Barry Maitland - The Raven's Eye (Extract)

7/30/2019 Barry Maitland - The Raven's Eye (Extract)

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c r i m e F i c T i O N

Cover design: Nada Backovic

Cover photograph: Andy Wadsworth/Trevillion Images

www.crimecity.com.au

barry

maitland

t

he

ravenseye

Riveting, intelligent crime writing rom one o Australias best.Weekend West

A woman dies in her sleep in a houseboat on the Thamestheapparent cause o death, an unfued gas heater. It all seems

straightorward, but DI Kathy Kolla isnt convinced. Both Kathyand DCI Brock run up against opposition in their investigation.

An aggressive new Commander seems to have a dierent agenda,ocusing on the new realities o economic constraints, and

avouring emerging technologies over the traditional policing

methods. Old-ashioned coppers like Brock and Kolla are beingsqueezed out. To make matters worse, theres a new Task Force

moving in on their patch, and a brutal killer, Butcher JackBragg, to be tracked down and caught. Its one o Brock

and Kollas bloodiest investigations yet.

A heart-thumping read, The Ravens Eye gives us Brock andKolla under pressure; its a clash between the menacing ever-

present eye o computer surveillance versus the explosive threato a man with a meat cleaver and a grudge.

Contemporary, brilliant 21st-century police procedural writtenby an acclaimed crime writer at the top o his game.

No one drops so many wonderul threads to a story or ties

them so satisyingly together at the end.The Australian

uspense, intrigue and a web of suspicion put rock and Koaunder eart-stopping pressure

yml

hvy


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barrymaitland

theraven

s

eye


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The characters in this book are fctitious. Any similarity to real persons,living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

First published in 2013

Copyright Barry Maitland 2013

All rights reserved. No part o this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any orm or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,recording or by any inormation storage and retrieval system, without prior

permission in writing rom the publisher. TheAustralian Copyright Act 1968

(the Act) allows a maximum o one chapter or 10 per cent o this book, whichever

is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution or its educational

purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has

given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

Email: [email protected]

Web: www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-publication details are available

rom the National Library o Australia

www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74331 350 3

Set in 13/17 pt Bembo by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Printed and bound in Australia by Grifn Press

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The paper in this book is FSC certified.

FSC promotes environmentally responsible,

socially beneficial and economically viablemanagement of the worlds forests.C009448
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Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking,

Fancy upon fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking Nevermore.

Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven


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1

1

Adank white og hung over the canal and spread out

through the bare branches o the trees that lined its

banks to blanket the tall terraces o houses beyond and creep

away down the side streets.

DI Kathy Kolla and DS Mickey Schaeer paused or a

moment on the bridge, taking in the scene below: the dark

boats moored along the towpath like a line o ghostly cons

ading into the gloom; the pulse o lights rom an ambulance

on the street beyond the trees; the huddle o gures beside

one o the boats, their voices mufed by the og. Kathy and

Schaeer made their way to the stone steps and went careully

down to the quay, where they were met by a Paddington CID

detective, DC Judd. He was apologetic. False alarm it seems.

Accidental death. No need to bother you lot.


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barry maitland

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Kathy glanced at a middle-aged man in a tracksuit

sitting hunched on a bench urther along the towpath with

a uniormed police ocer and an ambulance man bending

over him.

Bloke rom the next boat, Howard Stapleton, made a

triple-nine call at six twenty this morning to report nding

the body o Vicky Hawke in her boat here on the Hapenny

Bridge reach o the canal. Ms Hawke lived alone apparently.

No suspicious circumstances.

Judd led the way to the stern o the second boat o the

line, on whose dark green fank the name Gracewas painted

in ornate gold and scarlet letters.

Theres been a small crime wave along the canal recently,

Judd explained as they stepped aboard. Burglaries, muggings,

a stabbing, a couple o arson attacks, and weve been underpressure to do something about it, so when the report came

in o a suspicious death someone pressed the panic button and

called Homicide. Watch your head.

They ducked through the doorway and descended a

short fight o steps into a low-ceilinged living space sparsely

urnished with a built-in couch and a threadbare armchair.

Narrow, isnt it?

Judd nodded. Thats why theyre called narrowboats.

Just two metres wide, maybe twenty long.

The claustrophobic eect was exaggerated by the act

that the upper part o the side walls, punctured by a ew

small windows, tilted inward.

Kathy snied the air and coughed, tasting acrid umes.

Yeah, thats what did it. Pathologists with her now.

They moved on down the boat, through a conned


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galley, past a tightly planned bathroom and closet, and came

to the bedroom at the bow, where the orensic pathologist

was packing up his bag at the end o a bed on which a young

woman in a nightdress was curled up as i ast asleep. The

three detectives squeezed into the conned space and stared

down at her, taking in the bright pink complexion, the

impression o deep untroubled rest. Kathy introduced hersel

and Mickey: Homicide and Serious Crime.

