Dying Fall, A (22 page)

It was getting dark by the time we had recorded the sarcophagus and skeleton and Clayton suggested that we secure the site and leave the actual excavation until tomorrow. He was right but I hated to leave Arthur there. It was a mild night and we put an awning over him but even so . . . It didn’t seem right to treat a king that way. God, Elaine is right. I am getting weird. None of us mentioned the White Hand but Clayton suggested, casually, that we took turns to guard the bones. He volunteered to watch until midnight, then I am going to relieve him. Sounds crazy, I know, but I am looking forward to going back and paying my homage to the Raven King.

‘It’s a diary,’ Ruth says.

Both are expecting a summons from Sandy and it comes at nine o’clock in the form of a marked police car at their front door.

‘The neighbours will love this,’ says Ruth, but for once the street is deserted. It’s Friday morning, maybe everyone has gone away for a long weekend. A polite policeman passes on a message from DCI Macleod requesting their presence at the police station.

‘What about my daughter?’ says Ruth. Kate is hiding behind her, staring open-mouthed at the uniformed figures.

‘Bring her too. DCI Macleod said he’d lay on breakfast.’

‘And the dog?’ asks Cathbad.

The policeman looks dubiously at Thing, who puts his head on one side and tries to look sweet.

‘Can’t you leave him here?’

‘It’s a rented house. I don’t like to.’

‘Oh, all right. Bring him too.’

Kate enjoys the drive into Blackpool, making siren noises and waving excitedly at other motorists. Ruth and Cathbad sit in silence. Ruth suddenly feels very tired, not able to cope with Nelson and the famous Sandy Macleod, who is probably Nelson cubed. She wants to sit quietly and read Dan’s diaries. The description of finding King Arthur’s body had moved her. She remembers that thrill of discovery so well. Dan had sounded so happy but there had been ominous overtones too, the mention of the White Hand, of Elaine’s hostility. Less than a month after writing that diary entry, Dan was dead.

At first sight, Sandy Macleod lives up to Ruth’s mental image of ‘Nelson cubed’. He is a large man, not as tall as Nelson but much heavier. His shirt strains across his stomach and the chair creaks when he sits down. His face is pouchy and almost comically mournful, with turned-down eyes and mouth, like one of those cartoons of a smiley face turned upside down. There is something cartoonish about him altogether, from the broad Lancashire accent to the bustling walk with splayed-out feet. But something in his eyes warns Ruth not to underestimate him. He gives her a sharp look too.

‘Ah, the famous Doctor Galloway.’

Ruth wonders why she is famous to him, and while she normally likes people to use her title, on Sandy’s lips it has the effect of making her sound like a made-up character. Doctor Foster, Doctor Jekyll, Doctor Dolittle.

But Sandy is nice to Kate, bending down to her level and offering to buy her chocolate from the vending machine. Ruth almost protests but doesn’t want to sound like a neurotic middle-class mother. She can always eat it herself to save Kate’s teeth.

Sandy is accompanied by another man who introduces himself as Detective Sergeant Tim Heathfield. Ruth takes to him immediately. He is respectful without being creepy, formal without being officious. He ushers them into a meeting room which contains a large breakfast—and Nelson.

‘What are you doing here?’ says Ruth, without thinking.

‘Cathbad called me from Pendragon’s house last night,’ says Nelson.

‘DCI Nelson informed me that there was important evidence at the scene,’ says Sandy, sounding as if he is making a statement in court. ‘I proceeded to the house and took possession of a laptop.’ He points at the computer on the table.

Ruth looks at Cathbad and then at Sandy, who is now tucking into a bacon roll.

‘There’s something you should know . . .’ She gets out the memory stick.

‘What’s that?’ asks Sandy.

‘It’s a memory stick,’ says Ruth. ‘For a computer.’

‘I know that, love,’ says Sandy with menacing sweetness. ‘But what’s it doing here?’

‘I found it in Pendragon’s house,’ says Cathbad. ‘I thought Ruth ought to see it.’

‘It’s got Dan’s files on it,’ says Ruth.

‘You shouldn’t have touched it,’ says Nelson angrily. ‘It’s police property now.’

‘I know,’ says Cathbad, ‘but I thought Ruth should see it first.’

Tim leans forward. ‘Have you opened any files, Doctor Galloway?’

‘I glanced at one or two,’ says Ruth defensively.

Tim looks at Sandy.

‘What?’ asks Ruth.

