Текст книги "The Electrician's Code: An Evans and Blackwell Mystery"

Автор книги: Clarissa Draper

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

When Theo and Dorland went to the address the solicitor had on file for Heather Hathaway’s flat. The landlord informed them she had left London for a week’s holiday in France and would not return, he believed, until the next day. And that meant their main suspect apparently had an airtight alibi.

Instead, they searched for the whereabouts of Ms. Camilla White. The phone number the solicitor had given them had been disconnected, and having decided that White was too common a name to try in the phone directory they decided to visit the last known address.

It was no surprise Ms. White didn’t live there anymore. The owner of said flat, Mrs. Mead, was however the owner of a new coffee shop on the ground floor and felt hospitable enough to invite them for tea and scones. Dorland rubbed his stomach in anticipation.

“Who are you looking for again?” the old woman asked. She poured hot water from the tap into a large teapot and sat it on the counter in front of them.

“A Ms. or Mrs. White. Do you know her?”

She placed loose tea into a metal strainer and dumped the hot water from the pot. After placing the strainer into the pot, she refilled the pot with boiling water. When she realized the men were watching her every step, she said, “Tea has to be done right. I know Ms. White. I’ve met her on many occasions. She likes my tea and every time she pops round, she comes in.”

“So you know her new address?” Dorland asked as he placed a large morsel of scone in his mouth.

“Yes. Ms. White—well, that’s not her name anymore, it’s now Mrs. Henderson—would come for her mail, any mail that wasn’t forwarded to her new address—mostly catalogues and rubbish, really. She gave me her new number and address, but it has been about a year and a half since she’s come in.”

“Well, it would be very helpful if you could give it to us.”

She sat back and eyed them suspiciously. “Ms. White . . . er, Henderson, is not in any trouble is she?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” said Dorland, reaching for another scone. “We need information about a previous employer.”

That seemed to appease Mrs. Mead and she went on to tell them about the history of tea and her family’s important contribution to the tea-making process.

Mrs. Henderson lived near the outskirts of London. The nurse had done well for herself; the three-story house in Golder’s Green, Hampstead was very different from the small flat she had previously in East London. Vines grew up the front of the house partially blocking the view from the front hall window and another vine had wound itself around the garden arbor across the front path.

The door to the large house was opened by an older woman who, though dressed smartly, was what Theo suspected was her housekeeper. However, Theo asked, “Mrs. Henderson?”

“She is in the garden. Can I tell her who’s calling?”

Theo had his warrant card ready. The housekeeper escorted them through the beautiful back reception room with antique fireplace to the gardens with manicured lawns and trimmed trees. A woman sat stretched on a lounge chair reading an antique furniture magazine. It took her a few moments to notice them.

“Sit.” The woman said to them, motioning at two chairs that were about twenty feet from where she sat.

Dorland dragged two heavy metal chairs across the grass. Theo took his notebook out and sat down.

“We’re the police, Mrs. Henderson. We’re here about a man you used to work for, a Mr. Tipring.”

“Oh, I thought you were here about the books. I’ve decided to sell my late husband’s books. They cover all sorts of subjects, mostly geophysics and other environmental subjects. Although, they may be useful in a police library. They are, well some of them are, up-to-date and current. So what do you wish to ask me about Mr. Tipring?”

“He was murdered yesterday and we were hoping you could answer a few questions.” Theo watched the attitude of Mrs. Henderson go from eager to solemn in an instant and continued, “You obviously have not heard. He was murdered outside his home yesterday. We are contacting all the nurses who used to work with him. You did work for him?”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware that he has included you in his Last Will and Testament?”

It took a few moments for Mrs. Henderson to reply, she sat there silent and stunned, when finally she spoke it came out in almost a whisper, like she was speaking to herself, “I always thought he would die of old age or boredom, but murdered? Are you sure? How?”

“He was stabbed outside his home,” said Theo.

“Who would stab him? He only had one leg.”

“Yes, there are a lot of questions. Were you aware you were left some money as part of his Will?”

“I think I knew. Yes, yes, I was aware, but it is not much is it? A few hundred pounds, that is not much to get all excited about, is it?”

“It may actually be close to a thousand pounds when everything is settled,” remarked Theo.

Mrs. Henderson just stared at Theo, letting his words sink in.

“Still, a thousand or so, really not worth anything is it. What can one buy with that? Can’t even buy a settee with that nowadays.”

“You are trying to sell books or something, not quite sure. It seems to me that you may be in need of funds at the moment,” said Theo, aware that his remark may be somewhat offensive.

“Anyway,” Dorland stepped in, “have you seen Mr. Tipring lately?”

