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 |  Framed for a grisly crime, Jericho must find Atlantis, save the girl and clear his name. |
| Jericho Ward was instantly awake. Without making a single sound or movement he checked his room to see what was causing his instincts to scream that something was wrong. He had learned to trust such feelings when in the military. The windows were still closed, the wooden slatted blinds still half drawn and the door to the other room was ajar just as he had left it. Still the feeling of unease weighed heavily on him and so he stretched out his hearing to see what was amiss. The gentle drip of the bathroom tap that he kept meaning to repair was distinct, but normal. So too was the gentle hum of the fridge in the other room and the muted tick of the clock by his font door. There was no other movement to hear inside the apartment. The sense of dread still present, he slid quietly out of his bed and padded silently across to his bedroom door, peering through to check all was normal in the main room. To his right, the westerly wall was all glass, giving a stunning view over the rooftops of Oxford. Although this view was the main reason that he had leased this apartment, there was not enough light in the dull, pre-dawn March sky to appreciate the surrounding architecture. Given his love of the view, Jericho had chosen not to install blinds in this room and so there was just enough half-light for him to take in other aspects of the room. Facing him, much of the southern wall was shelved, supporting several hundred books and albums, although a central alcove was reserved for a Bose sound system that had obvious pride of place. Further to his left, in the far corner, was the small open kitchen. This was the other reason that he had chosen to make his home in this flat, or luxury penthouse apartment with stunning views across the city, as the estate agent had called it. The kitchen had been completely refitted just before he moved in. It was finished in clean, brushed steel with black marble worktops. Jericho had expected them to be wood with a veneer, but had been pleased to find that style had overcome sensibility in the refurbishment and that the tops really were Italian marble. Just then, he caught a slight sound from the stairs outside his apartment. Semi-hushed footsteps approached, telling Jericho that the owner was trying to keep quiet. Owners, he corrected himself. There were definitely two sets of footsteps climbing up from the floor below. “At least I know why I’m awake!” Jericho crossed the room as silently and quickly as a running cat, checking the clock as he passed it – 05:20, just forty minutes ahead of his normal alarm call. Pressing his eye to the spy-hole in the door, he had a clear view of the two men as they reached his landing. They came to a halt outside his door and the first one checked the number against a scrap of paper he was carrying. Both men were wearing cheap suits, though the elder, aged about fifty and with greyed hair, wore a crumpled raincoat over his. He was taller than average and slim, but his hunched shoulders gave him the impression of being world-weary. The second man was much younger, about his mid-twenties and carrying a little too much weight around the middle. He did have more of a spring in his step than the older man, although his ill fitting brown suit and blue nylon tie showed that he had no better dress sense. ”I think this is it, sir.” volunteered the younger. The grey haired man, nearer the door, stared at his colleague for a few seconds. ”Really, Morris?” And what piece of detective genius did you use to leap amazingly to that conclusion?’ He glared at his younger partner. ”Well. It’s just that it matched the address that we got and…” His voice trailed off and his gaze fell to his shoes. After a few moments, the first man turned towards the apartment’s door and let out a deep sigh. Closing his eyes, he mumbled quietly to himself and raised his hand to knock on the door. Having seen enough, Jericho swung the door open just in time for the man’s hand to miss it all together. The man’s eyes shot open and he looked at Jericho with surprise. Jericho was wearing nothing but a pair of royal blue silk boxer shorts. He was only 165 cm tall, but packed that height out with a lot of mass. He was probably best described as stocky, but as the two men could see, most of it was well-defined muscle and he carried very little fat. His tanned skin was peppered by a number of old scars and the dark hairs on his head matched those on his chest. ”Good morning, gentlemen. Are you looking for me by any chance?” he asked pleasantly. ”Mr Ward?” he asked. Jericho nodded. “Mr Jericho Matthias Sebastian