The pungent aroma of burnt Italian coffee beans filled the small inner-city cafe as the barista boiled the milk. A clang sounded when the barista slammed the metal jug on the coffeemaker. James’s stomach rumbled. He checked his watch for the third time. It had been less than two hours since Anwar had reluctantly released Elizabeth from the police station’s holding cell. Now he knew two things: the police liked Elizabeth for the crime but did not possess evidence to convict, and the murder weapon was possibly missing. She was under suspicion, but James couldn’t ask outright. He needed to dance around the topic because angry people don’t talk, and the obvious question was bound to upset Elizabeth. And Anwar was fuming. To secure Elizabeth’s release, he had to go over his head to the station’s super.
A digital chime announced someone entering the front door of Coffee Haven. He looked up.
Thank God.
Elizabeth paused in the doorway and closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly exhaled and surveyed the room. James lifted his hand and waved as she strode towards his table next to the window. Without taking his eyes off her, James tapped the large red button on his smartphone screen and started the recording.
She forced a smile as a crease formed in her brow. ‘Look, I don’t know or understand how you convinced that man to let me go—’
James shrugged. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
I only had to burn a bridge I spent the last five years building. All to avoid blank space in the culture section. I’m despicable.
With her hand trembling, Elizabeth reached out and pulled the chair out, then sat. She clenched her trembling hands in her lap and forced a smile.
‘Do you want a drink?’ James pointed across the room at the coffee bar in the centre of the cafe.
Elizabeth turned and stared out the window. ‘I don’t drink.’
Not even caffeine?
As he contemplated his next move, James watched Elizabeth’s bloodshot eyes glaze over. A few hours earlier, he had listened to the desperation in her voice over the phone and made several assumptions about her. But the woman in front of him was not what he had expected. The insufferable optimist in him had hoped for an easy story. He had become lazy since he took over as editor. Blank space was more important than complicated and sensational news stories. James glanced at his smartphone, laying on the tabletop between him and Elizabeth, and tapped the screen. The numbers on the recording app spun around with military-style precision.
James sighed. ‘I know you’ve been through an ordeal, but walk me through how you discovered the murder.’
‘I woke up in my living room.’ Elizabeth hesitated as she stared straight through James. ‘I must have been exhausted and fell asleep on the couch. I discovered Pippa Baker lying face down on my living room floor. She was dead,’ Elizabeth said, all glassy-eyed.
‘And you knew this how?’ James waited for her reaction.
‘I stepped into a pool of her blood. There was no way she could have lost that much blood and survived.’
‘And, Pippa, I assume, is your assistant?’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
‘I need to be certain of the information I print. So stating the obvious is a part of the job.’
Elizabeth darted her gaze out the window and onto the busy street crammed with pedestrians, buses, and motorists honking their horns in the early afternoon traffic.
James narrowed his eyes. ‘Did Pippa stop by your flat the night before?’
‘No. When I got home, the house was empty.’
‘Where were you the night before?’ James rested his chin on the palm of his hand.
‘I was in London at a fundraising dinner. I returned late. I can’t remember the time, but I’m sure I can find my tickets for the train and cab.’
‘Fundraising?’
‘Yes, a part of my job as an archaeologist and museum curator is to raise funds for the research that happens after an archaeological dig.’
‘So, you’re still raising money for Excalibur?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘On my recent dig, I excavated what we believe to be the sword that inspired the legend behind Excalibur.’
‘You mentioned the word “we.” I’m assuming you’re referring to a team?’ James watched Elizabeth’s slender frame straighten up.
‘Yes, that’s correct. I had a team of people accompany me on the dig. Mostly staff from the museum and a few experts.’
‘And when did you last see the sword?’
‘I had taken it home a few weeks ago for further study. I guess they’ll have collected it as evidence.’
‘The police have possession of a tag bearing a catalogue number. But there’s no mention of a sword.’
Elizabeth bit her lower lip as her dark-brown eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s missing?’ She leaned over the table towards James.
‘Yes. Could any of your team members have the sword?’
‘No, I didn’t loan it to anyone and forget.’ Elizabeth scowled at him. ‘The sword is worth over five million pounds. It’s dated back to the correct period, early fourth to the fifth century.’ Elizabeth looked at the table and covered her mouth as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Someone deserves an Oscar for best actress.
James crinkled his brow as the waterworks commenced, right on cue.
Why didn’t you come clean and tell the police? Why hide the tag?
