Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What?” No way. That’s… that’s not possible.
“How disgusting!” Lydia shrieked.
“Well, that’s delicious,” Morrie said, steepling his hands together. “And I’m guessing these medical files are the proof of that?”
“Apparently so. Professor Carmichael was acting as a medical authority on Alice’s article. She’d also given Alice a list of names of previous graduate students of Hathaway’s who might be willing to come forward and speak to claims of sexual harassment, giving the article a #metoo angle that would see it spread worldwide. Gerald had also given her the contact details of his girlfriend, Hannah, but Alice had lots of question marks beside her, as though she wasn’t certain Hannah would talk.”
“But how is it even possible? You can’t just marry your sister.”
“I’ve found some of Alice’s notes in a file here,” Morrie said, his eyes darting across the screen. “According to her, it seems to have gone like this. Hathaway and his sister grew up as spoiled children of rich if rather eccentric parents, who were themselves second cousins—”
“Gross!” Lydia sniffed.
“—and Jane Austen obsessives. Everything about their homes and lives was perfect Regency harmony, except their marriage. They went through a bitter divorce when Hathaway was a child. His father raised him, and the mother moved away to Eastern Europe with Hera, changing her name and identity in order to forever sever ties with the Hathaway family. The children were never supposed to meet again and the parents hoped they’d forget each other. But in secret, Hera researched Julius’ whereabouts and made contact. They were both in their teens at the time, and their fascination with their parents’ divorce and the plot to keep them apart blossomed into a forbidden romance. Hera came to England to attend university, and the two met and continued their relationship, bonding over their shared love of Regency ideals. Because the mother had altered their identity, it never registered as an issue when they went to get married. It only came to light when Hera was diagnosed with her condition and the hospital did DNA tests on Christina to ascertain if she had also inherited the genes. They found that her parental genes had a close family match – too close to be anything but brother and sister. Apparently, it was all hushed up with lots of Julius’ money and then the mother died and it was forgotten.”
“How does Alice know all this?”
“I don’t know,” Morrie scrolled through the flash drive. “But she has copies of letters between Julius and Hera that prove the whole thing. The way they read, Julius was the one pulling the strings, playing his charisma against Hera’s vulnerability to seduce his sister into deepening their relationship. In light of his other harassment charges, it builds somewhat of a vivid picture.”
“Isn’t Alice shagging Christina?” Heathcliff piped up. “That’s probably where the information came from.”
“But would Christina incriminate her own father?” I recalled the way she’d shrank away from him on the stairs. She wanted desperately to please him, but she was also afraid of him. “I can’t see her wanting this kind of information made public.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know Alice had copies of these letters.” Morrie rubbed his chin. “She may not even know about her mother’s lineage at all. Alice may have gained access to Hathaway’s files in some other way.”
“However she came about this information, it changes how we view what happened here,” Quoth said, running fingers through his long, fine hair. “Alice’s killer wanted to stop her from making this story public. Hathaway’s killer hated him because of one of his many crimes. And the words on Mina’s door still baffle me, but they give me great fear.”
“I still think Gerald did it,” I said, ticking off boxes on my fingers. “He was pissed at Professor Hathaway for plagiarizing his work and tanking his career. He’s a big guy, and a goth – you can’t tell me he doesn’t know enough about swords to make that kill. He had a tear in his shirt and a stain on his coat the night of the ball, and he was drinking all that booze like he was trying to cover up for something bad he did.”
“Okay, but then why kill Alice? Surely if this story came out, it would help him get reinstated at the university?”
“You forget – Alice figured out Gerald was the murderer. She was going to spill his secret, although why she wanted to tell me instead of going to the police is anyone’s guess. Maybe she spoke to Hannah and she gave Gerald away – I don’t know. He had to get rid of her before she exposed him. Maybe that’s why he wrote LIAR on her chest, in case she’d already sent something to her editor or written something in her notes.”