Ward?” Jericho nodded again. His name was the result of being the only child of a Welsh Methodist preacher, already in his sixties by the time his son was born. ”Would you like to come inside officers? We can continue the introductions over coffee if you’d prefer.” Jericho smiled and stood aside so that the two men could enter. They did so, a little surprised that they had been recognized as policemen before identifying themselves. Neither of them knew that Jericho’s anti-terrorism work over the past few years had put him in close contact with the police on a routine basis, making it easy for him to realise who they were. Once Jericho had closed the door behind them, the two officers held out their ID cards. ”I am Detective Chief Inspector Thomas and this is Detective Constable Morris. We need to ask you a few questions if we may.” Jericho nodded his assent. ”You don’t mind if I pop on some clothes first though, do you? If you want to switch on the coffee machine and set the dial to three, we can start the morning properly.” Smiling, he headed off for one of the two internal doors in the north wall, the one leading to his bedroom. Jude Thomas cast his eye around the kitchen. All of the cabinets looked identical, fitting perfectly in alignment and devoid of handles. Most of the worktops were bare – an expensive block containing titanium knives was the only item in view. There was no sign of a coffee machine. ”Looks like a job for your special brand of detective genius, Morris. I’ll take mine with milk and two sugars.” With that, he turned to survey the room. Many years before, he had learned that the way a person lived would say a lot about them. ”You certainly like your world uncluttered, Mr Ward,” he murmured Aside from the stone topped kitchen units, their high gloss surface reflecting the early morning light and the floor to ceiling shelving that ran the full length of the wall along the left of the room, there were only two other pieces of furniture. In the centre of the varnished wood floor stood a black reclining chair, purposely placed to take in the western view to the full. Jude walked across and ran his fingers over it. It was soft and the new leather smell caught faintly in his nostrils. Beside it sat a low solid wood table, on which sat a slim silver laptop computer. It was closed and the detective reluctantly fought the urge to power it up. Beside it sat a paperback novel with a well worn bookmark jutting from its pages, a nearly full bottle of malt whiskey and an empty crystal tumbler. Jude smiled when he saw the paperback. It was a thriller that had topped the best sellers list for well over a year. His wife had made him read it when she heard that it had a gory first chapter and wanted him to tell her how bad it was before she would read it. He had been unable to put it down. He moved across towards the shelves. ”A lot of non-fiction,” he muttered as he scanned the books. There were two complete shelves on military history and almost as many books on diving and marine research as well as books on general history, Egyptology, photography and mythology. They lined up shoulder to shoulder with books on world politics, terrorism and organised crime. All of the books showed signs of wear that showed they had been read, but not abused. The shelves were also home to albums by Ludovico Einaudi, Yo-yo Ma and Karl Jenkins. All artists that Jude didn’t pretend to recognise. From the fact that they were nestled alongside Mozart and various operas, he assumed, correctly, that they wouldn’t be in keeping with his own tastes of sixties and seventies pop. ”But no photos,” mused the detective, “No friends or family…” His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash from the kitchen. The younger policeman had just knocked over the knife block, sending the knives clattering across the smooth stone surface. ”Morris!” he growled. ”Sorry sir. I’m having trouble trying to find the coffee machine.” The detective constable was desperately gathering the knives up and replacing them in the block. Two were missing. “In fact, I’m having trouble just figuring out how to open the cupboards.” Jude Thomas shook his head sadly and grimaced as he turned back to the tall windows. Why did they always send the youngsters to him? It wasn’t as if he was particularly patient or understanding and he knew that the DCs all hated being assigned on cases with him. For his part, he hated having them along – they reminded him of puppies, they may be enthusiastic and full of life, but sooner or later, it always came down to having to clean up after them. Even the house-trained ones provided no help and just slowed him down. Frankly, that’s why he always tried to lose them at the first opportunity. Bill