"What was all that about?" Sandra asked when we had established ourselves in our hotel room.
"What was all what about?" I replied
"I'm not sure I understood your discussion with Maggie and James, " I said. "How did you know they were advertising their home? And why are the Metropolitan police trying to keep her quiet?"
"According to the media," I said, "Tina's colleagues called in the police at MI6, who became anxious after not noticing her at work for some time. But there have been contradictory accounts," I resumed. "And according to one, it was Maggie who called the police. Usually, a sole disputing account would not entice much of my consideration. Nevertheless, somebody printed that reporting the Haliheved Chronicle. Why? Some other features of that report were very peculiar. It gave the actual name of the street where Maggie and James live, it gave the name of the hospital where they both work, it stated that their home was for sale, and it even quoted the
"Wake up, Sandra!" I said, shaking her by the shoulder. "Wake up, darling!""What is it?" She asked sleepily."You've overslept again. We must catch a train and get back to London," I said. "I've got you breakfast for you, but you must get moving."She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and started to regain her bearings. I gestured toward the table upon which a tray of breakfast awaited her. A second tray, empty, showed her that I had already eaten."I'm sorry," Sandra said. "I have so much trouble getting to sleep recently. And then, when I do finally drop off, I am woken up by the most horrible dreams.""Dreams about what we're looking into?" I asked."Yes," She said."Dreaming of Tina Davis in the bag?""Why, yes? How did you guess?""With her arms and legs contorted behind her?""That's the strangest part. I know it can't be, and yet in my mind, I keep trying to see it that way.""That's the power of the lie, Sa
"Have you any theories ?," Sandra asked me, "which would clear up the rumours you have been relating, with their secretive conferences and unexpected relocations?""I have established seven," he replied, "some more credible than others.""Which of them are most likely?""The first question in my mind," I answered, "is whether the media is reporting the truth. If not, we must work with theories regarding the intelligence service, the police, and the press. But if the media are correct, we are getting sights into the life of Tina Davis. Let's assume the rumours of these two mystifying couples are true. It's pure conjecture, of course. But where does it take us? Suppose she were immersed in undertakings of which she knew MI6 would have a problem with. How would she contact her colleagues? She'd been working for GCHQ, the eavesdropping service, for a decade, decoding bugged exchanges, unless the media has that wrong, so she would know better than to suppose her phon
Hector Nelson appeared in the doorway, and I greeted him warmly as Cross departed. Nelson seemed subdued as he shook hands with Sandra and me in turn."Please sit down, Hector," I said, motioning toward an armchair, "and tell us what's going on.""I'm sorry," Nelson replied, "but I no longer need of your help.""No longer needed?" I said, amazed. "Have you solved the crime?""No, nothing like that," Nelson said, laughing sadly. "I've been taken off the case.""When did this happen?" I asked"Saturday afternoon. I was just finishing tidying up my desk, when I got called in to see my supervisor and told me we had plenty of officers on the case, and other cases more important ones to solve, and I've been reassigned to a new case-load starting today. So I put the ad in the paper as soon as got told, but they didn't run it until Sunday, and you said twenty-four hours, and that's why it said Monday in the ad.""Don't worry," I said when he
"What facets of the Tina Davis case were you allotted to examine?" I asked."I looked into some captivating details," Nelson replied, "such as where she purchased her suits.""Where she acquired her suits?" I exclaimed."Yes, and how she paid for them.""Tell us all about it," I demanded."In the cupboard of her flat we found six boxes of fashionable clothing, all for men. There were shirts, jackets, trousers and shoes, all from big-name stylists. None of the items had ever been worn, or even opened. All the buttons on the shirts were still done up, all the packaging intact. The assortment, though small, was worth in the area of twenty to twenty-five thousand pounds. I had the privilege of tracking the acquisitions, finding out where each item came from and how much it cost, how she paid for it all and when. Mesmerising details, but I couldn’t see how any of this had any bearing on the case.""You can't?" I asked."No.&rdq
Hector Nelson glanced at his watch and grimaced."I've remained longer than I anticipated," he said, "and I must be going soon. But I am encouraged that you're interested, and I'll be happy to help you in any way I can. Shall I place a new ad to organise our next get-together?""That's a good idea," I said, scribbling a few words on a scrap of paper and handed it to Nelson. "Put this in the Telegraph to tell me when you want to meet again, then be on the westbound platform of East Finchley tube station at eight o'clock on the night of your choice. We'll talk then. Not a single person will disturb us on the train, but tonight it might be prudent to organise an inconspicuous departure. Sandra, would you mind asking Simon Cross to join us?"A few minutes later, the landlord came back into the room. "I would like our friend to get away quietly," I said. "Can you help us arrange it ?""No problem," Cross said. "I'll be back soon.""I am worried
