28. Haworth House
‘Some would say the ChronoGuard have a terrific sense of humour. I would say they were just plain annoying. I had heard that they used to bundle up new recruits in gravity suits and pop them a week into the future just for fun. The game was banned when one recruit vanished outside the cone. Theoretically he is still there, just outside our time, unable to return and unable to communicate. It is calculated we will catch up with him about fourteen thousand years from now—sadly, he will have aged only twelve minutes. Some joke.’
We were both victims of the ChronoGuard’s bizarre sense of humour. It was just past noon the following day. We had been gone only seven hours. We both reset our watches and drove slowly into Haworth, each sobered by the experience.
At Haworth House a full media circus was in progress. I had hoped to arrive before this sort of thing really gained a toehold, but the hole in the Mi had put paid to that. Lydia Startright from the Toad News Network had arrived and was recording for the lunch-time bulletin. She stood outside the steps of Haworth House with a microphone and composed herself before beginning. She signalled to her cameraman to roll, adopted one of her most serious expressions, and began.
‘…As the sun rose over Haworth House this morning the police began to investigate a bold theft and double murder. Some time last night a security guard was shot dead by an unknown assailant as he attempted to stop him stealing the original manuscript ofJane Eyre. Police have been at the crime scene since early morning and have as yet given no comment. It is fairly certain that parallels must be drawn with the theft of the Martin Chuzzlewit manuscript which, despite continued police and SpecOps efforts, has so far not come to light. Following Mr Quaverley’s extraction and murder, it can only be surmised that a similar fate is in store for Rochester or Jane. The Goliath Corporation, whose presence this morning was an unusual development, have no comment to make—as usual.’
‘And—cut! That was very good, darling,’ declared Lydia’s producer. ‘Can we do it once more without the reference to Goliath? You know they’ll only cut it out!’
‘Then let them.’
‘Lyds, baby—! Who pays the bills? I like free speech as much as the next man, but on someone else’s airtime, hmm?’
She ignored him and looked around as a car arrived. Her face lit up and she walked briskly across, gesturing for her cameraman to follow.
A lean officer of about forty with silver hair and bags under his eyes looked to heaven as she approached, cracking his unfriendly face into a smile. He waited patiently for her to make a brief introduction.
‘I have with me Detective Inspector Oswald Mandias, Yorkshire CID. Tell me, Inspector, do you think this crime is in any way connected to the Chuzzlewit theft?’
He smiled benignly, fully aware that he would be on thirty million television screens by the evening.
‘It’s far too early to say anything; a full press release will be issued in due course.’
‘Isn’t this a case for the Yorkshire LiteraTecs, sir? Jane Eyre is one of this county’s most valued treasures.’
Mandias stopped to face her.
‘Unlike other SpecOps departments, the Yorkshire LiteraTecs rely on evidence supplied by the regular police. LiteraTecs are not police and have no place in a police environment.’
‘Why do you suppose the Goliath Corporation made an appearance this morning?’
‘No more questions!’ called out Mandias’s deputy as a throng of other news crews started to converge. Goliath had been and gone but no one was going to learn any more about it. The police pushed their way past and Lydia stopped to have a snack; she had been reporting live since before breakfast. A few minutes later Bowden and I drove up in the Speedster.
‘Well, well,’ I muttered as I got out of the car, ‘Startright keeps herself busy. Morning, Lyds!’
Lydia almost choked on her SmileyBurger and quickly threw it aside. She picked up her microphone and chased after me.
‘Although the Yorkshire LiteraTecs and Goliath are claimed not to be present,’ muttered Lydia as she tried to keep up, ‘events have taken an interesting turn with the arrival of Thursday Next of SO-27. In a departure from normal procedure, the LiteraTecs have come out from behind their desks and are visiting the crime scene in person.’
I stopped to have some fun. Lydia composed herself and started the interview.
‘Miss Next, tell me, what are you doing so far out of your jurisdiction?’
‘Hi, Lydia. You have mayonnaise on your upper lip from that SmileyBurger. It has a lot of salt in it and you really shouldn’t eat them. As for the case, I’m afraid it’s the same old shit: “You will understand that anything we may discover will have to remain a blah-de-blah-de-blah.” How’s that?’
Lydia hid a smile.
‘Do you think the two thefts are linked?’
‘My brother Joffy is a big fan of yours, Lyds; can you let me have a signed picture? “Joffy” with two Fs. Excuse me.’
‘Thanks for nothing, Thursday!’ called out Startright. ‘I’ll be seeing you!’
