The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) (3 page)

“What time did you get up?” Theo asked her.

“Five, same as every day,” she replied in her strong Greek accent. She placed the tin on the worktop. “Why are you up so early?” She pulled her hand from her oven gloves.

“Early?” Theo said as he looked out the kitchen patio doors into the garden. The sun peered over the garden walls, casting shadows over the masterfully manicured lawn and flowers. “Because Milos peed his bed again.”

“I keep telling Dalia stop giving juice before bed, but does she listen? No.”

“Who’s outside?”

“Agneta woke this morning convinced she could be a gardener.”

“Hmm.” He looked out to the woman on her knees cutting flowers from the flowerbed.

“I told her, Theo. I told her she killed all the plants she bought. But as usual she believes we’re all liars.” She threw her hands in the air.

It began to matter less and less what was said or done, none of his wife’s memories were coming back. He struggled with the fact that six happy years of his life had evaporated. A year had passed since the accident and every day became another wasted day. She would never remember him; she didn’t even remember that she hated gardening.

Agneta Blackwell pushed open the sliding glass door and walked in with a bunch of tulips.

“Good morning,” Theo said softly in English. She wouldn’t understand—six years of learned English gone in one day.

Instead, she replied with a quick glance before she ran to the sink.

Theo watched her. She radiated the same energy that she had when he fell in love with her. Her eyes still shone with passion, just not for him, but for life. His dearest friend, the friend he married, loved, and cared for, had no use for him anymore.

“Where do you keep your vases?” Agneta asked in Greek as she opened cupboard doors.

“There’s an empty one on the dining room table,” his mother replied, happy to speak Greek.

Off Agneta went, her wet pajama bottoms leaving a mud trail down the hall. In their seven years of marriage, Agneta never had let him buy her a plant. She always complained it made her feel guilty. “It’s a death sentence no plant deserves such treatment,” she would say. Of all her proposed passions, gardening wasn’t one of them.

“Eat a muffin,” the mother told her son, jolting him to the present.

“Not hungry. I’ll just take coffee,” he replied.

“You need to eat, Theo. The doctor says you can’t lose any more weight. Look at you, you’re wasting away.”

“Ah, Mum, stop it—” Theo stopped speaking when Agneta came into the room, carrying a simple olive green vase. He watched her place two pink tulips carefully inside. “I like your magnolias,” he said in Greek.

“Yeah, I like magnolias. Is that what they call them?”

“No, dear, they’re tulips.” Theo’s mother cast him a mean look. He shrugged. Agneta wasn’t any wiser.

“Mum,” he said, “I’ve got to head into work now.”

“Why so early, Theo?”

Theo didn’t want to discuss his reasons for the hundredth time, and instead replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll be home for dinner.”

* * *

Detective Inspector Theo Blackwell sat in his office, staring out the window as the sun peeked between the buildings. A year before he disliked being stuck at work, but since the accident the office became the lesser of two evils. At least here, everyone knew who he was, and it didn’t matter if someone said they hated him. He could live with that.

A knock at the door took him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he yelled.

“Boss, can I turn on the light?”

“Sure.” Theo’s partner, DS Dorland Jackson, stood in the doorway wearing an antiquated, shiny gray suit and fake white alligator shoes. “What time is it?”

“Half seven. How long have you been here?”

“Good question.” Rising from his chair slowly, Theo wiped the remaining muffin crumbs from his trousers, giving his stiff knee a good shake in the process.

“Well, Deveau wants to see us in his office. It sounds urgent. Perhaps another case?” Dorland opened the door forcefully, causing the handle to crash against the bookshelves, knocking a framed picture of Theo and his wife onto the floor and shattering the glass.

Theo said nothing and walked out of the room, crunching the glass beneath his shoe.

“Sorry about that,” Dorland said, following his partner down the hall.

“Forget it.”

“I’ll get you a new frame.”

“Forget it.”

“All right,” Dorland said quickly. “I want you to feel my arm.”

“What?”

“A month ago, I bought a bar and some chains, nothing kinky, for my health. Up and down, up and down, twenty, forty, sixty times a day. Now look at my arms, feel them.” He held his bicep to Theo’s face. Theo looked at the bulging muscle but continued walking.

