Trudi grasped the fork meaningfully, but lowered it so the tines rested on the carpet. Not for the first time, I was quietly pleased that Letitia’s gun – if she indeed had one – was well out of sight. I didn’t think we’d even need Trudi’s gardening fork, but you never knew.
The youth uncoiled himself slowly, as if everything hurt. It probably did, though I wondered why. Surely the peaceable and gentle professor hadn’t belted him? Here was a mystery over and above how he had come to be here at all. He sat himself in a morose little huddle in the middle of the carpet and stared at his shoes. Battered runners, with laces coming undone. He held both hands to his hoodie for a moment. Splitting headache, I diagnosed. There was a hint of St Sebastian awaiting the receipt of his fourteenth arrow. He shook his head, allowing the hood to fall to his shoulders. Unkempt black hair straggled down the back of his neck. He smelt of terror, dirt and something else I couldn’t get a handle on. As requested, he clasped his long, grimy fingers on top of his head.
His eyes darted around the room. Take away the dirt and the fear and he might have been beautiful. Surrounded by malevolent women as he was, it might well be that Letty White was the least scary person in the room. Again his mouth opened, but no sounds came out.
Letitia rolled her eyes. ‘Have any of you got a bottle of water? I don’t want anyone going into the kitchen yet.’
Trudi had a spray-nozzle water-bottle tucked into her belt. I recognised it at once. She used it to spray delicate shoots. I hoped she hadn’t put any fertiliser in it. She handed it to the youth, who helped himself to several sprays’ worth of refreshment. He handed the bottle back to Trudi warily, still mesmerised by the gardening fork apparently.
Letitia fixed him with a piercing eye and said, ‘Okay, son, what’s your name?’
He flinched as if someone had flicked a paper pellet at him. ‘Jordan King. I –’
And that appeared to be it for the present. Something was happening in his throat, but no more sounds emerged. He seemed to be trying to swallow a cricket ball, and failing.
Letitia White’s voice grew softer, as if she were trying to entice a twitchy stallion out of its stall and into harness. ‘Look, Jordan, this isn’t a proper interview. We’re not at that stage yet at all. We’re just talking. All that formal stuff happens down at the station. I can arrest you right now if you like, but I’m beginning to think you want to be helpful. You’re just a bit embarrassed by all this, aren’t you? Was it all your idea, or did you have a mate to help you?’
His head shook violently. ‘No! I’m alone. No one else was here.’
She almost purred. ‘See? You can talk, can’t you, Jordan? Now, why did you pick this apartment in particular? Did you try every door until you found one that was open?’
‘No. Just this one. I found the door open.’
‘And what were you looking for, Jordan? Money? Easily convertible goods?’
Head shake. ‘No. I’m not a thief.’
‘You could have fooled me. And do you know who lives here?’
That got a reaction. Jordan’s long, oval face flooded rose, and his eyes positively flickered with lightning. ‘A heretic.’
‘I see. Any particular heresy you have in mind, or are you just generally hunting for heretics you like the look of?’
My breath shortened. I assumed that Letitia was making a joke, but it seemed to have got in amongst him. Surely not? Does anyone really expect the Spanish Inquisition?
‘Just this one. He has something that doesn’t belong to him. I came looking for it.’
‘And then? How did you finish up on the floor?’
‘I don’t know. I think someone hit me.’
Ms White looked meaningfully around the room, and we all shook our heads. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I suggested. ‘Any of us might have done that, if we’d seen him menacing our dear friend. But we really didn’t.’
‘Jordan, stay quite still. I want to look at your head. You were wearing your hoodie when you came in, were you?’ Nod. She leant over him, examining his head and the interior of the hood. Both were marked with blood. While Letty White looked around the room, I took a closer look at our intruder. He was far from clean. But there was more than grime in there. He bowed his head, and he seemed to be praying. I leant a little closer and saw that inside his jacket was far more chest hair than a youth his age could possibly possess. A distressing miasma began to fill the room. From within that hoodie arose a reek like the interior of Count Dracula’s underpants. If that was what I thought it was …
Meanwhile Letitia found what she was looking for on the low coffee table: a smear of dark blood staining one of the corners. I hadn’t noticed it before. She turned to Jordan. ‘Might you have slipped over, do you think?’
‘Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember anything except being hit over the head.’
DSC White looked at the carpet. It was securely fastened to the floor.
‘May I?’ I put in.
Letitia nodded.
‘Is it possible you tripped over a cat?’
‘Maybe. I remember there was a cat.’
I nodded. This seemed only too likely. I was glad that Nox had survived the encounter unharmed.
‘So you possibly tripped over a cat and hit your head on the table there.’ Letitia pointed, then pulled out her radio and walked to the side of the room, muttering into it. Then she turned back to the youth. ‘What were you looking for, Jordan? This thing you claim doesn’t belong to the person who lives here?’
‘It’s a book.’
All the blood must have drained out of my face, because I saw Letitia White give me a penetrating stare. This was definitely Not Good News. I had tampered with a crime scene, and the one thing I had thought could not possibly be relevant to the investigation had turned out to be crucial. How could I possibly have known that?
There was a soft knock at the door, and presently Professor Monk was with us again, accompanied by Detective Constable Helen. He was still dressed as before, but carried his déshabillé with studied nonchalance.
‘Professor Monk.’ Letitia indicated the seated Jordan. ‘Can you imagine what this young man might possibly be trying to burgle your flat for?’
I noticed that the rosy blush on Jordan’s face had mutated into a glare of silent hatred.
The Professor blinked benignly. ‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t the foggiest. Perhaps he can enlighten us, hmm?’
‘Well?’ Letitia prompted.
‘He knows what it is,’ Jordan growled. His lips had peeled back from his dazzling white teeth in a snarl. I hoped he wasn’t turning canine on us; we were most of us cat people in Insula.
‘Well, no, young man, I’m afraid I don’t.’
The youth almost howled with anguish. ‘Don’t lie to me! You’ve got something that belongs to the Church! You should give it back!’
‘Ah, you mean this?’ Professor Monk held up a small USB stick. Thank the goddess for that. I was filled with admiration for him. With a little creative misdirection he had saved his manuscript from confiscation, and got me off the hook as well. Without even looking at me, he turned to Ms White. ‘I carry it with me all the time, you know. And despite what this deluded youth appears to think, if it belongs to anyone at all, it would be the University of Tel Aviv. It is the Gospel of St Joseph of Arimathea. Or so we think. We don’t precisely know yet, but it’s all very exciting. I’m having such fun with it.’