The Accidental Warrior Read online

  “Much improved, Paul, and thank you for the beautiful flowers.”

  Harriet liked Paul Jones, a short and round, middle-aged Welsh man, with a crop of unruly auburn hair. He was partial to wearing brightly coloured waistcoats, corduroy trousers and wellington boots. Although slightly eccentric, he was extremely competent at his job.

  “Oh, it was the least we could do for our favourite sergeant; Harriet, about the results of the swabs taken from your burglary, I think you might find them curious.”

  ‘Curious’ was an interesting choice of words, thought Harriet as her breathing quickened.

  “Well, it seems that the tool used to prise open the garden door left a residue behind. I have to say that it stumped us, until, that is, one of our officers recognised the chemical structure from Professor Martin Grey’s post-mortem report.”

  Harriet shuddered.

  “Are you still with me?” Paul sounded excited.

  Harriet closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Believe it or not, it was snake venom.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes, but it’s not just snake venom, it’s black mamba,” said Paul eagerly.

  Something sinister was going on. Her stomach churned.

  “Are you absolutely a hundred percent sure?”

  “Oh yes, there’s no doubt whatsoever, I’ll send you the report.”

  “Thank you, and I appreciate the heads-up, but please don’t mention this to anyone else, not just yet.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sure, and thank you again, Paul.”

  Harriet felt every muscle in her body tighten. Reluctant to tell Nick about the latest development, she pondered her situation. She had to trust someone; she couldn’t do this on her own. Grudgingly, she concluded that someone was going to have to be Mike Taylor. She needed his contacts and experience to track down her assailants. She needed to find out more about the mysterious woman. Despite their differences, Mike was a good detective; she had little choice, anyway, there was no-one else to ask.

  CHAPTER 9

  While Harriet waited for Mike Taylor to arrive in the incident room, she thought about how his attitude had softened since the assault on her. Shortly after nine, he appeared at his desk.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got on today, but I did wonder if you might be able to help me with an enquiry.” Harriet handed him a coffee.

  “Yes sure, I’m meeting with my BBC friend first thing, how about eleven?”

  “Eleven’s fine.”

  “What do I need to prepare, my lady?” Mike was grinning. Harriet appreciated his cheek and smiled back.

  “Nothing, I will brief you on the way.”

  Harriet drove, mainly because she knew it annoyed Mike and although she wanted him on her side, any change to their normal routine would make him suspicious. Leaving their unmarked police vehicle in a side street, they walked a quarter of a mile to a stylish coffee shop where Harriet bought two coffees. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “Mike, I’m taking a huge risk in speaking to you, a huge risk trusting you, but right now, I don’t have anyone else.” Harriet braced herself for some sarcastic comment, but he remained silent.

  “There is no easy way to say this but what I’m going to tell you is confidential, is that understood?”

  Mike simply nodded.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s been an organised attempt to warn me off Operation Chapel.”

  “Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

  “I don’t know if you heard about the burglary at my house recently.”

  “Yeah, fucking bad luck that.”

  “It’s more than that, Mike. Yesterday, I learned from DS Paul Jones that Scenes of Crime found traces of snake venom on the entry point. They think it’s from the tool used to jemmy-open the French doors. But, it wasn’t just any old snake venom, it was black mamba.”

  “Fuck,” said Mike, wide-eyed.

  “Then, when I was attacked in the car park, one of my attackers taunted me by saying a mystery woman paid them to assault me. I never got to ask any more and it appears the investigating officer failed to cover it in interview.”

  “How’d you know that?” Mike was sitting on the edge of his chair.

  “Because I pulled a favour and managed to get a copy of the file. I had the interview tapes transcribed and let’s just say they were bloody disappointing.”

  “Didn’t Steve Smith personally lead the investigation?”

  “Yes, and on the surface it’s puzzling that such an

  experienced detective missed such an obvious line of questioning.”

  “Are you saying you think Smith deliberately sabotaged the interview?”

  “I’m not sure what to think, but I’m suspicious.”

  Mike frowned.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m being paranoid, Mike, but I’m wondering if there is a link between the snake venom at my house, the snake venom used to kill our victims, and the mystery woman.”

  “I’d say it’s possible. So, I’m guessing that you want me to track down your attackers to see if I can find out more about the mystery woman, but you want this done under the radar, right?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You can trust me, you know.” He was looking directly at her, and in that instant she knew she could.

  They finished their coffee and returned to the incident room, where the daily briefing was about to start. Mike and Harriet stood at the back. Harriet thought Nick looked distracted, he was unshaven and seemed more interested in his phone than the briefing.

  “Morning everyone, we have a lot to get through.”

  It was soon time for Harriet’s team to provide their update. Harriet got to her feet.

  “We’ve been concentrating on the statements of the victims’ family members, we still have a few to look at but what we’ve found so far is interesting. Commonality between at least four of the victims, in terms of a fear of snakes and possession of a stone disc identical to that found in Professor Grey’s pocket. I’ll read you some extracts.” Harriet picked up her note book and read aloud.

