Part One – News
I stared at the 'of Sickness...' chapter head graphic. I was just getting spots (or at least dots) before my eyes when my phone rang. My agent calling to congratulate me on my talk. The commissioning editor had been in touch; apparently the publishing team were 'stoked' by the size of the crowd and its engagement. They needed quotes from me in the next five minutes to add to a press release they were putting out.
According to my agent, they'd been worrying that I wouldn't generate much book-signing activity at the next day's event, despite the relatively good sales of the hardback version of 'Ten Books they Burned'. Now, she said, they were excited and throwing more signage at the big Piccadilly retailer, that was hosting the event.
The rest of my evening and early morning were spent talking to the literary PR agency the publishers used. Before I knew it a handful of news shows had slots for a short interview and one of the national papers called wanting more thoughts on the 'One Billion Dollar Book'. I recognised this journalistic interest as the catchy snippet that would lighten the shocking and desperate headlines that currently dominated the news cycle. The world was going to hell and they wanted to talk about a book that didn't exist.
My agent and I brainstormed a few angles for the interviews. She wanted to try to put the focus back on my current best-seller, but I insisted that Raposo was the story.
'That was the book that didn'a sell, remember,' she said.
'It did in Europe,' I replied, 'and I got bugger all money from the translation rights, if you remember. That was the book the publishers didn'a understand.'
'Woah, what happened to forgive and forget. OK, I'll suggest to the commisioning editor that you're willing to update and repackage Raposo: Myths, Magic and Mayhem in the light of this new exposure. They'll be looking for a way to cash in. Try and think of another word that begins with "M", Roman.'
'Mercenary,' I suggested.
'So how come she's not famous like Nostradamus?' asked the radio show host in my first interview next morning. He hadn't read the press release.
'There are similarities with Nostradamus, in that both authors attracted the interest of the Holy Inquisition, but Nostadamus's Les Prophities survived beyond his death – there were even four editions,' I said. 'The fact that they burned all copies of Raposo's books, made sure they could never be reprinted, and killed her twice over, didn't help.'
'Yeah,' the presenter's mind was clearly on more important stories, 'that's terrible. Why do you think they did that?'
'In the case of the first Raposo, the Spanish Inquisition charged her with heresy. The second Raposo was accused of being a witch by Prussian authorities and consequently murdered.'
'That's really extreme. So, as a fellow author, how does that make you feel?'
'We all have to deal with critics.'
A TV breakfast interviewer at least focussed on the money. 'How can a book possibly be worth a billion dollars?'
'It's pure speculation,' I said. 'No one can know its true worth because it will never come to auction. However, the two Raposo books are the literary equivalent of discovering a spaceship from Roswell or Area 51 and putting that up for sale. What do you think that would go for?'
A US TV news presenter had done their research. 'You presented material in your book, Dr Karalis, that suggested Raposo's Forthcoming Atrocities title focussed on fifty to a hundred years of disasters: natural cataclysms, religious genocide, pandemics, famines and wars. How could she know?'
'Because a lot of it was already happening around her in southern Europe and through Spain's association with Moorish Africa. She may have made some good guesses. I also suspect that she had visions. In Galicia she's mainly known as a convent girl who was feted as an angel because she saw things that adhered to Christian faith. But when she latterly saw a future the church didn't want people to hear about, they acted.'
'Too close to the truth?' said the presenter.
'That's usually what gets you killed,' I said.
'If Raposo was alive today what would she be writing about?'
'Phew, where to start: climate catastrophes, wars, racial tension, famine, migration, religious zealotry.'
'She wouldn't think humanity has moved on much since the Eighteenth Century,' said the presenter. 'Who's writing that book!'
Part Two – Threat
Martínez came over to see me once I'd finished arranging myself for the book signing. The last-minute posters made good use of the 'one billion dollar book' narrative that had been trickling into the media during the morning and the retailer's staff were anticipating a good throughflow to the signing area.
The detective handed back the copy of my speech notes that I'd made a show of passing to her yesterday and I returned it to my briefcase. She waited patiently while the retailer's staff walked me through the way the book-signing would work, then introduced me to a young suited man, who she said was a plain-clothes policeman.
I asked if I could see the two books they'd found in Charlie Fox's briefcase. Martínez said, 'Probably but not yet.'
