The Gods' Gambit (21 page)

Stockton rifled through the papers on his desk. “We know who
the dead ones were. The man that detective Bellin killed at the gateway of your
estate was David Farhuck. He was fifty-four years old and lived in London. The
woman killed with him was Rose Masterson, twenty-four, from Somerset. The name
of the other woman is Margaret Stone, thirty-two, also from London. Do any of
these names ring a bell?”

“No,” said James in a hollow voice.

Stockton took two photos from the pile in front of him and
showed them to James. “These are Farhuck and Masterson. Have you seen them
before?”

James took a close look and shook his head. “Somehow they
don’t look like criminals,” he commented, partly to the detective, partly to
himself. “Give me some details about them.”

Stockton hesitated. “I’ve given you enough details already.”

James raised his voice. “Not enough at all.”

The muted choir of voices of the police officers working at
the desks behind James suddenly stopped.

The detective moved his chair back to the edge of the desk
and stared at James. “In here I say when something is sufficient.”

James pulled himself together and apologized. “I’m only
asking you for details that the media will publish soon enough.”

Mention of the media had a sobering effect on Stockton.
“David Farhuck owned an estate agents business. He let private and commercial
property on a national scale. Father Indian, mother English. Divorced, three
children living with his ex. Rose Masterson had a little accounting firm in
Somerset. Not married. Margaret Stone was a housewife with an eight-year-old
son. You know about William Leroy.”

James looked surprised. “Apart from Leroy, all the others
look like completely normal people. How could they be involved in kidnapping
and killing?”

“Perhaps they wanted to lay their hands on a huge amount of
money. They must have had a good reason for that. As for their ‘innocent’
biographies, I wouldn’t be so impressed. There have been serial killers that
were known as kind neighbours and exemplary citizens.”

“Why did they choose Elizabeth as their target?”

“You’re a famous writer and probably wealthy. They hoped to
extract good money from you. There might be another reason. We’ll talk about
that later when we get more evidence.” Stockton fell silent and pulled the
computer keyboard closer.

“I really do need to know more,” James insisted.

“We’ll get more information when we catch the remaining two
of the gang. Now – please – I have to work.”

James realized that this man would talk to him no more. He
stood up and started to walk away but then turned back. “If I were you, I
wouldn’t rush to add the ‘Islamic’ hypothesis to the investigation of
Elizabeth’s murder,” he said.

Stockton didn’t answer immediately. His expression seemed
rapt and his lower lip hung loosely. Deep in his dark eyes malice sparkled. He
smiled and said, “We’ll talk again soon. Bye now.”

* * *

Walking out of the MI5 building, James realized how
self-deluding he had been to think he would find peace after Elizabeth had been
found. Now that the perpetrator had been found, having had a miserable death,
he still didn’t feel any relief. On the contrary, he felt like he was trapped
in a dark labyrinth with no exit.
It’s all so surreal … strange… Answers. I
need answers,
he thought.

Now, four people in the gang that had destroyed his life
were dead, lost as potential sources of information. The police’s
interpretation was based on partial field evidence, a few lab analyses and four
dead bodies. That may look fine in a police report, but for him it was not
enough.

Answers.

James walked like an automaton to his car, zigzagging
through the packed car park. Once inside his car he touched the ignition but
didn’t start the engine. He sat deep in thought for some time. Eventually, he
pulled out his mobile and dialled a number. “Peter, it’s James Whiteway. I’d
like to talk to you.”

Superintendent Peter Oliver was silent for a moment before
he asked shortly, “Where are you?”

James explained, adding that he had just met with Stockton.
The superintendent gave him the address of a bar where they could meet.

He arrived there a quarter of an hour after James and
settled opposite him at a table for two. “We’re better off talking here,” he
said, as if trying to excuse himself for not inviting James to his office. “I
heard what happened to you. How are you holding up?”