“No. Not for many years.”

“Where were you yesterday morning around seven?”

“Whatever you are trying to imply you can take back this moment or I will make sure your superiors know about this sort of . . . questioning. You can’t come in here and accuse me of something. You don’t even know me.”

With that, she stormed off into her house, leaving the two detectives sitting in the yard.

“What was that about?” Dorland asked. “Seems a bit touchy if you ask me. Guilty conscience perhaps?”

“Let’s not assume that.” Theo led his partner around the side of the house and they made their way toward their car. “For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised and grieved. Everyone handles grief differently. Perhaps it’s a sensitivity toward money than anything else. Many who have quickly inherited power and money haven’t had enough time for their humility to catch up. She probably doesn’t think she deserves the money she has so she has to work harder at convincing us she does.”

“You think she married Mr. Henderson, for his money?” Dorland asked.

“No, I would like to think that she married him because she loved him but money is a hard thing to handle properly. I know of Mr. Henderson, he’s a scientist who has made a great deal of money on pharmaceuticals.”

“I wonder how the two of them met?”

“Mrs. Henderson was a nurse; she could have worked in a clinic or known the man for a long time. Who really knows? We will have to confirm what she says but I suspect that our Mrs. Henderson had nothing to do with the death.”

Chapter Nineteen

Exactly at eight, Sophia arrived at the Connell Road address. She could see Theo’s Jeep sitting in front of the house. As she approached, Theo opened the door to his vehicle and stepped out. He looked exactly the same. She didn’t know why she thought he would look different, older maybe. She felt she had aged many years in the last few months. In fact, she had started to notice gray hairs growing in. All of a sudden she began to feel conspicuous.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, putting out his hand.

She accepted it, feeling flustered as soon as she did. “I-I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll try.”

“Even if you can’t, at least I tried another angle.” He patted down his pockets and reached inside his right trouser pocket. “I have the key so we can go in.”

“I hear you’re investigating the Maddock Tipring murder,” she said.

“Yes. How did you know?” He held up his hand. “Never mind, I know. It only happened yesterday but we don’t have a single suspect. It’s like the killer just randomly picked our victim and stabbed him in the chest.”

He led her to the front gate and pointed over the fence. “That’s where he was stabbed. He was fetching the paper. The knife was found in the bushes there.” He pointed to his left.

“Did he do that often?”

“What, fetch the paper? Yeah, every day apparently.”

Sophia looked up and down the street. It was pretty deserted. Only two cars had passed since they had arrived. His house sat in the middle of the block. “I guess the bushes could hide someone short from his view, however, whoever stabbed him would stand out on the street. Did no one notice anyone walking?”

“There were many people who noticed many things but nothing we could go on. A white woman. A black man. A young woman running. A teenager wearing a school uniform. All the statements were vague and led nowhere. No one could give a proper description. No one saw Mr. Tipring get stabbed.”

“The murderer could have arrived in a car and left the same way.”

“Either way, it’s still nothing we can follow up on. CCTV in this area has not been helpful. Come, I’ll take you inside.”

The house was quiet and dark and Theo had difficulty finding the light switch but when he found it, the house lit up throughout. Sophia took her time going through each of the rooms before saying anything.

“He’s very neat. What was he wearing when he died?”

“His pajamas and a bathrobe,” he said and then stopped. Theo reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. “We did find this in his robe pocket.”

“Why run backwards you’ll vomit,” she read. “What does it mean?”

“It’s an electrician’s code,” replied Theo.

“Oh, I see why you rang me. Was Mr. Tipring an electrician?”

“Yes.”

“So then, the code could mean nothing at all.”

“We suspected that,” he said quietly.

“You were hoping I would come in and enlighten you about it, hand you the name of the killer based on that alone?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I hadn’t really any expectations.”

“Was he still working as an electrician?”

“No, he was retired.”

“Was he a clean person?”

“He’s very clean. Look at the state of his house: not cluttered and clean.”

“How did a one-legged man clean his house so well?”

“Oh, he had a nurse.”

Exactly. “So then, how were his clothes? Were they clean?”

He squinted at her. “Yes. They were clean as far as I could tell. Why?”

“Well, it’s an odd thing for an electrician, one who does not work in that field anymore, to have that mnemonic in his pocket.”

“Maybe he’s sentimental. He does keep things for sentimental value.”

“Oh, like what?”

“He had a box of earrings. We don’t know what value they held for him, but they were important enough that he wanted the box buried with him.”

“That seems a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Everything about the case is a bit odd.”

He led her to the drawing room. “Have you seen anything like it? I really don’t see the purpose of the room.”