“Strong as an ox,” Dorland said. “It’s a powerful weapon. No one will get in my way now. You really should get one.”

“An ox?”

“No, a bar. Also, I take this powdered shake every morning.”

“Look, no offense—”

“None taken.”

“—but you have to stop talking.” Having said that, Theo knocked on Deveau’s door and entered.

Deveau stood by the window looking onto the street below. Mobile to his ear, he motioned the detectives to sit.

“Listen,” Deveau said into the mobile, “I can’t emphasize enough how much I need him. He’s the one I want.”

Dorland raised his eyebrows at his senior officer, but Theo shook his head.

“I don’t care about the cost, I’ll pay.” With that, Deveau closed his mobile and sat down. “Toys. It can’t be ‘thank you for the gift’ for whatever gift
you
deem appropriate. It has to be the most popular, hard to find, expensive toy and when my sons finally receive it, they’ll spend thirty minutes with it then it will get lost under their beds.” Deveau sighed and handed a file to Theo.

“What is it?” Theo asked as he took it.

“The missing woman’s name is Lorna McCauley. The neighbor rang us when Lorna’s son came to his door looking for his mother.”

“Where’s the boy now?” Dorland asked.

“Last count, at the hospital. The boy had a fever so the neighbor called 999. The police rushed the boy to the hospital. He may still be there. You’ll have to check.”

Theo nodded and looked through the pages of the folder. It only contained a photo of the woman and a missing persons report. The woman, with cropped blond hair and green eyes, wore an older, grey turtleneck jumper and looked between thirty and forty. She sat on the edge of the Trafalgar Fountain and held tight to a boy who splashed his hand in the water. Lorna smiled, but not for the camera—for her son. Theo needed to find her.

Chapter 3

Sophia jumped. “Oh bloody hell, Marc, you gave me a fright. Where were you? You didn’t answer the door. I thought—”

“You thought what?” he whispered and stepped closer to her. “Why are you prancing about in the dark?”

“I thought something was wrong and I couldn’t find the switch.”

He stood directly in front of her face now. “You were worried about me?”

“I was.”

Marcus laughed and kissed her nose. “Oh. Well, I bought these for you.” He stepped back and produced three red roses from behind his back.

“That’s thoughtful.”

“If there’s one thing I do well, it’s think.”

That wasn’t the only thing he did well.

An hour, a shag, and a shower later, they arrived at the restaurant. Sophia thought it easier to salvage their reservation if they turned up in her Mercedes Benz rather than the ancient Citroen Marc owned. To show her appreciation for the pleasure of his company, she even allowed him to drive.

Never in a million years would Sophia have dated Marc if not forced to. He was four years younger, a half-inch shorter, wore glasses, and although he claimed to make a decent salary crawling on his knees under desks as a network engineer, he still owned the clothes he wore in the seventies.

Not that she considered herself a snob, but her money usually found her men with more brawn than brains, who discussed her car more than her feelings; and if a footballer hadn’t endorsed it, they hadn’t heard of it.

Not Marc. Marc knew that conversation required two people, had actually read a book without pictures, and beat her time at Kakuro. Damn him.

“What?” Marc asked, jolting Sophia from her thoughts.

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I was thinking how handsome you look.” She smiled and took his hand.

“I don’t know about the shirt,” Marc said, as he slipped the keys in his trouser pocket.

“I like pink. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have bought it for you, would I? Besides, it matches your tie.”

“It makes me look like a ponce.”

Sophia turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “It makes you look well dressed. Look, do you really want to discuss it here?”

He stopped and looked around the car park. “No. I’m ravenous.” He took a deep breath, grabbed her hand and made his way toward the restaurant.

For Italian cuisine, La Lucciola in Westminster was Sophia’s choice for the best roast pork with prosciutto. However, it worked well for the vegan spy also, if they could get in. Groups of hungry patrons waiting for tables seemed upset about her pushing past.

“I’m so sorry. We’re an hour late for our reservation,” she said to the man holding the reservation book. “Under—”

“Masters,” Marc spoke up.

