James walked through the first floor of the Northampton Museum of Anthropology and up the staircase to the upper level.
Did I make the right decision? Should I have mentioned this to Anwar?
He followed the platform around and passed a series of lecture halls until he came to a corridor. James took a deep breath.
Whoever kidnapped Valentine murdered Pippa and stole the sword.
James marched down the hall towards the door labelled “Elizabeth James.” He was sure he had already met the murderer, thief, and kidnapper. James had everything he needed, a short list of suspects, and a very personal motivation. They had used a certain personal pronoun, so he was looking for one individual.
He knocked on the closed door. The dull thud of a pair of heels clacking against the floor came from within the office. The handle turned, and the door opened.
‘We need to talk.’ James pushed past Elizabeth, who was wearing the same outfit from the day before.
He walked across the room and sat down on the chair on the other side of Elizabeth’s desk. She turned around and stared at him.
‘I’m pretty sure I’ve told you everything I know about the events that unfolded.’ Elizabeth took a deep breath.
‘See, that’s where you and I disagree. I have a hunch there’s a lot more to tell.’ James leaned back in the chair and held her gaze.
Elizabeth gestured towards the door and down the corridor. ‘I don’t respond to intimidation tactics.’
Her slender frame tensed as he remained seated.
‘Do you want me to come back with PC Chan? I can always let him off his leash and see what happens.’ James crossed his legs, then brushed a small piece of fluff off his arm and refocused on Elizabeth. ‘Or you can take a seat and have an honest chat with me.’
Elizabeth stood clutching the door handle and looked down the hall. She closed the door behind her, walked across the room, and sat down at her desk.
‘He’s just a bobby.’ Elizabeth refocused her attention on James. ‘He doesn’t scare me.’
James raised his eyebrows at her.
‘I don’t know what you expect me to say,’ Elizabeth said, avoiding James’s gaze.
‘How about we start with the small mountain of debt you’ve racked up in the pursuit of a legendary sword?’ James brushed his hand along his trouser leg, then looked up at her.
‘I guess I can assume because you’re here asking me you have no factual evidence and what you know is merely a work of fiction.’ Elizabeth scowled at him with her chocolate-brown eyes.
‘So, what you’re saying is if I ask PC Chan for a warrant and we seize all of your company’s records, we’ll find that you’re well in the green.’ James tilted his head towards the door and smirked.
‘I made a mistake asking you for help. So I guess that front page of your low-circulation newspaper is looking more like a gossip rag and you’re desperate for a decent story to save your arse.’
James smirked. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, I’ve met Harry Lancaster.’
‘That’s nice.’ James pulled out his smartphone and started typing away at the screen.
‘That’s all you have?’ Elizabeth stood up at her desk and leaned towards him. ‘You’re here to intimidate me and accuse me of dishonesty and verging on bankruptcy, all on a whim?’ She struck her desk with her index finger.
James looked up and smiled.
‘Bear with me, Mrs Carmichael. I’m just emailing PC Chan. I need to give him time to request a search warrant. The police are funny about paperwork and procedure.’ James refocused on his screen.
‘You’re not the only one who’s done a bit of research.’
James glanced up at Elizabeth and bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop himself from smiling.
‘Yes, I know all about you. You’re just some twelve-year-old in an editorial position who has a trust fund, time on your hands, and money to burn.’
‘I think I’m developing a crush on you. I love a woman who does her research.’ James placed his hand on his chest.
‘God, you’re just like Alistair,’ Elizabeth said in a sharp tone as she sat.
‘For the record, I’m almost twenty-nine, and the last time I checked, I wasn’t the editor of the Times. The Tribune is a small newspaper with a small circulation. And yes, I went to Oxford.’ James looked down and continued to type. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I inherited some money a few years back. I was raised to work hard, not live off the wealth of another. It’s not my money. I didn’t earn it.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘You can stop typing.’
James looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrows. ‘A sudden change of heart?’
‘Do you want to hear what I have to say?’ Elizabeth leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Enlighten me.’ James pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
‘You’re right.’
James reached across and placed his phone on the desk. ‘You’re going bankrupt?’ He leaned forward.
‘I’m in archaeology for the love of it. I’ve always dreamed about excavating lost treasures and discovering lost civilisations. But it’s an expensive business, and I’m in a considerable amount of debt.’
James leaned back and listened to her confession. ‘Go on,’ he said as Elizabeth’s gaze flicked upwards.
‘I’ve considered breaking a few laws to sell off the sword to pay for debts, but I decided against it because that would be career suicide. I’ve got too much to lose. And I certainly wouldn’t have involved Pippa.’ A hint of sadness lingered in Elizabeth’s voice.
‘What do you mean by career suicide?’
‘If I don’t find the sword and return it to the NMA, my career and reputation will be ruined. No one in the archaeological world would ever work with me again.’
‘I know you’re working with Alistair and Maximilian. I can imagine the fallout from an event like this wouldn’t be as bad as you’re letting on. Why have you not mentioned your partnership with them?’ James sat up straight in his chair.
‘Alistair and Maximilian are corporate sell-outs. The museum gave me partial funding, and I was desperate. They have funds, and I knew Alistair would jump at anything Arthurian.’ Elizabeth ran her finger through a pile of sticky notes.
‘Fair enough. What about your rocky relationship with Pippa?’
‘I didn’t kill Pippa. She drove me insane and put my research in jeopardy a few times, but she made me a better professional.’
‘How did she put your research in jeopardy?’
‘It wasn’t intentional, but she talked about the discovery on her blog. It was more like a diary update. When I found it, I asked her to take it down.’
‘That’s it?’ James pushed his glasses back up. ‘She blogged about it to an audience of zero people?’
‘She caused a fight on the dig site between Alistair and Maximilian. I don’t want to get into it.’ Elizabeth shuffled around in her chair.
‘I do. It’s important. If the police find out about this, then it’s another piece of evidence that makes you look guilty.’
‘Pippa did a few podcast interviews about the dig, and our research, as well. At that stage, we didn’t need press. Her actions made the investors uncomfortable.’
‘Like who?’
‘I can’t say because he specifically requested to remain anonymous. He’s quite an affluent individual who likes to keep his financials private.’
Elizabeth tucked her hair behind her ears, picked up the pile of sticky notes on her desk, and flipped through them.
‘Off the record?’
‘I can’t.’
James ran his fingers through his thick blond hair and stared at the woman in front of him. He had a lot of work to do, and time was slipping away.
‘I know you saw Pippa the day of the murder. That afternoon at her flat. Multiple witnesses overheard your conversation with her.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘You’re referring to that interfering busybody who lives next door?’
James smirked. ‘Yes, Elizabeth, I regularly take the word of one individual and don’t check multiple sources. You caught me.’
‘Like who?’
‘I will not reveal my sources. It’s unethical.’ James removed his spectacles and held them as he glanced across the room at Elizabeth.
‘So, you do have standards.’
James shook his head. ‘You asked for my help. Remember?’
They sat in silence, staring at each other as James contemplated his next move.