Murderous traits, p.17
Murderous Traits, page 17
“Yes, of course,” said Nancy. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
She fetched some disposable gloves from her examination room, put on one pair and handed another pair to Claudia. Then she opened the top drawer. “It all looks OK,” she said. “Everything is neatly in its place.”
She pulled out the first folder of Annie Carr’s notes, laid it on her desk and opened it. “Mmm,” she said. “This isn’t right. They are not in the right order.”
“Are you sure?” asked Claudia. “It’s very important.”
“Quite sure,” said Nancy. “I have a meticulous system for storage and I know that after Sara and I had finished photocopying these notes, everything went back in the correct order. Let’s have a look at the photographs.”
“Photographs?” asked Claudia.
“It’s a long story, Dr Reid, but there are photos of Annie and me back in the early 1970s when I was trying to set up a comparison of the effects of the years on both of us. It didn’t get very far because I moved here and then there was the fire in which I thought Annie had died, but they are still in the file. I can remember that the top one should be … yes, that’s right. It’s this one. But the one underneath is upside down and shouldn’t be the next one anyway.”
She turned to Claudia and saw that John had joined her.
“This filing cabinet has definitely been broken into, although …” She paused to look at the lock. “No, nothing appears to have been forced.”
“I’m afraid that a lock like that would be child’s play for anyone with a little knowledge of lock picking,” said Claudia.
She turned to John.
“This is very significant. If Charles Creed’s fingerprints are on these files, it would show that he hasn’t just read Dr Wright’s book, but he has seen all the notes as well as the photographs that Dr Wright just mentioned of Naomi, er, Annie. Oh, so many names!”
John smiled. “But will that take us any further forward, Claudia?”
“I don’t know,” said Claudia, pursing her lips. “Perhaps Creed had an accomplice who also left his prints, and perhaps he has a criminal record. Who knows? We’re searching a trail of crumbs in the hope that they lead us back to something more significant. I could get these files fingerprinted; I have a friend here in New York I could beg a favour from.”
Nancy Wright looked up from the file she was still studying. “Since my office has been broken into, don’t you think it would be better if I report it to the police and ask them to take the fingerprints?”
Claudia shook her head, “Actually,” she said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You see, all the police know is that someone called Naomi Tripley has been abducted. They know nothing about her, or about who she really is and her connection to John, and nothing about how Sara fits into everything. Nor, for that matter, do they know anything about your connection with Paola, Dr Wright, and we certainly don’t want to have to tell them. Frankly, I think it unlikely they would come here at all. After all, you didn’t even know there had been a break-in until just now. They’ll probably think that you have mistaken the order of the notes and photos. But if they do come here and they find fingerprints, they will eventually match them through the database with Charles Creed, or whatever his name is, and they will start asking awkward questions.”
She paused and smiled self-consciously, realising that her ideas had poured out in their usual rush. Then she continued. “I think that would be best avoided. Let me talk to my friend. I’m fairly confident he will be able to make use of his own contacts in the police and check anything we find with the fingerprints of Charles Creed they have from Paola’s house.”
As Claudia was talking, Nancy had turned her head back to the file she was holding. Seeing this, Claudia caught John’s eye and shook her head very slightly. John nodded almost imperceptibly. Clearly there was something Claudia didn’t want to discuss in front of the psychiatrist.
“Would it be OK if I contacted my friend and asked him to call round, Dr Wright? He’s very good and won’t disturb you for long.”
Nancy looked up. “Whatever you think best, Dr Reid. In fact, I feel very privileged to be included among the people who know about Annie and her family and of course I understand completely the need for secrecy.” She smiled. “Let’s do it your way.”
C hapter 21
Paola sat back in her dining chair and took a sip of water. The meal of locally produced prosciutto, home-made tortellini and a veal cutlet fried in a very light dusting of breadcrumbs had been delicious. Dayton had deliberately refrained from asking her more about her past, instead telling her something of the history of the house, which he had first bought in 1253 from a nobleman fallen on hard times.
“Of course,” he explained, “officially the ownership has moved around a little. For a long time now it’s been under the name of an obscure charitable trust that ultimately I control. However, the paper trail would quickly become a maze for anyone trying to unravel it. But as long as all the appropriate taxes are paid, there is no reason for anyone to even think of trying.”
He suggested they return to sit by the fire. “I’ll fetch a plate of cantucci biscuits. Can I tempt you to a glass of the most exquisite Vin Santo to go with them? It’s from the same vineyard as the red wine we had earlier. Surely a small drop won’t affect you adversely and it’s the perfect way to end a meal.”
“It’s a long time since I drank Vin Santo,” said Paola. “Several centuries, in fact. Make it a very small drop.”
She sat down in the armchair by the fire, drawing her legs up under her. “You realise that you’ve just confirmed that we’re in Tuscany,” she said, turning to him to watch his reaction.
Dayton cocked an eyebrow.
“Vin Santo?” said Paola.
He smiled. “When were you last in Italy, Paola? Vin Santo might well have originated in Tuscany, but it’s fairly widely available throughout the country these days.”
