his feet. ‘Tomorrow night. Be ready when I call.’
‘Very well,’ said Benyamin. ‘Tomorrow night.’
IV
‘All done?’ asked Walters, turning into the Jonson’s Cars lot.
‘All done,’ nodded Kieran. ‘I’ve changed the girl’s login details, and I’ve deleted every mail and attachment in all her folders, including the one from her aunt, and those photos.’
‘And she didn’t forward them anywhere first?’
‘She didn’t forward it, no. But it’s possible she downloaded or printed it.’
‘Shit. Then we still need to find them.’
He parked by the rental office, went inside. A bored young woman with peroxide hair and vivid pink lipstick was slouching behind a cheap pine desk. ‘Yes, sir?’ she asked, sitting up a little straighter. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘I’m after information,’ said Walters.
‘About our stock or about our prices?’
‘About one of your cars. A red BMW soft top. I want to know who’s driving it.’
She gave a gulping kind of laugh. ‘Are you serious? I can’t tell you that!’
Walters didn’t have time for subtlety. He took out his wedge, counted off £500 in twenties, slapped them on her desk. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
She stared hungrily at the money. ‘Do you have the licence number?’ she asked. He gave it to her. She tapped keys, checked her screen. ‘It’s a business rental,’ she said. ‘Goldwood Laboratories. They’re over at Cherry Hinton Science Park. You know it?’
‘I can find it.’ He frowned at a thought. ‘I don’t suppose you put trackers in your SatNavs, do you?’
‘I can’t trace them for you, if that’s what you’re asking. Not from here. They handle all that out of Head Office.’
‘Okay,’ said Walters. ‘Not to worry. And not a word, right?’
‘Are you kidding?’ she said, tucking her money away. ‘They’d fire me in a heartbeat.’
TWELVE
I
Pelham lived in a converted malting house a short drive north of Cambridge. He parked in his designated slot by a grass bank and led them inside. Compared to the well-tended lawns and communal areas, his ground-floor apartment was a mess. He waved a hand in vague explanation or excuse for it as he led them into his shelf-lined study, crowded and dark with books and journals, many more stacked in precarious tall heaps on the floor, like a child’s recreation of the Alps.
They went straight to the printer, fearful that the Newton papers wouldn’t have made it; but they were there, waiting for them in the out-tray. The printer, however, had tried so hard to capture the lush sepia background of the originals that it had drenched the cheap printing paper in yellow and black ink, blurring Newton’s handwriting badly, making it even harder to read and surely diminishing its value as evidence should they need to show it to a sceptic.
Pelham spread the pages on his desk, opened curtains to improve the light. ‘What are we looking for?’ asked Rachel.
‘Anything that sticks out,’ said Luke.
‘That’s helpful.’
Pelham tapped the bottom of the sixth page. ‘How about this?’ he asked.
Luke glanced over. Like the other pages, it was mostly alchemical citations. But Pelham was right: there was something very different in its bottom left quarter.
Received from E.A.
12 plain panels and blocks SW, 2 linen rolls
S T C, E S D, L A A, B O J
Papers J.D. J.T.
On completion, E.A. asks that ye whole be in
SALOMANS HOUSE
well concealed.
‘E.A.?’ asked Pelham. Who’s E.A.?’
‘No idea,’ said Luke, squinting closer. ‘You think it could be “F.A”? Newton was friends with a Francis Aston at Cambridge.’
‘It’s not an “F”,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s an “E”.’
‘Then I don’t know,’ said Luke. ‘Newton’s mother’s maiden name was Ayscough, but I can’t think of any Edwards or Elizabeths among his cousins.’
‘Ebenezer?’ suggested Pelham. ‘Ezekiel?’
‘Let’s come back to it,’ said Rachel. She
‘Very well,’ said Benyamin. ‘Tomorrow night.’
IV
‘All done?’ asked Walters, turning into the Jonson’s Cars lot.
‘All done,’ nodded Kieran. ‘I’ve changed the girl’s login details, and I’ve deleted every mail and attachment in all her folders, including the one from her aunt, and those photos.’
‘And she didn’t forward them anywhere first?’
‘She didn’t forward it, no. But it’s possible she downloaded or printed it.’
‘Shit. Then we still need to find them.’
He parked by the rental office, went inside. A bored young woman with peroxide hair and vivid pink lipstick was slouching behind a cheap pine desk. ‘Yes, sir?’ she asked, sitting up a little straighter. ‘Can I help you with something?’
‘I’m after information,’ said Walters.
‘About our stock or about our prices?’
‘About one of your cars. A red BMW soft top. I want to know who’s driving it.’
She gave a gulping kind of laugh. ‘Are you serious? I can’t tell you that!’
Walters didn’t have time for subtlety. He took out his wedge, counted off £500 in twenties, slapped them on her desk. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
She stared hungrily at the money. ‘Do you have the licence number?’ she asked. He gave it to her. She tapped keys, checked her screen. ‘It’s a business rental,’ she said. ‘Goldwood Laboratories. They’re over at Cherry Hinton Science Park. You know it?’
‘I can find it.’ He frowned at a thought. ‘I don’t suppose you put trackers in your SatNavs, do you?’
‘I can’t trace them for you, if that’s what you’re asking. Not from here. They handle all that out of Head Office.’
‘Okay,’ said Walters. ‘Not to worry. And not a word, right?’
‘Are you kidding?’ she said, tucking her money away. ‘They’d fire me in a heartbeat.’
TWELVE
I
Pelham lived in a converted malting house a short drive north of Cambridge. He parked in his designated slot by a grass bank and led them inside. Compared to the well-tended lawns and communal areas, his ground-floor apartment was a mess. He waved a hand in vague explanation or excuse for it as he led them into his shelf-lined study, crowded and dark with books and journals, many more stacked in precarious tall heaps on the floor, like a child’s recreation of the Alps.
They went straight to the printer, fearful that the Newton papers wouldn’t have made it; but they were there, waiting for them in the out-tray. The printer, however, had tried so hard to capture the lush sepia background of the originals that it had drenched the cheap printing paper in yellow and black ink, blurring Newton’s handwriting badly, making it even harder to read and surely diminishing its value as evidence should they need to show it to a sceptic.
Pelham spread the pages on his desk, opened curtains to improve the light. ‘What are we looking for?’ asked Rachel.
‘Anything that sticks out,’ said Luke.
‘That’s helpful.’
Pelham tapped the bottom of the sixth page. ‘How about this?’ he asked.
Luke glanced over. Like the other pages, it was mostly alchemical citations. But Pelham was right: there was something very different in its bottom left quarter.
Received from E.A.
12 plain panels and blocks SW, 2 linen rolls
S T C, E S D, L A A, B O J
Papers J.D. J.T.
On completion, E.A. asks that ye whole be in
SALOMANS HOUSE
well concealed.
‘E.A.?’ asked Pelham. Who’s E.A.?’
‘No idea,’ said Luke, squinting closer. ‘You think it could be “F.A”? Newton was friends with a Francis Aston at Cambridge.’
‘It’s not an “F”,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s an “E”.’
‘Then I don’t know,’ said Luke. ‘Newton’s mother’s maiden name was Ayscough, but I can’t think of any Edwards or Elizabeths among his cousins.’
‘Ebenezer?’ suggested Pelham. ‘Ezekiel?’
‘Let’s come back to it,’ said Rachel. She
Similar Books
