The Judgement Book

by Simon Hall

  Delicious scented steam wafted up from their plates and again Dan felt his stomach growl. He reached into the hexagonal wooden pot, fixed to the side of the table, to get a knife and fork and handed a set to Adam. His own slipped from his grip and dislodged something in the pot so it hung from the inside lip.

  Dan leaned over to see what it was. The object was tiny, a black plastic oblong, the size of a pen nib. A thin black wire trailed from it down to the bottom of the pot. He carefully traced the wire, then pushed a finger down on the base. It shifted slightly under his touch. He did it again and levered up the wood. It was a false bottom. Underneath was a small, metallic box, about half the size and thickness of a cigarette packet. The wire from the plastic oblong led into one side. A dot of green light glowed from its edge.

  Dan stared at it, baffled. He knew well what it was, used one almost every day. It was a radio microphone, a low powered, short range transmitter ideal for a reporter to walk around and talk, unencumbered by cables, while a receiver on the back of the camera picked up his words.

  He felt his body go cold and sat back, rigid on his chair. It was a feeling that had become so delightfully familiar, since he first experienced it, back on the Edward Bray case. The sacred Epiphany moment. From blank incomprehension to beautiful understanding in an instant.

  Adam looked up from his plate. ‘You OK?’ he managed through a mouthful of pork chop. ‘Not feeling hungry? You look pale.’

  ‘I’m fine – just fine,’ stammered Dan.

  His mind spun, churning up ideas. He checked through them, again and again, kept probing, kept testing. Each time the answer came back the same. It made sense, he was sure of it. He was about to look round, say something to Adam, but stopped himself. Dan knew that if his vision was correct he had to cap his excitement and act naturally.

  He forced himself to pick up his knife and fork and take a mouthful of mashed potato. He was vaguely aware it was hot, but didn’t taste it. His eyes seemed unable to focus on the food. He kept staring at the cutlery pot. He made himself breathe deeply and try to be calm.

  Dan allowed himself a casual look around the pub. There was no sign of Sarah. She was probably in the kitchens. Had she been in the pub when he and Adam were talking about the blackmail case earlier? When they’d discussed Osmond, or the rapist investigation? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Was that as significant as he now thought it might be?

  He cut off a piece of sausage and dunked it into the gravy. He had to tame his racing excitement or he’d give himself away.

  ‘Mmm, good sausage,’ he managed.

  ‘Great mixed grill,’ agreed Adam. ‘Just what I needed.’

  Dan looked back at the hexagonal wooden pot. Was what he was thinking right? Surely it was ridiculous. But didn’t it add up?

  He took a sip of his beer and ate some more mashed potato. A drip of gravy plopped onto the wooden table, but he didn’t notice. Dan made himself think, slowly and carefully.

  ‘You sure you’re OK?’ asked Adam, who was now attacking a chicken breast. ‘You’re not eating very fast.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking it easy and enjoying it.’

  Dan stared at his food as the ideas tumbled through his mind. He looked around again, more carefully this time. Still no sign of Sarah. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She could be in the kitchens, or looking after a delivery.

  He craned his neck to see the Specials board. Roasted pig. It had been some ham dish when Linda had thrown herself from the cliff. And fried local shark when Freedman had killed himself. It was disgusting, crass, ridiculous, but – but, he was convinced he was right.

  Two pigs and a fried shark. A sick gloat.

  How was he going to tell Adam? He had to know and now, but without blowing it. If he was right, this was the moment they could catch the blackmailer in the act.

  Dan chewed on another piece of sausage and swallowed. He fumbled in his satchel and found a piece of paper and a pen, began writing.

  URGENT!! Say NOTHING, this is deadly serious. I think we’re being BUGGED. Just keep eating and act normally, OK?

  He checked around again. Still no hint of Sarah. Dan casually slipped the piece of paper across the table to Adam and ate some more mashed potato. The detective read it and looked up, his eyes widening. He frowned, tilted his head quizzically and Dan nodded slightly.

