Back in the private meeting room, Dawn and John looked pensively on as Artimus scribbled away on a jotter, tossing pages into the centre of the table as he went.
Neil waited patiently, motioning for John and Dawn to do the same, as Artimus’ steam slowly waned.
Fifteen minutes, and multiple scans of the pages produced later, Artimus finally lifted his head. His cheeks were red and his breathing heavy, but the deep grooves etched into his forehead were fading back to the reassuring normality of calm.
“I think by now you all probably want some kind of explanation for my actions.” said Artimus, clasping his hands together and purposefully looking at every member of the group. “I’ve ruminated long and hard about how best to accomplish this and decided it is an inexplicably ridiculous idea to involve any of you in my thought processes.”
“But you said…” started Neil, taken aback by the comment.
“I know what I said, Neil.” said Artimus, dismissively. “I cannot however cast aspersions about your superior to you, and neither can I properly, and in good conscience, explain why I have come to my conclusions. All I can ask is that you trust me to do the right thing. So, do you?” He gazed slowly round the faces in the room, catching the mistrust in Neil’s eye and pausing. “Ask away detective.”
“Tell us what Henry said.”
“You know I cannot do that Neil.”
Neil was frustrated, and according to Artimus his superior had lied. If that lie was big enough, how was he supposed to investigate his way around it? “Our efforts are useless unless we know the facts. You know that, I know that, Dawn knows that, even bloody John knows that! If there is a lie, we at least need to know what it is so we can avoid falling into the reason traps that will surround it.”
Artimus appraised Neil. His lips, curled in anger for so long, softening as his smile slowly returned. “Everything you need to know is on those sheets. There should be two each. I’ve labelled the tops with your names.” He reached forward and shifted the pile, pushing each person’s toward them. “I will answer any questions you have based on what they contain.”
Neil studied Artimus. He was still hiding something, but his curiosity at what was written won over his desire to question the man further.
True to his word, Artimus had indeed written on the sheets and labelled them with his name, but there was little to read, the first bearing a solitary paragraph.
Good thinking on the money from the Grayson sale. It would have to be a specific amount, and it had to transfer through a lawyer’s practice. We need to find that practice and track it.
Neil looked up. Artimus was staring blankly into space, a definite attempt to avoid eye contact. He returned his attention to the second sheet and was stunned by what he saw.
Need to speak in private – outside this building. Not sure who to trust. Ask no questions; just say “Happy to go whenever”
Neil stared at the sheet, unsure what to do next. What the hell had Henry and Artimus talked about? Thoughts, hurried and fraught, raced through his mind before Dawn’s dulcet tones snapped him back.
“Can I ask why you want me to go for a meal at a pub?”
“I’m paying, obviously. I’ll get Harry to drive. There’ll be no cost.” said Artimus, leaning forward. “Of course, I could never allow you to go by yourself. You will be chaperoned.”
“By whom?” said Dawn, concerned.
“Detective Ignorant here will be joining you.” said Artimus, winking at Neil.
“Not a chance.” said Dawn, laughing.
“This I need you to do for the case.” said Artimus, drawing a deep breath. “Detective Townsend has been given very specific instructions on what I need him to find out whilst he is there. In order to do this, he needs suitable accompaniment, and I cannot ask him to go with John, can I?”
Dawn looked at Neil. Her eyes narrowed, and it was obvious she was biting her tongue. “Of course Artimus, it will be a pleasure.” she said, the smile given with the words as false as the sentiment behind them.
“Excellent! Anything else?”
“No. I’m sure you have your reasons for the things you’ve said, and I will keep my end of the bargain. You don’t have to worry. I would guess tomorrow lunch by the way.”
Neil watched Dawn fold her sheets neatly, her fingers playing over the edges of the paper, aligning the tips so the fold was precise. Whatever her comments meant, her meticulous attention to details would mean Artimus got whatever he had requested.
“Thank you Dawn, I think you may leave.” said Artimus, standing as Dawn departed. “Mister Bardsley, anything from you?”
“This is some pretty deep stuff.” said Wordy, grimacing as his brain was pushed to its limits. “Can I ask why I need to go abroad?”
Artimus stopped, reaching forward and grabbing the sheet Wordy was poring over. “Ah, Langoustines are a foodstuff, not a place. I believe you’re thinking about Lichtenstein.”
Wordy giggled. “Phew! It seemed like a long way to go to look at someone’s basement.”
“I’m not asking you to look at anyone’s basement.” said Artimus, confused.
“It says ‘Do not go local. Find a foreign seller’. Even I know seller is just basement said in British rather than American.”
Artimus turned to Neil, rolling his eyes and blinking hard. “Can we leave now please?”
“Happy to go whenever.” said Neil, trying not to laugh.
“Do your best for me please John.” said Artimus, as they walked from the room.
“I’m on it like a car bonnet.” said John, cheerily, still pondering how he was to accomplish what he had been asked.
“I honestly believe he was dropped on his head as a child,” said Artimus, as he and Neil set off through the building, “repeatedly.”
Neil walked slightly behind Artimus as he made his way purposefully down the back stairwell. There were so many questions he needed to ask, but he knew he would never answer them directly. He had to wait, see what Artimus offered freely, and try to find a way of prising out the missing pieces.
Neil hated situations like this. People not talking about what was bothering them. It reminded him of the worst day of his life. Even thinking about thinking about that day sent a shiver down his spine. It was why he was the person he had become.