The signing queue ebbed-and-flowed during the afternoon and started to run out of steam. I was aiming for a minute or two with each purchaser. As it wound down to the end of my slot, a tall striking black woman with short hair and clutching a paperback was ushered towards me. She was fashionably dressed in an off-yellow top over a mid-calf black dress.
I caught Martínez's arched eyebrow and she gave me a mock 'be careful' smile. The woman sat opposite me and leant forward, dark eyes challenging. She pushed the book towards me and reached into her bag for her phone.
I took the book and saw it wasn't the brand new Ten Books they Burned paperback I'd largely been signing, but a much-thumbed copy of Raposo: Myth, Magic and Mayhem.
'Wonderful,' I said, reaching for the book, 'a true fan.'
'Not really,' she watched as I flicked through the book. Many pages had hand written notations on it. Comments scrawled in the margin. One page just had a wavy line highlighting my copy and the word 'wrong' written vertically beside it.
I turned a few more pages and found a paragraph underlined with a note: 'he doesn't understand'.
There was a confident authority about the notes. 'Where do you get your information from?' I asked. Was she a Raposo conspiracy nut? She didn't look the type. I glanced towards Martínez but she was chatting to her colleague.
The woman pushed her phone forward, 'I just wanted to play you this.'
'Roman,' came a voice on the phone.
She clicked it off, but I'd already recognised the voice: my wife.
'Guess where my friends are right now?' said the woman.
I was processing.
'Julia, Rebecca and Tabitha send their love,' she said. 'I'm sure they'd much rather be here now, than in the situation they're in.'
'What situation?' I was reaching for my phone, trying to turn it on one-handed.
'You need to kick your briefcase across to my side of the desk, Doctor Karalis. If I don't make a call to Stour End in the next three minutes, saying that I have it...well...'
I stared into her rich brown matter-of-fact eyes. I thought of Charlie and her ruthless assassins. I thought of my wife, Jules, and my two stepdaughters at their house, Stour End. I nudged the briefcase towards her with my foot.
'Thank you,' she reached down and lifted the briefcase. 'Don't worry about signing my book. I'm really not a fan of hers. And nor should you be.'
'You killed Charlie Fox,' I said.
For the first time she gave a half smile. 'You haven't worked anything out have you, Doctor Karalis. It's far too soon for anyone to kill Ms Fox.'
She took the case, picked up her book and stood, 'Lock code?'
'One, eight, seven, eight.'
'Of course it is,' she turned on her heel and strode away.
I stood and saw Inspector Martínez was running towards me. 'What, Roman?' she reached the table, motioning to the retailer's helper to stop the next person in the queue.
'That last woman,' I pointed to her just as she reached the door. 'She threatened my family. She's got my wife and daughters in Essex.'
As Martínez gestured to her colleague. The phone in my hand flashed into life.
'Call them now,' said Martínez.
As I entered the pass code and pushed home, I said; 'I gave her my briefcase. It's got–'
'Hiya,' said my wife, 'are you presenting or signing today? I forget.'
'Jules, are you OK? Are you home? The girls–'
'Roman, I'm fine, what is it?'
'Bex and Tabby?'
'Tabs is here. Bex is at a friend's. What's happened?'
'Thank god,' I could barely speak. Martínez gestured for me to hand her my phone. I let it go.
'Mrs Karalis,' she said, I'm Inspector Martínez. I'm a police woman in London. I'm with your husband. Please don't be alarmed. Someone just told him that you were in a bad situation. They were obviously lying. No, no; he's fine and not in any trouble.
'Listen I'm going to get one of my Essex colleagues to pop round and talk to you about security. I don't think the threat is real but I need you to take reasonable precautions. Lock doors and windows at night. Keep your daughters close, just for now.'
She handed the phone back to me and while I made a rubbish job of explaining what was going on to my soon to be ex-wife, Martínez was on her phone and telling the retailer they needed to delay the signing event for a while.
'Did they get her?' I asked Martínez as soon as Jules hung up.
'Not yet, but Youssef is following. She's headed down Green Park Tube. There's a good chance he might lose her though.'
'She had a book with her.'
An alertness came over Martínez. 'What book? A Raposo?'
'No, my book on Raposo, but she'd scrawled all over it, made notes, comments about things that she couldn't know anything about.'
