The Watcher and the Mask (Pt 2) Three Two of the most accurate but useless observations in the English language were currently plaguing Jonathan Creek. "The phone you have called has not responded. It may respond it you try again." He had now listened to this message, delivered adamantly by a dalekesque woman, eight times in the last half hour. Contacting Maddy was proving difficult. She was not at home and her mobile phone was either off or out of range. Typical really as he urgently needed to confirm the arrangements for this evening's Meal of Forgiveness. When last week she had offered to take him out, he had been working so hard at being fractious that even though they had arranged a date he had forgotten to confirm the time and place. Since then he had become immersed in immersing Adam again, and it was only after checking his diary just now that his mistake had hit home, a few hours before they were presumably due to meet. He hung up and hit redial. "The phone you have called has not responded. It may respond it you try again." An increasingly exasperated Jonathan was starting to disbelieve the second observation which clearly employed a broad definition of the word "may", extending it to include the word "won't". He thought for a moment. If she was not at home and her mobile was switched off then she could be in a meeting. And if she was in a meeting it was probably with Barry Opper, her publisher. After all, her new book was due out soon, based on the situations they had investigated over the past few years, and they might be having a last minute conference about its launch. Following a quick searching for Barry's direct line on his mobile's memory, Jonathan pressed 'dial' and was relieved to receive an almost instantaneous reply. "Hi Barry, it's Jonathan. Sorry to bother you, but is she around?" he asked. "Jonathan, how are you?" came the delighted reply. "She's not here I'm afraid. What's the problem?" "Bit embarrassing really. We're supposed to be going out for this meal tonight. I wasn't quite sure where we were supposed to be meeting." "Ah yes, I'm looking forward to it Jonathan." Not the response Jonathan was expecting. His brow creased in confusion. "We're all meeting seven," Barry continued, "at that pub...oh, what's it called now? The Nun's Trumpet, or something. It's the one on Main Street, anyway." We? thought Jonathan, but what he said was; "Right. Excellent. So just to recap then, that's you, me and..." he left his sentence purposefully hanging. "Oh, I think there's about ten of us. It should be great. Maddy's thrilled, and you have to admit it's all quite exciting..." But Jonathan was not listening anymore. Ten! The woman never ceased to astonish him. Just when he finally thought he had at last worked her out, she went and pulled a completely new stunt. Like not telling him about the advert. Or, even better, inviting him out for a meal and suggesting it would be an intimate evening for two by way of an apology for not telling him about the advert but without telling him about the reams of other people she had also invited out for the same meal. Besides, she knew he did not exactly relish evenings out with her acquaintances. Jonathan's reasons for this were not purely antisocial. They were motivated by the predictable way such occasions always developed, and this was summed up nicely by what had happened the last time they went out with her 'friends'. It had been a portentous social function thrown at a hotel to celebrate the launch of some woman's book. Maddy had introduced him to the author in question, a frightening pitbull terrier of a woman who naturally, like everyone always did, had enquired after Jonathan's profession. "I work for Adam Klaus, the magician..." he had started to reply, knowing the end result of this fatal admission before he had even started to speak. "Oh how charmingly Bohemian," the pitbull had boomed. "Mr Crake is a magician." She announced loudly, waving her arms like a demented tour guide to capture the attention of other guests. "Actually it's 'Creek', and I'm not really a..." he desperately tried to interject. But it was far, far too late. Everyone in earshot had been alerted by her barking and flocked to catch a glimpse of the 'charming bohemian'. "Mr Crake here is a magician," she repeated when she had gathered a small audience. "Now then Mr Crake, do give us a nice little trick." The masses loomed forward expectantly. And Maddy had smiled innocently from within the champagne glasses and vol-au-vents. Eventually Jonathan obliged, performing a swift vanishing act involving himself and the nearest exit. This had left him in trouble with Maddy, but at least he had retained his sanity. "Why don't you pretend you're an accountant or something," she had snapped afterwards. "What, and have everyone giving me their tax returns? No thanks. What do I know about personal finance anyway?" Jonathan had replied. "Jonathan?" Barry said. Jonathan suddenly realised he had no idea what Barry had been talking about for the past two minutes. For one hideous moment he struggled to think of something appropriately vague to say in response. "Sorry Barry, didn't quite get that. I think the phone's playing up." He inwardly squirmed. "That's OK Jonathan. I just said 'we'll see you this evening then.'" "Right. Yeah. Definitely." After saying goodbye, Jonathan went downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a coffee, his brain whirring. A straight forward night out had suddenly become complicated. On the one hand he could spend the evening plucking coins from peoples' nostrils and guessing which card - tediously, someone always had a pack of cards on them - one of his fellow diners had randomly selected. On the other hand he could just not go. Except then, thought Jonathan, he would not get to see Maddy. * Sunlight filtered through the gap in the curtains sending bright shafts of light through the dust that hung in the air. In the middle of the room stood a double bed, swathed in mountains of sheets and duvet. Amidst the bedclothes Maddy Magellan lay peacefully sleeping, her mouth upturned slightly in a contented smile. Clothes lay strewn around the room, haphazardly abandoned the night before, and when Jonathan nudged the door open and crept in holding two steaming mugs of tea, he had to pick his way through the fallen garments to get to the bed. Unlike her he had woken early. Knowing she was not a morning person and had been late in the night before, he had been as quiet as possible when making the drinks downstairs. Now he sat down on the side of the bed, causing the mattress to creak. Buried in the sheets Maddy did not stir, and so as softly as possible he said her name. Her eyes slowly opened, and blinking tiredly she looked at him. "Morning," he said and smiled down at her, "I've brought you some tea." "Thanks Jonathan," she said returning the smile, "just leave it..." Her expression suddenly darkened. "Hang on a minute. Where the bloody hell did you come from?" Maddy sat bolt upright in bed with a yell. "And where were you last night, you bastard!?" Jonathan fished something out of his shirt pocket and dangled it on the end of his finger. "I came around early to explain," he said. "I found these in your front door lock and let myself in." Thunderously, Maddy snatched her keys back. "You should be more careful really. It wasn't that long ago you were burgled," he added. "Anyway good curry was it? Must have been a heavy night to leave those keys in the door like that." "You really are one of the most pompous..." Maddy stopped again and shook her head "Wait a second, how do you know we went for a curry? That was a last minute change of plan!" Wrinkling his nose, Jonathan looked uncomfortable and found something to stare at in his mug of tea. "Oh for God's sake, don't be so prudish! We all do it!" snapped Maddy as she realised. "So I might have had a mild curry, but..." "Mild!" Jonathan cut in. "When I walked in here just now the duvet was practically wrapped around the light bulb!" "Look. At least the most exciting thing I've ever eaten didn't have wings and fly into my mouth by mistake." Again she shook her head incredulously. "I can't actually believe I'm having this conversation. I'm sitting here, at the crack of bloody dawn by the looks of it, yet again defending my digestive system against your vitamin-enhanced smugness. And you still haven't told me where you were last night. Barry told me you were definitely coming." Jonathan shuffled on the bed. "Adam called at the last minute..." "Don't give me that, Jonathan. You couldn't lie straight on a ruler," this from the expert, thought Maddy, but she was not going to let him get away with it. "Don't you know how rude it is to just not-turn-up to a dinner invitation?" "Certainly no more impolite than inviting someone out to a pre-arranged shindig under the pretence that it's a cosy meal for two." Maddy looked at him and slumped back against the pillows. "Barry didn't tell you then?" "Tell me what?" Her vehemence immediately vanished. "Oh God. Jonathan, I'm sorry. No wonder you thought I had..." she sighed and shook her head. "Look. Barry arranged a meal to surprise me yesterday evening. I told him you and I were supposed to be having dinner, but he just said 'bring him too'. I spent all afternoon trying to call you on my mobile before realising it was on the blink, but then when Barry told me he'd spoken to you during the day I thought he'd filled you in!" Probably he did and I wasn't listening, thought Jonathan, but he decided it would be sensible not to share the fact. "Never mind," he smiled, "these things happen." Maddy asked Jonathan to go and make some