by David Carter
‘Anything?’ he said, nodding at the paperwork.
‘Not really,’ said Walter, scratching his back.
‘It’ll come, Darriteau, don’t worry about that. Putting that to one side for a second, did you have time to check out Caroline Meade?’
‘Are you serious about this?’
‘Of course I’m serious. It’s the best opportunity to penetrate the Meade family we’ve ever had.’
Walter sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin.
Vairs was mumbling to himself, ‘Penetrate, yeah, and one member of the Meade family in particular.’
Walter grimaced and said, ‘You’re talking about infiltrating the Meade gang as if we’re working for MI6 or MI5, and we’re plotting against the Soviet Union.’
‘We might as well be. Those buggers are ruthless killers, and I don’t mean the Russians, in case you failed to notice. I take it from your reluctance you have done nothing about it.’
‘As it happens, I have.’
‘That’s something, I guess. Go on, what have you got?’
Walter grabbed his notes and read aloud.
‘Caroline Meade is sixteen. She’s the youngest of the Meade children, and she’s still at school.’
‘There you go! She isn’t jailbait, that’s something. You’re free to get started. Get right in there with a clear conscience, knowing you can’t be hauled before the beak.’
‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, sarge.’
‘Bollocks! Which school?’
‘Queens High School in Kensington. It’s highly rated; and girls only.’
‘Perfect!’ said Vairs. ‘She’ll be hankering after male company after spending all day with her girly mates, and I wouldn’t think Howard Meade would be too keen on her bringing young men back to the house. The girl’s a ripe peach, sitting atop that golden tree in the bright sunshine, waiting for you to reach out and pluck her off.’
‘She’s a schoolgirl, sarge.’
‘She’s legal, that’s all you need be concerned about, and she loves you too, though God knows why. Perhaps she’s short-sighted. You’re not gay, are you?’
‘Leave it out, sarge.’
‘I wonder what’s she’s studying.’
‘I can tell you that too,’ said Walter, smirking and returning to his notes. ‘She’s majoring in history and geography.’
‘How the hell do you know that?’
‘I rang up and asked. Told them I was from the education department and some of her records had gone missing. Spoke to some young woman who maybe had just started there. She told me everything I wanted to know, probably before she’d even thought about who I was.’
‘You cunning bastard! No wonder the country’s gone to the dogs. You’re a pirate, Darriteau. All you need is a beard and a bandana. Didn’t Bismarck once say that when he came across a pirate he needed to be a pirate and a half to get the better of him?’
‘I didn’t know you were interested in history, sarge.’
‘Of course I am! What else is there? It’s all there, written down in black and white. The future sure isn’t. All the lessons anyone ever needs to know are somewhere in the history books. I take it, it doesn’t interest you?’
‘As a matter of fact, it does.’
‘Favourite eras?’
Walter didn’t need to think.
‘Roman Empire, for sure, also American Civil War, the American Indian wars, and I admire Bismarck too, and I think he’s misquoted on that pirate thing.’
‘I’m seeing a different side to you, Darriteau. I’ll make a detective of you yet. The two of you can sit there and discuss your mutual friend, Otto, till the cows come home. Couldn’t be better. Three history fans on the same case. Don’t suppose you have any idea if she has any interests out-of-school hours?’
‘She’s on the lacrosse team... and plays chess.’
‘La-freaking-crosse! What a bastard of a sport, that is. A cross between hockey and fishing! What kind of puff invented that? I mean, really. A sport for loons, and no mistake. How do you know, anyway?’
‘I scanned the local newspapers. It’s all in there if you have the time and look hard enough.’
‘Do you play chess?’
‘I do, love it. Give you a game sometime.’
‘It’s not me you want to play with, bollock-brains. It’s her! Where does she play?’
‘Chelsea Chess Club, she’s on the under 21’s team, so she must be pretty good.’
