The Accidental Warrior Page 11

  “Harriet, I completely agree. The female species is tougher, by far the more resourceful and driven.”

  “It’s okay, I’ve finished ranting now. You were saying?”

  “Well, I think you might be surprised, there was a certain amount of ‘girl power’ even in Philip’s time. Never underestimate the power of personality. Philip’s first wife Audata was trained as a warrior and raised her daughter Cynane in the same way. When Cynane was grown, she went to war with her father. As his oldest child, she is said to have considered herself entitled to inherit. And she led a mercenary force in the dynastic wars that followed her father’s death. Cynane’s daughter Eurydice was also trained to hunt and fight and took up the cause by challenging Olympias. The war that followed was said by Duris of Samos to be the first war to be waged between women. It ended in the capture and death of Audata.”

  “So, did things settle down between these two factions of warring women?”

  “Good question, and one that I cannot really answer, for there are hints of discord and warring, but little actual historical evidence.”

  As Andrew talked, it dawned on Harriet that her father hadn’t published the discoveries she’d read about in his note book: the coin horde, the snake carvings, the incomplete inscription hinting at a war between the women in Philip’s life. She wondered why that was.

  “What can you tell me about the sixteen-point sun I keep seeing everywhere?” she asked.

  “Right, yes, sometimes it’s called the Vergina Sun or Argead Star; it has also been referred to as a ‘sunburst’ or a ‘starburst’. No-one agrees on its significance, other than it’s been of importance to the Macedonian people for hundreds and hundreds of years and remains the emblem of the country today.”

  “Okay, thanks. Can you tell me anything about tattoos in the ancient Greek world? I mean, for example were they even common amongst the population?”

  “Harriet, you are really testing me.”

  “Well, these damn snake or viper tattoos keep cropping up in my investigation and I just wondered if inking or tattooing was common in ancient Greece.”

  “I’m really not sure. What I can tell you is that I recall reading a piece by Professor Robert Graves in his Greek Mythology which, if I remember correctly, suggested that tattooing was common amongst religious groups in the ancient Mediterranean world. I also remember reading, but I can’t remember where, that at the time of Philip’s reign, it was most common amongst slaves. That does not mean to say that elite groups didn’t also use them to identify themselves or reference themselves to a particular cult or belief group…”

  Harriet was busy making notes.

  CHAPTER 19

  Time had flown; it was past seven and Andrew had disappeared to find chocolate and a bottle of scotch. Harriet was contemplating whether to mention the coins they’d found when her thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash followed by the sound of raised male voices. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the door, only to freeze at the last minute. At first she told herself she was being silly and it was just her old friend mucking about. But something didn’t feel right. Slowly she opened the door and peered out. She saw nothing untoward but she could still hear raised voices. Had she inadvertently put Andrew in harm’s way?

  Closing the door quietly behind her, she grabbed the wig, her mobile and compact mirror from her handbag, before stuffing the bag into a desk drawer. She put on the wig and Andrew’s baggy cardigan which had been hanging on the back of his desk chair. Placing her phone in her jeans pocket, she wiped away most of her make-up and put Andrew’s reading glasses on her head. Heart pounding, she moistened her dry lips with her tongue before picking up a clip board and striding out of the office.

  She walked down the poorly lit corridor. The door to one of the offices was ajar. Harriet hovered outside.

  “Are you sure she’s in this building?” said a male voice.

  “Yes, totally, our source saw her enter this afternoon,” said a deeper voice.

  “And she couldn’t have left?”

  “No, so our source says.”

  “Dave, what is the Professor saying?” asked the deeper-voiced male. A third voice entered the conversation.

  “He’s being bloody unhelpful.”

  “Well, then make him talk, idiot.”

  Harriet sent a quick text, before striding through the door. There were two white males, possibly in their mid-thirties, holding Andrew’s arms at the far end of the room. Nearer to the door she’d just entered by, were two other white men, one just over 6 ft and one just under. They looked younger, in their mid- to late-twenties.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” said the taller of the two men. Harriet recognised the deep voice.

  “I’m Professor Hudson’s secretary, Clare,” she said, looking directly at Andrew.

  “What the fuck are you doing here so late at night?” asked the same man.

  “I don’t need to explain myself to you. Anyway, what are you doing here? Come on Professor, we’ve got work to do.”

  “Well actually, darling, you do need to and he’s not going anywhere,” said the same man.

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble, we’re updating student records. As far as I know, we are the only ones left on this floor.” Harriet was stalling, looking for inspiration, a way to help Andrew.

  “Well, we know different and want to ask your boss a few questions,” said the man.

  “Well, maybe I can help? What do you want to know?”

  There was laughter. “Know Harriet Lacey, do you?” asked the man.

  “Err, never heard of her, she certainly doesn’t work in this department.” Andrew cried out in pain.

  “How did you even get into the building?” asked Harriet, doing her best to detract attention from Andrew.

