The Fourth Bear

18. Early Morning

Jack didn’t get back to sleep at all that night and eventually got up at six. He had a bath, then went downstairs to have a cup of coffee and listen to the early news, which didn’t carry any bulletins about the Gingerbreadman, so he figured he must still be at large. He thought of going to speak to Madeleine but decided against it, took his keys off the hook and glared at Caliban, who had somehow overcome his initial shyness and was sitting on the windowsill, picking his nose and staring out the window.

“Hey,” said Jack, “you better be out of the house by the time I get back.”

“Yeah, right,” replied Caliban with a reproachful sneer, “and what if I’m not?”

Jack jabbed a finger in his direction but for the life of him couldn’t think of anything either vaguely threatening or even intelligent. “Oh, nuts to you,” he said, and made for the door.

“Nuts to you, too,” murmured Caliban, and continued to stare out the window.

Jack got into his car, slotted the ignition key in, then stopped. Where was he going to go? His department wasn’t his anymore, and Briggs would almost certainly have something to say if he turned up there. He sighed. He wanted to stay out of Madeleine’s way, but he didn’t actually have any work to go to. He thought for a moment, tuned the radio to something mindless and settled back to think about Goldilocks. They had a victim but no obvious cause of death, no suspect, no motive and no particular leads apart from the mysterious Mr. Curry and QuangTech, who seemed to be cropping up a lot. NS-4 was somehow interested, and it seemed as though Goldy had been doing a story about unexplained explosions. Then there was the Gingerbreadman, and Vinnie Craps, who seemed to think he was above the NCD’s jurisdiction. And it was with thoughts like these that Jack drifted off to sleep, a lot more successfully than he’d been able to in the spare bedroom. He was just dreaming about the Dungeness nuclear power station and his Aunt Edith when the plaintive trill of his cell phone roused him to confused wakefulness.

“Yuh?” he said.

“It’s me,” said Mary.

“What’s the time?”

“Ten past nine.”

Jack rubbed his face. He’d been asleep for over two hours, and now he noticed that Ben had written “Working hard, Dad?” on the driver’s-side window as he’d slept. Madeleine must have seen him sleeping, and he half hoped he’d have a message from her, too—but he didn’t.

“What’s the news?”

“Positive ID from Mrs. Singh—it’s Goldilocks all right.”

“What did Briggs have to say about it?”

“He said he wasn’t going to elevate this to a full-level NCD murder inquiry without some sort of proof that she was killed unlawfully, but that I should continue ‘rigorous inquiries’ with my current level of resources.”

“Which is you and Ashley,” observed Jack, “a woeful lapse of responsibility, even for Briggs—he must be stretched thin with the hunt for the Gingerbreadman. Have you spoken to Josh?”

“I’ve just told him. He’d been expecting it, but the confirmation was still a shock. I showed him the list of Mr. Currys to see if he knew which one Goldilocks had been having dinner with the night before she died.”

“And?”

“He didn’t even look at the list. He said it was a code name—and that Goldilocks had made him swear not to reveal who it was.”

“I’ve a feeling this is seriously bad news.”

“You’d be right. ‘Mr. Curry’ was… Bartholomew.”

Jack was suddenly wide awake.

“Bartholomew? Sherman Bartholomew?”

“The very same.”

“Why the secrecy? Was she investigating him?”

“Josh said we should ask Bartholomew.”

“He’s right,” said Jack. “We will.”

“Shouldn’t I okay it with Briggs first?” asked Mary nervously. “This could be a very hot potato.”

“I’ve had hotter,” said Jack. “Besides, Briggs said this wasn’t an all-out murder inquiry yet.”

They agreed to meet at the council offices where Bartholomew was holding a surgery that morning. But Sherman Bartholomew wasn’t a doctor. He was Reading’s representative in the House of Commons. The Right Honorable Sherman Oscar Bartholomew, MP.