breakfast while she got dressed. He took his tea down to the kitchen, his faith in her once more restored, and started hunting through cupboards for bread and cereal. Pinned to her notice board he spotted the infamous advert, and directly beneath it a couple of phone number written on a scrap of paper, but he was too pre-occupied to pay them much attention. Arranging bowls and plates on the kitchen table he tried to recall his conversation with Barry the day before. One sentence in particular kept coming back to him, "...Maddy's thrilled, and you have to admit it's all quite exciting..." but after that his mind had mooched off at a tangent and he could remember nothing more. Barry's comment, combined with his surprise meal, was starting to puzzle Jonathan, and so he asked Maddy directly about it when she came down for breakfast. "Well, it's nothing definite," she said munching on a piece of toast, "but you know my new book, the one about the stuff you've solved?" "Yes," said Jonathan cautiously. "Well Barry sent a manuscript to a producer friend of his. Apparently this guy's managed to sell the idea to an independent television company who could develop it into a series - a sort of 'based on true life' drama kind-of-thing. Barry heard the news the other day and arranged the meal to celebrate." She saw Jonathan's eyes beginning to get wider in the way they usually did just before he said... "You are joking, surely! A television series! Adam's going to just love it if..." "Woah! Hang on a minute will you! Obviously if they went with the idea they would have to completely change people's identities. Like I say, nothing's definite. In fact I'm waiting for some feedback from this friend of Barry's. The programme makers want to suggest some changes before anything goes ahead, apparently." Pacified, Jonathan had to agree that for Maddy at least this was good news. Congratulating her he went to drop some more bread in the toaster. "So, how was the meal?" he asked as the bread began to brown. "You missed out actually, it was really good. I'll have to take you there sometime." There was a slight pause, and she turned in her chair to face Jonathan. "Except," she said wearing a quizzical expression, "you know that sensation you get, that someone's watching you? I had that feeling in the restaurant last night." "I know. I've seen the way you eat. I'm amazed you didn't attract a crowd." Jonathan chuckled to himself but stopped when he caught her stony gaze. "Sorry," he smiled weakly, "couldn't resist that." Shrugging Maddy reached for her tea. "Oh, it was probably nothing anyway. Being the centre of attention like that. Most likely went to my head." She looked at the crumbs on her plate. "Is that toast nearly done then?" Over the second round they caught up with each other lives. It had been nearly two weeks since they had last seen each other, so there was plenty to talk about. Jonathan regaled Maddy with Adam's latest amorous shenanigans which, were it not for the absence of a trouserless vicar, could easily be mistaken for the plot of a West End farce. Then he went on to tell her about the new routines he had been engrossed in for the last fourteen days. "...ideally I'd like to have a slimy, groping octopus in the tank. I'm just worried the stage-hands won't notice the difference and fish it out instead of Adam." Maddy smiled. "Anyway," Jonathan continued, glancing subtly at the notice board. "No doubt you've been busy. I expect the phone hasn't stopped ringing." It took Maddy a moment to realise he was referring to the advert and tried to make her answer sound convincing. "Actually it might surprise you to know, Jonathan, that I've had lots of very interesting calls from people prepared to pay lots of money for my help. Lots of money. But as you made it blatantly clear that you're not interested..." "Hardly any, then." "Two," she admitted reluctantly, "and one was to order a deep-pan with extra anchovies." Noticing a flicker of superciliousness passing over Jonathan's face she smiled inwardly, and picking up her plate meandered over to the sink. With a sprinkling of indifference she added; "Good job the other was such a blinder, I suppose," before turning on the taps. Even with her back to him she could tell his expression had changed. Jonathan would now be unsuccessfully trying to work out the meaning to this deliberately enticing comment, but would avoid responding for a few moments to maintain the illusion of casual disinterest. A few moments passed. "Interesting call was it then?" he asked disinterestedly. Told you, thought Maddy to herself. "Very, actually," she replied. "But like I say, you wouldn't want to know." Jonathan's natural curiosity finally got the better of him and he took a deep breath. "OK!" he yielded. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you. And yes, I would like to hear about it." The taps were turned off and Maddy returned to the table. Realising that the games were over and she was now being serious, Jonathan leaned forward to listen. "Well, it's a strange one," she said. "Yesterday I got a call from one of the museums in town. Have you ever heard of 'The Helladic Experience'?" Jonathan shook his head. "It's a collection of old Greek stuff, but that doesn't matter. The point is that last week the owners had a three thousand year old relic stolen from their house. The burglar was caught on camera, but somehow managed to get through two sealed doors and into a wall safe like a hot knife through butter. Just to make things really complicated they also managed to fool several alarm systems into thinking they didn't exist, and left hardly any forensic evidence..." And so Jonathan listened intently as Maddy recounted her story. * It was twenty four hours before Jonathan and Maddy sat down to breakfast. Sitting at his desk in the museum offices, Robert looked at the open newspaper in front of him and took another mouthful of coffee. After the theft the atmosphere at the museum had become unbearable. Gossip among the staff was rife, Mr Neltson had hardly been seen and now Mrs Neltson was in the middle of yet another heated exchange with representatives from the Greek museum in the office next door. Mercifully the press had only been interested on the day of the burglary, and had subsequently left the couple more or less alone. Robert was a proactive person and being able to offer only verbal support to his employers had become frustrating. Wondering how he could do something practical to help he had been half-heartedly flipping through the newspaper during his morning break, only to stumble across something pertinent in the classifieds. This might be the answer, he thought, and read the advert again. 'Up the creek without a paddle?' Admittedly this did not sound terribly professional, but coupled with the 'proven track record' of solving 'unexplained crime' it had been enough to get him interested. The name 'Magellan' also had a familiar ring to it. Robert vaguely remember reading a book called 'Courage and Conviction' by an investigative crime writer several years previously. Presumably it was no accident that the author shared a surname with the person in this advert. For a while he thought carefully. The police had discovered nothing conclusive so far, so surely a third person's perception of events could do no harm. At the same time, however, he did not want to go behind his employer's back. But his mind was made up when he heard Rebecca's anguished tones leaking from next door. Things sounded as if they were getting increasingly unpleasant with the representative he had diverted to her phone ten minutes earlier. It was time to act. Decisively he placed the mug back on the desk, lifted the handset of his telephone and dialled the number in the advert. * Another chunk of Simon Neltson's sagacity dissolved as he put the telephone receiver back on its hook. It was five days since the Face of the Unknown King had been stolen. Ever since then tempestuous waters had heaved at the crumbling foundations of his sanity, but he had forced himself to stay rational and expended tremendous effort remaining calm. But this latest news was too much, sending panicked thoughts rolling and crashing around his head. After the theft he had returned to work just once, but had found the looks he got from his staff unbearable. Naturally the police had conducted interviews around the museum, and this seemed to have cast him in a suspicious light with his employees. Robert and Webb were the supportive exceptions, but this was not enough to boost his morale. Remaining at home was the only way to distance himself from the misgivings that radiated from those around him, even though the house was constant reminder of what had happened. While Rebecca had continued to go to work, handling the negative publicity the theft had generated and liasing with the angry officials from Athens and the insurance company, Simon had wandered aimlessly around the empty rooms at Ravenscroft. Elegantly decorated walls witnessed his pacing as they had also witnessed the recent theft. On both subjects they remained silent. Yet their testimony would have been invaluable, thought Simon. No-one else had a plausible explanation as to how the intruder took the mask. John Webb had arranged for technicians from Chapel Technologies to test the GPS case, but like the police they found it to be in perfect working order. Neltson had also listened while the security company who monitored the house alarm once more confirmed the system was operating as it should be, and had been functioning all night without being triggered or deactivated. Despite blatant evidence to the contrary, both companies