The Invisible Assassin (16 page)

‘No!’ Jake told her firmly. ‘Why would she?’

‘Maybe he attacked her,’ suggested Clark. ‘She defended herself, there was a struggle, he got stabbed. She panics and runs.’

A thought suddenly hit Jake.

‘What was he stabbed with?’ he asked.

Clark scrolled down and they both read the text.

‘According to this . . .’ began Clark.

‘A kitchen knife!’ said Jake triumphantly. ‘The same thing the dead man in my flat was stabbed with!’

Clark looked back at him, questioningly.

‘Don’t you see!’ implored Jake. ‘It’s the same MO, or whatever the police call it. Use a kitchen knife that’s already there so it’s got fingerprints already on it. In my case, my fingerprints. In this case, Lauren’s. She likes cooking. She’d have used the knife to chop vegetables, or whatever.’ He stabbed his finger at the laptop screen. ‘I bet you the same person who killed Carl Parsons killed the man in my flat!’

‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘Which means it’s possible that person was your Lauren Graham.’

Jake stared back at her.

‘That’s ridiculous!’ he said.

‘Is it?’ she asked. ‘What do you know about her?’

‘I went out with her for a long time!’

‘What do you call a long time?’

‘Six months.’

‘And you haven’t seen her for how long?’

‘Until the other day, about two months.’

Clark sighed.

‘Mr Wells, we don’t always know people as well as we think we do. There are millions of cases of bigamists, where the husband or wife didn’t know their partner had another family; people who apparently are respectable people who are actually criminals or killers or spies . . .’

‘Lauren is none of those,’ said Jake firmly. ‘For a start, she wouldn’t have even been involved in this if I hadn’t brought her into it.
I
phoned
her
!’

Clark looked as if she was about to say something, then she obviously changed her mind. Instead, she shrugged.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But all I ask is you consider it as an option. Keep an open mind.’

‘No,’ replied Jake firmly, shaking his head.

Clark shrugged again.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Anyway, right now Mr Munro wants to see you.’

‘Mr Munro?’

‘He’s the man who hired me to get you out of jail.’

Chapter 20

They returned to the Merc in the underground car park. This time, Clark didn’t get in. ‘You and Mr Munro won’t need me for this meeting,’ she said. She indicated the uniformed chauffeur, standing with the rear door of the car open. ‘Keith will take you to Mr Munro and bring you back afterwards. I’ll call and pick you up at eight forty-five tomorrow morning.’

‘Don’t we need to discuss what we’re going to say tomorrow?’ asked Jake.

‘You won’t say anything,’ said Clark. ‘I’ll do the talking.’ She handed him a plastic card. On it were printed sequences of numbers. ‘The code at the top is the key to get into the apartment. The one at the bottom is to get into the building.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that you’ll need that one. Once Keith brings you back, I think you’ll be ready to go to bed. My advice would be to get a good night’s sleep so we’re ready for the police tomorrow.’ She turned to the chauffeur. ‘Take him to Mr Munro’s,’ she said. ‘And bring him back safely.’

‘Yes, Ms Clark.’ Keith nodded.

There was something about Keith, the way he held himself, his build, that suggested to Jake he was more than just a chauffeur. A bodyguard, thought Jake. Former SAS, I bet. Just like those two men who grabbed me in Marsham Street.

Clark headed towards another car in a nearby parking bay, this one a low-slung silver sports car. How the other half live, thought Jake. Luxury apartments. Mercs. Silver sports cars. They never have to worry about battling to get on to a crowded tube train, or be concerned about increases in their electricity bills. Nothing but the best for them. Expense no object. Even when one of them is arrested for murder, they have the clout to walk them out of police custody and away to somewhere safe. Money and power.

Once again, Jake settled into the luxury of the leather seats in the rear of the Merc, and let Keith do the work. His thoughts were full of Lauren and Parsons. What had happened? It had to be the same sort of thugs who’d been after him, only they’d caught up with Lauren and Parsons, and Parsons had been killed and Lauren framed for his murder. But who was behind it?

