vague recollections of the bomb that tore apart the Land Cruiser. I said I’d wandered for hours, and then slept in the woods. In the morning, I’d set off again. It wasn’t until the previous evening that I’d remembered exactly who I was and where I was supposed to go; and I’d headed for the garrison with the fuzzy navigation of an alcoholic trying to find home.
The doctors examined me and determined that I had a fractured skull for the second time in my life. Two days later, I was on a medical transport: Cronus flying home to his Furies.
Chapter 22
AT FIVE MINUTES to four that Thursday afternoon, Knight left One Aldwych, a five-star boutique hotel in London’s West End theatre district, and found Karen Pope waiting on the pavement, looking intently at her BlackBerry screen.
‘His secretary wasn’t putting you off. The doorman says he does come for drinks quite often, but he’s not in there yet,’ Knight said, referring to Richard Guilder, Marshall’s long-time financial partner. ‘Let’s go and wait inside.’
Pope shook her head, and then gestured across the Strand to a row of Edwardian buildings. ‘That’s King’s College, right? That’s where Selena Farrell works, the classical Greek expert that Indiana Jones wannabe told us to talk to. I looked her up. She
has
written extensively about the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus and his play
The Eumenides
, which is another name for the Furies. We could go and chat with her and then swing back for Guilder.’
Knight screwed up his face. ‘In all honesty, I don’t know if understanding more about the myth of Cronus and the Furies is going to help us get any closer to catching Marshall’s killer.’
‘And now I know something you don’t,’ she said, shaking her BlackBerry at him haughtily. ‘Turns out that Farrell fought against the London Olympics tooth and nail. She sued to have the whole thing stopped, especially the compulsory purchase orders that took all that land in East London for the Olympic Park. The professor evidently lost her house when the park went in.’
Feeling his heart begin to race, Knight set off in the direction of the college, saying, ‘Denton ran the process that took that land. She had to have hated him.’
‘Maybe enough to cut off his head,’ Pope said, struggling to keep up.
Then Knight’s mobile buzzed. A text from Hooligan:
1 ST DNA TEST: HAIR IS FEMALE .
Chapter 23
THEY FOUND SELENA Farrell in her office. The professor was in her early forties, a big-bosomed woman who dressed the part of a dowdy Earth child: baggy, faded peasant dress, oval black glasses, no make-up, clogs, and her head wrapped in a scarf held in place by two wooden hairpins.
But it was the beauty mark that caught Knight’s eye. Set above her jawline about midway down her right cheek, it put him in mind of a young Elizabeth Taylor and made him think that, given the right circumstances and manner of dress, the professor could have been quite attractive.
As Dr Farrell inspected his identification, Knight glanced around at various framed pictures: one of the professor climbing in Scotland, another of her posing beside some Greek ruins, and a third in which she was much younger, in sunglasses, khaki pants and shirt, posing with an automatic weapon beside a white truck that said NATO on the side.
‘Okay,’ Farrell said, returning Knight’s badge. ‘What are we here to discuss?’
‘Sir Denton Marshall, a member of the Olympic Organising Committee,’ Knight said, watching for her reaction.
Farrell stiffened, and then pursed her lips in distaste. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s been murdered,’ Pope said. ‘Decapitated.’
The professor appeared genuinely shocked. ‘Decapitated? Oh, that’s horrible. I didn’t like the man, but … that’s barbaric.’
‘Marshall took your house and your land,’ Knight remarked.
Farrell hardened. ‘He did. I hated him for it. I hated him and everyone who’s in favour of the Olympics
The doctors examined me and determined that I had a fractured skull for the second time in my life. Two days later, I was on a medical transport: Cronus flying home to his Furies.
Chapter 22
AT FIVE MINUTES to four that Thursday afternoon, Knight left One Aldwych, a five-star boutique hotel in London’s West End theatre district, and found Karen Pope waiting on the pavement, looking intently at her BlackBerry screen.
‘His secretary wasn’t putting you off. The doorman says he does come for drinks quite often, but he’s not in there yet,’ Knight said, referring to Richard Guilder, Marshall’s long-time financial partner. ‘Let’s go and wait inside.’
Pope shook her head, and then gestured across the Strand to a row of Edwardian buildings. ‘That’s King’s College, right? That’s where Selena Farrell works, the classical Greek expert that Indiana Jones wannabe told us to talk to. I looked her up. She
has
written extensively about the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus and his play
The Eumenides
, which is another name for the Furies. We could go and chat with her and then swing back for Guilder.’
Knight screwed up his face. ‘In all honesty, I don’t know if understanding more about the myth of Cronus and the Furies is going to help us get any closer to catching Marshall’s killer.’
‘And now I know something you don’t,’ she said, shaking her BlackBerry at him haughtily. ‘Turns out that Farrell fought against the London Olympics tooth and nail. She sued to have the whole thing stopped, especially the compulsory purchase orders that took all that land in East London for the Olympic Park. The professor evidently lost her house when the park went in.’
Feeling his heart begin to race, Knight set off in the direction of the college, saying, ‘Denton ran the process that took that land. She had to have hated him.’
‘Maybe enough to cut off his head,’ Pope said, struggling to keep up.
Then Knight’s mobile buzzed. A text from Hooligan:
1 ST DNA TEST: HAIR IS FEMALE .
Chapter 23
THEY FOUND SELENA Farrell in her office. The professor was in her early forties, a big-bosomed woman who dressed the part of a dowdy Earth child: baggy, faded peasant dress, oval black glasses, no make-up, clogs, and her head wrapped in a scarf held in place by two wooden hairpins.
But it was the beauty mark that caught Knight’s eye. Set above her jawline about midway down her right cheek, it put him in mind of a young Elizabeth Taylor and made him think that, given the right circumstances and manner of dress, the professor could have been quite attractive.
As Dr Farrell inspected his identification, Knight glanced around at various framed pictures: one of the professor climbing in Scotland, another of her posing beside some Greek ruins, and a third in which she was much younger, in sunglasses, khaki pants and shirt, posing with an automatic weapon beside a white truck that said NATO on the side.
‘Okay,’ Farrell said, returning Knight’s badge. ‘What are we here to discuss?’
‘Sir Denton Marshall, a member of the Olympic Organising Committee,’ Knight said, watching for her reaction.
Farrell stiffened, and then pursed her lips in distaste. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s been murdered,’ Pope said. ‘Decapitated.’
The professor appeared genuinely shocked. ‘Decapitated? Oh, that’s horrible. I didn’t like the man, but … that’s barbaric.’
‘Marshall took your house and your land,’ Knight remarked.
Farrell hardened. ‘He did. I hated him for it. I hated him and everyone who’s in favour of the Olympics
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