“Not very well. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” James
related his conversation with Stockton. “My indicator of trust in the abilities
of detective Stockton is in the red zone.”

“You can complain officially…” The superintendent saw the
disappointment on James’ face. “I’m not washing my hands of it. I just want to
remind you of official procedure,” he added.

“Actually, I don’t care about Stockton’s abilities. I feel
uneasy because he’s hiding information. That’s a pity. He seems quite
influenced by my removal from the Costov case.”

The superintendent looked out of the window. He was
thinking. “I’ll talk to you as if you’re one of ours. In fact, I’m not talking
to you on this subject at all,” he said with a meaningful look into James’
eyes.

“Everything stays between you and me,” James reassured him.

“Yesterday, the crime lab sent Stockton the chemistry
analysis report. It described an unknown substance. It was found in a syringe
on the woman killed at your estate. That substance was identical to the one
used to drug Stefan Costov.”

“Impossible!” James exclaimed.

The superintendent looked at him without blinking.

James took a deep breath. Thoughts, facts, events and images
from these last few fateful days started crossing his mind with incredible
speed. The diverse multitude of information started to arrange itself into a
sensible picture, although it still bore some blank spots.
It’s impossible,
unbelievable, and yet
… He clenched his fists under the table. He needed to
calm down. “What do you think about all this?” he asked.

The superintendent avoided answering the question directly.
“I know you’re sincere. That’s why I’m going to ask you something. Is there
even the slightest possibility that your fiancée was involved in some
mess behind your back?”

For a long moment, James’ face was illuminated by some inner
light. “Believe me,” he said in a low tone, “nothing like that happened. I
would have known. We had been inseparable since we met.”

The superintendent leaned closer to James. “What Stockton
told you is only part of it. The police are working on the other part quite
intensively. Stockton briefly touched on it when the three of us met at your
home. It’s about the possible involvement of Elizabeth Eden with Islamic
fanatics. After yesterday’s crime lab report there’s an indication of her
possible involvement with the people who killed Stefan Costov. She may have
been kidnapped and killed because those people felt she was a threat to them. In
line with this hypothesis, their attempt to kidnap you could have been fuelled
by the same motives. They wanted to find out if Elizabeth had told you
something about them. And to get money from you, of course—”

“Peter, I’m sure you’ve been too busy to think about
chronology,” said James.

“Let’s skip the riddles, James.”

“You invited me to join the investigation on Costov. That
happened first. Now, MI5 suspect that Elizabeth had been connected to the same
criminals who killed Costov.”

“I admit this is a strange twist of events. But the lead on
your fiancée must be investigated.”

“Could she have been involved with those people before I
started working on Costov’s case? That would have been an almost mystical
coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Yet – a possible one. Before or after, if she had been in
contact with them, wouldn’t you want know?”

“I don’t, because it’s nonsense.”

“I’m not here to argue with you, James. I don’t share
Stockton’s enthusiasm on that. But there are procedures,” the superintendent
reminded him.

“You’re right. Let’s stick to the matter and consider
Costov’s murder separately. The theory that he was killed by Islamists is not
defendable. There’s no basis for it.”

 “We consider the possibility that the fanatics took
cover behind the bloody Sumerian ritual. New tactics. Their motives could well
have been political. Costov was an enemy to Islam because, in their eyes, he
worked for the US government.”

James immediately saw a contradiction in that hypothesis.
“MI5 found plans for another kidnapping in William Leroy’s house. By kidnapping
two people in such a short space of time, they would have attracted the
attention of the whole police force.”

“The theory is that the second kidnapping was planned by
William Leroy alone. This plan definitely differed from the others. Maybe they
hired him just to kidnap Elizabeth,” explained the superintendent. “They might
have killed him exactly because he tried to involve them in a second
kidnapping. Or maybe he never intended to inform them about his plan and his death
was an accident. We may never know for sure.”

