The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (24 page)

“What does that mean?”

“Not a geek, are you? It’s a type of keyboard, invented by C. L. Sholes back in the 1860’s. There are different types of keyboards, such as Dvorak Simplified and QWERTY.”

“Why QWERTY?”

“Because of the letters on the top row: Q-W-E-R-T-Y.”

“Do you think that’s what the killer was trying to say?” Theo asked.

“Not sure. That word is only six letters long. If you take the other two…” She quickly crossed out the six letters on paper. “You are left with K and B. You know what that means, right?”

“K and B? No,” Theo said.

“Keyboard, it could be an acronym for KeyBoard. Qwerty Keyboard.”

“Maybe it’s just me, but what the hell does QWERTY keyboard tell us? He’s letting us know he uses a QWERTY keyboard? Most of us in this English-speaking world use that type of keyboard. What of it?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet.” Just then, her mobile beeped a message from Liam. Why was he texting her so late?

Soph, another flurry of emails. They estimate twenty-four hours or less. We need that key.

Chapter 26

Liam awoke before his alarm. Not that he slept much. He had turned over every fifteen minutes to glance at the clock beside his bed. The day ahead was important, not only for his career, but perhaps for Londoners. He did not want to attend another bomb-blast victim’s autopsy. Nor did he want to explain to their families why his team couldn’t crack something they had thought would take a few short weeks. He had one last chance to get it right. Whatever Sophia believed, he knew Marcus Master was guilty of orchestrating the bombings. Now if only he could prove it.

At exactly a quarter to seven, Liam knocked on the door across the street from the Marc’s flat. Adams led him to his awaiting team in the sitting room. Six men, one woman, and a handful of suited reinforcements with guns stopped talking and looked to him for instructions. As Liam was about to begin, he saw Sophia and Marc exiting the residence across the street.

“She’s there early,” Liam remarked.

Adams pointed to the desk covered in audio-visual equipment and said, “She’s been there since three this morning, keeping him busy, if you know what I mean. Did you know today’s her birthday?”

“It’s not her birthday,” Liam said, shaking his head. “What do you mean she’s been there since three?” He watched Sophia take Marc’s hand and lead him to the car in front of the house. “When did Mr. Masters buy a new vehicle? Where did he get the money?”

“It was a gift,” said a woman, turning dials on the sound box.

“From who?” Liam asked.

“Who do you think?” the woman replied, pointing out the window. “It’s getting serious, from what I hear.” She tapped her ear.

“Stop that,” Liam said, slapping his hand down on the table. “She’s doing her job. If she couldn’t get him to leave the house this morning, we couldn’t get in, could we?” Liam clenched his fist. “Now, we don’t know how long we have. Did everyone study the layout of the house? You all know what you have to do? I don’t want wasted time.” He studied his team. “Well? Do you?”

“Yes, sir,” they yelled in unison.

Liam watched the couple drive away. “Do we know where she’s going?”

“I believe,” the woman with the earpiece replied, “I overheard Marc invite her for a birthday breakfast.” She winked at Liam.

“That should give us at least an hour. We need to find the key, and we need to find it today. He’s been working on his security system; Sophia texted me the new code last night. I want the house turned upside-down. The boxes are there.” Liam pointed to the corner. “We box up all the books and take them with us. We take everything: computers, clothes, shoes, papers, the pots and pans…everything.” He took a deep breath. “Well, what are you people waiting for?”

The team put on their bulletproof vests and gathered their supplies. Liam led them across the street, through the back door, past the security alarm, and into the house. He watched his people head off in different directions; and he listened to cupboards slam, papers shuffle, books fall, and miscellaneous curses.

Liam headed upstairs into the master bedroom. Clothes littered the floor and the disheveled bed. He picked up a pair of dainty knickers and threw them against the wall. The stupid, stupid girl. What a mistake he had made in choosing her for this team. He began to root around in the drawer beside the bed. He pulled out items and examined them carefully before throwing them into a box: papers, books, pens, condoms, headache medication, a handful of change, and a couple of tie clips.

