The Watcher and the Mask (Pt 3) Five Maddy and Jonathan spent the next hour staked out in the supermarket car-park, vigilantly staring at the shop's doorway for any sign of the mysterious stalker. As time slowly passed it became increasingly obvious that he had taken off after the encounter in Home Baking and was now probably long gone. Over their lengthy, wasted wait Maddy had gone though a range of emotions; anger at not recognising the man from the restaurant sooner, unease at the fact she was being followed and finally confusion as to why she was being followed in the first place. Just to substantiate her suspicions she had also phoned the restaurant, explained the situation and described the man in question. The staff were able to confirm that someone of that description had eaten there last night, but was one of several people who turned up without a reservation and paid in cash. Conclusive as this seemed to be, it still did not proffer any suggestion of Hundreds-and-Thousand's motive or identity. "Right. I think we can safely say he's scarpered, the bastard." Maddy looked at her watch. "I don't suppose you've got any theories have you?" she asked Jonathan. "None that are immediately obvious," he admitted. "Is there anyway he could be connected with this mask business?" "I can't see how!" Maddy wracked her brain. "I first saw him in the restaurant, right? At that point the only ones who knew I was helping the Neltsons were the few people I met at the museum. And he definitely wasn't one of them. Anyway, just because I saw him for the first time last night doesn't mean he hasn't been at it for a while!" "I wonder if he followed you home last night?" Jonathan said. Maddy was not sure about this, although logically she supposed he would have done. Assuming he had been in the woods at Ravenscroft, he had pursued her to the last three places she had visited which implied he was keeping a close eye on her movements. Furthermore, the restaurant had said he left minutes after her own party had departed last night, which was surely one coincidence too many. "Why wouldn't he, he's chased me everywhere else over the past twenty four hours!" she said. "In which case," Jonathan continued, "perhaps we can narrow down his motives. If his intentions were physical or aggressive, he could have got into your house at any point during the night, what with those keys in the lock like that." Although he hoped this would set her mind at rest, the observation had the exact opposite effect. "How do we know he didn't," Maddy gasped, the whites of her eyes expanding in horror. "He could have been all around my house without me knowing! I mean god almighty, you managed to get in, make tea and walk right into the bedroom without me waking up. That weirdo could have done anything. Maybe he spent the night trying on my underwear, or going through my laundry basket. Ugh! I think I'm going to be sick," she shuddered, her voice heavy with panic. "But as far as we know he didn't, which suggests there might be another reason to all this." Jonathan smiled gently, trying not to show his own unease. "Look. You're OK now, isn't that the main thing? Now we know this is going on, we can do something about it." "Too right. If I see that sod again..." Nausea was gradually replaced by anger and she attacked the condensation on the windscreen in front of her, vigorously clearing a patch of glass before starting the car. "God, you hear about people being stalked all the time. You just never think it will happen to you! I tell you this much, he's picked the wrong person!" She revved the engine and pulled away, circumnavigating the car park and heading for the exit. Soon the supermarket was far behind them and Maddy seemed to relax. "Thanks Jonathan," she said appreciatively. "You were really supportive back there." "That's OK," Jonathan replied, feeling his face burn at the compliment. "I've been there before - the whole 'stalker' business. Adam had someone infatuated with him for ages. Used to phone him up all hours of the day and night, follow him around, send him obsessive letters...you know the sort of thing. You've got to be sympathetic. That kind of carry-on can ruin someone's life." He paused before adding; "It didn't do Adam any favours either." Maddy smiled. "Seriously though," Jonathan continued, "what do we do now? Aren't you going to call the police or something?" "Let's worry about that later," she replied. "He's bound to turn up again, and when he does we'll be ready for him. I think we should concentrate on the mask for now. One mystery at a time, right?" Delayed by the unexpected turn of events at the supermarket, Maddy suggested they alter their plans, head for the museum and eat at hers afterwards. "They've got a café-thing there, I'll buy you a cake to keep you going," she promised. "I want to talk to John Webb about Neltson's security arrangements - it's got to be something to do with the burglar alarm, maybe he can give us some technical pointers." Deciding it would be best to call ahead and let Webb know they would be arriving, Maddy started to rummage in her bag for the mobile phone leaving one hand and half of her attention to deal with the intrusive business of driving. Jonathan felt his grip tighten on the passenger seat as her devotion to the highway code was temporarily sidelined. "Erm, anything I can do to help, perhaps?" he suggested nervously. * Even in sleep, Simon Neltson was a restless man. Rebecca sat by the bedroom window and watched her husband, prostrate on the bed. His last flicker of energy had been expended during his sparring with Flint. After she had sloped off, lack of rest and raging anxiety about the theft had finally taken its toll. Pallid and sickly, he had barely been able to pull himself up the stairs. Dry-swallowing a sleeping tablet "just to make sure," he had then collapsed, exhausted onto the bed. Fully dressed he now lay on the sheets, hands rested corpse-like on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath. Rippling eyelids betrayed his dreams and occasionally his head would shake in sudden urgency. Rebecca knew that his delirium would be dominated by a static golden face. Rising from her seat she moved over to the bed and carefully placed a piece of paper on the bedside cabinet for Simon to find when he awoke. 'Gone to work. Will call you later. R.' it said. She needed to get out of the house, occupy her mind with something other than the burglary. In any case, work was not stopped by misfortune and someone needed to ensure the museum continued to run smoothly. As Simon needed to build his strength again, the onus was on her. Taking one final, lingering glance at her sleeping husband Rebecca departed, leaving him to tussle with tumultuous dreams. * John Webb welcomed Jonathan and Maddy into his small office and shut the door. The room was smaller than the Neltson's office Maddy had seen yesterday, and considerably less tidy. His desk was piled with security magazines and reports and his file system seemed to consist of a heap of paperwork on the floor next to an empty filing cabinet. Behind the desk a dog-eared Gantt chart dated 1998 clung to the wall, its colourful task bars overwritten by layers of scrawling aide memoirs. Apologetic about the mess, the security manager dug a couple of chairs from beneath coats and paperwork and genially invited his guests to sit down. "Don't often get visitors in here, but don't be deceived by the chaos I know exactly where everything is!" he chuckled. He wheeled his own chair from around the back of the desk and set it so the three sat in a circle. "Now then," he said, "it's Ms Magellan, isn't it. Simon told me about you after your visit yesterday. Bit of an expert at the old crime solving, so I hear. Good stuff." "Thanks," Maddy smiled, impressed by his sincerity. "And this is..." "Jonathan Creek," finished Webb reaching across to shake Jonathan's hand. "Simon showed me the book. You're technical adviser to a magician then?" "Yes," Jonathan replied, half expecting the traditional derisive remark to follow. What would it be, he wondered. A quip about rabbits and hats, or something pithy about sawing women in half. Instead Webb nodded his head in interest. "Good stuff," he said again. "I have to say, you've got an unusual CV for this sort of thing, but if it works...I know some of my colleagues in the force can be sniffy about these things," the security manager explained. "But just because something is unconventional doesn't mean you should dismiss it. Look at the Yorkshire Ripper. Wouldn't have been caught at all if it hadn't been for that psychic!" "Right," Jonathan agreed, inwardly disagreeing. "Anyway," Webb looked at the couple. "How can I help you?" "Well," Maddy had dug her pad and pen out again and now perched on the edge of her chair. "We wanted to pick your brains about how that burglar could have got around all that security. You know about these things. Is there some sort of technical gadgetry which they could have used to fool that alarm?" Webb pushed his glasses back on his nose and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I've been wracking them," he admitted, "but just can't see how this was done. You've seen the tape, yes?" Maddy nodded. "That burglar arrived empty handed. Even if the equipment existed to somehow jam that alarm, it would have to be big enough to see on the tape, unless they were bloody James Bond and had hi-tech underpants, or something!" Maddy smiled. "Another thing." Webb continued. "They couldn't have picked the locks." "Why?" asked Maddy. "Well the SOCOs would have had the locks to pieces straight away. Doesn't matter how good you are, if you pick a lock you leave scratches and metallic residue in the mechanism from all the scraping around. But as far as I know, the only forensic evidence they found were those threads on the study door. Nothing in the locks." "So you're saying the burglar had a key?" Maddy was surprised. Webb shrugged. "Perhaps," he said. "But then even though it looks like they did, how would anyone get hold of the keys in the first place? In all my years in the force I never saw anything like it. Simon was so bloody careful about all this, you'd have had more chance stealing the Crown Jewels. Sealed in a security case, in that safe, in a locked house fitted with a burglar alarm...what could possibly go wrong?" "Something did," said Jonathan quietly. "What do you know about Justus Vurt?" Maddy asked. "Apart from the fact he's a pain in the arse?" Webb replied and again stoked his beard as if teasing information from beneath the hair. "Odd character. Obsessive, I'd say. Really kicked up a stink when he found out Simon was shipping golden boy back to Greece. Phone-calls, letters...the full works. Turned up at the house a few times as well." "Perhaps he was sussing the place out," suggested Maddy. "That assumes he knew for certain the mask was going to be there," Jonathan pointed out. "Anyway, he was munching haggis when the mask was stolen," said Webb. "I've looked at it from every angle. Even if the guy had help, you've still got the problem of how the hell it was done! But there again Vurt's pretty intelligent...he's a professor isn't he? So I suppose he's quite capable of pulling the wool." "And in the meantime the police start suspecting Simon," said Maddy. "They turned up again when we were there earlier." Webb sucked air through his teeth. "Can't see it myself. He's an honest bloke." Maddy thought carefully about how to phrase her next comment. "You could perhaps see why the police would suspect him though," she said. "He suggested taking the mask back to the house, he was the only one with the combination to the safe..." "Sure," Webb nodded, "all that's obvious. I just don't think he would have done it!" The conversation ground to a halt. "Let's look at it again," Jonathan broke the silence. "Objectively, there is only one certainty in all of this; the fact the burglar alarm was on for six hours from midnight. So whatever else the evidence suggests, we know that the mask couldn't have been stolen at four in the morning." "But the tape shows the time," said Maddy. "Yes, but think about what we were saying earlier," replied Jonathan. "One way of explaining this, is that the tape is wrong. We ruled out the possibility of it being staged by Simon the night before, but what if there was a second way of faking it?" "Don't follow you I'm afraid," Webb admitted. Maddy thought she understood what Jonathan was suggesting. "How do we know the time on the tape is correct?" she said. "He could have changed it!" "Well yes," Jonathan agreed tentatively. "Although you can tell he didn't because..." Before he could continue there was a double knock on the door. "Come in, Robert" called Webb with a smile, and sure enough the PA stuck his head into the room. "Sorry to interrupt Mr Webb," he apologised, "but Mrs Neltson has just arrived. I told her Ms Magellan and Mr Creek were here, and she said she would like to see them." "Thanks Robert," said Webb. "Shall we all go," he suggested to Maddy and Jonathan, "her office is more organised than this one. We can carry on our chat in comfort!" Rebecca looked up from the pile of paperwork she was sorting on the desk as Robert directed Maddy, John and Jonathan into the office. "Hello," she said. "Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I really wanted to apologise for earlier. I had no idea DI Flint was going to turn up like that. That woman really doesn't know when to stop." "How are things?" Maddy asked sympathetically. Rebecca sighed deeply. "Simon's exhausted. He took a sleeping tablet and I've left him at home resting. Flint more or less accused him of faking the security tape to steal the mask, would you believe? Have you ever heard anything as ridiculous?" "Seriously?" said Maddy. "Well, that really is ludicrous, isn't it?" She glanced at Jonathan, indicating he should keep quiet. "Quite," said Rebecca. "Simon put her in her place for now, but she seems determined to pin the blame on him. She just doesn't give up, it's verging on harassment. Vurt's the one she needs to bother, not my husband." She shook her head angrily. "I know he didn't do it. How could he have done anyway? I was with him from the moment he put the mask in the case until we went to bed at midnight..." her eyes began to shine with moisture. "I can vouch for that, at least until you left the museum," said John. "I was with the mask the whole time." He said to Jonathan and Maddy. "I'm sorry," Rebecca swallowed tearfully. "It's like peering into a maelstrom, knowing you're about to fall in and being completely unable to do anything about it..." Maddy gently put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "It'll be OK," she said and turned to Jonathan. "Why don't you look go and have a look around the museum," she suggested. "I'm sure Mr Webb will show you what's what." She smiled radiantly at the security manager who nodded in response. "Good idea," said Webb. " Don't worry mate, it's not too boring. There are some great bits and pieces on display. I'll show you the pottery, and if you're lucky you might see a really nice set of jugs." This was followed by booming laughter as he ushered Creek towards the door. Move over Bernard Manning, thought Jonathan although he was quietly glad to get away from the office. He was never quite sure how to handle emotional people, and for once he was pleased Maddy had made a decision for him. After they had gone Rebecca mustered a smile. "Apologies for John's sense of humour," she said. "I think his boorishness can be attributed to his days in the police. I think he sometimes misses the camaraderie." "Those crazy boys in blue," scoffed Maddy derisively. "Anyway...I thought it would be better to have a quiet chat, just you and me. I'm sure this whole thing must have been a terrible strain." "Thank you," Rebecca smiled appreciatively. "Sometimes you doubt your own sanity, you know." She went back over to the desk and started shuffling paperwork. "I'm grateful for this place though. There's so much to be done, it takes your mind off things." "Right," Maddy nodded. "Look, I