Pentagon Five: Inspector Roberts Investigates

By Ian Wallace Campbell

Tom and Samantha Pascoe together with Mary and Jim Roberts have jst finished their first sucessful season running an Artists' Holiday Center in the foothills of the Pyrenees. They are looking for a well earned break but it is not to be when a foul ritual murder is discovered near their property. Ex-copper Jim Roberts investigates and finds that the victim is an English University student researching Sacred Geometry for his Ph.D Thesis.

The victim hasbeen hanged and gutted and yet the French authorities decide to call it suicide. Roberts investigation leads him to the dark world of Secret Societies and secret government departments that will stop at nothing to preserve their secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Campbell
• Release date: Sep 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536588255

Book preview

Chapter 1

Violent beginnings

It was early evening on a cool October afternoon, when the peace of Pascoe’s Holiday Centre at les Boudous was irrevocably shattered by Tim Stanforth, bursting into the farmhouse kitchen, gasping for breath, blowing hard and looking like he had just seen a ghost. Stanforth was an English neighbor from the commune at Lavaldieu, the next farm down the hill. He had obviously scrambled the hard way up to the farm – a distance of some 600 yards and a vertical climb of 120 feet through spiky gorse undergrowth which had torn his clothes and flesh alike. The brush covered most of the craggy limestone escarpment which rose sharply behind the two farms up to a promontory known as la Pique, with only the odd rock protruding through the scrub. That the journey had been a painful one was obvious from the scuff marks on Stanforth’s boots and his bleeding, grazed skin, visible on his arms and through the tears in his jeans.

Pascoe poured Stanforth a large brandy and waited for the youth’s news. Stanforth was in his early twenties and was of a lanky build with dark brown hair that needed a good cut. One of Pascoe’s acquaintances would have described him as ‘all teeth and hair’, but Pascoe thought him harmless enough. He was certainly in a state and Pascoe noticed that his jumper had also suffered in his visit to the farm, several threads of loose wool sprang from rough holes probably torn by the gorse.

Roberts entered the kitchen just as Stanforth tried get his first words out and after quickly taking in the appearance of the wretched youth, summed up the situation and took control.

I found a bod... Stanforth gasped, his breath tortured from his exertions.

Take your time. Sit down and get your breath back. Roberts added, offering the brandy glass to Stanforth’s lips. Take all the time you want.

The color slowly returned to the youth’s face as his system slowly recovered. Mary appeared with a dampened cloth and started fussing around the youth, dabbing gently at his visible wounds.

There’s no time for this! Stanforth gasped with what little strength he had left. I need your help. I found a body – close to the old Celtic path. As he spoke, his body started to spasm and then shake uncontrollably. Roberts recognized the shaking as the after effects of an adrenalin high – something akin to a drug addict doing ‘cold turkey’. His wife Mary, fussed around the youth, obviously worried by what looked like a fit but Roberts knew the shaking would subside by itself, given time.

You’d better tell me everything, lad, in your own good time. Roberts cajoled the youth.

As soon as Stanforth had recovered his breath and Mary had finished ministering to him, they piled into the minibus, Mary taking the wheel. For the first hundred yards the track led straight up the hillside, then turned abruptly through 90º to the right, following the sweep of the hillside as far as the strange rocky outcrop of La Pique which towered above them. Here, the track joined another from the village of Rennes-le-Château and then virtually reversed its direction at a slightly lower level towards the farm known as Lavaldieu. The ride was uncomfortable as Mary slung the minibus around the bends in the rutted track, grating the chassis on the raised central ridge between the wheel-made ruts. The vehicle made a horrendous noise as it careered down the track giving the impression that the very metal of the vehicle was being ripped apart by some gigantic hand.

Mary and Jim Roberts, Pascoe and Sam were far too concerned with surviving the trip than to be troubling Stanforth with demands of more details of his discovery. The trip, no more than a kilometer by this route, took only a few minutes although the deeply rutted track made it seem more like an eternity. At Lavaldieu, everyone piled out of the minibus, none so relieved as Roberts.

The settlement of Lavaldieu was a collection of seven separate buildings, originally a hamlet, but now in various states of disrepair as the members of the community rescued them piecemeal. Built of  similar stone to les  Boudous, the buildings themselves were timeless, impossible to date, but according to ancient maps of the area, a settlement had existed there since the beginning of recorded time.

