in the calculating tone Ella had learned to read. ‘There’s something—’

  ‘Stop.’ She raised her arm. ‘We’ve had a breakthrough.’

  ‘Really?’ said Carter. ‘Come and sit down,’ he offered, before Desmond had a chance to say more. ‘Take my seat,’ he said, patting the back of his chair.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m better on my feet. It’s a barrister thing.’

  Nobody laughed.

  ‘If you don’t know already, this is Detective Broady from the Phoenix Police in Arizona. He’s been working with me.’

  No one raised an eyebrow; all had obviously been briefed by Desmond.

  ‘We know that in the weeks leading up to his disappearance, Matthew was interested in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. He spent time reading the Parker Manuscript and we think he looked at the others at the Bodleian and the British Library.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ asked an elderly gentleman in a threadbare suit at the other end of the table.

  ‘Mainly phone data,’ said Broady.

  ‘Perhaps he was trying to find the missing manuscripts?’ suggested a younger man in a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows. ‘So much has been lost over the years.’

  ‘Or do you think he was trying to locate some lost Viking hoard?’ said a woman with long, grey, frizzy hair in a red woolly scarf, wrapped several times around her neck.

  A few of the others rolled their eyes.

  ‘They are both possibilities,’ Ella conceded. ‘We know he was interested in the writings of Christian monks from Britain as far back as the seventh century.’ She paused. ‘But I don’t think he was interested in material things, however valuable or important.’ She glanced at Broady. ‘I think he was working on something much bigger.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Matthew wasn’t paranoid or mad. He was being watched, hounded. We don’t know who by. He went to huge lengths to keep his work secret.’

  ‘That’s it?’ asked another woman, sounding distinctly underwhelmed.

  ‘And a lawyer’s instinct,’ she added, then regretted.

  There were a few scoffs from around the table.

  ‘And mine too, for what it’s worth,’ said Broady, taking a step forward.

  ‘I…’ She glanced over at Broady. ‘We need more time.’

  ‘To do what exactly?’ asked a bemused-looking man.

  ‘For now, that’s confidential.’

  ‘Confidential?’ repeated Desmond.

  The committee needed more but Ella wasn’t prepared to reveal the existence of the memory stick to a bunch of people she didn’t know. ‘Master Desmond, you know the importance of discretion in such a sensitive matter.’ She searched the impassive faces for a connection. ‘I’m sure whatever Matthew Shepherd was doing is vital to the reputation of this great university,’ she said, clenching her hand into a fist. Her voice cracked. ‘I can solve this.’

  The room fell silent.

  ‘Perhaps,’ suggested Desmond, finally, ‘you’d like to wait outside for a moment?’

  Ella gave a nod. Sensing her job hung in the balance, she made a parting shot, ‘I’d hate to see Oxford beat us to it.’

  Desmond’s face twitched.

  Simon showed them to the door, then closed it behind them.

  ‘You did good in there,’ said Broady, leaning against the wall.

  Ella paced up and down along the row of portraits of famous benefactors that lined the corridor. ‘This job has become like an itch I can’t scratch.’

  ‘Tell me about it, and totally out of my comfort zone,’ said Broady. ‘Historical documents over a thousand years old…’

  Eventually the door opened. Simon Carter beckoned them back in.

  ‘Miss Blake,’ Desmond began, with the top of his fingers touching in a pyramid. ‘I think I can say that the committee is singularly unimpressed. You still have absolutely no idea where Matthew is or why he disappeared and—’

  ‘Master Desmond, please—’ Ella cut in.

  He held up his hand. ‘Let me finish.’

  Ella fell silent.

  ‘And you know next to nothing about what he was working on.’ He took a breath. ‘But, against our better judgement, we have decided to give you another forty-eight hours.’

  ‘Forty-eight hours?’ Ella protested, but inside she was relieved.

  ‘To demonstrate some real progress.’ He paused. ‘Take it or leave it.’

  She looked at Broady, who shrugged.

  ‘I’ll take it, but I need a commitment from you.’

  Desmond’s eyebrows shot up and then dropped into a frown. ‘And what’s that?’

  She moved forward and scanned every face. ‘That what we’ve discussed doesn’t leave this room.’

  The committee members exchanged glances, then all dipped their heads.

  ‘Agreed,’ confirmed Desmond.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  ‘Hope you’ve had more fun than me?’ Lizzie asked Jay, as he came back into the flat. ‘Got these from the library,’ she said, lifting a book off the pile on the table. ‘I’ve been immersed in Plato.’

  ‘I found something on Matthew,’ he replied, putting the laptop on the table. ‘But there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  She walked over to him, seeing the apprehension in his eyes. ‘You’re going to tell me you lied?’ If that was the case, she felt ready to explode.

  Jay took a deep breath. ‘No, someone else did.’

  She was relieved. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m not trying to hurt you,’ he said, moving closer.

  His careful build up was irritating her. ‘Just say it, Jay.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Sit down.’

  They sat on the sofa facing each other.

  ‘What Greg said about me,’ he began.

  It sounded as if he was laying the groundwork for an excuse. ‘Yes?’ she replied, becoming more impatient.

  ‘It’s an outright lie.’

  ‘I never said it was Greg,’ she replied, without any real conviction.

  Jay tilted his head. ‘Come on Lizzie…?’

  She’d never been a good liar. ‘He only said what he’d been told.’

  Jay scoffed. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t believe that.’

  She leaned back in a more defensive stance. ‘So, what’s your point?’

  ‘I checked him out.’

  ‘Not this again,’ she replied, getting up. ‘You’re as bad as each other.’

  ‘Lizzie,’ he said, getting up to face her
. ‘You know who I am, you’ve seen everything about me – in court papers.’ He paused. ‘What do you really know about this guy?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Is that his real name? Have you ever seen where he lives, met his family?’

  ‘I’ve only just met him, Jay. You’re sounding a bit pathetic if I’m honest.’ Once her bluster had subsided, Lizzie questioned herself, but only fleetingly. In a tone of commiseration, she said, ‘You’re so like my mum.’ Hoping there was nothing else, she got up and walked over to the table and sat down, picking up the book she had been reading.

  But Jay wasn’t finished. ‘I hacked Wolfson’s database.’

  She looked up.

  He didn’t need to say it.

  She closed her eyes. ‘And?’ She opened them again.

  ‘Greg Brooks is his name, right?’

  She gave a reluctant nod, afraid of the answer.

  ‘He’s not a student there.’

  ‘There could be some mistake?’ Her eyes began to water. ‘It’s possible, right?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ he replied, softly.

  She had a sick feeling. ‘I need to see him,’ she said, wiping her eyes and standing up again.

  Jay came over to the table. ‘Is that wise?’

  She shot him a look. ‘I need to hear him out,’ she said, going over to the door. She pulled on her coat and picked up one of her trainers.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice full of defiance. ‘Stay out of it.’ She pulled on the shoe and picked up the other. ‘I gave you the same chance, didn’t I?’

  Jay didn’t argue.

  Before she had a chance to leave, the buzzer sounded.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  They came back through the car park below the apartment. Ella stopped at her van to collect a few history books, throwing one at Broady. ‘Some light reading for you.’

  He caught it. ‘The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, translated by Michael Swanton? You read this stuff for fun?’

  ‘For that,’ she said, ‘you’re doing dinner tonight.’

  ‘You’re kidding, my cooking sucks,’ he laughed.