know you've been through this before, but would you mind just going over what happened when you got home - the night of the burglary?" "Surely," Rebecca stopped her tidying while she thought. "I turned the burglar alarm off, then Simon re-set the video machine. Then we watched television for a while, Simon made something to drink and we went to bed at midnight." She looked at Maddy and shrugged. "It's so mundane, it's easy to remember," she said. Maddy had by now spent considerable time with Jonathan. As they had gone from case to case, his lateral thinking had started to rub off on her, and she had started to discern things she would not have normally noticed. Thinking back to the conversation Robert had interrupted minutes earlier, something in Rebecca's description of the evening's events started to ring bells. "This might sound strange, but can you remember what sort of drink it was?" she asked. "Coffee, I think," Rebecca thought for a moment. "Yes, it was coffee." "And you went to sleep quite quickly afterwards?" Maddy muttered, to herself more than Rebecca. Upon noticing the other woman looking at her expectantly, she elucidated; "Sorry, just thinking aloud. Coffee keeps me awake for hours, usually!" "It was decaffeinated," smiled Rebecca. "Anything else and I've been up until dawn," realising what she had just said, her smile faded. "God, if only I had been awake..." She turned her attention back to busily organising the business papers. "Anyway, plenty to do here. As you can see," she explained. "My husband is not an ordered man. Usually it drive's me wild, but for once I'm grateful for the work." She picked up a large bundle of neatly stacked spreadsheets. "Could you get the top draw please," she said to Maddy, nodding towards the filing cabinet in the corner. As she did so, the sheets on the top of the pile in her arms started to slip, and before either of the women could do anything about it, the top half of the bundle cascaded onto the floor. "Damn it," yelled Rebecca. Exasperated, she allowed the rest of the papers to follow the others and tears welled in her eyes once more. "I'm so bloody clumsy. They took me ages to organise!" Clutching her forehead, she stood looking helplessly at the mess on the floor. Maddy winced. "Come on, I'll give you a hand," she said kindly, and squatting down by the desk started to gather the fallen papers. A number of sheets had slid under the two inch gap between the bottom of the desk's draw units and the carpet, and reaching under, Maddy started to pull them out. The dust under the desk was thick and she pulled a face. "Ugh! I hope there are no spiders under here," she said. "I never have liked creatures with long spindly legs. Perhaps that's why I don't get on with supermodels." Rebecca smiled at the comment, and rubbed her eyes to clear them. "Right, I think that's it." Maddy ran her hand across the floor under the desk, checking for any stray sheets. As she did, her fingers brushed over something which felt like a small piece of paper loosely stuck to the carpet. "Oh, hang on," she said. "I think you've got a sweet wrapper under here." Retrieving the scrap, Maddy saw it was actually the torn half of a yellow post-stick note. Carpet fibres clung to the sticky strip which had held it to the floor, and turning the small scrap in her hands, Maddy noticed a hand-written line of capital letters squeezed across the opposite side. "Karen Talsoi," she read and glanced up at Rebecca. "That's an unusual name. Greek is it?" Rebecca looked up from collecting the fallen papers. When she saw the scrap of yellow paper in Maddy's hand her eyes widened in what looked like shock. "What?" she said quickly, her eyes never leaving the torn note. "The name on this," Maddy said, puzzled by her reaction. "Karen Talsoi..?" "Goodness, I thought I'd thrown that away weeks ago!" Rebecca abandoned the paper collecting and walked over to the desk. Visibly shaken she reached for the glass which sat on the work top and took a mouthful of water. Maddy followed her around the furniture to show her the paper and noticed the small waste paper bin on the opposite side of the desk from where she had found the note. "Must have missed the bin," she observed. "Are you alright Mrs Neltson?" "Fine. Absolutely fine," came response. "Does this name mean something to you?" Maddy persisted, showing her the paper. "Do you know Karen?" "I don't, Ms Magellan," Rebecca seemed unnecessarily adamant. "God, I'd completely forgotten about it until now, and when you picked it up everything just..." she stopped to composed herself. "A couple of weeks ago I was here, in the office, on my own. The phone rang - who ever it was must have had Simon's direct line. I answered and a woman asked for my husband. I explained he wasn't here and offered to take a message but all she said was 'Tell him Karen Talsoi called'. I thought she must have been a business contact, or something, and made a note of her name. Anyway I forgot about it, and when I eventually remembered I figured Simon wasn't in the mood for messages, what with the mask and everything. So I tore it up and threw it away." Nothing strange about that, thought Maddy, so why the histrionics? But Rebecca continued. "She was obviously someone he knew because she didn't leave a number. I never mentioned it to him because I assumed she'd call back and it eventually slipped my mind." She looked Maddy in the eye. "Ms Magellan. I've never heard of her before, and Simon's never mentioned her name...but she obviously knows him! You don't suppose she might have something to do with all of this?" Everything Maddy had learned so far about Neltson suddenly lurched into a completely different perspective with this one implication. He was after all a charming, good looking, wealthy man. "Mrs Neltson," she said slowly. "Are you saying you think your husband might be having an affair with this character?" "I don't know..." Both Rebecca's hands suddenly shot up to her mouth in alarm. "There's something else," she said. "You know how he's been suffering from insomnia recently?" Maddy nodded. "Well, a couple of times he's left the house in the middle of the night. He told me he was going to the museum to do some work. Maybe he wasn't going to the museum at all. Maybe he was meeting this woman!" "Look," Maddy tried to reassure her. "She was probably a disgruntled visitor ringing to complain." This did not allay Rebecca's frown, so Maddy tried again. "Or perhaps she's from the Greek museum...dealing with the handover?" "No. I know all the people involved in Athens." Came the reply. "There's no-one of that name there at all." "OK. Then ask him when you go home." Maddy said, absently sliding the scrap of paper into her pocket. "I'm sure there's a completely rational explanation behind it all." "Yes." Rebecca relaxed again. "Yes, there will be. You're right. Look I'm sorry about all this. I'm so jumpy at the moment. For a minute there I just suspected the worst. I even wondered if Flint might have a point about Simon." She looked resignedly at the scattering of paper still spread across the floor. "I'm just so sick of all this," she sighed. "Let's get this cleared up," said Maddy. "Then go home and talk to your husband about Ms Talsoi - and get that cleared up as well." A short time later a knock on the office door signified Jonathan's tour was at an end. The ribald security manager had kept it punctual, walking with Creek to the still empty room where the mask had been housed. After a few questions about the artefact Jonathan suggested they head back, and now they stood with Maddy and Rebecca in the main office. Maddy was eager to share her various discoveries with Jonathan, and looking at her watch said it was time they headed for home. "When do you think you'll have some answers for us," Rebecca asked Jonathan. "Well, I've still got to read those letters. Haven't had a chance yet," came the evasive reply. "But you've got some ideas." "All I know is that someone has twisted the reality of all of this, and in doing so has found an extremely effective way of sheltering the truth." "Well if you can't figure it out we'll give Paul Daniels a buzz," Webb chortled. Jonathan gave him a tight smile. "Right," Maddy jumped in. "Shall we be off, Jonathan?" She headed for the office door. "Well I hope you came by car," said Webb glancing out of the window. Clear skies had been replaced by grey clouds which were starting to spit rain. "Looks like it will get worse too. Guess which idiot forgot his umbrella today. I'll get soaked waiting for that bus." "You don't have a car then?" asked Maddy. "Not at the moment, there's no need really. I only live a couple of miles away." He patted his ample stomach. "I should walk it really - help shift this. But you know what it's like!" As they talked, they had moved out of the office and were now standing by Robert's desk. The PA clicked busily at his keyboard. "Oh, something I meant to ask you," Maddy turned to Rebecca and Webb. "Do either of you know a man in his forties, tallish, quite sturdy looking with cropped black hair and a liking for cake decorations." "Doesn't ring any bells," replied Rebecca. "Why?" "Nothing really. I've just seen him around a few times," she tried to play it down. "We saw him in a supermarket earlier today and he was acting strangely...when he noticed I'd seen him he took off and vanished without a trace. I just wondered if he sounded familiar at all." While she talked the clicking from the computer suddenly stopped. Jonathan was the only one to notice this, and glanced at Robert. The PA was staring at his computer screen, wearing the expression of a man who had just been winded. "Are you OK?" Jonathan asked. "What..?" Robert snapped out of it. "Oh yes, sorry, I just made a typo, that's all." He smiled at Jonathan before resuming his typing. Now the young man appeared troubled, thought Jonathan, stumbling repeatedly over words and having to frequently delete mistakes. Even after they had said their goodbyes to Webb and Rebecca and were leaving the office, the PA still seemed side-tracked. Jonathan looked back at him as he walked through the door, and for a second their eyes met before Robert quickly returned his attention to the VDU. Descending in the lift to the car park he mentioned it to Maddy. "I might be wrong, but I think that PA knows something about the guy who's following you." "How come?" she asked. "When you mentioned it before he seemed distracted." "Why didn't he say something about it then? He was probably just put-off by us talking." Maddy dismissed the idea. "Anyway, how did you get on with Webb?" Jonathan shrugged as the lift doors opened and they trudged over to the Volvo. "About as comprehensive a guide to Ancient Greece you could expect to get from an ex-policeman really," he replied. "With a few dire puns thrown in for good measure. Nothing new about the burglary though." "Well," said Maddy smugly. "I had a much more interesting time..." "Ms Magellan," a voice called from behind them. Turning, they saw Robert emerging from the stairwell next to the lift. Slightly out of breath, he had obviously wanted to catch them before they left, and now walked briskly over to meet them. Jonathan looked at Maddy with raised eyebrows and a 'told you so' expression. "Ms Magellan," Robert repeated, quietly this time and accompanied by an anxious glance over his shoulder. "Sorry to bother you, but I didn't want to say anything back there. It was what you said about the man in the supermarket..." "What? Do you know him?" Maddy asked excitedly. "No, I'm sorry it's nothing like that. It was what you said about him vanishing without a trace." He looked around again, and his voice dropped another notch in volume. "The day before the burglary, I overheard Mr Neltson talking on the phone to someone. He sounded agitated. I didn't catch most of what he said because I didn't mean to listen in. But what I did hear...well it was quite worrying." "What did he say?" Maddy frowned. Robert took a deep breath. "He said; 'I'll make sure it vanishes without a trace.'" Stunned silence allowed the revelation to sink in. "You're serious?" asked Jonathan finally. Robert gave a single nod of his head, his eyes flashing between Jonathan and Maddy as if seeking vindication for his confession. "Why didn't you say something earlier?" Maddy was confounded. "Listening in to your employer's private conversation is hardly something you want to broadcast," said Robert defensively. "Anyway, you know exactly what it implies. I didn't want to land Mr Neltson in trouble with the police, so I'd tried to forget about it. But when you said the exact same words just now...it was too much, I had to say something." "Bloody hell!" exclaimed Maddy, looking at Jonathan who blinked back long-faced. "Well, this really has been a day for coincidences," she said. None of them working in Neltson's favour, she added to herself. * Wine glugged pleasantly as Maddy drained the bottle into her glass. She sat at her kitchen table, chin resting comfortably in one hand, watching while Jonathan cleared away the remains of the meal she had prepared them. It had been late when they finally got home from the museum. Already bruised with rain clouds, the sky was starting to darken as afternoon drew to a close and Maddy had been glad to shut the day outside. "So then," she asked. "How was the Greek salad?" "Excellent, actually," Jonathan complemented, bending over the bin to scrape some superfluous lettuce from his plate. "Very appropriate too. Although I think I'll start to worry if you start quoting Socrates at me!" Maddy looked at him, head cocked to one side. "Shall we do it then?" she smiled. Jonathan froze mid-scrape, still bent over the bin. His hair flopped over his face, hiding what ever expression had settled there, and there was a long pause while he struggled for an apposite response. "Sorry?" he asked finally, without looking up. "Shall we do it? Go through the burglary, now we've had something to eat?" she replied innocently. "You've got to have some ideas now, surely." "Oh right!" The scraping continued with renewed vigour. "No that's fine. But only if you promise to look at that letter afterwards," he said nodding towards at the notice board. Tacked to the board was an unopened letter, marked with the insignia of the television company who were considering her manuscript. It had arrived second post and had been waiting for Maddy on the door mat when they got home. Despite her excitement, hunger had taken precedence and she had pinned the enveloped there while preparing dinner. More truthfully, however, potential disappointment meant she wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. "First thing's first," she said. "I want to put a line through this mask-thing before I go to bed." Jonathan left the washing up and returned to the table. "OK," he said. "Show me that piece of paper again." Maddy fished out the note she had discovered under the desk and passed it to Jonathan, who looked at it closely. "You're going to tell me it's not really a name, aren't you? You're going to say Karen Talsoi's an anagram, or a pneumatic or something." she said. "Well, it's nearly an anagram of 'liar on skates', but I can't see how that's relevant...oh, and it's 'mnemonic'." Jonathan corrected her. "No, it looks like an ordinary name to me. But you say she didn't leave a contact number..." he frowned. "Which suggests he must know who she is. Right?" "Perhaps," said Jonathan. "You know, there's something familiar about that name. I'm sure I've seen it before, but it seems...wrong somehow." He wafted the paper absently. "It's probably so obvious I just can't see it yet..." "Well it doesn't ring any bells with me," admitted Maddy. "Look. Let's assume the worst about Simon Neltson," she said. "Say that he's having an affair with this Karen...I mean, all those late night 'trips to the museum' Rebecca mentioned. Let's be honest, he was probably getting his leg-over! And let's say Karen helped him steal the mask. How did they do it?" She paused. "You said something earlier about there being another way of faking the tape. You were talking about