Adam Palmer - The Boudicca Parchments

“For the record, Mr. Hackett, we didn’t find any ancient manuscripts at Martin Costa’s flat, nor indeed anything that might be mistaken for an ancient manuscript. We didn’t find any ancient artefacts or antiquities, nor any forgeries. We did find plenty of books about forgery techniques and how to identify forgeries. But given the line of work we know that Costa was in, that’s hardly surprising.”

Bar Tikva was waiting in Chalk Farm, in the cheap van that he had bought from a man in a pub. He was parked down the road from where Julia Sasson had taken little Romy for her gymnastics lesson. This was going to be difficult to pull off alone, but he had promised his revered father that he would do it and he intended to keep his promise.

It was going to be difficult for two reasons. First of all, this time he had no back-up whatsoever. After the fiasco last time, he didn’t think it wise to approach Chienmer Lefou or her underworld contacts. He had probably alienated them by getting two of them killed the last time. They for their part probably thought he was a loose cannon and would not be inclined to trust him.

Furthermore, he had read somewhere that mainstream British criminals are not into child-abduction, even if it were purely for blackmail purposes. He knew that he would probably get a rough reception from them if he had approached them about this project.

The other reason it was dangerous was because he couldn’t actually drive. In Israel, because of Shomrei Ha’ir ’s refusal to recognize the State of Israel or participate in any of its institutions or official processes, he and other members of his sect had never learned to drive. He did in fact have some practice, from when he was in the Williamsburg neighbourhood of Brooklyn, with other members of his sect. But he had never passed a driving test or acquired a driving licence. So he could control a car — at least an automatic like this one — but he didn’t know the driving laws or understand the road signs.

This time, Julia had stayed in the cafe, rather than taken the twins elsewhere. So all three of them would be together when she led them to the car that she too had parked down the road.

He waited nervously as the minutes ticked by, praying to HaKadosh, Baruch Hu — the Holy One, Blessed be He — that he would succeed in this plan and fulfil his obligations to his father and to Shamayim — Heaven.

Finally they emerged: Julia, holding Romy’s hand, and the twins on their mother’s other side. She led them down the street on the same side as the sports centre and then as they were about to cross the road he gunned the engine and drove straight at them. He was not planning to hit them: only to get them to react exactly as they did.

He saw the look of terror in Julia’s eyes as she scooped up Romy and shouted at the twins to get back. They obeyed their mother’s instructions and Julia followed them, leaping back to the pavement and practically dropping Romy as she lost her balance. Bar-Tikva flung the passenger door open and reached out, trying to yank little Romy, who was now crying like her sisters, while Julia tried to assess the damage and the overall situation. He was just about to grab her when he heard a screeching sound and beheld a sight that terrified him.

For with that screeching sound came a motorbike like the one that had slammed into him a couple of days before, preventing him from killing Julia’s brother.

No, not “like the one” — the SAME one!

And as it screeched to a halt behind his van, he saw the same black-leather clad rider. His first reaction was to panic. But then he noticed that the rider was actually quite small. And it occurred to Bar-Tikva that he would probably beat this man in a fight. But then he saw the rider reaching for something and he remembered that the rider also carried a gun — and knew how to use it.

Realizing that he didn’t stand a chance, he pulled his large frame back into the van and slammed the door behind him. For a split second, he considered reversing into the bike and throwing the biker into the air. It would be sweet revenge for the painful knock he had taken last time, as well as for this time. But that hand was still poised to produce the gun and he knew that the biker could probably roll clear and then put a bullet or two in him just he had dealt with the two gunmen he had brought with him on the previous job.

It wasn’t worth the risk, he realized.

It angered him that he had been thwarted twice. But if this was the will of Hashem — the Name — then he must accept it. He put the van in gear, put his foot down on the accelerator and drove off at speed.

“He was telling the truth after all.”

DCI Vincent was briefing Sergeant Connor and the rest of the core team about the phone company records in a corner of the Incident Room

“Do we know the contents? Or just the fact that they were in contact?”

“We’ve got the actual messages. Everything was exactly the way he said, practically verbatim. His recollection was pretty damn good.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Costa. They could’ve had an argument. Costa might have changed his mind.

“Could have, might have… that’s all just speculation. The evidence checks out. As to what went down there. We know that Klein was telling us the truth about the build up to the final events. Why should we doubt his word about what happened when he got there?”

“‘Cause it doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone else try to kill them? And why by fire? And what about the tip-off about Klein siphoning off petrol?”

The Chief Inspector smiled.

“Oh yes, the famous anonymous tip-off.”

“Anons are frequently reliable. And the caller didn’t even ask for a reward.”

“That’s what makes it un reliable.”

“Why?”

The DCI smiled at his sergeant’s naivety.

“Look at it this way Joe, if you were an ordinary citizen and you saw the chance to help the police catch a criminal and make some money for yourself at the same time, wouldn’t you do so?”

“That’s why I became a copper sir,” said Connor, smiling.

Vincent smiled back at the sergeant’s smart-Alec reply.

“Okay but you know what I mean. The reward can be paid anonymously. People often call Crimestoppers for precisely that reason. But this one didn’t bother about the reward… like maybe he had some other agenda.”

“Isn’t that also speculation sir?”

“It is. But let’s just call it informed speculation. I mean an anonymous tip-off is only useful if it leads us to some real solid evidence or to investigate some one so that we find the real solid evidence. But in this case, the only evidence we have left — that incriminates Klein — is the anonymous tip-off itself. That’s about it.”

“Have we got the test results back about the quantity of petrol in the tank and the fuel consumption estimates?”

“We’ve got the results, but the margin of error’s too big.”

“But what’s the bottom line?”

“The bottom line is that he probably didn’t siphon off petrol from the tank. So even that’s a point in his favour.”

“And what about the escape?”

“Based on what the surviving guard said, it wasn’t so much an escape as an attempt to kill him.”

“But what about the man on the motorbike sir? I mean he didn’t force Klein to get on the back and ride pillion. Klein made that choice .”

“That’s the hangnail in this whole scenario. There seems to be a third force at work here — or maybe even a fourth force. I’m losing count.”