As for ‘Robert Brown Msc’， we are still none the wiser, but it doesn’t matter so much now. I’m sure we will work it out sooner or later.
Stephen had been given a guided tour of the library when he arrived. He looked like a boy, eyes wide, smile even wider. The years dropped away from him.
Viktor is having breakfast in his room, and making notes for later. Interesting to see how he plans these things out. Andrew Everton is on his way up too. It was the Kent Police Awards last night and he couldn’t miss it. They were giving Chris and Donna a commendation. I saw it on Donna’s Instagram. I think Bogdan should probably have been with her, but he had to drive Elizabeth and Stephen up here. I wonder if Donna minded? No one else seems to have spotted they are dating, but Pauline and I had a quiet gossip about it earlier. Donna certainly wasn’t smiling in the photographs.
One person who isn’t here is Fiona Clemence, but that’s not to say she isn’t involved.
Alan has stayed at home.
I make that sound as if it was his choice, as if he had a few things he wanted to catch up on. If we are all up here in Staffordshire, who is looking after him, you ask?
There is a new resident in the village. He is called Mervyn, and he is Welsh. I have always had a soft spot for the Welsh. He used to be the headmaster of a school. You can tell that too. Strict but fair. Grey hair, dark moustache, you know the look. Don’t mind if I do. I have shown him to Pauline at a distance and got a thumbs-up. I thought Pauline might have got a little upset about the way I questioned her at our afternoon tea, but not a bit of it. I suppose she just wanted the truth to come out as much as the rest of us.
Now, Mervyn has a Cairn Terrier called Rosie, and we bumped into each other a couple of days ago on a walk. Alan sniffed around Rosie and, I daresay if Alan were asked, he’d tell you I sniffed around Mervyn too. Long story short, we got chatting, and the same afternoon I dropped around a cherry Bakewell for him, just to say welcome to the village. Mervyn is going to feed and walk Alan while I’m gone. I told him I would be very grateful, and he gave me a little smile.
And, before you ask, yes, Mervyn is heterosexual. He’s had two wives and five kids, and there was a Top Gear DVD on one of his shelves.
We should only be here for twenty-four hours or so, unless something goes very wrong. Which reminds me, I must make sure that Ibrahim moves his car round to the back of the house. Bogdan didn’t need telling – his is hidden away.
We’re planning to kick off at about midday. I think everyone knows what they’re doing. I don’t really have a role as such, I just get to watch.
Which I think I’ve earned, given I worked out who murdered Bethany Waites.
Very soon the whole world will know.
I gave Mervyn my phone number, ‘You know, in case you want to send me a picture of Alan,’ but so far he hasn’t used it. I keep checking, but nothing.
71
It was an indignity to be dumped at the gates in a blindfold, but, if that’s the price of entry, so be it. Paranoia is to be expected.
The approach to the house is magnificent. Long, gravel driveway, topiary hedges, fountains, statues of lions. But today there are no staff tending to it. No gardeners or chauffeurs poking their noses in, able to tell what they’ve seen. It’s exactly as was promised. Looking up at windows ahead, no movement there either. You have to allow for the possibility that this is a trap, but, thus far, it doesn’t look like one.
The house itself is too big. Way too big if this man, the Viking, lives here alone. Given the secrecy involved in this whole operation, and given the monosyllabic nature of their email exchanges, that’s a fair bet. It will be just the two of them, and it will have to be played exactly right. Get what you’ve come for and go. Not easy, not easy at all, but the rewards will be worth it.
A push on the bell, and the sound of it reverberates deep inside this lonely house. How much would the Viking have paid for this place? Twenty million? At least.