Chapter 9
Just the Facts
Neil was certain the drive back to Scotland Yard was the first twenty minutes of silence Artimus ever produced. He gazed out of the window into space, the honking of cars on the busy London streets the only noise penetrating the interior of the car.
At the security barrier to the rear entrance, a guard smiled and shook Artimus by his hand, anxiously glancing at Neil as no smile was returned.
As they walked through the interior of the building, the worried gazes from nearly every desk not only pointed out how many people in Scotland Yard knew Artimus, but also how many of them realised his current actions were out of character.
Not pausing to explain anything to anyone, Neil bypassed Henry’s office and motioned to John and Dawn, both peering pensively from the side of a water cooler, for them to follow.
They wandered down through the back stairs to a communal office, used for private internal meetings, and checking it was empty, Neil stepped inside.
The room was a basic box with only a handful of items in it. Artimus took up a seat at the far end of the lone table, staring in mild disgust at the plastic plant trying to give the magnolia space a semblance of life, as Neil asked Dawn and John to sit.
“As you know,” said Neil, removing his jacket and arranging it so it was perfectly hung over his chair, “DCI Blackwater has asked Mister Crane to assist us in our investigations.”
Dawn and John looked at Artimus, returning querying glances to Neil.
“I think introductions are appropriate, Detective Townsend.” said Artimus, distantly. “I have never met these particular colleagues of yours before.”
Neil nodded. He assumed everyone knew Artimus. “Artimus Crane, this is special assistant Dawn Hartley from forensics and John Bardsley from…” Neil paused, trying his best to come up with a title. When that endeavour failed, he shrugged. “er… Greenwich.”
“A pleasure.” said Artimus, smiling warmly.
Neil could see Artimus’ gaze fall over Dawn, and the slight twitch of his eyes as he continued to stare made him smile.
Dawn was an elegant woman. Tall and lithe with angular facial lines, she projected everything Neil found attractive in a woman. Her flawless, olive skin drew the opposite sex in, wrapping them in the warm embrace of her amber-flecked eyes.
Taking his time to ensure he gave as many fine details as he could, Neil started with an explanation of the case so far.
Dawn took the information with refined grace, jotting notes as specifics were recounted and raising an eyebrow when the identities of the bodies were hinted at.
John, on the other hand, looked like he was sitting on the moon. His face, contorted in a half grimace that made him look for all the world to be sat on a toilet, unchanged as the story progressed.
“Mister Crane has some details regarding the case he wants you to track down for us.” said Neil, trying to snap John’s focus back to the task at hand. “I’ll allow him to explain.”
Neil leant back in his chair, waiting for Artimus to begin. He did not know what he had done to put Artimus in his current mood, but giving him as wide a berth as possible seemed his best option.
Artimus blinked, continuing to leer at Dawn. “Er, yes.” he began, coughing through his dry throat. “I have several items that require your attention.” He took a notepad from his pocket and flipped through to a page of notes. Tearing the sheet free, he handed it to Dawn. “The information I require from forensics is listed on there.” He paused weighing up what to say next, as Dawn ran a finger down the list. “I take it the script is legible?”
“It is.” said Dawn, running a hand through her hair. “I saw enough scrawl in my time at medical school for any handwriting to be readable.” She giggled, the sound akin to a schoolgirl asked out on her first date, eliciting a wry smile from Artimus. “Can I ask a question?” she said, her face drawing a little as a moment of confusion washed over her.
“You may ask anything you wish my dear.” said Artimus, leaning forward slightly.
Neil grinned. It appeared Artimus was not immune to the charms of a well-heeled woman.
“You have asked me to check the daughter’s medical records for a series of illnesses.” said Dawn, still exuding charm by the spade. “Can I ask why?”
“All of those illnesses dear,” said Artimus, involuntarily hushing his voice as he spoke, “would require certain medications to be administered to the child. They are not the sort of illnesses that are easily discussed, so I thought it prudent to check for answers remotely before we went careering headlong into potentially insensitive questions when we talk to her parents.”
Dawn considered the comment and looked back at the sheet, but her frown only deepened. “Steroids?” she said, finally. “The only medication likely to be used in any quantity and common to these illnesses is steroids.” She lifted her head, flicking the hair from her eyes. “Why would steroids be important?”
Artimus’ grin grew exponentially, as he turned to Neil. “Beautiful and intelligent.” he said, nodding knowingly. “With women like this around your office I am even more surprised by your penchant to put from the rough, as they say Neil.”
Neil’s jaw dropped almost as quickly as Dawn and John’s heads snapped round to face him.
“If you could go with Dawn to ascertain how long the retrieval of our information might take Neil,” said Artimus, continuing and cutting off any chance of a retort, “I will stay here and walk John through what I need from him.”
Dawn rose, still staring wide eyed at Neil, who clumsily stood, almost in a daze, and led her from the room.
As Neil closed the door, he shook his head. He could not believe what Artimus had just done. How dare he say something like that in front of his colleagues?
“He’s a strange man, isn’t he?” asked Dawn, returning Neil to the present.
“You have no idea.” Neil said distantly, looking back into the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Neil could see Dawn’s gaze fixed on him. “I had no idea you were a golfer Neil.” she said, playfully.
“I’m not. He meant that I…” Neil stopped before he finished the sentence. Did Dawn not get the inference?
Dawn raised an eyebrow just enough to let Neil know he was out of luck. “I know what he meant Neil.” she said, in a sultry whisper. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Dawn turned and, with a deliberate swing of her perfect hips, started down the corridor.
Neil glanced back into the office, and could see Artimus and John laughing across the table. It appeared Artimus had his revenge. Surely, that would be the end of it.