As the man began to say, “I’m sorry,” Lucci, the restaurant’s owner, exited the kitchen.

Since the age of eight, Sophia had accompanied her father to this restaurant. She knew Lucci as well as she knew most of her family; he was the only man who had fewer outfits than Marc. Every time, in the twenty-five years she dined there, he wore the same white chef’s jacket and hat.

“Zio Lucci,”
Sophia cried.

“Sophie,
mi amore,
welcome, welcome.”

“I missed my reservation.”

“You no need reservation here. Never.” He pinched her chin and kissed both her cheeks. “Who you with?” He gave Marc a quick up and down glance.

This introduction had to go without a hitch. “Lucci, this is my boyfriend, Marcus Masters.” She wrapped her hands around Marc’s, only to have his arm taken away for a hearty handshake.

Lucci leaned toward Sophia and asked, “Your father, he know?” He elbowed her arm and winked at her.

Sophia laughed. “Yes, he knows. And my father actually approves.”

“Yes, well,” Lucci said to Marc, “you should’ve seen some of the others. If her father approves, you’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” Marc swallowed and gave him a meek grin.

Lucci led them off to a small table in the corner of the restaurant and handed them menus. “Shall I bring you regular?”

“No.” Sophia shook her head. “No, I think I’ll try something different tonight. We’re vegetarian.” She winked at him.

“Ah, I see. Well then,
buon appetito
.” With a slight bow, Lucci left them alone.

Did he suspect? Sophia turned to face Marc and asked, “Why do you look nervous?”

He examined her for a few moments before he replied, “Somewhat like meeting the in-laws, I guess.”

Sophia exhaled a laugh.

As the night progressed, and they enjoyed the wine and food, the day’s events weighed less on her mind. If Marc knew the men who had chased her into the woods, he betrayed nothing. As he slipped his fingers into her hand, she felt the same ease, the same witty banter, the same electricity she always did when they were together. If he was the terrorist her bosses suspected he was, she was playing a dangerous game with her emotions.

“Do you know what today is?” he asked as he downed the last swig of white wine before pouring himself another.

“Our fifth month together.”

“Do you remember when we met?”

How could she forget? It was the scariest night of her life. Her first undercover assignment, they threw her into the lion’s den to encounter her first monster face-toface. Had she known the length of the assignment and the spectrum of feelings she would experience, she would have rejected the assignment.

She remembered the day her boss, Robert Vincent, called her into his office. Nine people, including Liam Foxton, stared as she walked in.

“Why does everyone look so serious? Has someone died?”

“Sit,” her boss demanded. He glared at her through his round spectacles.

She sat down as the others in the room backed against the wall.
Was this a firing squad?

“We have an assignment for you,” Vincent said and tossed her a file. A picture fell onto the floor. “His name is Marcus Masters. We believe he’s involved in the Bunny Bombings. Do you know what I’m referring to?”

Not quite. Sophia bent over and picked up the photo. “Animal rights? Something to do with Animal Liberation?”

“That’s correct. We’ve been watching the group for a while, and up until two weeks ago, they were involved in nothing more than tire slashing, graffiti, and minor arson. Now they’ve gotten serious. Albert Bunny, a scientist who worked for one of the medical research labs in London, left work two weeks ago, got into his vehicle and it blew up. Then last week they blew up another car. Fortunately no one was hurt in the second bombing, but it’s clear we have to stop them before more die. We believe Marcus Masters is involved.”

Sophia raised her hands. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“They communicate through encrypted email.”

“You want me to decrypt them?” she asked.

“No.” Foxton stepped forward and spoke. “We’ve already decrypted them and this is what we were left with.” He handed her a stack of papers.

“What the hell is this?”

“First, they write their emails in code and then encrypt them. We haven’t been able to crack it.”

“So you want me to start working on this?”

Foxton laughed. “Your boss thinks you’re great, but you’re not that great. You need the key.”

“Why don’t you find the key?”

“We’ve tried,” Vincent said. “We have arrested suspected members and interrogated them.”

“What happened?”

“Some know nothing, others won’t talk even under threat of prison, and the last one killed himself in our custody,” Foxton replied.