‘I don’t care how good she is. But all the blocks are falling into place, Darriteau, as if it were meant to be. She plays chess, you play chess, she’s interested in history and so are you, and she’s under twenty-one, and guess what, you are too, well almost. Do you know where the chess buffs meet?’
‘The Athenaeum Building, Wednesdays at half seven.’
‘Fab! Get yourself down there on Wednesday night and set the ball rolling. Might be an idea to be ten minutes early.’
‘I don’t think they’ll let in just anyone, sarge. These kids are the sons and daughters of Lords and MPs, and diplomats and barristers, and highly successful people. Plus all the hoi polloi lot, Eton and Harrow, that set,’ said Walter, and he thought of adding: they’d never let me in, though he didn’t.
‘Yeah, and crooks and criminals, too, as we now know. They’ll admit you, no doubt about it, when you flash your badge, and if they want any extra reassurance, tell them to ring me and I’ll set them straight, got it?’
‘Sure, sarge, if you say so.’
‘I do bloody say. And don’t take your eyes off the prize. Your job is to have this Caroline Meade so far into you she will tell you anything and do anything, and I mean any damned thing, you got that?’
‘I have, sarge,’ said Walter nodding, though wondering what the hell he was getting involved in, and where it might lead.
‘Good!’ said Vairs. ‘Now get on with this bloody paperwork, it’s all over the damned office.’
‘On it now, sarge.’
Vairs headed away towards the kitchen, hunting coffee, muttering to himself, ‘Can you imagine the intel this might produce?’
Thirty-Two
Miss Lena Caulker dunked a rich tea biscuit in a fresh cup of coffee without a hint of embarrassment and slipped half of it into her mouth. Karen said, ‘What is the connection between the secret society and the number fifteen?’
‘Don’t you even know that?’ she said. ‘You don’t know much, do you?’
Walter pulled a benign face, and said, ‘That’s why we need your help, Miss Caulker. What is it?’
‘It all goes back to the Romans.’
‘The Romans?’ said Karen. ‘What’s it got to do with them?’
Lena finished her coffee, set the mug down, and said, ‘I can see you need a history lesson. This might be boring, but you asked about the fifteen, so bear with me. Here it comes.’
Walter set his hand across the table, palm up, gesturing her on. She nodded and began.
‘As far as anyone knows, the city of Chester was established in 76AD, though it wasn’t called Chester. A purely Roman invention, a local fortress with a Roman name: Deva, or to give it its full name: Deva Victrix.
‘The Roman military planners wanted a base in what is now north-west England, it’s purpose to house, feed and prepare Roman strikes north against the Brigantes, and west to face the troublesome Celts. They haven’t changed much, have they?’ and she let go a sharp laugh.
‘Surveyors and military experts decided that Deva was the best placed location for an important fortress that would become a town, and city. Ample supplies of fresh water tumbling down from Valentia, as the Romans called Cymru, or Wales if you prefer. That meant expensive aqueducts would never be needed. Plus rivers teeming with fish, a safe place for Roman ships to sail up the River Dee bringing in specialised supplies not available locally, wine, olive oil, weaponry, et cetera. And all around were flat grasslands suitable for agriculture, and local forests packed with game ani
mals, though the newcomers soon learned not to venture out late at night for fear of bears and wolves, and some locals too, who were, if not welcoming, a lot better than some of the more warlike tribes. What was not to like? It was a perfect place. Deva Victrix was born, and it has been a bustling place ever since.’
Karen struggled to stifle a yawn.
‘The fifteen,’ said Walter, trying to bring her back on track.
‘I’m coming to that. As you must know, the Romans were sticklers for discipline, and it wasn’t unusual to put to death some of their own troops. They figured it stiffened the resolve of those remaining. Anyone or any trooper not performing was at risk. Maybe for sustaining defeats, cowardice, not showing senior officers sufficient respect, and desertion of course, that would never be tolerated, and the policy was known as decimation.’
Walter was all over that.
‘That’s one in ten.’