She went over to the chair and sat down. She could feel the springs in the cushion. The victim must have sat there a lot. “Turn on that light will you, the one near the fireplace.”

Theo flicked the switch. Spotlights above the tiled art lit up. Sophia turned on the lamp and looked at the table. She opened the small drawer. Inside was a blank pad of paper and a pencil. She ran her hand over the top of it. She could feel the indentations the pencil made from the previous page. She took the pencil and rubbed the top of it.

Only a few words could be made out: girl, Rosie, brush. They weren’t even in a line, it was as if he wanted to remember a word and wrote it down.

“I wonder if he was fond of crosswords.”

“I’m not sure we found any crosswords but he could be. He did collect the paper every morning. He could have done the one inside each day.”

Theo went to the kitchen and came back with a chair. “So what do you think of the art? Worth sitting and looking at all day?”

“It’s interesting, that’s for sure. Who made it?”

“He did. We found his studio upstairs where he created them.”

“Can I see it?”

“Of course.”

“So, part of his income was from selling these pieces?”

“I don’t believe he sold many, if any.”

“That’s strange.”

“Like I said, a lot of things about this case are a bit odd.”

He led her up the stairs to the studio. She ran her hands through the different tiles neatly sorted in their boxes.

“It takes a different mind to carefully place tile, row upon row, and call it art. It also takes a different mind to sit alone in a room with it with nothing else to keep them company. It doesn’t look like he came up here in a very long time. Look at the dust that has collected on all the tiles and workstation.”

“No, maybe he couldn’t get up here after his leg was removed.”

“I see.” She turned around and leaned against the worktop. “I suppose you want to know what I found out about Maddock’s uncle.”

“Uncle?”

“Yes. The one who worked for the government. That’s one of the reasons why you texted me wasn’t it?”

“Um, actually I did know Mr. Tipring’s uncle worked for the government but I didn’t know what sector. He worked for MI5? This might be the break I was looking for. What did you find?”

“Earnest Tipring did work for MI5 but he died in the 90s. I haven’t had the time to go through all his files but I did find something interesting. Earnest held a file on his nephew.”

“Really? Why? Do you think he worked for the government as well?” Theo asked.

“I don’t know. I went back in the records but as far as I know, and really I’m not sure how much information I have complete access to, I couldn’t find any mention of Tipring as either an agent, enemy, or informant for the intelligence service. Only this.”

She pulled a file from her bag. Four pages fell out and onto the floor. Theo bent down to retrieve them and flipped through them on his way up.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Often, to protect information, agents will write notes in what is called coded shorthand. A type of shorthand only the creator can understand. And sadly, the only thing in the file other than basic information available to any police officer, is written in code. It’s almost like Earnest wrote these for his eyes only which makes me believe Maddock may have been an informant of some sort.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Well, you know what that means, don’t you? It takes the case from a random killing or killing for financial gain to who knows what. He could’ve been involved in anything. His past could have caught up with him. Where the hell do I start?”

“Well, we do have these,” Sophia said and held up the pages.

“And cracking code is your specialty. Let’s see what you can come up with. In the meantime, I can ask the people he came in contact with if they have noticed anyone suspicious hanging round the house. I’m so sorry, Sophia.”

Her hands fell to her side. “What?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to drag you back into one of my cases. Probably the last thing you want to do is work another police case.”

She laughed. “If you had any idea what I’m working on now, you would throw me five cases. Mind, this has to be kept secret. I don’t know what the notes contain and until I do, I don’t know what I’m getting involved with. Even though it looks like the pages haven’t been touched in years, I don’t know what mess we may be getting ourselves involved with.”

“I understand. Until we find out, I will make enquiries as if I have no knowledge these pages exist.”

“Thank you. I’ll make us some copies and replace the file tomorrow.” She went downstairs. “So what will happen to all the art?”

“They go to auction.”

“How many pieces are there?”

“When I counted, thirty-two. Why, are you thinking of buying one?”

“Not likely.” She closed her eyes. Without opening them, she continued, “I’m glad you texted.”

He didn’t reply but she could hear him breathing heavily. She resisted the urge to look at him.

“Why?” he finally said.

“It’s not what you think. It’s not a come on. It’s a complement actually. Sometimes I want to just be around normal people.”

She finally looked at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his feet and rubbing his hands together.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re brilliant, but everyone I work with thinks they’re more brilliant than God,” Sophia said.

“I used to think that of you, at one time.”

“That I’m more brilliant than God or that I believe I am?”

“Take your pick.”

