The Judgement Book

by Simon Hall

  ‘For the last twenty years I’ve been building up a breeding programme here. Day in, day out, I’ve tended these animals. There’ve been so many long days’ work I’ve lost count. Sometimes it seemed it was never going to work. Then, a couple of years ago, we had our first successes and I was elated. All the work was worth it. Now, with a few people’s criminal selfishness I’ve had those twenty years taken away from me.’

  Dan couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so he played it simple and safe. He thanked the man and handed back to the studio, telling the viewers if they had any information that could help the police they should call Crimestoppers. It wasn’t perfect, probably wasn’t even a good outside broadcast, but it was adequate, and for now that was all he could aspire to.

  Nigel and Loud had been detailed to stay the night too, so they drove to the nearest village and booked three rooms at the local Inn, the Milkmaid’s Daughter. Normally, a night away on expenses was a pleasant perk, but Dan could scarcely find the enthusiasm to try to enjoy himself.

  The pub had fine beer and they ate venison pie, the deer from Exmoor. Dan even discovered that when the pressure of work eased, Loud could shed his sulkiness and become mildly entertaining. He never suspected the engineer had a passion for ballroom dancing. After a couple more pints, he talked movingly about meeting his wife at a dance and even to this day, almost thirty years on, enjoying waltzing her across a polished wooden floor.

  The tenderness in Loud’s voice again made Dan think of Claire and he excused himself, went outside and tried to call her. She still wasn’t answering. He left it a few minutes and walked up the hill to stare at the Exmoor countryside. It always struck him just how vast the sky was here. Living in Plymouth, densely packed with buildings and polluted with the hazy smog of the leaking light you never got to enjoy the simple pleasure of the full wondrous canopy of the heavens.

  The night was clear and a luminous half moon shone in the east. Only the boldest stars could compete, studding the sky as occasional pinprick diamonds. Dark rolls of hills slid towards the sea in the north. The night lay silent, punctured only by the odd bleat of a lonely sheep.

  That was another thing he missed, the tranquillity of living away from the eternal, grumbling traffic. You only realised how ubiquitous and ugly it was in its absence.

  He turned to the south, towards Plymouth and thought about Claire. What was she doing? Raging at him? Sobbing on her sofa? Watching a film, trying to forget? Just sitting there, her arm across her stomach, her mind blank?

  He tried to call again, but once more got her answer machine. He left a message asking her to ring and hung up. Dan tried to keep the upset and anger from his voice, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. After a few seconds staring blankly at the phone he surprised himself by letting out a loud groan. It went on and on, turning into a wail.

  Just like a mad dog howling at the sky.

  He checked his watch, noticed his vision was blurred with the beginnings of tears. The Rolex said just after nine, so probably a quarter past. Less than 22 hours before the contents of the Book were revealed.

  Dan wondered how Adam was feeling. Sitting at home with Annie and Tom, trying to be a contented family man with all this on his mind. He must be suffering just as badly, maybe worse. Dan took another couple of deep breaths of the still and silent air and walked back into the pub.

  He had another pint to be sociable and then went to bed. It was early, only just after ten, but he didn’t feel like sitting and chatting. He wanted to do some work on the last part of the riddle and see if he could come up with a plan which would get him back to Plymouth.

  The bed was old and creaked every time he moved, but it was comfortable too. The down pillows folded themselves around his head and neck. The landlord had kindly left a miniature bottle of sherry on a cabinet, so Dan lay back, sipped at it and thought about the riddle and Claire. He glanced at his mobile.

  No calls, no messages. He closed his eyes.

  And again came the memory of that row. How she had called him a selfish arsehole.

  And the nagging fear that she was so very right.

  He pushed his thoughts back to the puzzle to distract himself. “See have mind good land, Plymouth.” Dan tried to spin the words in his head, read them backwards, forwards and in a series of random orders. Nothing came to him about what they could possibly mean.

