Silvermeadow (48 page)
‘This is awkward, isn’t it?’ she said slowly. ‘You can’t lock me in here because the lock is broken, and you can’t let me go.’
He nodded sharply, as if this was exactly what he’d been thinking.
‘Would it help if I were to say that I’m as anxious as you are to find this room, if it exists?’
‘It exists,’ he said flatly.
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve found it.’
‘You’ve been there?’
He shook his head. She followed his glance over to the table, covered by the sheets of plans. She noticed coloured pencil marks.
‘Those are the plans we worked from,’ she said, puzzled. ‘What could we have missed?’
A hint of the smug tutorial smile crept back onto his face. ‘They have been tampered with.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because when I first arrived here, when the construction of the building had hardly begun, they gave me a set of the plans so that we would know where to concentrate the digging. I still have them.’
‘We know those plans have been modified since then—’
‘I know that. But they’ve also been tampered with. A room has been removed. A special room. I saw them build it.’
Kathy stared at him, not sure what to believe, and then Allen Cook’s comment came into her head:
Harry Jackson
has a lad who’s a bit of a computer whiz
,
and I pa
y
him to
work on it from time to time
. Speedy Reynolds of course. He could have done anything to the plans and nobody would have been the wiser.
‘You saw this room being built? What was special about it?’
‘It was right in the middle of the food court, shaped as an octagon, a pit containing a stage that could move up and down for spectacles and events. But it was too large, too ambitious, the costs got out of hand. Then one of the directors had a holiday in Hawaii, and when he came back they changed their plans. They sealed off the pit and built that ridiculous volcano on top. I was on good terms with the site foreman. He told me all this. The workmen thought it was a great joke.’
‘But the room is still there, under the volcano?’
Orr nodded.
‘But if it was sealed off . . .’
‘It was connected to the main plenum duct by a short corridor and a door—you can see it on the original plan— so that they could get to the machinery under the stage. But that’s been removed from the plans too.’
‘So you think you can reach it from the plenum?’
‘Yes.’ Orr looked unhappy, and Kathy thought she could guess why.
‘But how can you get into the plenum? The only way is through the security centre. Christ, you weren’t going to hold them up with your blunderbuss, were you?’
He lowered his eyes guiltily and muttered something indistinct.
Kathy looked at him sadly. He was just a pathetic old man, bruised, almost casually, by Verdi’s malice and Lowry’s bullying. Thank goodness she’d come down here before he’d tried to carry out his plan. She could disarm and arrest him now without difficulty, but what would that achieve? Verdi and Lowry would find it all very amusing, no doubt.
She didn’t hold much store by his theory. She could imagine him poring over the plans, the revelation when he noticed the discrepancy that allowed him to pin-point the missing room, the old instincts aroused by the promise of a hidden, buried chamber of horrors. Under the volcano, too. Really, he had been planning his last great expedition, Orr as Theseus as Indiana Jones, archaeologist-hero, complete with antique revolver.
They had searched the plenum thoroughly and seen no sign of the door. Yet he had watched the octagonal room being built. They probably should have another look, although she could imagine the scepticism if she suggested it. One thing at least was sure: if Verdi did have a den down there, he wasn’t there now, for the surveillance team had reported that he had gone home early that afternoon, leaving the gelato parlour in the charge of two assistants.
‘It’s a funny way to spend Christmas Eve, Professor,’ she said at last.
He was lost in thought, and looked at her vaguely. ‘What?’
‘Suppose I agreed to be your Ariadne, and get you into the plenum.’
‘Would you?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘On strict conditions. No guns, and I phone in and report what we’re doing.’
He frowned at her, then at the phone lying by his foot. Without a word he lifted his boot and stamped on the phone, then again. It splintered with a loud crack.
‘No gun and no phone,’ he said simply. He went over to the filing cabinet and placed the gun inside.
Kathy shook her head in exasperation. ‘Show me your map, then.’
They stood together at the table and Orr showed her where the missing room was located.
‘Have you got torches?’ she asked.
While he went back to the cabinet and searched through the drawers, she took a page from a notepad on the table and wrote ‘Please advise DCI Brock NOW’ and added his mobile number. She slipped the paper into her pocket and began folding up the plans to take with them.
