The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (18 page)

Theo had held his emotions in check and remained strong for her, but inside it tore him to pieces. Eleven months later, when a drunk driver decided to run that red light and took his wife away from him too, Theo’s world had turned black. A hateful, hateful black.

Agneta sat there for a few moments, running her fingers through the folds of the blanket. It was a quilt she had bought at a craft show in Reading. “Do you remember the blanket?” He remained hopeful. This was the first time they had really talked in weeks.

Agneta shook her head.

“Do you remember anything?”

She looked blankly into his eyes, and he had his answer.

“You must hate me,” she said.

“I don’t hate you.”

She gave him a slight nod and left the room. He cried himself to sleep.

Chapter 18

The next morning, Sophia left her flat in search of the book. She’d done this ritual before—thirty-eight times to be exact. Yuri, the long-time Russian mole, had been sending codes and information to her for over three years. They had a system and it worked. Though they had never met, Sophia felt she knew him, as if he was her uncle.

For the safety of both parties, she knew where her mole lived but was under strict orders never to meet in person. If she had a message for Yuri, she informed Crystal who informed another officer who lived in an apartment across the street from Yuri. The officer in the apartment would then place a pot of fake tulips in the window.

Yuri followed the same routine every day. At seven every morning, he bought a Russian newspaper, walked to his local library and did the crossword puzzle. On the occasion he had a message for Sophia, his lapel held a single red rose. Sophia’s message would be printed on the crossword—in Russian—pointing to a specific library filing system card. Another intelligence officer retrieved the crossword, decoded it and retrieved the card. The card was then sent to Sophia who cracked the message—always a set of GPS coordinates to a box hidden somewhere in England.

Although the plan was complicated and took many agents, Yuri insisted upon it. And The British government, who liked Yuri and the information he supplied, insisted she follow it. Now that she had the title of the book from the Bible code, she could decode the message from the box in the forest. The message most likely contained names and details of illegal activity.

In the library, Sophia took a walk through all the aisles and examined the people: four library workers, a mum and her son reading a book in the children’s section, and three students studying quietly in the corner. She stumbled around the fiction section, running her fingers along the base of the spines. She stopped. The book was not there. Frustrated, she headed toward the library’s computer and typed in the title. How many people would want to read this exact title? Did she wait too long to crack the code? Had someone else found it?

The book appeared on the screen. It was exactly where she had looked. Perhaps she had missed it.

“Can I help you?”

Sophia turned around to see an ashen-faced man in a cardigan behind a cart of books. “What book are you looking for?” he asked.

“I searched the computer. It says the book is checked in.”

Looking at the piece of paper she handed him, he replied, “Some books go missing.” He pushed the cart past her.

“All right.” She accepted his answer but knew she would search every book in the library if she had to. It had to be in fiction; she returned to the section again.

“Maybe it’s mistakenly shelved or on my cart here. What’s the book title?” He appeared in her aisle.

“
David Copperfield
by Charles Dickens.”

“We have plenty of those.” He laughed then stopped suddenly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I’ll help you find it.” He left the cart and strode to the fiction shelves with his long legs. When he found the Dickens, he pulled the book from the shelf and handed it to her.

Sophia opened the cover and then closed the book. “This may sound absurd, but I’m looking for a specific Copperfield. One printed by Thomas Nelson and Sons. It’s an older copy.”

“Are you sure?”

What did that mean? Of course, she was sure. “I’m aware these are more modern copies—soft-back—but does this library by chance have older, rarer books?”

“Yes. Follow me.” He led her to another part of the library. “We don’t want children using these copies for school assignments. We keep them back here.”

On a shelf in the back corner of the library sat the book, a beautiful, old book. “May I?” she asked as she gingerly lifted the blue book from the shelf.

The man shrugged. “Why does this copy interest you in particular?” He peered over her shoulder into the book.

“I’m currently studying pagination in rare books and heard this copy has unique markings,” she said and flipped to page two hundred nineteen. “See this marking here at the bottom of the page?”

