Death at the Plague Museum

by Lesley Kelly

  ‘Bryce?’ Marcus’s eyes were almost as big and round as his specs. ‘You think Bryce set the bomb?’

  ‘Yes, I do. And you know how he told you I was having a nervous breakdown? Well, he’s been making up stories about you too. He told me, and I suppose, quite possibly told other people, that you’ve been taking bribes . . .’

  ‘Bribes?’

  ‘And I think he used your phone to call in the bomb warning . . .’

  ‘Oh, God. But why?’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t. But I do know that the police are coming to arrest you.’

  Right on cue there was a tap on the door.

  ‘What do I do?’

  ‘Tell them the truth. Tell them about your bag going missing, with your phone in it. Tell them as much as you know about Bryce, and that he’s not turned up at work today. And I’ll tell them what I know.’

  The knocking on the door grew more aggressive. He stood up to see a pair of ferocious eyes staring through the glass panel, followed by a hand gesture suggesting that he opened the door toot sweet. He turned back to Marcus who was cross-legged on the floor.

  ‘We need to open the door.’

  Marcus looked up at him. ‘It’s a myth, you know.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘First Do No Harm. It’s not what the original Hippocratic oath says. It actually says “I will utterly reject harm and mischief.” I’m not caught up in any mischief, Bernard, and I’ve certainly never harmed anyone. I just couldn’t do that.’ He reached under his desk and pressed a button. The door buzzed open, and the frame was filled by figures in black.

  ‘I know,’ said Bernard. He stepped back as a policeman and a policewoman pushed past him and hauled Marcus to his feet. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  8

  Paterson looked up as Mona walked in.

  ‘At last!’ She had finally tracked him down to a meeting room at Fettes. It was a small room, with seating for only six people. Paterson seemed to have spread his belongings in such a way as to cover most of the table and several of the chairs. He was a grizzly bear, marking out his territory in an unfamiliar land. Despite the available seating options, he had opted to stay standing, a laptop in front of him.

  ‘I was beginning to think no one had got my text. I was on the point of giving the entire team up as lost and heading off to the cafeteria to drown my sorrows in weak Fettes coffee.’

  ‘Haven’t you heard from anyone else?’ Mona moved Paterson’s jacket so that she could lower herself into a chair at the opposite end of the table.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Bernard, bit of a story there, which I’ll tell you later, but he didn’t say if he was heading over here. Maitland is still in the hospital as far as I know, and no surprise here, Carole didn’t respond to the message.’

  ‘Kind of glad she’s not here, to be honest, Guv. Maitland’s an idiot . . .’

  ‘Very true.’

  ‘But I can’t help feeling her attitude played a big part in him nearly getting blown up. He’s got the excuse that he’s still young and stupid. She might not want to be at the HET but he’s got his future career to think about. If she wants to mess about that’s one thing but she should leave him out of it.’

  Paterson grunted. ‘I see why she’s got a grudge, what with her boy, and getting kicked in the face, and everything. And I understand that she’s bitter, I’d be exactly the same. But this ludicrous new no resignations diktat from Stuttle means we’re all stuck with each other, and I’m just not sure I can see us working together with her in that mood. The woman’s a liability.’

  ‘No argument from me there, Guv.’ They contemplated this in silence for a moment. ‘Anyway, how are the computers?’

  ‘Not looking good.’ He spun the laptop round to show her a blank screen. ‘Everything’s down. The entire HET system.’

  ‘What about IT? Can’t they do anything?’

  Paterson’s face took on a most unusual expression, a grimace mixed with disbelief, with just a hint of sadness underpinning it all.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is going to come as a surprise,’ he shook his head, as if he was still processing some unbelievable thought, ‘but the tall, speccy one from the IT department . . .’

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘The one that has a crush on you, yes, well, he’s been arrested on suspicion of being responsible for the bomb.’

  ‘No!’ She wondered if he’d got this wrong. ‘Marcus? Big, geeky Marcus? They must have made a mistake.’

  ‘Possibly, but they did have evidence that suggests he’s involved.’

  ‘But why would he do that?’