Neil had never considered that people did not experience memories in the same way he did. Every moment, every nuance, every emotion; played and replayed ad infinitum. The great ones were a blessing, perfect repeats of the best days of your life, to relive in every detail whenever you wished. However, the bad ones… if ever there was a hell, reliving the worst moments of your life in glorious, millisecond-perfect, emotionally-draining Technicolor, over and over and over… well, that would be it.
Neil’s hell sat behind a door. He could hear the screams of the people behind it as their attacker stepped inside. He could see the man as he lunged toward the child. See himself draw the gun, pull the trigger, end a life. He could smell the bodily fluids of the man and woman lain on the floor of the apartment as they dispersed into its carpet. He could hear the sobbing, the awful, forlorn bawling of the boy, as the gun, now lying next to the three bodies, issued its faint trail of smoke into the room. He could hear the sirens, smell the rainwater soaked garments of the Special Operations Unit as they stormed inside. It was the day he…
“You know,” said Artimus, slapping Neil across the face, “for a man with your mental capabilities, your ability to zone out is quite impressive.”
Neil raised a hand to his cheek, glaring at Artimus, before realising he was sitting in the back of a limo. “What the…?”
“Three minutes, twenty-eight seconds.” said Artimus, checking his watch. “And I don’t think you took more than one breath. I actually had to hold your hand as I walked you to the car. It’s like self-hypnosis or something. You would make an amazing pearl diver. Does it happen often?”
Neil continued to stare, the entire situation surreal.
�
�My assumption would be that whenever you are replaying a memory, you cannot record a new one, effectively putting you on autopilot. I’ll assume you haven’t noticed because it usually happens when nothing much else is going on in your life. You’re sitting at your desk, or in the bath, or lying in bed etcetera; times when you would not notice a couple of extra minutes passing by. Fascinating.”
“That’s all well and good Artimus,” said a voice to Neil’s side, “but can we get on with this?”
Neil spun to see DCI Blackwater sharing the wide back seat with him and Artimus. “Sir?”
“Yes detective?” asked Henry, raising and eyebrow.
Neil did not actually have a question, so he turned back to Artimus. “What is going on?”
“My fault, but I had to make certain.” said Artimus, nodding. “After all the theatrics, I can see how this might be confusing.”
Neil glanced from Artimus to Henry, before closing his eyes and trying to calm himself.
“I think Mister Townsend needs more of an explanation than that.” said Henry, gesturing for Artimus to get on with it.
“Oh yes.” said Artimus, as Neil opened his eyes again. “We think there must be a mole in the Yard. After our earlier discussion, it became apparent that there was no one in the evidence chain who had either opportunity or motive to tell the untruth to the clerk of Clara Robertson. That meant there had to be someone with inside information into what we were doing who wanted us to stop. That person could only be one of your colleagues, Neil. So, we have to be careful with everyone in the office. Henry is of the belief he can trust you, Dawn, and John. I am not so certain about the latter two. That’s why you’re being sent to gather details on what goes on in that place, whilst determining if we can trust Dawn.”
“How am I supposed to do both?” said Neil.
“You’re a human video recorder!” said Artimus, incredulously. “Sit and talk with Dawn. Your eyes, ears, and brain will do the rest.”
Neil glanced at Henry, Artimus picking up instantly on what he was thinking.
“Henry did not tell Miss Robertson or her secretary what we spoke about; it was one of the officers on your floor.” said Artimus, understanding where the doubt came from. “Probably at the behest of someone we have already discussed.”
“Noel Grayson.” said Neil, catching on.
Artimus nodded. “I’m not sure what’s going on there, but I can guess the purchase of the Prospect of Whitby was part of Noel Grayson’s rise into the higher ranks of the craft.”
“And Miss Robertson?”
“That’s where we are heading now.” said Artimus, smiling. “I’ve contacted Nick, and told him to get Miss Robertson to meet me at my office as soon as possible. Most of the shouting you heard earlier was not directed at Henry, it was sent down the line of the conference call we were on.”
“Looked good for the crowd though.” said Henry. “Means people don’t think me and Artimus are on speaking terms, so he can investigate my unit without it looking like I’ve asked him to.”
“You shouted at the Deputy…”
“We’ve had this conversation Neil.” said Artimus, waving the remark away. “We need to focus on what we do next. Any thoughts?”
“We need to trace the money from that sale.” said Neil, realising Artimus was way ahead of him again. “We also need those genetic test results, plus the forensics from the brickwork.”
“We do.” said Artimus, holding his fingers up to his lips as if in prayer. “I can’t rely on Dawn to provide accurate details either. I have to assume the worst. So, I’ve sent Bancombe off on some errands.”
“You really think this is all a plot, driven by a masonic mastermind?” said Neil, surprised by the reasoning shown.
“What?” said Artimus, stupefied. “A masonic plot? Are you out of your mind!” He laughed, Henry joining in and making Neil blush. “Their only plot may be that one of their own is involved and they might be trying to corrupt the evidence trail to prevent us bringing the lodge into disrepute. Masons, no matter what Hollywood may have told you, are just old men drinking beer, helping each other out where they can, and doing charity work. Whatever they are hiding, it has nothing to do with those bodies. However, it may have something to do with that house. That’s why we need to talk to Miss Robertson.”
“Because she bought the house from Mister Grayson?”
“No Neil, she did not.” said Artimus, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “What we need to uncover however, is who would want us to believe that, and why.”
Chapter 25
Liberal with the Truth
Out of Time Page 24
