Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“This one,” he said, carefully holding up the round from the gun. “It’s a pistol round with an iron core. I couldn’t swear it’s identical, but it’s a good enough match for me. You’re aware, Secretary Carler, that the hoarding of weapons specifically aimed at the Feyre is prohibited under the treaty. I think iron-cored rounds count. What’s your man doing with them?”

“Think very carefully,” I told Carler. “I want an answer to this, but if I don’t get one I like, I’m going to drag all of you outside, hang you by your feet from a tree and start asking questions away from these horseshoes. I’m quite tempted to do that anyway.”

“We do not respond to threats,” said Secretary Carler.

I shook my head. “If only that were true,” I said. “Someone supplied bullets similar to these to a man called Sam Veldon with instructions to shoot me with them. If he’d done what he was told and shot me in the head, I’d be dead, but he shot me in the gut. If that wasn’t a response, what was it?”

“You’re only proving we were right,” said the Scot. “You’re a loose cannon, Petersen. You’re putting us all in danger.”

“Ah, I said. “Now we come to it. What exactly am I supposed to have done?”

“You’re a murdering bastard,” said the Scot, “and we all know it.” Carler shot him a warning look, but he ignored it.

“And who am I supposed to have murdered?” I asked him.

“Where do you want to start?” asked the Scot. “The body count at Porton Down alone would justify any action we cared to take.”

“Porton Down was in violation of every treaty we have,” said Garvin to Carler. “I thought Lord Krane made our position clear on that when we were here last. If we’re going to start a score-settling exercise, I think we have a few of our own.”

“This isn’t about score-settling,” said the Scot.

“Then what is it about?” I asked.

“A rogue. Someone upsetting the status quo,” the Scot answered. “Whenever the body count starts to rise, we just have to look for you and you’ll be lurking somewhere. Like a bad penny, you always turn up.”

“That’s like accusing firemen of always turning up at a fire,” I said. “It’s nonsense.”

“Were either of you involved in this?” asked Secretary Carler of the two dark suits. They both shook their heads. “Very well,” he said. “This is an internal matter,” he said. “I can only apologise for my colleague’s ill-advised actions.”

“Hey now,” said the Scot. “You’re not burning me for him, surely? He needs taking down.”

“We would like to restore the meeting to some order,” said Carler. “You,” he addressed the dark suits. “Arrest that man. Take him into custody. Hold him until I tell you otherwise. If he has accomplices I want them held as well.” They stood watching him. “Now!” he barked.

“Are you nuts?” shouted the Scot. “Do you know how many deaths this guy has caused? Take your scabby hands off me, you moron.”

We watched as they manhandled him out of the room. There was a difficult moment when they tried to take him outside. Apparently there was a stand-off outside between the Warders and the police. It wasn’t resolved until Garvin went outside with Secretary Carler and together they ordered everyone to stand down.

While they were busy I collected all the weapons and put them safely out of reach, ejecting the rounds from each gun and paying special attention to the pistol used by the Scot.

“I can only apologise,” said Secretary Carler when they returned, “and assure you that such an operation was not authorised.”

“I’d like to believe that,” I told him, looking around at the broken chairs and scattered furniture.

“I wish I could say something to reassure you,” said Carler.

“There is no Secretary Carler, is there?” I asked him.

“I’m sorry,” he said calmly. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

“I checked. There is no Secretary Carler anywhere in Whitehall.”

“What makes you think I work in Whitehall?” he said.

“Then where?” I asked.

“Better not to go into too much detail. It only makes things more difficult.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Cheltenham, a big building, locally known as the ‘doughnut’. How am I doing?”

“I really couldn’t say,” he said. His face was studiously blank.

“The way I see it, you owe me,” I told him. “After all, you’ve been spying on me and my family and you ran an operation to try and kill me.”

“I don’t think I want to comment on any of that,” he said, “but if you want to trade information, I’d like to know what you did with the safe that was taken from the Royal Courts of Justice.”

“You think I took it?” I asked him.

He smiled. “Now who’s being evasive?”

“OK,” I said. “I did not steal anything from the Royal Courts of Justice, especially not a safe or what was in it. If you know anything about us at all, you’d know we’d find it difficult to lie about something like that.”

“You were seen,” he said. “You attacked one of the staff on the same day the safe went missing.”

“I was asked by the Remembrancer’s clerk to go there,” I told him. “I went to protect the safe and the clerk.”

“So why did you kill the clerk?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” I said. “Now it’s my turn. Who is De Ferrers?”

He went suddenly still. “I can’t say I know what you’re speaking of,” he said.

“Which is an interesting way of phrasing it,” said Garvin.

We were rejoined by one of the dark suits who nodded confirmation to Carler and stood waiting at the door.

“I came here last night after dark,” I told Carler. “I was looking for a link between this place and GCHQ at Cheltenham.”

He was better at hiding it this time. “You didn’t find anything,” he said.

“Instead, I found that this castle was owned by the De Ferrers family.” I looked around slowly. “A castle hall lined with horseshoes, used by you and your predecessors for meetings with the Feyre, all arranged under the name, De Ferrers.”

“What does that have to do with Cheltenham?” he said.

“A very good question,” I told him “How would you describe the purpose of GCHQ?”

“I’m not sure I would,” he said.

“To keep the secrets of the Kingdom, perhaps?”

“What an odd phrase,” he said, his face carefully neutral. “Quite archaic, don’t you think? If you didn’t kill Ms Radisson, then who did?”

“Honestly, I didn’t see,” I said, thinking back to the events in the National Archive. “I thought I knew who took the safe, and who killed Claire, but now I’m not certain. You need to ask yourself, though, in whose interest is it that the safe and the clerk are out of the way? Who stands to gain? Then you can answer your own question.” I watched him absorb that information. “Was it your lot that redecorated Claire’s flat?” I asked.

“From time to time it is necessary to ensure that peace is maintained,” he said. “It doesn’t do to leave too many loose ends.”

“So you took the horseshoe,” I said. “Did you also take the one from the National Archive as well?”

“The horseshoes are not your concern,” he said.

“Did you know the family crest of the De Ferrers family has horseshoes on it?” I asked him.

“What an interesting coincidence. As you pointed out,” he said, “no one will ever stand trial for Ms Radisson’s murder. It serves no purpose to leave a host of confusing evidence that goes nowhere and leads to nothing. Better for the police to spend resources on problems they can solve. Speaking of which, do you know the whereabouts of the missing journals from the National Archive?”