‘I know that, Inspector. But the story goes, or was created much later, take your pick, that because they were short of troops, the boss gaffer, whoever that was, took a more lenient view, and decided on culling one in fifteen.’
Karen said, ‘How?’
‘How what?’
‘How were they culled?’
‘Straight to the gory bits, eh? You’ll like this,’ she said, smirking, and reaching for another biscuit. ‘This is interesting. They took the ones who drew the short straws out into Liverpool Bay on a stormy day, tossed them overboard, and all but one drowned.’
‘Like Peter Craig,’ said Walter.
‘Yes, recognise the symbolism?’
Karen said, ‘What happened to the one who made it ashore?’
‘He was honoured for his determination, granted a top supper, given a decent family pension, and put to death with a sword through the guts.’
‘And you believe all this?’ said Walter.
‘Ah, I didn’t say that,’ said Lena Caulker, grinning. ‘I am telling you what was put around, some nonsense Torquers Wilderton told me after a good few scotches. But if you want my honest opinion, I think it’s all a load of conjured-up hoo-hah. Someone created the entire legend to give the so-called secret society a little history and gravitas it never had, or deserved.’
‘And Wilderton told you this?’ said Walter.
‘Yes, I just said so, and a lot more besides.’
‘When did this happen? I thought you stayed well clear of the man.’
‘I don’t think I said that. I said I didn’t fancy him, and didn’t want his slimy hands all over me, or any other parts near me, if you get my drift. But that aside, he could be decent company after a hard day’s work, and I, along with many others, would often adjourn to the Liverpool watering holes after six o’clock, and sometimes the others would drift away, and frequently I was left alone with Torquers.’
‘And you were comfortable with that, being alone with him?’ said Karen.
‘Yes, once I’d made it clear there would be nothing more on offer than conversation, companionship, and a damned good laugh. He accepted that, albeit reluctantly, and we got on well. The drinks flowed, his tongue loosened, and maybe more than it should have.’
‘Where did you go?’ asked Walter, always keen to fill in every part of the picture.
‘There were too many to mention, Inspector. Sam’s Bar, Ma Boyle’s Oyster Bar, Jenny’s, La Broche, The Oriel, The Albany, even The Slaughter House, The Strand Hotel, The Queen’s, and many others I’ve forgotten.’
‘Did he tell you anything else?’
‘He said there were fifteen of them in this queer club of theirs, that number again, and when a member died, and that was the only way they could ever leave, they made it their business to find someone suitable to sit in the blank chair.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Walter.
‘Yes, but one night when he was plastered he mentioned the new incoming member had to prove his worth by carrying out an important task.’
‘Like what?’ said Karen.
‘I know you’ll laugh at this, but Torquers said they’d have to prove their manliness and worthiness by killing a coward, or an otherwise unworthy member of Chester society.’
‘And Torquers Wilderton has just died,’ said Karen.
‘Yes,’ agreed Walter, ‘creating a vacancy, and maybe they are looking for someone new to join their crazy gang.’
‘Or maybe they’ve already found someone and are looking for someone to cull,’ suggested Karen.
‘Could be,’ said Walter.
‘You don’t believe all this nonsense, do you?’ said Lena.
‘Every fifteen years people have a habit of dying in suspicious circumstances, and we’re due another one in two days.’
‘Even if that’s true,’ said Lena, ‘where do you find a coward these days? They are not ten-a-penny, hanging around every street corner with an “I’m a Coward” badge on.’
‘It doesn’t have to be a coward,’ said Walter. ‘Peter Craig certainly wasn’t. The meaning might have morphed into anyone who the secret society considered not worthy of living, having committed some heinous crimes to the detriment of members, and other law-abiding citizens.’
Karen asked, ‘Did Torquil Wilderton tell you the name of the society?’
‘He probably did, but I thought it was all so far-fetched I can’t remember it. So many times I almost wet myself at the nonsense he spouted, and a lot of it vanished in an alcoholic haze. I couldn’t do it now, that’s for sure. ’
Walter said, ‘If there is going to be another death, would you have any idea how it’s likely to be carried out?’
