It may have been his imagination but the dying man did seem more at peace. Bunting stretched towards him, kissed him on his forehead and said, ‘May the Lord have mercy on your soul,’ to which the gathered soldiers also responded, ‘Amen.’ He stood up and, taking his flask and cross, made his way out of the tent and through the group of soldiers who once again touched him reverently, bowing and thanking him.
‘You did well, Priest,’ said the captain grudgingly. ‘My men will supply you and your friends with food and a place to sleep. Tomorrow morning, they will escort you to the outskirts of Antwerp. I suggest you do not stay in the city for too many days. I fear a terrible evil may befall, which neither I nor God can do anything to prevent.’
With these ominous words, the captain turned and walked away.
21
Bronte lay crumpled in Nick’s arms, oblivious to Forensic Services milling around the house, searching for clues.
‘Oh my God, who would do this? Why Sarah?! I can’t believe it. It’s not possible …’ Verity was speaking in hushed tones to Inspector Kumar and filling her in with all the details of the last twenty-four hours. ‘It must have something to do with the Bunting Map, Inspector,’ she argued. ‘Surely you can see the connection.’
‘There is a possibility this is connected to the recent events at Mister Lawrance’s gallery and at your father’s office in Oxford,’ Kumar allowed. ‘However, we have very little evidence at present. As the Senior Investigating Officer at this crime scene, I work closely with ERU and SERIS, who are our forensic specialists. They are responsible for fingerprint and blood analysis, recovery of fibres from bodies, DNA sampling and even crime scene reconstruction. You can be confident that, if the murderer has left anything behind, they will find it.’
Later, Nick joined them at the kitchen table. ‘She’s taken a sedative and is sleeping,’ he said. ‘It will knock her out for a couple of hours. I can’t believe it either. What a nightmare!’
Verity reached across and squeezed Nick’s hand.
‘I can’t be certain,’ responded the inspector, ‘but in my opinion she was strangled to death. It doesn’t look like an argument with a friend, family member or lover that went wrong, and it doesn’t have any of the hallmarks of your typical psychopath or common garden burglar.’ Here, Inspector Kumar paused, as if knowing her next words would be devastating. ‘I think this is the work of a professional!’
Nick and Verity stared dumbfounded at her. It was Nick who broke the silence. ‘A professional what? Killer? Come on, Inspector, Sarah Gibson is … was … nineteen years old. She had few friends and fewer connections in this country. She had so recently arrived from Australia she hadn’t even had time to make any enemies … even if she was the type to! It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘I agree, Mr Lawrance,’ said Kumar sympathetically. ‘At this point it makes no sense, however, give us some time and we will find the killer. I can assure you of that.’
Verity chimed in. ‘Nick, I’ve filled the inspector in with the rough gist of what’s been happening lately, but you’ll need to give her more of the details when you are ready.’
‘Actually,’ Kumar said, ‘I would like the three of you to come down to the station with me when Ms Gibson wakes up. I need to take a full statement of the events leading up to tonight and get us out of the forensics’ hair.’
‘I’ve already gone over most of it with one of your colleagues,’ said Nick, as he pulled Jaeger’s card from his pocket and handed it to the inspector. ‘Maybe you should speak with him and see where he is at with his investigations.’
‘But Nick,’ said Verity, ‘if the intruder expected the house to be empty and was surprised by Sarah being here, why wouldn’t he just leave? I can’t believe the purpose of his visit was simply to kill for no apparent reason.’
‘Good point,’ agreed Nick, while Inspector Kumar dialled Jaeger’s number. ‘Unless he was specifically targeting Bronte for some obscure reason, maybe he mistook Sarah for Bronte. They do look similar.’
‘This number is disconnected. I’ll phone the Yard to find him. If you don’t mind, I’ll hold onto this card.’ She dialled another number.
A few minutes later, after thanking the person on the other end of the phone, she turned to Verity and Nick. Her face was grim. She said in a more official tone, ‘It seems there is no such person as Conrad Jaeger at Scotland Yard. In fact, there is no one of that name in any of the police departments in the UK!’
