Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  Although the message was strange, it also sounded vaguely familiar. After a moment of reflection, I made the connection. I decided the Stevenson he referred to had to be the author Robert Louis Stevenson because the “primitive duality of man” sounded like something out of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

  If Henry did believe in this theory, it frightened me to think that he may have attempted this method while operating on an unsuspecting patient. I also wondered why the police had not searched his books for evidence. How could this be deemed an open and shut case? Everything about it was suspicious. Suddenly, the door flew open and I whirled around, startled. In the doorway stood a very incensed June Chambers. She raced into the room at a speed I thought impossible for someone her age and had the book closed and shelved before I had a chance to blink.

  “This room is off limits.” Rage flickered in her eyes. “You must respect the rules of this house if you have no respect for the dead.”

  “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I don’t care what your reasons are. This is off-limits! It hasn’t even been two days since Henry,” she covered her mouth with her hand and blinked away a single tear. Regaining her composure, she added, “Dinner is ready. I expect to see you both in the dining room presently.”

  I followed her out of the room, ducking under the crime tape, then she shut the door and walked away. I glanced up at Rick, who was standing in the hallway. The swelling around his eye had gone down but maintained its reddish-purple coloring. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. She figured out I was trying to stall her. I didn’t really have anything to talk about.”

  “You didn’t try to warn me, either.” I shook my head and brushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

  “What?” He blinked. “I texted you.”

  “No, you,” I trailed off when my phone beeped. It was his message. “Oh.”

  “What did you find in there? Anything about Arthur?”

  “Nothing about Arthur, but I was looking through one of Henry’s medical books and, forgive me if this sounds rude, but that guy was crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Rick’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” I leaned against the wall. “I don’t know much about cocaine. You know, the side effects or whatever, but it looks like he was searching for ways to reduce the amount of evil in a person.”

  “The amount of evil?” Rick repeated, dubiously. “I don’t get it. We have free will. You can’t control someone like a robot unless, you dope them up.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded in agreement. “Strikes me as odd that a doctor would be thinking like that. I’ve heard my sister talk about her work before, but she never said anything like this. I figured he must have written it while he was, well, high. I mean, who uses Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as a medical source?”

  Rick was silent as he took in everything I said. Despite the recent change in his behavior around me, he was still a very private person whom I could never read. That was beginning to bother me more than I liked. Luckily, he didn’t notice.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “There was a slip of paper with the name Bronx written on it and a strange sequence of numbers, too.”

  “A strange sequence of numbers? How many were there?”

  I thought back. “Ten numbers, or maybe it was eleven. I don’t know, but something like that.”

  “It was probably eleven. That’s a phone number over here. What was the name again?”

  “Bronx.”

  “Bronx,” Rick repeated, disgust rising in his voice. “I was never close to Henry, but he was a good guy deep down. He wanted to help people. Mr. Cross wanted all his boys to be lawyers, even me. But Henry had a calling. He knew he was meant to help people.”

  “What changed for him?” I asked.

  “Med school must’ve taken a lot out of him. Henry was never good when the pressure was on,” Rick said. “I can’t tell you when he started using, but Arthur told me that over the past year, it got so bad he didn’t recognize him. Then there was that near-fatal mishap during that operation.”

  I took Rick’s hand. “I think he was still trying to help. As crazy as his writings were, it’s clear that the thought behind it was concern. Even if there wasn’t much of him left, what was still there wanted to help others.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Rick smiled as he lifted my chin with his hand. “You’re utterly amazing.”

  I smiled, tilting my head back as I stared up into his crystal blue eyes. “Really?”

  “Really. I care about you so much. I don’t know if I show it enough.”

  “You show it.”

  “Do I?” He leaned closer and our lips were inches apart. I felt his strong arms envelop me as he added, “Maybe I should show it right now.”

  I closed my eyes in anticipation.

  “Dinner!” My eyes flew open at the sound of June Chambers’ voice. I frowned when Rick released me. As we walked toward the dining room, I tried to hide the frustration I was feeling. It was difficult.

  A more composed June Chambers, pretending that the earlier incident hadn’t occurred, greeted us. She served a delicious spicy pork shoulder in cider with something called Bakewell Pudding, a flaky pastry pie with jam, for dessert. It had a unique, tart taste and Rick insisted it was a British favorite. Personally, I didn’t like it.