  ‘My father had a lifelong revulsion of snakes, to us it seemed irrational. He never did explain why. He also kept what he called his ‘good luck charm’ with him, he even slept with it under his pillow. He said it was his protection from the serpents… The charm was a round smooth piece of stone slightly larger than a two-pound coin. On one side it was smooth, on the other engraved with what looked like a sun with lots of pointed beams.’

  ‘Dad loathed snakes, when we were little and at the Zoo he would point-blank refuse to accompany us to the reptile house. He never budged from this position, never. Dad also had this annoying habit of playing with a small smooth stone token, in and out of his fingers, it drove me mad.’

  ‘My old Dad used to play with a stone disc, twisting it in and out of his fingers, over and over, a bit like worry beads. He hated snakes, if they ever came on the TV he would immediately scream for the controls and change the channel.’

  “Good work; keep going with this and update us at the next briefing, will you? Just out of interest, how many of the stone discs have been recovered so far?” Nick walked across to Harriet.

  “Four.” Harriet was sure she could smell alcohol on his breath.

  “Okay, well, keep going with this line of enquiry please. Now, how have you got on with your enquiries, Mike? Is there anything significant about the way the bodies were laid out?”

  “Well, Sir, I think I might have found that it was common practice historically, several cultures laid out their dead in a similar way; in other words a coin or other valuable item was put in the mouth or between the lips to enable the deceased to move to the afterlife, rather than remain in limbo.”

  “But there were no valuables left with our victims.”

  “Apparently not, unless you include the possibility that the stone discs had value.”

  “I might be able to
add to this debate,” said DS Paul Jones, who had entered the room.

  “Go ahead, Paul.” Nick waved Paul to the front of the room.

  “A few weeks ago, DS Lacey requested Scenes of Crime take a closer look at the stone disc found in Professor Grey’s pocket. To our utter surprise, we discovered that it’s not actually made of stone at all, but rather, it’s a type of cement. Further tests have revealed that it’s archaic, certainly pre-Roman, but what’s even more fascinating is that the cement is an outer layer. It was used to encase a gold coin.” A stir went around the briefing room.

  “The coin itself weighs 8.59 grams and has a diameter of 18.5 mm. On one side is the depiction of a man with curly hair and beard, on the other a naked youth on horseback. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the British Museum who have kindly agreed to study it further and give their expert view. It could take a week or two.”

  “Blimey, well as soon as you hear back, please let me know the result.” Nick made a note in his policy document. Paul Jones nodded.

  As the discussion in the room continued, Harriet glanced across at Steve Smith. He seemed uncharacteristically silent but was making copious notes.

  “Shall I move on?” asked Paul Jones.

  “Yes, what else do you have for us?” said Nick. Harriet surveyed the room; all eyes were on Paul Jones, or ‘Jonesy’ as he was affectionately known.

  “We’ve been looking at the venom and have discovered that just a couple of drops of black mamba venom can kill a human. The venom contains neurotoxins and is fast acting, shutting down the nervous system, it paralyses the victim. Without anti-venom, death is a hundred percent certain.” Excited chatter filled the room.

  “Sorry to interrupt again, Paul, but I want it recorded that actions are raised for enquiries to be carried out into possible sources of black mamba venom. Can it be purchased on the web? Is it feasible it was imported? Or farmed? Thanks, carry on,” said Nick.

  “I just want to talk about the scenes you asked us to re-examine. We can confirm that they were cleaned down. There were no fingerprints or DNA on key surfaces, except that is at Professor Martin Grey’s house. And, whilst there was evidence of a clean up there, we did find several clear fingerprints at the points of entry and egress and around the body. My early guess is that these were made after the initial wipe down, as we didn’t find any of the victim’s prints in the same area. They are good quality prints and we’ve already run them through the National Fingerprint Database, but with no hits, so they remain outstanding.”

  Nick turned to the note-taker. “Note to myself: create a policy decision requesting fingerprinting of persons of interest in this case. I’ll do this later. Paul, is there anything else that might help us with the fingerprints to narrow it down?”

  “Well, there’s good news and bad news. Although we didn’t manage to get any full DNA profiles, other than from the victims, because of the sterile scenes. At Professor Grey’s, it was clear someone touched some of the surfaces, for we did find low copy DNA. There’s a chance we may get lucky and get a profile, but it’s going to take some time. As you know with low copy DNA it isn’t as accurate as when you have a full profile, but it could help us to narrow down the field of suspects.”

  “How long will that take? Make sure you fast-track it.” Nick had got to his feet.

  “Yeah, it’s fast-tracked but it could still take two weeks, as it’s only a small sample.”

  CHAPTER 10

  It was a beautifully sunny Saturday morning when Harriet rang the doorbell at number 26 Hawthorn Avenue. Her mother, Jane, opened the door and greeted her warmly, hugging her long and hard. Harriet thought her mother looked drawn and tired, her tall slender frame moved more stiffly than she remembered. Harriet walked down the light airy hall and turned left into the lounge. Her father was seated with his back to her in his favourite brown leather chair. Had he sensed her? For, as she entered the room, he stood up and turned, his face lighting up. He moved slowly towards her outstretched arms and hugged her tight.