  “It was a piece of cake, we just picked pockets ’til we got enough access cards and then we swiped our way in,” said the shorter of the two men. The others were laughing.

  Andrew was now in an arm lock, discomfort etched across his face.

  As one of the men walked past Harriet, brushing her arm with his, she pounced, knocking him to the ground. A second male ran at her and she decked him, but when the others pitched in, she was overwhelmed.

  “You’ve caused enough fucking trouble, you have,” said the taller of the men, rubbing his jaw.

  “Dave, Melvin, tie her up and tape her mouth, her hands and her feet, make sure she can’t move a muscle. Put her somewhere out of the way now!” he shouted.

  Despite several attempts to escape, Harriet found she was unable to break free.

  Within minutes, she had been dragged unceremoniously into the walk-in cupboard in Andrew’s office. It was full of human skulls, piled onto the shelving that dominated the tiny space. There were more in boxes and crates on the floor. The two men moved a couple of crates before placing Harriet on the floor with her back against the wall. They moved the crates back and slammed the cupboard door shut. It was pitch black. Harriet tried to move but she could not, so effectively had they trussed her up. She could, however, hear them talking just the other side of the door.

  “That should do it. This is more fucking difficult than it was meant to be,” said one.

  “Tell me about it,” said the other.

  Then there was a third voice, a woman’s. “Has she been found yet? Where are the others?”

  “Fuck you,” said one of the males. There was the sound of a scuffle, before the same man shouted, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

  “Harriet Lacey is a bloody nuisance,” said the woman ignoring the man. “I personally don’t think she knows half of what they suspect. But I do think they’ve underestimated her. In a way, I’m beginning to like her. She has guts, which is more than can be said for you lot. Have you any idea where she might be? She can’t have gone far. I saw her enter and she’s not exited the building. She can’t have disappeared into thin air, now can she?”
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  Harriet sat in the darkness praying the men didn’t mention they’d just put the Professor’s secretary in the cupboard. Something told her this woman would not be as easily convinced as they’d been.

  “What’s her boyfriend the Professor saying?” asked the woman.

  “He’s refusing to talk,” said one of the men.

  “Oh, is he? Well, let’s see if I can persuade him,” was the stony reply.

  Harriet listened intently to the ‘click clack’ of heels disappearing into the distance. A short while later there were raised voices, and a little later still there appeared to be two females shouting. Although Harriet strained to hear what the argument was about, they were too far away.

  The cupboard was dark, dusty and hot. Harriet began to feel dizzy. It was almost more than she could bear. She began to think about Andrew, and her children, before she passed out.

  Several hours went by before Harriet once again became aware of voices. The door to the cupboard opened and a beam of torch light fell on her. She took a deep breath and prepared to meet her fate.

  “Hello, there, don’t be afraid, I’m PC 1520 Guthrie of South Yorkshire Police. Mike got your text, it just took us a while to find you.”

  The voice belonged to a large mixed-race officer, maybe in his early twenties. He had the bluest eyes, short light brown afro hair and freckles. His open face was slightly shiny, Harriet imagined from the effort of crawling into the cupboard.

  PC Guthrie found the light switch. Smiling, he squeezed his way across a crate and, lying on his stomach on the second, quickly set to work removing the tape from Harriet’s hands and feet. Detaching it from her mouth was trickier, it stung like nothing else she’d ever experienced.

  “Are you okay, Harriet?” he asked.

  But all Harriet could think of was Andrew. “Can you tell me where Professor Andrew Hudson is? Is he okay?” She removed her wig and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair.

  The briefest of frowns crossed PC Guthrie’s face. “Um, I’m not sure I can answer that at this stage, sorry. Let me help you out.”

  “Look, I need to know how he is,” said Harriet, more forcefully this time and showing no inclination to move.

  “Hang on a minute.” He disappeared.

  A short while later, a man in a shiny suit appeared. He introduced himself as Detective Inspector James Moore. He was much shorter than PC Guthrie, a white male, with sharp pointed features and tiny eyes.

  “I understand you were asking about Professor Hudson. Can I ask how you know him?”

  “He’s an old university friend. I came to see him for some help.” This was met with silence, so Harriet tried again. “Please can you answer my question, how is Professor Hudson?”

  “Miss, firstly I need to know what you are doing in this cupboard of skulls.” Harriet didn’t like his attitude, not at all.

  She remained silent.

  “How did you come by the bruise on your cheek?” he asked as he peered at her inside the cupboard.

  Harriet put her hand up to her face; there was a lump underneath her left eye.

  Silence.

  “Is there someone I can call for you?” he asked.

  “Detective Inspector, I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m worried about the Professor.”

  “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but unfortunately your friend is dead and I now need to find out why.”

  Harriet blinked, and tried to make sense of his words. “Oh no, oh no,” she said softly as she covered her eyes with her hands.