changing the time display on the video, weren't you?" "Hypothetically," replied Jonathan. "OK then. Worst case scenario based on everything we know." He put the scrap of paper down and folded his arms on the table, leaning forward to talk to Maddy. "Logically the solution to this has to be something to do with the timing. We know the burglar alarm went on at midnight, which according to Rebecca is also the time they went to bed. After twelve o'clock, nobody could have moved around in the house without turning the alarm off or triggering it, but again we know that neither of those things happened. In all of this the burglar alarm is indubitably correct, no question about it. So what if Rebecca was wrong about the time they went to bed?" Maddy looked blankly at him. Jonathan tried to clarify it. "What if she was fooled into thinking she had gone to bed later than she actually had?" Maddy straightened in her chair as the suggestion took hold. "Seriously! He could do that?" "It would be extremely easy with a bit of preparation," he explained. "The morning of the theft, Rebecca's still in Leeds and Simon's alone at home. Before leaving for work, he changes all the clocks in the house so they're half an hour fast. Later that night, when the couple get home, Rebecca's already tired and doesn't notice the clocks are wrong. But there's more, because to make absolutely sure the plan works Simon has to ensure she goes to sleep at a certain time. Again, quite simple to achieve...he just makes her a coffee and spikes it with a sleeping tablet." "That's why she went to sleep so quickly, I told you I thought that was odd!" Maddy was pleased with her observation. "Exactly," continued Jonathan. "Anyway, they go to bed. She's getting more tired by the minute. Simon pretends to put the burglar alarm on and gets ready for bed himself, faffing around with the tablets to buy some time. Meanwhile Rebecca drifts off, and what's the last thing she sees before going to sleep? Probably a clock in the bedroom showing the time to be midnight, when it's really eleven thirty. "So now Simon's got half an hour to play with. He nips back down stairs, takes the case out of the safe and removes the mask. This is where his lover, Karen Talsoi, comes into it. He changes the time on the video recorder so it reads four in the morning and makes a quick phone call to Karen, who's waiting in the woods with a mobile phone. She walks up to the house, is let inside by Simon, and waits around for a while to make it look like the burglar's spending time picking locks and so forth. After she's left with the mask, Simon just has time to put everything back as it was, re-setting the clocks before switching the alarm on for real at midnight. Next morning you've got a tape of the burglary apparently taking place at four in the morning when in reality no-one could have possibly taken it then without triggering the alarm. A perfect, impossible crime." Speechless, Maddy could only sit and blink as Jonathan carried on. "As for the snippet of conversation Robert overheard, it was probably Neltson reassuring Talsoi; 'Don't worry, I'll make sure it vanishes without a trace...' that sort of thing. All she has to do is get dressed up - using a bit of careful padding to disguise the fact she's a woman - and do her bit for camera. That would makes the forensic evidence easy to explain too; while she was in the house she accidentally brushed against the door frame leaving a couple of threads on a splinter, which the police found the next day but which couldn't be matched with any of the clothes in the house." Maddy was dazed. "That's absolutely...that's brilliant, Jonathan," she said. "Of course, that has to be it! Simon is so obsessed with the mask, that's exactly the sort of thing he would do to hang on to it, roping in some tart he's picked up along the way to help!" "Actually," said Jonathan, "it's complete bollocks. A worst case scenario, remember? Ignoring Neltson's motives or any affairs he may or may not be having, it still doesn't fit the facts. Or take into account our low-profile friend Justus Vurt." "No...hang on a minute, let me get this straight. You're saying that not one iota of what you just said ever happened?" Maddy took a steadying swig of wine. "For crying out loud! Why not?" "It's down to the weather again, I'm afraid." "Good God, you're beginning to sound like bloody British Rail!" Maddy moaned. "What is it this time? Wrong type of leaves? Too much wind and rain?" "No, that's the whole point! There was no wind or rain...apart from some low lying mist it was a clear night. Isn't that what the Met office told you?" "Yes," Maddy concurred. "But what does that prove?" "Look." Jonathan said patiently. "You've got a clear night, and at that time of September a large full moon, which would be shining brightly, right? At four in the morning, the moon would have been low in the sky behind the house. Now, it wasn't that obvious admittedly, but I noticed on the video that the house casts a faint shadow down the drive - without that vision enhancement I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. If the recording had been made before midnight, the moon would be high in the sky. You just wouldn't get the shadow." He leaned back on his seat. "Anyway, aside from all that, if Rebecca was wearing a watch, she would probably realise the clocks in the house were wrong. It would be a hell of a risk for Neltson to take!" Maddy looked at Jonathan coolly. "Right. So we're back to square one. Again!" With a deep sigh she emptied her glass before standing, wandering over to the counter and picking up the bundle of Vurt's letters Jonathan had brought in from the car. He had been looking through them while she prepared dinner, and now she wafted them at him. "Are you saying Neltson didn't steal the mask and this guy did?" Jonathan took the letters and picked one he had been reading earlier. "It depends how seriously you take the threats," he said leafing through the pages to find an appropriate example. "Listen to this; 'You and your family are reprehensible in the worst sense of the word...you have bankrupt me with your fabrications in court...I will see you suffer...The mask is mine by right, it will never return to Greece.'" "Sounds pretty damning to me!" Maddy opened the fridge, removed the second bottle of wine and attacked it with a cork screw. "Yes, but the police obviously didn't think so. Anyway, is it any less dubious than Neltson telling someone he would make sure it vanished without a trace?" Jonathan frowned to himself. "Assuming he was talking about the mask..." "Right. First thing tomorrow we track down the Prof." Filling her glass again, Maddy sat down and looked at the post stick note on the table. "Then I say we find this Karen person. I bet she knows something. Actually, there's a phone directory by the telephone, Jonathan. We could see if she's listed in that." Taking the 'we' to mean him, Jonathan located the book, found the T section and ran a finger down the list of names. "Talton, Talridge, Tamas..." he shook his head. "No Talsoi. But she might not be local." He snapped the book shut. Maddy sighed in despair. "Oh, bugger it then," she said. "I'm fed up with the whole thing now." Picking up her wine and removing the letter from the notice board, she trudged through into the front room. "Come on," she said, "I'll read this, see if we're going to be made into a series!" Jonathan rose to follow her, taking one last look at the name on the yellow scrap of paper before leaving the kitchen, irritated at his inability to resolve exactly why it seemed so familiar. Water sprinkled from the night sky, saturating the empty street outside Maddy's house. Orange light from street lamps cast sickly reflections on the wet pavements and on the damp fringe of parked cars that lined the road. Dry inside their houses, the owners of the empty vehicles wound down after another day of doing whatever it was they did. Mostly their activities were hidden behind closed drapes, but a few houses offered illuminated snapshots of life inside to anyone who happened to pass. As she had not yet closed her front room curtains, Maddy's was one such house, and as she sat on the sofa reading her letter she was clearly visible from outside. Across the street from her house, and a short way down the road, sat one car that was not empty. Away from the pools of light created by the street lamps the battered Astra was parked in shadow, while inside the single occupant occasionally cleared portholes in the condensation which fogged the windscreen. On the empty passenger seat sat a brand new copy of 'Courage and Conviction', Maddy's grey face staring contemplatively from the photo on the back. Inside the real Maddy read her letter, unaware she was being watched. Suddenly there was movement inside the house as Jonathan appeared in the front room and walked across to the window. Hastily leaning across the passenger sear, the watcher shrank from sight as Creek peered out into the dark street, looking up and down the road before shutting Maddy's curtains. The watcher waited to ensure there was no danger of being seen, then sat up once more and patiently resumed the game. "I'd have thought you'd have shut those earlier," lectured Jonathan. "After today you really don't know who could be peering in at you!" He turned to face Maddy. "There are some seriously warped people out there," he said. "He could be some voyeuristic fetishist who gets kicks from watching people shopping, or..." "Will you shut up?" Maddy snapped. "It's bad enough the fact he's out there somewhere, without having to listen to your cod psychology." She returned her attention to the letter and sipped at her wine. Sitting, Jonathan watched her read and tried to gauge the nature of the letter's content from her expression. After what seemed like an eternity she eventually reached the end of the three page document and looked up impassively as if trying to decide how to react. "Good news?" Jonathan asked. "Not sure really," she answered, and Jonathan thought he detected a slight slur to her voice. "They're interested, but they want to, how do they put it...'refocus the project for their target audience.'" "Well you did say they would change the names." "Oh, they're certainly doing that," her response was dangerously calm. "You, for example, are going to be called Nathan Cove. Apparently it's 'thrusting and dynamic'." Jonathan felt his face beginning to twitch into a smile. "And listen to this," Maddy continued, "although they liked the concept of a magician's assistant, they don't think audiences will buy into the idea. Evidently they see you more as a...let me get this right," she flipped through the letter. "Ah yes. 'A police officer with an alcohol problem and a string of broken relationships, who lives life on the edge, solving crimes using unorthodox methods.'" Jonathan cleared his throat. "Not very true to life then?" he said and quickly covered his mouth with his hand. "No." Maddy noticed his stifled amusement and smoke started to seep metaphorically from her ears. "Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous. I thought the whole reason for them liking the thing was the fact it's based on real life. I didn't expect them to turn it into 'The Professionals'!" She drained her glass and slammed it down on the coffee table. Jonathan desperately tried to sympathise. "Talk about dumbing down," he said. "Any stupider, you'd have to water it regularly and turn it to the light. I mean, 'Nathan Cove!' Where did that come from? Sounds like a coastal inlet!" He paused to suppress his smile again before adding; "And what have they done to you?" Maddy narrowed her eyes. "Oh, I bet you're just loving this aren't you!" she glowered before reading from the letter again. "'We see the 'journalist' character being replaced by a range of Cove's female companions, each portrayed by a different glamorous actress each week.' So basically, Jonathan, what they're saying is that they want to replace me with a string of enormous breasted bimbos who jump into bed with you at every opportunity. What do you say to that?" She looked at him expectantly, and in that moment Jonathan realised that if he gave the incorrect answer things could get seriously unpleasant. He finally buried the desire the laugh, and mustering all the sincerity he could replied; "Proves just how far removed from reality television can get, doesn't it really." Despite his genuine attempt at empathy, he instantly realised this had been The Wrong Thing To Say - although he could not quite work out why. "Well thank you very much," Maddy seethed. "You really are an absolute and utter bastard, Jonathan. I bet you'd just love that, wouldn't you! To see yourself shacked up with Miss Implants 1999, rummaging around in a different chest every week!" "Hang on a minute!" Jonathan defended himself. "We're talking about a fictional character that bears absolutely no resemblance to me in any way whatsoever. If you don't like it, tell the television company - don't blame me for God's sake!" But wine, stress and disappointment had finally taken their toll on Maddy. "Save it for the glamorous actresses, Jonathan," she bawled. "You know, I really don't know why I bother with you sometimes. If you're not turning your nose up an my digestive system, you're criticising my eating habits, accusing me of being fat and insinuating that I flirt with married men. Well I'm sorry if I'm not perfect, but at least I'm all real." Jonathan watched incredulously as Maddy crumpled the letter into a tight ball, hurled it into the corner and stormed upstairs. "I suppose you want me to leave then?" he yelled after her. "With that weirdo creeping around out there? No I bloody well don't," came wafting down from upstairs, closely followed by a duvet and a pillow. "And don't wake me up before ten," she added before her bedroom door slammed. "Unbelievable!" Jonathan sat for a moment, baffled by the surreal direction events had suddenly taken. The preposterous misunderstanding had just trounced a pleasant evening, and for a moment he considered following her upstairs and pointing out how ridiculous she was being. But then he thought against it. After all over the last ten hours she had discovered there was probably a stalker on her tail, and had seen months of hard work reduced into a hackneyed series of set pieces. It was little wonder she was so tetchy. Deciding it would be best to leave her to rest, Jonathan returned to the kitchen to finish washing up before setting about unravelling the Chinese puzzle that was her sofa bed. * The windows in the street were now dark. Several hours had elapsed since the last light had been switched out, and during that time the drizzle had been replaced by a fine, wet mist which swirled slowly up the road. Dressed in a long rain coat, the watcher stood beneath the street lamp opposite Maddy's house. Bathed in the sallow glow and framed by coils of damp mist the figure waited, motionless apart from the billowing and flapping of the cloak-like coat as it was tugged by the wind. In the distance there was a clattering of bin lids and a cat yowled. The long shape moved as if it had been waiting for the distant metallic cue, habitually glancing left then right before stepping into the empty road. Heels clicked softly on the shiny tarmac as the watcher headed directly for Maddy's door. Jonathan awoke with a start. For one jumbled moment he looked around confused before eventually remembering he was in Maddy's front room. A quick glance to his left and the illuminated clock on the video recorder told him it was just after one in the morning. He had only gone to bed an hour or so ago, so he relaxed into the pillow again and closed his eyes. But slowly the notion drifted into his head that something must have woken him up. One of any number of things most probably, he thought. Maddy moving around upstairs, the house settling or a late night home-comer walking past outside. Yet for some reason none of these explanations convinced him. Already drifting off again, he half opened his eyes and glanced around the darkened room one last