Pascoe’s group followed Stanforth into the main farmhouse building, taking care not to trip over the floor which was cut into the very bedrock of the plateau. In the living room, dominated by what Pascoe referred to as a ‘one peasant’ fireplace, the woman known as Sarah was being comforted by Stanforth’s wife.

She was with me when I found the body. Stanforth explained.

Have you sent for the police? Roberts asked, casting a practised eye around the room, soaking up the atmosphere.

Yeah. Jonty’s gone to meet them at the cross-roads....otherwise it’ll take them hours to find us here. Stanforth replied.

Curiously, the inhabitants of  Lavaldieu were all English, each of them having independently washed up at Lavaldieu as so much flotsam.

"Why did you come to us at les Boudous?" Queried Roberts, unsure of what Stanforth thought they could do that the local law couldn’t.

Well, Tom explained to me when you first arrived that you used to be a copper. Stanforth replied.

I still don’t know why you needed us... Roberts added.

I’m sorry. Replied Stanforth, but I wouldn’t have troubled you except for the fact that I think I recognized the body.

I see. Mused Roberts, slowly shaking his head. I think you’ve lost me.... Pondering as to what was so important as to embroil him in the very business he had taken the trouble to retire from.

Stanforth, seeing that he was losing the copper’s attention grabbed Robert’s arm by the sleeve.

You don’t understand....if it is who I think it is, he’s been camping here for the last couple of weeks and he was English. The youth explained. Roberts listened patiently, but was still somewhat puzzled by what Stanforth was saying.

Please try to understand. Stanforth pleaded. It’s bad enough for anyone to die abroad – more so if the circumstances are suspicious, but when a young English kid dies savagely in a remote part of France, having recently stayed at a settlement run by English ex-pats.... Roberts began to see the where Stanforth’s mind was going. Suspicion would fall on the occupants of Lavaldieu and possibly les Boudous as well as any other English people in the area, long before it would fall on the French.’

So you thought you’d get me on your side....as a sort of referee – to see that you don’t get the short end of the stick. Roberts replied, watching for the youth’s reaction. O.K. But no promises mind you. Now, are you up to showing me where you found the body? Stanforth glanced at his wife, giving her an apologetic shrug of his shoulders as if to say ‘I don’t have a choice’. She smiled ruefully in return and blessed his departure with a resigned nod of her head.

Tom. Roberts called out as he was halfway out of the door. You, Sam and Mary had better hang on here – make that poor girl some tea...hot and sweet and keep it coming. I’ll go with young Stanforth here and see what’s what. He followed the youth into the farmyard, then back up the track, turning off it just before the cattle shed on the left.

Roberts had never seen the Celtic path before, although he had heard Pascoe talk of it occasionally. He followed in the youth’s footsteps studying the path as he went. It was a marvel of ancient engineering. Whereas old tracks usually wear themselves into existence, this one was entirely different. Close inspection revealed that he wasn’t walking a rutted path down the hillside, but a path constructed from huge stone paving slabs for the whole of its length. The tread stones mated with others that were placed vertically like a dry-stone wall on the hill side of the path, that kept vegetation from encroaching the path and destroying it. Roberts was impressed both by the scale and the quality of the work, especially as each slab must have weighed several hundredweight.

The youth continued down, his obvious fitness making light of the slope. For Roberts, at six foot-five and nearly twenty stone, the descent was altogether different, each step needing precision as he had to plant the sole or toe of each foot precisely on the rocky outcrops to avoid twisting an ankle. Although he was in his early fifties, he had already lost the fitness that the Police Force had caused him to maintain and had put on at least a stone and a half since moving to France.

The Celtic path, which had started in scrub vegetation at the farm, now crossed a more sparsely covered area of ground. A further five minutes brisk walk brought them to the edge of the forest, denser than anything he had seen in England. Here, it existed in its natural, primeval state, rather than being carefully controlled over the centuries by Man. The Celtic path headed straight into it.

How much further? asked Roberts hopefully.

Only another two or three hundred yards. Stanforth replied.

