‘Whether the pictures were real or doctored, they were a threat. If it had been a photograph of me, I’d have said screw it, I won’t bow to pressure. But involving people I care about? I backed off.’
Conversation ceased while an old man threw crusts at the ducks a few feet away. Odette wondered how long Zach would keep watching people in this way – suspicious that they may be collecting information about him. After less than fifteen minutes, Odette felt paranoid herself. If she were wise, she would drop her pursuit of this mystery before the paranoia took permanent hold. But she thought it might already be too late for that. After months of revisiting the details of the case, she was ravenous for what Zach had given: a possible identity for the corpse. Odette wasn’t going to abandon her own investigations now.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Odette said. ‘Margaret Norton dropped off the face of the earth round about the same time I discovered the body in the museum. Then you pressed the coroner for more information but stopped because of the Conclave’s intimidation?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Your source, the one who sent you the directory. Can they tell you anything about Margaret’s disappearance?’
‘I emailed them. They’ve only ever made contact through encrypted messages, and they’ve never used the same address more than once. I emailed the last address they used, and asked whether Norton had any connection to the inquest. My message bounced back – the account had been closed.’
‘We need someone on the inside.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m not touching this story again.’
‘I understand,’ Odette told Zach. ‘Thank you for talking with me.’
*
Zach had given Odette a lead, and the only way to follow it was to get inside the Conclave. As soon as she got home, she looked up the Conclave’s recruitment webpage, and dialled the number for their careers line.
‘I’m a recent graduate,’ Odette said. ‘I’d like to make an application.’
‘In which field?’
Odette scanned the webpage, which included a list of departments. Criminal investigation was third from the bottom. That made Odette smile.
‘I want to be a detective,’ she said.
The rep took her details, and explained the selection process to her. Odette didn’t need an inside source to learn what was happening in the Conclave. She could find out on her own – as soon as she’d passed all the tests.
19
NOVEMBER 1973
Margaret
Although many of the time travellers lived at the Conclave’s central headquarters, Margaret did not. She had several homes across the country, including a substantial Georgian property just outside London. One evening, as the car approached this residence, she saw a man waiting by the front gate – an Indian, from the looks of him, in a suit that was fifteen years out of date.
He waved his trilby, as though to flag down the passing car. ‘Dr Norton! Dr Norton!’
His voice was muffled by the glass. Margaret didn’t have the faintest idea who he was.
‘Don’t stop,’ she told the driver. They proceeded up the drive, and the gates closed on the Indian behind them.
Half an hour later he returned to her thoughts. She was in her drawing room, by the fire, unwrapping a parcel that had arrived from the royal taxidermist. Beneath the paper and string was Patrick. He’d died a month before, of quite natural causes, and left a healthy dynasty at Margaret’s home in the Fells. Margaret was delighted with his new appearance. The taxidermist had captured Patrick’s shrewdness. The rabbit had always been wily, and she disciplined him accordingly. Margaret never coddled Patrick, as Barbara had done.
Thinking of Barbara gave Margaret a hunch. She was sure she remembered hearing Barbara married an Indian man. Called Ronny, or Danny, or some other not-very-Indian name. Might it have been him outside – perhaps to petition on Barbara’s behalf, at her instigation? That would be just typical of Barbara. How irritating. Margaret positioned Patrick at the side of the fireplace – in his alert pose you might imagine he was ready to jump over the flames – and crossed to the telephone.
It was Lucille she contacted.
‘Has Barbara’s husband been bothering you?’ Margaret asked.
‘Not bothering,’ Lucille said. ‘He did get in touch. Barbara’s in hospital and he was keen that we should visit.’
‘Surely you didn’t say you would?’
‘No,’ Lucille said, with audible reluctance.
‘Whatever’s the matter with her? The old trouble?’
‘Yes. Some business with a razor. Lucky she didn’t kill herself.’
An alarm sounded in Margaret’s thoughts. If, one day, Barbara did do herself in, it would reawaken everyone’s interest in her first, public breakdown. The Conclave should prepare for that eventuality, in case they needed to hush up the circumstances of Bee’s death. Keeping things quiet would be in everyone’s interests – not just the Conclave’s. No doubt Danny, or Ronny, would want to grieve in peace. He should be grateful for the discretion.
‘Lucille, could you obtain some documentation? I’d like to see Bee’s eventual death certificate. In fact – obtain all our death certificates.’ Might as well check whether there were any other surprises on the horizon.
*
The certificates were ready and waiting for Margaret when she arrived at work the next day. She perused them at her desk. Bee’s was first: septicaemia, in several decades’ time. Well, good. No scandal implied there. Lucille would die of cancer. Grace of a brain haemorrhage. And Margaret…
Margaret’s death certificate had a blank space where the cause of death should be.
She picked up the phone and dialled Lucille’s number.
‘What can I do for you, Margaret?’ Lucille asked.
‘What’s the meaning of this blank space?’
‘It’s the only certificate on record. I did check quite extensively.’ Lucille sighed. ‘The registrar told me a blank space is unusual, but not unheard of. It means something interrupted the certification process. The cause was contested for some reason.’
‘For some reason?’ Margaret was incredulous. ‘You’ve been to the future, Lucille. Are you saying no one knows how I die?’
‘There are rumours.’ Lucille said. ‘My own theory…’
‘Yes?’
‘Maybe your death arose during covert operations. It had to be kept a secret.’
Margaret rather liked the sound of that. A covert death. Most likely a noble one.
‘At any rate,’ Lucille went on, ‘you live to a grand old age, don’t you?’
Yes, Margaret said to herself; she had several good decades ahead of her, and a likely death in the field. She felt a little better about the blank space now. But she locked the certificates in the bottom drawer of her desk, which was where everything went that she didn’t want to see.
20
AUGUST 2017
Barbara
On the third day of Bee’s stay in London, Ruby said she had a conference to attend in Birmingham. Luckily Bee had plans of her own, and they included experiments.
As soon as Ruby left for her train, Bee set up her apparatus on the kitchen table. She’d been thinking about how to reuse spent fuel, and wanted to try out some ideas. From her reading she knew that the Conclave still used solid atroposium to power their time machines. In the sixties this made economic sense: the same material was already being produced for nuclear armament, and the pioneers were able to tap into the same supply chain. But there were limitations on this choice of fuel that had never been addressed.