The Last Enemy (3 page)

DI Bullen passed a piece of paper and a pen across the table to Jake, and Jake wrote Lauren’s number down. Bullen took the pen back, and passed the piece of paper to DS Aziz.

‘Tell her where Mr Wells is,’ he said.

DS Aziz nodded, and got up and left the room, pulling the door shut after her.

‘For the tape, DS Aziz has just left the room,’ said Bullen. He turned back to Jake. ‘As I said, this is just an initial interview to find out if there is a case against you.’

‘So I haven’t officially been arrested, as such?’ asked Jake.

‘You’ve been taken into custody because we had information that you may be able to help us with our enquiries,’ said Bullen.

‘What information?’ asked Jake.

Bullen was silent for a moment, looking at Jake thoughtfully. Then he asked, ‘Where were you at two o’clock this afternoon?’

‘Why?’ asked Jake. ‘Was that when Munro was killed?’

Bullen seemed to soften his attitude a little.

‘Look, Mr Wells, we can counter questions with questions all afternoon and just go round in circles, or — if you’d prefer — we can wait and see what happens about your solicitor. Although, with it being Saturday evening, my guess is that might take some time. Or, as I said, we can treat this as an initial interview to find out if there might be any substance to the suspicions concerning your involvement in the death of Mr Munro.’

‘I had no involvement in it,’ said Jake firmly. ‘I haven’t seen Alex Munro for months and months. I certainly didn’t see him today.’

‘But your name is in his dairy with an appointment for today. At 2 p.m.’

‘I didn’t have any appointment with Alex Munro, or with anyone else from Pierce Randall, today, or at any time recently.’

‘Do you know a Guy de Courcey?’ asked Bullen.

Jake shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘And I’ve never heard that name before, either.’

‘According to Mr Munro’s diary, he was due to meet you and Mr Guy de Courcey at the Red Hen Café in Crouch End Broadway at 2 p.m. this afternoon.’

Crouch End! The shock of it hit Jake. He was being set up! Framed!

Bullen gave Jake a questioning look, then said, ‘You look as if that’s triggered something, Mr Wells. Were you around the Red Hen Café in Crouch End Broadway this afternoon?’

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘But I was driving past it.’

‘And you didn’t notice any disturbance in that area?’

I should wait until my lawyer gets here, thought Jake. But, as Bullen said, that could take ages. He didn’t know if Lauren had even managed to get hold of Gareth. And, if she had, would Gareth want to get involved in this? Jake was sure he would once he knew it was Alex Munro who had been killed, but for all Jake knew, it had been Gareth who had had Munro killed.

‘Mr Wells?’ prompted Bullen.

‘I’m being set up,’ said Jake, reaching a decision. If he came clean with the police at this early stage, they might see he was innocent and let him go.

‘Being set up?’ repeated Bullen.

Jake nodded.

‘I had a phone call telling me that if I went to Muswell Hill Broadway at half past one, I’d be contacted by someone who had some information that would help me.’

‘What information was this?’

‘About a book called The Index. It’s an old book that was compiled by the Order of Malichea.’

The door opened and all eyes turned towards DS Aziz as she came back into the interview room.

‘For the tape, DS Aziz returns to the interview,’ said Bullen.

‘I’ve told Ms Graham where you are,’ Aziz said to Jake. ‘She said she’s arranging legal representation for you.’

‘Did she say if she’d got hold of Gareth Findlay-Weston?’ Jake asked.

‘She didn’t volunteer that information and I didn’t ask her,’ said Aziz.

‘I should have made the call!’ said Jake angrily.

‘The phone call has been made and she’s been notified,’ said Bullen flatly. ‘Now, can we return to the matter in hand. You were talking about something called the Order of Malichea.’

Jake glared at him. He wanted to pursue the business of his phone call,
demand
that he be allowed to speak to Lauren, but he knew arguing about it would just slow things down. He needed to get out of here as fast as he could.

‘Yes.’ Jake nodded.

