Whisper For The Reaper by Jack Gatland (best motivational books for students txt) 📗

stay for. And meanwhile, we buried Karl Meier at Zentralfriedhof Friedrichsfelde.’

Monroe pulled out his phone, already typing as he spoke.

‘Thank you for your time, Mister Hoffman,’ he said, still typing as he rose from the chair, nodding to Bullman to follow him out. And, once on the street, he took a deep breath.

‘Christ,’ he muttered.

‘What kind of case is this?’ Bullman asked, reading her notes. ‘If Karl Meier is dead, who the hell is Karl Schnitter?’

‘I think, Sophie, that Declan’s friend Karl might be the given, new identity of Wilhelm Müller,’ Monroe replied. ‘And if that’s the case then everything we’ve ever been told about the Red Reaper case is a lie, in particular how Karl and Patrick were supposed to have captured and killed Müller several years ago. But there’s something worse at stake.’ He stared at the buildings around him as he worked through the issue in his head. ‘If Wilhelm Müller is found guilty of any crimes in the UK, he could call on the CIA, reminding them of old debts, and they could have him out of the cell and disappeared within minutes. He could literally get away with murder. No wonder Emilia wanted us on this. It’s some kind of spook pissing contest.’

‘Who’s Emilia?’ Bullman asked, slightly behind the curve here.

‘Ex-wife. Long story,’ Monroe sighed. ‘We need to let everyone know that we’ve been going the wrong bloody direction here.’

The Snug was empty when Declan brought Anjli and Billy into the room, making his way over to the corner under the CCTV camera. There was a small table with two chairs there, and the wall beside it was half panelled with mahogany.

‘There was a legend about this building,’ Declan said as he moved the table away from the wall. ‘That there was talk of an underground tunnel being used during the Bloodless Revolution of 1688, when the anti-Catholic Lord Lovelace helped William of Orange to take the throne. They said that Lovelace would plot this in the crypt at Old Ladye Place, and his fellow aristocratic conspirators would enter through underground tunnels that led from the river and the Olde Bell to the crypt to avoid detection. ‘

‘Stories, or facts?’ Billy asked.

‘Definitely facts,’ Declan pulled at the wood panelling. ‘They even had people go down and look into it, but it was unsafe and boarded back up.’ The panelling came off with a crack, and Declan faced a small cubbyhole in the wall above a crudely made hole into the ground.

‘Looks like someone didn’t get the message,’ he said as he pulled out his torch and, with a small grin slid his legs into the hole, sliding through, landing in the rough hewn beginning of a small, stone tunnel only four feet in height. Doubled over, Declan shone the torch down the tunnel itself.

The fallen rubble seemed to be removed.

‘According to the old folk tales, this leads directly to the crypt,’ he said as he climbed back out of it. ‘We need to get forensics to check this before I contaminate any more of it.’

Billy was looking at the camera as Declan climbed out. ‘We kept seeing Ilse as she walked around the room,’ he said. ‘She was distracting us, pretending to have a conversation with Karl while he slid into the tunnel, made his way to the crypt, killed Rolfe and then returned, blocking up the hole before we arrived at the door.’

Declan nodded.

‘Rolfe didn’t kill himself,’ he replied. ‘Karl Schnitter and Ilse Müller worked together to kill him. The question, though, is why?’

Jess was in the living room when the doorbell rang. Rising from the sofa, she walked to the door, opening it to find Ilse Müller standing in the doorway.

‘Is Declan Walsh here?’ Ilse asked. ‘It’s important.’

‘No,’ Jess replied. ‘I could call him if you want?’

‘I’ve already tried, but the phone goes to voicemail,’ Ilse said. ‘May I come in? I’m… Well, I think I’m being followed.’

Jess thought for a moment as she looked past Ilse, out into the street. At the end of the opposite row of houses, she could see a shadowed figure watching them, half hidden behind a hedge.

’Sure,’ she said as she stepped back, allowing Ilse to enter the house. ‘And I’m sorry about your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ Ilse said as she closed the front door.

‘Would you like some tea?’ Jess asked. Ilse smiled at this.

‘That would be very kind,’ she replied, looking down at the laptop on the coffee table. ‘I hope we didn’t interrupt you from something important?’

‘I’m just writing up some notes for dad,’ Jess walked into the kitchen. ‘Actually, you might be able to help. I spoke to a friend of Nathanial Wing today, and they said that it was you, and not your brother, that contacted him to unlock—‘

She stopped as Ilse’s last line pinged a warning bell in her head.

‘I hope we didn’t interrupt you…’

Carefully, and making no noise, Jess reached for her phone, cursing when she realised it was still on the table, next to her laptop. Changing tack, she pulled open a drawer, turning back to the living room.

‘Sugar?’ she shouted out, using the sound of her voice to muffle the slight clatter of cutlery as she pulled a carving knife out of the drawer.

’No, please,’ Ilse replied. Jess, now armed, moved to the door carefully, worried that the slightest sound would give her away. She opened it, moving into the living room—

To find nobody there.

Knife still in her hand, Jess stared in shock for a moment, but it was a moment too long as, from behind, an arm clamped around her shoulder as she felt the pinch of a needle entering the side of her neck. Pulling away, she turned to face Ilse, an empty syringe in her hand.

‘Please, be calm,’ Ilse said softly, pointing at the sofa. ‘You should sit down, before you collapse.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Jess slurred, staring at the blade in her hand as her fingers, no longer able to grasp onto it,