Jake glanced at the back of Keith’s head through the glass partition. Yes, definitely a military man. Ex-special forces, he was sure. Just like the dead man in his flat. Jake felt a sudden jolt of fear at the thought of being driven by this military man to see the mysterious Mr Munro. Was this Munro the person behind all that had happened? He certainly had the sort of power to make things happen, if the apartment and what had happened with Detective Inspector Edgar was anything to go by. Was he being taken unsuspectingly into some kind of spider’s lair?

You’ve seen too many James Bond films, Jake warned himself. Too many films where the villain is some super-rich man, pulling the strings, above any law. He wondered what this Munro character would be like. A James Bond super-villain? Sitting in a magnificent luxury apartment, like the one they’d just left? Maybe stroking a white cat with a jewelled necklace round its neck?

For heaven’s sake, stop letting your imagination run away with you, Jake told himself. This is real life, not some thriller! But someone
had
tried to kill him. Someone had killed Carl Parsons. Someone had killed the dead man in Jake’s flat.

He noticed the car slowing down, and realised they’d pulled into yet another underground car park. The car stopped, and Keith got out and opened the rear door for him.

‘Number three lift, sir,’ he said, gesturing to a row of lift doors. ‘It will take you straight to the company’s offices.’

‘Which company is that?’ asked Jake.

Keith seemed surprised by the question.

‘Pierce Randall, of course, sir,’ he said.

‘Of course.’ Jake nodded.

‘I’ll be waiting for you when you’ve finished,’ said Keith.

Jake nodded, and went to the lift. As he approached the doors, they opened. Automatic sensors, registered Jake. More luxury. He stepped in, and the doors closed, and the lift shot up at speed. If Munro is a real villain, I’m trapped, thought Jake. There’s no way out. Keith is guarding the only way out, and he could kill me with one hand.

The lift doors slid open and Jake stepped warily out. It was no James Bond villain who was waiting to greet him: no one with black-gloved metal claws for hands; or a golden gun; and certainly not a malicious-looking white cat. The man who greeted Jake was medium height, about forty, dressed in a plain but expensive-looking suit, and with a warm friendly smile on his face. It was the first warm and friendly smile Jake had seen in some time. Except for Gareth’s; but Jake already knew that Gareth’s smile was a complete fake.

‘Mr Wells.’ The man beamed. ‘I’m Alex Munro, a senior partner with the London office of Pierce Randall. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.’

Jake let his hand be shaken in welcome. It was a good handshake: firm and friendly, just like Munro’s smile.

‘I’m sure you’re bursting with questions,’ said Munro. ‘So why don’t we go into my office and get acquainted, and I can answer everything.’

They walked along a corridor decorated with heavy carpet. On either side were large offices, with people in shirtsleeves at their desks, on the phone, or sitting intently at computer screens. Jake looked at his watch. It was 8 p.m.

‘You’ve got a lot of people working late,’ he commented.

Munro smiled. ‘There is no such concept as “working late” at Pierce Randall,’ he said. ‘We are a global firm. Some of them are talking to clients in Australia, where it is early in the morning. The fact is, we operate twenty-four hours a day, because the world operates twenty-four hours a day.’ He came to an office door and pushed it open for Jake to enter.

It was a large office, but hardly luxurious. Certainly not when compared to Gareth’s, for example. The chairs were simple and minimalist, but looked comfortable. The large desk had a few files on it, a few sheets of paper, but not much else. Neither cluttered, nor clear.

‘Please, take a seat, Mr Wells,’ said Munro, gesturing at a chair. ‘Or may I call you Jake?’

‘Please do.’ Jake nodded.

Munro’s smile broadened.

‘In that case, please call me Alex,’ he said. ‘It’s far less formal. We like to think of our clients as our friends at Pierce Randall.’

