Hays Mews, London
Detective Inspector Joanna Alwell’s head sprang up. ‘Andrew Wess wasn’t your husband?’
Emily shook her head slowly, hardly noticing the other woman’s surprise. The detective’s reddening face foiled her effort to control a quickly mounting embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. I was told you were married, and I assumed from the identical surname . . .’
‘I kept my maiden name when I married. Andrew is my younger cousin from back in the States. He’s been visiting us these past three weeks. He’d never been to London.’ Emily’s words faltered, nostalgia creeping in, uncontrolled and unwelcome. When she continued, her voice wavered. ‘We used to spend our summers together, out in the woods, all through our childhood. Climbing trees, building forts. Whatever the summer brought.’ Her words began to choke in her throat.
DI Alwell gave her a moment, regaining her own composure, then steered her back towards the events of the morning.
‘So these men broke in and attacked your cousin, in order to steal a map. A map of what?’
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ Emily answered. ‘When your colleagues asked me to look through the desk and see what was missing, I noticed immediately what the men had taken. It was a file containing a manuscript I’ve been examining – a recent acquisition I’d made for CUA.’
‘CUA?’
‘Catholic University of America, in Washington DC. I’m a visiting professor there for the year, during my sabbatical from Carleton College in Minnesota. One of my chief roles is to acquire new materials for the university’s special collection. This stay in London was for me to collect this manuscript and bring it back to Washington. My husband’s family home here in the city is a convenient hub for us, especially since he’s here for a twelve-month post.’
‘Your husband is British?’
Emily nodded in the affirmative, and DI Alwell took down the detail.
‘So these men broke in to steal a manuscript,’ the detective added a moment later, looking up. At least there was a clear motive. ‘Is it valuable?’
‘To historians, of course. But in monetary terms it’s hardly worth stealing. The university purchased it from a private collector here for just over £7,500.’
‘That’s not exactly pocket change.’
‘Maybe not. It’s a matter of perspective. The last acquisition my office made was of an eleventh-century parchment. Our bill there was $600,000. We only got this one so cheaply because there’s some debate over its authenticity. It might be a later forgery.’
Alwell raised an eyebrow. ‘I had no idea old documents went for so much.’ She took the details down in her notebook. ‘So the intruders took this ancient map and left?’
‘It’s not a map.’
‘You said—’
‘I said that’s what they called it. The manuscript is a mid fifteenth-century French text recounting the history of a settlement in the Languedoc. I have no idea why they referred to it as a map. There’s nothing on it but text, and none of that text relates to geography.’
Alwell took down these details, too. Whether they made any more sense to her than they did to Emily was impossible to determine from a face that had practised professional dispassion for years.
‘What happened next, Dr Wess?’
‘That’s the moment Andrew yelled out and stormed into the room. A second later, the gunshots came. The men didn’t linger after they’d killed him.’ Emily fought for composure. ‘They took the manuscript. Left by the rear entrance.’
Concluding her notes, DI Alwell looked up at her. ‘Is there anything else? Anything at all?’
Emily shook her head in the negative – her first and only lie of the morning. For whatever reason, something pushed her to keep quiet about a fact that she knew changed the contours of the scene before her, perhaps dramatically. She knew it was important, but she could not bring herself to tell it to the officer.
Alwell sat up in her chair, tucking her pad into a pocket on her uniform. ‘There’s one last thing to attend to. The US Embassy needs to be informed of your cousin’s death,’ she said. ‘You can do this yourself, Dr Wess, or I can do it for you, though you’ll need to be in touch with them directly at some stage.’
Emily nodded at the latter option and the DI attempted to offer a consoling smile. ‘All right. That’s enough for now. You’ve been tremendously helpful. I know you’ve been anxious to get to the phone. Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone you might want to talk to first at this difficult time?’
Only one name came to Emily’s mind, and she announced it to the detective without hesitation.
‘Michael Torrance. I’d like to speak with my husband.’