‘It’s possible,’ says Tim, ‘that there was a virus inserted into the files. As soon as you opened the files, the virus could have sent an email to . . . to whoever took the computer in the first place.’

‘So they’d know I’d found it?’ says Ruth, suddenly afraid. She thinks of the text messages, the sense that someone is watching her. Now they’re watching her even when she’s on-line. She’s got a cyber stalker as well as the old-fashioned kind.

Tim seems to know what she’s thinking. ‘Doctor Galloway, I know you’ve had some threatening texts. Have you received anything else unusual, either as a text message or via email?’

‘What do you mean, “unusual”?’ asks Ruth.

‘Somebody wanting your bank account details, personal information, anything like that.’

‘Nigerian businessman needs a loan,’ says Nelson. ‘You know the kind of thing.’

‘I’m hardly going to fall for . . .’ begins Ruth. Then she stops.

‘What is it?’ asks Nelson.

Ruth is thinking of her cottage on the Saltmarsh. Of opening her computer and reading that first cheery message from University Pals.
Hi Ruth! Want to catch up with your old mates from uni?

She describes the email to Tim. He exchanges a glance with Sandy.

‘Sounds like a classic phishing exercise,’ he says.

‘Fishing?’

He spells out the word. ‘It’s an internet scam designed to elicit personal information.’

‘But they didn’t ask for bank details,’ says Ruth, feeling defensive.

‘No. It sounds to me more like someone wanted to assume your identity.’

‘Why?’ says Sandy, as if this was the last identity
he’d
choose.

‘They must have known that Doctor Galloway was going to investigate Dan Golding’s discovery. They may have wanted to make enquiries in her name.’

‘What sort of enquiries?’ says Sandy.

‘Test results,’ says Ruth. ‘Dan sent samples to forensic labs for testing. I’m trying to track them down.’

‘Is there anything about the tests on the computer?’ asks Tim.

Ruth has had a quick look through the archaeology file. She noticed immediately that Dan had used a laboratory in the US for the DNA and isotopic tests. Why had he done that? There are plenty of excellent labs in the UK. Why bother to send samples all the way to the States?

‘I’ve found the lab he used,’ she says. ‘They’re in New York so I can call them this afternoon.’

‘Anything about the White Hand in the diary?’ asks Sandy.

‘Bits and pieces,’ says Ruth. ‘I haven’t read it all yet.’ She feels disinclined to share Dan’s secret thoughts with these people who didn’t know him and didn’t care about his work.

‘There’s quite a lot on Pendragon’s computer,’ says Tim. ‘A kind of manifesto. Lots of stuff about the Arthurian legends, Arthur being the great White King who’ll come again to purge England of all undesirable aliens.’ He speaks lightly but Ruth wonders how it feels for him to read such nakedly racist sentiments. She herself has enormous trouble relating them to Pendragon, that kindly Father Christmas figure.

‘Any names and addresses?’ asks Sandy. ‘Anything helpful?’

‘We can take it to the forensic recovery people,’ says Tim. ‘If there’s anything there, they’ll find it. I’ll give them the memory stick too.’

Sandy grunts, probably at the use of the ‘f word. Ruth says, ‘Can I take a copy of the diaries? I’d like to read them all. See if I can find . . . if I can find any clues.’

‘You might as well,’ says Sandy. ‘Harm’s done now. Tim can make copies of everything for you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Mind you tell us if you find anything that strikes you as worth investigating,’ says Sandy.

Ruth says she will. Sandy takes another roll and turns to Cathbad. ‘Think that’s why your mate topped himself, because he was mixed up with this Nazi group?’

Even Nelson winces but Cathbad just says quietly, ‘I don’t know why he did it.’

‘Didn’t even have the decency to leave a note,’ says Sandy. ‘Get us some more coffee, Tim, there’s a good lad.’

The police car deposits Ruth and Cathbad back in Lytham, to the delighted interest of their neighbours. Neither of them feels like lunch after the huge police breakfast but Ruth makes sandwiches for Kate and Cathbad eats the crusts abstractedly.

‘I’ll take Kate to the park this afternoon,’ says Ruth. ‘Give you some time to rest. You must be exhausted.’ Cathbad doesn’t look tired; in fact he seems almost unnaturally calm and self-controlled. Ruth feels quite in awe of him.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he says. ‘Thing could do with a walk.’

Under the table, Thing wags his tail noisily. Ruth doesn’t know if animals are allowed in the cottage but what else could they do with him? Cathbad says he’ll take him to a dog rescue place but Ruth thinks otherwise. She suspects that Cathbad and Thing are stuck with each other for life.