23 I kept perusing through the articles; even though I wasn't examining them for anything, in particular, I thought I might as well continue until Sandra got back. I found an interesting piece from a local newspaper from Wales, covering a declaration I'd overlooked the first time I'd read it. But now, my interest piqued, and I paid closer attention. ... despite police stating a baffling fatality, Home Office forensic pathologist Dr Jasmine Jae said the conditions insinuate it was a murder. Dr Jae, who has worked on high-profile murder enquiries in North Wales, said apart from instances when someone has died of injuries such as knife or gunshot wounds, determining a cause of death was more multifaceted in a rotting corpse. She intimated that if Ms Davis were poisoned or strangled, a pathologist would have difficulties ascertaining this on a putrefying body. DCI Burton and I agreed that it was a murder. But was it conceivable that her killer strangled T
"I'm sorry to have left you so unexpectedly," Sharon said, on her return "particularly for a false alarm.""A false alarm?" I asked, and Sharon laughed."It started out like that," she explained, "but it turned out to be very constructive.""How did that happen?" I asked."It was DCI Mark Brooks who called me this morning," Sandra explained. "He believed he was in the middle of a catastrophe. But by the time I reached his office, the whole problem had been settled.""Typical," I said. "I presume he tried to recompense you for your disruption.""How did you know?" Sandra asked."I've worked with DCI Brooks before, remember?""Since he is so well associated with the Assistant Commissioner," Sandra explained, "I asked for his help in finding, the one-time friend of Tina Davis, Suzanne Bowen. It didn't take Brooks long to find her, and I spent most of the morning talking with Miss Bowen.""What was she like?" I pressed.
I came back a few seconds later with my file in my hands. As I didn't own a computer or a mobile phone, I filed the old-fashioned way, writing everything down on cards designed for my index.I flicked through the sheets until I found the record I wanted. "Ah, here we are," I said. "Ahmed Dastageer, a British Muslim of Pakistani descent. Born in Birmingham. He fled to Pakistan after a fatal knifing of his uncle. Apparently he was quizzed by police in association with that offence but was discharged and permitted to leave the country. He lived in a part of Pakistan where his ancestral relations lived, and married a daughter, or a niece of the creator and mystical leader of the Fist of Allah, an extremist group who have crafted their style by blasting passenger trains in India and Kashmir.""How nice of them," Sandra said."Yes," I said. "Ahmed deceptively revisited England and was allegedly grilled and discharged again this time in association with the tube-and-bu
59 Sandra raised her eyes suddenly and gave me the same sort of inspection, as if she’d never really seen me before: and I guessed that for her it was much more a radical assessment. I was no longer the man she’d tricked rather easily with her charms and feminine ways, but the man who had discovered her duplicity. I was accustomed by now to seeing this new view of me when people had tried to deceive me, and although I might often regret it, there seemed no way of going back. “They warned me you know,” she said doubtfully. “I kept hearing how good the great Quintus Noone was, and I should tread carefully. They said you’re exceptionally good…exceptionally good…at this sort of thing. But I didn’t believe them. But now I’m standing here in your North London flat banged to rights.” “Afraid so,” I said succinctly. Her eyes were red with tears, but I never fell for crocodile tears. Having three sisters had nullified that emotion. “When did you
"The three theories," I began, "are positively conceivable. Assuming what we recognise, we may deliberate them quite believable. But they are still theoretical. In extra words, they may be precise, but their correctness is by no way established. As such, they signify three areas of indecision. However, I do not regard these doubts as major flaws in our case, both because in all three examples, several reasonable replacements exist, and because these propositions are all efforts to respond consequential, or even relating, questions. We may never find acceptable responses to all these distant inquiries, but the fundamental of our case is built on solutions to other, more dominant, questions. Do you understand?" "I do," Sandra replied, "but I don't see where you're going with it." "I think Tina Davis was assassinated," I continued. "I think MI6 played a main role in her death, and I think so founded on deliberations dispassionate of these doubts. I think Tina was doing
"As we move away from the fundamentals, things get ambiguous, Sandra. There is one conceivable response to the subject of why Tina may have focused against her employers. But there are many other probabilities. For what reason did Tina make those trips to the café near the West Finchley tube station. Her recurrent chance encounters with an enigmatic duo, who may or may not be the same as the Mediterranean twosome for whom the police are hypothetically searching. Maybe Tina and the couple were convening to arrange other, less observable meetings, and for this motive, these discussions were seen by Tina's MI6 as duplicitous.""It is likely that the Mediterranean pair, and the West Finchley team may be the identical people," Sandra interjected, "and that they might have been MI6 agents who were allocated to analyse Tina, possibly to deceive her, definitely to obtain whatever she may have been attracted to reveal."