He nodded. That lie seemed to satisfy him, and he left her alone as she copied the key she needed from the pages. The information from the code could save the lives of hundreds of people. She prayed she got it right.

Chapter 19

Life was no cheerier for Theo the following morning. Dorland came into the incident room and said to Theo, “Deveau wants to see us.”

When they entered Deveau’s office, their boss motioned them to chairs in front of his desk.

DI Shields stood by the window, holding a cherry pastry snugly in one hand while juggling the napkin and coffee cup in the other. Mumbling something that sounded like a greeting, he quickly focused on more important matters—his stomach.

Winters stood against the wall and gave them a quick nod.

“We held a press conference earlier this morning,” Deveau started.

“Press conference?” asked Theo. “Why was I not invited? This relates to my case as well.”

“Shields spoke to the press because Margaret Hill is his case,” Deveau said. “If we find Lorna’s body, you can take the press conference. Now that being said, the press wants to stir up the public, meaning we have to get these solved. Shields, since you have a body, where are you on this case?”

Shields put his cup of coffee on Deveau’s desk and fiddled with the napkin. In his efforts to clean the pastry off his fingers, he only managed to tear the napkin apart and stick it to his fingers. Red fingerprints marked up the yellow manila folder as he tried to open the file. He licked his fingers to separate the pages and then pulled the napkin off his tongue.

“Autopsy has not been done yet,” Shields stated. “But it will be done today. Both of us will be there.” He motioned to himself and Theo. “The body has been frozen, so they have to wait until it is properly thawed before they can cut it apart. However, we did get some of the forensics back.” Shields read from the file. “There were no fingerprints, hair, or DNA. The killer may have been wearing a hat or had a shaved head. Rose petals and wine glasses had no fingerprints. There weren’t even traces of alcohol in the glasses. Brand new, cheap, bought from a local Sainsbury.”

“How did he get into the house?” asked Theo.

“Back door. He entered through the kitchen. Smashed a small window and turned the lock. Neighbors heard nothing. He pulled the vehicle further up the drive and dragged the body through the dark into the house. He must have staked out the house to make sure it was suitable enough. We did find a shoe print and a small tire mark. We are running them through, looking for a match. Hopefully we turn up something.”

“There were no cameras in the area?” Theo asked, writing down notes as fast as he could.

“No. Unfortunately not.”

“What about the substance made to look like blood? Did we find out what it was composed of?” Deveau asked.

Shields said, “The blood-like substance consisted of corn syrup, corn starch, water, and food coloring. What progress have you made with the code?” he asked Theo.

All eyes were on Theo now. “It’s not an easy code,” he said. “Even our technical team is having a hard time. Have we cracked it yet? No. Is it crackable? We believe it is. The fact that he leaves very specific clues all around his crime scenes seems to suggest the code clue would not just be a red herring. This clue—a harder one—is testing our skills, our savvy; or it’s a way to prove we’re idiots.”

“What do you think the messages will say?” asked Shields.

“I don’t think they will say my name is so-and-so and I live at this address, but I believe it will be a clue to why he’s killing. And maybe a key to his personality,” Theo suggested.

“What kind of code do you think it is? They’re all numbers,” said Shields.

“Cryptogram,” said Theo. Some in the room stared at him uncomprehendingly, so Theo explained. “It’s a code where you substitute a number or letter for another. This is not a simple cryptogram though. There seems to be a few other elements to it. Unfortunately I’m no Turing, so I’ll have to use what intelligence I have at my disposal.”

“What about the woman?” asked Deveau.

“What woman, sir?” asked Theo.

“The killer sent a letter to a woman, a woman named Evans. He knows where she lives and what she does for work. What does she think of all this?”

“She’s trying to cope.” Theo looked down at his notes. Why should he care what she thinks? As far as he knew, she could take care of herself. She had caused him enough problems.

“I understand that,” Deveau said, “but what I’m asking is what is being done about the code. Isn’t she a code cracker?”

“Yes.”