  ‘I suspect at someone else’s behest. And if you are about to say “whose . . .”’

  She was.

  ‘ . . .don’t bother, because I have no idea. But what I do know is that the box that Helen Sopel left vanished during the first bomb hoax, a bomb put paid to our server and God knows what damage is currently being done to our IT systems. Someone’s done a pretty good job of destroying what evidence we’ve managed to accumulate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know! I was hoping that you might have some idea of what the hell is going on! Is Carlotta Carmichael behind all this, do you think? Are we’re sitting on something dangerous to her interest, or maybe dangerous for other reasons, and we’re all just too stupid to know what it is?’

  Her conversation with the Professor had given her a pretty good steer on what that might be. She opened her mouth to tell the Guv about her findings, then some instinct for caution overcame her and she clamped it shut. Could she really trust Paterson? For all his bluster and supposed hatred of authority, the Guv was very much a company man. If she told him about Bircham-Fowler’s information, he’d immediately want to tell Stuttle, and God knows where his actual loyalties lay. Chiefly to Stuttle, she suspected.

  ‘You really think Carlotta would be up to risking the life and limb of HET staff, Guv?’

  ‘No, but I think she’d be quite happy to delegate a task, and not take too much interest in how her underlings went about fulfilling her wishes.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Stuttle and I had a private meeting with Paul Shore, her assistant, a couple of days ago . . .’

  She remembered an earlier conversation. ‘Was Bernard at it?’

  ‘No! We’re hardly going to invite Bernard along. What would he do – make the tea? Nah, the daft prick walked in on us.’ He looked suddenly stern. ‘I take it he’s kept his mouth shut, as instructed?’

  ‘Absolutely, Guv. Just me putting two and two together.’

  ‘Anyhow, Shore says she’s been in a terrible state these past few days. Thinks she’s not coping with the workload, and these civil servant deaths are just the last straw. He seemed to think that whatever is going on, she’s not in control of it any more. I think she might have started something that she’s now regretting. Although Shore was totally adamant that he knew nothing about how or why the bomb hoaxes happened. And if he knows what or who might be behind it, he’s not sharing.’

  ‘The thing is, Guv, the actual evidence might have gone, but we all know what was in the box.’

  He grimaced. ‘Maybe that means that we’re next in line for eradication.’

  ‘Comforting thought! Oh, God, Guv, it’s difficult to know who to talk to about this. I mean, if Marcus, the most boring man in the world, can turn out to be some kind of Virus terrorist, then there really is no one we can safely trust.’

  ‘I know! Mona . . .’ He paused. ‘This friend of yours, Cassandra Doom . . .’

  ‘Christ’s sake, Guv!’ She felt her earlier fury surging back. ‘She’s not a friend. I met her on a dating site where she was calling herself Elaine. I didn’t realise who she was until I’d had dinner with her.’

  ‘So . . .it’s not you that’s been leaking all the stuff?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She slumped back in her chair and wondered how the trust between them had disappeared so completely.

  ‘I neve
r seriously thought that it was . . .’

  ‘Really? I thought I was a “security risk”?’

  He sighed. ‘OK, I had a temporary moment of insanity, but like you said things have gone crazy if the man who fixes my computer while chuntering on about science fiction is suddenly a terrorist.’

  ‘I suppose. So, for the record, no, I have not leaked a single thing to Cassandra Doom, but . . .’ She paused, as a thought hit her. ‘Bernard found a listening device in his home phone and his office phone. I wonder if Marcus was responsible?’

  ‘You found a listening device in the office? And you didn’t think to mention it to me?’

  ‘Trust is a two-way thing, Guv?’

  ‘It’s my bloody office! I had a right to . . .oh, you know, never mind. We don’t have time for this. Just promise me you’ll keep me in the loop from now on.’

  ‘OK, Guv.’

  ‘So, Marcus has been monitoring our emails and phone calls. Suddenly it all becomes clear.’

  ‘Hello.’ Bernard was standing in the doorway, with the expression of a man who had just had his world turned upside down.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Paterson pulled out a chair for him.

