The Vault
Page 25
In the intermittent light given off by the fire, he could see Monster limping furtively towards the house, growling. His coat was alive with reflected light from the glass fragments trapped in it. Laurence watched as two cellar doors began to open, and flipping the safety on his Glock, stood up and levelled it at the spot.
Mo had been forced by one of the patrol officers to sit on the fire truck’s footplate, while she took his pulse. He had managed to indicate to the fire crew, who were now extending the tower ladder and bucket, where Eleanor had been standing when she’d smashed the window and called for help. That entire floor had been engulfed in flame now and not even the urgency of his chest pains could detract him from keeping his eyes pinned to that window. Time and the motion of the ladder seemed to have slowed to a heavy crawl and it was only the sight of Eleanor, Tommy Banks in her arms, being helped into the bucket by the fire fighter that paced the clock again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Simon, I’d like you to take a look at these photographs,” Eleanor said, selecting a handful of enlarged images from a file.
“I don’t want to be called that,” he said firmly, turning his head away from her and staring at the mirror.
“But Simon is the name on your birth certificate.”
“I haven’t got a birth certificate,” he replied coldly.
Reaching into a second file, Eleanor took out a photocopy of a birth certificate and slid it towards him. “Simon Mantell, born 1959, at the Sisters of Mercy orphanage. Your mother’s name was Martha Mantell, aged fifteen and there’s a blank where your father’s name should have been.”
There was a pause while he mulled this over.
“Explain to me why you took the name Toby?” she asked quietly. “The Father in charge of the Orphanage was called Wainwright Adams, wasn’t he? Did you feel he could have been your father?”
Toby turned to her, his face a mask of spite and anger. “He was my father!”
“Why do you think that?”
Toby was beginning to get agitated, his body language became twitchy and his temporal vein began to throb.
“Toby?”
“How is Detective Smith? Is he out of hospital yet?” asked Toby in a conversational tone.
Eleanor sat back and smiled at him. “He is well, thank you. He’s out and you’ll be able to see him next week, as he’s back on the case.”
Toby looked away again, staring at his image. “Who’s behind the mirror?”
Eleanor looked at the two-way, catching their reflection as she sat opposite Toby Adams. “Sometimes it’s Timms or Wadesky, sometimes my partner Laurence Whitefoot. Sometimes the Chief comes along to see how we’re progressing…Does it bother you?”
“A little,” he replied. “You and your partner are staying together?” he asked.
Eleanor looked at him, puzzled.
Toby smiled, coyly. “Detective Whitefoot came in yesterday and took my temperature. I felt a little under the weather and he said he was a qualified doctor.”
Eleanor nodded, wondering where this was going.
“He mentioned that he was very interested in the bird display at the museum. Apparently, it was a trip there as a teenager that gave him his love of nature and medicine. I’ve always said that the bird display is the highlight of every child’s visit.” Toby flicked his eyes at the mirror and then leaned towards Eleanor, conspiratorially. “He told me that I’d have never been caught if someone as brilliant as yourself hadn’t been on the case.” Toby nodded at her. “He confided in me.”
She raised an eyebrow and indicated he continue.
“He said he’d wanted to transfer to another unit but that even though you’re difficult to understand and work with, he wants to stay and learn from you.”
Eleanor glanced at the mirror and wondered if Laurence was watching them and listening. Some of the ease she felt must have shown, as Toby leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. Making the most of this connection between them she carefully spread the images in front of him and tapped each one. Toby had, so far, resolutely refused to look at the mortuary photographs of the bodies exhumed from his yard.
“Was she a lover, or a sister Toby?” she asked, pointing to the partially skeletonised body of a woman in her late teens or early twenties. “She’s very pretty still.”
Toby glanced at the photograph and gasped. “She is still beautiful, isn’t she? That’s Ariana. She was my third wife.”
“Can you remember her last name?”
Toby smiled and ran his fingers across the paper. “Roscoe. Ariana Roscoe.”
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief, nodding imperceptibly at the mirror. “When did she join your family Toby?”
“In late ninety-eight. The summer,” he said brightly.
“Can you remember where you met her?” she asked in a conversational tone.
Toby smiled and shook his head. “The museum, of course.”
Eleanor sighed. “Thank you. You’re being helpful Toby. Really helpful.” She gathered the material together and stood up.
“How’s Little Tommy?” he asked brightly.
She paused. “You know I’m not allowed to talk about Tommy.”
He nodded sadly, studying her for a moment. “You look tired Detective Raven.”
“I am a little.”
“They’re not going to take you off our case are they?” he asked, anxiously.
“No Toby, they know you prefer to talk to me.”
“Will it be much longer?”
“They’re still digging Toby,” she said quietly. “There’s still a way to go.”
“I saw you were mentioned in the paper, the Toronto Sun I think. They said you beat a journalist to within an inch of his life,” he said with wonder. “Did you?”
She headed for the door, nodding to the patrol officer who sat next to it.
“Detective?”
She turned and looked at him.
“I would have liked you to have been a family member, now that I’ve gotten to know you.” he said earnestly.
Eleanor took a moment before answering. “Thank you.”
About the Author
Karen Long is a former teacher who took up full-time writing ten years ago. She has written numerous screenplays and is currently working on the third novel in the Eleanor Raven series. Married to a film director she is fortunate to travel the world where she spends most of her time zealously flushing out and photographing reluctant wildlife. She lives in rural Shropshire with her three children, three dogs and a small but noisy collection of crows.
Book one in the series, The Safe Word is available to buy here.
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