Morrie rubbed his chin. “Your explanation fits the facts, except for one small thing – why would Gerald write YOU’RE NEXT on your bedroom door?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I’m stumped on that, too. Perhaps he meant that Lydia would be Hathaway’s next victim, and Gerald was saving her by killing him…”
“That sounds like twisting facts to suit your theory, instead of having a theory to suit the facts.” Morrie tapped his fingers against the laptop. “I think Professor Carmichael is our murderer.”
“You’re crazy if you think that.”
“I assure you that any jury would find me perfectly sane. Gerald just doesn’t add up. Why go outside if you’d arranged a perfect murder from inside the house? Why write the words on your door? He didn’t even know you or Lydia. But Professor Carmichael couldn’t stand Hathaway. He humiliated her and she publicly threatened to make him pay. She knew that when the article came out she could destroy his career, but seeing him at this event was just too much. Maybe she didn’t trust Alice to write the story. Whatever the reason, she decides he has to die. She was near him in the antechamber, and had ample opportunity to put sleeping pills into his wine. Then she realizes that Alice would figure out she did it. Perhaps she realized that she’d slipped up somewhere during her interviews. So she kills Alice and tries to use the word LIAR to discredit her own evidence, should anyone find Alice’s files. As for the words on our door, Carmichael heard Cynthia talking about how clever we are at solving murders. She wanted to scare you away before you got too close to the case.” Morrie leaned back and cracked his knuckles, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “James Moriarty – one point. Evil sword-swinging professor – zero points.”
“Don’t celebrate yet. We haven’t caught the killer,” Heathcliff reminded him.
“All in good time. It looks like the answer to whoever killed our victims is going to be in Alice’s files,” Morrie said. “I’ll get to work.”
Quoth went out to eavesdrop on more police officers. With nothing to do, Heathcliff and I took a stroll around the hall. The place was clearing out. Guests poured down the stairs, snapping instructions to the harried staff. Security guards sauntered by, barking orders into their headsets and getting in the way. Cynthia stood in the center of the balcony, a bottle of wine in her hand and an expression of utter despair on her face.
“Hey Cynthia,” I waved. She started as we came up behind her. “I’m so sorry that the weekend had to end like this.”
“Oh, it’s a disaster!” Cynthia cried, sloshing the bottle around. I noticed it was over half empty. “All these guests are demanding refunds, and we have to find alternative accommodations, and I have a kitchen filled with Cornish game hens for tonight’s meal that are going completely to waste.”
“I know it looks bad now, but I’m sure it will all work out for the best.” I felt bad for her. She really had tried hard to create a wonderful weekend, and two people had been murdered in her home. “You know how much people love a scandal, especially a gory one. Wait for word to get around the Jane Austen community, and in a year’s time The Jane Austen Experience will be sold out again.”
“You’re a sweet girl,” she slurred. “No wonder Gladys and Mabel loved you so. No, I’m afraid the Jane Austen Experience will go the way of the dodo. At least Grey still has his plans, or I fear we wouldn’t survive
. Would you like some wine?”
We declined and left her to her wallowing. I wanted to ask her what she meant by her husband’s ‘plans’ but she was clearly in no state to give a sensible answer. Isn’t it weird that Grey’s not here? Wouldn’t he come home after a murder to see if his wife was okay? I still hadn’t met the guy, but I didn’t have the best impression of him.
I led Heathcliff across the landing, heading for the private covered balcony through Cynthia’s office. I had my head turned, looking for the right door, and I noticed the corner of a black leather trench coat disappear over the velvet rope cordoning off Cynthia’s private wing.
“That’s Gerald,” I whispered.
Heathcliff leaned his head near mine. “Pretend I said something hilarious,” he growled.
Understanding immediately what he intended me to do, I threw my head back and laughed. From the angle, I could peer further around the corner, and the area was well-lit enough I had a clear view. Gerald leaned against the wall, his eyes darting across the landing. He cast one final look around, then disappeared down the darkened hallway. Heathcliff and I exchanged a heated look. Heathcliff’s smoldering eyes demanded that we not get involved.