  “You, I thought, lovely see fit you?”

  Harriet had become accustomed to interpreting her father’s jumbled words.

  “Lovely to see you too, Dad. Yes, I’m well, thank you.” She held him close.

  Harriet looked at her father; at 6 ft 2, George Rayfield was a large-framed man, but his illness had taken its toll; he looked frail, and was carrying little weight. His hair, almost white, stuck out from beneath a dark blue knitted hat and he was sporting a beard.

  Jane appeared with a tray of coffee and a plate of homemade shortbread biscuits. They moved to the sofa and George sat between his wife and his daughter. Harriet joked that he was a rose between two thorns. Although he did not seem to understand their chatter, he looked mightily happy to be there. Harriet held her father’s hand tight.

  After coffee, Harriet and George wandered around the garden arm in arm, inspecting the plants, the pond, the green house and the vegetable plot. Leaving her father sitting in the sunshine, she went to find her mother.

  “So, Dad’s grown a beard.”

  “Yes, the Warfarin thins the blood. Your Dad was finding it increasingly difficult to shave and after several nasty nicks to his face that bled and bled, I simply removed his razor from the bathroom. Funny thing is he doesn’t seem to have noticed.”

  “What about his woolly hat?”

  “Your Dad’s become increasingly obsessed with certain items of clothing, the latest being the woolly hat. His jumpers are all now heavily patched and holey. I have to grab them when I can, mend them, wash them and return them without him noticing, otherwise he becomes distressed.”

  “But he always used to be so fastidious, always clean shaven; always in a shirt and tie and a sports jacket or smart jumper.”

  “Yes, before he became unwell.”

  George could no longer read, no longer follow the television, no longer hold a conversation, but, he loved to leaf through old photograph albums. In one of the albums, Harriet came across a smiling photo of him. He was standing in what looked like an archaeological site wearing khaki shorts, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a floppy sun hat. Behind him she could see a stone doorway; at its centre point there was a carving that caught Harriet’s eye. It looked like a sun, it had sixteen points or beams to it. Harriet asked her mother about the photo.

  “I think it was about twenty-five years ago in Greece, at a royal palace, but I can’t remember exactly where.”

  “May I borrow it?”

  “Of course, borrow the album if you like.”

  When Harriet left, she hugged and kissed her father and said her goodbyes. As she reached her car, he called from the doorstep.

  “Harry, beware of the serpents, the sun is the path to enlightenment.”

  Stunned, Harriet turned and went back to the house, but her father was listless and unable to make himself understood.

  Gone was the laid back, happy and optimistic man who for twenty years had been Professor of Ancient History and Classical Archaeology at Sheffield University. A true gentleman and scholar. Loved by his students and colleagues. To watch the man who had lived his life by the written and spoken word, the man Harriet admired above all others, slip away was agonising.

  Her mother enveloped her in her arms.

  “Harry, why don’t you take some books from your Dad’s library and that bundle of his old handwritten note books?”

  That evening Harriet began to look through her father’s note books. In one of them she came across a pencil drawing of the sun symbol she’d seen in the photo earlier. It struck her that it was remarkably like the symbols on the stone discs from Operation Chapel. Her father had scribbled:

  Today, on the eastern edge of the main site, we discovered a hoard of around fifty rounded stone tokens, stashed in the remains of a large villa. Smooth on one side, carved with what looks like a sixteen- point sun on the other. This symbol occurs on many of the palace doorways, as well as the main archway to the amphi
theatre.

  It was then that Harriet remembered a letter her father had sent her when she’d been about thirteen. He’d been working abroad and was keen to share his experiences with her. She tried to think where she’d stored it. As a child, she’d often kept special correspondence in an old shoe box. But where had she put it? Eventually she found it in an old wardrobe in the attic. The letter was still in its original envelope.

  During our excavations, we’ve found an incomplete stone tablet, it hints at a war between the women in King Philip’s life, following his assassination. The reason for the conflict appears to centre on the fate of his children. The translation is still being worked on, but the closest I can get to it is that the fight was between the ‘Guardians’ and the ‘Serpents’.

  You know, I’ve always been fascinated as to what happened to Philip’s offspring after he died. The historian Justin refers to the existence of several brothers to Alexander, born to Philip’s mistresses – some believe Alexander executed his step-brothers, but they may have survived and there were undoubtedly other children, half-sisters for example, who were unlikely to have been considered a threat to the throne. But, there are also references to certain females in the family being trained as warriors, for example, his first wife Audata, and their daughter Cynane.

  You know, I admire King Philip. It’s often forgotten that he was the only King ever to unite the Greek world. History, however, has chosen to concentrate on his son Alexander, or Alexander the Great as he came to be known, following his invasion of Persia. But it was Philip who made that possible, who spent years building a professional army, making strategic alliances and treaties across the Greek world. What he achieved is truly remarkable.