Cry for Help
Humphrey put on a face mask. Olaf said it served two purposes. Firstly, it was to protect the rock paintings from any nasty microbes that he might breathe over them. Secondly, it was to protect him from any nasty microbes that might have taken up residence in the cave since it was sealed, by a rock fall, about twenty thousand years ago.
It would be just the two of them. Kirstin had been told to go off and do something else. Olaf said he could get permission for just one person to accompany him into the cave. Since they were sneaking in by a back entrance that explanation seemed a bit weak.
They entered through a steel door and made their way along raised walkways. Olaf explained that they had been put there so that archaeologists could get to work without disturbing the cave floor. He directed his flashlight ahead and pointed to a set of footprints beneath a hanging rock.
A frieze of stampeding cattle had been painted on it. Dark marks indicated where the artist had held a burning torch. Olaf said that bits of charcoal had been dated to about twenty-five thousand years ago and other evidence indicated that the paintings were roughly that age.
Humphrey thought of Carlos. He had been painting reindeer under a similar overhang in the replica gallery that was being made for visitors. Carlos wore shoes. If the footprints were anything to go by the original artists worked barefoot.
It was like slipping back in time. A scene from the remote past had been captured and preserved under a thin layer of the stuff that stalagmites are made of. It had dripped down from the roof over countless years and covered everything that got in its way, including the footprints.
Olaf kept up a continual chatter. He knew a lot about the cave paintings and was clearly dedicated to his work as a conservator. Humphrey shared his enthusiasm. Olaf’s contribution to world culture and history was outstanding. Unfortunately, that was only part of the story. It was easy to forget that he was in the company of a cold-blooded serial killer.
He comforted himself with the thought that the man used high-tech gadgets to eliminate his victims. Olaf was unlikely to draw a gun and shoot him through the head. And he didn’t seem to be in a homicidal mood. Olaf seemed far more interested in talking about his work than killing anyone.
He listened as Olaf explained that recent evidence indicated what the ancient artists would have looked like. Their ancestors trekked out of Africa and made their way through the Middle East into Europe. The journey took thousands of years and, on the way, their descendants acquired physical characteristics that enabled them to cope with the harsh European climate.
Being hairy and having a light-coloured skin helped. Olaf said forensic experts, working with his team, had made a very life-like model based on skeletal evidence. It showed a person with features that were neither fully African nor European but somewhere in between. The model would be exhibited in the visitors centre.
Suddenly, his mood changed. It was as if a switch had clicked and propelled his mind down a different pathway.
‘Charles Paget.’
Humphrey was jolted out of his complacency.
‘Who?’
‘Paget. You were with him after that conference in Rome. You delivered your Alpha-Delta paper. You must remember. You had to bail out of that plane.’
Humphrey decided it was pointless to pretend that a lapse of memory had caused him to forget such an unforgettable experience.
‘You mean Charlie Paget?’
‘Yes. How well do you know him?’
‘We met at the conference. He offered to fly me back to London. I thought it was too good an opportunity to miss. I’d have a marvellous trip and save a bit of money.’
‘He called himself Hanbury-Brown.’
‘Who did?’
‘Paget. That is the name he used at the conference.’
Humphrey felt stupid. Charlie never used his correct name. He couldn’t remember what he went by at the conference. It certainly wasn’t Paget. It could have been Hanbury-Brown.
Olaf stared at him.
‘Humph. I need your help.’
That came as a blow.
‘I know who you are, Humph.’
That was even more intimidating.
‘You are the only person who can help me.’
Olaf poured out his angst. He was trapped in an unbearable situation. People were making him do things he didn’t want to do. He lapsed into Danish. Humphrey recognised the Bornholm accent. Olaf was a little boy again, knowing he had been naughty and wanting to be understood.
A distant echo caused him to stop.
‘Humph. Someone’s coming.’
He turned off his flashlight and grabbed Humphrey’s hand.
‘Follow me …’
Suddenly it was pitch dark. Not the slightest scrap of light illuminated the scene. Humphrey stumbled along, tripping over steps and crashing against the walls of the cave. Blood flowed from a cut on his forehead and ran into his eyes. They reached the steel door. Olaf threw it open and they tumbled through into the light of day.
Kirstin stitched the wound. Humphrey said she should have given him something to deaden the pain. She said that wasn’t necessary and accused him of being a sissy. It was the same when he was small. If his mother was to be believed, other boys thought nothing of having needles stuck in them. That was total nonsense but he could never get her to see things his way.
‘A little bit of pain is good for you.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘I’m glad you agree.’
’How could I do otherwise …’
Humphrey winced as the stitches were pulled together.
‘You lost a bit of blood.’
‘Yes, Mother. That upset Olaf.’
‘I didn’t think he was the sort.’