Paola ignored the rebuff; she knew she was right. She picked up a biscuit and snapped it in two. “OK, Marcus Dayton, I’ve told you something of my somewhat murky past. What about yours? You told me in the gallery of statues that you were around two and a half thousand years old. That’s a hell of a long time. Tell me about your early life. Where were you born?”
Dayton poured two glasses of Vin Santo, his own fairly large, and sat back in his chair.
“In Greece, when that country was still powerful. But where exactly, I don’t know. From the rumours I heard, I think it was an island.”
“Rumours? Didn’t your parents tell you?”
“I never knew them. I was separated from them soon after my birth and placed in the hands of the high priest of an obscure sun-worshipping sect. I was brought up in a temple where there were no other children. From a very early age I was expected to serve Cyrus – that was the high priest’s name. I was seldom allowed to leave the temple and when I did I wasn’t allowed to play with the other children in the town. Initially I couldn’t understand them since they were speaking Greek and all I spoke was Cyrus’s mother tongue, which was a form of ancient Turkish.
“By the time I was about fourteen, I was head and shoulders taller than Cyrus and any other man in the town. I was strong too, and it slowly became clear to me that Cyrus had marked my role in life as his protector. He must have known I would grow to be tall so I assumed my father had been the same. I searched for other men with my stature, but there were none. He must have had my father killed.
“He refused to educate me, so I couldn’t read or write, but he did have me trained in the use of a sword and a dagger, as well as unarmed combat. He understood that while most men would have weapons in a fight, if you lost them, it was essential that you could use your hands and limbs as weapons in order to survive. I was good and I think he was proud of me. Certainly no man would have challenged him while I was around.”
Paola watched him closely as he stared into the fire, those ancient days almost reflecting in his pupils.
“But I was lonely, Paola. And although I was feared, because of my lack of the most rudimentary form of education, I was regarded as a simpleton. My contemporaries laughed at me behind my back and they could lose me easily with their words. I would hit out, hurt them physically, but it didn’t stop them. They would get the girls to do their bidding, knowing I’d stop short of striking them. Then one girl befriended me, felt sorry for me. We started to meet in secret and she would teach me things. She quickly realised that I was no idiot, that I had simply been deprived, so she made it her mission to educate me. It was difficult; my duties with Cyrus occupied much of my time, while Thera, that was the girl’s name, was very tied to her family duties.
“We continued for two years and, of course, we fell in love. We were both sixteen; how could it be otherwise? By then, the resentment I felt for Cyrus for depriving me of my true parents and bringing me up to be his slave was festering within me. I developed a hatred for him that took me over like some beast invading my body. Thera could see the change in me and it frightened her. But once I’d explained the evilness of the man, she agreed with my plan to kill him and run away. She wanted to come with me, to leave the family that she loved.
“We decided we would steal two horses and ride to the sea. We knew it was about two days’ ride. There we would steal a boat and disappear into the Mediterranean. We were extremely naïve.”
“Sounds like the plot of one of the second rate silent movies I was involved with when I was Dolores di Napoli in Hollywood about a hundred years ago,” said Paola, injecting a heavy dose of sarcasm into her voice. “But unlike those worthless pieces of rubbish, I suspect that your story didn’t end happily for all parties.”
She saw Dayton glance briefly in her direction and then look away. She knew she was right.
Dayton sighed and then continued. “Cyrus saw a change in me, began to suspect something. He kept me on an even tighter chain, making me stay with him almost every hour of the day. At night I was to sleep outside his door in full sight of his two trusted guards. It was like being in prison without the walls and bars. He made enquiries, found out who I’d been seeing, who my friends were. He was very cunning. He knew instinctively a girl was involved and so he gathered six of the girls I knew, but deliberately didn’t include Thera. He had them brought to the temple where, in my presence, he berated them about loyalty, religion, duty and the wrath of the gods. He threatened them with torture in the present life and for eternity in the afterlife if they didn’t tell him who I had been seeing. It didn’t take them long to cave in and give up Thera’s name.
“Thera was dragged to the temple along with her hapless parents. She was accused of the foulest things, of being a whore, of treason and worst of all, of incurring the anger of the gods who would in turn put a blight on the entire community. Thera knew she had no chance, that she was going to die. So in the midst of Cyrus’ rants, she rushed at him, pulling a dagger from her toga. But he saw her coming, drew a sword and cut her down.”
“You mean you stood by and watched your lover sacrificed?” Paola was incredulous.