  He took another sip of his beer and wrote more words.

  Get a squad of cops here. Go OUTSIDE to do it. Make some excuse about remembering something urgent.

  Adam read again and stared at him. Dan quickly scribbled more words.

  URGENT! Trust me!! Do it NOW!

  Adam finished a chunk of lamb, stood up.

  ‘I’ve just remembered there’s something I need to check on,’ he said. ‘I’m going outside to make a quick call.’

  The detective walked out of the door and disappeared around the corner of the street. Dan tried to continue eating in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. He felt as if he was being watched and struggled to resist the temptation to keep looking around. He scanned through one of the papers he’d taken from the rack, but couldn’t concentrate on any of the stories. He noticed his hands were shaking.

  Around him, life continued, oblivious. Lawyers gossiped, shoppers strolled by, the bar rumbled with a dozen different conversations. In a few moments, that would all change. If he was right.

  If.

  Adam walked back into the bar and sat down. ‘Sorted,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that. Now, where were we? Oh yes, that’s what I meant to ask you. Annie said would like you to pop round for dinner one evening soon.’

  He wrote, 3 cops, 5 mins, what we do when they arrive? on the paper and slid it back over to Dan.

  ‘Sure, that sounds good,’ he replied. ‘Work permitting, of course.’

  Dan wrote, Run out, pull them in here, follow me, do it fast and slipped the paper back to Adam. He saw the detective flinch and grit his teeth. His look said – this had better be good.

  ‘OK, work permitting of course,’ Adam said lightly. ‘When do you think is best?’

  ‘Next week probably. This week looks busy.’

  ‘How about a weekend? I can usually guarantee to have at least one day off, and that also gives Annie more time to cook. You can come play football with me and Tom for a bit too. He’s getting too good for just me alone.’

  ‘Erm, yeah, a weekend would probably be best,’ Dan managed. ‘Shall we go for the Saturday after this one? I don’t think I’ve got anything planned.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll check with Annie when I get home.’

  They stared at each other. Both had stopped eating and looked blank. Dan couldn’t think of a thing to say. He could see Adam was having the same problem. In a career full of hollow conversations, desperately pretending to be interested in dull and pompous interviewees and filling time in outside broadcasts, this was probably the worst of all the charades.

  ‘I’m not so keen on nuts,’ Dan said finally. ‘If Annie’s cooking, that’s the only thing I don’t like.’

  A police car drew up outside. Adam jumped up from his chair, walked quickly to the door and beckoned the officers in.

  ‘Where’s Sarah?’ Dan asked the blonde young woman behind the bar.

  ‘Upstairs, doing the books,’ she said. ‘Can I get her for you?’

  ‘No, you stay there and don’t move. Urgent police business. You’ll be arrested if you try to contact her. Which way upstairs?’

  The woman gulped, pointed hesitantly to a door at the end of the bar. Dan strode towards it and pushed it gently open. A flight of wooden stairs led upwards. He leaned in, listened for any movement, but there was no sound.

  ‘What the hell are we doing?’ asked Adam. The three police officers stood behind him, looking puzzled. Diners had stopped eating and were watching them. Heads turned. Fingers began to point. The bar had gone quiet. They had to move fast.

  ‘I think we might ha
ve found your Worm,’ said Dan quietly, looking at the stairs. He watched Adam’s mouth slip slowly open. ‘Up there.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nope. Just a guess, but a decent one. The stairs are going to be noisy, so I suggest we rush it if you want to catch her in the act. You’re the cop, you’d better go first.’

  Adam looked at the stairs and loosened his tie. Around them the entire bar silently stared.

  ‘Jesus, Dan! If you’re wrong, we’re going to look bloody fools at the very least. In fact, it’ll probably be another complaint against me. Are you serious?’

  Dan tried to keep his voice calm. ‘I’m totally serious. And the longer we wait, the less likely we are to get her.’

  Slow seconds slid past. In the bar a mobile phone rang, but went unanswered.