The pathologist gave her his card. Not likely to be

o interest to you, I think. She passed away peaceully in

her sleep some time in the early hours. I believe tests will

conrm carbon-monoxide poisoning.

She looks so healthy, Kathy said.

Thats what carbon monoxide does, turns the haemo-

globin cherry red.She would be in her mid-twenties, Kathy guessed, a

plain ace with a slight rown o concentration that made

her look studious. Her body appeared unblemished apart

rom a sticking plaster on her right hand. On a small shel

beside the bed lay a pair o glasses and a book, David Foster

Wallace, The Pale King.

Not as common as it used to be, the doctor went on.

Modern cars with their catalytic converters dont produce

much carbon monoxide any more, so the old way with a

hosepipe rom the exhaust isnt so eective. Unlike that old

beast. He nodded over his shoulder at a squat little stove in

the corner o the room with a metal fue up to the ceiling.

Diesel, Judd said, pointing out the black smears made

by gases leaking rom joints in the fue. She closed all the

windows and blocked o the ventilators to keep the cold


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out, let the heater on and took some sleeping pills. He

indicated an empty oil and glass o water.

Suicide?

Nothing to suggest it, the doctor said. Careless or

incompetent, Id say.

The ace on the pillow didnt strike Kathy as either, but

how could she know?

Judd shrugged. No note. His phone rang and he listened

or a moment. Yeah, yeah, okay, boss. He rammed it back

in his pocket and muttered, Fuck.

Problems?

Yeah, Im wanted.

Thats all right, Kathy said. Well ollow up here.

Thanks, Id appreciate it. Ive called or a photographer

and more uniorms to door-knock. I didnt ask or SOCOs,given the FPs assessment.

Right. Give me your number. She took a note o it and

he let with the pathologist. Kathy put on latex gloves

and went back through the boat, opening cupboards, the

bathroom cabinet, kitchen drawers. The woman seemed

to have ew possessions, all o them neatly stowed away,

suraces clean. Kathy saw only one thing that wasnt strictly

utilitarian, a ramed print on the wall o a rather sinister-

looking black bird. She elt as i she were intruding on

a completely unamiliar lie. What sort o people lived

like this, nomads afoat in the heart o the city? She had

encountered the Regents Canal on another case, a missing

girl whose mother had drowned in the canal urther east

rom here, but this was the rst time shed been inside a

canal boat. There was something o the submarine about


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it, the long tube low in the water, something surreptitious

and stealthy.

When they reached the stern door again, Kathy turned to

Mickey, who was thumbing through a copy o the previous

days paper, the Guardian. She got the crossword out. Not

dumb then.

Wheres her handbag? Kathy asked. Her phone, laptop?

Take another look, Mickey, while I speak to the neighbour.

Sure.

On the way out she checked the lock, seeing no sign

o tampering, then manoeuvred around the tiller and

stepped down onto the towpath, again noticing the elabor-

ate lettering on the boat. It seemed to evoke the spirit o

old-ashioned airgrounds and circuses, o antique gypsy

caravans setting o along dusty highways. From here theRegents Canal led eastward to the Thames and west to

the Grand Union Canal, which continued north to the

Midlands, and rom there to a thousand branches into

the most remote corners o the country, and Kathy elt a

momentary pang o envy or the lie o reedom which that

curlicued name promised.

The uniormed PC was still with the witness, and they

had been joined by a woman wearing a padded jacket against

the damp chill. Kathy went over to them, showing them her

police ID.

The woman constable said, PC Watts, maam. Mr

Stapleton here was the one who ound Ms Hawke.

He didnt look well, ace pale, a large dressing on his

orehead.

Youre hurt, Mr Stapleton?


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Its nothing. Bumped my head on the doorrame coming

out o Vickys boat. Not looking. In shock, you see, ater

nding her.

Yes.

He was trembling, and the other woman put an arm

around his shoulder and said, Im Molly Stapleton, his wie.

Its cold, Kathy said. Go back to your boat and get

warm. Ill come and see you in a moment. Maybe make

your husband a cup o tea, Molly?

As they turned to go Kathy drew the constable aside.

What did he tell you?

Not much. Hes pretty shaken up. I tried to get him

to go back to his boat, but he insisted on waiting to speak to

you. I asked him or details o the dead womans amily, but

he doesnt know.The name on the Stapletons boat was Roaming Free, and

on its roo were a small herb garden, a stack o sawn logs, a

pair o solar panels and a TV aerial. Kathy knocked on the

rear door and went down into a snug living room. Howard

Stapleton was sitting in one o the plump armchairs, his

wie visible over a counter in the galley at the ar end o

the room, and beyond that Kathy could make out a bay set

up as a small oce, with a computer and printer. The boat

was lled with possessionspictures hanging on the reshly

varnished timber walls, foral curtains bunched around the

portholes, china ornaments on shelves, magazines in racks,

fowers in small vasesas i all the creature comorts o a

amily home had been crammed into the conned space. In

its cheerul busyness it made Vicky Hawkes boat seem even

more spartan and threadbare.


