I need those pages from Mark’s diary.
But how does one get into a fucking bombproof safe? A contraption that has already defeated the craftiest underwear crook in Cambridgeshire? Short of holding a gun to Mark Henry Evans’s head? Or pressing a knife with a serrated edge against his throat?
Just asking.
25 May 2015
The clock’s ticking. On me.
He called this morning to say sorry. It’s amazing how he has turned apologizing into an art form. A chronic condition. He will no longer be able to get away from Cambridge next Saturday. Rowan is staging a noontime press conference at the Guildhall because the Mixed Marriage Act receives its royal assent the day before. Next Saturday morning is perfect timing, says Rowan. The right opportunity for more political capital and publicity. But this development also throws an unfortunate spanner into the plans we’ve made for the weekend. He’s so sorry.
One thing hit me right then.
The press conference at the Cambridge Guildhall would be my perfect opportunity to bring Mark Henry Evans to his knees. In an altogether different way from the frenzied action depicted on my 144-GB memory stick.
I now know the date and time of his unveiling to the press corps of Great Britain.
Next Saturday.
When the magnificent bells of Great St. Mary’s church begin to peal twelve times in a row, just a few yards away from the Guildhall.
But there’s a small problem. A tiny but significant one. I already have plenty of hay. An impressive, sumptuous pile. But my haystack needs its crowning glory. Like a Norwegian spruce crying out for its uppermost crystal ornament. I need more icing on my cake. I need Mark’s diary entries for the days between 13 and 24 June 1996. The period between the death of Catherine Louise Evans and Paget’s report. Because they will make all the videos on my 144-GB memory stick redundant.
I can picture the journalists assembled at the Guildhall next Saturday. Poring over these photocopied pages from Mark’s diary, which I will of course be distributing with the appropriate level of relish. The right amount of glee. Lapping up Mark’s unvarnished account of what really happened in the nursery of 23 Milton Road nineteen years ago. The shocked expressions on their faces. The ensuing horror in their eyes, the matching newspaper headlines the following day.
The blissful satisfaction that is bound to well up in my heart. Because that moment in the Guildhall will be the dramatic culmination of two years of hard work. In the bedroom. And out of it.
My grand, jaw-dropping finale.
When Mark Henry Evans is exposed.
As an adulterer. A liar. An accomplice to murder.
The first two revelations will merely raise eyebrows. Ruin his political career. But the third will destroy him. Completely.
I need those pages from his diary.
Before. Next. Saturday.
But how on fucking earth do I get hold of them?
Looks can indeed be deceiving.
—Diary of Sophia Ayling
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hans
5? hours until the end of the day
Let me get this vitriolic little diary right. So Mark made Sophia so livid that she ended up colliding with some “bloody” metallic thing on Jesus Green. This, in turn, triggered a surge of “full memory,” a condition she ultimately blamed on Mark. So my deduction was right. I should be pleased that I managed to work it out. But did Sophia truly intend to unveil pages from Mark’s diary at a Guildhall press conference in a bid to bring him down? The one at noon today?
This is pretty insane.
I reach forward to demolish the white queen with its black counterpart. Another knock reverberates on the door. I look up; it’s Hamish again. A chastened, even sheepish expression shades his face.
“You’re right,” he says. “I take back what I said earlier.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Marge got her act together,” he says. “This came through a few minutes ago.”
He hands a sheaf of papers to me. The uppermost one reads:
Office of the Cambridgeshire Coroner
Date and Hour Full Autopsy Performed: 9:49, 6 June 2015, by
Margery Sheldon, MBBS, FRCPath, DMJ (Path)
Name: Sophia Alyssa Ayling
Date of Birth: 20 November 1970
Race: White; Sex: Female; Class: Duo
Coroner’s Case #2015-289
“I’ll leave you to mull over Marge’s findings,” he says. “There’s some fascinating stuff in there. Looks like you were right all along. I’m still trying to confirm if Winchester changed her name. I’ll let you know if I dig up anything. I’ve a feeling I’m almost there.”
I’m tempted to tell him that the task is no longer necessary. But then again, I should keep him busy.
“Very well,” I say.
He vanishes from the doorway. Perhaps Hamish isn’t such a pompous idiot after all. At least he had the decency to admit he was wrong. I grip the papers before me, gobbling up the print with hungry eyes:
EXTERNAL EXAMINATION
The autopsy commenced at 9:49. The body is presented in a black body bag. The victim is wearing a gray trench coat (Aquascutum, extra large), with its front, side, and internal pockets filled with polished black and white ornamental garden stones averaging 50 mm in diameter. She is also wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck shirt (Alexander McQueen, size 8), long black trousers (Alexander King, size 8), and black flat-soled boots (Lanvin, size 6). Her underwear consists of a black lace bra and a black lace G-string (Agent Provocateur).
The body is that of a white female measuring 175 centimeters and weighing 116 pounds. Its features are consistent with the stated age of 44 years. The victim is wearing light-blue contact lenses and has dark-brown irises. The corneas are cloudy. The victim’s hair is dyed platinum blond, layered in curls, and is approximately 250 mm in length at the longest point. The color of the roots indicates that her natural hair is dark brown. Toenails are painted a bright crimson. The victim’s lips bear traces of bright red lipstick. Extensive plastic surgery has been conducted on the victim’s chin, nose, ears, and cheeks. She has hyaluronic acid lip fillers and has received Botox injections to her forehead. She has also undergone major breast augmentation. The genitalia are that of an adult female, and there is no evidence of physical injury. Pubic hair has been partially trimmed.
There is a bruise on the right-hand side of the victim’s skull measuring 15 mm x 5 mm. It is located beneath the victim’s hair about an inch behind her right ear.
The victim’s body is covered with river dirt, sludge, and plant detritus. Dirt encrusts her fingernails. A strip of green aquatic weed encircles her left leg. There are superficial scrapes and travel abrasions on the victim’s elbows, knees, and backs of the hands. The red nail varnish on her left index, middle, and ring fingers bears scuff marks. The varnish on all fingernails of her right hand is similarly chipped. There are small cuts and skin abrasions on the tips of the victim’s left thumb and on her index and middle fingers. The skin on the fingertips of her right hand is also lacerated in places.