  Adam let out a strange low groan, then beckoned to the police officers. He bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Dan followed, feeling his heart start to race with the sudden effort. The officers tailed behind him, their heavy feet thumping and clattering on the bare wood.

  They rounded a corner in the stairwell. It was half lit, curls of paint peeling, and it smelt musty. Ahead, Adam stumbled and bounced off a wall. He gasped, but didn’t slow.

  They emerged into a corridor, a worn old carpet stretching along the floor, a couple of doors either side. Both were closed. Through an open door further ahead they could see an unmade bed and a jumbled pile of clothes.

  Adam didn’t hesitate. He tried the door on the left. It opened easily and he lurched in. Some cardboard boxes, brown and dusty, a jumble of beer pumps and piping, a ramshackle pile of files. An old fruit machine. A mirror, grey with cobwebs filled with their panting, sweating reflections.

  Adam scanned the room, then spun around and pushed at the other door. It opened and he strode through. Dan followed, just feet behind. The room was gloomy, some old carpet rolled up in a corner, more cardboard boxes. They were full of crisps, a range of exotic flavours, all chilli and curry. Above the boxes he saw a table at the far end, right in the corner.

  Sitting there, wearing a pair of headphones and bent over a notebook, was Sarah. She looked up at them. They stared at each other, just stared. The room was silent, still.

  Slow seconds ticked past. Dan felt himself tense, preparing for the fight, ready for her to try to run. He quickly checked behind him. The line of cops was there, waiting. There were no other exits. There was nowhere for her to go.

  She was trapped. They had her. They’d caught their blackmailer.

  Still the quiet enveloped them. Still Sarah stared. Dan couldn’t read her expression, wondered what she was going to do. The frozen moment stretched on.

  Then, at last, she broke it, in a way they could never have expected.

  Sarah’s face stretched into a great, beaming smile, and she burst out laughing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  NEVER HAD DAN SEEN someone so delight in her crimes.

  He wondered if the interview room, with all its long experience of a parade of criminals, from the most minor of shoplifters and graffiti artists, to some of the most notorious murderers the South-west had seen, could ever have known such an extraordinary series of ecstatic outpourings.

  Sarah sat at the small wooden table, fixed firmly to the floor by thick metal bolts, and looked perfectly relaxed. Sometimes she leaned forwards and laced her fingers together, at others she leant back on the chair and crossed her legs. There was none of the slumped despair Dan had seen here so many times before, nor the screamed or snarled abuse of rage and fear.

  The room was in the basement of Charles Cross, the only natural light a pathetic seepage from the small barred and opaque rectangular glass window, high up on the far wall. A fluorescent tube cast a sterile, flickering green-edged glow directly over the table and stretched grey shadows around it.

  The floor was grainy with its brushed concrete, the walls cheaply whitewashed brick, fading and rallying in random patches of shade and light. Words echoed back and forth from the stark interior like secret whispers, passing on the details of the interrogation. The room was never anything other than cold, even on the hottest of days. It felt forsaken, the start of a journey that led inevitably to prison, usually for long years, sometimes for life.

  It was a place designed for despair. But not today.

  Sarah had readily confessed and seemed to be enjoying immensely the chance to explain how and why she’d carried out her plan. She’d laughed at Adam’s question about whether she felt any guilt for the two people who had killed themselves because of what she’d done. It was another wild outburst of rocking, near hysterical laughter, which had left Adam nonplussed and made the detective leave the room to take a break before he went on with his questioning.

  The Custody Sergeant had raised the question of whether Sarah was mentally ill. Adam sighed, added a couple of creative profanities and some of his forthright opinions about the law being more interested in the villain than victim, but reluctantly agreed to Silifant being called.

  The doctor talked to Sarah for half an hour, then emerged from the cell with his verdict.