22
As good as his word, at first light, the captain’s men escorted the group to one of the five arched monumental gates extending across the moat from the white-stoned walls surrounding the city. These imposing barriers faced eastwards to all parts of Europe, like giant magnets, compelling merchants and traders from afar to buy and sell in this opulent, cosmopolitan metropolis. Fortified battlements on the west were pounded by the pulsating Scheldt River, where over one hundred ships every day arrived or departed with spices from the Far East, tobacco and logwood from the New World, fabrics and tin from England and glass from Venice. This was Antwerp in 1576, the golden city of Flanders and the capital of world commerce, attracting tens of thousands of foreigners to settle in search of a better future.
‘So, Sacerdote,’ grunted a soldier, looking across the small body of water to one of the bastions of the city walls. ‘You hope to make your fortune here?’
Bunting could hardly hear him due to the cacophony of livestock, carts and people streaming across the bridge, through the arched gate and disappearing into the crowded streets. ‘We are on an errand for the Archbishop and while we are here we will apprentice the boy to a mapmaker in the city,’ Bunting shouted back.
‘I suggest that you hold onto your purse in this place. It is not only the Jews here that would have it, but all of these rich money-grubbers.’ The soldier turned his attention to a guard on one of the battlements. ‘Hey, German! Watch out for yourselves. We are coming back with some more friends tomorrow, to share in your prosperity.’
‘The only prosperity you will feel is this pike up your arse,’ spat down the German guard from above. ‘Go and get fucked before we start.’
The Spaniard took a last, longing look into the walled city, turned and walked away.
‘I thought this city was friendly with the Spanish,’ said Jakob to Bunting. ‘Didn’t that farmer we met on the road tell us that Antwerp aligned itself with Spain and that their Governor Champigny is a sincere Catholic?’
‘I am sure it is just soldier banter, Jakob, pay no heed. We have to find your cousin, and that will be a challenge.
23
Billy and Jaeger sat impassively in the car, listening to the conversation. Neither said anything, although Jaeger discerned a fleeting expression of understanding on Billy’s face when it became clear that it was Sarah Gibson who was dead. They remained silent until Kumar, Lawrance, Merton and Bronte Gibson had left the room and the only sound was the forensic team milling around.
‘They will find the bug soon,’ Jaeger predicted. ‘No matter. They have nothing.’
‘Shame for the girl,’ said Billy flatly. ‘She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I knew something was unusual at the end when she gasped “Bronte”. Nobody ever says their own name.’
‘You had no option,’ Jaeger commiserated. ‘Many innocents have suffered and many more will suffer before this is finished. When we discovered their churches were being used as arsenals and their priests were distributing guns and explosives to their congregations, we attacked and firebombed these churches. We also blew up their homes when we discovered they were being used as storage facilities for bombs. For over five hundred years our people have protested and endured. We have marched in the streets. We have fought them in government. There will be no surrender. Ulster has been our battleground, our last line of defence. This is far greater than our God-given rights in Northern Ireland, Billy. This is showing them the errors of their ways and expunging the evils they have perpe
trated. My God, Billy, your own father and brother were slaughtered by them. Our role in the Purple Order is not defensive. It is offensive. We, the chosen few, have always led the way. And now we are close. My God, we are close.’
Billy eased the car out of the parking bay and onto the A3 along Battersea Rise for the short journey to Clapham as Jaeger continued his diatribe. The scars on his face were red and glistening.
‘That loose-lipped Benedictine revealed that the maps held the key. Our best man got everything from him. So what do we know? Something was hidden over four hundred years ago that the Black Monks have sworn to protect; something so important that they have resorted to theft and murder. The Benedictine made it clear that Heinrich Bunting’s World Map is pivotal, but only the rare Antwerp edition. We have examples of both the Magdeburg and the Antwerp editions and they are exactly the same, apart from the address of the publisher. So what have we missed? What is the answer?’ He closed his eyes and thought deeply. ‘The answer is in front of us. I know it and I can feel it. However, we will have to be patient and keep gathering information. Lawrance and his friends will make their way to his place now. Let’s see what we can pick up from the bug you left.’