'Did she say why she wanted your bag?'
'There are things in my bag.' I was feeling stupid for not telling the police about the book before.
'We guessed. It's time you levelled with us, Doctor Karalis.'
'That woman was so convincing,' I said. 'She knew my wife and step-daughters' names, where they live. She played me a recording of Jules's voice on her phone. I didn't think twice; just handed over my bag.'
She put a briefcase on the table. 'This bag?' A smile twitched with mischief.
'How? You got it back?'
'I didn't. I sneakily swapped it before you started your session. It's still locked. Everything is still in there.'
I checked. It was mine. 'Then what's in the case the woman took?'
'A police tracking device.'
Part Three – Truce
'Truce?' said Martínez.
We were in the retailer's café area.
'I'm out. You can have it.' I was still reeling for the fake threat and a burgeoning understanding that I wasn't up for this level of strife and stress.
'Have what?'
'This.' I opened my case and handed her the book. 'Hide it. I'll explain.'
Martínez glanced at the cover before pushing it into her handbag. 'Fox gave it to you?'
'I only found it after you interviewed me in the Ritz. She'd hidden it in my pile of Sunday papers.'
'It's not an old book. What do you make of it?'
'I don't know what to think,' I said. 'If it wasn't for the shooting, the threats and attempts to steal it, I'd say Charlie Fox was just one of the millions of would-be authors, trying to draw attention to her self-published book by piggy-backing on the back of a literary legend.'
'Like a Jane Austen fan writing Shades of Pemberley,' said Martínez.
I laughed at the analogy, 'That probably exists. Yes, only Fox is trying to pretend she's Jane Austen back from the dead to write her sequel.'
'And the book contents?'
'You'll see. Every chapter is in a different language. She's gone to a huge effort: translations, illustrations, research. It feels like a life-consuming project.'
'Maybe a life-ending one,' Martínez had one eye on her phone, clocking updates on the tracking operation. 'What does it tell us about why she was shot?'
'That she was expecting it.' I remembered the bio. 'The author blurb gives her dates: birth to death and the death is shown as this month, this year.'
'That's spooky, but it chimes with her comment about her next appointment being the "life and death kind." Anything else?'
'Her Raposo act had been too convincing. People are after her book. They know it exists. They are prepared to kill, steal or threaten to get their hands on it. They seem to know I have it. I've no idea how.'
'We quickly discovered she'd come from the Ritz and who'd she spoken to there – and we don't give out bribes for information. A member of staff could have told people who she lunched with. Or, more likely, she was followed in there.'
'Or just seen who the police kept behind to interview,' I pointed out. 'The more astonishing thing is that these people believe she's the real deal.'
'Real as in a reincarnated Raposo? You think we're dealing with cranks, nut jobs?'
'Raposo's legend attracts them,' I said. 'Part of the appeal of Nostradamus is that you can't pin him down. His predictions are obscure, so endlessly reinterpreted to fit situations or events. Raposo is even more of an enigma. Clearly the thoughts in those two Raposo books were too dangerous for their times, so there's inevitable speculation regarding what they must have known?'
'You can't think they shot her because they wanted to silence Raposo all over again?'
'It's an obvious theory. I'm assuming Ms Fox, hasn't pulled through or you'd be asking her these questions?'
Martínez's engagement cooled on the instant. She sat back on her seat and gave me a searching look. 'I can't level with you Doctor Karalis –'
'Roman, please.'
'I can't level with you, unless you can convince me this stays between us. No more polishing your Raposo credentials at my investigation's expense, no running to the press with any link between Fox's shooting and your work and books, no bolstering your readership with any indiscretions.'
'You have my word,' I said. 'My paranoia has grown exponentially over the last two days. You take the book. I just want my old quiet life back.'
Martínez's dark eyes sparked and she gave a rare laugh. 'Two points: firstly, as far as the book thieves are concerned, they're not going to know you no longer have the book.'
'You could put out a statement,' I spoke before engaging my brain.
'The media were barely interested in a shooting in a busy London street. That statement would confuse the media. If we linked it to the shooting, it would only put you in a more compromised position...'
My phone went. 'Sorry, I'd like to get this. It's my agent, only she may have heard something.' I clicked, 'Yes, Cora.'
'How was your signing?'
'Eventful, weirdly busy. I'm in a debrief meeting. What have you got?'
