There was another hiatus. Adam seized the moment to ask his own questions, again. What about the previous break-in, the one we heard about? The stealing of the notebooks?
The junior policeman spoke up, for the first time. It wasnt reported.
What does that mean?
What does that mean?
To be frank, we dont know it even happened.
But the landlady, whats her name Sophie Walker. She said Archibald was freaked. Scared.
Yes, the junior policeman persisted calmly. But its just hearsay. She heard it from him. He didnt report a break-in, so we have no evidence of a break-in. And of course, unfortunately, we cant interview him now.
Adam felt as if he was trapped in a maze of impermeable logic. Everything the police were saying was entirely reasonable and rational. Yet he felt frustrated. But maybe his frustration was illogical: maybe he was the irrational person here. Him, and Nina?
Pizzuto took over. Again, we will ask Rosalind McLintock if she knows anything about the theft of, her eyebrows drifted upwards, by a sarcastic fraction, the theft of these notebooks, and this break-in.
Dont bother. Nina spat the words. I asked her today. Again. Says she knows nothing.
The two police officers exchanged a wearied frown.
Adam had one last go, trying to remember his training in news journalism in Sydney. Always ask the obvious questions. Get straight to the heart of the matter.
He seemed happy that day. In Rosslyn. Why would he kill himself?
Pizzuto eyed Adam. You mean he was smiling? Cheerful?
Yes!
But you said yourself, Mr Blackwood, he was also behaving oddly. Saying strange things. No?
Yes, but-
We have it on tape. He seemed a little unbalanced, he was behaving oddly. Im sorry to be so brutal but these are your words.
So why, then? Why did he do it?
The detective sighed. Please. As you must know, thats not our territory. You know that, as a journalist. And if I may explain something, because you might be unaware, as an Australian, Britain has differing legal systems. Remember you are in Scotland, not England. There is no coroner here. We have something roughly similar: a procurator fiscal. She, or he, will gather evidence. If anomalies or grounds for further investigation are found there may be a Fatal Accident Inquiry, where these issues can be aired. But, I have to say, she turned to Nina, giving her an expression of genuine sympathy if you want my honest opinion, and I feel you deserve it, Miss McLintock then there probably wont be an FAI. Why? Because this was a suicide. All the evidence points that way. She raised a conspicuously wedding-ringed hand, preventing Nina from interrupting, and continued. I know this is distressing, Miss McLintock. No relative, and certainly no child, wishes to hear that their parent may have killed themselves. Suicide is a tragedy for the survivors. You will have feelings of deep guilt and confusion, as well as grief. Guilt that you didnt spot the clues as to his moods, guilt that you didnt do something. You feel helpless. It is only natural to hope, paradoxically, for a different explanation. Murder is easier to deal with, emotionally, for close relatives, than suicide, however odd that sounds. Ive seen it before. But, again, all the evidence we have and I am a fairly experienced police officer tells me this was a suicide. I am sorry. But there it is.
The discussion was over, it seemed. DCI Lorna Pizzuto was already standing, putting documents in a briefcase, then offering a handshake.
Nina accepted the gesture, in a way that said eloquently, I still dont believe you.
Their walk to the door of the police station was short and silent. Outside, Adam inhaled the Edinburgh air, on busy Craigleith Road. The cold winter breeze was malted, carrying the distinctive tang of the breweries nearby. Yellow Edinburgh buses queued at the junction. He thought, inadvertently, and piercingly, of Alicia, crushed by a bus: Kings Cross in Sydney. How easily it happened, how easily death just took you, flippantly, crazily; with no logic, no logic at all.
It was an interlude of sadness and of awkwardness. Adam didnt know what to say, or do. Believe the police, or believe Nina? Carry on, or go home? He didnt want to think about Alicia, he didnt want to brood.
You believe them, dont you? Nina said at last.
I He wondered whether to lie and decided against. To be honest, I dont know.
Come on. She took his arm. Let me show you something. It wouldnt mean anything to the cops. But it might just mean something to you.
She was already hailing a cab. He followed, bemused.
Ten minutes of light Edinburgh traffic found them in Grassmarket, climbing another set of tenement stairs to another flat: Ninas own.
The flat was pleasant but spare, chic but austere. The flat of someone who wanted to live quietly and unfussily, or of someone who expected to be moving again soon. He sat down at her request in a leather chair. What was she going to show him?
She returned with two mugs of tea, in Rangers Football Club mugs.
Nice flat. He didnt know what else to say.
Nina looked around the living room, appraisingly, as if she were an estate agent estimating the value. Yeah well. She shrugged again. I can only afford it because I sold up in London. Sold my ill-gotten gains. She sipped her tea. I used to work in the City. But the job was so intense I quit.