We walked up to the police line and showed our IDs to the constable on duty. He looked at the badges, then at the two of us. We could see he was not impressed. He spoke to Mandias.
‘Sir, these two Wessex LiteraTecs want to get at the crime scene.’
Mandias ambled over painfully slowly. He looked us both up and down and chose his words with care.
‘Here in Yorkshire LiteraTecs don’t leave their desks.’
‘I’ve read the arrest reports. It shows,’ I replied coldly.
Mandias sighed. Keeping what he described as eggheads in check, especially those from another SpecOps region, was obviously not something he was keen to do.
‘I have two murders on my hands here and I don’t want the crime scene disturbed. Why don’t you wait until you get the report and then take your investigation from there?’
‘The murders are tragic, obviously,’ I replied, ‘but Jane Eyre is the thing here. It is imperative that we get to see the crime scene. Jane Eyre is bigger than me and bigger than you. If you refuse I’ll send a report to your superior officer complaining of your conduct.’
But Mandias was not a man to listen to threats, idle or otherwise. This was Yorkshire, after all. He stared at me and said softly:
‘Do your worst, pen-pusher.’
I took a step forward and he bridled slightly; he wasn’t going to give way. A nearby officer moved in behind him to give assistance if needed.
I was about to lose my temper when Bowden spoke up.
‘Sir,’ he began, ‘if we could move slowly towards a goal we might be able to burrow our way out of the predicament we find ourselves shuffling into.’
Mandias’s attitude abruptly changed and he smiled solemnly.
‘If that is the case, I am sure we could manage a quick look for you—as long as you promise not to touch anything.’
‘On my word,’ replied Bowden pointedly, patting his stomach. The two of them shook hands and winked and we were soon escorted into the museum.
‘How the hell did you do that?’ I hissed.
‘Look at his ring.’
I looked. He had a large ring on his middle finger with a curious and distinctive pattern on it.
‘What of it?’
‘The Most Worshipful Brotherhood of the Wombat.’
I smiled.
‘So what have we got?’ I asked. ‘A double murder and a missing script? They just took the manuscript, right? Nothing else?’
‘Right,’ replied Mandias.
‘And the guard was shot with his own gun?’
Mandias stopped and looked sternly at me. ‘How did you know that?’
‘A lucky guess,’ I replied evenly. ‘What about the videotapes?’
‘We’re studying them at the moment.’
‘There’s no one on them, is there?’
Mandias looked at me curiously. ‘Do you know who did this?’
I followed him into the room that once held the manuscript. The untouched glass case was sitting forlornly in the middle of the floor. I ran my fingertips across a mottled and uneven patch on the glass.
‘Thanks, Mandias, you’re a star,’ I said, walking back out. Bowden and Mandias looked at one another and hastened after me.
‘That’s it?’ said Mandias. ‘That’s your investigation?’
‘I’ve seen all I need to see.’
‘Can you give me anything?’ asked Mandias, trotting to keep up. He looked at Bowden. ‘Brother, you can tell me.’
‘We should tell the DI what we know, Thursday. We owe him for allowing us in.’
I stopped so suddenly Mandias almost bumped into me.
‘Ever hear of a man named Hades?’
Mandias went visibly pale and looked around nervously.
‘Don’t worry; he’s long gone.’
‘They say he died in Venezuela.’
‘They say he can walk through walls,’ I countered. ‘They also say he gives off colours when he moves. Hades is alive and well and I have to find, him before he starts to make use of the manuscript.’
Mandias seemed to have undergone a humbling change as soon as he realised who was behind it all.
‘Anything I can do?’
I paused for a moment.
‘Pray you never meet him.’
The drive back to Swindon was uneventful, the area on the Mi where all the trouble had been now back to normal. Victor was waiting for us in the office; he seemed slightly agitated.
‘I’ve had Braxton on the phone all morning bleating on about insurance cover being inoperative if his officers act outside their jurisdiction.’
‘Same old shit.’
‘That’s what I told him. I’ve got most of the office reading Jane Eyre at the moment in case anything unusual happens—all quiet so far.’
‘It’s only a matter of time.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Müller mentioned Hades being at Penderyn somewhere,’ I said to Victor. ‘Anything come of that?’
‘Nothing that I know of. Schitt said he had looked into it and drawn a blank—there are over three hundred possible Penderyns that Müller might have meant. More worrying, have you seen this morning’s paper?’
I hadn’t. He showed me the inside front page of The Mole. It read: