The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [107]
“Here in Yorkshire Litera Tecs don’t leave their desks.”
“I’ve read the arrest reports. It shows,” I replied coldly.
Mandias sighed. Keeping what he described as eggheads in check, especially those from another SpecOps region, was obviously not something he was keen to do.
“I have two murders on my hands here and I don’t want the crime scene disturbed. Why don’t you wait until you get the report and then take your investigation from there?”
“The murders are tragic, obviously,” I replied, “but Jane Eyre is the thing here. It is imperative that we get to see the crime scene. Jane Eyre is bigger than me and bigger than you. If you refuse I’ll send a report to your superior officer complaining of your conduct.”
But Mandias was not a man to listen to threats, idle or otherwise. This was Yorkshire, after all. He stared at me and said softly:
“Do your worst, pen-pusher.”
I took a step forward and he bridled slightly; he wasn’t going to give way. A nearby officer moved in behind him to give assistance if needed.
I was about to lose my temper when Bowden spoke up.
“Sir,” he began, “if we could move slowly toward a goal we might be able to burrow our way out of the predicament we find ourselves shuffling into.”
Mandias’s attitude abruptly changed and he smiled solemnly.
“If that is the case, I am sure we could manage a quick look for you—as long as you promise not to touch anything.”
“On my word,” replied Bowden pointedly, patting his stomach. The two of them shook hands and winked and we were soon escorted into the museum.
“How the hell did you do that?” I hissed.
“Look at his ring.”
I looked. He had a large ring on his middle finger with a curious and distinctive pattern on it.
“What of it?”
“The Most Worshipful Brotherhood of the Wombat.”
I smiled.
“So what have we got?” I asked. “A double murder and a missing script? They just took the manuscript, right? Nothing else?”
“Right,” replied Mandias.
“And the guard was shot with his own gun?”
Mandias stopped and looked sternly at me.
“How did you know that?”
“A lucky guess,” I replied evenly. “What about the videotapes?”
“We’re studying them at the moment.”
“There’s no one on them, is there?”
Mandias looked at me curiously.
“Do you know who did this?”
I followed him into the room that once held the manuscript. The untouched glass case was sitting forlornly in the middle of the floor. I ran my fingertips across a mottled and uneven patch on the glass.
“Thanks, Mandias, you’re a star,” I said, walking back out. Bowden and Mandias looked at one another and hastened after me.
“That’s it?” said Mandias. “That’s your investigation?”
“I’ve seen all I need to see.”
“Can you give me anything?” asked Mandias, trotting to keep up. He looked at Bowden. “Brother, you can tell me.”
“We should tell the DI what we know, Thursday. We owe him for allowing us in.”
I stopped so suddenly Mandias almost bumped into me.
“Ever hear of a man named Hades?”
Mandias went visibly pale and looked around nervously.
“Don’t worry; he’s long gone.”
“They say he died in Venezuela.”
“They say he can walk through walls,” I countered. “They also say he gives off colors when he moves. Hades is alive and well and I have to find him before he starts to make use of the manuscript.”
Mandias seemed to have undergone a humbling change as soon as he realized who was behind it all.
“Anything I can do?”
I paused for a moment.
“Pray you never meet him.”
The drive back to Swindon was uneventful, the area on the M1 where all the trouble had been now back to normal. Victor was waiting for us in the office; he seemed slightly agitated.
“I’ve had Braxton on the phone all morning bleating on about insurance cover being inoperative if his officers act outside their jurisdiction.”
“Same old shit.”
“That’s what I told him. I’ve got most of the office reading Jane Eyre at the moment in case anything unusual happens—all quiet so far.”
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“Hmm.”
“Müller mentioned Hades being at Penderyn somewhere,” I said to Victor.