Jake sat down.

‘Anything to drink?’ asked Munro. ‘Tea? Coffee? Brandy? Beer?’

‘No thanks,’ replied Jake.

The truth was, he’d love to sink a beer right now, but he was feeling so shattered he was worried if he did he’d do or say something stupid, and he felt he needed to be on his guard, however friendly Alex Munro seemed to be.

Munro settled himself down in an equally comfortable chair opposite Jake, and nodded sympathetically.

‘Getting right to the point, we know you were framed,’ he said, his face serious. ‘That dead man in your flat.’

‘I’m not the only one!’ burst out Jake. ‘This business of Lauren and Carl . . .’

‘Ah, Ms Graham.’ Munro nodded thoughtfully. ‘We’ll get to her in a moment.’

‘What happened to her and Parsons is connected with the book,’ insisted Jake.

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Munro. ‘I have no doubt of that whatsoever.’

‘She’s innocent!’

Munro hesitated, then nodded.

‘I know you think so, and you may well be right . . .’

‘I
am
right!’ said Jake emphatically. He calmed himself down, then said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry for flying off the handle. This has all been such a nightmare! It’s been unbelievable! Sue Clark told me you hired her to represent me.’ He looked at Munro, puzzled. ‘I’m still not sure how you even knew I was in custody.’

‘There are lots of things you don’t know, Jake. Maybe I’d better explain. It all begins with the secret library of the Order of Malichea.’

Jake studied him, his mind whirling.

‘You mean you believe in the secret library?’ he asked carefully.

Munro nodded. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘And that the monks hid the books in the fifteenth century.’

Jake regarded him, still puzzled.

‘I don’t understand why you’re involved,’ he said. ‘Why are you interested in these ancient books? It hardly fits with a powerful, modern, twenty-first century law firm.’

Munro smiled. ‘I’m afraid our image belies what lies at the heart of Pierce Randall. The firm was set up early in the twentieth century by two idealist solicitors in Edinburgh, and they set it up for one reason only: to get justice and fair play for all. I admit, that since those days, the firm has gone on to occupy a very grand sphere in the legal world, but the basic principal remains the same: justice and fair play for all.

‘In the case of the hidden science texts, we believe that the information they contain could be invaluable to the whole of humanity. They could hold the answers to disease, famine . . .’

‘That’s what Lauren said,’ said Jake unhappily. He sighed. ‘I’m guessing that with all the hoo-ha that’s going on, the book that was dug up at the site is the first one ever found.’

Munro shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I know of at least one that’s been discovered, and I believe there have been others that have been found, but kept hidden.’

‘Who by?’ asked Jake.

‘I would suggest your own people,’ said Munro.

‘My own people?’ asked Jake, puzzled.

‘The Department of Science. That’s what they did with this book, isn’t it? The one that was dug up at the site.’

Jake hesitated. That was exactly what had happened. And if they’d done that with
this
particular book . . .

Suddenly the implication of what Munro had just said struck Jake.
I know of at least one
. ‘
You’ve
got one,’ he challenged.

Munro nodded. ‘We found one for one of our clients. Nothing startling. Not like the text that I understand you saw dug up, Jake. The one we found is about the science of optics. Basically, creating spectacles to help those with poor vision.’ He smiled. ‘But the miraculous aspect of it is that it was written in 200 BC. Yours was on the rapid growth of fungal spores, I believe.’

‘That’s what Lauren said,’ replied Jake. ‘By some guy called . . .’ he struggled to recall the name. ‘El Izmir something . . .’

‘El Izmir Al Tabul. The greening of the desert,’ said Munro. ‘Creating food from fungal spores.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s on our list.’

Jake studied Munro suspiciously.

‘You’ve got a list?’

‘Yes,’ said Munro. ‘One we’ve compiled over many years, based on rumours of what the secret library contained.’

‘Lauren’s got a list like that,’ said Jake.