were confident their products had not been tampered with, although neither could explain how they had so obviously failed to protect the mask. The police investigation had been equally inconclusive. For several hours after the theft, they combed the house for any evidence which might reveal the identify of the burglar or the means by which they stole the mask. The tiny fibres on the study doorframe had been a solitary breakthrough in this respect. Subsequent analysis of the videotape using the latest digital enhancement technology had produced the observation that the suspect was "probably male", but this was hardly a radical inference. Now, thought Neltson incredulously, there was this latest news to content with. Justus Vurt had been released. Neltson's initial unerring certainty that Vurt was responsible, fuelled by his apparent disappearance, had suffered its first major knock three days after the theft when the telephone had rung during dinner. After taking the call Rebecca had returned to the table and pushed her still steaming plate to one side. "That was the police," she said quietly, "Vurt's turned up. He's been in Scotland since before the burglary." There was a stunned silence from across the room. "There is some good news though," she added, "they've taken him in for questioning...about those letter he sent us." Her eyes had flicked up to gage Simon's reaction, but there had been none. And now, barely twelve hours later they had released Vurt without charge. "His alibi is a valid one," Caroline Flint had said on the telephone moments before, "he travelled to Inverness on the train and spent several days there, doing nothing. Unusual behaviour but completely verifiable." "But I know he did it." Neltson had snapped. "Unfortunately you cannot substantiate that, sir," replied the Detective Inspector. "Despite the incriminating letters, proof of intent is not enough when the suspect can show beyond reasonable doubt that they were several hundred miles away at the time of the offence. Besides, we would still have to discover where he acquired his excellent lock breaking skills. Opening a safe to which only one person know the combination is a talent, I'm sure you agree..." "Then he had help," interrupted Neltson, "you've read those letters '...the mask is mine by right, it will never return to Greece...', don't tell me the man doesn't have the wit to hire a professional to do the job..." Now it was Flint who interrupted. "Mr Neltson. Professor Vurt has never denied writing those letters and we are still considering several avenues of enquiry relating to his actions and intent. You can rest assured we shall be keeping a vigilant eye on him over the next few days. In the meantime you will be pleased to hear that we are leaving all our options open." The word 'all' was given menacing emphasis. Nauseous, Simon now stood in the hall his hand still resting on the phone. That last sentence had implied more than he liked to think. Justus Vurt had duped that pompous, overconfident woman, so was she now turning her attentions towards him? Shaking the stupor from his body, Simon made his way up the wooden stairs to his bedroom at the back of the house. Standing before the high rectangular window he stared down the garden at the river that sped past below. Sunlight flashed on the bubbling water and Neltson turned away, shaking his head as he ambled into the bathroom to try and refresh his thoughts. Walking to the sink he turned on the cold tap and breathing slowly closed his eyes. Cupped hands splashed his face with sharp, invigorating water and he relished the moment before opening his eyes again. Staring back at him from the mirrored cabinet above the sink was a dripping, unshaven mess with lank, greasy hair. Neltson blinked at the image in revulsion and opened the cabinet to find his razor. The first thing he noticed on the shelf inside was a small glass bottle. Picking it up he shut the cabinet door, a though forming in the back of his mind. Sleeping tables. Revelation warmed him slowly from the feet upwards escaping from his mouth in a burst of laughter. On the night of the theft he had taken a tablet at midnight, Rebecca had seen him do it. His doctor had told him they guaranteed at least five hours sleep, yet the burglary had taken place only four hours later. Midday sun poured through the bathroom window and in the mirror Neltson's face came alive with light that glinted from the droplets clinging to his skin. The pills were his alibi. At that moment the phone started to ring in the bedroom, so he patted his face dry with a towel and went to answer it, pill bottle still in one hand. "Hello?" he said. "Mr Neltson. Sorry to bother you. My name's Madeline Magellan. You won't know me but I've just had a call from Robert Farrow your PA, who suggested I give you a ring. I understand you've been on the receiving end of a rather unfortunate burglary and wondered if I could help at all." "Robert?" Neltson was surprised. "Why did Robert contact you? Are you a counsellor or something?" The woman on the phone laughed. "No. No, nothing like that. Mr Farrow saw an advert of mine in the paper. I'm an investigator, basically. I usually look into miscarriages of justice, but I've also help solve a fair few...shall we say 'unusual' crimes. And yours certainly sounds unusual if you don't mind me saying, Mr Neltson. How did it happen again? The burglar broke into a security case which was locked in your safe..." Neltson sat down on the bed. "That's the merest gist of it Ms Magellan. Look, I really don't think..." "Obviously there will be much more too it than Robert told me," she continued unwavering, "which is why I think it would be useful if I came round. Get the whole story from you. For a start you can tell me about...what did your PA say his name was? Justice Vurt?" With a sigh Neltson corrected her mistake "Justus, Ms Magellan." For a moment he considered declining her bombastic offer of help but looking at the bottle in his hand he hesitated. Finding the pills had triggered a new hope, displacing the concerns he harboured about becoming a suspect. All he now needed was to prove Vurt's involvement, and it seemed as if Robert had provided him with the means to do so. "Maybe you can help me," he said after a pause. "I don't know how, Ms Magellan, but Vurt broke into my house and stole an invaluable artefact. He's now managed to persuade the police he was in Scotland at the time and they believe him. If you are as good as you say, you can prove he's lying and tell me how he did it. Do this Ms Magellan and you will make me a very happy man." For such a monumental request the woman seemed completely unfazed and replied without missing a beat. "Fine. Glad to have a crack at it," she said. "Now when do you want to meet? This afternoon at the museum any good for you?" * The lift doors slid open and Maddy walked into the reception area of the museum, a mobile phone clamped to her ear and a scowl on her face. Despite several attempts had been no reply from Jonathan on either his home number or his mobile. Typical really as she urgently needed to confirm the arrangements for this evening's Meal of Forgiveness, which she would have to cancel in lieu of Barry's surprise. But now there were other matters to attend with, so she disappeared the phone into the copious black bag slung over her shoulder and took stock of her surroundings. 'The Helladic Experience' had not been difficult to find, it was one of the only museums in this part of town and for a change had been well sign posted. Once inside, Maddy had not anticipated the place would feel as modern as it actually did. The word 'museum' tended to conjure up images of fusty rooms full of dust and bored school children, and her expectations for a collection of elderly pots and swords had not been high. Yet for an old building the place had been carefully designed and had a polished ambience contemporary enough to satisfy even the most jaded nineties visitor. Opposite the lift a sophisticated looking bank of tills staffed by two slick and smiling assistants regulated entry to the museum itself, while to her right Maddy noticed a stylish looking eatery and the obligatory gift shop. "Mustn't forget to buy a tea towel", she muttered to herself as she wandered over to the two sets of white teeth which beamed from behind the till desk. "Can we help at all?" asked one set of immaculate dentures. "The museum is open until six today," added her counterpart needlessly. Maddy inwardly sighed and suppressed the urge to ask for a burger with cheese to go. Instead she introduced herself and asked the enamel sisters where she could find Simon Neltson. "Are you the police again?" came the reply. "No," Maddy said patiently, "but I am here about the theft." "The offices are on your right," smiled the first set of teeth, illustrating the fact by holding up her right hand nicely. "I'll let his PA know you're here," she said before turning her attention to the man who had just arrived behind Maddy. "Can we helped at all?" she sing-songed. "Thanks," said Maddy heading for the offices on her left. "Don't forget to floss," she hissed under her breath. Sitting on one of the comfortable chairs in Neltson's office ten minutes later, Maddy dug around in her bag. Introductions had been and gone and now it was down to business, just as soon as she found a notepad and pen. "Sorry about this," she smiled at the couple sitting opposite her, " I know they're in here somewhere." The Neltson's, like their museum, were the exact opposite of Maddy's expectations. The man Robert had introduced as Simon Neltson was a million miles away from the bearded, sandal-toed