  ‘She’s perfectly fine. She’s just enjoying her moment. There’s a bit of release of tension at being caught, but that’s perfectly natural. Common reaction.’ He’d rolled his bloodshot eyes at Adam and added, ‘Since this time you haven’t managed to present me with your traditional options of efficiency of death or degree of pain to mark, I’ll give you eight out of ten on the pointless call-out scale.’

  The doctor was gone before Adam could find a rejoinder.

  Dan stood by the door in the corner of the room, Adam sat at the table opposite Sarah. A recording machine, built into the wall beside him, clicked softly. Sarah yawned, making Adam look up from his notes.

  ‘So where’s this Judgement Book, Sarah?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Adam,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘Why not? It’s all over. You might as well tell us.’

  She leaned back from the table and angled her head.

  ‘That’s rather a sweeping assumption, isn’t it? That it’s all over.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see. You never know what the Judgement Book might do next. It’s filled with depravity. And that makes it very dangerous.’

  ‘How many other people’s secrets are in there, Sarah?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that either.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it would spoil the fun. You’ve got the clues to find it. I suggest you keep trying.’

  ‘But we’ve only got three, and there are supposed to be five, aren’t there? And as you’re here, there aren’t going to be any more of your poisonous little notes. So why don’t you just tell us? I can make sure the judge knows and it goes in your favour when you’re sentenced.’

  ‘Another sweeping assumption, Adam. That there aren’t going to be any more notes.’

  ‘But how can there be? Have you left something behind? Did you plan to get caught?’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

  Adam sighed heavily. ‘You’re not making this any easier for yourself, Sarah. You’re facing a long prison sentence, you know. We can make it as short as possible if you cooperate.’

  ‘I’m relaxed about my fate, Adam. I think I’ve achieved something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A little justice. Probably more so than you do in your job.’

  ‘By driving people to kill themselves?’

  Now, for the first time, Sarah’s voice rose. ‘Osmond isn’t dead, is he? Would you have uncovered his crimes? I don’t think so. What happened to the others was not expected, but in a way they’ve purged themselves. Wouldn’t you say we’re better off without lying, hypocritical perverts like Freedman?’

  Adam’s voice hardened too. ‘What about Linda Cott? She was a colleague of mine. A good woman with a fine reputation.’

  ‘I don’t think you
know her very well at all, Adam, do you? Don’t you believe what I put in her little note?’

  ‘We haven’t recovered your note to Linda yet. What was it you had over her?’

  ‘I thought you said you had three of the clues, Adam?’

  ‘She left us the answer, but not the note. What was it you taunted her with that was too horrible for her to let us see, Sarah?’

  ‘I’ll wait for you to work that one out, Adam. But I can guarantee you’ll find the answer shocking.’

  Silence. Adam glared at her, then sighed again and sat forwards so he was just inches from Sarah’s face. Dan could see the detective’s neck reddening, a sure sign he was angry and struggling to control it.

  ‘We know how you got Osmond, Sarah. You bugged a conversation between him and his wife, while they were having a meal in the Judge.’

  ‘Well done, Adam,’ she said condescendingly. ‘Very good.’

  ‘When he drove home again, despite being well over the limit. It wasn’t the first time, was it? And when his wife tried to stop him, he shouted her down, saying if he was stopped he could always make sure the cop concerned turned a blind eye. Just like the last time.’

  ‘Very good indeed Adam. That’s exactly right. So I challenge you to tell me we’re not better off with Osmond being exposed for what he is. And who would have done it if I hadn’t? Would you?’

  Adam ignored the question. ‘Is that how you got the others too? How many tables did you bug, Sarah? You couldn’t do all of them, surely?’

  ‘Two was enough Adam. The two best tables in the place. You see, that’s the great thing about the pompous. They always want the best table.’

  ‘We know how you got Osmond. What about Freedman?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s all so painfully predictable Adam. He came in for a meal with an old friend. They had a few too many drinks and like little boys started boasting about some of the things they’d done. He spewed out the whole tale about the schoolgirl prostitute beautifully. He could hardly contain his excitement.’