Liam worked his way around the room, taking drawers from bureaus and wardrobes, feeling pockets and pulling apart socks. Suspicious jacket liners, he tore open. He pulled off the heels of boots and shoes. Nothing left unturned. Forty minutes passed. Pushing the button on his radio, he asked, “Anyone find anything?”

A series of negative responses returned through the device. Damn. He was about to tear the last heel off, when a series of loud bangs erupted downstairs. Gunfire.

Time slowed for Liam as he watched Adams run from the bathroom and a man in a black mask enter the bedroom. Before Adams could react, he caught a bullet in the chest. Liam watched the shock on his friend’s face, moments before he felt the explosion rupture in his own chest, pushing him backward. Blood rushed to his head, and for a moment he lost vision and hearing. He lay on his back, wondering if he was dead. He didn’t feel pain, just fear and emptiness. And he thought of Sophia. Please don’t come back here, Sophia. His lips moved slightly as he pleaded with her in his mind. He had to warn her. In his hand, he could feel the radio. He didn’t have the strength to push the talk button or raise the device to his lips.

Where was he? He could see a round light. The light of death? No, Marc’s ceiling light. How long had he been lying there? He could feel pain in his chest and hear only ringing. The fear in him rose as a face came into view. Marc stood over him, pointing a gun at his head. He could see Marc’s mouth move, but he couldn’t hear the words. Instead, he felt the boom.

Only when the ringing diminished did he hear the scream—Sophia’s gut-wrenching scream.

Chapter 27

Liam wasn’t dead but he wished he were. He couldn’t find the stop button on his brain, and the events of the morning replayed in his mind. Except none of it made sense.

“Sophia?” he whispered. He tried to yell but couldn’t. He tried to hear but only caught muffled voices. He tried to move, but his body refused. All he could do was feel, and he didn’t want to do that. “Where’s Sophia?”

A paramedic came into view and said, “Don’t talk. Just lay still. You’ve been shot.”

“I was wearing a vest,” Liam replied.

“Yes, but you may have broken ribs. The bullet didn’t penetrate the skin, but you took the full force of it. We’re taking you to the hospital to have a look.” The paramedic motioned to someone behind Liam’s head, and slowly ambulance doors came into view. “You’re fortunate the bullet hit your vest.”

“Where’s Sophia?”

The paramedic shook his head. “I don’t know. Is she your wife?”

“No.” Liam struggled to sit up but could only lift his head. He saw his boss, Robert Vincent, approaching. “Sir, sir,” he called to him.

“What the hell happened in there?” replied Vincent. “Four agents are dead. You had better have the key. It’s a bloodbath in there.”

“Have you seen Evans? Is she all right?”

“Evans? Your bloody career is on the line and you’re asking about her? She’s not good.” Vincent turned his head toward the house and said, “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this.”

“Masters shot her?”

“What? No, you’ve got it all wrong. She shot Masters.”

“What? Masters is dead?”

Vincent nodded.

“Where is she?” Liam asked.

Vincent pointed somewhere behind him.

“Help me sit up, sir.”

The paramedic stepped forward. “That’s not a good idea. If his ribs are broken, they may puncture his lungs or intestines. He could have internal bleeding.”

“I don’t care. Help me up.” Liam grabbed his boss’s arm and attempted to pull up. To his relief, Vincent finally helped him. Liam looked around his boss and saw Sophia curled up on the pavement. He slowly slipped off the gurney, fighting waves of nausea with every step. “Sophia?”

Sophia didn’t look up.

“Are you all right?” he asked her. “What happened?”

She rose, reached into her trouser pocket, and pulled out a silver watch. “It’s the key.” She placed the device in his palm. Her hands shook uncontrollably. With a sigh, she started to walk away.

Liam turned the watch over and studied the set of rotating dials on the back. “Wait, Sophia.” He grabbed her arm and a sharp pain radiated through his body. “What happened? Did you shoot Marcus? Why did you come back to the house? Who were those men?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Liam, I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

She nodded and walked down the street to her Merc as he ambled behind. Before he could reach the car, she got in and drove away. He stood there for a few moments debating his next move. She wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she? She wouldn’t jump off a bridge, would she?

“What is that?” Vincent said behind him.

Liam turned around. “It’s the key… apparently.”