“I tortured myself with questions like that for many years. You must remember I was little more than a boy; I had no experience of fighting authority. I had been waiting for the right moment, but seeing her dying on the temple floor, seeing the sneer on Cyrus’ face as he turned to me, I knew my time had come. I had no interest in living or dying; I just wanted to kill Cyrus before any of the guards stopped me. I charged at him, knocking the sword from his hand and, grabbing him by the head, I lifted him off his feet. Then as his arms flailed, I spun him round and crashed him to the floor, still grasping his head. His neck snapped and I felt him go limp. I could hear the guards rushing me – there were only three – so I hauled Cyrus’s body into the air and hurled it at them, following on in a charge with my now-drawn sword. Almost before his body crashed into them, I had cut all three down. I didn’t wait, didn’t care how many others were coming. I ran back over to Thera and knelt by her. I lifted her into my arms, but she was dead. I carried her to her parents, who were just standing there horror-struck. Somehow, her father found the strength to take his daughter’s body from me. ‘Go!’ he said, ‘Go! Run! You have very little chance but try, for Thera’s sake.’ I didn’t need telling twice. I turned and ran and, in the confusion, I somehow managed to escape. To tell you the truth, I have no idea how, but when I regained my senses, I found myself on a horse riding at full pelt into the countryside.”
He stopped, his face taut.
“Did you ever find out about your origins, your parents?” said Paola, surprising herself that she was taking a genuine interest in Dayton’s story.
“Never. I tried, followed rumours, stories, but nothing came of it. But Thera’s tuition led me to an understanding of business. You see, her father was a trader, a merchant of some standing. Unusually, he had taught his daughter the principles of trading and doing business, and she passed that onto me, whetting my appetite. I found I had a natural aptitude for it and once I’d stopped running and accepted that no one was running after me, I settled in Athens where I apprenticed with another trader, a ship owner who sent me to sea for a few years where I made him a lot of money. He rewarded me by giving me half his business. I’ve had many businesses over the centuries, Paola, made and lost fortunes, but I’ve always managed to accrue wealth.”
He stopped and shifted his gaze from the still-blazing logs to Paola. Her eyes were fixed on his, her expression neutral. He could read nothing from it.
For her part, Paola was fighting her emotions. Her default position in any threatening situation was always to escape, and if that meant fighting or killing to achieve it, she would not hesitate. There was even now a demon within her telling her to attack Dayton where he sat, but she kept it at bay, knowing that even if she overpowered him, she could not escape his house. She would be killed. However, interwoven with her instinctive reaction was a sense of fascination for this man. He was absurdly old, had experienced more than anyone could imagine. Yet he had been denied the one thing he had wanted for almost all his long life, and when his dream had finally been fulfilled, it was cruelly snatched from him. With unlimited wealth and being used to getting whatever he wanted, he had followed his natural instincts. He had found her and then had taken her against her will. He was used to no other way.
She shuddered inwardly. What he wanted was unacceptable, outrageous. What right did he have to take away a product of her body and allow her no further contact, to use her like a machine? Fascinating or not, she would resist, find a way to compromise Dr Ronaldi’s work. Or if it were successful, to claim the child. She would, after all, be its mother with as many if not more rights than Dayton. Better still, she would stick to her earlier thoughts: lead Dayton along, let the preliminary tests commence, and make her escape.
She stood. “An interesting tale. In spite of my continuing anger over the reasons why I am here, I should like to hear more sometime. But now, I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”
She paused by the door and looked back at him.
“We shall make formidable adversaries, Marcus Dayton.” She let her eyes linger on his for a few moments. “Don’t let your guard down.”
Dayton watched her leave, realising as he did that for the first time since he had known of her, he was suddenly thinking of her as an attractive woman rather than a commodity, the source of something he wanted. He was perfectly aware of the danger that lurked in such a feeling; he needed very much to follow her advice and keep on his guard.
C hapter 22
As John and Claudia made to leave Nancy Wright’s office, Claudia had a nagging feeling that they were missing something. They had established that Charles Creed had been spying on the psychiatrist, but they had little more. She thought over their conversation and realised they hadn’t examined all the possibilities.
“John,” she said, “I’ve been thinking. It might be an idea to check inside the offices upstairs, the ones that appear to have been abandoned, if only to establish that they are empty rather than the occupants all being on holiday.”
“Perhaps if they are abandoned, your friends here in New York could look for fingerprints there as well,” said John.
“Good idea,” replied Claudia. “But there could also be something up there that is of use to us right now. I don’t know, writing paper with the company logo on it, something like that.”
“The guard should have the keys,” said Nancy. “Maybe we can persuade him to let us in. I’ll ask Maureen to come down with us; she seems to know the guard. Perhaps we should start by showing him the photos.”
Fernando, the Mexican guard, was six foot two with a mop of luxuriant jet-black curls and a self-assured radiant white smile that homed straight in on Claudia. As she passed him the photos, he made sure his hand lingered on hers for long enough that she would look up into his dark brown eyes.
“I am very observant, señorita. If these people been here, Fernando, he see them,” he said, flashing even more of his teeth.
Claudia offered him a broad smile in return. “That’s very reassuring, thank you so much.”
“Hey, where you from? You speak like the Queen of England. She a very special lady.”
“She is,” agreed Claudia, “but I’m not sure that I sound very much like her.” She paused and then tilted her head at the set of prints. “The photos?”
As he tore his gaze from Claudia to look at the post mortem shot of Edith Cooper, Fernando’s heavy eyebrows closed in one another in a frown, his face taking on a distinctly Neanderthal appearance.