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Stapleton made to rise to his eet, but when Kathy told

him not to get up he sank back into the cushions with a

sigh. His chair was acing a blazing wood-red stove with

a stainless-steel fue.

Youll have a cup o tea, Inspector? Molly Stapleton

called rom the galley. Her accent was Yorkshire, voice brisk.

Thank you.

Howards not very well. The ambulance man said he

may be concussed.

Im all right, her husband grunted, though his ace

looked as grey as his hair. Stupid mistake.

Do you eel well enough to tell me what happened this

morning? Kathy asked.

Yes, yes, o course. I got up as usual at six or my run

with Vickyweve been doing that or a ew weeks now.Shes usually limbering up on the towpath when I emerge,

but not this morning. I tapped on her window but got no

response. I couldnt see in, and I noticed that the windows

were steamed up.

He paused and took a deep breath as his wie came out

o the galley with a tray o mugs. His speech was astidious,

almost pedantic. A retired headmaster? Solicitor?

Um, anyway, I went to her stern door and knocked, still

nothing, so I opened it to make sure she was all right.

The door was unlocked?

No, no. Vicky had given me a key.

Kathy saw Mollys hand hesitate or a moment as she

raised her mug.

For emergencies, Howard added. Were a pretty support-

ive community, we narrowboaters, look out or each other.


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The explanation was too insistent, and Kathy noticed a

rown pass briefy across Mollys ace. Go on.

Well, I opened the door to call to her, but immediately

the smell hit me, the umes. It was awul. I called out and

panicked a bit when there was no reply. So I held a hand-

kerchie to my ace and ran down the length o the boat

looking or her and ound her in the bedroom. I threw the

bow doors open and made to lit her outside, but as soon as I

touched her and elt how cold she was, I knew . . . He stared

at his eet. Dear God, he said, and Kathy saw a glimmer

o a tear in his eye. There was the shock, o course, and

the bump on the head, but still, she wondered i there was

something more personal going on here.

His wie was keeping very still, head bowed, and Kathy

said, How long have you two known Vicky, Molly?She looked up. We came here . . . she thought a moment,

eight weeks ago, and Vicky arrived a ew days later. Being

moored right next to us we got to know each other straight

away. Pleasant girl, new to boating, wasnt she, Howard?

Her boats old though, a bit o a tub.

Yes, inexperienced. I think the dealer took advantage

o her. Apparently she didnt have a lot o cash to throw

around.

And were you aware o problems with the heater?

Only that it was an old model and a bit smelly at times.

I did help her give it a clean a ew weeks back. Wouldnt

have said it was dangerous, exactly.

But shed closed the ventilators and windows in the boat.

Yes, Id warned her about that. But she said she elt the

cold keenly.


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With each new personal insight rom her husband into

their neighbour, Molly Stapletons rown deepened.

What sort o a person was she? Kathy asked, and they

both spoke at once.

Moody, said Molly.

Bubbly, said Howard.

Their eyes met or a moment in surprise, then Molly

turned to Kathy. I thought she was a rather serious-minded

and determined young woman.

Well . . . Howard objected, but also ull o . . . vitality,

you know? Eervescent.

Not with me, she wasnt, Molly said rmly.

Im interested in her rame o mind, Kathy said. Did

she seem depressed lately?

Suicide, do you mean? Howard stared at her in surprise.No, certainly not. On the contrary, she was excited by how

things were going.

I wouldnt be so sure, Molly countered. I watched her

the other day . . . She pointed to the windows in the stern

doors. She was sitting in her bow, smoking a cigarette. She

seemed quite agitated, gesturing, as i she was having an

argument with hersel about something. I went out and said

hello and she immediately put on this cheery act. But it was

an act, I could see that. She was worried about something.

Well, I certainly wasnt aware o anything like that,

Howard protested.

You said she seemed excited, Kathy said. Did she say

what about? A relationship maybe?

No, she didnt explain, but I got the impression it was to

do with her work. A new job maybe, something like that.


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Where did she work?

An oce. Somewhere nearby, within walking distance,

in Paddington.

Doing what?

Molly shook her head. We could never nd out. She

didnt seem to want to talk about it.

Marketing, Howard said. I think that was it. Then he

added hurriedly, But look, I think you can discount suicide.

Weve been through that, havent we, Molly? He looked

with an appeal to his wie, whose shoulders sagged.

Yes, she whispered.

Our son, Howard explained, took his own lie two

years ago. Eighteen, he was. Ater that we ound we couldnt

live in the house any more. Then I was oered an early-

retirement package and we decided to sell up and live ourdream. We had Roaming Freebuilt to our specications, and

we set o.

Roaming ree o the past, Kathy thought. Was that

what inspired people to live like this? Was it Vicky Hawkes

reason?

As i reading her mind, Howard said, O course, its also

an economic solution or some people. That boat probably

cost Vicky no more than ten thousand, and yet here she was

living in an upmarket area o West London just a stones

throw rom her work.

Can you tell me who else is living here?

