Dead And Buried

Forty-two

‘ There’s no such person as Moses Archer: he doesn’t exist. I’ve run checks everywhere and that’s the official verdict.’ Amanda Dennis looked solemnly across her desk at Skinner, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Assumed name?’ she suggested.

The Scot shook his head. ‘No, it’s a discarded name,’ he countered. ‘All references have been excised from the records, everywhere.’

‘What makes you so sure of that?’

He took a letter from his pocket. ‘This does: it was posted last Friday, from one of the many places in the UK with an illegible postmark. The Royal Mail should have its cage rattled about that, by the way. Let me read it to you.

‘Dear Moses

‘I know you’re a busy man and everything, but it’s been a while since I heard from you. More importantly, it’s been a while since your nephews heard from you. It was young Joshua’s birthday yesterday. He was really disappointed not to get a card from you, or even a phone call. Mum called him, though, and sent money for me to buy him a present. She sounded well; she said she’s going to visit a friend in New Jersey soon, for a break before Christmas. I hope everything’s all right with you, and that you haven’t caught one of those winter bugs that laid you low when we were kids. I worry about you living on that boat. I know it’s lovely and it’s moored in a very posh area, but it must be bloody cold at this time of year.

‘Everything’s fine up here. The Dales are quiet, of course, but if we have a mild Christmas we may see more people around. I hope so, for every little helps in the bakery. Still, Elton’s had a reasonable year, so I shouldn’t grumble. He and I went to the Druid last weekend. The food was great as usual, and Elton said that the beer’s never been better. Will we see you at Christmas? Hope so. I’ve got your Santa Claus suit all ready for you.

‘Your loving sis

‘Esther.

‘The heading on the notepaper is Glebe Cottage, Stannington Drive, Bakewell. That’s in Derbyshire, if you didn’t know.’

Dennis gave him a reproving glance. ‘Of course I knew. I see what you mean: Moses Archer doesn’t exist, but he has a sister. So who the hell is he?’

‘No: who the hell was he?’

‘You know?’

Skinner nodded. ‘If you have to leave a name behind to protect your family from possible reprisals when you join a very secret organisation, Adam Arrow isn’t exactly a quantum leap from Moses Archer.’ He tossed a photograph on to the desk. ‘That’s Moses, in his teens by the look of him: it’s also Adam Arrow. I’m guessing that the girl is Esther.’

‘But who is Adam Arrow?’

‘He was the military intelligence officer involved in the plot, the man shot dead up at St Andrews.’

‘Are you certain of all this?’

‘Totally. I knew Adam as well as anyone did; that’s him as a kid. Half the time, when he spoke to you, he’d lapse into a very colourful Derbyshire accent; he only dropped it when he was talking serious business. The clothes on the houseboat were his size. There’s no doubt. Amanda,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t have to tell you that when you enter the world he inhabited, you have to leave everything else behind you. Major Adam Arrow lived in Dolphin Square, but I guess he was too attached to his family to allow Moses Archer to disappear completely. So he kept the Bulrush. . Moses, bulrushes, there’s a connection when you think about it. . as an accommodation address. No, more than that: as a gateway back into his real life.’

‘Wouldn’t that have been potentially dangerous for his family?’

‘Yes, it was reckless, but Adam was familiar with danger. He didn’t fear it, and he could manage it.’

‘And Arrow was the third plotter.’

‘Yes, but I’ve known that all along. The thing that concerns me now is that Moses Archer was in on it as well.’