We followed him, of course. Luckily, I’d eschewed my muslin dress for my ‘Jane Austen is my Homegirl’ t shirt and jeans, so I could easily step over the rope. The hallway turned a corner. We crept to the end and peered around to see Gerald slipping inside a door.
We scooted across the rug and pressed ourselves up against the wall. I peered around the door into an opulent bedroom – Cynthia and Grey’s suite, guessing by the clothing strewn across the bed and the tray of tea things on the armoire. Gerald stood in front of a large dressing table, dropping handfuls of gold jewelry from a large case into the deep pockets of his black trench coat.
I yanked my head back. My elbow hit the vase on the table behind me. It wobbled in mid-air. Heathcliff lunged for it. His fingers grazed the edge and sent the vase sprawling off the table, where it crashed on the marble floor.
SMASH!
Gerald launched himself at the door. Light caught a knife in his hand as his coat flapped around him like an overweight Neo. He lunged at me. Heathcliff shoved me across the hall, shouting, “Don’t argue. Just run!”
I sprinted down the hallway. Gerald followed, crashing into the walls as Heathcliff struggled to subdue him. My chest burned. He’s crazy and dangerous. Find one of the security guards and—
CRASH.
I tripped over the velvet rope and hit the ground, hard. Pain shot up my leg. I gasped for breath and rolled onto my side, just in time to see Gerald tower over me, the knife raised in his hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Mina,” he said. “If you promise not to tell anyone what you saw, then I won’t have to—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Heathcliff leaped on his back, driving the knife in Gerald’s hand into his side. Gerald bellowed, stumbling forward and trying to throw Heathcliff off. In response, Heathcliff sank his teeth into Gerald’s neck. Guests screamed and scattered as they staggered across the landing.
“Heathcliff, watch out!” I gasped.
But Heathcliff didn’t hear. He was a wild animal lashing out at the predator who threatened his mate. He tore at Gerald, his wild, his features twisted with feral rage. Gerald thrashed back, and the pair of them crashed into the balustrade. With a sickening CRACK, the wood cracked, and the two of them toppled over the edge.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Heathcliff!” I screamed.
The world narrowed. In slow motion I watched, frozen and helpless, as the pair tumbled over the side of the balcony and disappeared. As he fell, Heathcliff’s wild eyes met mine, and in them I saw only jubilation. He didn’t even care that he was about to crack his head open on the floor below.
All he wanted to do was save my life, and it cost him his own.
CRASH.
Screams and shouts echoed from downstairs. The world came back into focus, raw and fast and terrifying. Still gasping for air, I forced myself to my feet. Flares of green and pink neon light danced in front of my vision, blinding me. I gripped the wall and fought my way to the stairs.
Heathcliff, no no no no…
I forced my legs to move, to run to the stairs. I gripped the railing and lurched myself downward, averting my eyes from the center of the room. I had to see, but I didn’t want to see.
Don’t leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you.
On the last step, my shaking legs gave way. I collapsed in a heap, barely feeling my knees crack against the marble floor. Warm, strong arms went around me sweeping me into an embrace. A smell like grapefruit and vanilla wafted over my nostrils, the effect dragging me back into myself.
Morrie.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice wracked with concern.
“Is Heathcliff…” I choked.
Morrie laughed, his breath tickling my face. “He’s fine, gorgeous. Look for yourself.”
I dared a look. Gerald lay sprawled on his chest in the middle of the floor, moaning with pain. A bloodstain spread outward from his side, where Heathcliff had stuck in the knife. Heathcliff knelt on Gerald’s back, but his predator eyes still searched the room. He lifted a huge fist and pounded it into the back of Gerald’s skull.
“Don’t you… ever… raise a knife… to Mina… again,” Heathcliff panted, punctuating each phrase with a slam of his fist.
“Young man, stop that!” Hayes rushed in. It took him and two of his officers to drag Heathcliff off Gerald. “What are you doing to this man? This is assault!”
“I think my ribs are broken,” Gerald moaned, trying to roll on his side.