At two o’clock, Ruth rings New York to be told that the person she needs is in a meeting.
He’ll call her back,
says the lilting American voice.
Have a nice day now.

It’s a new experience, going for a walk with a bull terrier. People cross to the other side of the street to avoid Thing, and in the park mothers clutch their children nervously, even though Cathbad doesn’t let the dog off the lead.

‘Now I know why Pen lived in the country,’ says Cathbad, smiling encouragingly at a terrified toddler. It is almost the first time that he has said his friend’s name since he told Ruth how he died.

Now he says, almost chattily, ‘You know, Ruth. That’s something I just don’t understand. How Pen could leave Thing like that?’

‘Maybe he knew you’d come for him,’ says Ruth. She is in the play area pushing Kate on a swing and has to talk to Cathbad across the fence. Thing wags his tail at all the children and crinkles his nose engagingly. ‘Look at that dog snarling,’ says one grandmother. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed.’

‘I can’t stop thinking,’ says Cathbad. ‘When did he do it? The paramedics thought he hadn’t been dead long. Maybe he’d just done it when Nelson and I arrived. Maybe if I’d found him sooner, I could have saved him.’

Maybe he didn’t want to be saved, thinks Ruth. Aloud, she asks, ‘Did Pendragon have any family?’

‘A sister,’ says Cathbad. ‘They weren’t close. I gave her name to the police. I ought to speak to her as well, I suppose.’

A sister, but no children, thinks Ruth. Just like Dan. Are their deaths linked as well? In the sunshine of the park it’s hard to believe in shadowy fascist conspiracies. But there is someone out there, someone who wants to scare her too.
Ladybird, ladybird.
Ruth shivers, looking round at the children on the slide, at the parents sitting on benches, at the elderly bowlers on the green. Is he here, the texter? Is he watching her now?

‘Don’t stop,’ orders Kate.

Ruth pushes the swing, enjoying the sight of her daughter, her dark hair and red T-shirt silhouetted against the sky.

‘Higher, higher,’ shouts Kate.

Cathbad too is watching Kate, leaning on the fence with the devil dog at his side. ‘What a wonderful thing it is to be a child,’ he says. Ruth thinks he sounds very sad.

When they get home, Ruth has a message to ring Todd Holland at the American lab. She does so and they spend a few minutes establishing her identity, the identity that is, apparently, coveted by someone else.

‘I’ve got the DNA and isotope results here,’ says Todd. ‘They’re very interesting, especially when you think where the bones were found. Of course, the Roman Empire stretched into all sorts of places, but even so.’

‘Yes?’ says Ruth, encouragingly. Her mouth is suddenly dry.

‘Well, oxygen isotope analysis points to the subject originating from the north of England.’

Big news, thinks Ruth. She has known all along that they are dealing with a northerner, a sort of Ancient Roman version of Nelson—or Sandy. But Todd isn’t finished. ‘The interesting thing is the DNA result . . .’

‘Don’t tell me it’s a woman.’

‘No,’ says Todd, sounding surprised. ‘Subject is male and at least one of his parents was from North Africa.’

When Ruth puts the phone down, Cathbad is looking enquiringly at her.

‘King Arthur was black,’ she says.

‘What do you mean?’ asks Cathbad.

‘The tests show that the skeleton found in the tomb had North African DNA.’

‘How can that be?’

Ruth paces the room. It’s as if some of the excitement described in Dan’s diaries has communicated itself to her. Some of the fear too. This could be huge, she tells herself. She sees the headlines in the papers, ‘Legendary English King was Black says Archaeology Expert’. Then she remembers that someone burnt Dan alive to protect this secret.

‘There was a black Roman emperor,’ she says. ‘Septimus Severus, I think. The Romans were in North Africa and it stands to reason that some of the population would have become Roman citizens.’

‘Didn’t you have to be Roman to be a Roman citizen?’

‘No. They were quite progressive that way. St Paul was a Roman citizen, remember. I wonder if there were any other black Romans in Britain. I’m going to ring Max.’

Max answers on the second ring. He sounds delighted to hear from her. Guiltily, Ruth remembers that she never really gave him an answer about coming up to Lytham. ‘I wanted some information,’ she says.

‘Oh.’ Max’s voice changes. ‘Of course.’

She explains about the isotope results. Excitement of a different kind begins to creep into Max’s voice.