If it’s not a rude question, Roberts continued, What the hell were the two of you up to this far from the farm?

It’s one of our projects at Lavaldieu. Stanforth explained. When we first found these paths, they were all overgrown... so when we have some spare time from the farming... we come and clean the paths up... restoration work really...

‘Ask a silly question.’ Roberts mused.

They came upon the body suddenly, without warning, Stanforth stopping dead in his tracks and Roberts cannoned into him.

If you don’t need me here...Stanforth whimpered, obviously upset."

No, lad. You make your way back and I’ll see you at the farm. Roberts replied as he watched the young man disappear from view up the track before he turned to examine the body.

The naked body of a young male was hanging from the branch of a tree some ten feet from the track. It hung still, neither twisting or turning under the vast canopy of the trees, presenting the youth’s back and buttocks to anyone who had the misfortune of coming down the path. If the chosen tree had been any further from the path, the vegetation would have swallowed it up, hiding it from view. However, it had got there, the body had been meant to be found.

Roberts surveyed the area from the safety of the path, careful not to add his footprints to any forensic evidence at the scene. He scrutinised the ground under the body, seeking signs of a scuffle, but found none, but even this endeavour was impeded by the deep shadows of the forest. He turned his attention to the tree from which the body hung, wondering if the victim had climbed its trunk, preparatory to suicide, but could detect neither an easy climb n’or any scuff marks that might be on it. It seemed an impossible climb for a naked man to have made, especially as the soles of the man’s feet showed no obvious traces of such an effort. This led him to think that if it was suicide then the man must have climbed the tree fully clothed and then, for some unknown reason stripped himself naked before taking the drop, in which case his clothes should be somewhere under the body, but there were none.

All the evidence he had noted so far suggested murder to Roberts, but he tried to keep an open mind as he walked deeper into the forest, checking the undergrowth at the edge of the path for any sign of someone having left it. Fifty yards further on, the Celtic track petered out. He had almost given up on the area when he noticed a broken branch a few feet from the path at shoulder height. It had been broken recently as the sap-wood revealed by the break was still green and barely discoloured. On closer inspection, the area to the side of the path showed a general trampling of the undergrowth in the direction of the body but none of it led to the path itself.

As Roberts turned back to the path in the direction of the farm, a bright metallic glint caught his eye, but as soon as he concentrated on the spot, it disappeared. He waited patiently,  not daring to move for fear of losing his position relative to the reflection, hoping it would re-appear. After what seemed an interminable wait, a gentle breezed rustled the tree tops and he saw what had caught his attention – a small piece of metal wedged into the fork of two branches some seven or eight feet off the ground. The problem was that it still lay several feet from the path and he was unwilling to forage further into ‘no man’s land’, possibly leaving traces of his visit that might prove difficult to explain. Instead, he marked his place on the path with a couple of small stones and searched for a fallen branch with which he could dislodge the object.

A few minutes later, he returned to his marked position with a suitable branch, took off his jacket and trouser belt; threaded one end of the belt through a button hole in his jacket and cast the jacket under the branch where the object lay, holding on to the end of his belt. After several attempts, his jacket lay spread on the ground ready to catch the object. Even with the longest branch he could find, he could barely reach, but perseverance won the day and the object fell onto his jacket. He dragged the jacket back through the debris of the forest’s floor and studied his treasure.

His treasure was a small metal can – the type made to contain a 35mm film cassette. He dared not open its screw-topped lid just in case it contained loose film. Satisfied that there was nothing else to be found he picked up the canister from his jacket with his handkerchief; wrapped it in the handkerchief and tucked it into one of his jacket’s zippered pockets and set-off up the track to the farm, wondering what the can might contain – a pre-occupation which left him totally unprepared for the horrific scene that awaited him. A bend in the track brought him back to the body, but whereas on his way down the track he had only seen the corpse from the back, his new approach from the lower part of the path showed him its front. The body had been gutted, slit from navel to sternum and what had seemed like a shadow from his first glimpse of the body, turned out to be some of the victims intestines draped over its left shoulder. The rest of the victims entrails had spilled onto the ground beneath the dangling body and accounted for the dark patch he’d noticed on his first approach. During all his years on the job, he had never encountered anything quite as gruesome and he only just managed not to throw up on the spot. He only hoped that the youth had been dead before the butchery had taken place. Weary and sick to his stomach, he re-traced his steps to the farm.