“Well, perhaps you’re right. Well, Blackwell, my friend, take care. I will ring you tomorrow. Perhaps we can meet so I can give you a copy of the case notes. And remember, don’t run backwards you’ll vomit.” She laughed. “Good night, Detective Blackwell.”

Chapter Twenty

Crystal and the night team were at the East End flat when Sophia arrived the next morning. Both Melony and her partner Bert were in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop, drinking coffee and stuffing their faces with cherry pastries. Bert’s shirt was un-tucked and his hair stuck up in various directions. Melony’s t-shirt was on backward.

“How was the night? Did you get any sleep?” Sophia asked, stepping past them to pour herself a cup of coffee.

“Sleep?” asked Melony. “What kind of stupid question is that? Of course not. We can’t watch the monitors and sleep at the same time, now can we? Why do you think we’re drinking coffee?” She held up her cup.

Sophia rolled her eyes. Obviously she picked the wrong people to make chit chat with. She went over to the fridge and poured milk into her cup. “Did our Ms. Smith do anything interesting?”

This time Bert replied, “It was uneventful except for one thing: Elaine Smith received a phone call at 7:46 this morning. It was simply this,” he picked up a piece of paper and read, “I have chocolates for you.”

“That’s the agreed-upon code?”

“We believe so. The man on the phone is scheduled to arrive at 10:10. Liam wants us all here for that meet. If a message regarding the whereabouts of the weapons are to be passed on, it will be done today. We can’t mess this up because we don’t know if we’ll have another chance. We don’t know how many times he’s bought weapons in the past. And any shipments that get past us means more weapons on the streets, killing people.”

He sounded so melodramatic Sophia almost broke out in laughter. But she knew this was serious. She knew first-hand the damage one gun could do.

“What would you like me to do?” Sophia asked.

“We can’t do much now except make sure we’re ready for the meet and make sure our equipment is running smoothly.”

“All right. Crystal and I will have a look at the equipment and make sure it’s functioning properly.”

“We’ve already done that, it’s fine,” Bert replied.

“Well, it won’t hurt to check again, will it?”

He just shrugged.

Crystal was already on the computer, changing settings.

“What are you doing?” Sophia signed to her.

“Tweaking the resolution so the picture is clearer. I doubt they’ll have a problem with that. I’m also trying to boost the system becaue there’s a lag. I don’t want our system to go down while we’re expecting movement. So, what’s wrong with the pair of them? Have they slept together?”

“I’m pretty sure Melony has had her shirt off at one point during the night. What else are two people going to do all night?” She laughed and nudged Crystal.

“Speaking of night, I saw you looked into our detective friend’s files. So you are curious.”

“I was bored. It’s not a big deal.”

Crystal raised her eyebrows. “Yes, but did you see the pictures of the art?”

“I did. And what’s up with that?”

Liam appeared. He briefly glanced Sophia’s way but then said, “So, is everyone ready for this? We may not have a second chance to get this right, so no screw ups. Evans, have Crystal pull up the cameras, I want eyes as soon as our friend Miles leaves his house. And what are these chocolates? Anyone?”

“We don’t know, sir,” replied Bert. “We think they could actually be . . . chocolates.”

“Well, if we’re right, he’s wanting a lot of money for these so-called chocolates.”

“Does anyone know how she plans to pay for these chocolates? Electronically, or has she been seen with money?”

“No. Must be electronic, like before.”

“Can we get a trace on the funds?” This time the question was directed at Sophia.

“We have access to her computer. Everything she does will be recorded and traced. We should be able to see who sent the money and from what account. However, in my experience, it will never be as simple as that. For someone who is determined to keep his identity hidden, he will not send the funds from a traceable bank account. He’s probably got accounts all over the world, impossible to trace. Well, not impossible but it will take time, and perhaps more time than we have.”

“And time is not on our side. The key will be to catch them as they pick up the weapons. That means we need to find out where the guns are located. Miles has to give her some indication to where they are, so watch closely and listen carefully.”

At 9:50, a message came in, “Miles has left his flat. He’s carrying a cardboard box and is getting into his car. We’re tailing him.” Every time Miles made a turn the radio came alive.

“He is turning onto Elaine Smith’s street. Expect him in ten seconds.” Shortly, the little car came into view on the screen. Miles found a place to park three doors down. Inside his car, they watched him lean over and open the cardboard box before exiting the car.

“He’s got a small black box in his hand. Is that the chocolate box?” asked Liam. Bert leaned in closer to the screen, Melony pushed past Sophia and also moved closer to the screen.