  Tomorrow, he would go back to Plymouth and drive all around the city, to see if he could find any hint of this good land he had to see or have in mind. It didn’t matter what Lizzie said, he was going back. Why not? He only had tomorrow to save his career and relationship.

  There was nothing left to lose.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  DAN WOKE EARLY, NUDGED from his dreams by the new sun seeping through the faded curtains. He hadn’t slept well, but he felt OK. Neither refreshed nor tired, he thought, just about all right. He wondered how long that would last. It had been a punishing few days.

  He ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth. The ulcer seemed to have eased its assault, or perhaps it was just taking longer to wake. He looked over at his phone, but there was no call or message from Claire. He hissed to himself. The clock on the wall said it was a quarter past six. Outside, a cockerel crowed, welcoming the day.

  He knew what he was going to do. He would get up and drive back to Plymouth. There was no choice. He had to be there to help in the search for the Judgement Book and to see Claire. There were only 12 hours left to solve the riddle and save himself and Adam. He didn’t want to think how long he had to save his relationship.

  Dan yawned and stretched in the duvet’s comforting cocoon. Should he try to call her again? No, it was early and she would ring when she was ready. If she was ready – if she even wanted to.

  If …

  He gritted his teeth. She would ring. She would. But he wanted Claire to know he was thinking about her when she woke. He could send her a text message.

  He picked up the phone, plumped up his feather pillow and lay back. So – what to say? It was never easy to get it right with a text. Without the grins and winks and verbal inflexions that were the basis of so much communication, they were all too easily misunderstood. Dan didn’t want to risk that here. He had a sense the stakes might be too high.

  Best to keep it simple, but straightforward, he thought. Something like, “Am on way back to Plym, need to be with you. Call me when you can.”

  He typed in “am” and the predictive text program came up with “an”, so he hit the button to change it. Dan kept typing. “Am coming home” he wanted to say, but the phone interpreted “home” as “good”. He went to press the key to change the word, but then stopped.

  He was never sure why. The only explanation could be that he felt the indefinable something. The hint which whispers from a dark corner of the mind. The sense of a moment of realisation. Incomprehension to understanding. The wondrous step from darkness to light. He could feel its tingling presence, close, flitting through his brain, but not quite ready to deliver its thrill, not yet.

  Dan steadied himself, forced his mind to calm. Take it easy, stage by stage. What had triggered the shock of excitement?

  He’d seen that word “good” an awful lot in the last day or so. It was from the final clue in the riddle. He’d thought about it so many times.

  “See have mind good land, Plymouth.”

  But what did that have to do with anything? He still had no idea where or what the good land could be. And this hardly helped. The cold deflation spread fast. He felt his excitement wane.

  Shit.

  Dan was about to start typing the rest of the message when again he stopped himself. The itch was still nagging. He’d never understood it, but he’d also learned never to ignore it. It was telling him he’d stumbled on to something important.

  He tried to clear his mind and let the thought settle. He imagined Rutherford, probably asleep on his side, soon to be woken and walked by the ever-obliging downstairs neigh
bour. He was looking forward to seeing his dog again, he had been neglecting him too much of late. When he got back home they’d go for a long Dartmoor walk as a treat. It would be official bonding time, good for them both.

  The flitting thought insisted on more attention. Like a wailing baby in his mind it prised his thoughts back from Rutherford. What else was in that clue? The blackmailer had written something about predicting it would be the most difficult to solve. Could that be a hint?

  Dan couldn’t help but doubt himself.

  So, the predictive text function on his phone made the word home into good. So what? It meant nothing, was just how the program worked. He stared at the phone, but the idea continued to form, gained momentum, tumbling fast through his mind.

  Hope rekindled. First just a flicker, then a flare, spreading defiance. Give it a try – have some faith – believe. What is there to lose?

  Dan clenched a fist. So then, the other words in the clue. What would the predictive text make of them?

