Lockwood (14 page)

Barnes flicked copies of another black-and-white photograph down the table. This one showed the drab interior of a public hall. The photo had been taken from the back of the room. About ten people sat in wooden pews, facing a raised platform. A policeman stood on this, and strips of police tape could be seen stretched across a doorway. Sunlight speared through windows high up by the roof. On the stage was a table, and just visible on this table was an object like a broad glass fruit bowl.

‘The Carnaby Street Cult,’ Barnes said. ‘Twenty years ago. Obviously before your time, any of you. But I was there, a young officer on the case. It was the usual thing. Bunch of people who wanted to “communicate” with the dead, learn secrets about the afterlife. Only they didn’t just
talk
about it; they went about buying objects from the relic-men in the hope they might meet a Visitor one day. See that bowl there? In it they put their precious relics: bones found buried in the yard of Marshalsea Prison, with the manacles still on ’em. Well, often enough the relic-men sold them any old junk, but
this
was the real deal. A Visitor came. And you can see the kind of message that
it
brought them.’

We stared at the photo, at the slumped heads of the congregation in the pews. ‘Hold on,’ Kat Godwin said. ‘So those people . . . they’re all . . .’

‘Dead as doornails, every man jack of them,’ Barnes said heartily. ‘Thirteen, all told. I can give you dozens of other instances – could show you the pictures too, but I dare say it would put you off your breakfast.’ He sat forward, began prodding the desk with a hairy finger. ‘The message is this. Powerful artefacts are deadly in the wrong hands! They’re like bombs waiting to go off. This mirror, or whatever it might be, is no exception. DEPRAC is highly concerned, and we want it found. I’ve been instructed to give it full priority.’

Lockwood pushed his chair back. ‘Well, good luck to you. If we can be of any further assistance, just let us know.’

‘Much against my better judgement,’ Barnes said, ‘you can. I’m short-staffed this morning. There’s a serious outbreak in Ilford, which many DEPRAC teams are working on. Since you’re already involved with this case, and since it could be argued that it’s
your fault
the thing wasn’t handed to us last night, I want you to pursue it. You’ll be properly paid.’

‘You’re hiring us?’ George blinked at the inspector. ‘Just how desperate can you be?’

The moustache drooped ruefully. ‘Fortunately the Fittes Agency has offered Kipps and his team as well. They’re also on the case. I want you all to work together.’

We stared in dismay across the table. Kipps and Godwin gazed coolly back.

I cleared my throat. ‘But, Mr Barnes, it’s a big city. There are
so
many agents to choose from. Are you
sure
you need to use them?’

‘Pick a madman off the street,’ George protested. ‘Go to a rest home and choose a random OAP.
Anyone
would be better than Kipps.’

Barnes gave us all a baleful glare. ‘Locate the missing relic. Find out who’s stolen it and why. Do it as quickly as possible, before someone else gets hurt. And if you want to keep my good opinion’ – the moustache jutted forward; teeth appeared briefly beneath it – ‘you’ll all work well together, without sarcasm, insults or, above all, swordplay. Do you understand?’

Kipps nodded smoothly. ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’

‘Mr Lockwood?’

‘Certainly, Inspector. That won’t be a problem.’

‘Here’s the way it is,’ Lockwood said as we all left the room together. ‘You keep out of our way, and we’ll keep out of yours. No espionage or funny business on either side. But now we come to the little matter of our contest. This is our opportunity to go head to head, as we agreed. Are you still up for it, or do you want to back out now?’

Kipps let out a short, barking laugh. ‘Back out? Not likely! Our agreement comes into force as of today. First side to track down the mirror and bring it to Barnes wins the bet. The loser takes out the advert in the paper and eats very public humble pie. Agreed?’

Lockwood had his hands in his pockets; he looked casually round at George and me. ‘Are you both happy?’

We nodded.

‘Then the contest’s on as far as we’re concerned. Do you want to discuss it with your team?’

‘Oh, I’m ready for it,’ Kat Godwin said.

‘What does Bobby Vernon think?’ George asked. ‘I assume he’s here.’ He looked left and right along the empty corridor.

Kipps scowled. ‘Bobby’s not
that
small. We’ll fill him in later. But he’ll go along with what I say.’

‘All right, then,’ Lockwood said. ‘A race it is. Good luck.’

They shook hands. Kipps and Godwin walked away.

‘There’s a bathroom there,’ George said. ‘You might want to wash that hand.’

‘No time.’ Lockwood smiled at us grimly. ‘We’ve got a contest to win. Let’s go.’

Early afternoon, and the sun was high above the cemetery. Bees buzzed among the crosses, butterflies winked above the mourning angels and ivy-covered urns. It was hot; everything was slow and drowsy. Except for Lockwood – he led us along the gravel path at breakneck speed, talking rapidly all the while.

‘The Kipps group will already be there,’ he said. ‘We have to ignore them, come what may. Don’t rise to any provocation – or give any: especially
you
, George.’

‘Why especially me?’

‘You only have to look at people sometimes to arouse their savage rage. Now listen – we need to work fast. Going back to Portland Row has put us seriously behind.’

This, while true, had been unavoidable. We’d all needed to collect our belts and bags, restock our equipment and eat a proper meal. George had needed to take a shower. These were important considerations.

‘Kipps will be doing the obvious thing,’ Lockwood went on as the roof of the chapel came in sight between the trees. ‘He’ll be splitting forces to follow two separate lines of enquiry. The first: what is the mirror, and what did the mysterious Edmund Bickerstaff use it for? Who
was
Bickerstaff, come to that, beyond all that baloney about sorcery and rats? George, that’s your department from now on.’

