‘That’s what they were asking us after it happened, but I didn’t see anyone like that.’ She stared glumly at the pinboard.
‘And did Max mention Islam at all in his tutorials?’
‘Yes. He drew parallels between scientific methods, Nazism and fundamentalist religions, like Islam. He said he was going to discuss this in his lecture. He said it would be a revelation to some people.’
‘Sounds as if he intended to upset a few people.’
She shrugged. ‘It was a favourite theme of his. He was fearless in expressing his opinions.’
‘OK, well I won’t disturb you any longer just now, Briony. If you do think of anything, here’s my phone number.’
Briony seemed preoccupied with some thought and didn’t reply. Brock turned to go. As he reached the door she suddenly spoke again.
‘I just remembered. At our last tutorial he said something else a bit odd. He used a phrase, “the people of the book”, and said something about it being a lottery which people of the book would shut him up first, something like that.’
‘People of the book? What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know, but I don’t think he meant they were going to take away his library card or something. I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn’t explain. He would do that, say something mysterious and leave you to think about it.’
‘You didn’t take it to mean that someone might want to kill him?’
‘Not at the time, no. But now… well, I don’t know.’
On the way back to his office in Queen Anne’s Gate, an annexe of New Scotland Yard a couple of blocks away from the Victoria Street headquarters building, Brock phoned the laboratory liaison officer, Sergeant Leon Desai, and arranged for him to meet him there.
‘Anything for us yet, Leon?’ Brock asked when they met.
‘They should be ready for a screening of the enhanced video film later this afternoon, Brock. And firearms has made a preliminary assessment of the cartridge, but verbal only at this stage, being a bit careful.’ He said it approvingly, being himself a stickler for accuracy.
‘Go on.’
‘7.62 millimetre, probably of Warsaw Pact origin, maybe to go with something like the Russian Tokarev automatic pistol. Doesn’t mean to say that’s what we’re looking for, of course. Could have been fired from something else.’
‘Availability in London?’
‘Yes, there’s quite a bit of old Soviet stuff floating around. The Tokarev and its ammunition was also sold to a number of countries outside the Warsaw Pact.’
He handed Brock a list. Brock’s frown deepened as he scanned it. ‘Syria, Somalia, Libya, People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen…’
He put the paper down and reached into his pocket, handing Leon the green pamphlet from Springer’s desk. ‘What do you make of that?’
Leon read, then said, ‘It’s the Qur’an.’
‘That’s what I thought. You’re not a Muslim are you, Leon?’
Leon gave him a sharp look to see if the question was serious.
‘No, I’m not actually, but my family used to be. They were originally Muslims from Gujarat in India who went out to Kenya, where they began to get lazy about their faith. They lost it altogether when we were kicked out of Kenya. Many of the East African Gujarati went up north to Bradford, where there already was a community of Gujarati from India who’d built their own mosques and schools, but we settled in London and never took up with Muslims here. But I was brought up on the Qur’an when I was a kid.’
It was the longest speech Brock had ever heard from Leon, normally so economical with words, on any subject other than forensics.
‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of the Qur’an handy, would you?’
‘’Fraid not.’
‘Actually I’m beginning to think we may need the help of an expert on this. Does the phrase “people of the book” mean anything to you?’
‘Yes, it’s a phrase that’s used in the Qur’an.’
Brock rubbed at the side of his beard thoughtfully. ‘This is beginning to get worrying, Leon.’ He handed him the other packet with the pieces of envelope. ‘See if the lab can get anything from these. Especially the postmark. It’s smudged, see? I could only get the date.’
‘Is this what the green note came in?’
‘That’s one of the things I’d like you to find out, if you can. They were in different places, but this was the only envelope I could find. We’re doing a proper search now.’
As he turned to go, Leon said, keeping his voice neutral, ‘Heard from Kathy at all, Brock? Is she OK?’
‘Not too bad, I think, Leon. Taking it easy, I hope.’
‘Yes. Don’t know how I could contact her, do you?’
‘Anything urgent?’
‘No, no. Just thought I’d get in touch. See how she’s doing.’
‘I think I’d leave it for now. Give her a bit of breathing space. All right?’
Leon nodded and left.
5
T he officer from the Islamic Desk of Special Branch had dark curly hair and a cheerful grin. He was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans and had an easy, relaxed manner and an unobtrusive way about him that would suit him well, Brock thought, to the role of intelligence gatherer, which the Special Branch played. They shook hands.
‘Sergeant O’Brien, sir.’
‘You don’t bother with ranks and sirs over there, do you? Neither do we. What do they call you?’
‘Wayne.’
‘I’m Brock.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve heard about you, Brock. And I’ve heard about this place, too. Always wanted to visit the infamous rabbit warren. There’s even a rumour that you keep your own pub in this place, did you know that?’
‘You’re not serious? A pub, in an office of the Metropolitan Police?’
‘Yeah, likely, eh?’ He gave a cheeky grin. ‘Good story though. Adds to the myth, right? And I brought my copy of the Qur’an, like you asked.’
‘Good. Tell you what, let’s go downstairs and meet Bren Gurney. I’ve ordered some sandwiches. Come across him before?’
‘Did he play rugby for the Met?’
‘He did. Wing three-quarter. Put on a bit of weight since then. Follow me.’
Brock led the way through the confusing maze of corridors and flights of stairs which connected the rooms of what had once been separate terrace houses, then the converted offices of a publishing company, gradually working his way down into the basement. They passed under an arch, turned a corner and suddenly found themselves in the snug of an ancient public house.
‘Struth!’ The Special Branch officer stared around him at the ornate frosted glass, the tiny mahogany bar, and the huge stuffed salmon mounted in a glass case on the wall. ‘It’s true then! Wicked.’
‘Keep it to yourself, though, won’t you Wayne? Welcome to The Bride of Denmark.’ He lifted a flap in the counter and squeezed behind the bar, stooping to inspect the shelves beneath. ‘What’s your poison, old son? Whisky, beer? No draught beer, I’m afraid.’
‘Blimey.’
Bren came through the arch at that moment, bearing a tray of sandwiches, which he placed on a small table. They settled themselves around it with bottles of beer.
‘Well, now, Wayne,’ Brock began. ‘This may be a waste of your time, but we’d appreciate a bit of advice on one of our current cases.’
‘The murder down at UCLE?’ O’Brien asked hopefully. ‘I’ve seen it on TV and in the papers, of course. Choice one by the sound of it.’
‘That’s the one. A couple of things have come up that make us wonder if there might be some Islamic connection. Recently the victim reported that he’d received a threatening phone call which he connected with a radio interview he’d made speaking out against extremists and fundamentalists. Apparently the caller threatened to kill him within two weeks of the end of Ramadan if he didn’t pipe down. Then in his room we found this…’
He showed O’Brien a colour photocopy of the green handbill.