  It couldn’t be that easy, surely? But it was often said the simplest way was the smartest. It worked in his profession. The oft-repeated mantra, the acronym drilled into cub broadcast journalists. Kiss, keep it short and simple. It had saved him yesterday in that broadcast at the zoo. Perhaps it could do so again now.

  Dan noticed his hands were shaking. He knew he thought he was on to something, but he couldn’t allow himself to believe. Not yet. It was too far to fall if he was wrong. He ran his tongue over the ulcer and began typing the words of the final clue into the phone, checking what the predictive text made of them.

  See gave him the options red or ref. Have offered gave, hate or gate. Mind came up with mine or nine. Good gave a range of choices, hoof, hood, gone or home. Land was lane, Jane or lame.

  He felt his belief falter. It looked random, hopeless, nonsensical. But he didn’t dare give up. Not now. Not yet.

  Dan reached over, grabbed a piece of paper and pen and wrote down all the possible words in columns, trying to sense a pattern.

  see have mind good land

  red gave mine hoof lane

  ref hate nine hood jane

  gate gone lame

  home

  His hands were shaking more now and he felt breathless. He was convinced there was a message in there. But there were too many combinations and possibilities to be sure he’d found the answer. What could help him?

  Dan stared at the words. Plymouth, that had to be the clue. “See have mind good land Plymouth,” was the original riddle. He was looking for a sentence that made sense in the context of Plymouth. It had to refer to somewhere or something in the city.

  The first word must be red. Ref made no sense. So if the first was red, the second had to be gate. Nothing else fitted.

  Red gate … it was making sense, he was sure of it. They were looking for a red gate, somewhere in Plymouth. Was that the hiding place of the Judgement Book? Maybe the four other riddles were just diversions, part of the blackmailers’ game. Was this the only clue that really mattered?

  The third word had to be nine. It must be, nothing else worked. So the fourth should be a street, road, or place. It had to be Hood or Home Lane. He wasn’t sure if there was either in Plymouth, but as Plymouth Argyle’s ground was Home Park, that must be it. Home Lane.

  Dan sat back on his pillows and gazed at the piece of paper. He circled the words, then wrote them out again to be certain.

  Red gate, nine Home Lane, Plymouth.

  That was where they had to go. His heart was thumping so loud it was like a bass drum beating in his ears. He was sure it was the answer, sure.

  His imagination flew. In the next couple of hours he’d be back in Plymouth. They’d find the Judgement Book, save his and Adam’s career and the lives of the countless other unknown victims. He’d give Lizzie the exclusive of her life by revealing the Book’s hiding place and he’d be back with Claire too.

  All would be well. A true Hollywood ending.

  Dan gulped a drink of water from the glass on the bedside table, tried to steady himself. It was almost seven o’clock.

  There were just 12 hours to go to the blackmailers’ deadline.

  Dan didn’t notice the drive back to Plymouth. His head was full of the red gate at nine, Home Lane. He wondered if it even existed. And if so, what they would they find there.

  He imagined the end of a tree-lined road and an arched, wooden gate, tall and imposing, himself checking over it, then, by the hinges finding a secret compartment which sprung open when he pressed the right place on the wood. For the first time in what felt like days he managed a weak smile. It sounded like something from the children’s books he used to read so many years ago.

  He’d had a quick wash, dressed and hurriedly left the inn. Dan called Adam on the way and was unsurprised to find the detective already in Charles Cross.

  ‘Can’t speak for long, I’m driving. Any news?’

  ‘Not a bloody thing. And no leads either.’ Adam’s voice sounded husky with tiredness and frustration. ‘I’m sitting here trying to work on the case and I’ve got sod all to work on. We’ve only got hours before the Judgement Book’s released to the media. And you know what happens then.’

  Dan didn’t want to think about it. A vision of the headlines floated in front of his eyes.

  “THE POLICE’S REPORTER”, would be one of the more polite banners. Others would be harsher; “COPS’ TV STOOGE,” or “INSPECTOR HACK”. They would be accompanied by a photo of Dan, talking to a TV camera, the picture doctored to show him wearing a smart police uniform. He noticed the car’s speed creeping up.