time. Thick curtains filtered light from the street into a feeble, jaundiced glow, casting deep shadows around the bulky furniture, and his eyes moved from shape to shape, drowsily searching for any indication of what might have woken him. He was about to submit and let sleep take hold once more, when he glimpsed something that abruptly jolted him awake. There was a man standing by the front door. Jonathan felt a wave of absolute dread hit him as his eyes fixed on the tall, spidery outline of the visitor. Frozen in shock he was unable to blink or breathe. His throat contracted, his heart banged inside his chest, and for ten warped seconds his head swam thickly with terror as he stared at the nightmare in the corner of the room. The man silently watched him back. Gradually adrenaline pumped the residual sleep from Jonathan's body. His eyes compensated for the darkness of the room, and common sense finally got its foot back in the door as the ethereal figure slowly transformed from a menacing spectre into nothing more than a group of patchy shadows. Waking suddenly in an unfamiliar room, his eyes had momentarily misinterpreted what he had seen, combining with an overactive imagination to create a cocktail of night fear. Realising he had stopped breathing, Jonathan finally drew air feeling a mixture of relief and stupidity as the horror of the moment passed. He reached up and flicked on the light, blinking as it bust the room back into life and confirmed the corner was empty. Sitting up on the sofa bed he reached over for the glass of water he had left within reach nearby. As he did so he glanced at the front door, just to reassure himself conclusively that it was locked and there was no-one else in the room. It was only then he finally noticed what had woken him up. The plain white envelope had not been on the door mat when Jonathan went to bed, and he realised it must have been the clattering of the letterbox as it was delivered which interrupted his sleep. Blockish red letters formed four words on the front of the envelope, which even at a distance of several metres screamed for Jonathan's attention. Sliding from under the duvet, he padded across the room in his boxer shorts and stooped to retrieve the letter from the mat. A frown crossed his brow as he looked at the envelope. The four words offered a devastatingly simple promise. Proof of Neltson's guilt. Six For the second morning in a row Jonathan stood at Maddy's bedroom door with a mug of tea in each hand. He carefully considered his route to the bed through the minefield of socks and jumpers that once again littered the floor, before stealthily walking over and setting the tea on the bedside table. "Wake up," he said with none of the previous morning's subtly. The duvet undulated in response and a long croaky groan seeped from under the covers. Maddy appeared, her hair wildly pointing in a number of directions, and she squinted at Jonathan through barely opened eyes. "I have got a blinder of a head-ache," she moaned. "You could have stopped me drinking all that wine last night." She managed to sit, but catching a glimpse of her alarm clock slid back under the sheets again. "It's half past eight in the bloody morning, Jonathan!" she protested. "I asked you not to wake me up before ten. What is it with you, are you some sort of sadist?" "We had a visitor last night," said Jonathan ignoring her objections. It had the appropriate affect. Maddy struggled to sit up again wearing a worried expression. "Don't worry, nothing happened," he reassured her. "They just delivered this." He produced the letter from his back pocket and handed it to her. She glanced at the compelling promise on the front of the envelope. "What's this," she frowned up at Jonathan. "See for yourself," he replied. Maddy removed a single sheet of paper from inside the envelope. Unfolding it she saw it was a photocopy of a newspaper cutting dated 1994. At the top of the article were three grainy photographs. In the centre was a portrait of the golden mask, framed either side by two human faces. Simon Neltson was to the left of the mask, his hair a little shorter and his skin a little tighter, but otherwise no different in appearance from the person they had visited the day before. Opposite him, however, was pictured a sunken shell of a man. Justus Vurt's appearance was so different from the image Maddy had seen on the book in Neltson's office, that for a moment she did not recognise him. Vurt's face was now gaunt and drawn and his hair wispy and receding, and she realised that the picture Neltson had shown her had been over ten years old. Surprised by the change in the older man, Maddy now turned her attention to the article itself, reading the report silently as Jonathan watched her. 'A long running dispute between two families seemed set to continue today after a court ruling failed to resolve an argument that has raged for more than a century. The debate centres around the ownership of an ancient Athenian burial mask unearthed over one hundred years ago. The artefact is currently held by Simon Neltson, who's great, great grandfather discovered the artefact in Greece in the 1870's. This discovery has been contested for decades by historian Professor Justus Vurt, who claims the relic was plundered from land owned by his family. Yet in the latest of a long line of legal actions, Vurt failed to prove these allegations. Finding in favour of Neltson, the court stated there was still "insufficient evidence" to suggest the artefact had been wrongfully obtained. 'Speaking shortly after the verdict was delivered, Simon Neltson said; "I am delighted by today's outcome which proves Professor Vurt's claims are unsubstantiated." When asked to comment on Vurt's intention to appeal against the decision, Neltson said; "Let him do it. I have absolutely no intention of surrendering the mask to him or anyone else, and will go to any length to ensure it remains in my family." Professor Vurt was unavailable for comment.' Someone had highlighted Neltson's last sentence in yellow, and written beneath the article in thin, inky letters; 'A man of his word.' Maddy blinked up at Jonathan. "Blimey," she said. "This is just gets weirder. Who would have put this through my door in the middle of the night?" "That's easy enough to answer," Jonathan pulled a second envelope from his pocket. It was one of Vurt's letters to Neltson, and he showed Maddy the address on the front. "Same handwriting. It must have been Vurt." This did not ease Maddy's confusion. "Justus Vurt!" she frowned. "How does he know where I live? For that matter how does he know we're working on the theft? I've haven't even spoken to the bloke yet." "Mmm," was Jonathan's only reply. Maddy ruffled her cowlicked hair with one hand and glanced at the article again. "So what do we think about Neltson now?" she asked. "He says here he will go to 'any lengths' to keep the mask. I'm really starting to think he must have done it!" "It's interesting, but not 'proof of Neltson's guilt'! The problem is that article is no more incriminating than Vurt's letters," said Jonathan. "Anyway, we all say things like that in the heat of the moment. Things we don't mean, for example. Ridiculous, over the top things..." He left the sentence hanging and looked at Maddy evocatively. She winced. "OK," she apologised, "I'm sorry about last night. I overreacted...I'd had too much wine, and that letter from the production company...it wound me up. I guess I just expected them to reject it or accept it. Never crossed my mind that they would change that much. Anyway, it'll be more trouble than it's worth to try and argue with them, so I've decided to tell them to bugger off. Can we just get back to this mask business and forget about it?" she asked hopefully. Jonathan nodded. "Good," she said and rubbed her eyelids. "First things first though, I really need a paracetamol." * In her office at police headquarters, Detective Inspector Caroline Flint silently contemplated the problem of the stolen mask. Motionless and rigid, she sat behind her desk, hands resting on the arms of her chair. Arranged neatly on the desktop were a series of papers and photographs, and she considered each in turn evaluating their significance in this peculiar crime. First there were copies of Vurt's letters to Neltson. Venomous certainly, but not conclusive proof that the man was responsible for the burglary. Even so she had questioned Vurt and kept him under surveillance. He had been acting unusually, according to the reports, but had neither led them to the mask, or done anything to implicate himself directly in the theft. In any case, the Professor himself had provided her with information about Neltson which she had found most interesting. Her eyes now moved to photocopied newspaper article detailing the verdict of the 1994 court action, complete with Neltson's pledge to go to 'any length' to retain the artefact. Vurt had submitted this to the police when questioned about the theft. But more importantly he had also revealed things about Neltson that Neltson himself had not mentioned on any the several occasions she had spoken with him. These revelations had given her cause to be extremely suspicious of the museum owner. And these suspicions were now thriving, thanks to the phone call she had just received from Robert Farrow. The PA had sounded nervous and perturbed, repeating over and over that he did not want to get his employer into trouble. Anxiously he explained there had been something he had not mentioned to the police previously, that he had spend a long time deliberating and fretting about it, but could no longer deny its relevance. He had then recounted the snippet of overhead conversation. Flint tapped the chair arm three times with the tip of her finger, mentally focusing on Simon Neltson. Here was a man, she thought, who was obsessed with the mask and had vowed never to part with it, who had suggested taking the mask back to Ravenscroft, who was the only one who could open the safe from which the mask was stolen, who had desperately tried to implicate Vurt, who had withheld important information from her and who had been overheard the night before the theft promising to make sure 'something' vanished without a trace. Still not proof beyond reasonable doubt, thought Flint. But certainly enough to suggest further questioning. In a more official setting. * Later that morning Maddy wondered absently around her front room, phone held to one ear and listening as Samantha Morris recalled her experience with the Neltsons. The photographer had been reluctant to talk of first, hesitant that Maddy was a hack sniffing for a story, but after intensive persuasion Maddy had convinced Samantha that her account could be crucial in uncovering the truth about the stolen burial mask. Unfortunately Maddy's hopes had proven wildly optimistic. "I wish I could be more help Ms Magellan," Morris was saying. "But as I told the police, Simon Neltson said or did nothing that I took as being strange or unusual. He seemed agitated to be losing the mask, but that's about it." "Right," said Maddy. "How about when you arrived at the house to take the pictures, did anything seem out of the ordinary then?" "Well it's difficult to say really," Samantha thought back to the morning in question. "There were so many police there, it wasn't exactly ordinary to begin with. Mr Neltson seemed shaken though, and Mrs Neltson had been crying. They were talking to DI Flint when I arrived, I gave them the photos of the mask and left. Thinking about it, I was glad to get away. That place seemed...creepy somehow." Maddy agreed, having experienced similar feelings at Ravenscroft herself. "So, have you got any ideas how it was done then?" asked Samantha. "Several theories are developing at the moment," replied Maddy ambiguously, stopping by the window and peering into the street. "I'd rather not say too much at this stage though, just in case I'm wrong." "I understand," said Samantha. "Look, please let me know how this turns out. Maybe there's more to Simon Neltson than he'd like you to know. All that politeness and charm...it was all a bit much I thought." "Exactly," Maddy squirmed. "You'd have to be pretty shallow to fall for it all really!" Suddenly something caught her attention outside. Someone wearing a duffel coat and a stormy expression was striding determinedly along the path towards the house. "Anyway," she said quickly. "Thanks again for your help. I'll be in touch as soon as we discover anything important." She managed to hang up seconds before her front door burst open and Jonathan strode into the room from the street outside. Red faced and dishevelled he held in his hand a small box which he brandished accusingly at Maddy. "Have you any idea how far away that chemist is?" he seethed, before chucking the paracetamol on a nearby chair. "'Just up the road', you said. You could have mentioned you meant the M1!" He took off his coat, dumped it on the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen to find a glass of water, complaining as he went. "An hour it took me to find the bloody place," he ranted. "If I'd have known how far it was I would have taken a month's rations and a pack of emergency flares." "Oh don't be so ridiculous Jonathan," Maddy retorted, glancing at the box of pills with a slight smile. "Anyway, wouldn't you know, my headache's gone now - but thanks all the same." She paused and listened for the response from the kitchen, which came in the form of icy silence. "You're always going on how about how important it is to be healthy," she continued gleefully. "The exercise probably did you the world of good." "Oh, I see," Jonathan thundered, from the next room. "This is your perverse idea of revenge is it? Send me off on a trek that would put Scott of the Antarctic to shame, just so you can have a jolly good chuckle?" "Not at all," protested Maddy. "I had a headache earlier, now it's gone. I really appreciate you going to all that effort though, Jonathan," she added with astonishing sincerity, inwardly placing a tick next to the statement which read; 'Get him back for Fatty Deposits comment'. "Anyway, I've been busy while you've been for your stroll," she continued, glancing back out of the window. "I've just spoken to that photographer, Samantha Morris." "And?" Jonathan snapped from the kitchen. "Oh, nothing we didn't know already," Maddy admitted. "She said Neltson seemed 'agitated' when she met him before the theft and 'shaken' afterwards. Hardly jaw dropping stuff." She glanced indifferently along the street in the direction Jonathan had just arrived from. It was empty apart from an old Astra parked facing away from the house a hundred yards down the road. Maddy saw, but did not really register the car. "I doubt she's got anything to do with all of this," she continued. "She seemed pretty spooked by it all to be honest." Turning her head she looked up the road in the opposite direction. A white painter's van sat virtually opposite her Volvo, and a dozen metres behind it a silver Mondeo was parked facing her house. Her expression darkened as she noticed someone sitting in the driver's seat of the silver car. Sunlight glinting on the windscreen obscured their features, and she squinted to get a better look. The person appeared to be reading a paper, and only the top of their head was visible above the open pages. Maddy's heart beat a little faster as she thought back to the incident at the supermarket. Meanwhile in the kitchen, Jonathan was halfway through his second glass of water and starting to recover from his impromptu hike across town. Still listening to Maddy he sat down and leafed through the paperwork scattered across the table top. The photocopy of the newspaper article and the scrap of paper from Neltson's office sat next to her note pad, on which she had been scribbling a 'things-to-do' list. "Did you manage to get in touch with Vurt?" he called. This was at the top of her list, underlined several times with a circle drawn around it. But in the next room Maddy's attention was fixed on the Mondeo parked down the road. "What? Oh, no I didn't. He wasn't at home," she replied distracted. "He's almost as difficult to track down as that chemist," muttered Jonathan, his feet throbbing. Picking up the newspaper report he contrasted Vurt's sharp, skeletal features with Neltson's handsome visage. Responsibility for the theft seemed to lurch between the two men, with Neltson looking increasingly more guilty as the evidence mounted. But Jonathan did not lose sight of Vurt's motivations. In the five years since the report was written, Vurt had been amassing evidence to launch an appeal against the court's decision. Having already lost considerable money on previous attempts to prove ownership this latest venture had resulted in further expenditure which, according to his letters to Neltson, had nearly bankrupt him. It was also clear from the letters that Vurt was convinced he would have won this time. Creek suspected Neltson shared this conviction, and that this had been the primary motivation for arranging the mask's return to Greece. Consequentially, Vurt was a very angry man having lost not only a considerable sum of money, but also the last chance to initiate the legal action he believed would secure him the mask. Neltson's obsession versus Vurt's revenge. The answer was there somewhere, he thought, letting eyes drift down the page to the spiky message written underneath the article. 