There were ve narrowboats currently moored on this

section o the towpath, he told her. The one closest to the

bridge wasAquarius, belonging to Dr Anne Downey.

I didnt mention that I tried to get help rom her when


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I ound Vicky, but she wasnt theremust have let early or

work.

What sort o doctor is she?

General practice. She acts as a locum or surgeries that

are short o sta.

Is she Vickys GP?

The Stapletons looked at each other and shrugged,

unsure.

I suppose that must be a problem when youre moving

around, nding a doctor? Kathy asked.

You get to know the ropes, Molly replied. But Anne

did prescribe our medications last week, so she may have

done the same or Vicky, i she needed something. Weve

got Annes mobile number i you want it.

Kathy wrote it down. What about Vickys number? Doyou have that?

They didnt, and couldnt remember ever seeing her with

a phone. But she must have had one, Molly said.

And she and the doctor would have known each other?

Oh yes, we all know each other on this side o the canal.

The other two narrowboats belonged to a man in his

thirties, Ned Tisdell on Venerable Bede, and a young single

mother, Debbie Rowland on Jonquil, with a three-year-

old boy.

That must be tricky.

Yes, but its amazing how you adapt. Debbie is a website

designer, and works rom her boat.

How about Ned?

Hes a waiter in the restaurant on the other bank. We

dont have so much to do with the people over on that


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side, the houseboats. They couldnt give Kathy any inor-

mation on Vickys amily, except that, rom her accent, they

assumed shed grown up in southern England.

As she let their boat Kathy looked across the canal and

was struck by the dierence between the two sides. Further

along the ar bank, hazy through the og, was the restaur-

ant Molly Stapleton had mentioned, its white tablecloths

visible through plate-glass windows suspended over the

water. Next to it was a row o what she had described as

houseboats, a strange mixture o structures that looked as i

they had grown permanently into the canal bank. They

ranged in style rom one that looked like a timber suburban

house, complete with broad veranda and glass rench doors,

to its neighbour, a ramshackle arrangement o tarpaulins and

tarred panels.The boat o horrors.

Kathy turned and saw that Howard Stapleton had

ollowed her out.

He nodded across the canal at the tumbledown house-

boat. Mad old bloke lives there. Theyve been trying or

years to get him to clean it up. Look, Ive just thought o

something, about where Vicky worked. I remember she had

a stack o brochures in her cabin one day when I looked in.

They were about security cameras and alarms. I think she

may have been working or a company which sold that sort

o thing.

Right, thanks.

Kathy went back to the dead girls boat and joined Mickey

Schaeer, who was completing his search. Kathy took some

photographs on her phone while he nished up. He had


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ound Vickys handbag in a storage compartment beneath

the bed, and he showed her the contents: some make-up and

perume, a hairbrush, a pair o earrings, sunglasses, tissues, a

wallet containing a credit card and a small amount o cash,

and a receipt rom British Waterways or mooring ees inside

an envelope marked to an address in Crouch End, North

London.

Maybe her parents address, Kathy said. But no driving

licence, no phone.

I couldnt nd one anywhere, or a computer.

Is there any twenty-something woman in London who

doesnt have a phone?

Mickey shook his head. Youre wondering i she was

robbed?

What do you think?I couldnt nd any sign o a break-in, and nothing looks

disturbed. Theres so little o it, as i she arrived here with

nothingno photos, no documents, no history. I did nd

this . . . He held up a plastic bag containing a thick roll o

twenty-pound notes. About two thousand quid I reckon,

hidden under the kitchen sink. Its like . . . Mickey hesitated.

Yes?

Im thinking maybe she was on the run rom someone,

a violent partner perhaps.

Yes, I was thinking the same thing, Kathy said. Lets

take another look at that stove.

They peered at it without much enlightenment, then

examined the fue and the signs o gas leakage that DC

Judd had pointed out. Kathy looked up at the dark corner

o the ceiling into which the fue disappeared, then pulled a


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stool over and stood on it to get a closer view. There were

much larger dark stains up there, and what looked like a gap

where the fue had separated. She stepped down, coming to

a decision. We need an engineer to look at this, and a scene

o crime team to check the boat.

You sure? Mickey looked doubtul. Theres no evidence

o a crime, and you know how tight they are just now.

I know, but we should do this properly.

He shrugged. Your call.

More uniorms were arriving in a white van as they

emerged. Kathy let Mickey to organise a door-knock o the

area and set o or Crouch End.


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2

Near this place is interred

Theodore King of Corsica

Who died in this parish Dec 1756

Immediately after leaving

The Kings Bench Prison

Detective Chie Inspector David Brock studied the

inscription on the stone slab as the other mourners led

out o the church. Overhead the red disc o a weak autumnal

sun had ailed to disperse the morning og, water dripping

rom dark branches onto mossy gravestones, the mufed

notes o the organ adding to the crepuscular gloom. The

brash lights o Soho on the other side o the churchyard wall

might have been a hundred miles away.


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The grave great teacher to a level brings, he spoke aloud the

next lines, Heroes and beggars, galley-slaves and kings.