cardigan wearer she envisaged. Dressed in beige trousers and a casual brown jacket the tall man was actually quite handsome, and she felt herself flush slightly has he took her hand. "Pleased to meet you Ms Magellan," he said, deep blue eyes smiling, "I've only just arrived myself. Come and meet my wife." Rebecca Neltson was less obviously attractive yet still subtly beautiful. Short dark hair framed her expressive face which was softened with a hint of make-up. She too was tall, but dressed more formally than her husband and Maddy sensed within her a quiet capability. "Simon tells me you're a private investigator," Rebecca said enquiringly. Finally, after much rummaging Maddy located the elusive items and set her bag on the chair next to her. "Sort of," she said, flicking through her pad to find a blank page before looking up at the other woman. "Well, no actually. Just the investigator bit. I'm more a crime writer really. But don't let that put you off," she saw the couple glance at each other. "I won't go running to the press with any juicy details," she laughed. Just get them made into a television series, she thought to herself. "But you did say earlier that you have looked into this sort of thing before?" asked Simon. "You see, while I appreciate Robert contacting you, I must admit to being slightly hesitant. I don't mean to offend, but we know nothing of your credentials." The bag was once again called into action and from within Maddy produced a handful of books and plopped them on the coffee table. On top of the pile was a copy of 'Jonathan Creek - Murders that Baffled the World' she had recently used for proof reading. "That one is about to be published," she said, "Jonathan's my silent partner. Very good at thinking around corners." "I stand corrected, Ms Magellan," Simon capitulated, his hands raised in submission. "Rebecca and I would be very interested to hear your opinion about what's happened. The mask was extremely important to me. Vurt has to be brought to justice." For the first time Maddy felt something angry bubbling beneath his veil of composure. "On top of everything else the Archaeological Museum in Greece are now threatening legal action. They feel we've been...negligent." Rebecca added, glancing anxiously at her husband who hung his head despondently. Clearly this was news to him. Maddy could not help feel sympathy for the couple. "It's not good," she said, before checking her notes again. "Do you have a recent picture of the mask?" "Certainly." Rebecca handed her a folder containing some of the photographs Samantha had left behind. Maddy fished out a glossy colour portrait of the Face of the Unknown King and inspected it for a second. "Blimey. Wasn't blessed, was he?" she snorted. "What happened? Sat on by an elephant?" She cringed to herself as the quip provoked a fleeting scowl from Neltson. But he broke it with a smile and explained how the crushing had occurred after burial. "Fascinating," Maddy responded convincingly, "who'd have thought it." For the next hour she heard it all. The history of the golden mask's discovery, the subsequent feud with the Vurt family and the plan to return it to Greece. Rebecca and Simon went on to describe every aspect of the night preceding the theft and all that had happened since. Throughout Maddy scribbled notes pausing only to ask for certain minor details to be reiterated. After all, she had learned from Jonathan that every scrap of information was crucial. Finally, Simon told her how Vurt's release had prompted his own realisation about the sleeping tablets. These last facts were new to Rebecca too, and they both listened with interest. Eventually every fact had been imparted and expectancy exuded from the couple. "Well!" Maddy leaned back on the chair, shaking her wrist and looking at the reams of notes she had produced. "It's certainly got me stumped..." Frowns came from across the room. "...for the time being anyway." She added hastily. "So. Just to sum up, the security case could only be opened by the card which was in your wallet, Mr Neltson. And the case was in a safe which, again, only you can open. The safe was in the study, which was locked. In your house, which was locked. The burglar alarm was on all night and didn't even squeak, and both of you slept through the whole thing. Which was caught on video." "What I don't understand," said Rebecca, "is how they managed it so quickly. The video shows the burglar was in the house for about twenty minutes. Is that enough time to pick two locks, open the safe and the case, then put everything back the way it was? Can a person do that? Surely it's just not physically possible? It's so...well, ghostly." Simon crossed the room to a shelf of books on the far wall, running his finger up and down the spines before locating the tome he wanted and easing it out from between its siblings. "There's nothing ghostly about Vurt," he said to his wife as he handed Maddy the dusty volume. "I don't expect you to read such trite nonsense, Ms Magellan...but remember that face." Taking the book, laboriously titled 'A Juxtaposition of Ancient and Contemporary Social Structure', Maddy studied the photograph of the author on the back. The pinched features of a man in his mid-fifties sneered at her from the cover, small black eyes glaring with emotionless intelligence. Everything about Professor Vurt was pointed; his ears, his chin, and his nose, all accentuated by slicked back hair plastered firmly to his head. More haughty academic than criminal genius, Maddy thought. "Even on paper he oozes contempt." said Simon sitting down next to her. Out of the corner of her eye Maddy noticed his smooth, square jaw, and her nostrils caught just a suggestion of his subtle after-shave... Quickly snapping out of it she returned the book to him. "Quite," she agreed superficially. "OK. Let's think about this logically. Say that somehow he did get to the mask. How did he know not to take the case?" "I don't follow," frowned Neltson. "Well, the fact he left it behind suggests he must have known it was fitted with this satellite tracking gizmo." "Not necessarily. He might have left the case so he didn't have to dispose of it later," Simon suggested. "Good point," agreed Maddy, "but then I suppose there's the question of how he knew it was in the safe." "That's true," Rebecca shuddered. "It's almost as if he was watching us the whole time!" Inspiration hit Maddy suddenly and she flipped back through her notes. "Mr Neltson, you woke up with a headache that morning, yes?" "We both did" replied Simon, "why, do you think it's significant?" Maddy leaned forward. "Well," she said slowly, "it's just an idea, but what if Vurt was already in the house when you got home. He could have been hiding somewhere and seen you put the case in the safe." Worried glances exchanged between husband and wife. This was clearly a new one to them, thought Maddy proudly, tapping her chin contemplatively before continuing. "Then he waited until you went to bed, and knocked you out with some sort of gas under the bedroom door - that's why you both had headaches in the morning!" She sprung from her seat and started pacing around the office, bristling with exited energy as her theory took shape. "That gave him the next few hours to pick the locks, open the case with the card from your wallet before putting everything back the way it was!" "Except that doesn't explain the burglar alarm," said Jonathan, "or how he got into the safe. Or the video for that matter. Plus he was in Scotland at the time..." "Yes, yes, yes, I know! That's exactly what they said. I just got carried away." Maddy admitted. "I felt like a right idiot, bounding around all confident like that. I'm amazed they didn't kick me out!" She sat down at the kitchen table despondently. "As it happens I managed to persuade them that I needed to watch this video tape and have a gander at their house before I could reach any solid conclusions." Staring at the table she added; "Actually, I'm going over there this afternoon. I thought you might like to join me." The anticipated protest from Jonathan never came, and she looked up at him before realising he had probably never even heard her. Staring into the middle distance he rocked gently back and forth, in the detached, meditative way that showed he was thinking deeply, and she could almost hear facts turning over in his head as details were kneaded for clues. That distant look meant that there would be no trouble in persuading him to take a trip to the country with her. He was already captivated by the challenge. Jonathan did not notice the affectionate smile that warmed Maddy's face as she quietly watched him deliberating. Four Tree sparrows and chaffinches sang daintily from the hedges as old Josh trundled steadily down the lane on his bike. The creaking machine, which had lasted him a lifetime, now facilitated his weekly trip to the river where he spent several hours watching the sunrise and easing fish from the cold waters. With a cloth cap rested on his head, pipe clamped firmly between his teeth and three fresh rainbow trout in his knapsack, Josh embodied a dying breed of rural gent, an archetype increasingly relegated to clichéd works of fiction. But with his rod on his back and his tobacco in his lungs, this was a fact of which he was blissfully unaware. Josh was a poacher. This was no secret locally, but his profession was knowingly ignored by everyone in Upper Heyforth where his trivial pilfering had acquired a legendary charm. Each crafty trip to the river resulted in three perfect fish, like the ones in his rucksack now, but anyone mean-spirited enough to report him would find their claims hard