‘Conrad!’ said Billy urgently, ‘turn your head the other way. Lawrance is coming up on our inside.’
A few seconds later, the yellow Triumph drew alongside and both cars slowed as they approached a red traffic light. Billy surreptitiously glanced across and, although Lawrance’s car was lower to the ground, he could still see a crumpled and crestfallen Bronte Gibson in the narrow back seat, while Lawrance and Verity Merton were in a serious conversation in the front. A few seconds later the light changed and Billy let the sports car speed ahead.
Nick had insisted Bronte stay at his place. The three of them, drained after Inspector Kumar’s exhaustive questioning, were none the wiser when they left the station with the inspector promising to call them as soon as she had any information.
Bronte and Nick had also spent two hours with the police identikit experts, trying to recreate the faces of Jaeger and Robertson. Nick felt that the final image of Jaeger was accurate but was less happy with the Irishman. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but we only met him once and even then he kept a low profile. He didn’t really have any unusual facial characteristics. Maybe he was a bit like what’s his name – the James Bond guy.’
‘He was nothing like Daniel Craig,’ Bronte offered. ‘Daniel Craig is handsome. This bloke was bland, featureless.’
‘Well, I know I’m right in saying that Jaeger had wire-brush hair and terrible scars on his face,’ Nick had insisted, as Bronte nodded in agreement.
The gruelling debrief over, the sad group drove back to Nick’s place. Clive, Bronte’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, was waiting for them with four cups of sweet tea. Verity had made space by pushing the numerous history books and biographies cramming the surface of the table to the side.
‘I don’t normally have sugar, but this is such a tonic,’ said Verity. The other three nodded in agreement. Clive moved his chair closer to Bronte and wrapped his arm around her.
‘I just can’t believe Sarah is dead. Telling my parents was the hardest thing I have ever done,’ said Bronte, breaking into sobs again and tucking her head deep into Clive’s shoulder.
‘It is just so awful, Bronts … unbelievable,’ said Nick gently. The three of them looked at each other helplessly as Bronte howled and howled.
A few awkward minutes passed before Verity spoke quietly. ‘If Jaeger and the Irishman were not police, then who were they?’
‘Well, whoever they were, they were clearly after the Bunting word map, or information about the Bunting maps,’ said Nick. ‘And how do the Black Monks fit into all of this?’ he continued. ‘They also seem desperate to secure the map. Either the Benedictine or Jaeger and Robertson broke into the gallery and stole Dr Hamilton’s map. Surely Kumar can track down a Benedictine Monk in black robes, wandering around London, for God’s sake.’
Clive, who had hardly said a word to this point, broke in. ‘Guys, I’m sorry but I don’t think this is the time and place to be discussing monks and maps.’ He indicated Bronte’s distress with a slight head movement.
Everybody went quiet, nodding agreement before Verity spoke up. ‘You’re quite right, Clive. Sorry, Bronte, that was terribly thoughtless of us.’
Bronte lifted her head from Clive’s shoulder, her eyes wet and swollen, and smiled weakly. ‘Thanks, Clive. Thanks, Verity. I really appreciate what you’ve just said.’ Bronte took a deep breath before continuing. ‘However, I think I’m okay for everybody to keep discussing this stuff. If, in any way, we can find a reason for this madness … well, it would be helpful … I think.’
She continued haltingly, knowing that it would be difficult for anyone else to restart the conversation, ‘So, who stole the map from Sotheby’s in Amsterdam?’ There was a contemplative silence for a few seconds as they all pondered Bronte’s tearful query.
Verity broke the silence. ‘Nick, are there any differences between the map you had in the gallery and the Amsterdam edition?’
Nick took the thumb drive from his pocket and brought the map up on the screen. He then minimised the image and put in a search for the Sotheby’s Amsterdam map auction. ‘Okay, here they both are: the one that was stolen and never made it to auction and here is my copy from the gallery.’