  ‘Marcus—’

  ‘I know, Bernard, it’s difficult to take in,’ said Mona.

  ‘He didn’t do it.’

  ‘See sense,’ said Paterson. ‘His phone was used to make the hoax call.’

  ‘That’s a bit stupid,’ said Mona.

  ‘Exactly!’ Bernard nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’d have to be incredibly stupid to use your own mobile to commit a crime. And Marcus is far from dumb. In fact, he’s hyper-intelligent and extremely IT literate. He would know how easy it would be to trace the call.’

  Paterson’s face had borrowed Bernard’s earlier expression. ‘You think someone set him up?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bernard. ‘And I know who. It was Bryce.’

  Mona looked at Paterson to see if he knew who this was.

  ‘The other IT guy!’ Bernard looked exasperated. ‘The one that never says anything.’

  ‘Him?’ Mona tried to get a mental picture of what Bryce looked like. She had a vague feeling of dark hair, a beard perhaps? ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t know why, but I do know it’s him. The past few days he’s been telling me things about Marcus that aren’t true, like he’s addicted to online gambling . . .’

  ‘Is he addicted? Because that could explain . . .’

  ‘No! It’s all lies. Bryce disappeared off somewhere yesterday and hasn’t come back. I couldn’t get the police to take me seriously when I was trying to explain.’

  Mona could see their point. Bernard was in a heightened emotional state, and frankly, sounding like a bit of a lunatic.

  ‘And now Marcus is in prison.’ Bernard threw himself into the chair.

  ‘He won’t be in prison yet,’ said Paterson. ‘He’ll be in a room in Fettes somewhere, getting a stern talking-to.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bernard snapped. ‘And he’s exactly the kind of person who would confess to something he didn’t do under duress. Or crack an inappropriate joke that makes things ten times worse.’

  The look on the Guv’s face suggested that he agreed with Bernard on this one. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Stuttle, see if we can find out more about this Bryce character before Marcus confesses to every unsolved crime CID has on their books. In the meantime, you two need to get Helen Sopel found, and see if she can shed any light on what’s going on.’

  ‘Take this.’ Bernard pulled out what looked to be a large hanky. He peeled back the four corners of it to reveal a mobile phone. ‘Anneka’s. Pin code is 2309. I haven’t had time to look at the messages, and now I need to go.’

  ‘Go?’ said Paterson. ‘Where are you off to? I need you here.’

  ‘I’ve arranged an, ehm, meeting with the woman who works at the Plague Museum, see if I can get some more information from her. Should take an hour tops, then I’ll be straight home to see if I can find out anything else. I’ll have access to the Internet at home, unlike here. Unless someone’s blown up my flat while I was out.’

  ‘I’m sure your flat is fine. OK. See you tomorrow.’ Paterson was placated. ‘But early, mind.’

  ‘Bye, Bernard,’ Mona said, absent-mindedly, her focus now entirely on the phone.

  She heard Bernard speaking to someone as he left and looked up to see Ian entering the room. Without hesitation, she thrust the phone into her pocket.

  ‘Rather an exciting day,’ said Ian. ‘Glad we could offer you some hospitality here until your building gets the all-clear.’

  ‘Getting more exciting by the minute,’ said Paterson. ‘One of the IT guys has just been arrested on suspicion of placing the bomb.’

  ‘Arrested? Really?’ Ian’s face showed no emotion, but Mona felt that there was some feeling that he was struggling to conceal. Was he incredibly shocked by this news? Or not surprised at all?

  ‘Yeah, Bernard’s pretty upset. He’s good friends with Marcus.’

  ‘Marcus?’ Again, that look on Ian’s face that Mona couldn’t quite place.

  ‘Yeah. Shocker, isn’t it?’

  ‘Remind me which one he is?’

  ‘The tall one with the ponytail and the little round glasses.’

  ‘Do you know who the arresting officer is?’

  ‘No idea. Stuttle phoned me, and said he was sending a couple of plods down to arrest him.’

  Ian considered this for a moment. ‘I’ll go see what I can find out.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Paterson. ‘I’m not getting anywhere with the IT system.’