to substantiate. Two thirds of the evidence would be cleaned and eaten within the hour. The final third was passed slyly to the pub landlord in exchange for several pints of mild, a tradition so well established that the man did not have the heart to tell Josh he loathed trout. The sound of the car engine had been competing with the sparrows for sometime now, and was gradually getting louder. But Josh's hearing was past its best. Pedalling gently along he occupied the time wondering whether his wife would grill their trout, or perhaps fry it for a change. So it was certainly a surprise when the Volvo appeared from around a crook in the lane, large, on the wrong side of the road and heading directly at him. Cursing Josh swerved to his left, catching a fleeting glimpse of wide, startled eyes and a mass of brown curly hair in the passenger seat before he sailed gracefully into the hedge with a leafy crash. "Refresh my memory," bellowed Jonathan still clinging to the dashboard. "Did you actually ever take a driving test?" "Several," replied Maddy casually, glancing in her mirror. "Passed on the fifth. Look, don't worry, he's fine. I saw him climbing out of the ditch." "Well that certainly makes me feel much better," Jonathan snapped sarcastically. "And no doubt he's delighted at the prospect of spending the next fortnight plucking brambles from his buttocks!" "Oh shut up and look at the map," said Maddy. "We should be there soon." Jonathan relaxed his grip on the car and retrieved the atlas from the foot-well in front of him. "About a mile to go I think," he said after scanning the relevant page, "with any luck you should be able to floor a few more elderly cyclists before we arrive." Maddy ignored this. "So," she said breezily, "any theories then? How did this guy manage to steal something which was...un-stealable?" Creek gave her one last disproving stare before finally relaxing in his seat. "I'd rather wait until we've seen the place," he said. "There's so much that doesn't add up it's difficult to know where to start. Those doors, for example. It just doesn't make sense at all." "What doesn't, the fact he managed to unlock them?" asked Maddy. "No, unlocking them isn't an issue. Any experienced picker could get into the house, if there were no bolts. But why lock the doors again on the way out? Unless he had a key it's a hell of a lot of effort..." Jonathan trailed off. "Maybe the burglar was gloating...showing off...'look how clever I've been', that kind of thing. It sounds exactly like the sort of stunt this Vurt character would pull, especially as he's been after the mask for so long." Maddy suggested. "But Vurt was in Scotland. That's one fact we know for certain. You said the police have got credit card receipts and hotel witnesses to confirm it. Pretty difficult to fake all that." Maddy could not argue with this. Neltson had told her the police had found all this and more to prove his rival was north of the border, and as she already knew, a man could not be in two places at once. "Of course," Jonathan went on, "that doesn't stop Vurt hiring someone to do the job. But it still doesn't explain why they locked the doors again, or how they got around the burglar alarm!" He stared out of the window deep in thought and silence filled the car. "John Webb!" Maddy sparked suddenly. "Their security manager. Of course, that must be it. I mean, who else would have a better idea of how these things work?" She had yet to meet Webb, and although Neltson had spoken very highly of him, the former policeman was suddenly top of her list of visits. "Not the old 'dodgy ex-copper' theory," smirked Jonathan. "Just because he knows about security doesn't mean he can trick a burglar alarm into thinking he doesn't exist. And didn't Neltson say that the equipment was checked by other professionals? They would've known if Webb had tampered with it." He checked the map again. "Anyway, why would Webb agree to help Vurt steal the mask in the first place?" He glanced up from the map at the hedgerows zipping past the car window. "This is where..." he began. "Alright! Let it drop will you. There's no need to be so bloody condescending," Maddy cut in as Webb slid down her list a notch or two. As much as she liked Jonathan he could be intensely smug at times, a fact made doubly irritating when he was right about something. "It was only an idea for God's sake!" "Right." Jonathan nodded. "I was actually about to tell you this is where we turn off. We've passed it now. Never mind though." For the second time that morning the map shot off his lap as Maddy slammed on the brakes. One hasty U-turn later and the Volvo turned into the drive approaching Ravenscroft. Gravel crunched beneath the tyres as they neared the angular building, and Jonathan peered into the trees that surrounded the house. Light filtered through the outer branches, while deeper in the woods thick canopies of leaves absorbed the daylight and shadows covered the murky floor. Parking the car close to the front door Maddy gave the horn a quick pap. "May as well let them know we're here," she said before climbing out. Stillness instantly hit her, and despite the brightness of the day there was a definite chill in the air which Maddy hoped was only autumnal. It was as if the countryside around Ravenscroft was holding its breath, silenced by the burglary and biding time, waiting for something else to happen. She shivered. There was a slam behind her as Jonathan closed the passenger door. The noise echoed from the front of the building causing something within the nearby trees to squawk and flap in alarm. Maddy jumped at the unexpected commotion and turned to admonish Jonathan. Before she could speak, however, the front door opened and Simon Neltson stepped out into the porch with a wave and a smile. "Good day to you both," he beamed with alacrity, striding across the drive to meet them, "I trust you found us without any difficulty?" He took Maddy's hand in a gesture of welcome and her mild misgivings about the place instantly vaporised. "No thanks to my incompetent navigator," she replied, "he couldn't find his way out of a map factory." She followed the humourless gag with a fit of snorting laughter which Jonathan found curiously over the top. "Anyway," she said calming down again, "Simon Neltson, this is Jonathan Creek." "Delighted. Delighted." Neltson enthused amidst another bout of handshaking. "I've been reading all about you, Mr Creek," he said, "I'm looking forward to hearing what you make of my problem. I trust Ms Magellan..." he broke off and turned back to Maddy, "...look, hopefully we can dispense with formalities at least?" Maddy nodded, smiling. Neltson continued, "I trust Maddy's filled you in on the details of our meeting yesterday." "There were a couple of things she didn't mention," replied Jonathan dryly, noticing Maddy's gaze absently meander over Neltson's back, "but I think I've got the general idea now, having seen your layout...the house and everything, that is." He smiled politely. "Excellent, Mr Creek. Anything you can offer by way of elucidation is most welcome. How the most up-to-date technology has been thwarted in this way is stupefying, and merely trying to accept the fact it was stolen at all is driving Rebecca and I insane. Now we've got the Greek museum baying for blood and threatening to initiate legal proceedings against us...the whole situation is just spiralling out of control! That's why we are desperate to hear your analysis," said Neltson, smiling again. Jonathan noticed the strange, shiny glaze over Neltson's eyes. The man was clearly exhausted, plundering dwindling reserves of energy in an attempt to appear normal but conversely acting with a frenetic intensity which betrayed his absolute fatigue. "You were going to show us the tape of the intruder?" asked Maddy, "and then if we can have a look around..." "Certainly," said Neltson. "Come. I'll show you in, introduce you to Rebecca." He crunched back over to the porch and into the house, closely followed by Maddy. Jonathan remained behind for a moment, scrutinising the front of the building before looking back down the drive with a pensive frown. Then he followed the others inside. Despite his observations, one thing had escaped his attention. Deep within the trees surrounding Ravenscroft, a man stood watching the house. Ten minutes later Neltson was pressing play on the video machine in his study. "The police have got the original, but this copy is just as clear," he said. Gentle whirring from the tape machine was the only sound in the silent room as four pale faces stared at the screen, watching the drama unfold before them. After the dark visitor had departed carrying the mask Neltson leaned forward and calmly stopped the tape. "Goodness!" Maddy exclaimed, but failed to find words to follow. "I still can't watch that without feeling...I don't know, violated. The fact someone got into our house so easily..." Rebecca sighed. "This whole thing has been one long nightmare - it just doesn't seem real." Three pairs of eyes turned simultaneously towards Jonathan, who suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. Before making any of his ideas public he still wanted to examine the house in more detail. "I don't suppose there's any chance of some tea," he smiled awkwardly, hoping to buy some more time. "I'm parched." "Excellent idea," Simon agreed, "I'll put the kettle on and you three go and sit down. Then you can tell us what you think, Mr Creek." Rebecca escorted Maddy out of the study and into the sitting room while Simon headed for the kitchen. Jonathan lingered behind while the two women disappeared into the other room, and