Morris had replaced the knives and was battling away, trying to open a full-length cupboard, or it may have been the fridge, when Jericho Ward walked back in to the room. He had slipped on a pair of camel coloured Dockers and a terracotta polo shirt. He strode towards the kitchen, his footsteps still light despite the worn, but cared-for dark brown, leather hiking boots he was now wearing. ”I’m sorry. I should have popped on the coffee myself. This kitchen can be very confusing until you get used to it.” He stood in front of the tall cupboard beside the sink and gently pressed a seemingly random point on the steel facia. A wide panel popped out and majestically rose out of the way to reveal an Italian coffee maker. Jericho flicked the black switch and turned the dial to three. He stroked the panel below the coffee machine and it slid out and glided along to reveal the crockery. He reached in and pulled out three dark blue china mugs. ”Right then gents,” he continued, nudging the cupboard door so that it ran back along its rails and closed silently, “Whilst I’m happy to share a wake-up coffee with you at this fine hour, how about you let me know why you’ve got me out of bed.” ”We’d just like you to give us some help with a matter we’re dealing with if you don’t mind, sir,” replied Jude casually. “For example, it would allow us to remove you from our enquiries if you could tell us your movements last night from, say… eight o’clock?” Jericho pursed his lips as he considered the question for a moment. ”Well. I was at work until slightly after ten last night, with Professor Joe Franks, in his office in Merton Street.” He paused, but neither policeman reacted. “He’ll be able to verify up until then. After that, I went to a cash point and stopped at the off-licence on my way home. I got here about ten thirty. Then I had a drink, read until midnight and went to bed. The next thing was your arrival a few minutes ago.” He looked from one detective to the other. Jude Thomas nodded slowly and the younger man scribbled furiously in his pad. ”And is there anybody that could corroborate your actions?” ”Joe Franks can verify that I was with him until I left the office. After that… Well, there would be the record of the withdrawal on my bank account and the young lady in the off-licence may remember me. Apart from that…. No. Why? What do you think I may have done?” Jericho looked expectantly at the DCI, but was met with a measuring eye and no hint of an answer. ”You said that you work with Professor Franks. What exactly do you do?” ”I’m managing an expedition that he’s going on soon. My job is to arrange it and supervise some of the technical aspects.” ”And where’s this expedition to, Mr Ward?” ”Frankly, I don’t know the precise details yet as he hasn’t told me. It will be an underwater site in the Atlantic. I know that much.” ”Sunken treasure?” ”Of a sort. The professor is convinced that he will soon know the location of Atlantis.” Bill Morris laughed, quickly trying to cover it up with an unconvincing cough. The other men ignored him. ”I would appreciate it, Mr Ward, if you wouldn’t indulge your sense of humour and waste our time.” Jericho tapped his fingers on the marble top as he studied the DCI for a moment. The coffee machine discretely chimed to announce that it had finished with a light ping. Saved by the bell. He let out a deep, calming, breath as he poured the strong black coffee in to each of the three mugs. ”I notice that although I’m not under caution, you didn’t answer my question about what you think I’ve done. Even if I was under caution, I would have told you the same about what work I’m doing for Joe Franks. He’s looking for Atlantis and I’m putting together the diving expedition for him.” ”Nobody has accused you of anything yet Mr Ward. Are you serious about Professor Franks searching for Atlantis?” Jericho nodded. ”The historian from TV that did all those programmes for the BBC?” Jericho nodded again. ”Although, I think that you’ll find that he prefers to be known by his title as the Historian Royal, rather than the historian from TV.” ”But he’s no crank! What’s he doing chasing fairy tales?” ”He’s been researching this for years and he’s confident that it’s no fairy tale. But who’s wasting time now?” Jericho smiled. The warmth of putting the DCI on the back foot spread through him. Jude cleared his throat. ”It isn’t a waste of time if it turns out to be important to our investigation, Mr Ward,” he growled. “How many people would know about this expedition?” ”Quite a few I guess,” replied Jericho, shrugging his shoulders, “We’ve certainly not tried to keep it a secret and he has Dr Vyse working alongside him. I know that he’s talked to the BBC and National