“Is she working on it?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Deveau paused. “How’s she getting on?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“It might be a good idea to find out now, wouldn’t it? And I don’t want her to become a target. When I was a sergeant—a long time ago, that was—my team received a brutal murder case. A man had chopped a woman’s head off with an axe. A few days into the investigation, my gov, John Roscoe, do you remember him, Winters?”

Winters nodded.

Deveau said, “John received a letter at his home. It was not a code, just a mocking letter with details of the murder. The killer taunted us. Though we eventually caught him, I remember it scared John—it scared all of us.” He paused. “What I mean by this story is if she wants an officer for protection, just ask. One will be provided straight away.”

“Thank you, sir,” Theo replied.

“Don’t wait until it’s too late,” Deveau said, wagging his finger. He turned to Winters and asked, “What sort of profile have you done up?”

“We think he’s male, probably under the age of forty, organized and intelligent enough to come up with a code like those ones.”

Theo nodded and said, “He’s obviously forensically aware, based on the fact he has left no evidence at the crime scenes. The killer typed the code on a computer and printed it out, meaning he has access to one.”

“Could he have typed and printed the code at a public location?” Deveau asked.

“He could but why risk it?” asked Theo. “It’s a code that stands out. Someone might see the code and come forward. Especially if we ever decided to show the media, someone would remember seeing it. Personally, if I were the killer, I would spend what it costs to do it at home. Buy a cheap generic so it’s virtually untraceable. Why use a printer we can trace back to a public location? That would be stupid, and I don’t think he’s stupid.”

“Have you found any relationships between the two women?” Deveau asked.

“Not yet,” answered Shields.

“Oh,” added Theo, “and we’re not looking for a creepy monster with a deformed face either. He probably looks normal, harmless, if not somewhat attractive. The women went voluntarily with him.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Deveau.

Theo explained, “In all the cases, we have no witnesses, no struggle or screaming, and the baby in the carriage did not wake up. Meaning he lured them away quietly, then knocked them unconscious or killed them. He may be very well-spoken, well-read, and normal. On the outside, that is.”

“Well, let’s keep things progressing. Work on that code, Blackwell,” Deveau said as he stood in the doorway ready to leave the room.

“Yes, sir,” Theo replied. “And if I may ask, what exactly was said at the press conference?”

“Shields?” Deveau looked to him for an answer.

“Not wanting to worry the populace, we never mentioned the words serial killer or multiple murders. Only that we found the body of Margaret Hill and an investigation was in progress, etcetera, etcetera. Why?”

“Just curious. Did you talk about the code?”

“No, did you think it’s important?”

Theo turned abruptly and left Deveau’s office. He heard someone tromping after him down the hall. Dorland grabbed his arm.

“Are you angry?” Dorland asked.

“Angry about what?” Theo tore his arm away and walked on.

“Not being included in the press conference.”

“Look, Dorland, I’m past angry to the point where I don’t care. Do me a favor and find out when the autopsy’s scheduled. I want to be in on that.” Theo walked into his office and shut the door behind him. He didn’t bother turning on the light; he’d rather sit in the dark because it suited his state of mind. As he plopped down on his chair, he caught sight of a small package wrapped with a gold ribbon.

“It’s pastries.”

Theo nearly jumped from his chair. “Sophia, what are you doing hiding in the corner?”

“Can’t hide in the middle of the room, can one?” She stepped into the dim light and sat in a chair opposite him. “Open the box.”

“I won’t blow up, will I?”

“Hopefully not. Although you may blow out,” she said and mimicked his stomach growing.

“Why are you here?” He slowly released the ribbon on the box and unclasped the cardboard flaps to reveal macaroons. “Come to ask for my forgiveness?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward. “Can I have one?”

“My forgiveness or a macaroon?”

“Both would be nice.”

“Yes, but that’s still not why you’re here.” He popped a piece of heavenly goodness into his mouth and garbled, “Let me guess, you solved the code. You’ve come to tell me whose door I can knock down.”