Not to mention police ocers, a voice at his shoulder

growled.

Brock turned and saw Commander Sharpe standing

there, uniormed, drawing on his gloves. Dick was very

attached to this place, Sharpe went on. He cornered Charles

Hammond in here ater hed disembowelled Mary Chubb

over there by Hazlitts tomb. Those Soho years were Dickshappiest. Never seemed to smile much ater that.

Dick Cheery Chivers sudden death had been a shock to

them all. For several hours he had sat there at his desk undis-

turbed, assumed to be deeply absorbed in the thick report

lying open in ront o him: The Way Ahead or the Metro-

politan Police in a Time o Challenge. The excitement was

too much or him, the oce wit later suggested.

This is the last time I shall be wearing this uniorm,

Sharpe went on, his voice hushed, though whether rom

regret or relie Brock couldnt tell.

Well miss you, sir.

Yes, I rather think you will, Brock. Not or my engaging

management style . . . he allowed himsel a little smile,. . . but because ater what you are about to go through

you will look back on my tenure in the same way that Dick

looked back on his Soho days, as a golden age.

Is it going to be as bad as that?

Oh yes. Have you met my replacement yet?

He gave the team leaders a brieng last Thursday.

What did you think?

It had been reasonably impressive as these things went.

The new head o Homicide and Serious Crime Command,


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17

Commander Fred Lynch, had been direct and orceul, his

message tough but not despondent: the harsh budget cuts

would require undamental change, would encourage rad-

ical innovation and lead eventually to a stronger and tter

police orce.

Policeforce? Sharpe queried. Not service?

I believe orce was the word he used.

Hm. A hard man or hard times was what I heard.

Its the evangelists I cant stand, Brock, the ones who rushorward to embrace the hairshirt. But then, when youve

been through more management restructures than you can

remember, as I have, you know its time to get out. You

should have done the same.

That thought had certainly occurred to Brock. Super-

intendent Chivers death had disturbed him more than he

would have expected, and Dick and Sharpe werent the only

ones to go. In recent weeks Brock had become increasingly

aware o the serious possibility that he would be marginal-

ised by the new management.

Sharpe was watching the other mourners, huddled

together in dark clusters. I suppose he oered a carrot and

a stick?He had. The carrot was an IT specialist rom the

Directorate o Inormation who talked about emerging

technologies that would surely transorm ront-line opera-

tions. The stick was a civilian management expert, a task

auditor, or TA, a title previously unknown, who bore an

unortunate resemblance to Heinrich Himmler.

Sharpe laughed. But, Brock, you were probably the only

one let in the room who was old enough to remember what

Himmler looked like.


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Brock assumed it was impending retirement rather than

Dick Chivers death that had brought on Sharpes unpreced-

ented levity.

Youll join us in a arewell drink or Dick? Sharpe

asked. Or will Heinrich not allow it?

Brocks phone buzzed. He tugged it out and read the

message. He must have heard you. He wants to know why

one o my ocers has asked or a SOCO team to attend a

leaky fue. Id better get back.

Ask the cheeky bastard how many ront-line ocers his

salary would pay or.


23/36

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3

Kathy parked outside a semi-detached house at 62 Carnegie

Crescent, Crouch End, and took a deep breath. How

many times had she done this now, bringing the bad news

home to a shocked amily? It didnt get any easier.

She got out o the car and walked up the drive, past a

Gol with a baby seat in the back, and pressed the button

on an answerphone at the ront door. She noticed a security

camera up in the angle o the porch.

Yes? A womans voice.

My name is Detective Inspector Kathy Kolla o the

Metropolitan Police. Can I have a word, please?

The ront door clicked open. Kathy pushed it and saw an

empty hallway ahead. She stepped in as a young woman came

out o a side door. Kathy couldnt see a amily resemblance.


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How can I help you?

Its concerning Vicky Hawke. Are you a relative?

The woman looked puzzled, then turned away as a baby

started crying in the room shed come rom.

Do you want to come in here? Im just in the middle o

a eed.

Kathy ollowed her. An inant sat strapped into a high

chair next to an oce desk with a computer and telephone.

The young woman took a seat behind the desk and raised a

bottle to the babys ace with one hand and poised the other

over the keyboard. What name did you say?

Kathy took in the wall o pigeonholes behind her, many

o them stued with envelopes. What is this place?

This is North London Virtual Business Services. Im

Mandy.Hello, Mandy. Youre a mailing address?

Mail holding and orwarding is one o our services,

Mandy said brightly. Beside her the baby paused its sucking

and gave a burp.

Pardon. The name?

Vicky Hawke, with an e.

The keyboard clicked. Yes, we do have a client by that

name. Whats the problem?

Shes had a atal accident. We ound some mail with this

address.

Oh dear. Mandy scanned the screen. Shes paid up to

the end o the month. How can I help you?

Were trying to trace her next o kin.

Oh, I see. But we dont keep that sort o inormation.

What do you have?