Geographic about it and they both plan to send camera crews along.” Jericho smiled broadly and took a sip of his drink. He liked surprising people about what he was doing – it was one of the many things he liked about this job. He savoured the bitter taste of the coffee on his tongue before letting it slip down his throat. After a few moments, the elder detective shrugged. ”How do you feel working on something that could make you a laughing stock? ”It’s not a problem,” replied Jericho, grinning broadly, “The professor is convinced that he’s on to something and he’s got Dr Vyse running all over the place to various digs and expeditions to see what other people are finding. He’s putting together quite a convincing picture, so rather than being laughing stocks, I’m sure that we’ll be famous for being the discoverers of Atlantis. We’ll turn history on its head and force people to completely rethink the past.” He paused to look from one detective to the other and back again. “Now, that’s job satisfaction!” he concluded. ”How did you come to work with Professor Franks? Do you have an academic background?” ”A friend recommended me to Joe because of my diving experience and I have a history of getting things done. I also suspect that it helped that I was available at the right time. And no, I don’t have an academic background, I’m ex-military.” ”Really? What did you do in the military?” ”I was a Wing Commander in the Royal Air Force,” replied Jericho, downplaying his military record significantly. He’d left the military now and wanted it left in his past. “Besides, Mr DCI” he thought, “Most of my career is classified above your clearances.” He sipped his black coffee. ”There’s milk in the fridge,” he added. “Help yourself if you’d like.” Jude scanned along the line of identical fascias before looking back to Jericho. Their eyes locked. He sipped his coffee. Jericho watched the detective fight the urge to wrinkle his face as the bitter coffee hit his tongue. Much to Jericho’s satisfaction, he lost the fight. Jude placed the mug on the counter. It clinked as it contacted the stone surface heavily. ”So when did you start working with the Professor?” ”It was shortly before Christmas. So about three and a half months ago.” ”And you’ve worked fairly closely with him all that time?” ”I’ve seen him almost every day,” agreed Jericho, nodding. ”So you’d say that you know him quite well.” ”I’d say that was a statement and not a question and I’d say that I’d like to know what all this is about.” ”We’re almost finished sir. Please just answer the question.” Jericho sighed with frustration. He was becoming very tired of this DCI. His experience was that uniformed services often attracted petty bureaucrats and people who revelled in their little authority. There were more good people than bad in uniform, he had to admit, but the power-hungry, narrow minded brigade kept popping up. ”I reckon that I know him reasonably well. He’s a good man and I’d like to think that we’re friends.” ”Does he have any family that you know of?” ”No. His wife died many years ago and they never had children. I think that she may have had some family but I don’t think that they’ve spoken with Joe in years.” Jericho paused. “He is very fond of Dr. Vyse. He often talks about her, almost as a daughter.” ”But Dr. Vyse isn’t in the country is she?” Jericho shook his head in response. ”No, but she is due back today. Joe was very excited last night. I think that he’s got something to tell us, but he’s been waiting for Dr. Vyse to come back.” Jude nodded and waited a few moments for Bill Morris to finish scribbling down notes of the conversation. ”In that case Mr Ward, I would appreciate it if you would come with us and see if you can identify a body we found in Professor Franks’ office in the early hours of this morning.” Jericho felt his blood freeze. He was no stranger to death and had deduced that these questions probably related to Joe, but the Professor had been so full of life just the night before that his death seemed so unlikely and so Jericho had pushed it from his thoughts. Externally, he showed no sign of emotion to the news. ”Is it the Professor?” ”We don’t know Mr Ward, that’s why I would like you to accompany us to the scene.” Jericho nodded slowly. The police may not know for definite that the body was Joe’s, but Jericho realised what the feeling of dread he had felt on waking was all about. It hadn’t been the police visit. Bill Morris walked across to the door and lifted Jericho’s black and red Sprayway jacket from the hook on the wall. ”Your coat Mr Ward?” Jericho nodded silently and, putting it on with an air of resignation, left with the two officers. |
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