“He was trying to locate a document that belonged to my great-grandfather.”
“Mr Whitstable, I need to know what you were asked to find for him.”
“It’s no secret.” Charles shrugged, unfazed by the demand. “Apparently James Makepeace Whitstable kept a personal chronicle covering certain key events of his life. It’s possible it may shed some light on recent events. I was concerned about my mother’s safety in London, so I decided to make the trip and check on her at the same time.”
“Did you have any luck finding this ‘chronicle’?”
“I’m afraid I was no help whatsoever. I barely had time to look. There were too many other problems weighing on my mind. Late on Christmas Day I received a call to say that I needn’t worry about finding it any more. He didn’t sound very pleased, I must say. Lawyers never are when you interfere with their plans.”
“It was Leo Marks who summoned you?”
“That’s right.”
“I need to make a call to London,” said the detective, pointing to the hall telephone. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Arthur Bryant was furious with himself for being so easily misdirected. Of course the law firm would be privy to the secrets of their oldest and most valued clients. If Max Jacob had known about the alliance’s philosophy, it explained why he had been carrying William Whitstable’s annotated Bible with him. The pages of the volume were marked according to William’s doctrine of light and darkness. He was a continuing part of the alliance.
May had foolishly dismissed Leo Marks from his mind after noting the youth and inexperience of the junior partner, ignoring the fact that the lawyer was acting on behalf of his ailing father. Marks had probably searched the guild for the diary, but it seemed unlikely that he would have murdered Alison Hatfield. He may, however, have unwittingly caused her death.
But once the diary was in the possession of Leo and his father, what had they intended to do with it? If it revealed the cause of the Whitstable family’s gradual destruction, surely they’d have wanted to protect the lives of their clients by turning it over to the police?
Bryant wished he understood the thought processes of lawyers. He had to make sure that Leo Marks was brought quickly and safely into custody. Tomorrow was twenty-eight December, and who knew what the anniversary would signify this time?
After the detective had departed, Charles came looking for Jerry.
“Who was that?” Jerry asked casually, rearranging a stack of books on the table before her.
“Another policeman. He made a phone call to London and left in a hurry. Judging by the look on his face, I’d say he’d received more bad news.”
She wondered what Arthur had discovered now.
She’d been right to go her own way. The police would never discover the truth. If she could only get Charles to confide in her. Last night he had seemed upon the point of opening his heart and unburdening himself. She just needed more time with him.
“I promised to get you back to London this morning,” he was saying, “so that’s what we should do. I have to attend to some financial matters in the City, and then I must look in on my mother.”
He came around to her side of the table and stood a little too close, looking down, smiling slightly. “Then let’s meet later. I have an apartment in Mayfair. My cooking’s no great shakes, but there’s an excellent Indian restaurant nearby. I promise we won’t talk about business. You can tell me all about yourself.”
“Fine,” Jerry replied. “And you can tell me all about your family.”
¦
John May had not been able to sleep. The continuing rain bothered him. The weather was becoming ever more inclement. He decided to rise and head for the PCU. He arrived in Mornington Crescent at six forty-five, just in time to intercept a second report call from the Chiswick residence of Christian and Deborah Whitstable.
Thumbing back through the incoming night reports he found that the first radio call, at five past six, had reported that two of the family were dead, cause unknown, and two were alive. Raymond Land had been the only senior official still on duty, and had responded to the alert.
By the time May reached the crime scene, the entire house was surrounded with vehicles. He noted three ambulances, a fire engine, dozens of press photographers, an armoured truck, several squad cars, and a mob of onlookers. So much for keeping a low profile, he thought as he approached the overcrowded garden.
“We managed to corner him, Sir,” said one of the security officers. “It took three tranquillizer darts to bring him down.” At first May assumed that they were talking about a human murderer, but before he could ask any further questions the unconscious orange-furred beast was carried out by guards on a long tarpaulin.
As the white-coated attendants reached the garden gate they were caught in a firestorm of flashbulbs.
“May, in here,” cried Land, shoving his way through a sea of blue uniforms. He looked as if he was about to be sick.
“For God’s sake don’t let the press see in through these windows, man,” shouted May as they reached the stairs. “If they can get into the trees opposite with a long-distance lens they’ll be able to shoot all of this.”
The officer he was addressing pulled the tall curtains closed, and turned on a battery of free-standing spotlights. An animal smell of rancid offal filled the building, mixed with the pungent odour that rose from the droppings left in the hall. May stepped over the forensic markers and walked on to the landing where Deborah Whitstable had met her death.
Broad arcs of blood had smeared and splattered the walls, and lay coagulating in black pools on the stair carpet. There were further splashes and bloody handprints on the white-painted banisters. Mercifully, the bodies had already been photographed and removed.
“How on earth did such an animal ever get in here?” May asked, amazed.
“We’ve been trying to piece together the sequence of events,” said Land. “As far as we can tell, something first went amiss shortly before five-thirty, while the guards were waiting to be relieved of their shift. One of them was at the rear of the house. The other was beaten unconscious. The front door was opened with his passkey, and the tiger was admitted. A bloody
“There had to be a large van or truck parked in the area, and it must have been brought close to the house. We’d better start checking with the neighbours.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. They’re all standing at the front fence in their dressing gowns.”
“What happened once the tiger was shut inside?”
“It would seem that the family were all still asleep. The veterinary surgeon we called in from the London Zoo reckons the creature had been systematically starved and conditioned to attack.”
“Have there been any reports of such an animal going missing?”
“It won’t take long to find out that information. It scented the humans in the house and came up the stairs to here.” Land pointed to the claw marks on the surrounding woodwork. “It must have woken Deborah first, because she came out on to the landing in her dressing gown. That’s where it attacked her.” He indicated a blackened corner of the passage.
“Then it turned its attention to the little boy. When the police arrived, they found the husband barricaded into the children’s bedroom with the daughter. He’d been whacked in the shoulder and chest by its paws, but was unhurt. The creature finished off Deborah, and dragged the boy down the hall by his head. Maybe it was saving him for later.”
Land lowered his voice further. “This is completely insane, John. Can you imagine the headlines we’ll get?” May noted that his superior’s first concern was the intervention of the press, not the plight of the butchered family.
“It’s not insane,” he replied. “It’s clever. They knew that whoever went in to kill the family would have trouble getting out again, so they chose a murderer whom nobody in their right mind would get in the way of. Someone – some
He looked out of the window at the crowds gathering below. “Everything’s accelerating, cause and effect, faster and faster. Don’t you sense that?”