He looked at his phone’s lock screen to see how much time had elapsed since the recording started. ‘Earlier you seemed unsure about how you came to be in your living room. Did you have a lot to drink during the fundraising dinner in London?’
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and scowled at him for a moment. ‘Are you accusing me of acting unprofessionally?’
James bit his lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. ‘I’m not an idiot. I understand that in order to secure funds from investors that there is usually a bit of wining and dining involved. That’s all. You’re the one jumping to conclusions. I was wondering what the uncertainty was all about.’
‘Of course, you’re just wondering,’ Elizabeth said with a hint of suspicion lingering in her voice.
James stiffened his posture. ‘You called me, remember? You wanted my help. In order to give you that said help, I need to paint a full picture of what happened.’
Elizabeth stared back at him with a blank expression.
‘When did you last see Pippa?’ James asked as Elizabeth looked towards the counter in the middle of the store.
‘Definitely not yesterday.’ Elizabeth swallowed hard as she focused on James. ‘The day before.’
‘So on Saturday.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You didn’t seem sure, so I wanted to clarify things.’ James raised his eyebrows at her.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said with what appeared to be an exasperated shrug.
‘Did Pippa have any rivals or enemies?’
‘I do not know.’ Elizabeth looked up and shrugged again. ‘I hope she hasn’t done something stupid.’
‘Like what?’ James leaned back in his chair.
‘She was a naïve archaeological graduate with dreams of becoming the next Lara Croft.’ Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Let’s just say that archaeology is far removed from the Indiana Jones and Lara Croft action-adventure films. Maybe she found a private buyer. It would have to be someone wealthy. Extremely wealthy.’ Elizabeth stared straight ahead as if she were deep in thought. ‘There are strict regulations in the archaeological world. We can’t just raid tombs and sell stuff to museums. Everything we find belongs to the country in which we find it.’
‘Who would want the sword?’
‘No idea. The find isn’t public yet. That’s why I contacted the culture section of the Northampton Tribune and spoke with Valentine. I wanted to draw attention to the exhibit and put the item on display, then raise funds for further research.’ Elizabeth waved her hands around. ‘Maybe the buyer decided he couldn’t trust her.’
‘There’s no evidence of a third person in your apartment last night.’
‘I didn’t do it.’ Elizabeth furrowed her brow. ‘There must be a third person, and that person stole the sword.’
James nodded. ‘Okay. I can suspend disbelief for a moment and consider that someone could have been there that night while Pippa was in your flat, while you were sleeping.’
Elizabeth’s eyes dilated. ‘In the midst of all the drama and gore, I hadn’t considered that there were two people walking around my flat while I was sleeping.’
She placed her hand on her mouth and gasped. The colour drained from her face. For the first time, he actually believed her. She was shocked. But there was something Elizabeth wasn’t sharing, and it was more than just taking a priceless historical artefact home. She was withholding the truth. It was time to bite the bullet and simply ask the most obvious questions.
James ran his fingers through his thick, dark-blond hair. ‘Did you kill your assistant? Even by accident?’
‘What?’ She jerked back in her chair, then stiffened her posture. ‘Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? I didn’t kill Pippa. I…’ Elizabeth stuttered as tears rolled down her cheek.
Concerned that he might have pushed her too far, James paused as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks faster than before.
‘Sorry, but I have to ask. Why do you think the police were holding you in one of the station’s cells? They clearly like you for the crime.’ James narrowed his eyes as he gazed across the table.
Elizabeth froze. ‘I do not know.’
In an instant the waterworks stopped, and a familiar gaze returned to Elizabeth’s dark brown eyes. He had caught her in a third lie. But why lie about the theft of the sword, the drinking, and not knowing why the police thought she killed Pippa?
‘All I know is, I didn’t do it.’ Elizabeth glared at him.
For now, he had to humour Elizabeth and keep her onside. It was far too soon to be jumping to conclusions. After all, lying was a part of human nature. These false truths might be shared for a multitude of reasons, none of which had anything to do with the murder of Pippa Baker. Or Elizabeth might be trying to cover her tracks.
Then there was the biggest question of all, one that he could never ask. Even if he did, she wouldn’t be honest. Why did she call him and not someone from her team?
James leaned across the table toward Elizabeth. ‘I think I might agree with you on this. The murderer is most likely the thief. So in theory, if we locate the sword, we’ll locate Pippa’s murderer too.’