"But why?" Sandra demanded, "I cannot believe you are willing to give up, so easily.""When I said, I was going to drop it, what I meant was that the Home Secretary angle has been shut off to me, but there are more than one way to skin a cat.""Please, Quintus, tell me, what you are planning to do?""Very well. Unless I'm reading it entirely incorrect, the crime concerned as much personality elimination as bodily slaying. What could be the reason? It seems to me that Tina must have been doing something her managers found unbearable, something that made her a burden rather than an advantage, and I don't think she was very careful about it.""Go on," Sandra pressed."She was besieged for a three-branched attack: first, to quieten her forever; second, to make sure she would never be contemplated well-thought-of, though she may have been much more than that; and third, to warn her co-workers of the significances of pursuing the trail she chose."
I woke up early the following day to find that Sandra had already left, although she hadn't eaten breakfast. Instead, I found a note and a newspaper. I read the note first. Quintus There is terrible news this morning. I have gone to find out what the Commissioner knows about this. All the morning papers say the same. So here is the story in its most diminutive illegible form. I will return as soon as possible. SB Then I picked up the paper and found that Sandra had circled a headline, which read: Two Metropolitan Police Shot In Jewellery Shop Robbery Home Secretary Unharmed, Cabinet Shuffled The text was this: Two Metropolitan Police officers sustained gunshot wounds yesterday after apparently stumbling upon an attempted burglary in progress. Detectives Hector Nelson, 45, and Stewart Alderman, 32, were wounded while chasing suspe
Under arrest?" the Home Secretary cried. "Are you stupid? I am a Home Secretary! A representative of the Cabinet! I am a fragment of the Government!! Do you comprehend??""Yes!" Nelson said."I cannot be under arrest!" the Home Secretary continued. "I cannot be incarcerated! I cannot be put on trial! Don't you know anything?""I do understand," said Nelson calmly, "that no man's job designation seats him above the rules.""Ha!" the Home Secretary replied, whose pallid face was becoming more sanguine with each occurring second. "We become the law! We are the law! The directive is ours! It is not to be expended in opposition to us!"Sandra, Nelson, and I gaped in incredulity as the manacled man carried on. Alderman, progressing gradually, appeared from the bedroom and began to move toward us. The Home Secretary didn't seem to perceive; he just stormed on."We're the administration!" he bellowed. "We make the regulations. So clearly we cannot r
"Very well," said the Home Secretary. I sat in an armchair and scrutinised intently at our visitor opposite. "I can begin with the particulars of the tableau. Even though no exact reason of death has been proven, our study has left no misgiving in my mind that Tina Davis was assassinated." "Really!" exclaimed the Home Secretary. "Oh, no! She was the victim of a very strange kinky sex game gone wrong, wasn't she?" "That is not true. The state of the flat and that of her corpse propose an alternative justification completely." "I did not know," said the Home Secretary. "No, I you didn't. There is a great deal of misperception about what happened." "A resentful paramour?" the Home Secretary suggested. "No, definitely not. Offences of lust are generally chaotic; the wrongdoer gets flustered and consigns a profusion of proof. In this case, the lack of scientific verification, among other things, advocates planning." "Fuck me
52 When we had all finished eating, Sandra brought a tray of coffee. I invited the two policemen to relax on the settee, and we all paid the detective chief inspector kindly accolades as she cleared the table. "I almost forgot to tell you, Mr. Noone," Nelson said, "and it may not even matter. But a couple of interesting details came to my attention, and I would be remiss if I failed to share them." “Please do.” "We have continuously supposed that there are two unexplained couples involved in this case," said Nelson, "but that might not be true, sir." "Why’s that?" "One couple," Nelson said, "the so-called Mediterranean couple, were purportedly buzzed into Tina's residence by a neighbour, apparently after asserting to have a key to Tina’s flat. Detectives are clearly fascinated by the Mediterranean couple, and police artists have even created e-fits of them. The other couple met Tina Davis several times at the
51 After DI Brooks left, I closed all the drapery, turned on the lights, and sat in a comfy chair to read. "Aren't we going to alter the venue for this evening's events?" Sandra asked. "This is now a crime scene." "If we change it, our suspect will get suspicious." "Very well," Sandra shrugged, and this was followed by a rigorous knocking on the door. "That will be Hector and his mate," I said, standing up to respond to the thumping. But when I opened it, I discovered I was looking at a worn-down old lady. "Good afternoon," she said, in a rumbling and oddly recognisable voice. "Come on in, Stewart. Meet Quintus Noone and DI Burton." We observed an old man waddle into the flat, lugging an overnight case over which he was bowed in understandable distress. The old lady shut the door and removed her coat and then her wig, disclosing the recognisable face of Hector Nelson. "Hello, DCI Burton," he said. "It's a joy to see you