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9/9 Free Chapters

Gary's ear hurt, he realised he was pressing the phone against it. 

Ike sniggered. "Ah, very observant of you. Yes, there are doubts whether this was a natural death. It's not clear yet. Problem is, I saw nothing. I stayed with the main group. I had to make sure they were okay, see? People aren't happy about the way those academics were carrying on, and I was happy to let them explore on their own."

"So, what you're saying is, one of them bashed Friars's skull in?"

"That's the most likely scenario, I'm afraid. I think none of the others ever got to that part of the reservoir. The only problem is . . ."

"Yes?"

"I found a business card on the professor. Written with a quill in a funny old fashioned-script. It read 'For Mary'."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"No idea. The police have already established it wasn't the professor's handwriting. They will question everybody at ten sharp this evening."

"Oh, bloody hell!"

"Hey, you know swear words after all? Amazing. Look at the bright side, at least they're not messing with the programme."

"Jessica, this isn't remotely funny."

Her voice turned sober. "No. Not at all. Brigitte has given me a sleeping tablet. I don't think I could get any shut-eye tonight otherwise. That cavern was beyond creepy. And finding that guy was . . ."

Her voice hitched, betraying the inner turmoil that had to be hiding under the flippant tone. Gary pictured her slumped in a chair, the mop of honey-blond hair falling into her eyes, her tall figure sprawling over the seat and armrests like a stranded starfish. Suddenly, he felt like reaching out and patting her on the shoulder. Yes, this was a horrid, horrid incident and it might send the company into a spin. But what a shock to stumble over a corpse in the dark. That experience would likely have freaked him out as well, to use Jessica's expression.

Gratefulness softened his voice. Gratefulness for the talk that had helped him back on a mental terra firma.

"I'm sorry you had to suffer through that experience. Nobody could foresee it could come to that. I can only hope the local cops will not make matters worse than they already are. Are they competent?"

"Sort of. The Kommissar wasn't happy I was keeping him from his dinner, but then I also missed my Schnitzel. Not that I could have eaten it, but still. I would reckon he's keen on a quick closure. That might, or might not be a good thing."

"Right. You take that tablet, and I see what I can do at my end."

"You do that. Toodle-pip, old bean," Ike said and disconnected.

The urge to strangle the woman was back. That expression had gone out of fashion when his grandfather was in leading reins.

Jon's cheerful voice bounced towards him. "We need Sprite for me and this funny French fizzy water for you. Can I have some Coke as well? Otherwise, there's neither soap, shampoo, shaving cream nor deodorant. And hey, I even went into the utility room. Am I good or what? We're plain out of washing powder, dishwashing liquid and that stuff for the floors."

Still caught in the call with Jessica and her alarming news, Gary felt disoriented. Then his inner GPS found his location. At home, without provisions but with a hungry son.

He checked his watch. Almost half past seven. The person he needed to talk to would most likely be in the pub. Which was a good thing as he could feed Jon and set wheels in motion at the same time He refused to give up just yet.

"Okay, here's the deal. You clean up and then we go shopping—"

"Why do I have to clean up for the supermarket?"

"We're going to the Nag's Head afterwards."

Jon's mien brightened. "Oh, hey cool. The pub will have decent chips at least."

"You go and wash your hands, your face, and I suggest also your hair."

"What with?"

"There must be soap somewhere."

"In the guest toilet, yes. Those little bottles mum collected."

For a moment, both fell quiet. Then Jon said with a small voice. "I'd rather not use those."

"No, I agree. Is there regular soap in the toilet?"

Jon nodded.

"Okay use that. And bring me a list of the stuff you said we were missing," he yelled after the retreating back of his son.

Gary pushed into the pub and hit a wall of warm savoury fumes. Beery savoury fumes. He stood on his toes. Yes, the person he was after sat in his usual place at the back wall. To speed things up, he ordered dinner at the bar, then ploughed his way through the throng, Jon in tow. 

Once they reached the corner table, its top scratched and scarred, Jon mumbled a greeting, plonked himself on the bench, shoved in the ear plugs and started fiddling with his phone. Normally, Gary would not have let the boy get away with such boorish behaviour but it would keep him occupied until the food arrived. And out of hearing when the adults discussed topics not suitable for juvenile ears.

"How's he holding on?" a hoarse voice said from the other side of the table.

"Badly. Everything seems to be falling to pieces."

"Why is that?"

Gary regarded his oldest friend. Together, they had survived the private boarding school his parents had spent their last quid on to put his feet on the ladder. It hadn't quite worked, but least he had come out in one piece. Adrian, a small, frail boy with many problems, not all of them emotional, had fared worse; without Gary's protection, he might well have languished in the educational hell. Keeping his friend protected from the upper-class thugs ruling the school had cost Gary two teeth and a broken arm. Whether it had been the need for revenge or the wish to set the balance right, Adrian had since joined the Metropolitan Police and embarked on a successful career in law enforcement. His methods were unusual, his track record somewhat shady, but he got results, and that was what counted in his line of work. Despite working in London, he commuted every day from Buckinghamshire, and he was a frequent guest at Gary's house.

"Dodgy finances, mostly. But it appears, one of our guests has got himself murdered."

A white eyebrow rose, and Adrian pulled down the tinted glasses that hid his red pupils. His looks hadn't helped him at all back in the not so good old days at school. He had compensated things with Karate lessons.

"That's a trifle daunting. How did it happen?"

Gary told him what he knew, which was second hand and not much. But hopefully, it would be enough to make Adrian bite. He could never resist a puzzle and these days, he seemed to be mostly dealing with mindless shootings among feuding drug lords.

"Let me check things," Adrian said, pulled out his phone and turned away from him to have a quiet exchange with somebody at the cop shop. Then he listened for quite a while until he thanked whoever was on the other end of the line, turned back towards Gary and sipped his beer, pensively.

"And?"

"The Germans are fast. They've already requested information on the guests of your tour and the two guides."

"Not an accident, then?" Hope sprang eternally, but Gary already knew his was misguided.

"No. They found the brick somebody used to bop the chappie over the head. I'll spare you the details."

"Fingerprints?"

"Yes, but not on the brick. Whoever did this must have read the relevant crime literature and dropped the brick into the water. Bingo, no fingerprints. But they found some on the card. One of them is from your guide, it appears. The lady fiddled with it, which is never a good idea."

"Don't tell me they're suspecting Jessica now?"

The tinted glasses sat in strange contrast to the monochrome face. "I can't tell you that, as you well know. Draw your own conclusions. Is she credible?"

"I would say so." Doubts rose as he spoke. Would—could Jessica commit a murder?

He shook himself. "You said fingerprints plural?"

"Yes. I shouldn't be telling you that either."

"Did I ever share something I shouldn't?"

Adrian emptied his beer. "No. And this one sounds intriguing, I must admit."

"Murder is intriguing?"

"Not so much the murder. But that other fingerprint on the card is—unusual."

For the second time today, Gary felt the need to strangle somebody.

Adrian sighed, took off his glasses and faced him across the table, his pupils tiny specks floating in his albino eyes. "Whoever handled that card before your guide touched it has a problem. The fingerprint was blurry, the ridges injured. As if the skin was decaying."

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