Mary was the first to greet him on his return, but she knew instinctively that things were far from well. He barely acknowledged his wife and made his way straight to Stanforth and his wife who were sitting in front of the fire on the far side of the lounge.

Just one question. Roberts asked gently. Did you see the front of the body? A whispered ‘No.’ barely escaped from Stanforth’s lips. Sarah just shook her head. ‘Just as well.’ Thought Roberts.

How long will it take for the police to get here? Roberts asked, but nobody knew. It was an open question as no-one had ever had reason to summon the French Police before, let alone in an emergency.

Did you say that you knew the man? Roberts asked Stanforth.

Not exactly... he’d been camping on our ground for the last few weeks. I recognized his ring.

Show me his tent. Roberts ordered.

Sure.... Stanforth led him to the rear of a large barn where a single three man tent was pitched on a slight slope.

Not many campers at the moment? Roberts observed drily.

The season’s over. Stanforth explained. Roberts unzipped the fly-sheet of the tent and poked his head inside, observing the usual camper’s gear... spirit stove, food, rucksack, clothing and maps. The exception was a theodolite; red and white banded sighting poles; mirrors and a long aluminium pole with a circular fitting at one end, its other end disappearing into a bright yellow box. Roberts hadn’t a clue what it was. A more detailed search was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle arriving in the farmyard. He closed the tent’s fly-sheet and returned to the farmhouse with Stanforth. As expected, the Police had arrived and in strength with several officers climbing out of a blue Citroën van.

CHAPTER TWO

Coded secrets

The ranking officer seemed to be a sergeant, judging by the chevrons on his tunic’s sleeve, but Roberts couldn’t see anyone in plain clothes. He decided to keep quiet for the time being. The sergeant entered the farmhouse and took centre stage in the lounge.

Bonjour mesdames, messieurs. Vos cartes d’identités, s’il vous plaît. He ordered, holding out his hand for the documents – none of which were forthcoming. Stanforth explained to the sergeant in pidgeon French that as none of them were French, none of them had identification cards and that it would take a little time to get their passports together. The sergeant was less than amused and having instructed a fellow officer to collect up the documents, told Stanforth to lead him to the body.

They returned some twenty minutes later, both visibly shaken. The sergeant posted his men around the farmhouse ordering all the occupants of Lavaldieu to remain inside for the time being, before contacting his office by radio from the van. On his return to the farmhouse he gestured to the officer with the passports and busied himself studying them. When he realized that he had no documentation for the contingent from les Boudous, he seemed to lose a little of his self-control and started muttering under his breath at all and sundry. Pascoe tried to explain that they were in no way responsible for what had happened, but the sergeant insisted on seeing passports and work permits anyway and ordered two officers to accompany Pascoe to les Boudous to help him find them. Pascoe was a little disconcerted when both officers patted the holsters of their guns before helping him into the van. Although they might not suspect him, they certainly weren’t taking any chances.

By the time Pascoe returned to Lavaldieu with the documents, two local officers of the Surêté had taken control of the scene. Both men were dressed too stylishly to be ordinary policemen and were quite unlike any he had ever seen. They were, none the less, efficient. The elder of the two took the passports and flicked through the pages, carefully scrutinising each entry. He then compared the pictures in the passports to the people standing before him and everything was fine and straight-forward until he lighted upon Robert’s passport.

Qu’est-e que c’est? He queried, pointing to the details at the back of the passport. Stanforth offered to translate and peered at the document over the officer’s shoulder.

Government Service. He read out aloud, then looked to Roberts for explanation.

Roberts turned to Stanforth. Tell him that I used to work for Her Majesty’s Government as a policeman before I retired.

Quel type de police, monsieur? The Frenchman asked him directly.

The Serious Crime Squad at New Scotland Yard. Roberts added, Stanforth starting to translate before being waived away by the hand of the policeman.

Mesdames, messieurs. The man from the Surêté called out. "I am Commissaire Sarlat of the Surêté Nationale. I ‘ope you will all understand that when I say that no-one may leave this area