started to examine the hallway. From the front entrance there was a choice of several internal doors, including the one to the study on the left, a passageway to the kitchen, and stairs which climbed the side of the hall to the landing. The area itself was a mixture of wood and stone, furnished with several old-looking chairs, an Elizabethan chest and numerous pieces of Greek paraphernalia. Curiously the hotchpotch of furnishings worked comfortably together, giving the place an unconventional but stylish quality. Jonathan paced over to the main entrance, opening the solid wooden door and walking outside. Standing on the drive he scanned the inside of the porch, which was about two metres deep and wide enough for a plant pot on either side of the door. His thoughts drifted back to the tape they had just watched, and he glanced up to the side of the house where the small camera was mounted on the wall. There was sudden 'crack' behind him. Jonathan spun around on the gravel with a start, just in time to see a flock of birds rise from the boughs and swoop and dip about the sky, disturbed by something in the woods below. Otherwise the landscape was still. Probably an animal snapping a twig, he thought to himself before heading for the front door. Inside once more, Jonathan turned his attention to the alarm sensors. He counted two in the lobby, and walking across to the study door noticed a third covering the inside of the room. All were mounted high on the wall, out of reach to anyone without a ladder. Looking up again at the detectors in the hall, Jonathan thought carefully. With his arms by his sides, he stood frozen on the spot for a number of seconds. Then, little by little, he pushed his left foot forward by barely half an inch. The sensors did not respond. Still looking up at the little white units, he now edged his right foot forward, his body almost imperceptibly swaying as he compensated for the movement. Tiny lights on the detectors blinked, registering the motion. He repeated the test twice, trying each time to move slower than the last. On each occasion he had travelled less than an inch before the sensors caught him in the act. Finally dispensing with the living statue routine, Jonathan's head lolled to one side as he thoughtfully considered the implications of what he had just demonstrated. While Jonathan carried out his experiment with the sensors, Maddy and Rebecca conversed politely and waited for the tea to arrive. The informal sitting room, the site of Caroline Flint's first encounter with the couple, seemed to be the only part of the house where Ancient Greece had not encroached. Aside from the furniture and a large stone fireplace, the room was refreshingly plain, with only a handful of small paintings decorating the walls. Maddy looked at each picture closely moving from one to another as she chatted. Finally she stopped by a portrait of a woman draped in white, reclining on a billowy bed. "Who's this," she asked her host. Rebecca brightened at the question. "Desdemona. From 'Othello'," she replied, joining Maddy by the picture, "I played her while I was a student at University - amateur dramatics society's summer season," she explained. Looking closely Maddy realised that rather than slumbering, the woman in the picture was in fact dead. "Cheerful experience was it?" she asked. "Actually we had a tremendous time. Got fantastic reviews," smiled Rebecca fondly. "I still enjoy a trip to the theatre when there's a Shakespeare on, although my husband isn't so keen." "I wouldn't say that," Simon had suddenly materialised in the doorway bearing a tray of cups and a tea pot. "He was a superb writer, but I feel even he borrowed from the true classics." Setting the tray on the coffee table, he wandered over to join the two women. "Certainly 'Othello' and 'Hamlet' are excellent works, but for truly towering tragedy I feel few compare with 'Oedipus' or 'Antigone'." "I don't know. Coronation Street does it for me every time," said Maddy, and they laughed. At this point Jonathan appeared in the room, having followed Simon and the tea tray, and caught Maddy smiling at Neltson again with an ever-so-slight coquettishness. He was amazed that Rebecca did not seem to mind, although he supposed it was quite possible she had not noticed anything. He coughed and shot Maddy a disapproving look. "Oh, hello Jonathan," she said pleasantly, "we were just talking about 'Othello'. It's a play about jealousy you know." "Really," said Jonathan as flatly as possible, "I've just been checking out those alarm sensors." "Take a seat, Mr Creek," Neltson ushered him over to the three piece suite, "please have some tea and tell us what you've found." The four sat down and tea was duly poured. Jonathan looked at the semicircle of hopeful faces and sat forward in his chair to address them. "Cards on the table," he told the tense trio, "I'm not entirely sure how the mask was stolen. On one hand, we've got a number of fairly convincing facts. Problem is, when stitched together they don't make sense and can't explain how the burglary took place. At the end of the day, it can only mean that the facts are wrong, or there's more to them then we first thought." "Everything we've told you is true though, Mr Creek," said Rebecca. "And you've seen the evidence for yourself." "But that doesn't necessarily mean that there isn't another layer to all of this, one that's been cleverly hidden among the other details," Jonathan replied earnestly. "Look at what we know for certain," he explained. "For example, no-one could have possibly got past that burglar alarm. People can pick locks and break into safes fairly conventionally. I expect they could even get into the case with a bit of clever electronics, or something. Yet the people who monitor your house alarm can incontrovertibly verify the alarm was on all night, and that it hadn't been tampered with. No-one could trick those three movement detectors into thinking they didn't exist, so like it or not we've got to accept it's a reality. "But then there's fact number two, the tape," he continued, "which places the burglary at around four in the morning, when the alarm was definitely on. So you're left with two irrefutable pieces of evidence which just can't fit together. Conclusion? Either they're wrong, or something important is missing." "You really think so?" asked Rebecca. "Logically there has to be..." began Creek. "Because however impossible something seems, there has to be a rational explanation," finished Maddy who smiled at Jonathan. There was a sigh from Neltson who had been sitting with his head bowed, quietly listening to the conversation. Now he spoke, and his voice was strangely calm. "While I respect your faith in reason, from where I sit the facts are nothing but madness." he said, and raising his head looked directly at Jonathan. "Do you believe in divine justice, Mr Creek? Because maybe Vurt was correct all along. Perhaps the mask was his by right and now I'm being punished." "Simon, please," Rebecca implored, but he went on. "Deus ex machina, Mr Creek -'The God from the Machine'. A plot device often used in Greek theatre. Deities would swoop from on high, resolving impossible situations and ending earthly turmoil. I can't help think that's what has happened here. What other explanation is there? The God's have finally intervened. Zeus has ended in my infernal feuding with Vurt, descending from Olympus to take the mask from me." Neltson's words were heavy with anger and irony. "Mr Neltson," now it was Maddy who spoke. "If Professor Vurt stole the mask, I promise we will find out how. Have you got copies of the letters he sent you? If we could see them they might give us some clues as to how he did it, don't you agree Jonathan?" She looked at Creek hopefully. "Mmm," was Jonathan's only reply. "I'll get them from the study," said Rebecca. "We appreciate everything you're doing for us," she looked at Maddy and Jonathan with a sad smile before leaving the room. Neltson looked at his guests. "That's certainly very true," he nodded, "the mask meant a lot to me in terms of both heritage and pride. Now I have a promise with the National Archaeological Museum in Athens to honour, and every day that passes makes me look worse." At that moment there was a knock on the front door. Simon started to rise from his seat, but stopped when he heard Rebecca answer it on her way back from the study. After talking in the hallway for a moment, she re-appeared in the sitting room with the new visitor and a bundle of papers in her hand. "Simon," she said, "Detective Inspector Flint is here again, she'd like to go over a few points with us." Neltson glanced jadedly at the doorway where the severe looking woman stood alongside Rebecca, swathed in her now familiar brown coat. "You have visitors already I see, Mr Neltson," the woman intoned. "Gosh," said Maddy standing up and grinning at Flint, "I can see why they made you DI. Sharp as a whistle! Come on Jonathan, let's give them some peace." She took the letters from Rebecca and smiled sympathetically. "We'll let you know how we get on," she said before bounding out of the room, beaming at the police woman on her way past. Jonathan stood and glanced awkwardly at Simon and Rebecca before shuffling after Maddy. Neltson heard the front door close and looked vacantly at the four cups of tea which sat steaming and untouched on the tray before him. Flint meandered over to stand above him. "Just a few details I would like you to reiterate for me, Mr Neltson," she said. "Then perhaps you could tell me exactly who your acerbic friend was." * "Well! Talk about being cut short" A disgruntled Maddy started the engine