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Name, email address, credit-card details.

Kathy took a note o the numbers. The credit card was the

same as the one theyd ound in Vickys purse. She was living

on a boat moored down in Paddington. Ring any bells?

Mandy shook her head and turned her attention back to

the baby, which had begun to whimper.

Would she have called in here to collect her mail?

Yes, or given someone else authorisation.

But you dont remember her?

Sorry.

Kathy asked her to look at a photograph o Vicky that

shed taken on her phone, and Mandy turned back and

paused, bottle in the air, as she took it in.

She made a ace. Oh, thats her dead, is it?

Im araid so. Are you sure you dont recognise her?Actually . . . Mandy stared wide-eyed at the image or

a moment. I think I do remember her. She got to her eet

and went over to a pigeonhole at the end o one o the rows.

Thats right, she was F1. I dont remember their names,

just their slot. She was about thirty? Came in once a week

usually. I thought she was nice.

Is there any mail there or her now? Kathy asked hope-

ully, but there was nothing.

She never got much. Mandy returned to her computer

and checked. End o August she signed up with us. Three

months ago.

Do you remember anything about her mail, who it

came rom?

Mandy looked up at the ceiling with a rown. I remem-

ber the rst letter she got, because it was rom a security


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barry maitland

22

company, and I was interested because we were thinking

about upgrading our security at the time.

I dont suppose you remember the name o the company?

She pondered. Paddington, you said? I think Padding-

ton might have been in the name.

A ew minutes on the internet produced a company,

Paddington Security Services, which she thought might

have been the one.

Mickey Schaeer rang as Kathy was getting back into

her car.

Were done here. Didnt nd anything.

That was quick. The SOCOs have been and gone?They didnt come. Our request was denied.

What? Who by?

D.K. Payne, our new TA.

Whats a TA?

Task auditor. Havent you been paying attention? Hes

monitoring our use o resources.

Oh, that. I cant believe he would override us.

He phoned me up and asked i I considered it essential

that we have a scene-o-crime team on this job. I couldnt

honestly say I did. And Borough Command have withdrawn

the uniorms. Same thing. Everyones got better things to

do, Kathy, ace it.

Kathy elt a bubble o anger rise in her gullet. Finally she

said, Whos the senior investigating ocer here, Mickey?

As I understand it, he said calmly, its DC Judd.


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the ravens eye

23

We were just helping him out. Then he added, placatory,

I did get Borough to agree to get an engineer to do a report

on the heater, or the coroner.

Kathy rang o beore she said something shed regret.

Mickey had been in their team or over six months now, but

they hadnt worked closely on any case together. Now she

elt as i she were seeing him or the rst time. She wondered

i he had some agenda o his own. Perhaps he saw the new

atmosphere o cuts and stringency as a personal opportunity.

She looked again at the address o Paddington Security

Services. So ar it was their only lead to tracing Vicky

Hawkes amily. She had been intending to pass it over to

DC Judd and return to the many other things piling up on

her desk, but now she changed her mind. There was some-

thing troubling about this death, something that didnt smellquite right, and it wasnt just the og.

The og had cleared by the time Kathy got back to Padding-

ton, the sky a chilly blue. Paddington Security Services

occupied the tenth foor o a sleek new glass-clad oce

block near the rail terminus. When she got out o the

lit she was presented with a sunlit panorama across West

London, the swath o railway tracks, the elevated highway o

Westway, and beyond it the canal basin o Little Venice and

the Regents Canal. From here Vicky Hawke might almost

have been able to see her boat, a tiny capsule tucked away

among the endless jumble o buildings stretching away to

the horizon.


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barry maitland

24

The receptionist said shed get Mr Budd to see Kathy,

and she sat down to wait. Looking around, she noticed

several security cameras, and keypads on each o the doors.

Ater some time one o the doors burst open and a man

appeared. His ace was fushed, his stance belligerent, and

Kathy thought that i shed seen him coming like that out o

a pub shed have been reaching or her ASP baton.

He glared at the receptionist. She nodded at Kathy, who

got to her eet and held out her ID.

He glanced at it. Steve Budd, manager. Whats the

problem?

Do you have an employee here by the name o Vicky

Hawke, Mr Budd?

Vicky? Yes, in marketing. Is something wrong?

Kathy, aware o the receptionist listening, said, Is theresomewhere we can talk?

He showed her into a small meeting room and closed

the door.

Im araid Vickys had a atal accident.

He rocked back. Fatal? Hell . . . Where was this?

On her boat.

Boat? He looked conused. I dont understand.

What boat?

She lived on a boat on the Regents Canal.

He shook his head. No, no. Are you sure were talking

about the same person?

Do you have a picture o her on le? Kathy asked.

Sure. He went to a computer at one end o the table

and passed his open hand across the screen, which came

immediately to lie. He tapped or a ew moments and a


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the ravens eye

25

picture appeared, the same girl Kathy had seen lying on the

bed, but suused now with lie, smiling at the camera.

