Equinox

'Manuscript? What sort of manuscript?' Bridges looked a little startled by the question.

'I don't know.' A brief sardonic smile played across Lightman's lips. 'Laura was about to explain. Do sit down, dear boy'

Bridges took a seat by the desk.

'Laura's plotting a new novel and wants to introduce the idea of an ancient document or text appearing in the twenty-first century.' Lightman turned back to Laura. 'Have you thought about what sort of ancient manuscript is discovered?'

'Well, I was hoping you would have some idea, James. But if. .'

'There have been some amazing finds in recent decades,' Lightman declared. 'The most famous of all, of course, was the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls over fifty years ago in Wadi Qumran. So it does happen. However, that said, I haven't heard of anything new appearing for quite some time. Have you, Malcolm?'

'Nothing very recent,' Bridges replied. 'There was the Elias Ashmole material found at Keble College, of course, but that was almost thirty years ago.'

'And don't forget the Codex Madrid , the Leonardo notebooks. They were found in some discarded boxes in a Spanish library in the 1960s. Oh, and Wainwright's unearthing of that manuscript attributed to Herodotus, but that was found, when? 1954, 1955?'

'OK,' Laura said, distractedly. 'So at least it's not silly fantasy.'

'No, no, not at all,' Lightman replied. 'Just, well, extremely rare. . sadly.' He took a sip of tea and was about to add something when the front doorbell rang.

'That will be Professor Turner,' Bridges said. 'He was due here at 9.45.'

'Oh hell,' Lightman said. 'I'd completely forgotten about him. Look, I'm sorry, Laura, but I have to see Turner now — I've put him off twice already. Wants to talk about a new annexe to the library — frightfully boring, but essential, I'm afraid.'

Although she had hoped to delve deeper, Laura hid her disappointment. 'No problem, James,' she said. 'I feel very reassured.'

They walked towards the door of the study. 'There was one other quick question I had for you, though. Can you spare just a second?'

Lightman nodded.

'Have you ever heard of a serial killer in Oxford in 1851?'

Lightman hesitated for a second. Then he said: 'You know, I do recall hearing of something along those lines. It was the year of the Great Exhibition. Two young women. But that hardly constitutes a serial killing, does it? I'm sorry, Laura. Goodness, I haven't been of such great service today, have I?'

Chapter 22

After two unsuccessful attempts to telephone Philip, Laura remembered that he had told her that he was going to London to see about a possible commission to do the photographs for a book about Tasmania. He would be staying in London overnight.

Back in Woodstock, she went through the books in Philip's library to see if she could find anything on the murders of 1851. But there was absolutely nothing and an Internet search proved equally fruitless. That evening she stayed on the sofa with Jo, watching TV and eating chocolates.

Next morning Laura was returning from a long walk in the woods near the house when she saw a car pull into Philip's driveway. She had hired a new vehicle the previous evening and was vaguely surprised that the company was delivering when they'd said they would. Half an hour later she was on the road to Oxford and keying in the number of Philip's mobile.

'Where are you?' she asked excitedly.

'Just coming into Oxford on the M40 — why?'

'I need to see you a.s.a.p.'

'Well, I've got to drop off a couple of discs at the station. I'm late with them already. I was going to go straight home, but do you want to meet for a coffee?'

'Sounds good. Where?'

'How about Isabella's on Ship Street off Cornmarket?'

'OK. How soon can you get there?'

'Look, give me half an hour — no, forty-five minutes.'

Laura glanced at her watch. It was approaching quarter to nine. 'OK, see you at 9.30.' And she snapped the phone shut.

Isabella's was a tiny, seriously understated coffee shop on one of the quieter roads off the pedestrian thoroughfare of Cornmarket Street in the centre of Oxford. It consisted of fewer than a dozen little tables and the decor was drab and faded, but Philip liked the owner, Isabella Frascante, a middle-aged Italian widow who was always friendly and welcoming and made, he believed, the best espresso in the Home Counties.

Laura was there ten minutes early and saw Philip pass the window and walk in. They had the place to themselves and as Philip sat down the owner saw him and beamed.

'The usual, please, Isabella,' he said and leaned back in the chair.

'How was it?' Laura asked.

'What?'

'You got the job?'

'Oh, maybe. I hope so. They're supposed to be e-mailing me about it this afternoon. So, what's new with you?'

'I went to see James Lightman, but he wasn't much help, unfortunately. I think we have to get hold of some more information on the 1851 murders. But where would you begin to find out about a series of murders in this city over a hundred and fifty years ago? The newspapers of the day?'

'I guess,' Philip replied. Isabella arrived with the coffee and Philip took a sip. 'Bloody excellent. I've got to get her to tell me her secret some day,' he whispered as she walked away.

'Hah! The secret is that she's Italian, Philip. A pasty Brit with no culinary skills like you is hardly going to match up, now, are you?'

Philip laughed off the insult. Taking another mouthful, he smacked his lips.

'So,' Laura said. 'Newspapers?'

'Not sure there was a local paper in Oxford in 1851.'

'There must have been, Philip. This place is built on paper.'

'Yeah, books, Laura, books. Newspapers would have been considered vulgar.'

'By the university, maybe. But other people lived here then, remember, just like they do now' She rolled her eyes.

'OK,' Philip replied. 'We can find out at the library. Local history section. If there was a contemporary report on the murders it will be there, probably on microfiche.'

'Cool. Let's go, then.' Laura was out of her chair and ignoring Philip's protests. 'Goddamn it, man, put it in a take-out cup. It can't be that special. And for Christ's sake wipe your mouth!'

It turned out that there had been three local newspapers in Oxford in 1851. Jackson's Oxford Journal was the most popular and the oldest, having been published since 1753. The other two, the Oxford University Herald and the Oxford Chronicle and Berks and Bucks Gazette were relative newcomers.

'Looks like you were wrong, Philip. Not one but three vulgar newspapers,' Laura noted.

'I stand corrected.'

'How do we access the archives?'

'Look in the library catalogue,' Philip replied. He moved the mouse to flick back to the file manager.

'The library has everything catalogued by decade. Then we'll have to search by newspapers and journals.'

A few more clicks and they had opened the file for 1850–1860. A couple more and they had the newspaper catalogue on the screen. 'Now we do a search by keywords. You don't have names, I suppose?'

Laura shook her head.

'OK. Well, that makes it harder. But we could try putting in 'murder', I guess, see what happens.' There were 1819 entries. Laura groaned.

'Don't be so impatient. Refine the search,' Philip said.

'Try "serial killer".'

'The expression didn't exist then.'

Laura was trying to recall what she had read two mornings earlier. 'The website I mentioned talked of three women being killed and mutilated during the summer of 1851'