and turned the car around in the drive. "We can't have been there twenty minutes." "Long enough for a lot of things," said Jonathan quietly. "Anyway, why does he remind me of someone?" he chewed his bottom lip and stared out of the passenger window as they drove away from Ravenscroft. "Some actor, I just can't place it..." "Can't say I noticed really," replied Maddy. Jonathan looked at her sceptically. "Come off it, I've never seen anything less subtle. All those batting eyelid and coquettish smiles. I was half expecting you to pounce on him there and then," he remarked frostily. "And what was all that rubbish about 'Othello' for God's sake? What happened, did you suddenly pass GCSE English while I was out of the room?" "Struck a nerve have we, Jonathan?" Maddy looked him with a raised eyebrow. "She was once in the play, that's all. I just incidentally mentioned it happened to be about jealousy..." "Obviously implying that I'm in some way jealous of your blatant salivating!" "Did I say that?" Mock innocence exuded from behind the steering wheel. "Mind you, he is quite good looking, you have to admit." "And completely obsessed with dead Greeks," said Jonathan. "I don't think he opened his mouth without dropping one in somewhere." "OK, you may have a point there," Maddy conceded, "all that gibbering about gods in machines! Really quite disturbing. Although to be fair," she added, "he doesn't look like he's slept in weeks. He's probably very stressed." Several miles passed in silence. Jonathan thumbed through the small pile of letters Maddy had dumped on his lap. She had been right to ask for them, although he doubted they would yield anything worthwhile. He decided to avoid motion sickness and read them later, and shut them in the glove compartment for safe keeping. "Jeff Bridges!" said Maddy suddenly. "No." "Harrison Ford?" "No," replied Jonathan after a moments thought and the silence resumed for a bit. "Right, plan of action," Maddy said in due course, "After we've been shopping I'll make us something to eat, and we can think about contacting this Vurt character. Then I'll take you to the museum, you can have a look around and we'll have a chat with John Webb. I wouldn't mind speaking to that photographer as well. What was her name...Samantha something? I've got it written down." No response from the passenger seat. "Oh, come on, Jonathan! Surely you've not still sulking because I happened to smile at another bloke," she said loftily. "Actually I was thinking about the burglary," came the reply. Maddy could not help feel a little disappointed about this, but she did not let it show. "Why, what did you find at the house," she asked matter-of-factly. "Something you didn't mention earlier?" "There wasn't anything to find, as far as I could see, which is probably a clue in itself," said Jonathan. "No burglar could be that scrupulous in that amount of time. You can't tell me the only evidence they left behind were those fibres on the doorway. I'm sorry, there would have to be something else. Finger prints, shoe prints, anything. And that still leaves the video. And that bloody burglar alarm." "Well," smiled Maddy, "I have to say I'm surprised. You're taking a lot of interest in this reply to my 'badly worded' advert. I wasn't sure whether..." ...you'd be interested, she was about to finish, but Jonathan cut her short. "Weather," he exclaimed. "That could be very important..." "Weather?" spluttered Maddy. "What's Michael Fish got to do with anything?" "Maybe nothing. But there again, it could help clarify the timing of all this," he said, and there was a short pause. "Rebecca Neltson was away the night before the burglary, yes?" Maddy had arrived at a junction leading to the supermarket, and leaning forward on the wheel peering left and right waiting for a gap in the traffic. She was used to Jonathan's habit of changing the conversation mid-sentence, and so answered without questioning him. "Up in Leeds I think. Why?" "Well it might not be anything, but depending on what the weather was like while she was away...it might offer one explanation as to how this whole thing was done." Maddy looked at him in awe, a dozen questions on her lips. But to her disappointment she saw his face crumple. He had apparently been extrapolating aloud and had obviously just flattened one of this own theories in a matter of seconds. "Actually no, it's doesn't work," he stated categorically. "What doesn't?" Maddy began to feel gradually more exasperated. "The idea I just had," said Jonathan. "Look, forget I spoke. Sorry!" "Brilliant," Maddy grumbled, turning her attention back to the road. "So much for Mr Lateral Thinking. Next time I'll bring Sooty with me. For someone that doesn't speak he makes a lot more sense than you do. And he's got a more impressive wand." "Look, all I'm saying," replied Jonathan, rising to the bait, "is that there is a way you could explain this 'impossible' burglary, but it just doesn't tie up all the loose ends." "Try me!" said Maddy, and went for a gap in the traffic. "Mrs Neltson. The night before the burglary I understand you were in Leeds." "That's right," Rebecca answered Flint, "I've already told you, I was up there..." "Securing a deal with a computer manufacturer. Yes, don't worry we've checked it out." Flint had not sat down since her unexpected arrival. Instead she padded the length of the fireplace, directing prudently premeditated questions at her quarry. "So you, Mr Neltson, were here on your own?" she continued. "Of course," answered the slumped figure from the sofa. "The question was largely rhetorical, but thank you for your acquiescence." She smiled, but if ever a smile could be delivered without warmth Caroline Flint had perfected the technique, contorting her rigid mouth into a frosty 'U' before continuing her barbed questioning. "So, what time would you have arrived home that night, Mr Neltson?" "Late," came the answer, "I was the last to leave the museum." "Ah, I see," pace, pace, pace. "And you wouldn't have used the burglar alarm when you got home that night?" A brief pause. "Another rhetorical question, Mr Neltson. I know you didn't. I've already checked with the monitoring agency." "Detective, where is this leading exactly?" Simon's patience was starting to wear thin. "I'm endeavouring to clarify the facts." Flint ran her finger along the mantelpiece then inspected it casually as if checking for dust. "So you were last to leave the museum that evening, Mr Neltson, and you did not use the burglar alarm when you got home. Were you also, perhaps, the first to arrive at the museum the next morning?" With his head cocked to one side Simon looked up at the police woman. "Is that another rhetorical question Detective, or am I required to provide an answer?" "An answer would be splendid. " "In that case, yes. I was first to arrive at the museum. I haven't been sleeping well, and that morning was no exception. But irrespective of that, I usually try and arrive before the rest of the staff...it sets a good example." "A precedent I adhere to myself," Flit nodded. By now Neltson was starting to feel antagonistic. He stood suddenly and walked over to the fireplace, blocking the woman's monotonous trudging. Eye contact exchanged as territories were flouted. "What are you implying exactly?" asked Simon, flushed with anger. "I am implying nothing, Mr Neltson." She gave the mantelpiece three sharp taps with her finger. "But let us assume, hypothetically, that you wanted to keep the mask, despite your arrangement with Greece. What would be the best way of achieving this?" Flint's enquiry was laced with faux puzzlement. Simon did not respond. "Hypothetically, Mr Neltson, the more cynical observer might suggest that someone in your situation could have taken the mask home the night before it was 'stolen', put on a little performance for the security camera in the middle of the night and returned the mask to the museum the next morning. "Hypothetically, Mr Neltson," she continued, "our sceptical bystander could perhaps propose, mistakenly of course, that upon returning home with the mask the second evening, you could have removed it from the security case and hidden it while your wife deactivated the burglar alarm upstairs, fed your pre-taped antics in the video machine and acted righteously surprised the next morning upon 'discovering' the tape of the theft." Stunned silence radiated from the opposite end of the fireplace as Neltson struggled to comprehend what the DI was insinuating. "And with incriminating letters suggesting an 'arch-rival' was prepared to attempt anything to retrieve the mask, this theoretical individual would assume he had a perfect alibi." Flint said, and fixed him with a stony glare. Circling around the supermarket car park, Maddy tried to take in what she was hearing while searching for an empty space. "So let's get this straight," she said, narrowly avoiding a couple with a shopping trolley. "You're saying the tape could have been made the night before the burglary, a mock-up job by Neltson which he then played the morning after the mask was supposedly stolen to give the impression it had been nicked during the night." "But like I say, it doesn't square up." Jonathan replied. "What if someone had arrived at the museum earlier than him that morning - before he had returned the mask - and found it missing? Also, he would have to rely on the weather being the same both nights so the tape was accurate. OK, so it's not the first thing someone's going to check, but it would be one hell of a risk if one night was different from the next..." Rebecca watched her husband stare at Flint, unsure as to what he might do next. The tightly