Neil caught up with Dawn and they walked in silence to the lifts, catching the elevator to the second sub-level of the building.
The basement at Scotland Yard was split between vehicle bays, photography labs, and specialist departments. Although invisible from the street, some of the UK’s most well-funded and extensive forensics equipment lay here.
Neil found the white tiles and halogen strips irritating and sterile. He understood the reason for ensuring a maximum of light, but there had to be a softer way to accomplish it.
Following Dawn between two unmarked rooms where guns were test fired, a large white door like one you would see leading to an operating theatre loomed large in their view.
Striding through and casually waving to the two women sitting at consoles to their left, Dawn made her way to her desk.
“If you give me a moment I will check the queue length on medical requisitions and give you a rough estimate of how long all this will take.”
As her machine came to life, Dawn ran a manicured finger down Artimus’ unintelligible script, tapping occasionally as she calculated her approximation of the work required.
“It’s a minimum of forty-eight hours, just for the other stuff. Some of this, like the materials assessment on the brickwork, even with a high-level request from us, won’t complete any faster than th
at.”
“This comes direct from DCI Blackwater.” said Neil, determined to hurry his association with Artimus through to its conclusion as fast as he could. “I’m sure he’ll sign anything you need to get this expedited.”
Dawn returned to her computer without comment, her fingers playing over the keys without a sound.
Neil found himself mesmerised by Dawn. Sure, he had noticed her around the office over the last six months; which man had not? However, he had never spent much time in her presence. He was a third floor detective and she a forensic analyst; they rarely interacted. He saw her from afar occasionally, as her rounds delivered items of interest to the case detectives. She was always so cleanly dressed. Neat lines, great curves; even from distance, she looked like a woman who shared his passion for order and style.
As she worked, his eyes wandered over her. Her nails were immaculate; clean edges, no nicks, undamaged cuticles, and no chips in the polish. Her long body was firm and inviting. Her shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, before pushing out into an equally firm set of hips trailing to towering, svelte legs. Her hair was jet black, worn in loose, sweet smelling tresses that flowed down her slender neck to her ample…
“Detective Townsend?”
Neil glanced up and found Dawn turned, staring at him. He blushed, unsure what to do with himself.
“Are you checking the rough, or thinking of changing clubs?” said Dawn, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m really sorry.” he said, backing away from the desk and absently shoving his hands in his pockets.
Dawn sighed, pointing to the screen. “The request queue is about thirty-nine items long. At a rough guess, I would say my original forty-eight hour estimate is about right.”
“Thanks.” said Neil, trying his best not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.
Neil could see, even though his focus was on Dawn that the other two women in the room had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at him.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, detective?” asked Dawn, not breaking eye contact, her sculpted lips pursed in anger.
“Not at the moment.” said Neil, heading for the door and accidently knocking into the edge of the console with a thud.
Nursing a slowly deadening leg and turning further and further red, Neil shambled out of the room and shut the door.
As he cursed himself for his lack of control, he could hear, muffled through the closed door, all three women break out into raucous fits of laughter. That was all he needed. Everything on this case was turning into a complete disaster.
Neil trudged back to the meeting room, trying his best to hide his shame. When he arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to find John stood by one side of the table with Artimus staring wide-eyed at him from the other.
“…and then you turn your left leg, balance your right foot on it, and twist!” said John, performing a neat pirouette.
Artimus was not even blinking as Neil slumped into his seat. “Forty eight hours is the assessment.” he said, absently.
Artimus did not respond, as John repeated his feat accompanied by a maniacal giggle.
“You see! It’s easy. Takes no more than an hour’s practise a day for maybe a month or so.” said John, spinning faster and faster. “And the chicks dig it.”
Artimus’ head turned, a look of bewilderment accompanying the act. “I could spend the majority of my remaining life studying this man and not even scratch the surface of what’s wrong with him.” he said, his voice stilled to a whisper. “Where did you find him?”
Neil was too distracted to respond effectively, shrugging when no words came to mind.
“His very first question after you left the room was to ask me why I’m named after a medieval gun.” continued Artimus, his focus returned to John. “It took me a while to even guess at what he meant, but I think he’s confusing my name with an ancient weapon called an arquebus. This is incredible!”
“Thanks!” said John, overhearing only the last part of Artimus’ comment. “Have you seen a swan dive before?”
At the end of his last spin, John dove into the air. Landing on his hands and curving his legs back, he proceeded to gracefully flatten himself, push back up, and repeat the motion; wriggling like a worm down the office.
“He does know there are other people present, doesn’t he?” said Artimus, his mind struggling to comprehend what was going on.
“I’m not sure he’s fully aware of anything.” said Neil, shaking off his fuddle. “Have you asked him to find out what you need?”
“Yes.” said Artimus, watching as John spun three times so he was facing the other way, and writhed back down the room toward them. “But how can I be sure he even knows what I’ve said?”
Neil placed a hand on Artimus’ shoulder, snapping him momentarily back to their conversation. “Did you write it down? Neatly?”
“Of course!” said Artimus, upset that he had been made to stop watching. “It’s it my best Townsend text. Homo-script italics - eleven point.”
As Artimus tried to turn back, Neil pinched his shoulder tighter, forcing him to stay in the conversation. “Did you set timescales?”
“Yes, Neil.” said Artimus, his irritation clear. “I have even suggested how long each task should take and whom in the office may be able to assist.”
“Great.” said Neil, standing. “Then let’s go.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
“Are we just going to leave him like this?” said Artimus, looking concerned that John would be left alone.
“Do you think there is anything anybody can do to assist him?” said Neil.
With John still dancing in the room, Neil ushered Artimus out and closed the door. It was time to get on with some proper police work.