‘Are they a religious order?’ asked Bullen.

‘They were,’ said Jake. ‘They died out in 1539.’

‘And this person you went to meet, they had a copy of this book?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jake. ‘I doubt it. It’s very rare, and people have been searching for it for years.’

‘Why?’ asked Bullen.

‘Because of the information it contains.’

‘What information?’

‘It’s said to be a list detailing where each of the books from the Library of Malichea were hidden,’ said Jake. ‘You see, the books in the library were forbidden.’

‘Dirty books?’ asked Bullen.

‘No,’ said Jake. ‘Nothing like that. They were scientific texts, written over hundreds and hundreds of years. Right up until the library was hidden in 1497 by the monks. They hid the books because the sort of sciences described in them were considered heretical by the Church at the time, and if they were found . . .’

‘Yes yes.’ Bullen nodded impatiently. ‘Can we get back to the present time. Today. So, you went to Muswell Hill?’

‘Yes. I got there just before half past one and waited, but no one turned up. Then, at a quarter to two, I got a text from them saying they couldn’t make it after all. So I drove back home.’

‘Through Crouch End Broadway?’

‘Yes,’ said Jake. ‘That’s the most direct route to Finsbury Park from Muswell Hill.’

‘So you would have been in Crouch End Broadway at about 2 p.m.?’

‘No. I was driving
through
Crouch End Broadway about ten minutes or so before two o’clock. As I’ve told you already, I left Muswell Hill at a quarter to two. The road was pretty clear.’

‘We’ve checked with the CCTV cameras in the area, and they show your car in the area of Crouch End Broadway at 1.54 p.m.’

‘OK. So it was six minutes to two.’

‘But you were in the area. You could have parked . . .’

‘But I didn’t! Look, check my mobile phone records. You’ll find the text I told you I got telling me the person couldn’t make it, and the time. Quarter to two.’

Bullen nodded.

‘We will,’ he said.

‘And I never had a meeting of any sort scheduled with Alex Munro,’ Jake repeated firmly. ‘So, like I say, if my name’s in his diary for this afternoon, then it’s obvious that someone’s framing me. Especially when you add in the mystery person who fixed up the meeting in Muswell Hill, and then cancelled, knowing full well I’d be getting to Crouch End right at the time Munro was being killed. It’s a set-up!’

‘Who would want to frame you for Mr Munro’s murder?’ asked Bullen.

Loads of people, thought Jake. Nearly everyone I’ve ever met who’ve been involved in the Malichea business.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Jake. ‘But it wouldn’t surprise me to find out it’s the same people who stole my bag today.’

Bullen frowned.

‘Stole your bag?’ he repeated.

‘Yes.’ Jake nodded. ‘From the British Library. You can check. Their security people said they’d be reporting it to the police, and I said I’d be reporting it too. So, you can start taking details of that, as well.’

‘We will. But first, I’d like to concentrate on what happened at Crouch End Broadway.’

‘I’ve told you, I had nothing to do with that!’

‘And this Guy de Courcey . . .’

‘I’ve already told you, I don’t know anyone called Guy de Courcey!’ snapped Jake angrily. ‘Look, I’ve tried to tell you that I’ve been framed, and that this could be linked to my bag being stolen from the British Library today. Someone who the staff at the British Library can describe to you. But you don’t seem interested! We’ve had our initial chat, as you call it, and I’ve told you the truth. I’m not saying anything more until I’ve seen my solicitor.’

Bullen hesitated, then nodded.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll get on to the British Library and see what they say. And, as soon as your solicitor gets in touch, we’ll talk again. Until then, the constable will take you to a cell.’

‘But I’m innocent!’ protested Jake. ‘I’ve told you what happened!’

‘We need to check out some of what you’ve said. Until then, we’ll need to keep you here for when your solicitor arrives.’ For the tape, he added, ‘Interview terminated at 7.30 p.m.’ Then he gestured to the uniformed constable by the door. ‘Constable, take Mr Wells to cell number two.’