‘He wasn’t worried about me. He was worried about what my blood might have done to his paintings. He grabbed a jar of cleaning fluid and was back through that door before I had a chance to look at myself in a mirror.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘Yes. Olaf wasn’t worried about being seen in the cave. He was worried about being seen with me. He didn’t sneak back there in the dark. He had his flashlight on before he was through the door.’
‘Olaf tells the truth part of the time.’
‘Yes. And his lies are very obvious.’
‘Peter Pan …’
‘Peter Who?’
‘Pan … he was a character in a book I didn’t let you read. Peter was a little boy who failed to grow up.’
‘Did he go around killing people?’
Kirstin thought for a while.
‘I think he killed pirates but I could be wrong.’
Humphrey waited for Kirstin to tie the stitches. They were back in the small guest house where they were staying. He had returned before her and done his best to stick himself together with band aids.
‘That looks much better.’
Kirstin stepped back and removed her rubber gloves.
‘Now, perhaps, I can tell you what I discovered.’
She placed the gloves in a disposable bag and reached for her camera. Humphrey noticed that it was fitted with its telescopic lens. Both were of top quality. Kirstin switched on the camera and brought up an image on the display screen.
‘Take a look at that.’
‘Very impressive, Mother.’
‘I used a polaroid filter to cut down the reflection in the car window. We can further enhance the image on the computer.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘You recognise the lady …’
‘Yes, Mother. Senora Mendez-Klein.’
‘Mario’s mother.’
‘Precisely.’
Kirstin flicked through the images and came to one with Olaf. He was approaching the car and the senora was shouting at him through the window. She switched on the sound and turned up the volume.
‘She’s speaking Spanish.’
‘Yes, Humphrey. Did you get what she said?’
‘No. There’s something wrong with the recording.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the recording.’ Kirstin pulled a face. ‘There’s something wrong with your limited vocabulary. The senora was seeking information from Olaf.
‘May I enquire what?’
‘Where the fuck have you been? What the fuck have you been doing? Why the fuck did it take you so long?’
‘Charmingly put, Mother.’
‘Thank you, Humphrey. We now know something of the relationship between the two.’
‘Charlie thinks that the senora is Olaf’s minder.’
‘Jailer would be closer to the point,’ Kirstin switched off the camera. ‘Do you remember how Charlie’s informants caught them on security cameras at Cape Town international airport? Olaf strayed out of the VIP lounge and went into the departure area. The senora and her husband escorted him back.’
‘How did you come to take those admirable photographs? I thought you were going for a drive in the country. You said there were some minor roads you wanted to explore.’
‘Well, Humphrey, you should know by now that when you are told to do one thing you should do the exact opposite. Olaf wanted me out of the way while he took you for a quiet chat underground. That told me there were things he didn’t want me to see.
‘So you hung around?’
‘I wandered back to the main building and bumped into some charming young men I had met before. Ian and Roger invited me to stay for coffee and we had a heart-to-heart chat.’
‘Heart-to-heart?’
‘Yes Humphrey. They are unhappy in their work and want to know if you can help them find another job. I said I’d talk to you about it.’
‘What makes them unhappy?’
‘The work environment. They knew, from the start, that they were going to work for a recluse who was widely regarded as a genius and a bit of a screwball. The project sounded interesting and they were prepared to put up with some odd behaviour. But the odd behaviour didn’t just come from Olaf. There is something distinctly spooky about the whole affair.’
‘Spooky?’
‘It’s as if Olaf is a patient in a psychiatric hospital. He is required to take pills and his movements are continually monitored. On occasions, he goes missing and that starts a panic. Roger said that the people looking after him have Spanish accents. He speaks Spanish and thinks they are from South America.’
‘What else did Roger say?’
‘Every evening, at precisely 4pm, a woman comes for him. They call her the duchess because of her arrogant behaviour. Olaf leaves immediately and gets into her car. One day, Roger followed them. They took the main road south for about fifteen kilometres then turned off down a minor road. He didn’t bother to go any further. The only building of any significance is at the far end. It’s an old castle that was extensively renovated a few years ago. It is perched on a high bluff and has sweeping views towards Foix.’
‘Sounds a bit like a plaisance.’
‘Yes, Humphrey. I am prepared to believe that the Cabal have a base up there in the mountains. It is almost certainly where they keep Olaf.’
‘So you agree that I was right?’
‘I would call it a base rather than a plaisance.’
‘A highly luxurious base.’
‘I don’t care whether it is luxurious or not.’ Kirstin went to the window. ‘You can see it from here. I had a look at it with my binoculars. Tomorrow, when it’s light, I’ll show you. It’s just the sort of place for Mario to meet Olaf. We have to get the two together. Mario claims to have Olaf’s confidence. With his help, we can crack this case.’