  “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just I need to know what you saw and heard. So far you are our only witness.” Harriet didn’t like Mr Shiny Suit. Overwhelmed, she wept quietly in the back of the cupboard.

  Half an hour passed before PC Guthrie came back.

  “Harriet, why don’t you let me help you out of there? I’m going to pass a box of tissues through the gap, and a cup of coffee. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to reach you, unless you want me to,” he said kindly.

  A short time later, another face appeared at the door; a face Harriet had never been so happy to see.

  “Don’t cry,” said Mike as he surveyed Harriet’s mascara-stained face peering back at him.

  “Oh Mike, I’ve made a hash of everything. You know Andrew never gave me up. It never crossed my mind, that they would really hurt him. For God’s sake, who are these people?”

  “I’ve no idea, but we will do everything we can to catch them. Now let’s get you out of here.”

  Lowering her voice, Harriet said in a whisper, “If I come out, am I going to be arrested?”

  “No, no, you’ve been completely cleared of any involvement in Alec’s death. I sent you a text, but I guess you won’t have seen it yet? I’ll explain all later.”

  “What a relief, in that case, could you hurry up please, cos I really need to pee.” Mike and PC Guthrie couldn’t help but snigger.

  A short time later, Harriet reappeared from the Ladies and made for PC Guthrie. She held out her hand. “Thank you for all your kindness.”

  “No problem. I’m Steve, by the way, good to meet you, sorry it’s under such circumstances.”

  Professor Hudson’s office began to fill up with senior officers; Derek Wynn had apparently been on the phone. About an hour later, the man himself appeared and Harriet felt a sudden unexpected urge to hug him. He made straight for her and they embraced.

  A little while later, Derek handed Harriet his mobile. “It’s Nick, he wants to speak to you.”

  Taking the phone, Harriet left the room and stood in the corridor.

  “Harriet, where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days, what were you thinking?”

  “Hi Harriet, how are you? Are you okay? Are you safe? I’ve been worried sick about you. I never for one minute believed you could have been involved in Alec’s death.”

  “Well, yes of course, how are you? I really need to be brought up to speed.”

  Harriet sighed. “Nick, it’s not always about you. Now is not the time. We do need to talk, but not now.”

  “I don’t think you care about me anymore. I make one small mistake and you just can’t stop punishing me, pushing me away.”

  “What did you say? How dare you, you sanctimonious selfish, selfish bastard. Don’t you dare throw that at me, not now, not ever. What was the other night about? Sympathy sex?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The other night?”

  Silence.

  “I saw you,” she goaded.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I called past the house and…”

  “Oh, it was just dinner, nothing happened.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I saw you. Unbelievable.”

  “Rachel was just helping me to get over the funeral, nothing happened.”

  “Nick, that’s not only untrue, it’s disrespectful. You’re completely out of control. I’m sorry, I really can’t speak to you now.” A flushed Harriet terminated the call and rejoined the others.

  Once the debrief had been completed and Inspector James Moore had made an awkward apology to Harriet, she asked to see her old friend one last time. Derek took her hand and led her to the next office.

  Professor Hudson was on the floor in a sitting position. His eyes were closed; he looked as if he were having a nap. Near to him were the two males who’d put her in the cupboard. They were tied to chairs, but weren’t moving.

  Harriet took a deep breath as she knelt down. Tenderly she smoothed Andrew’s hair across his forehead. As she stroked his cheek, she began to weep again, for this was a man she’d been a little in love with twenty years before. For the briefest moment, she laid her head on his chest.

  “I’m so sorry my friend, so, so sorry.” She kissed him on the lips for the last time. Her insides ached, she felt drained.

  As she rose, she was overwhelmed by the urge to hold his hand one last
time. Slipping her feminine fingers into his large leathery palm, she felt something round and smooth lodged between his index finger and thumb. Tugging hard, she managed to wrestle it free. Wide-eyed, she surveyed the stone disc in her hand. Her sudden gasp alerted Derek and Mike who walked across. Derek gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” whispered Harriet. “How did Scenes of Crime miss this?” She showed the two men the disc in her hand.

  “It’s not immediately obvious, I grant you,” said Derek.

  “Looks to me as if it was deliberately planted,” said Mike.

  Harriet turned it over in her hand. It was then that she noticed what looked like writing scratched into the surface. Examining it more closely, she realised it was a name: Cleo Morris.

  “Mike, Derek, look at this.”

  “Blimey,” said Mike.

  “I’m going to get this checked out. I’ll see if the name comes up on any of our police systems, but without a date of birth or further information, it’s unlikely we will be able to make an identification.” Derek took the disc from Harriet and left the room.

  “I bet you anything,” said Mike to Harriet, “the Professor was also the victim of snake venom. Then there are these two specimens here.” He pointed to the two males still tied to chairs. “I wonder.” He went across and felt for pulses. “They’re cold to the touch. But, something doesn’t look quite right. Look at their eyes, it’s almost like they’re trying to communicate.”