'A man of his word.' A single line of writing. Written across the middle of the page. Across the middle of the page. Jonathan's eyes narrowed as the realisation hit him. Holding the report in his right hand he picked up the scrap of paper bearing Karen's name in his left and compared the two. "Of course," he exclaimed, leaving the table and returning to the front room where Maddy still stood staring intensely out of the window. "Look at this!" Pleased with himself he went over to show her the papers, but to his surprise she waved a hand at him to be quiet. "Shut up and come here," she said, her eyes never leaving the street outside. Troubled by her urgency, Jonathan let the papers fall from his hands and joined her at the window. "Someone's in that silver car," she indicated. "Was it there when you got back just now?" "Probably," he tried to think. "I was too worried about the soles of my feet to notice really." At that moment the sun fortuitously vanished behind a cloud, and the distracting shimmer disappeared from the car windscreen. The top of the occupant's head was suddenly clearly visible, peeking over the top of the newspaper. Cropped, dark hair. "Call the police!" Maddy ordered and bolted for the front door. "I can't believe the bastard's got the nerve to sit out there in broad daylight!" "Hang on a minute," Jonathan protested as she disappeared outside. "You're not seriously going to..." But she had already gone so he gave up, snatched up the telephone and jabbed the nine key three times. Exploding out of the front door, Maddy marched purposefully across the street towards the silver car where Hundreds-and-Thousands sat surreptitiously reading his newspaper. There was no doubt that it was him, and although she had not quite worked out what she was going to do, Maddy was determined to get some answers from the shady individual. The man had now noticed the Maddy surging towards him. He quickly shrank behind the broad-sheet and stared intensely at the text as the adrenaline fuelled woman reached the car. Without pausing she opened the door and stuck her head inside. "Hello there, sorry to bother you," she said sweetly. "I just wondered if you could tell me why you're following me?" "I'm not," said the Hundreds-and-Thousands man, not looking at her and hardly moving his mouth. "Go away." "Actually," Maddy corrected him forcefully, "I think you'll find you are." "I'm not. Piss off," again his mouth hardly moved. From down the road came the sound of a car engine trying to start, but Maddy did not really hear it. "Look," she said angrily. "I saw you in the restaurant the other day, in the supermarket yesterday and now you're sitting outside my house pretending to read a paper. Perhaps you can spot a theme emerging?" The man in the car rolled his eyes in despair, finally dropping both the ventriloquist act and the newspaper. "I tell you, I'm not following you. I'm following him. He's following you!" He gesticulated wildly at the battered Astra parked down the road, which was whirring and crunching as the engine failed to take. "What?" He was obviously trying to lie his way out of it, Maddy decided. "Look," she snapped. "Just cut the crap and admit it. The police are on there way so you may as well stop trying to worm your way out of it!" Letting out an exasperated cry, the man seized something from the dashboard and thrust it under Maddy's nose. Her face went through a number of expressions in a matter of seconds, before settling for a blend of amazement and disbelief. What he held in his hand was unmistakably an identification badge. "Detective Sergeant Martin Livingston," he bellowed. "I am the bloody police!" From the safety of Maddy's front room, Jonathan watched nervously as she confronted the stranger. The operator had put him on hold "for a moment" but seemed to have left to make a cup of tea, and the silence from the ear-piece seemed to be lasting forever. Meanwhile the man from the supermarket was pointing down the road and shouting something at Maddy. Looking in the direction he was indicating, Jonathan noticed the old Astra still trying to start. He tried to recall whether it had been there when he returned from the chemist, but again realised he had probably been too annoyed to notice. "Hurry up," he muttered impatiently at the silent telephone, and returned his attention to the altercation by the Mondeo. Blinking several times, he tried to take in what he was seeing. Maddy had now run around to the passenger door and was actually climbing into the car. The door slammed shut, the driver fired the engine and the car screeched down the road in the direction of the Astra, pulling up in front of the older car just as its engine started, blocking its escape. At that moment the operator returned to the phone. "Hello, Mr Creek?" she said, sounding confused. "It seems there is already an officer at the address you mentioned." "Right," Jonathan heard himself say absent-mindedly. "Thanks then." He put the phone down, and watched in astonishment as the drama down the road unfolded. As soon as the Mondeo reached a standstill, Maddy and Livingston simultaneously leapt out of the car and closed in on the Astra before it could attempt an alternative get-away. Maddy was the first to reach the diver's door, which she heaved open before leaning inside, switching off the engine and appropriating the keys. Behind the steering wheel sat a man in his late sixties. In the five years since he appeared alongside Neltson in the newspaper report, Justus Vurt had changed again in appearance. The remainder of his hair was now white and clung to the back of his head in long, straggly streaks, and an equally bedraggled beard now went someway to disguising his thin features. But the dark eyes which stared spitefully at Maddy from within the car were no less piercing than when she had first seen them on the book cover two days earlier. "Hello! Sorry to bother you," Maddy said for the second time in as many minutes. "Just thought you might like to pop inside and share a pot of tea with DS Livingston here! All this following people around and late-night-letter-delivering must be really thirsty work!" She noticed a copy of 'Courage and Conviction' on the passenger seat and smiled. "Oh look, a fan!" she said, pointing out the book to Livingston, who was now standing behind her. "Don't suppose you want me to sign that for you - do you Professor Vurt?" Ten minutes later Jonathan found himself making three mugs of tea, while Maddy and her two unexpected visitors sat in silence in the next room. Returning to the house with the police officer and the historian, she had breathlessly explained to Creek what had been going on before asking the two men whether they wanted a drink. Livingston had said yes, Vurt had said nothing. Naturally Jonathan had been assigned the job of making the tea. Stirring the third spoon of sugar into Livingston's mug, he went back through to the front room. Maddy was relaxing in an armchair, sternly regarding her two guests. Livingston balanced awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, wearing the expression of a naughty boy who has just been caught doing something sly. Vurt, however, had not sat down. Still wearing his long, dark coat despite the warmth of the room, he stared out of the window with his nose slightly raised and his hands held behind his back, and was the only one who did not turn and look at Jonathan as he entered the room. "Right," said Creek as he handed out the drinks. "Now I've provided the light refreshments, would someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?" "Yes," said Maddy. "I wouldn't mind some answers. I know you've been following me, Professor Vurt, without realising you were being followed yourself, but I still want to know why. And as for you," she set her sights on Livingston, "you have no idea of the trauma you caused me. I had you down as some sad, perverted prowler. Why didn't you just tell me what was going on?" Livingston shuffled. "Sorry Ms Magellan," he winced. "I didn't realise you'd clocked me! Orders were to keep an eye on Professor Vurt, and I only realised he was following you yesterday when he tailed you to Ravenscroft." "So there was someone in the trees!" Jonathan exclaimed. "Quite," confirmed Livingston. "Anyway, I knew the governor was going to call on Neltson that morning, so I radioed ahead and got her to ask about you. She told me not to alert you to the fact for the time being so we could see what Professor Vurt was up to. Then when I saw you in the supermarket he was only standing a few metres away from you. I thought I'd blown it when you noticed me, and decided to swiftly vacate the premises." Maddy nodded and looked up at the taciturn man by the window. "And of course I didn't recognise you because I was shown such an old photo." Not the first time that has happened either, she though with a cringe. "The thing I don't understand is why you were following me in the first place, professor? I mean, how did you even know I was working on this whole mask business?" After a pause Vurt responded. He did not turn to address his listeners, but remained at his post by the window, austere and detached. Clear, composed and clipped, his voice revealed little emotion as it cut the air. "Simple coincidence, Ms Magellan." he said unhelpfully. "Oh, and if you imagine for one moment, Detective Sergeant, that I did not comprehend your continual presence over the past few days, then you are stupider than you look. It takes more than a painter's van to hide behind. You were following me from the moment I was so kindly released after questioning," he turned his head towards Livingston. "Were you not?" Reddening, the police officer glanced awkwardly at Jonathan and Maddy. "Well..." he began. "Which is why," Vurt continued suddenly, "I delivered my correspondence to these good people in the middle of the night, when your flat feet were no doubt warmly tucked up in bed." "Now hang on..." protested the admonished DS. "If you start to get abusive..." Ignoring him Vurt continued. "I'm interested that you knew it was I that delivered the cutting, Ms Magellan. How was that exactly?" "Your handwriting, actually." It was Jonathan who answered. "It does tend to give the game away if you don't try and disguise it." Vurt nodded slowly. "Ah, so Neltson has shown you my letters...That is the only place you could have seen my hand writing after all." "Yes, well done," said Maddy with dry impatience. "You still haven't answered my question. How did you know I was working with the Neltsons?" Vurt sighed. "Simple coincidence," he repeated. "You may recall your first visit to Simon's Showcase...the museum, Detective, in case you were confused by my irony." Vurt and Livingston exchanged frosty glances before Vurt turned back to Maddy. "I had just been released by our friends in blue, and was feeling belligerent. I visited the museum intending to confront Neltson with the obvious fact that he was trying to set me up. But I happened to chance upon you instead, Ms Magellan." "When?" Maddy was puzzled. "I arrived just after you, and was directly behind you when you were standing in the foyer. I heard you tell those delightfully useless receptionists you were there 'about the mask.' I assumed you were a journalist or investigator of some description, and decided to keep an eye on you." Vurt's recollection was matter-of-fact, as if describing a day in the country. "Followed you to the restaurant. Ascertained who you were. Finding out about your writing was subsequently quite simple." He looked at Maddy with apparent sincerity. "I am regretful for the distress my activities obviously caused. But I make it my business to know exactly what Neltson is doing. If he was trying to blame me for the burglary, using you in someway to achieve this, then I wanted to be one step ahead." Maddy assumed this was an apology. "So you're saying you had absolutely nothing to do with the theft?" She leaned forward on her chair to gage Vurt's reaction. "And you're convinced that Neltson is trying to frame you. Because funnily enough, that's more or less what he says about you." Vurt paused before responding. "Mendacity prevails in the Neltson household," he said finally. "Charles Neltson was a fraud, a plunderer of other people's property, a liar and a charlatan. These are traits inherited by each and every subsequent member of his miserable bloody family...and is Simon dissimilar to his ancestors? Of course not. He is the epithet of all that is dishonest. He made it abundantly clear that he would never relinquish the mask and initiated this dialogue with the National Archaeological Museum to cultivate the circumstances under which it could be 'stolen'. We all know only he could have taken it, but what better way to shield his guilt that by blaming me." "You must admit it looks pretty iffy though," said Maddy. "The threats in those letters...conveniently disappearing to Scotland like that so you could provide yourself with a watertight alibi. Come on Justus," she smiled knowingly, "you could easily have hired someone to pinch it for you!" Vurt rounded on Maddy, lasering her with furious eyes. "With what?" he hissed. "My attempts to restore justice have left me virtually penniless...I could barely afford that excursion to Scotland for god's sake! Neltson knows that. The police know that. But to add insult to injury I am still wrongfully suspected of financing a serious crime!" "After threatening to commit that exact same crime for weeks!" Maddy scoffed. "You can see how people could get suspicious. And what better revenge on Neltson, for ruining you, than taking his mask?" "Oh Ms Magellan, you know so little!" Vurt spat contemptuously. "I wonder just how much of 'the truth' Mr Neltson has revealed about himself. As much, I wonder, as he revealed to the police?" He raised his thin eyebrows at Livingston. "I was certainly able to acquaint your people with a few surprising details about the honourable Neltson, was I not Detective?" The police officer opened his mouth, but did not have time to answer before Vurt continued. "Did you know, for example Ms Magellan, that Simon Neltson was trying to blackmail me?" Taken by surprise, Maddy flustered. "Well...not really...no, I didn't," she admitted. She looked at Livingston "Was he then?" "It appears so," the DS replied. Vurt's eyes narrowed and a satisfied smirk crossed his face. "You see, you know but a fraction of Neltson's capabilities." "OK. How exactly was he trying to blackmail you then?" Maddy persisted. Vurt left his perch at the window and swooped into the nearest chair, folding his arms on his lap and crossing one leg over the other. "He threatened to maul my reputation," he explained. "I may not enjoy financial success, but my name does count for something in certain