Yes, thats her. Could I get a copy o that? We dont have

a decent picture.

Okay, but she lived in a crummy fat in Haringey some-

where . . . Crouch End. He did a bit more typing and said,

Yes, here we are, 62 Carnegie Crescent.

Kathy had the eeling that Budd had been quite amiliar

with that address, and she was wondering i he might be the

reason that Vicky was living anonymously in a canal boat.

He had appeared genuinely shocked at the news o her death,

but shed been ooled beore. What Im ater is an address

or her parents, or next o kin. Can you help me with that?

We should have something . . . yes, here . . . Mr and

Mrs Georey Hawke, address in Islington.Kathy took down the details.

Jeez, marketingll be upset.

She was popular, was she?

He hesitated, considering his words. She was pleasant

enough, but to be quite honest, she wasnt really suited to

our work, and the others had to step in to help her out.

How long had she been here?

Just coming up to three months, the end o her trial

period. Frankly, we wouldnt have been renewing her

contract. Shame, she had such a great CV, but when it came

to perormance . . . He shrugged. She didnt seem to have

much o a clue. I wanted to get rid o her beore now, but

she persuaded me against my better judgement.

Unortunate choice o words, Kathy thought. Could I

have a copy o her CV, please?


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barry maitland

26

Dont see why not.

Budd printed o a copy and she thanked him and let,

wondering why he hadnt asked how Vicky had died.

This time, Kathy thought as she pulled up at the Islington

address, one o a row o tall, thin, red brick Victorian houses;

then I have to get back.

Her knock was answered by Mrs Hawke, who blinked

with concern when Kathy told her who she was.

Not bad news, I hope? Is it about the accident at the end

o the street?

Could I come in or a moment? Is Mr Hawke at home?

Yes. Does it involve him?Both o you. Thank you.

She was shown into a sitting room which opened through

to a dining room with a view over a back garden. A white-

haired man was sitting reading a newspaper at the dining

table, on which stood a pot o coee. He rose to his eet.

Kathy shook hands and they sat down. Im sorry to be

the bearer o bad news. It concerns Vicky. Im araid your

daughter has met with a atal accident.

Mrs Hawke gasped, covered her ace and turned away.

Her husband groaned, Oh no, almost as i, or all the

years that hed been a parent, hed been waiting or just this

moment.

I told her, Mrs Hawke said, shaking her head. Its a

dangerous place. Those drivers.

How . . . ? her husband asked. What happened?


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the ravens eye

27

Kathy began to explain about the boat, the heater, but as

she spoke she was aware that their expressions had changed

to incomprehension.

Just a moment, he said. What boat, what canal?

In Rio? his wie said.

Now Kathy was mystied. No, in Paddington, the

Regents Canal.

They looked at each other, bafed, and then Mr Hawke

said slowly, Are you quite sure that youve come to the right

place? Our daughter, Victoria Sarah Hawke, is currently

living with her partner, Fabio Mendes, at their home in

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. We spoke to her there just yesterday

evening.

Kathy stared at them both, then said, I have a picture o

the Vicky Hawke Ive come about. Perhaps you could tellme . . .

She took out the copy o the photograph shed obtained

rom Paddington Security and showed it to them. Mrs

Hawke gave a sob and cried, Oh, thank God.

Mr Hawke raised his eyes to the ceiling and drew in a

deep breath. Finally, having composed himsel, he looked

at Kathy. This is not our daughter. Have you any idea what

you have just put my wie and me through? I really think you

might have the decency to make sure o your acts beore

you come blundering

Wait a minute, his wie said, taking the picture rom

him and staring at it. Isnt this Gudrun Kite?

He paused, irritated. Who?

Gudrun, Georey. Dont you remember? Vickys best

riend at school. The hair is dierent, but Im sure its her.


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barry maitland

28

She turned to Kathy. We used to live in Cambridge, thats

where Vicky went to school, and she and Gudrun were

inseparable. Kite and Hawkethe teachers used to say they

would be high-fyers.

I think youre right, her husband conceded. I think it

does look like her. But then . . . he turned on Kathy, how

the hell did you mix her up with our daughter?

Because this woman was living on a canal boat in

London using your daughters name. She had given her

employers your names as her parents and next o kin. Thats

why Im here.

Why would she do a thing like that? Mrs Hawke said.

And at the same time her husband, looking horried,

said, Shed stolen Vickys identity? Dear God, what else had

she stolen? Her money?Thats something we should take up with your daughter

straight away, Kathy said. She needs to check with her bank

and credit-card companies. What sort o work does Vicky

do, Mrs Hawke?

Marketing. Ater school she went to the London School

o Marketing and then got a really good job in the city. She

met Fabio and they moved to Rio, where theyve set up

their own consultancy.

Did Gudrun also go into marketing?

Oh no, she wasnt really a people-person like Vicky. As

ar as I remember she went on to do science o some kind.

She stayed in Cambridge and did her degree at the univer-

sity there. It was about then, when the girls let school, that

we moved down here to London.