“What I’m doing is your job,” Heathcliff boomed. “That man is the Argleton Jewel Thief, and the murderer of Professor Hathaway and Alice Yo.”
A collective gasp rose through the gathered crowd.
“What?” Gerald’s face crumpled. “That’s not true.”
“So it’s not true that I just saw him stealing Mrs. Lachlan’s jewelry, and it’s also not true that I had to stop him before he stabbed Mina with that knife?” Heathcliff struggled against the cops. “If you don’t believe me, check his pockets.”
Gerald moaned, his head dropping onto the marble. Hayes bent down and dug around in his pocket, pulling out a handful of gold and diamond-encrusted necklaces and earrings. “What the—?”
“My jewelry!” Cynthia rushed forward, pawing through the jewels. The gasps turned to murmurs as she pulled more and more pieces from Gerald’s pocket. “This was Grey’s grandmother’s necklace. He gave it to me when he proposed.”
Cynthia’s face twisted in rage, and she bent down and slapped Gerald across the face. “How dare you? You rotten, despicable little man—” she bent down to slap him again, but Hayes grabbed her wrist.
“Ma’am, you need to step back, or I’ll have my officers restrain you, too.”
Reluctantly, Cynthia stepped back, clutching fistfuls of her own jewels and staring daggers into Gerald.
“Listen, I can explain,” he pleaded.
“No, you can’t,” Heathcliff shouted. “We know you’re guilty. You overhead Christina looking for her jewelry before the ball. You spiked Professor Hathaway’s drink with sleeping pills so you could steal the jewels, and then staged the scene to look as though the thief had escaped out the window. When you did that, you accidentally tore your shirt. We know you hated Hathaway because you claimed he plagiarized you and he hurt your girlfriend—”
“Alright, I stole the jewels!” Gerald cried. “I’m the Argleton Jewel Thief. I was desperate. I was hoping to pay to finish my postgraduate degree in another country, somewhere where my name wasn’t ruined by Hathaway’s lies. I hated him, sure, but I never killed him!”
“Then why was your shirt torn?” I cried. “And you had blood on your trench coat. I saw it.”
“I told you, it wasn’t blood, it was red wine jus,” Gerald’s eyes blazed a
s they met mine. “Besides, how could I have done it when I was outside until after the first dance finished?”
“Outside?”
“Yes, I’d just received some distressing news, and I went out to have a smoke and collect my thoughts.” Gerald frowned at Lydia. “She was hanging around in the hallway snogging some bloke and I couldn’t deal with that right now, because it made me think of the other thing, so I went back inside for a drink.”
“Gerald’s telling the truth,” Hannah stepped forward. “I told him I was pregnant, and that I decided to keep the baby.”
“That’s why I was so upset at the bar. How was I going to support a baby? My consulting role barely pays my bills. That’s why I was trying to get the jewels today. It was a risk, but I figured that in the chaos no one would think to miss them for several hours.”
“But Gerald, I told you that it wasn’t your responsibility,” Hannah cooed. “I found someone else I wanted to be my baby’s daddy.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Heathcliff.
“Keep her away from me!” Heathcliff resumed struggling in earnest.
“We’ll see how the rest of your story checks out,” Hayes said. “Gerald Bromley, you’re under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court…” The police dropped Heathcliff and swept in to surround Gerald.
I rushed to Heathcliff’s side. “I can’t believe you did that. Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Luckily, Gerald’s sizable girth broke my fall.”
“Morrie, call an ambulance. I’m going to get you checked over.” I hugged Heathcliff tight. “Please don’t ever do that again. Leave the flying to Quoth, okay?”
“Careful,” he winced. “You’re jabbing ribs into soft places.”
There were no soft places on Heathcliff, except for his heart. I pulled away. Heathcliff tried to get to his feet, but I pushed him back down. “At least you managed to catch the jewel thief,” he muttered. “Now maybe we can leave the rest of the detective work to the real detectives.”
Pride and Premeditation Page 21