circles. Academic acumen is all I have left, and Neltson threatened to take it away. Unless I halted my attempts to gain ownership of the mask, he promised to drag my name through the dirt." Silence in the room. "By doing...what?" Maddy prompted eventually. "Revealing details of my correspondence. Publicly. You've seen the letters. I'm ashamed of them, of course. Infantile nonsense written in the heat of the moment. But enough for my peers never to regard me seriously again, were they to read them." Vurt shrugged to himself. "To be truthful, I wonder now if the theft itself is nothing more than an attempt to discredit me by association." He waved the notion away with a flick of a hand. "Regardless," he continued, "after Neltson threatened me I decided to leave for a while. Put some distance between myself and the whole bloody affair. Hence, I went to Inverness. Naturally, when I heard about the mask I returned, expecting the police would want to talk to me." He sneered at Livingston again, as if the man was something he had just trodden in. "However, I never expected to be chief suspect!" Jonathan had been listening intently, and had a look about him which told Maddy he had heard something significant in Vurt's diatribe. "Neltson threatened you, you say," he said quietly. "When did all this happen exactly?" "We spoke the evening before the mask was stolen." "And I don't suppose you can remember exactly what he said to you, word for word?" "I cannot quote him verbatim, Mr Creek." Vurt replied. Maddy saw a look of disappointment flicker over her friend's face. "However," continued Vurt. "I have, for a long time, made it a custom to tape my telephone conversations with that gentleman." Livingston opened his mouth to protest but yet again was cut dead. "Yes, I am aware of the legal implications, Detective, which is why I did not mention it to your people before." "If I could hear that conversation," Jonathan asked hopefully. "It might answer a lot of questions..." Vurt shrugged. "I'll gladly supply you with a copy," he said. "So then," Maddy asked Vurt. "You seem convinced Simon Neltson was behind this...any idea how he did it? If he did it, of course." "And do your job for you, Ms Magellan?" Vurt raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I neither know nor care how the mask was stolen. It was stolen. I am blameless, but a suspect nonetheless. That is my sole concern." "So you'll still be keeping an eye on us then?" Maddy asked acerbically. "No. Not anymore," the waspish professor informed Maddy and Jonathan. "I suppose that you are reasonably objective people and will do your job fairly. When you find the answer to this conundrum, I shall not be part of it - irrespective of what Neltson might say." He rose from the chair, black coat cascading around his feet. "Detective Sergeant," he smiled at Livingston. "I am about to leave. If you wish to pursue me, I suggest you do the same." Then he was gone, flitting out of the front door and away down the street. Livingston, Maddy and Jonathan sat blinking at each other. "Eccentric gentleman," observed Livingston after a while. "Well, I guess I'd better get back to HQ, find out what to do next!" He stood and smoothed his clothes. "Sorry about all of this," he flapped his arms apologetically. "Thanks for the tea and everything." Then with an awkward smile he left the room. "Blimey!" Maddy fell back into her chair. "Well at least I know I haven't got a stalker. Talk about absurd...being followed by someone who was being followed himself." She let a long breath hiss through her teeth. "But he's certainly a colourful character, that Vurt bloke. Reckon he had anything to do with it?" "I doubt it." Jonathan was adamant. "Although I'll be interested to hear that conversation he had with Neltson..." "Oh yes! Our friend Simon. Not looking good for him really, is it? Blackmail, on top of everything else!. He's a pretty shifty character really, what with Karen Talsoi lurking in the woodwork...That reminds me, weren't you going to tell me something about her before?" Collecting his thoughts, Jonathan retrieved the two pieces of paper from where he had dropped them earlier and passed then to Maddy. "It was nothing much," he said, "just something about the way it was written." "I don't see," said Maddy, after staring at the torn note blankly. "Neither did I, for a while. But when I saw Vurt's note something clicked." He pointed at the spiky handwriting. "Look at the way 'A man of his word' is written...across the middle of the page. Not to the left, or the right, but across the middle." "OK," Maddy said. "But so what?" "Well, then you've got Rebecca's note. According to her, all she knew about Karen was her name, which she wrote on a small, rectangular piece of paper that was later torn in half." "Yes..." "Well, doesn't it strike you as odd that she wrote it so far over to the left of the paper that when she tore it in half the whole name still remained? If that was the only thing she wrote, why didn't she write it in the middle, like Vurt did with his note?" Maddy put the paper down and frowned at him. "Maybe she made a note of when Karen called, and that was on the half that got thrown away...Look, does it actually matter, Jonathan? I'm personally not too worried about how she wrote it. All I know is that Simon must know about this person and has kept it quiet." She stood and stretched her arms. "I think there are a few questions we need to ask Mr Neltson, don't you?" "Oh no," Jonathan shook his head. "I've had quite enough excitement for one day, thank you. I got bugger all sleep last night, then you send me halfway across town, then we have to listen to one of the weirdest men I've ever met spouting hyperbole for god knows how long. All this and the keystone cops to contend with!" He grabbed his coat and paced across the room towards the door. "You go and talk to Neltson," he said emphatically. "I'm going home for a soak in the bath." * "How do we know he's going to be there anyway?" Jonathan asked as the Volvo crunched up the drive to Ravenscroft. "Because I phoned his PA who said he said would be," replied Maddy confidently. "Actually, Robert told me that he's informed the police about what he overheard. Don't mention it to Neltson though. Robert wants it kept quiet for now, I think he hopes it will all blow over." "He's not the only one," Jonathan muttered. "Oh dear. Who's tired and grumpy then?" Maddy cooed. "Look, you don't have to say anything. I'll do the talking. I'm sure once he realises we know about Karen and the blackmailing he'll cave in and confess everything. Then you can go home and have your bath." I wouldn't be so sure about that, thought Jonathan. No enthusiastic greeting awaited their second visit to Ravenscroft, and the silence of the place chilled them as they waited by the door for a response to their knock. It was a good few moments before Rebecca appeared, but she smiled when she saw the couple huddled in the porch. "Maddy. Jonathan. Please, come in," she seemed almost relieved by their presence. "It's good to see you again. Robert called and said you were on your way." Maddy moved her mouth close to the other woman's ear. "Is he in?" she asked quietly. There was a single nod in response. "Did you ask him about...you know?" Rebecca's eyes fell. "I couldn't...I didn't know how to." She seemed embarrassed. "I just can't believe he would be having an affair...not Simon." "Don't worry," Maddy placed a reassuring hand on Rebecca's arm. "I'm sure everything will fall into place soon." Then she added with a whisper; "Leave us alone with him for a while, I think we can find some answers!" "I'm sure you will," Rebecca smiled lugubriously. "Anyway, he's in the study," she told her guests, guiding them over to the closed door. She gave a perfunctory knock before opening the door. "Simon," she said brightly, "Ms Magellan and Mr Creek are here." Neltson rose from his desk, abandoning the writing he had been concentrating on. "Excellent," he beamed at the two visitors. "Please come in, I've just been attempting to re-draft that article. But it can wait." "Article?" Maddy asked. "Yes, the first version met with a little accident, Rebecca sent it to a watery grave. Actually, it was the afternoon before this wretched business with the mask." "That wasn't a good day," sighed Rebecca. "Look, I'll go and put the kettle on, or something..." And with a vague wave of her hand she left the study. Simon seemed surprised by her departure. "Sorry about that," he said. "She's been really jumpy all day. I tend to forget she's been through a lot as well." Clapping his hands together he looked expectantly at Maddy and Jonathan. "Anyhow," he enthused. "I expect you're here with some news for me!" "Sort of," said Maddy. "It's been an interesting twenty four hours actually. We've just met your friend, Justus Vurt." She selected her next words carefully. "He had a lot to tell us." "You managed to track him down," Neltson was impressed. "Not quite. He tracked us down," she explained. "And he gave is this." Reaching into her bag Maddy produced the photocopied newspaper report and handed it to Neltson. Regarding it with a frown, his expression darkened. "The man's an idiot," he said. "Any quote can be taken out of context in retrospect." Jonathan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, that's not all Mr Neltson." Maddy was serious. "I'm afraid he also told us you were trying to blackmail him. Plus, we've also found out about Karen Talsoi." She hoped the revelations would trigger either an emotional admission or a damning denial from Neltson, but instead his frown lifted and he seemed almost amused. "Blackmail!" he exclaimed. "Goodness no. I've never threatened him with blackmail." He shook his head. "As for...what did you say her name was? Karen Talsoi? I'm afraid you have me at an advantage. I've never heard of the woman." Maddy glanced at Jonathan, whose mouth remained tightly shut. In fact he seemed to be looking at something on the opposite wall, and not even paying attention to the conversation. "OK then," she pushed. "What would you say if Vurt told us you were going to wreck his academic reputation if he ever approached you again about the mask?" An involuntary burst of laughter left Neltson's mouth. "That's his interpretation of it, and I'm sure that's what he's been telling everyone. All I actually did was threaten to turn his own stupidity against him. As you know, he'd been writing me unpleasant letters, phoning me, threatening me...so I went digging for a bit of legal advice. It seems that as well as taking out an injunction against Vurt, I could have pressed for charges under the Malicious Communications Act. I don't know if you are familiar with the offence of 'sending letters with intent to cause distress or anxiety', Ms Magellan. Vurt wouldn't have had a leg to stand on. "I told him this, and said it would do his professional reputation no good whatsoever. I might have got a bit carried away, but I never tried to blackmail him! Of course, he went ballistic. Promised to get his revenge no matter what...the usual hollow threats. But I think he realised I finally had him!" Neltson sighed. "You know, that man's been pestering my family for as long as I can remember. Sending the mask to Greece wasn't enough to silence his bleating, so I merely played him at his own game. In a way I felt ashamed...I didn't want Rebecca, or anyone else to know I'd stooped to his level, but at the same time I was convinced my arrangements would buy me some peace. Little did I know!" "Vurt said he recorded the conversation..." Maddy said, hoping for a reaction or recantation. Yet Neltson merely shrugged it off. "I'm not surprised. As I told you the other day, the man oozes contempt. Anything to catch me out or even an advantage, you can guarantee he's tried it." He smiled at Maddy. "Now, about this Karen. Who is she, did you say?" Trapped by her own cleverness Maddy fumbled for a response. "I...I just wondered if the name was familiar to you at all? For a moment Neltson thought, but then shook his head. "I can't say it is," he said. "Talsoi...possibly a Greek name?" "That's what I thought," agreed Maddy. "But it's not one I recognise. Where did you hear it?" Neltson seemed genuinely curious. Maddy was now desperate now for an exit from this conversation. "Oh, you know. Just came across it really," she spluttered before smiling her most charming smile and wandering over to the desk to look at the paper Neltson had been writing. "This article," she asked airily. "What's it about then?" Yet Neltson had noticed her deliberate diversion. With a frown he gave a fleeting overview of his work. "It merely attempts to consider how contemporary themes can be applied to ancient text," he said dismissively. "Ms Magellan, don't think me rude, but did you actually come here with a purpose today? I assumed you had finally found an answer to this infernal business." Suddenly Jonathan spoke, and Maddy inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. "That photograph," he said pointing to a picture hanging on the opposite wall. "Could I have a closer look?" Maddy saw it was a smaller copy of the photograph in Neltson's office, showing Charles Neltson and the mask at Ravenscroft. "Certainly." Simon seemed momentarily unbalanced by this incongruous request, but unhooked the photograph from the wall and passed it to Jonathan. "In many ways this is responsible for my predicament now, Mr Creek. If only I hadn't tried to replicate it...well life is full of 'ifs' isn't it!" "Quite," replied Jonathan staring at the photograph. Charles Neltson and his wife stood on the drive in front of the house. Proudly, the man held the mask in front his chest, and it revealed something Jonathan had not previously realised. "How big would you say the mask is exactly, Mr Neltson?" he asked. "A bit bigger than someone's head...about the size of a large dinner plate!" "And flat." Jonathan observed. "More or less. It was in the ground nearly three thousand years, the rocks would have shifted over that time and..." "Crushed it," finished Creek. "Interesting." "What is it, Jonathan?" Maddy was perplexed by this new line of questioning. "It's just something I'd never really considered before...the actual size of the mask." Jonathan handed the picture back to Neltson. "I mean, I saw those photographs Samantha Morris took, but they don't really give a sense of scale. I suppose I thought it would be bigger than that..." "Forgive me, Mr Creek," Neltson looked no less confused than Maddy. "What relevance is the size of the artefact? It could have been as big as a pin head, but the burglar would still have broken in, somehow, and walked away with it." Jonathan stared into nothingness. "Maybe they did more than just walk away with it..." There was a tentative shuffling from the study door and Rebecca reappeared. She looked at Maddy, her eyes wide with misgivings. "Everything alright?" she asked, the general question obviously meant specifically for the other woman. "Fine," Maddy smiled before discretely mouthing 'It's OK' at Rebecca. "Jonathan was just having a problem with size that's all!" she added aloud. "Rebecca." Simon addressed his wife. "You were getting some drinks? Then you were going to tell me about this mystery woman, Ms Magellan!" "Actually we're OK for drinks," said Maddy quickly. "Can't stop really. It's just that we were in the area and thought we'd just pop in. Let you know we've spoken to Vurt." Grabbing Jonathan by the arm she dragged him towards the door. "Thank you, Mr Neltson, for setting us straight about him. I'm personally very glad we didn't take a word of what he said seriously. As for the other, just forget about it...crossed wires probably!" Simon and Rebecca followed as she retreated to the front door. "I'll give you a bell later on, when we've chased up a few more leads." She opened the door and led Jonathan out. "Bye," she called and pushed it shut behind her. There was a moment of silence in the hall before the couple eventually looked at each other. "Extraordinary woman!" said Simon. The Volvo wound its way through the countryside, putting