As he asked the question, the sketch of the hangman returned to his mind.
‘None whatsoever, except to say that they fancied themselves to be creative when it came to method, or so Torquil hinted, with a silly look on his face, as if he enjoyed winding me up. And that, Inspector, is what I thought he was doing at the time.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ said Walter, ‘and give it some thought because this could be important.’
‘Not that I can think of right now. But I’ve reached the ripe old age of eighty, and my mind is not as retentive as it once was. Or to be more accurate, sometimes I can’t instantly recall things. Though the good thing about that is, all is not lost. Odd flashes of memory come back to me, often at random moments, and when I least expect it.’
Walter smiled across at her and said, ‘And when these random flashes appear, would you call me and let me know?’ slipping his card across the table.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘To tell you the truth, this is the most important and exciting thing to happen to me in ten years. If anything more arrives,’ and she tapped the side of her head, ‘you’ll be the first to know.’
‘Thank you, Miss Caulker, you’ve been most helpful. Karen will show you out.’
‘Just one more bicky,’ she said, grinning. ‘A token payment for my knowledge and expertise,’ and she grabbed a Bourbon cream and slipped it in her jacket pocket for later, like a naughty schoolgirl.
After she’d gone, Walter said, ‘Get Martin and Jenny in here. I have a theory about Peter Craig’s death, and five minutes later they were all around the table, waiting for him to begin.
Thirty-Three
On Wednesday afternoon in the Chelsea Station, years ago, Vairs ambled in like a wary rat. Young Darriteau was sitting in front of a pile of fresh papers, Stella Hollyoak leaning over him for a better look, and the pair of them sure looked cosy.
‘What’s happening?’ barked Vairs, as he removed his grubby raincoat and slapped it on the curly polished wooden coat-stand.
Stella glanced at the man with his colourful eye and said, ‘Latest bumf just arrived, sarge. I was giving DC Darriteau a hand.’
‘I’ll bet you were,’ he said, sitting down and pulling out a cigarette. ‘You can bugger off now. Come back later when I’m out. I need to brief Darriteau on something.’
Stella pulled a face, shared a look with Walter
and said, ‘Sure, sarge,’ and turned tail and hurried away.
‘Flighty bitch, that one, you want to watch her,’ he said, flicking his silver lighter three times before fire broke out.
You want to watch her. Walter considered the man’s words. What, with a black eye? he imagined himself saying, though he contented himself with a smirk and a glance across the desks.
‘Did I say something funny?’
‘No, sarge, not at all.’
‘Well stop grinning like an idiot and tell me where you’re up to.’
‘What? With the paperwork?’
‘Not with the bloody paperwork, stupid head! With preparations for tonight’s special op.’
‘Ah,’ said Walter, ‘you mean Caroline Meade.’
‘For a budding detective, sometimes you come across as incredibly dim, Darriteau. Of course we’re talking about Caroline, fancies the pants off you, Meade. The question is; are you prepared and ready?’
‘I think so.’
‘Fresh aftershave? Condoms packed and handy?’
Walter jerked his head back and stared at the man.
‘I’m joking. That was a joke. But it’s always best to be prepared. You must know that. What are you going to talk about?’
‘I thought I’d let her do most of the talking. I don’t want to go charging in like some crazy bull, quizzing her about her family. She’s an intelligent kid and would pick up that vibe straight away.’
‘For once, Darriteau, you are right. That’s the exact strategy we want you to follow.’
Walter wondered who he meant when he said “we”, but before he could ask, Vairs was talking again.
‘The key is, you take your time before we spring the trap to land the goose.’
‘Sure, sarge. That’s the idea.’
‘And make sure as soon as you get out of there you write in your notebook everything that happened, and everything said, chapter and verse, before you forget it. Understand? I’ll want a full report first thing.’