  Mona saw a slight hint of irritation cross Ian’s face.

  ‘The computer system is humped,’ Paterson continued, shutting down his laptop and unplugging the charger. ‘Shall we knock it on the head, Mona, come in fresh tomorrow?’

  ‘Good idea, Guv.’ She was grateful for the suggestion, wanting to get the phone out of Ian’s grasp. ‘Later, Ian.’

  He didn’t respond.

  9

  Lucy was already at the café when he arrived. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his fluttering stomach. He was far more flustered than he’d hoped he would be, and much less well groomed. His initial plans for the evening had been to leave work relatively early, go home, shower, and prepare two to three non-work topics of conversation that he could use. Instead he had run straight from his work to catch a bus, and was now a slightly sweaty nervous wreck.

  Most of the bus journey had been spent debating with himself whether he should call the whole thing off. As he had climbed the stairs in search of a free double seat he was convinced he should cancel, he really should, and devote his time to trying to help Marcus. By the time the bus had hit Princes Street he was swinging the other way, because, after all, what could he usefully do? March into Fettes and tell him they had to let Marcus go and start looking for Bryce instead? Because he had tried that earlier without any success whatsoever. He could, of course, spend all evening on the Internet trying to look for clues. But if he was honest, if he didn’t turn up some useful information by googling Bryce’s name he wasn’t really sure what to do. He usually relied upon Marcus for any complicated navigation of the world wide web. By the time the bus pulled up at his disembarking point, he’d decided to meet Lucy, keep it as business like as possible and be out of there within the hour.

  Lucy had bagged a nice corner location, a discreet distance from the other diners. A candle was flickering away on the table, lighting up her face as she turned to smile and wave at him. All in all, the date could not be getting off to a more romantic start. Except that Lucy didn’t know it was a date, and now he was going to have to have a very embarrassing conversation to bring her up to speed on the nature of his thought processes about the evening. He resolved to get it over sooner, rather than later.

  ‘Hello, Bernard. I hope you don’t mind but when I saw this seat was free I just grabbed it. I thought it was the best one for
a,’ she lowered her voice ‘private conversation’.

  ‘Yes, about this evening . . .’

  ‘Would you like some menus?’ A waiter appeared at their side, proffering two wooden clipboards with a list of dishes attached to them.

  ‘Ooh, lovely.’ Lucy immediately began scanning the options.

  ‘So, about tonight . . .’

  ‘Wine list?’ A third wooden clipboard appeared between the two of them.

  ‘Ehm, no, thank you,’ said Bernard.

  ‘It’s a working dinner,’ said Lucy, brightly, by way of explanation.

  Bernard gave up. This was not going to be a date. He should never have imagined Lucy wanted to come on a date with him. They were going to spend an hour talking about work, they’d go their separate ways and he was going to die alone. Without even Marcus for company, who would be doing a thirty-year stretch for crimes he didn’t commit.

  ‘I’ll have the lentil lasagne, and a Coke, please.’ He handed back his menu. At least he was going to be fed.

  ‘The polenta for me, and a mineral water.’ She handed the wooden board over, shooting the waiter one of her lovely smiles; somewhere deep within Bernard a green-eyed monster awoke. He’d like one of those looks. ‘I expect you work round the clock at the HET. You must have working dinners all the time.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Never, to be precise. ‘Anyway, how long have you worked at the museum?’

  ‘Oh, just a couple of years. I did the MLitt in Museum and Galleries Studies at St Andrews, then got an internship at the Museum, which turned into a proper job, yay.’ She made a little air punching gesture. ‘Of course, when I started it was quite a sleepy little Museum, then the Virus hit and suddenly we’re hugely popular. And you? How long have you been at the HET?’

  ‘Nine months. Before that I was a professional badminton player, then I retrained as a health promotion specialist. A little-known profession, then the Virus hit and suddenly we’re hugely popular.’

  They both laughed. If this had been a date, it would actually have been going quite well. He thought about raising the issue, but didn’t want to jinx the magic. The waiter appeared and placed their drinks on the table.