The four of them gathered around the screen. Bronte, ever so slightly distracted from her grieving, spoke first. ‘Our map is cleaner?’ she suggested. ‘Absolutely no foxing, mildew or water stains. The Amsterdam one is definitely a bit grubbier. However, apart from that they are both the same map. They have the same titles, the same coastlines, the same sea monsters and the same information, from what I can see.’
‘I can’t see any differences either,’ Nick agreed. ‘These two, apart from the condition, are identical.’
‘What about the publisher’s address at the bottom,’ said Verity, ‘are they exactly the same?’
‘Yes they both say G. de Jode 10 Twaalfmaandenstraat Antwerpus 1581.’ Nick paused, puzzled ‘Hmmm … That is interesting, actually, I hadn’t really thought about that before.’
‘What?’ said Bronte and Verity in unison.
‘Well … the address of the publisher is normally a Magdeburg address, however, both of these have an Antwerp address. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I hadn’t taken much notice when I was describing it for the exhibition catalogue. That was totally unprofessional of me.’
‘But does it matter?’ queried Verity.
‘I’m not sure, but Gerard de Jode was a prominent cartographer in Antwerp, in the mid-to late-1500s and I should have made special mention of the unusual publishing of this map. De Jode was totally overshadowed by Ortelius, whose Theatrum atlas is considered a masterpiece. He is honoured to this day, and there are countless books about his life and works. The Belgian authorities have even recreated the house of his publisher Plantin, to celebrate both men. However, de Jode, although his maps are far more detailed and accurate than Ortelius’s maps, has almost disappeared from history.’
‘Interesting,’ said Verity. ‘So, if de Jode was recognised for his accurate and thorough maps, what on earth was he doing publishing the Bunting map? It’s terribly rough. There’s no Madagascar, Italy’s around the wrong way and Great Britain appears like a blob! This map is the antithesis of his normal standards.’
‘Agreed,’ said Nick, and what is his connection to Heinrich Bunting anyway?’
‘I spoke to Dad on the phone before,’ Verity added. ‘He’s been in touch with his old friend and colleague, Professor Reinhold Schroeder. He’s the Dean of the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at Gottingen University and a world expert on the Reformation and Comparative Religious Studies. Dad said that when he was researching his paper Religious Intolerance in Lutheran Germany 1520–1580, it was Schroeder who generously shared his research and information with him. That’s how he knows that
Bunting served time as a pastor in Lemgo, before being dismissed. Dad’s certain that if anybody can give us more information about the period, then it would be Schroeder. I met him myself last year at a Congress.’
Nick looked at Bronte.
‘Hey, it’s a good idea,’ the Australian assured him. ‘Really, Nick, don’t worry about me. I have to wait for Mum and Dad and work our way through this mess. Besides, Clive will stay with me.’ She looked up and smiled at Clive who was simultaneously nodding and bringing them all a second cup of tea. ‘Anything,’ Bronte sniffed, ‘anything at all you and Verity can do to lead us to whatever bastard killed Sarah, is good by me. But maybe Clive and I could stay here? While you’re gone, I mean? I couldn’t face going back to my place at the moment. I’ll do some research on the computer and keep in touch.’
‘Well there’s no way I’d let you go back to your place anyway. Of course you can both stay here. And anyway, Kumar gave me the impression that we had to be careful in case this low-life comes back. She said that they would do regular drive-bys for our security. Now, Bronts, are you really sure that you’re okay with us going to Germany, and you too, Verity?’
Bronte nodded resolutely.
Nick looked at Verity who nodded. ‘All right then, Verity and I will go see Schroeder.’
A few streets away two men listened on in silence, then switched off the receiver. Jaeger gave a nod to Billy to start the car, while he waited for his call to connect. A few minutes later he had confirmed two flights to Leipzig, a stone’s throw away from Gottingen.
Billy manoeuvered the car into the traffic and drove away from Clapham, in the direction of the M11 and Stansted Airport.
The Bunting Quest Page 11