Kathy thought about that. I could be wrong, but its


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the ravens eye

29

possible that Gudrun used Vickys CV to get the job she had

in Paddington. And i thats the case she may have gained

access to other personal inormation. Could we get on the

phone to Vicky now?

It was our hours earlier in Rio, breakast time, and Mrs

Hawke got through to her daughter at her home. Vicky

sounded incredulous as her mother explained what had

happened. She and Gudrun had lost touch when they let

school eight years previously, she explained, Vicky to study

marketing in London and Gudrun staying in Cambridge to

read computer science. There had been no contact between

themnot a phone call or a Christmas card or a message on

Facebookin all that time. And Vicky wasnt aware o any

irregularities in her banking or credit-card accounts.

Kathy asked her to check these, and also to email herCV so that Kathy could compare it to the one Gudrun had

used at Paddington Security Services. I need to contact her

amily urgently, Vicky, she added. Can you tell me where

they live?

The Kites? Yes, o course, theyll be devastated. Mrs Kite

is a lovely personplease give her my love and tell her how

sorry I am. I didnt know Gudruns ather so well. He was a

rather remote gure, a bit intimidating and scary, a proessor

in something obscure at the university, like Icelandic history

or something. There were two girls, Gudrun and an elder

sister, um . . . Freyja, thats her name. Super bright. I mean

Gudrun was smart, much smarter than me, but Freyja was

supposed to be practically a genius. They lived in a big house

in Harvey Road, just o Parkers Piece. Cant remember the

number Im araid.


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barry maitland

30

Ater theyd hung up Mrs Hawke said to Kathy, I remem-

ber Gudruns mother, Sigrid Kite, very warm, unfappable

motherly type. She will be devastated. Youll go and see her,

wont you? I mean, not just tell her over the phone?

O course. And Im sorry to have given you both that

shock.

Well, that was Gudruns ault, wasnt it? I wonder what

the poor girl thought she was playing at?


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PRAISE FOR BARRY MAITLANDS

BROCK AND KOLLA SERIES

There is no doubt about it, i you are a serious lover o crime fction,

ensure Maitlands Brock and Kolla series takes pride o place in your

collection.Weekend Australian

Barry Maitland is one o Australias fnest cr ime writers.

The Sunday Tasmanian

Comparable to the psychological crime novelists, such as Ruth

Rendell . . . tight plots, great dialogue, very atmospheric.

Sydney Morning Herald

Maitland is a consummate plotter, steadily complicating an already

complex narrative while artully managing the relationships o his

characters.The Age

Perect or a night at home severing red herrings rom clues, sorting

outright lies rom hal-truths and separating suspicious elons rom

elonious suspects.Herald Sun

A leading practitioner o the detective writers crat.Canberra Times

Maitland does a masterly job keeping so many balls in the air whilesustaining an atmosphere o genuine intrigue, suspense and, ultimately,

dread. He is right up there with Ruth Rendell.Australian Book Review

Forget the stamps, start collecting Maitlands now.Morning Star

Maitland gets better and better, and Brock and Kolla are an impressive

team who deserve to become household names.Publishing News

Maitland stacks his characters in interesting piles, and lets his mystery

burn busily and bright.Courier-Mail


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BARRY MAITLAND is the author o the acclaimed Brock and Kolla

series o crime mystery novels set in London, where Barry grew up ater

his amily moved there rom Paisley in Scotland where he was born. He

studied architecture at Cambridge University and worked as an architect

in the UK beore taking a PhD in urban design at the University o She-

feld, where he also taught and wrote a number o books on architecture

and urban design. In 1984 he moved to Australia to head the architectureschool at the University o Newcastle in New South Wales, and held that

position until 2000.

The frst Brock and Kolla novel, The Marx Sisters, was published in

Australia and the UK in 1994, and subsequently in the USA and in trans-

lation in a number o other countries, including Germany, Italy, France

and Japan. It was shortlisted or the UK Crime Writers Association John

Creasey Award or best new fction, and eatured the central two characters

o the series, Detective Chie Inspector David Brock, and his younger

colleague, Detective Sergeant Kathy Kolla. The sequel, The Malcontenta,

was frst published in 1995 and was joint winner o the inaugural Ned

Kelly Award or best crime fction by an Australian author. The books have

been described as whydunits as much as whodunits, concerned with the

devious histories and motivations o their characters. Barrys background

in architecture drew him to the structured character o the mystery novel,

and his books are notable or their ingenious plots as well as or theiratmospheric settings, each in a dierent intriguing corner o London. In

2008 he published Bright Air, his frst novel set in Australia.

Barry Maitland now writes fction ull time, and lives in the Hunter

Valley. The ull list o his books ollows: The Marx Sisters, The Malcontenta,

All My Enemies, The Chalon Heads, Silvermeadow, Babel, The Verge Practice,

No Trace, Spider Trap, Bright Air, Dark Mirror, Chelsea Mansions and The

Ravens Eye.

Documents

Barry Maitland - The Raven's Eye (Extract)