as many miles between it and Ravenscroft as possible. Inside Maddy was chastising herself. "Me and my bright ideas," she squirmed. "If I ever suggest something like that again, Jonathan, I expect you to stop me." "You are joking," Jonathan spluttered. "I was all for going home an relaxing. Anyway, it would take a team of top UN negotiators the best part of a month to get you to change your mind once you're set on something." Calming down he gazed out of the window. "Besides, I found it quite productive." "Oh yes, all that guff about 'size' and 'doing more than walking away with it'. I thought I was embarrassing in there. At least I made sense!" Maddy glanced sideways at Jonathan, and saw him fix her with a disdainful look. "OK then, what did you find?" She asked patiently. "Nothing directly," Jonathan replied. "I just realised there was a different interpretation of what's happening on that security tape. I don't know...It's all still pretty shaky, but at least it's starting to make some sense." Maddy waited hopefully for the explanation, but instead was met with silence. "Go on then," she yelped. "What's your theory?" "First I want to hear that 'blackmail' conversation. Hopefully it will help put some of this in context. Either Vurt is exaggerating what was said, or Neltson's a first class liar..." "Tell me about it," scoffed Maddy. "When I mentioned Karen's name, he didn't flinch. I'm sorry, but if someone phones your office and asks to speak to you, leaves their name but no number, you've got to know who that person is. Yet he carried on as if butter wouldn't melt! If you ask me he's a bloody good actor." "That's absolutely right," mused Jonathan. "Only he isn't..." The warbling trill of a mobile phone suddenly filled the car. Reaching into his coat, Jonathan produced the offending item and held it to his ear. "Jonathan Creek," he announced before listening to the caller for a minute. "Look," he said eventually. "Tell him it will be fine if he inverts the secondary mirror unit, like I told him. Then the shark won't be reflected at all." He frowned as the babbling voice twittered from the ear-piece. "What do you mean 'It would be easier if we had less lively fish'?" Jonathan snapped. "I hardly think it's going to have the same impact! I can just see the reviews; 'The audience sat in wrapped attention, awe-stuck and amazed as the hapless assistant was lowered into a tank of oysters!' Listen, just tell him I'll be there later to sort it out!" He finished the call and rolled his eyes. "That was the theatre," he told Maddy. "Adam's having difficulty getting his head around 'Neptune's Revenge.' I'm not surprised really, he's only just mastered walking upright." "Want me to drop you off?" Maddy asked. "It's on my way." Jonathan nodded. "If you don't mind. Hopefully I can persuade him that I'm right without having to resort to violence. I'll go over this whole mask thing again when I get home." Looking out of the window he saw clouds gathering once more in the sky above. Suddenly his bath seemed a long way away. "If I ever do get home that is," he added with a sigh. Seven "What the bloody hell..?" Angry and confused Simon Neltson stormed out of his study and into the hall. It was now several hours since Jonathan and Maddy departed and he had spent the remainder of the afternoon attempting to re-write the ill-fated article for his journal. He had just started to make progress when yet again he had been disturbed, this time by a commotion at the front door. Rebecca had also heard the racket, and appeared from the living room looking confused. "What's going on?" she asked, and Simon shrugged. The hammering started again. Whoever was responsible for the clamour dealt the front door a sustained and brutal battering which lasted for a good five seconds. Both pairs of eyes fixed on the door as it rattled under the onslaught. Clearly this was no casual visitor. "Alright, I'm coming!" Simon yelled, fumbling with his front door keys. "Who is it anyway?" he called, waiting for an answer before turning the key in the latch. "Detective Inspector Flint," came the muffled reply. The revelation halved the time it took Neltson to unlock the door. Furious, he wrenched it open ready to hurl abuse at the inconsiderate DI. But to his surprise he found himself confronted not only by Flint, but by DS Livingston and three uniformed officers. Blue light pulsed from two patrol cars parked on the drive behind them, illuminating the rain that pelted from the black sky and the water that clung to the officers' waterproof coats. "Inclement evening, Mr Neltson," said Flint. "You won't mind if we come in?" Before he could answer the dripping posse marched into the hall. He gaped at each of the five in turn before finally turning to Flint, freeing the words that had stuck in his throat. "What the hell are you playing at?" he yelled. "It's eight o'clock in the evening, for mercy's sake. Am I not entitled to a moments respite from you people?" A wall of emotionless faces started back at him, so he rounded on Flint again. "Your conduct over the last week, Detective, has ranged from incompetent to intrusive," he raged. "Which is this visit going to involve, one or both?" Flint said nothing but stood, head cocked slightly to one side, watching Neltson's display with aloof curiosity. When he had finished shouting she gave one, slow nod, as if his anger had confirmed some unasked question. Then, reaching into her coat pocket she produced a folded piece of paper which she held out to Simon, her expression betraying nothing of its content. Puzzled, he took it from her, unfolding it with a scowl which gradually became shock as he realised exactly what he was holding. "As you can see, this is a warrant to search the premises, Mr Neltson." Flint explained, a quick nod of her head dispatching the three uniformed officers to do just that. Two disappeared up the stairs, while the third headed for one of the living rooms. The DI did not even watch them go, but kept her eyes firmly on Neltson. "While they do their job, I wonder if you would be so good to open your safe for us. I'm interested to see what's inside." Rebecca moved over to stand by her husband, placing an hand on his arm. "What's going on, Detective Inspector? What are these people looking for exactly." "All in good time." Flint uttered each word with slow, deliberate patience her eyes never leaving Simon. "But as part of my examination of this premises I need to look in the safe, Mr Neltson, and you are the only one who can open it. Would you be so kind?" Neltson stared back furiously for a moment, then suddenly spun on his heel and strode into the study, hotly pursued by Flint, Livingston and Rebecca. Reaching the safe he wound the combination back and forth until the heavy lock clicked. He went to pull the door open, but paused and looked back at Flint one eyebrow slightly raised. "What do you expect to find in here?" he asked. There was a confident strength behind his question that the DI had not expected. "Just open the door," she snapped. And so he pulled the safe door open, bowing his head with sarcastic revere before standing back to reveal what was contain therein. Flint peered into the open safe, her eyes narrowing to slits. It was empty. Simon allowed the fact to sink in before raising his head to look at the DI. "You expected to find the mask here. Didn't you?" Flint and Livingston glanced at each other. "Well?" Neltson probed. "Please tell me if I'm wrong." What happened next he was definitely not expecting. "Enough games, Mr Neltson." Flint said coldly. "I am placing you under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." For a long while the only sounds in the study were the thumps and bangs that drifted down from the rooms above as the police officers searched their way though draws and cupboards. Stunned by what she had just heard, Rebecca raised a hand to her trembling mouth and stared at her husband, eyes wetting in dismay. When she tried to speak, her words came out as nothing more than a strangled choke. Flint also watched Neltson, waiting patiently for a response to the caution. Colour had drained from his face and his eyes fluttered momentarily as if someone had given him an electric shock. Slowly he closed the safe door before walking over to the desk and lowering himself into his chair. Swallowing hard he stared at the paperwork in front of him and rested his hands on the desk. "Under what charge?" he asked through parchment dry lips. "Under suspicion of deception, theft, intention to defraud, blackmail..." the list of offences dripped from Flint's tongue. "Blackmail," Simon shook his head incredulously. "For God's sake, I've already had this discussion today. If that's what Vurt told you, he's lying. The only thing I threatened him with was court action. Check with my solicitor. Check with Madeline Magellan...for heaven's sake, she says the man even recorded the conversation! Listen to it for yourself!" "I think we should continue this discussion at the station," said Flint. Emotion returned as Simon's initial shock passed. "You actually think I stole my own property?" he asked in grim disbelief. "Are you going to tell me how I did it?" "No. You are," came the terse reply. "Now let's go!" As if on cue Livingston moved towards the desk, but Neltson stood and raised his hands in submission. "Rebecca, call the solicitor," he said through gritted teeth, and she dashed for the telephone. "You have no proof, Flint!" he said, and the DI noticed that the calm confidence had returned to his voice. "There is no way in heaven or on earth I could, or would, have stolen that mask!" "We will see," Flint replied quietly, listening to the bumps from upstairs. "We will see." Mustering as much dignity as possible, Neltson left the study. As he was escorted through the hall he exchanged glances with Rebecca who was frantically attempting to discover the whereabouts of their solicitor's phone number. She said something to him as he passed, but he did not hear her. He felt severed from reality, light-headed, bathed by an almost serene detachment as if this was not happening to him, but to someone else a long way away. Walking next to him, Flint wore an expression of triumph. His journey to the waiting police car seemed to last forever. * "News just in. Police have this evening arrested museum owner, Simon Neltson, at his country home near Upper Heyforth. Neltson was in the news last week when a unique mask was stolen from his house under unusual circumstances. At this stage it is unclear whether Neltson's arrest is related to the burglary, but..." Justus Vurt switched off the radio, silencing the reporter mid-sentence. Alone in his darkened flat there was no-one to see him rise from the chair, drift over to the window and gaze out over the city. There was no-one to see him open the window, and breath deeply as the rush of cold, wet air refreshed the stale atmosphere within the room. There was no-one to see him move across to the desk and remove a copy of the newspaper article he had sent Maddy from a top draw. And there was no-one to see the thin smile that crept across his lips as he looked at the face of Simon Neltson, trapped in print on the page before him. * Around the time Flint was hammering on Neltson's front door, Jonathan Creek was trudging up the lane to Ripley Mill. Dusk had fallen and the last stretch of his walk home had been in near darkness. Ahead, the sturdy 'X' of the mill's sails were silhouetted against a broiling sky which bombarded Jonathan mercilessly with heavy spots of rain. Wind sent wet leaves skittering around his ankles as he hurried for home, keen to get inside before the heavens decided to open further and administer him with a comprehensive soaking. One hand was thrust deep in the pocket of his duffel coat, while the other clenched a plastic shopping bag containing his dinner. Food was one of three pressing priorities, closely followed by a hot bath and a change of clothes. Since arriving at Maddy's yesterday he had enjoyed neither of the latter, and a morning spent trekking across London followed by an afternoon wrangling with Adam in a hot theatre had left him feeling shabby and miserable. Once inside, aching feet screamed in relief as he kicked his pumps into a corner where he left them to smoulder. Shedding his damp coat and brushing the water from his hair, Jonathan padded across the kitchen and tipped the contents of his carrier bag onto the table. His stomach rumbled at the slight of the spaghetti, onions and tomatoes. Plucking the receipt from among the food he threw it into the bin, and turned to light the oven. A sudden flash of insight hit him as the oven started to warm. Frowning to himself, he remembered something Maddy had recounted to him about the night of the theft, a small detail that he had only just realised made no sense. Resolving to work on the thought the following morning when he was rested and relaxed, Jonathan returned to the groceries on the table and started to prepare his meal. Barely ten minutes later the mobile phone interrupted his cooking. Cursing he switched off the hob and went to find the phone in his discarded duffel coat. Locating it he lifted it to his ear. "Jonathan Creek," he said flatly. "Jonathan, it's me." Maddy sounded excited about something. "I'm glad I caught you. Are you at home?" "Just," replied Jonathan. "Had 'one-of-those' afternoons with his Lord and Master and had to get a late train back. I'm just cooking dinner." "Right," she said briskly, obviously not paying attention. "Look, I just thought I'd let you know that I had another visit from Vurt this afternoon. He dropped off that tape you asked for." Jonathan perked up a bit. "Really," he exclaimed. "What's the story?" "Well, I've listened to it, and I think it's fair to say Vurt exaggerated things a bit. Neltson mentions his legal advice and Vurt fights back, just like Simon said. He gets a bit narked with Vurt at times, but I wouldn't call it blackmail...but that's not the important bit!" "Oh?" "Just listen to this!" Maddy said. Fumbling and crackling replaced her voice for a second, followed by the sound of a cassette player being switched on. Jonathan listened carefully. Neltson's voice was only slightly obscured by the hiss of the tape, and although he was speaking in hushed, angry tones, each word was as clear as the next. Creek realised he was listening to the latter part of the conversation, and that Maddy had started the playback in the middle of a exceptionally acidic rant from the museum owner. "...so if you ever bother me or my family again, I'll not only have you charged, I'll have an injunction slapped on you." Neltson hissed. "I'll make sure everybody knows about your pathetic threats, don't you doubt it. Any professional credibility you think you've got left, I'll make sure it vanishes without a trace." Jonathan's eyes widened as Neltson's voice continued. "No one will take you or your pitiable views seriously again. One more comment, one more trumped up law suit...that's all it would take. In fact, if I ever hear from you again I'll ruin you." Switching the tape off, Maddy returned to the phone. "What do you make of that then?" she asked proudly. "What was that Neltson said...'Any quote can be taken out of context in retrospect.' I think we can safely say he was right!" Jonathan replied. "Robert was correct about what he overheard, he just misinterpreted it after the mask was stolen. And Neltson wasn't really blackmailing Vurt at all, just being over zealous with his insults." "Who'd have thought Vurt would have provided evidence which actually helps Neltson. I can't wait to tell him." Maddy said. "Talk about an eye-opener!" "I know," Jonathan agreed. "But Robert's already told the police, hasn't he?" "He has. My money's on them jumping to the wrong conclusion too. First thing tomorrow I'll get in touch with that Livingston bloke and let him know what we've found." There was a pause. "Mind you, the tape hardly proves that Simon didn't take the mask," she added. "Not directly," Jonathan agreed. "Although at least we know he's been telling us the truth about some things, which