“Then bloody well find a way to stop it,” said Land, angrily heading for the stairs.
¦
Just before noon, John May arrived by police helicopter in Norwich, descending through the rain squalls to the offices of Jacob and Marks. He found the building sealed off and a team of officers ransacking each of the suites in turn, searching stacks of brief boxes for incriminating evidence. Leo Marks had been detained at the local station before being moved to Mornington Crescent PCU for questioning.
“What exactly are we looking for, Sir?” asked one of the officers.
“According to Bryant it’ll be in a ledger,” replied May, “a handwritten document, or just several sheets of loose paper. It’s over ninety years old, so it may have been sealed in something like a plastic folder.”
“You mean like this?” PC Bimsley was holding up a clear plastic bag filled with loose cream-coloured pages of hammered vellum.
“Bimsley, I can’t believe it. For the second time in your dismal career you’ve actually done something useful.” May took the bag and opened it, carefully unrolling the top page of the manuscript. It was entitled
“It was in the safe behind his desk, Sir. Do you think it’ll help the investigation?” asked Bimsley.
“I’m hoping it’ll end it,” replied May.
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
43
Mechanism
Leo Marks was as jumpy as a cornered cat. “I keep telling you – I was acting on my father’s orders,” the lawyer was saying. “I rang Miss Hatfield at the guild and asked her to help me locate specific documents pertaining to the family’s financial accounting system. It was simply what my father had asked me to do.”
“Then you went there yourself to look for them?” asked May.
“Yes – she was having no luck. I think she was too busy trying to help you.”
“What time was this, exactly?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“So you did,” said May. “Tell me again.”
“It was just after noon on Boxing Day. My girlfriend waited in the car while I went in. She was furious with me for having to come into work. You can check with her.”
“What I don’t understand is how you managed to locate the very thing that Miss Hatfield was unable to find.”
“That’s the point, I couldn’t have found it without her help. She’d cleared away half of the cartons in the basement. And I had a better idea of where to look. My father had suggested trying certain box files. He was too ill to go to London himself.”
“I’m sorry to hear he’s in the hospital. Don’t you think it odd that Miss Hatfield should be murdered immediately following your visit to the guild?”
“No – I mean, yes – I don’t know.” Leo dropped his head into his hands and massaged his temples. “I know how it looks, but I didn’t touch her. I didn’t even see her.”
“Let me get this right.” May rose and approached the young lawyer. “Miss Hatfield tried to locate a long- forgotten document for you, and was killed for her troubles. You, on the other hand, actually found what you were looking for, and managed to stroll out of the building with it. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
“No, it’s just – ”
“Why the hell not?” shouted May. “Why should she be murdered and you be allowed to walk away?”
“Because she had more reason to be killed,” retorted the lawyer. “She was an outsider, interfering in other people’s business.”
“Why didn’t you bring the document to us? You must have realized that it was connected with Miss Hatfield’s death.”
“Because,” Marks answered softly, “my father was under strict instruction never to reveal its contents to anyone outside the family, whatever the circumstances.”
“Who gave him such instructions?”
“
¦
May placed an arm around his partner’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said, “I need some air. Let’s get out of here.”
They could see their breath in the corridor. “Why is it so cold in this building?” asked Bryant as they reached their outer office. “My blood’s stopped moving.”
“We’re still trying to clear airlocks from the heating system,” Sergeant Longbright explained. “I’ve had to let most of the staff go home. It should be fixed by next weekend.”
“I may be dead by then. Has there been any change in Peggy Harmsworth’s condition?”
“The doctor says if her present status doesn’t change soon, she’ll suffer brain damage. They can only administer limited medication because of the impairment caused by the drugs in her system.” The sergeant hadn’t slept for two days. There were four pencils in her hair and five half-drunk cups of coffee lining her desk. She was typing with gloves on, and, for the first time in living memory, wasn’t wearing eyeliner.
“Where’s Raymond?”
“He’s over at the safe house. The family were demanding to see someone immediately, otherwise they’re going to leave the building and report their grievances to the Home Office and then the press. Neither of you were available.”
“Thank God for that,” said Bryant. “Don’t they realize how much safer they are staying together? Didn’t they ever watch old horror films? It’s the ones that go off to the cellar with a torch that get a sabre through the windpipe.”
“Get your stuff and let’s go,” said May.
Bryant could hear people shouting beyond their office window. The noise level was extraordinary. He crossed the room and looked out. “Just look at this lot, howling for blood.” He snapped the blinds shut and collected his bag from his desk.
The Peculiar Crimes Unit was under siege. By eleven a.m. journalists had surrounded the building and had begun calling up to the first-floor windows. They were furious that Raymond Land had failed to set a press conference following the deaths of Deborah and Justin Whitstable, and had remained outside, demanding that the superintendent appear before them with an explanation. Land had, however, managed to slip from the rear of the building without doing so. It was now half past five, and there was no sign of the mob dispersing.
“You’d better use the rear stairs,” said Longbright. “I’ll find you if things get worse.”
“How could they get any worse?” asked May. “We’ve nothing to hold Marks here on. He has a watertight alibi for the night of Alison’s murder. We can’t even hold him for removing the diary without permission, because it was supposed to be in his father’s custody in the first place. Has Jerry Gates come in?”
“I haven’t seen her for days,” admitted Longbright.
“Mr Bryant, are you all right?” The detective was steadying himself against the wall. He looked as if he was about to pass out. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead. “It’s this blasted cold. I’ll be all right when I get something to eat. I need carbohydrates. Potatoes. Gravy.” They caught a cab to the north side of Fitzroy Square, where Gog and Magog was just opening its doors for the evening. Named after the statues of the two giants that had adorned the Guildhall until it was bombed during the Second World War, the restaurant offered a selection of Victorian and Edwardian delicacies that the uninitiated found alarming.
Bryant brought his partner here only on birthdays and in times of great upheaval. May knew that they should be feeling guilty, stopping to eat while mayhem was occurring around them, but sometimes more could be achieved