'Coupl'a things: I've got a Times reporter who wants to interview you for a feature on the Raposo prophecies. He'll give you a call, but he's talking three-to-four pages, weekend supplement. His angle is about the women themselves and your theories about what they predicted but fifty percent will be about the Raposo cults.'
'I know nothing about the conspiracy bollocks, Cora. I've kept well away from it.' I could see Martínez's eyebrows rising.
'Just do a bit of reading, you infuriating wee man. This is massive – potentially career changing. I've told him yes and my next call is to your publishers.'
'Fine, what else?'
'Someone wants to hear your Raposo talk.' Her voice betrayed something, it couldn't be hesitancy, surely; Cora didn't do uncertainty, let alone guilt.
'I'm told it's up on YouTube.'
'He wants to hear it in person.'
'Cora, I can't,' I said. 'This Raposo thing has got out of hand. I wasn't going to say anything but people are stalking me. It's wrapped up in that woman being shot in Piccadilly.'
'What woman?'
I saw Martínez shaking her head slowly. 'Never mind, Cora. Just say no.'
'I've already said yes. He's paying thirty thou for an hour of your time, Roman.'
'Dollars?'
'Sterling.'
'Thirty thousand pounds for one hour. Are you getting twelve percent of that?'
'Fifteen percent, it's an overseas deal. Damn right I am. Did you think thirty thou was their first offer?'
'Cora, this smells wrong. Who pays that?'
'Tech billionaires. It's Viktor Olsson, Roman. They're paying that because you'll have to go to him, fit into his itinerary. According to his fixer, Olsson's a complete Raposo geek.'
'That's what scares me. Are you definite that it really is him?'
'What do you take me for? I didn'a come down the Clyde on the last boat of tatties.'
'I don't know Cora. Is there a career angle?'
'He's worth billions, he's into old books and you're a rare book dealer, duh?'
An idea flickered. 'Do you think he'd be into funding an exhibition about Raposo; the art, photographs, documents, history?'
'Hell yeah.'
The conversation ended. Martínez looked up from her phone. 'I thought you were all about letting sleeping Raposos lie.'
'Seems like it's too late for that. I'm pretty sure that this is unrelated though.' I nodded at her phone. 'Any news from your tracking team?'
'Yep. The woman just got off a train at a small station in the middle of nowhere and jumped in a car. Youssef has lost her but our tracker's still working. Where were we?'
'Two things, you said. The first was that I'm still in the book thieves' sights, which I accept.'
'Oh yes. I'm going to need your expertise. Someone has to help me understand these books, the market, who might go to extraordinary, illegal – even murderous – lengths to get hold of anything to do with Raposo.'
A Swedish tech billionaire, I thought, but I said, 'What's the quid pro quo?'
'I'll try and keep you alive and keep you informed about where the investigation is at.'
'And I'll be discrete. You were about to tell me about Charlie Fox's state of health. This is murder, right?'
'I honestly don't know.'
'Come on, Martínez.'
'Gabriella,' she said, 'if I'm going to call you Roman and we're working together.'
'You said you'd keep me informed, Gabriella.'
'Here goes,' Martínez took a breath. 'Shortly after the incident, before I even arrived, Fox was rushed from the Strand by Ambulance to St Thomas's Hospital emergency. One of the first policemen on the scene went with her in the ambulance. Then we heard nothing more.
'Finally, I sent one of my guys to the hospital. There was no record of her arriving, nor of the shooting. The policeman who went with Fox turned up twelve hours later, wandering around Hackney. He had the vaguest memory of helping the medics in the back of the ambulance and being jabbed by a needle.'
'Not accidently?' I felt I had to ask.
'Clearly deliberately, but in the fracas, he wasn't initially sure. Then he felt woozy, then he was in Hackney minus his phone.'
'Shit.'
'To put it mildly. You can imagine how it makes us look, why my bosses are playing this down. Our only bit of luck was that a police responder had bolt cutters. He insisted the case had to be cut off Fox's wrist before she left in the ambulance. He told me afterwards that the medics had argued about it, but bomb threat trumps all.'
'The ambulance was the moped shooters' back up plan,' I said. 'They got Charlie after all.'
'They got Charlie, but probably not in a state to tell them anything. They didn't get her case and they didn't get her book.'