‘Not necessarily,’ said Clio. ‘Maybe she passed him information? Maybe she was unaware of the egg altogether. After all, if she knew she was sitting on a fortune would she give it away to a stranger?’
Clio’s logic was sound. ‘Okay then, Charles may not yet have the egg. Or he may. Either way, what do we think he’ll do if he gets it? We need to look into him. Is he the sort to keep it, sell it or donate it? Clio, start seeing if you can spot any hints about a Fabergé coming onto the market. I think for something like this people will be very cagey, but if anyone can get behind the firewalls and break down odd patterns, it’s you. I’m going to investigate Charles. I have his number on his card and that should be more than enough for me to find out all there is to know about him.’
I pulled my laptop towards me. Finding stuff on Charles was the easy part. Clio had to search the internet for oddities. Things that struck a wrong note. On the internet you can imagine the problem. Plus, all those kitten videos were like catnip to two Egyptian girls. But Clio was one of our best researchers, and wasn't going to be daunted by too much information. Better than too little. You should have seen her trying to make her way around Roanoke. I hated that job. We all did. The less said about it, the better. It was distressing, and all we had been able to save were a few books. Don’t get me wrong. Books are obviously incredibly important, but watching an entire colony die was hard.
I stopped musing and started searching. After a few hours, I had Charles Bradshaw's entire life on my laptop. By habit he searched with his privacy filter on, which was no hindrance to us. But he made few phone calls and never backed up his phone. He also had a very low image trace; he must keep all his photos on his phone and he never posted on social media.
‘What about calls?’ asked Clio.
‘Not from this phone. He either has a burner phone, or he uses the postal system.’ Neither of which I could intercept. Well, I could intercept a burner phone, but I'd need the number. ‘How’re you doing?’
Clio threw a French Fancy at me in frustration and continued to type. I left her to it as she scribbled notes and swore quietly. I had dug up a few leads from Charles’ end that might help narrow her haystack, but it was still a big field. Charles was from Cambridge, which helped secure him in our mind as the principal target. He worked for a museum, which strengthened the donation idea, but he had a track record of buying and selling beyond the remit of his employers’ purview. That solidified the idea that he was going to try to sell it privately.
Getting up, I poured her a fresh coffee and having stretched my legs again, I returned to the laptop to see if I could find evidence of a burner phone.
‘Got it!’ Clio broke the silence that had settled over the room as we poured over our screens. ‘One of the auction houses you gave me. I was tracking all their employees and I noticed a Carl Ponsonby had been complaining on Facebook about a toothache all week. Agony apparently, although his girlfriend seemed less concerned. Anyway, he booked the day off work for a dental appointment tomorrow. I cross checked it and yesterday the dental practice received a call from him cancelling the appointment. He hasn’t been on social media since.’
That sounded promising. ‘What's his specialism?’
‘Rare gems. Chinese jade, and, drum roll ladies and gentlemen, the House of Fabergé.’ Clio sat back grinning. We had our connection. ‘Let's see Ramin’s face when I tell him we have Charles’ contact already.’
It was a toss-up between the two of them as to which was the better researcher. Of course, they weren't in competition with each other, but there was no point in telling them that. I had never met Ramin’s equal until I met Clio. She was like a computer, being able to take random unconnected date and extrapolating the most likely scenario or interpretation. If she thought Carl Ponsonby was our lead, then that was good enough for me.
The door opened and I jumped up. Paul had contacted us earlier; the flight had landed without a hitch, obviously, but with snow you could never tell at which point this country would choose to collapse. Opening the door, both men piled in with their luggage and a barrage of complaints.
‘You know, there's two foot of snow in Poland and no one blinks an eye, country running like clockwork. It hasn't even settled here and the taxi driver wanted to charge double in case he got stuck!’ Paul seemed particularly manic, but I know he didn't like the cold either, and maybe this assignment was getting to him. As they headed into their rooms, Ramin called out over his shoulder.
‘By the way, look into a Carl Ponsonby. I reckon he could be our next lead.’
I ducked as a French Fancy hit their bedroom door.
#12 Neith – Beta Earth
We still didn't know where or when the meeting between Carl Ponsonby and Charles Bradshaw was going to take place, so we split into teams to shadow each man. I gave the auction employee to the boys. As he lived in London, they could have a pause from travelling. Clio and I would tail Bradshaw. At 4am, we boosted a car from a long stay car park and headed up the M11 to Cambridge and parked outside his street. We were wearing heated suits, but let me tell you, sitting in a car at 5am in Cambridge is still bloody cold.
Eventually, just after eight a man fitting Charles Bradshaw’s description left the registered address for a one Charles Bradshaw.