“I think so, sir,” she replied. “What could he possibly do with a box of chocolates? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe he knows she likes chocolates,” suggested Bert. “A lot of women like chocolate. Just because you don’t, doesn’t mean everyone doesn’t.”

Melony gave him a slap across the arm.

“Stop it,” Liam yelled. “He’s approaching the front door.”

Miles knocked and tapped his army boot while he waited. He wore a baseball cap and blue wool pea coat. On the other screen they watched Ms. Smith rise from her kitchen table. She peered into the living room before she came to the door.

“Well, come in.” She led him to the living room. The man handed her the box of chocolates and she carefully placed them on her table. When she lifted the lid, all the officers leaned in closer to the monitor.

“What’s in the box?” Liam asked. “Do you see anything?”

“It’s too blurry and dark inside the box. All I can see is black, but it appears to be just chocolates.”

Ms. Smith scanned the box slowly with her finger and said, “Oh, you don’t have any of those cherry-filled ones I like.”

“They didn’t have any available. However, I got you a few more caramel.”

“I see that.”

The man sat there quietly before he finally asked her, “Well, I hope you like what you see.”

“Yes. I’m sure they’ll be wonderful,” she said. “How about a spot of tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

Ms. Smith moved into the kitchen, poured water into the kettle and placed it on the hob. Then she went toward her computer and sat down. Every key stroke was recorded. They watched her pull up a bank website and recorded the account number and password. Then into the column of transfer she entered a long line of digits and under amount: 1.5 million pounds.

“She transferring the money now.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“What’s Miles doing?”

All eyes turned toward the other monitor. Miles was walking about the room, looking at photos, picking up little knick-knacks off the shelf and examining them. Finally, he sat back down on the sofa. He spied a deck of cards on the table and picked them up. He started placing them down in rows.

“He’s playing solitaire.”

“How will he be relaying the information to her? Is he waiting for confirmation that the money is being transferred?”

“He must be.”

Finally, Ms. Smith stood from her computer and re-entered the kitchen. She placed two bags into a kettle and then the hot water. Placing two cups and the pot on a tray, she carried it to the living room. After placing the tray on the table beside Miles, she went over to the box of chocolates and helped herself to one.

“Because there are so many caramel, I’ll try one of them. If you keep bringing over chocolates, I’ll be very fat, very soon. Well, anyway, I’ve transferred the money and everything looks to be in order.”

The watchers leaned in, straining to hear every word.

Miles continued to play his game.

“That’s wonderful,” he finally said. He put the pile of cards down on the table and dropped three cubes of sugar into his tea and stirred it with the small spoon beside the cup. In two gulps, the cup was empty. “I should be going.”

“All right.” She had barely poured the milk into her cup before she stood. “I’ll see you to the door.”

The watchers turned their attention to the camera in the front hall. The two walked quietly to the door.

“Thank you,” Miles said and started down the walk.

Ms. Smith shut the door behind him.

“What just happened?” asked Liam. “Did we miss something? When did he tell her where to pick up the shipment?” Liam leaned back and examined each of his team one by one. “Did anyone notice?”

They all shook their heads.

“It must be with the chocolates,” suggested Sophia. “Perhaps we should go retrieve the box.”

Liam put his hand to his mouth. “I don’t know, I don’t know. If we’re wrong and we put her guard up, it could ruin everything. We need to surprise them when they retrieve the shipment or we will lose both. Team one, you need to be on Miles everywhere he goes. We can’t lose him, when he speaks to someone on his mobile or in person, I want to know details. He has to inform her or someone in the organization in some way.”

“Yes, sir,” resounded the voices over the radios. He has driven away but he has not rang anyone yet. We will follow and listen.”

“In the meantime, we have to watch her every movement. What is she doing now?”

“She’s cleaning the teapot.”

“Has she rang or texted anyone? Come on, people, what’s the key here? Crystal, did either of them use sign language?”

Crystal twisted her head to the side when Sophia signed the question but then Crystal just shook her head and signed, “I didn’t see any sign language.”

“Neither did I,” said Sophia.

“All right. Crystal, make copies of the meeting. I don’t want us to miss anything. I want to make sure he didn’t put a note in her hand or in one of her pockets or hidden it in one of the bloody knick knacks.”

Sophia signed the instructions to her and immediately Crystal started working. Liam started pacing in the living room.

“What are we missing?” he asked. “Crystal, are you done copying the files?”

“It’s being transferred. This all takes time.”

“We may not have a lot of time.”

“Why is it taking so long to transfer?” Sophia asked Crystal when Liam went into the kitchen for coffee.

“It’s slow. Something is really causing a lag. I’ll look into it as soon as the transfer is complete.” She went back to work.