Chapter 3

Lauren dialled the number again. So far she’d tried Gareth’s home number six times, and on each occasion all she’d got was an answerphone with a mechanical voice asking her to leave a message. This time she got a real voice.

‘Hello?’ said a woman.

Lauren was aware of the nervous tone in her voice. But then, that could be because her husband was involved in the espionage business, and you’d always be worried about who might be calling.

‘Can I speak to Mr Gareth Findlay-Weston, please?’ she asked. ‘It’s urgent.’

‘I’m afraid Mr Findlay-Weston isn’t here,’ said the woman.

‘When will he be back?’ asked Lauren.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you,’ said the woman. ‘Goodbye.’

‘No!’ shouted Lauren. ‘Please! My name’s Lauren Graham. Mr Findlay-Weston knows me. Jake Wells needs his help. He’s been arrested on a false charge of killing Alex Munro . . .’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you,’ repeated the woman. ‘Goodbye.’

And this time the phone was hung up.

‘I’m not letting it go like that,’ said Lauren grimly to herself; and she redialled the number. This time she got the recorded answerphone announcement, the mechanical voice asking her to leave a message.

Damn!

The turnkey unlocked the cell and gestured Jake inside. As the heavy metal door clanged shut behind him, Jake saw that there was someone else already in the cell, a young man in his early twenties. He was sitting on a bench, and he looked up inquisitively at Jake.

‘Let me guess,’ said the young man. ‘You must be Jacob Wells.’

The young man’s accent was right out of the upper class; a clipped drawl.

‘Yes,’ said Jake warily. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Guy de Courcey. I believe you’re my alleged fellow-conspirator.’

‘I had nothing to do with any murder!’ snapped Jake.

‘You and me both.’ Guy nodded. ‘But it’s worth saying it for the tape.’

‘What tape?’ queried Jake, looking around.

‘A hidden mic somewhere,’ said Guy. ‘It’s the only reason I can think of for the police putting us together, hoping we’ll say something that will incriminate us. Unless there’s a shortage of cells in this place, of course. Which is possible. After all, it’s a Saturday night. Great night for street brawls.’ He grinned. ‘So, do you prefer Jacob or Jake?’

‘Jake,’ said Jake despite himself. There was a lot about the young man’s superior attitude that annoyed him, but at the same time he couldn’t help but admit that he also had some charm. It was in his smile and his confident manner. Despite being locked up in a police cell, Guy de Courcey didn’t seem at all troubled by the situation. The opposite in fact: he appeared almost amused about the whole thing.

‘Have the police told you that we apparently had a meeting with this Alex Munro this afternoon?’ Guy asked.

‘Yes.’ Jake sat down on the other bench in the cell. It was hard, just a concrete shelf. ‘I told them I didn’t have any such meeting. Not today, or any other day.’

‘I did,’ said Guy. ‘But not in a café in Crouch End at two o’clock. My appointment with him was for ten tomorrow morning at his office. I was nowhere near Crouch End at two o’clock.’

‘So, you’ve got an alibi?’

‘Yes, but it’s certainly not one the police are taking seriously. I was asleep in a hotel room the whole afternoon. And alone. Jet lag. That doesn’t count as an alibi as far they are concerned.’ He regarded Jake with an intrigued frown. ‘Are you saying that you don’t even know this Munro character?’

‘No,’ said Jake, shaking his head. ‘I’ve met him, but not for a long time. I certainly haven’t had any contact with him for months.’

‘Yet the police say your name was in his diary, along with mine.’

Jake shrugged.

‘Someone’s setting me up,’ he said.

‘The police?’ asked Guy. He shook his head. ‘From my experience, the police in this country don’t set you up as blatantly as they do in some others.’ He looked at Jake in a superior way, and added, ‘Well, they might set people like
you
up. But generally, they play honest where I’m concerned.’ He gave a smile. ‘That’s one of the advantages of having a title.’

Jake frowned.

‘A title?’ he echoed.