He gazed at her, wide-eyed; she laughed, ruefully. Ach. You didnt take me for a banker, did you?
Well
Youre right. I wasnt. Took me five years to realize it. I dont know what the hell I am but Im pretty sure Im not one of natures bankers. But I made a bit of cash so Im set. I guess. For a while.
It occurred to Adam that, stupidly, he hadnt ever asked her what she did. Her job: the most basic and essential of questions. The darkening whirl of drama meant he had neglected the primaries of his craft. Get the facts, all the facts, especially the most basic: age, job, race, marital status and hair colour if you are writing for a tabloid. Pretty Nina McLintock, 27-year-old brunette, spoke of her fathers death
What do you do then, now?
Charity work. Atoning for my sins.
What kind of charity work?
Scottish Shelter. For homeless people. I help them raise and make money, because I know how to handle money.
Full time?
Three days a week. The pay is dreck but that doesnt matter, right now. Anyway, Ive taken some time off, since Dad.
Of course.
Nina set the tea on the table. Enough. Look at us! Reduced to bourgeois chit-chat. Her smile was terse. Let me see if I can engage you. Re-engage you? Do you want to see what Ive got?
Yes, please.
She stood and crossed the room to a cupboard. Opening a large drawer, she pulled out a plastic shopping bag. Then she dropped the bag on the coffee table between them. It was apparently stuffed full of small slips of paper.
Adam stared.
Remember last night?
Not something Im going to forget.
Remember I ran into the kitchen-
Of course.
I went to get this. Nina gestured at the bag. Receipts. Hundreds of receipts. Maybe thousands.
He didnt understand, though he could see the dim outlines of where this was going. Then he realized. Your dads receipts.
Exactly! You were a freelancer once, right? You understand. She barely waited for his affirmative reply, then hurried on: Dad was meticulous about this stuff, tax returns, claiming expenses. All that. As I was searching his desk, last night, I suddenly remembered that he kept all his receipts in a big bag in the kitchen, hed chuck them in there automatically, whenever he got home.
Adam felt the pleasure of something unfolding, reverse origami. I get it. All his receipts from last year, you can see exactly what he did, where he went?
Ive already looked at a few. And in here- she tipped the bag over, and dozens of little slips and chits and invoices rustled onto the table, -is an exact record of where he went on that trip around Britain, and Europe, and everywhere, last year.
So?
He went to Tomar in Portugal. He went to Rosslyn again and again. He went to Temple Bruer. He went to the Dordogne.
Rosslyn, Temple Bruer
Yup. He went to a whole bunch of sites connected with the Templars. A long, long trip. And then he went to South America. Because he really was on to something. He must have been. He did intense research! My dad was not a lunatic. He was a scholar, a serious man, and he did serious research last year. And its all here, all the clues we need. We just have to piece together the damn puzzles, follow this paper trail. And then we can find out what he discovered.
Adam gazed at the litter of paper and he recalled McLintocks words. Its all here, its all true, its more strange than you could ever realize.
The Templars are connected to everything.
17
TUMP Lab, Zana, north Peru
So, darling, tell me your theory.
Dan Kossoy was sitting on his usual stool, in the centre of the main lab in Zana, virtually the only clean modern building in the town. His grey T-shirt expressed support for the Hamilton Mastiffs ice hockey team, his wise brown eyes expressed sincere interest in his anthropologists latest conception. But hed used the word darling and it was the first time hed ever used it.
The lab was quiet except for the low buzz coming from the big fridges, which stored the Moche bones, cradled in soft yellow polystyrene foam like holy babies in swaddling.
Jess? Your theory. Tell me! You have my unusually undivided attention!
Why? Because we are sleeping together?
He shook his head and looked genuinely hurt. Jessica immediately regretted her flippancy. Dan was a decent and kindly man; that was why she liked him. He didnt deserve sarcasm, however frivolous.
Sorry, Dan. That was glib. I just She took her seat, on a stool next to his; then she pushed the blonde hair back from her eyes and looked at him. To be honest, the situation between us is kinda weird. I dont normally do this sort of thing. Us, I mean. Sorry. I want to know that you are taking me seriously as an anthropologist, a scientist, not just because we are going out. Does that make sense?
He gazed at her; his warm hand rested on hers, briefly, then withdrew. I understand. There are ethical questions. To be entirely honest, he sighed, I have never got involved with anyone like this, before. I havent even had a girlfriend since my divorce, Jess. I was a monk in the desert! Then you walked in to the laboratory He smiled, earnest and affectionate. But please, do trust me, I can detach our relationship from the science. I promise. Now tell me your theory.