  ‘I think I might have something,’ Dan said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can you check if there’s a Home Lane in Plymouth?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A Home Lane.’

  A disbelieving pause, then an angry torrent. ‘For God’s sake, Dan! What the hell are your talking about? A huge scandal’s about to erupt, we’re going to lose our jobs and you’re …’

  ‘Shut up, Adam! I know all that. Damn, I bloody know it! I haven’t thought about anything else. I think I might be on to something. Just do it, will you?’

  ‘If you’re wasting my time for some …’

  ‘Just do it!’

  Dan heard Adam loose off a couple of profanities, but he could also hear the detective’s footsteps walking across the MIR. There was a city map on the wall. Dan accelerated the car around a milk lorry and tried to enjoy the beauty of the rising sun stretching across the emerald fields. A herd of black and white cows plodded towards an open gate, a man walking behind them, shepherding them along. Such an anachronism would usually make him grin, but not today. Dan tried to count the animals to distract himself from the tortuous wait.

  It didn’t work. Not in the least.

  Finally the footsteps returned and the phone crackled. ‘Yes, there is,’ came Adam’s voice, calmer now. ‘It’s down in Eggbuckland, near the Deer Park Forest. Why?’

  Dan tried to keep his voice level and convincing, explained about the predictive texting. There was another silence on the line. He could feel Adam weighing it up.

  ‘Sounds a bit wild to me,’ he said finally.

  ‘It did to me too. But I still reckon it’s right.’

  Adam sighed. ‘What else have we got? OK, we’ll give it a try. Why the hell not? I’ll get going …’

  ‘No! Not without me. I’ve got to be there.’

  ‘We don’t have time.’

  ‘Adam, I’ve got to be there! It’s both our futures riding on this.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I’ll be at Charles Cross in an hour and a half.’

  The detective swore again. ‘No longer then. This case is like bloody torture.’

  Dan made one more call, to the duty journalist in the newsroom and told him he was on his way back to Plymouth. Highly significant developments were breaking in the blackmail case he said, and he had to be there. He didn’t expect to pr
oduce a report for the lunchtime news, but certainly for Wessex Tonight. The producer promised to pass the message on to Lizzie when she got in.

  He thought about Claire, imagined her just waking up, going through her breakfast ritual. Was she thinking about him? Had her mood passed? Dan realised he didn’t have much history to judge for how long she could remain angry. They’d only had a couple of rows in the time they’d been together, and they’d been very minor, dissipated within an hour or two.

  He wondered whether he should try to ring her again. It was a quarter past seven. Too early. She would call him when she was ready. Or he hoped she would. He hoped.

  The Peugeot reached the M5 and Dan relaxed a little. Fast roads all the way back now, no more of the Devon countryside’s charming but frustrating green lanes. He thought about the gamble he was taking. He had to be right about the last clue, he had to convince Adam he could report a story on it and it had to be good enough that Lizzie would accept he was right to leave Exmoor.

  Dan swallowed hard. It was a hell of a lot to hope for. He turned on the radio and found some music to dampen the fire of his thoughts. He had a sense this drive back to Charles Cross was the classical calm before the oncoming storm.

  Adam was waiting in the police station car park, pacing back and forth and looking over every time the gates drew back. His tie hung well down his neck. He’d called Dan three times on the drive to check his progress. The detective climbed straight into the car as he pulled up.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Home Lane. Quick. I’ve just about convinced myself your guess is worth a try. We’ve got nothing else.’

  Dan noticed a patrol car swing out from the underground garages and follow them.

  ‘In case we need them,’ Adam said. ‘Couple of uniforms. Big lads. You never know. I wouldn’t rule out a trap.’

  Dan drove north, past the shining glass of the University, along Mutley Plain and up to Eggbuckland. The outbound traffic was light, most of the roads filled with people commuting into the city. The sun still hung in the sky, rising quickly now, the day warming fast.