George’s glasses sparkled. ‘I should get over to the Archives straight away.’

‘Not yet. I want you to take a look at the scene of the crime with me, and particularly at that coffin. After that you can head off, while Lucy and I pursue the second problem – namely: who stole the object and where is it now? We’ll take a look around, talk to people at the scene—’ He broke off as something occurred to him. ‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you. That photo Barnes had . . . Either of you see anything odd in it?’

We looked at him, shook our heads.

‘No? It’s just I thought I saw something inside the coffin,’ he said, ‘half hidden by the legs of the body. It was very hazy, hard to be sure, but . . .’

I frowned. ‘Well, what did you think it was?’

‘I don’t know. I was probably wrong. Ah, didn’t I tell you? Here’s Kipps’s gang.’

We had rounded the chapel and come in sight of the Excavations camp, which was alive with grey-jacketed forms. A host of Fittes agents were at work beside one of the Portakabins. Some talked to the tattooed workmen who, sitting on folding chairs with plates in their laps, were attempting to finish lunch. Others wandered about taking photographs and staring at footprints in the dirt. A sizeable group had rounded up several small night-watch kids and appeared to be questioning them. One of the agents, a bulky youth with a mop of shaggy hair, was gesticulating fiercely. The children, whom I recognized from the previous evening, looked pale and scared.

‘That’s Ned Shaw,’ George murmured. ‘Recognize him?’

Lockwood nodded. ‘One of Kipps’s enforcers. He’s a nasty piece of work. There were accusations that he once beat up a Grimble agent, but nothing was ever proved. Hello, Mr Saunders, Mr Joplin! Here we are, then, back again!’

Neither the excavating agent nor the little scholar seemed in very good shape after the events of the night. Saunders was grey-faced and anxious, his chin lined with stubble. He wore the same crumpled clothes as the day before. Joplin was in an even worse state, his eyes red with anger and distress. He scratched worriedly at his hair, blinking at us through his little glasses. His dandruff was more noticeable than ever; it lay on his shoulders like grey snow.

‘This is a terrible event!’ he wailed. ‘Unheard of! Who
knows
the value of what’s been stolen! It’s terrible! Atrocious! Awful!’

‘And of course there was that poor night-watch kid getting hurt,’ I said.

The men ignored me. Saunders was scowling at Joplin. ‘Hardly
unheard of
, Albert. We’ve had thefts before. Security on our digs is like a sieve sometimes. What’s different now is all the fuss being made. DEPRAC getting shirty. Agents crawling around like flies.’

Joplin sniffed. ‘I
told
you to place it under proper guard, Paul! Just one child on the door? That was never going to be enough. But no,
you
wouldn’t have it! You always overrule me. I wanted to go back to check on him, but you said—’

‘Would you mind if we just visit the chapel, gentlemen?’ Lockwood was all smiles. ‘Please don’t feel you have to escort us. We know the way.’

‘Not sure what you’ll find that the other lot didn’t,’ Saunders said sourly. ‘You do realize it was an inside job? Someone from the night watch tipped the thieves the wink. Ungrateful little beggars! The amount I pay them!’

Lockwood looked towards the group of night-watch kids, and their interrogation. Even from a distance Ned Shaw’s hectoring tones could be heard. ‘I see they’re getting a hard time,’ he said. ‘May I ask why?’

Saunders grunted. ‘No mystery, Mr Lockwood,’ he said. ‘Just look at the layout. Here’s the chapel, here’s the only entrance up these steps. Right outside we’ve got the camp. Towards dawn – when the theft took place – most of the night watch were coming back to their cabin. There were always several of them milling about around the fires. It would have been hard for the criminals to slip past without being seen. That’s why Kipps believes some or all of the night watch were in on it.’

‘But why should the thieves go past the cabins?’ I said.

‘That’s the way to the West Gate, girlie, which is the only exit left open at night. All the others are locked, and the boundary wall is far too high to climb.’

Mr Joplin had seemed distracted until now, biting his lip and staring with hot eyes out across the cemetery, but he suddenly spoke up. ‘Yes, and if we’d
kept
the gate closed –
as I advised
, Paul – perhaps we wouldn’t have had a theft at all!’

‘Will you stop going on about it?’ Saunders snapped. ‘It’s just a stupid relic!’

George was frowning at the far end of the church, where it brushed up against thick bushes. ‘Kipps’s theory makes no sense,’ he said. ‘The thieves could have crept round the back of the chapel just as easily as going past the camp, and got to the gate that way.’

‘Not really,’ Joplin said, ‘because that was where Saunders and I were working. We were with the night team on that side of the chapel until dawn, assessing another sector. There were dozens of us. It would have been difficult to get by.’

‘Interesting,’ Lockwood said. ‘Well, we’ll take a look and see if anything occurs to us. Thank you, gentlemen! Nice to see you!’ We walked away. ‘I hope those two idiots don’t follow us,’ he breathed. ‘We need some peace and quiet here.’

Two strands of black-and-yellow DEPRAC police tape had been stretched across the chapel doors. As we approached, Quill Kipps and his little researcher, Bobby Vernon, emerged from beneath the tape, blinking in the light. Vernon was almost hidden behind a giant clipboard; he wore latex gloves and carried an enormous camera around his neck. As he passed us, he was jotting something carefully onto a notepad strapped to the board.

Kipps nodded to us lazily. ‘Tony. Cubbins. Julie.’ They pattered down the stairs.

‘Er . . . it’s Lucy!’ I called after him.

‘
Why
did none of us trip him?’ George muttered. ‘It would have been
so
sweet.’