They trudged together across the mud to the lower carpark, and into the mall at the first entrance they came to. They passed briefly through the still frantic crowd until they reached a side corridor, where Kathy led the way to the security door at the end. She used her code to pass through and into the service corridor beyond, leading to the service road. It was deserted now, no deliveries at this late hour on Christmas Eve. They walked on in silence until they came to the lighted window of the security centre at the foot of the entry ramp.
Kathy was relieved to see Sharon’s face illuminated inside, doubting whether she would have been able to talk their way past Harry Jackson. She waved to her and opened the door.
‘Hi, Sharon. Still hard at work?’
‘I’m just about to knock off, Kathy,’ she replied, looking doubtfully at the old man following at Kathy’s back.
‘You know Professor Orr, don’t you?’ Kathy said. ‘He’s helping me clear up one or two loose ends in our investigation. He was here when the building was being constructed, you see. We just need to take a quick look down below in the plenum duct.’
‘You want to go down there now?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Kathy began to walk towards the rear of the office.
‘I’d better check with Harry first,’ Sharon called after her. ‘I couldn’t let you through otherwise.’
‘That really won’t be necessary,’ Kathy said firmly. ‘And it’d hold us up—and you too. Harry might feel he has to check with my boss, and that might take hours, finding him. We only need five minutes, ten at most. If we’re not back then, contact Harry and tell him I insisted.’
Sharon wavered, then capitulated. ‘Well, just make sure you do get back before he comes down here, Kathy. He’ll give me hell.’
She took them to the door at the back of the unit and gave them a hard hat each. As she took hers, Kathy gave her the piece of paper on which she’d written Brock’s phone number. ‘Just in case there’s a problem, okay?’ she whispered.
As they descended the long ramp, Kathy was aware of appreciative little noises from Orr behind her. ‘This is really very good,’ he murmured. ‘It feels very like the passageway down into one of the tombs of the New Kingdom. Did I tell you I was with Emery at Saqqara?’
The illusion became even stronger when they moved from the chamber at the foot of the ramp into the unlit plenum duct itself, with its low ceiling and whispering darkness. Orr stumbled as he stepped inside, banging his helmet against the ceiling just as Leon had done. The memory gave Kathy an unexpectedly sharp jab of regret. She put out a hand to steady Orr, and flinched as his coat swung against her and something heavy and hard banged against her knee.
She swore softly and turned the light on him, seeing the bulge in his coat pocket. ‘That bloody gun!’ she hissed. ‘You promised!’
‘I’m sorry, Kathy.’ His voice was plaintive. ‘I felt obliged . . . in case I led you into any danger.’
‘The only danger I’m in is from that damn thing going off by mistake!’
‘No, no. I was in the army, you know. The safety catch is on. What in God’s name is that sound?’ Orr breathed. ‘It’s like the voices of ghosts.’
‘It’s only the machinery,’ Kathy said, and turned away, irritated. ‘The extract fan’s at the far end. Come on.’
They passed evidence of where workmen had begun replacing the missing grilles in the incoming ducts, and came to the place where Wiff ’s nest had been, still cordoned off with police tape. Here they examined the original plan, orienting themselves. If the door to the octagonal room existed, they realised, it must be quite close.
They moved on down the main plenum to the next short branch to the left, which they followed to its end, closed by a panel of louvres. This, they decided, talking for some reason in whispers, was where the door should have been. But there was no sign of a handle or hinges in the louvres, which appeared firmly fixed. Orr rattled them in frustration, pushed his shoulder half-heartedly against them, then stepped back in astonishment as they swung soundlessly open.
Their torches showed another corridor beyond, its walls formed of grey concrete blockwork. It ran forward for about twenty yards, then turned left and stopped at a door. Kathy told Orr to wait and tried the handle. It turned, and she opened the door into a darkened room. The air was suddenly much warmer and had a strong human smell, of urine and sweat. She pointed her torch into the dark space and picked out a chair, an electric fan heater and a pair of wellington boots. As the beam swept slowly across the room she saw a mattress on a steel-framed bed. From the head-frame hung a pair of handcuffs.
‘Oh God . . .’ she breathed. ‘You were right, Robbie. Just stay where you are please. Don’t come in here.’
She shone the torch back along the wall towards the door and found a light switch. A harsh white fluorescent light flickered into life overhead, and Kathy stepped cautiously into the room. There was a suitcase near the bed, open, with clothes heaped untidily inside.
At her shoulder, Orr whispered, ‘I knew it, Kathy. I knew I was right. The Minotaur’s lair, eh?’
‘Yes. And I told you to stay outside. For goodness’ sake don’t touch anything.’
She was staring at the mattress. There was a sleeping bag heaped at one end, a pillow at the other, magazines scattered in between. Behind her she heard the door click shut. She turned, assuming Orr had followed her instructions and left, but he was still at her back, staring towards the door. Then she saw the man standing there and her heart gave a violent jolt.
‘Who the blazes are you?’ Orr demanded.
The figure didn’t answer, but Kathy knew who it was. She had seen the face on video and mug shots, and once in the flesh.
Gregory Thomas ‘Upper’ North.
K
athy spoke slowly and clearly. ‘I’m a police officer. I’ll show you my warrant card.’
She made to reach into her pocket, but North raised a warning hand and she froze.
‘What’s your name?’
She had heard people mention the soft, sibilant voice that reinforced the impression he was under the influence of something even when he wasn’t.
‘DS Kolla.’
‘Division?’
‘Serious Crime. With DCI Brock.’
Without the heavy-rimmed glasses he looked much more like the North of the earlier pictures, slightly dreamy eyes pinched together, cruel mouth. At the mention of Brock’s name he blinked and stared more fixedly at Kathy.
‘Is he here too?’
Kathy hesitated and saw the eyes focus threateningly.
‘No, he’s not here at the moment.’
‘Who else is with you?’
‘No one. Just us. At the moment.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I’m supposed to report in.’
The mouth formed a thin smile. ‘Sure. Who’s he?’
‘He’s—’
‘Now look!’ Orr interrupted, becoming incensed that someone he took to be a maintenance mechanic, dressed in tracksuit and trainers, should have the presumption to question a police officer in this way. ‘You show a bit of respect, sir!’
‘Robbie . . .’ Kathy said warningly, remembering all she had been told about North. If she could just keep things calm for ten or fifteen minutes, Sharon would have told Brock, who would surely come. But Orr was waving his hand imperiously at her as he continued to address North in his most pompous classroom manner.
‘I am Professor Robbie Orr, and I am an archaeologist assisting this officer in her investigations. We have no interest in you, and I suggest you leave now before—’
‘Tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut,’ North hissed.
Orr, unlike Kathy, had not noticed the black object dangling from North’s right hand.
‘How dare you speak to us in that manner!’ Orr exploded. ‘If you can’t show a little respect—’
North brought his right hand up until it was pointing at Orr’s chest. Orr blinked in astonishment as he made out the automatic and silencer.
‘Robbie, please keep quiet and leave this to me,’ Kathy said, with some intensity. She tried to glance unobtrusively at his hands, terrified that he would try to pull his antiquated gun from his coat pocket. ‘Don’t move or say a word, and everything will be perfectly all right.’
Orr swallowed, then drew himself up straight. ‘No, Kathy. I refuse to be intimidated by some loutish thug. Does your employer know you have that thing?’ he challenged North. ‘Good God, sir! I’m not frightened of the likes of you. I was with Templer in Malaya!’
There was silence for a moment. North was frowning, as if trying to work out what the hell Orr meant, and Kathy began to say something to try to divert his attention. But before she could get the words out, North said, ‘Yeah? Well I was with Ronnie Kray in Pentonville,’ and the gun jumped twice in his hand, with two vicious thumps.
Orr toppled abruptly backwards, lay felled on the floor, a look of blank amazement on his face. North stared down at him for some seconds, as if contemplating a fine piece of work, then swung the gun to point at Kathy’s head. Instinctively she closed her eyes, waiting for oblivion.
A long silence, then she heard his voice. ‘Take the coat off, very carefully, darling.’