is a start." "So maybe Vurt was trying to land him in it after all?" "Mmm. He clearly thought Neltson had stolen the mask...but then again, Simon was convinced it was Vurt!" "Well I suppose we've still got to find out about Karen," said Maddy. "I've been thinking about that, actually. Maybe we were wrong about her and Neltson. Perhaps she was working with Vurt! Only she had a change of heart...and when she phoned she was trying to warn Neltson about what was going to happen!" "Then why not tell Rebecca?" Jonathan dismissed the idea. "Or phone back later for that matter?" A tired sigh escaped his lips. "Look, let's sleep on it. Give me a bell tomorrow if you find anything." "Sure. You know, I think the Prof.'s been cleverer than we first thought," Maddy pressed on enthusiastically. "I'm sure he's got more to do with this than we realised." "Maybe," said Jonathan, head spinning, eyelids heavy and stomach rumbling. "Can we talk about it again tomorrow morning? I'm hungry and absolutely knackered." "OK," Maddy finally conceded. "Look, Jonathan. I really appreciate you being there when I thought...well, you know." There was an uncomfortable pause before she added; "Sorry you've had a long day! You could always have stayed at mine again this evening." "I don't think so. That sofa bed's bloody uncomfortable. All I want is a good night's sleep." "Right!" The reply was curt. "Of course you do! I'll speak to you tomorrow then." The phone went instantly dead, leaving Jonathan mystified and speechless. Shaking his head he wondered what he had done this time, and setting the telephone on the kitchen table went back to the less problematical task of boiling spaghetti and making tomato sauce. As the water in the pan bubbled, he pushed everything to do with Greece, masks, Maddy and sharks to the back of his mind. It could all wait until tomorrow. As Jonathan prepared pasta, Maddy stared at her silent telephone, nostrils flared, doubting if the man could take a hint if it were painted on the side of a bus. "The lights are on, but there's no-one home," she muttered to herself. With a vexed sigh she looked around her empty kitchen, and decided there was not much point staying up. Pouring herself a glass of water she locked up for the night and headed upstairs to bed with a book. Alone. * Grey was a common theme in the interview room. Grey walls, grey ceiling and a cold grey floor. A thin rectangular window high on the far wall let in little of the morning light and so illumination was provided by a single florescent tube that hummed to itself on the ceiling. Four chairs surrounded a table that sat the middle of the stark room, and on top of the table sat a chunky cassette recorder held together with tape and missing several buttons. Two people currently occupied the room. Like chess players pondering their next move they waited in silence, contemplating one another across the table. On one side sat Simon Neltson, hands rested evenly on his lap. Opposite him sat DS Livingston who occasionally glanced restlessly at his watch or looked impatiently at the door. Neltson had been questioned on arrival at the station the night before. For several hours they had gone over the burglary in meticulous detail, Simon persistently denying any involvement in the theft, Flint insisting he told the truth. Finally, the DI had received a message and left the room, only to return a short while later to tell Simon the interview would be suspended until the next day. Now, after a sleepless night spent on a plank-like bed in a small, drab cell - grey of course - Neltson felt tired and pugnacious, but he knew that he could only be detained for a certain amount of time, and unless the police actually pressed charges, they would have to release him. After all, despite Flint's wild theories, there was no physical evidence to link him with the crime. The monotony in the interview room was finally broken when the DI finally arrived, carrying in her arms a large cardboard box. Looking at Neltson impassively she sat next to Livingston and placed the box on the floor next to her. From within she produced a bundle of papers which she put on the table, squaring them with the table edge before looking up at the museum owner and smoothing her jacket flat. "Sleep well, Mr Neltson?" Unshaven and craggy, Neltson clearly had not slept well. But he politely insisted he had, adding that he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed tonight. Flint did not respond to this, but asked whether Neltson was happy to continue the interview without his legal representative, who had apparently been delayed in traffic. Keen to get the sorry business out of the way, Neltson said he was. "Very well," said the DI. Reaching into the box again, she pulled out a blank cassette which she fed into the battered tape recorder. Starting the machine running she announced the time, date and those present in the room before turning her attention to Simon. "Mr Neltson," she began. "There are a number of areas I would like to recapitulate this morning. We established last night that you deny intending to defraud your insurance company, deprive the Athenian museum of the mask, or indeed blackmail Justus Vurt and frame him for the burglary. Have you reviewed your position since we last spoke?" "Naturally Detective. I woke up this morning and thought...'I must confess to the crime even though I'm innocent!' What do you take me for?" Neltson snapped. Again Flint did not respond. Instead she selected a sheet of paper from the pile in front of her and placed it on the table before Simon. It was a photocopy of the 1994 newspaper article. "Mr Neltson, I would like to ask you again about your motivations," she said. "After all, you have gone on record as stating, 'I have absolutely no intention of surrendering the mask...and will go to any length to ensure it remains in my family.' Do you accept that you said these words?" "I take it you've never heard of overstatement," came the acidic reply. Flint overlooked the comment, retrieved the sheet of paper and returned it neatly to her pile. "Very well, how do you respond to the allegation that the night before the theft, you were overheard telling someone you would make sure it vanished without a trace." Simon sighed and rubbed his eyes, having already spent a great deal of time discussing this point the previous evening. "Look, I've explained already. If I said those words, it certainly wasn't about the mask. And in any case, I don't remember even saying it! The only phone call I remember having that evening was with Vurt, so why don't you just listen to the recording he made?" "Oh I will, don't you worry," the DI responded. "In the meantime there is plenty to keep us busy here." Referring to her notes she continued the onslaught. "Moving on to the night of the burglary. Do you agree that once you put the mask into the security case, there was no way anyone could have removed it...other than yourself?" Another sigh. "Ostensibly, yes. When I got home, the case went straight into the safe. Nobody should have been able to get it, but someone bloody well did, didn't they!" "But you agree, you were the only one who could have accessed the mask?" Flint persisted. "Yes...well no...I don't know! All I know is someone else did. They must have done! You can see it for yourself on the tape, for God's sake!" "We'll come to that in a moment," the DI promised. "Now, you claim that on the evening of the theft you went to bed at midnight?" Neltson nodded and Flint leaned forward, keen to ask her next question. "Can you prove that was the time you went to bed?" "Well, that's when I put the alarm on..." "That doesn't prove anything, Mr Neltson." Simon frowned. "Ask my wife then, she'll tell you..." "Ah yes, your wife," interrupted Flint raised her eyebrows. "I'm convinced she would collaborate your story, because I know she thinks it's true." "Wh...what are you saying?" Neltson protested. "My story is true!" Flint reached once more into the box on the floor beside her, producing a clear plastic evidence bag that contained a familiar looking bottle. "For the benefit of the tape, I am showing Mr Neltson Exhibit One. These are your sleeping pills, Mr Neltson," she stated. "Tell me. Why did you go to the doctor over a month ago, seeking advice about your sleep deficiency, and then take only several of the tables you were prescribed?" Apparently confused by this change in direction, Neltson stumbled for a response. "I...I didn't like taking them...they usually gave me an splitting headache!" "Were you saving them for an alternative use, perhaps?" Flint suggested. "I don't understand your question, Detective." "Did you spike your wife's drink to ensure she was asleep while you stole the mask?" "I...I did no such thing!" Now Flint sighed, as if tiring of the questions. "Let me spell it out for you, Mr Neltson. You freely admit you were the only one with access to the mask, and we all know that technically it couldn't have been stolen from the house at four in the morning. The inference is simple. You altered the clocks in your house so your wife thought she was going to bed at midnight, and drugged her to ensure you would not be disturbed. You then faked the theft. Do you deny this?" "Of course I deny it, I've never heard anything so preposterous in my entire life!" Neltson raged. "Can't you analyse a blood sample? If I drugged her, surely there would be trace chemicals in her system..?" "Sadly no. We've checked with our pharmacologists. The type of drugs used in the tablets would not be present after this length of time. But I'm sure you knew that already." "Then what evidence have you got to keep me here?" Neltson bellowed. "You've got nothing to link me with the crime, just a pathetic collection of inferences. And, Detective, you seem to have missed the most important point of all. If I stole the mask, then what the hell did I do with it?" For the first time Flint fell silent and next to her Livingston coughed uncomfortably. Neltson felt a warm glow of success creep through him. Convinced he had checkmated the mulish DI he leaned back in his chair, looked searchingly at her, and waited for a response. When it came, it was not what he expected. "Interesting you should say that," she replied finally, reaching once more into the box at her feet. "I am now showing Mr Neltson Exhibit Two," she explained to the whirring cassette recorder. Slack-faced, Neltson leaned forward, grasping the table edge with white knuckles as Flint placed the object carefully on the table in front of him. Even now, wrapped in an evidence bag in a drab police station, the Face of the Unknown King managed magnificence. White light from the bulb above played on the crumpled gold, causing the dead eyes to blaze with striking malevolence. Neltson stared back emotionless, almost unaware of the two police officers scrutinising him for a reaction. "Where was it?" he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, Mr Neltson." Flint implored. "You know exactly where we found it...under the floor boards in the third bedroom. One of the officers noticed the boards were loose. Observant man, I think you'll agree." "I have no idea how it got there." Shaking her head at his obstinacy, Flint selected another piece of paper from the stack in front of her. "You may remember I was called away unexpectedly last night," she said. "That was when the mask was found. I was keen to share the discovery with you then, but thought it was best to wait until I received this." She pushed the paper across the table so it lay next to the mask. Neltson looked at it without seeing it. "It's a forensic report, Mr Neltson." Flint explained. "It shows that a number of finger prints were found on the mask when we discovered it. Curiously, those prints all match exactly the ones we took from you when you arrived here yesterday." One thin eyebrow arched enquiringly, and an almost indiscernible smile twitched the corners of the DI's mouth. "How do you explain that, I wonder?" Neltson sat motionless, staring at the mask with glazed eyes. Three words left his bloodless lips. "Deus ex machina," he said. * "Next on 'Wonderful Rooms', we demonstrate how even the dullest dado-rail can be transformed into a fascinating focal point using just a hammer and a packet of lentils..." Jonathan somehow stopped himself hurling the remote control at the television, opting for its more traditional function and muting the vivaciously vacuous day-time presenter mid-makeover. Sitting on his sofa, he nursed a cup of tea in his hands and stared at the silent screen. After a nice meal and a relaxing bath the previous evening, he had climbed into bed ready for a peaceful night's sleep. But upon hitting the pillow his mind had started to race, and he had spent the rest of the night systematically churning over details and forming theories about the theft of the mask. Now he was still tired, and in no mood for the inane cheeriness of morning television, while his head still whirred with thoughts. Foremost in his mind was the mysterious Karen, and that nagging, irritating feeling which told him he had definitely seen her name before. Yet maddeningly he was still unable to say exactly where, or why it seemed somehow wrong. On the television, the presenter mouthed her way through ten alternative uses for an umbrella stand, and Jonathan let his eyes wander from the screen and around his tidy room. His gaze drifted from the neat filing system on one wall, across the victoriana that decorated the next, before finally settling on the desk in the centre of the room. Sitting on the desk, amongst other things, was the empty glass tank, the prototype for the illusion that had caused him so much grief the previous afternoon in the theatre... Suddenly an image of perfect clarity blossomed in his head as his mind raced back to the previous week, before he had even heard of the Face of the Unknown King. He had been working on the tank illusion and had just pricked his finger when Adam had called to rant about Maddy's advert. He had gone down stairs, picked the newspaper up from his door mat, and flicked through to find page fifty seven... Which was in the classified section. Jonathan leaped from the sofa, nearly spilling his tea, and hurried downstairs into the kitchen. There in the corner was a stack of old newspapers, waiting to be recycled. A quick rummage produced the week old periodical which he opened out and spread on the kitchen table. Then he started turning the pages, scrutinising each one in carefully from top to bottom. Finally he found what he was looking for and his eyes widened in wonderment. In that one instant everything fell abruptly into place. The importance of the mask's dimensions, the figure on the video tape, and that fleeting sparkle of insight he had experienced in the kitchen the previous evening - suddenly they all made sense. Most important of all, however, he now knew exactly how Karen fitted into the equation. Reaching for the telephone he dialled Maddy's number, and to his surprise she answered almost instantly. "Jonathan," she exclaimed excitedly. "I was about to call you. I've just spoken to Rebecca Neltson. You will never guess in a million years what happened last night!" "The police found the mask, probably hidden somewhere in the Neltsons' house, almost certainly with Simon's finger prints all over it, and have arrested him as a result." There was a moment of astonished silence from the ear-piece before Maddy could respond. "How the bloody hell did you know that?" she spluttered. "You can't have seen it on the news, they only released details of the arrest...nothing about finding the mask, or the prints!" "I think you'd better get over here now," said Jonathan. "I've finally realised how this whole thing was done, and it's even more devious that we first thought." "You're serious!" "Yes," he replied. "So you'd better get your skates on. We've got some serious digging to do, and then I want another look around that museum." He glanced again at the open paper in front of him, shaking his head at what he had found. "Simon Neltson no more stole that mask than I did," he exclaimed.