strung moment passed in complete silence. Then, incredibly, Simon smiled. "Hypothetically, Detective Inspector," he mocked, "a police officer worthy of their rank would check their facts in such a situation. They would realise, of course, that it was impossible for 'such a person' to fake the tape the night before the burglary." Flint raised her eyebrows. "And why would that be, exactly?" she asked. "I just told you I didn't sleep well the night before the theft. I woke up at three thirty in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep again," his eyes burned angrily. "So, I lay in bed and for the next hour and a half listened to the rain before getting up at five." Silence from Flint. "So where was the rain on the tape?" Neltson crashed his fist down on the mantle piece and finally unleashed his fury. "You stand here with your supercilious 'hypothesis' and 'rhetorical questions' without even checking the damn facts! It rained intermittently all night but any idiot can see there's no rain on the tape! Check with the Met office if you doubt my humble word," he seethed. "How dare you stand in my house and accuse me of stealing my own property," he bawled, "when the bastard that did take it has clearly pulled the wool well and truly over your gullible eyes." "Mr Neltson, if that is the impression you got from my manner then I can only apolo..." "Save it!" Neltson spat. "The one time I took the mask from the museum two people, including my wife, saw me seal it in a security case which I didn't open again until the next morning, by which time Vurt had somehow broken into my house and taken it. I wish to God I had been awake that night instead, I curse myself for taking that bloody tablet." "Mr Neltson," Flint repeated and Neltson could feel the chastened DI squirming inside. "I told you we are keeping a vigilant eye on Professor Vurt, and that is exactly what we are doing. In the meantime I apologise if my manner seemed accusatory. I assure you, I am only doing my duty and exploring the avenues of enquiry open to me." "Very well," the glow faded from Simon's eyes to be replaced again by exhaustion. "If you have any sensible, genuine, productive questions for us, ask them. If not then I would be grateful if you would stop playing games and leave. I need to get some rest." Returning to the sofa Neltson wilted into the cushions. "The evidence must be there," he sighed, "do your job and find it!" A short while later DI Flint left the house, heading back to her hypothetical drawing board. * Maddy stood by the delicatessen shelf, attracting disdainful glares from her fellow shoppers as she talked on her mobile with a man from the Met office. She had called them ten minutes earlier requesting a weather report for the night before the burglary, and had been surprised by the swift response. Next to her Jonathan listened to the conversation, inspecting the list of ingredients on the jar of olives she had just put into the trolley. "Right, thanks for that," Maddy beeped the call to an end. "Wow. Didn't expect them to get back to me that quickly!" she said to Jonathan. "Seems it did rain that night and was clear as a bell on the night of the burglary. So much for that theory then. Must be something to do with the burglar alarm after all!" "Perhaps," he said, and went to put the olives back on the shelf. "Give me those," Maddy snatched the jar from Jonathan and returned it to the trolley. He had already criticised her first choice of lettuce replacing it with an organic one, and she was starting to regret offering to make him lunch. "Remind me not to come shopping with you again," she said, "are you always this fussy about your ingredients?" "It's very important," Jonathan protested, "if you want eat food dripping in pesticide that's fine. Just don't come running to me when toxic residue starts building up in your fatty deposits." "Oh brilliant! So not only am I a sad, lascivious flirt, but now I've got fatty deposits as well!" Maddy snapped and Jonathan fumbled uneasily for something to say. "Oh never mind," she said shaking her head despairingly. "Go and choose some wine, you irritating person. Get a nice Robola - something light to go with the feta salad. I'll meet you by the eggs." She dropped her phone in her bag and trundled the trolley in the direction of the Home Baking section, making a mental note to get him back for the 'fatty deposits' comment. "Make sure you get free-range," he called as he disappeared down the aisle. Picturing the jar of olives sailing across the supermarket and smacking him on the head, Maddy slalomed her way through the other customers. They had hit a busy patch, and the place was an odd mix of business people and frustrated parents, the latter trying to control the hordes of children that dangled hyperactively from arms, legs and trolleys. Finally arriving at her destination, Maddy was dismayed to find a variety of free-range choices. Knowing she was bound to pick the wrong one she decided to wait for Jonathan, and glanced in the direction of Wines and Spirits. Creek was no where to be seen, and as she scoured the shoppers for the familiar tangle of brown hair, she found herself accidentally looking directly into the eyes of a man standing a few metres away. He was in his forties, thick set with cropped black hair and dressed as if in between business meetings. A wire basket hung awkwardly from one arm, empty apart from a bag of tomatoes and a pot of yoghurt. Maddy smiled politely at him, but the unexpected eye contact had caused him to jump slightly, and he hastily turned his attention to the shelf in front of him. Bemused, Maddy watched as he grabbed a tub of Hundreds-and-Thousands, looking at them in mild surprise before hastily depositing them in his basket, turning and striding resolutely away. At that moment Jonathan reappeared clutching two bottles of wine which he placed carefully into the trolley. "Here we go," he said. "I got a couple. Should do the trick." "Did you see that?" Maddy asked, gazing after the Hundreds-and-Thousands man who was already nowhere to be seen. Distracted, she reached for half a dozen free-range eggs. "It was really weird, there was this man just now..." "Actually, I usually get these." Jonathan intervened, selecting an alternative carton and handing it to Maddy. "Sorry," he added. "What the...I was getting free-range!" she protested. "I know, but there are different types of free-range farming..." Jonathan began. "Oh yes, of course. How silly of me!" Maddy said sardonically. "Look what it says," she stared at the label on the box. "'The chicken that laid these eggs resided in its own en-suite coop complete with gym, swimming pool and resplendent views of the countryside.'" Dumping the carton in her trolley she rolled her eyes in despair. "Do we need anything else," Jonathan asked carefully. After a quick audit of the trolley's contents, Maddy shook her head. "No, I think that's everything," she said. "Unless, of course, there any items in there that offend your ethical sensibilities," she added. Struggling through the cavernous supermarket to the busy cash registers, Maddy mulled over her experience with the short haired man. It gradually dawned on her that she recognised him from somewhere, but despite wracking her brains, could not put a place to the face. As the shortest till-queue was still quite long, she had plenty of time to recount the incident to Jonathan as they waited pay. "And then when he realised I was looking at him, he grabbed some Hundreds-and-Thousands and just buggered off," she said. "That's when you came back." "Perhaps he had a cake that urgently needed decorating," suggested Jonathan light-heartedly. "I don't know, maybe you're just getting paranoid. What with the restaurant yesterday, this today..." "Bloody hell, Jonathan! That's exactly it!" exclaimed Maddy. "The restaurant! That's where I've seen him before. He was in there last night!" Craning her neck she began to search for the man in the heaving congregation of consumers. "I told you I thought I was being watched." "It could just be a coincidence," Jonathan tried to reassure her. "You both live in the same area, go to the same places, probably use the same supermarket..." "Why did he react the way he did then?" Maddy stopped looking for the stranger and turned to Jonathan. "He'd been sprung, that's why! And then there's the stuff in his basket; tomatoes from Fruit and Veg and yoghurt from Dairy Produce." She held up her lettuce and feta cheese respectively. "Kind of suggests he was following us around the shop, doesn't it?" Impressed with Maddy's display of tangential thinking, Jonathan agreed with her conclusion. He was about to say as much when he remembered the incident at Ravenscroft. The snap in the woods that had disturbed his inspection of the porch, and which he had initially assumed to be animal-related, suddenly adopted very different undertones and he felt his neck prickle. "Maybe not just the shop," he said. Maddy listened with rising trepidation as he shared his experience with her, her eyes moving around the surrounding faces as he spoke, scrutinising people as they filled their trolleys with well practised proficiency. Hundreds-and-Thousands was nowhere to be seen. Maddy wondered if he had fled the store after being rumbled, or whether he had simply become a customer again and was still watching her from among the shelves and shoppers, hidden in the normality of the supermarket. The reality was simple. For no apparent reason, this stranger had taken an abnormal interest in her activities. And whatever this implied was deeply disturbing. "Jonathan," she asked quietly, "what in God's name is going on?"