James again asked the question that the superintendent had
avoided answering. “Okay. Tell me what you make of all this.”

“Regarding the investigation, my opinion is meaningless now.
I was transferred to another job.” The superintendent paused briefly. “I can
only tell you that things happen. Things I don’t like. I have the nasty feeling
that strong political winds are blowing through our department. It’s getting
more difficult to do real police work.”

“Stockton gave me some data about the gang. He didn’t
mention anything about their connection to Islam,” said James.

“David Farhuck’s father was a Muslim. The girl from Somerset
had a relationship with a young Muslim. I don’t know about the others. My
former team and Stockton are digging in that direction. We’ll get more answers
when the last gangsters are caught.”

“If this ever happens. It’s probable they’ll be ‘caught’
dead. All members of this gang die before having a chance to open their
mouths,” James said with irony.

“You’re beginning to understand my feelings,” the
superintendent said and rubbed his forehead as though he wanted to remove
something sticky. “It’s a bad situation when the security services begin to
depend too much on politics.” He shook his head. “Do you know, we were on the
brink of a diplomatic scandal because of the shooting involving inspector
Bellin.”

“Thanks God she did what she did,” said James. “Otherwise I
wouldn’t be talking to you now.”

“Regrettably, some people in deep armchairs don’t see it
from that perspective.”

Woodsman Green Forest and Brighton, UK

“The number is unavailable. Please call later. Or why not
try by text?” said a recording of a pleasant female voice, which James was
listening to for the third time.

Lino had not responded to his calls, or his texts.

James put his mobile in his pocket and increased his pace.
Walking in the forest helped him to think and regulate his elevated heartbeat.
His mind was jumping from one assumption to another without exiting his
whirlpool of thoughts.

The cult… Elizabeth… Costov… The assault… The police misled…
Lino’s world conspiracy theory… Loops of a chain with joined ends… Deadlock…
The cult was the source of evil. They killed Elizabeth and our unborn girl.
They attacked me in my home. Why? What motive could they have? Something dark
from Elizabeth’s past before we met? No. Why would they wait so long before
acting against her? That doesn’t make sense. What was the link between
Elizabeth, me, Costov, Knut Vebber? It was something of paramount significance
for the cult. So significant that they killed unscrupulously and brutally, and
were ready to die for it.

James struggled not to wander away from a rational frame of
thinking, although all of the events looked so mysterious. He analysed for some
time the possibility that the motive behind Elizabeth’s murder had been his own
work for the police. Logic demanded him to consider that the cult somehow had
found out about his involvement in the Costov case. They could have kidnapped
Elizabeth for revenge or as a means to control him. However, this scenario
wasn’t realistic. His work alone was not of crucial importance in solving the
crime. Peter Oliver also used other professionals. James wouldn’t be able to
play the game of the cult unnoticed. It looked like destiny had crossed his
path and that of the cult twice, on two unrelated occasions. The aggression
against Elizabeth did not occur as a result of his participation in the police
investigation. That conclusion brought him back to the starting point.

Answers. I need answers.

Some of them could be provided by Lino Mancini. Lino had
studied this cult for years. James regretted not paying enough attention to his
theories and discoveries. Only in the light of the Costov case had he realized
that his Italian friend was not a delusional eccentric. The danger he warned of
was real. James realized that so-called common sense was the greatest defence
of that dreadful cult. Probably, anyone who attempted to drag the beast out of
the dark would face rejection and disregard.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Yes, of course… Lino’s
strange reaction during our last video conversation. His attempt to undervalue
his writing. Now his unwillingness to return my calls… There can be only one
reason. The cult has somehow discovered what he’s doing and has shut his mouth.

He quickly pulled out his mobile and dialled Lino’s number.
He heard the familiar automated message and hung up. An answering machine
responded from his home landline as well. James surfed the Internet on his
mobile and found the phone number of the National Library of Florence. If all
was fine with Lino, he would be working at this time of day.