Vincent snatched it from his hand and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Liam asked as he tried following.

“This aside,” Vincent replied, pointing to the house, “we still have a bomb to stop. Once you’re done at the hospital, see me in my office.” And he left.

Chapter 28

Theo leaned on a table in the incident room and massaged his eyelids. Another sleepless night spent in the back of his vehicle, debating the course of his life. He had imagined an all-nighter with Sophia, but she shooed him out shortly after two. She didn’t seem to notice that his car was still in the car park when she left thirty minutes later. Where had she gone?

Dorland came into the room carrying a brown cardboard box. “Got hold of the CCTV tapes. Hardcastle’s team has watched them over the last few days. They’re following some leads, but they made us a copy of all the important bits.”

Theo stood and pressed the power button on the television. From the moment the screen lit up, it let out a consistent high-pitched hum. He pushed a VHS tape into the VCR and plopped down hard on a plastic chair. It wobbled slightly, and one of the legs collapsed under him.

“Damn it,” Theo yelled. “Why can’t anything go my bloody way?” He stood and kicked the chair against the wall.

“I’ll get you another chair, Gov.” Dorland ran for a metal chair. “The same thing happened to me last week.”

Theo took the chair from his partner. “Thanks. Things have been difficult lately.”

“With your wife?”

“With my life.”

They both sat and silently watched the view of the street—cars, people, and rain—trying to pick out the right car.

“Is this footage from Helena Smithwick’s street?” asked Theo.

“Yes,” replied Dorland, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“So there is a chance we will see the killer drive by?”

“Presumably yes. The footage is not very clear, but they think they’ve found the car we’re looking for.” Dorland ejected the tape and placed one labeled EIGHT in the machine. He slowed down the footage until a vehicle inched forward a few feet per second. A dark car with four doors, a bit of body damage, and one person inside came into view.

“Oh right,” Theo replied sarcastically, “a dark nondescript car. That’s helpful. Were they able to read the number plate?”

“Yes. Only a partial. Shields’s team is preparing a list.”

“Great, let me know what turns up.” Before he left the room, he asked, “Oh, and Dorland, what does a QWERTY keyboard mean to you? Does it make you think of anything?”

“Only that I can’t type. Why? Does anything at the crime scene relate to that type of keyboard?”

“Just sorting out things in my mind. The serial killer typed the code he sent to Sophia on a computer keyboard. It was not written or cut out from magazines. Perhaps that fact is important.”

“Gov, before you leave, I should let you know, forensics confirmed that Helena did not pick up the knife from the sink because of the way it fell. If the knife had been anywhere in the vicinity, there would have been a clean spot in the splatter pattern.”

“So, we can assume the killer took one of her knives and placed it in her hand. But why? It’s obvious he strangled her—we know it’s not self-defense. Why would he do that? He’s trying to tell us something.”

“What’s that, sir?”

Theo shrugged. “Who the hell knows. Come to me when you get the list of registration plates.”

“Anything I should be looking for in this footage?” Dorland asked.

Theo stopped and considered. “I don’t think he’s stupid enough to murder people in his car and then drive the women around in his boot, do you? Watch if you have nothing better to do, but I don’t think we’ll find more than Hardcastle’s team has already found. We’re only watching this because all the teams are desperate.”

“Yeah, they canvassed the neighbors and asked if anyone noticed a strange car parked in front of their house. So far nothing.”

“Dorland, were you able to find the number for Helena’s agent yet?”

“I’m looking through a list for the name her husband gave me,” he replied.

“Didn’t the husband have the phone number?”

“Said he couldn’t find it.”

“Ring the husband again and get a number.” Theo left the room.

When Theo arrived at his office, he turned on the light and looked round the room. He didn’t know why he expected to see Sophia. He walked to the window and watched the traffic below. A red car passed a yellow car that passed a blue car in a race to be somewhere. His waking thoughts were of a woman who could never be his; while the case, something that should be his priority, lagged behind. What had he done to find the killer?

“Focus, Theo,” he said aloud as he sat down at his desk. “What do we know about the killer?” He closed his eyes and worked his way through the clues in his mind: the door off its hinges, the roses, the code, the writer, and the children. What about the children?