Dead And Buried

‘Has my dad been talking to you?’

The portly lawyer’s face became slightly ruddier than usual. ‘Well, yes. To be honest, he did. He told me about the unpleasantness you’ve been having at home, with all these phone calls.’

Alex felt her hackles rise. ‘And I’ll bet,’ she fumed, ‘that he asked you to do a workplace check.’

‘Well, er, yes, in fact he did.’

‘I will bloody kill him! Mitch, I’m really sorry, he had no business bringing any of that to you.’

‘Of course he had. Anyone in that position can come to me, and I’ll do what I can to assist. The soundings I took were as discreet as possible . . . obviously so, since this is the first you’ve heard of them. You’ll be glad to hear they came up with nothing, no potential candidates.’

She laughed lightly. ‘That’s almost a disappointment. You’re saying that even in a firm this size there’s nobody secretly lusting after me.’

Laidlaw beamed. ‘Actually,’ he chortled, ‘you’re quite wrong. There are several, but they don’t make any secret of it.’

‘Thank you, sir. My self-confidence is restored. To put you in the picture, I think the thing’s blown over. I’ve told the police to stop listening in to my calls as of now.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise, if they haven’t caught the fellow?’

‘Mitch, I’m in no danger: trust me on this.’

‘If you say so.’ He smiled, awkwardly. ‘But you can’t blame me for worrying. After all . . .’

‘Don’t say it! I’m your best fee-earner.’

Forty-two

‘ There’s no such person as Moses Archer: he doesn’t exist. I’ve run checks everywhere and that’s the official verdict.’ Amanda Dennis looked solemnly across her desk at Skinner, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Assumed name?’ she suggested.

The Scot shook his head. ‘No, it’s a discarded name,’ he countered. ‘All references have been excised from the records, everywhere.’

‘What makes you so sure of that?’

He took a letter from his pocket. ‘This does: it was posted last Friday, from one of the many places in the UK with an illegible postmark. The Royal Mail should have its cage rattled about that, by the way. Let me read it to you.

‘Dear Moses

‘I know you’re a busy man and everything, but it’s been a while since I heard from you. More importantly, it’s been a while since your nephews heard from you. It was young Joshua’s birthday yesterday. He was really disappointed not to get a card from you, or even a phone call. Mum called him, though, and sent money for me to buy him a present. She sounded well; she said she’s going to visit a friend in New Jersey soon, for a break before Christmas. I hope everything’s all right with you, and that you haven’t caught one of those winter bugs that laid you low when we were kids. I worry about you living on that boat. I know it’s lovely and it’s moored in a very posh area, but it must be bloody cold at this time of year.

‘Everything’s fine up here. The Dales are quiet, of course, but if we have a mild Christmas we may see more people around. I hope so, for every little helps in the bakery. Still, Elton’s had a reasonable year, so I shouldn’t grumble. He and I went to the Druid last weekend. The food was great as usual, and Elton said that the beer’s never been better. Will we see you at Christmas? Hope so. I’ve got your Santa Claus suit all ready for you.

‘Your loving sis

‘Esther.

‘The heading on the notepaper is Glebe Cottage, Stannington Drive, Bakewell. That’s in Derbyshire, if you didn’t know.’

Dennis gave him a reproving glance. ‘Of course I knew. I see what you mean: Moses Archer doesn’t exist, but he has a sister. So who the hell is he?’

‘No: who the hell was he?’

‘You know?’

Skinner nodded. ‘If you have to leave a name behind to protect your family from possible reprisals when you join a very secret organisation, Adam Arrow isn’t exactly a quantum leap from Moses Archer.’ He tossed a photograph on to the desk. ‘That’s Moses, in his teens by the look of him: it’s also Adam Arrow. I’m guessing that the girl is Esther.’

‘But who is Adam Arrow?’

‘He was the military intelligence officer involved in the plot, the man shot dead up at St Andrews.’

‘Are you certain of all this?’

‘Totally. I knew Adam as well as anyone did; that’s him as a kid. Half the time, when he spoke to you, he’d lapse into a very colourful Derbyshire accent; he only dropped it when he was talking serious business. The clothes on the houseboat were his size. There’s no doubt. Amanda,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t have to tell you that when you enter the world he inhabited, you have to leave everything else behind you. Major Adam Arrow lived in Dolphin Square, but I guess he was too attached to his family to allow Moses Archer to disappear completely. So he kept the Bulrush . . . Moses, bulrushes, there’s a connection when you think about it . . . as an accommodation address. No, more than that: as a gateway back into his real life.’

‘Wouldn’t that have been potentially dangerous for his family?’

‘Yes, it was reckless, but Adam was familiar with danger. He didn’t fear it, and he could manage it.’

‘And Arrow was the third plotter.’

‘Yes, but I’ve known that all along. The thing that concerns me now is that Moses Archer was in on it as well.’

Forty-three

She had just parked her car in her space in the underground garage beneath her apartment, when her mobile sounded. The screen identified the caller: for a moment she contemplated rejecting the call, but she knew that would be postponing the inevitable.

‘Yes, Pops,’ she said, into the hands-free microphone.

‘Alex, can you speak?’

‘Yes. I’m at home, more or less.’

‘What the hell is this about stopping the intercept?’

‘It’s what I want.’

‘We haven’t nailed the man yet. You can’t stop it. Even if you think you know who it is, you can’t stop it.’

‘I can, and I have.’

‘Gimme the name, then. Tell me who you think it is. I’ll have someone interview him.’

‘Pops, that’s precisely what I’m trying to avoid.’ For a few seconds the sound of her father’s breathing filled the car. ‘God,’ she said, ‘you sound just like him.’

‘That’s not funny!’ he snapped. ‘Look, give me the name and I’ll go easy on him: I’ll send Stevie Steele, rather than the heavy squad. He’ll just talk to him, establish whether it was him and, if it was, discuss his problem with him, gently, without any threat of prosecution.’

‘If I knew who it was, and I’m not saying that I do, I could do that myself. I could go to court and take out an interdict against him; if I did that, any further calls he made to me would be in contempt of court. He’d go to jail for that. If you slap a criminal charge on him the worst he’d get would be probation and a few sessions with a psychologist.’