  As we were finishing up, she lamented, “I’m sorry I couldn’t provide you a proper meal. I wasn’t expecting anyone back here so soon. Mr. Cross said he and Mrs. Cross intended to be in the States for several days. But then, Henry,” she trailed off sorrowfully. “Well, I suppose you must be very tired from your travels.”

  I shook my head as I folded the burgundy linen napkin and placed it beside my plate. “Not really. Actually, I feel great.”

  “Hmm,” Ms. Chambers mumbled, offering a forced smile. “Well, that’s nice.”

  The sound of the front door opening caught our attention. Moments later, with Devin in tow, the ambassador entered the room. He removed his jacket and handed it to Ms. Chambers, who left to hang it up. He sighed deeply before turning his attention to us. “Well, how is everyone doing?”

  “Fine,” Rick answered quickly.

  Ms. Chambers reentered the room. “Mr. Cross, about Henry’s room, I—” She hesitated. During her moment of pause, I noticed a peculiar expression crossed Devin’s face. He looked nauseated. And scared.

  She glanced at my face and relented. “Is there anything you want done with it, sir?”

  The ambassador swallowed hard and straightened his tie. Clearing his throat, he replied weakly, “At the moment, I believe it best that we leave it alone. DCI Rowling.” He glanced at me. “The Deputy Chief Inspector will be over tomorrow to close Henry’s case.”

  I stared at him. The idea that any police detective would close out a case like that without autopsy reports seemed insane, even if this was a foreign country. I wanted to say so, but something told me to let it go. Henry was dead. It was Arthur I needed to focus on.

  Ms. Chambers curtsied slightly. “As you wish, sir. Is there anything else you’ll need this evening? There’s still pork shoulder in the kitchen. Would you care for some?”

  Mr. Cross shook his head as he walked out of the dining room and into a room, which resembled a den. He sat on a light-colored cloth couch and turned on the television set.

  We all followed him into the room and Ms. Chambers added, “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to retire for the evening.”

  The ambassador stared absently at the screen and said, “Yes, of course.”

  I barely noticed Ms. Chambers as she left the room. My attention was focused on Devin. He appeared tense, as if something made him very uncomfortable.

  Although there was no reason for suspecting that Devin was behaving out of the ordinary, I did. While Rick sat on the opposite end of the couch from the ambassador and stared at the tennis tournament on the television, Devin headed tow
ard the glass doors that led to a large, stone balcony.

  I followed him outside. Even though it was night, the city lights across the Thames River reflected on the water and lit up the sky. Devin leaned against the balcony and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He held the box toward me.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  He shrugged, stuck one between his teeth and shoved the pack back in his pocket. Flicking his orange plastic lighter, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “So what are you doing out ‘ere, love, if you don’t want to bum a fag?”

  I crossed the balcony and sat on the edge of a small, metal table with a glass top. “Answers. I want answers.”

  He exhaled and grinned. “Answers about what? Your choice in men?” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You could do much better.”

  I ignored his comment, pressing, “I want to know about Henry Cross.”

  His smile faded. He began to tap his right foot on the stone floor in agitation. “What do you want to know? ‘e’s dead. OD’ed, ‘e did.”

  “How did he die?”

  Devin glared at me. “An overdose. I just said that. Are you bloody deaf?”

  I stood up and walked closer to him. “I know Mr. Cross gave Arthur money to pay Bronx off so he would stop selling to Henry. I don’t think Henry got his drugs from Bronx the last time.”

  Devin finished the cigarette, threw it to the ground, and smashed it with his boot. Seconds later, he pulled another from the pack and lit it. With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he asked, “So?”

  “How did he get the drugs that last time?”

  Devin threw his hands in the air in frustration. “ ‘ow would I bloody well know? I’m the ambassador’s personal assistant. I drive ‘im around. I don’t take care of ‘is children. God knows I don’t make enough for all that.”

  “I think you do know. You may be the ambassador’s assistant, but something’s up with you. I think you’re more involved in this than you’re letting on.”

  At this, he lifted his right hand as if to slap me, but stopped, clenching his hand into a tight fist, his knuckles bone-white. Taking several short breaths, he finished the cigarette and threw it down, several feet from the first. “You’re not worth it,” he spit, heading toward the doors.

  “Devin?” He turned, his nostrils flaring. I sensed there was something off about him, but my first approach was clearly the wrong one. Pulling a pen from my purse along with an unused napkin from the airplane, I frowned. “I’m sorry. That was rude. Listen, while I’m here, I’m thinking about checking out a few sights. You know, when I’m not working. Can you give me directions to Buckingham Palace?”

  He eyed me warily for several moments before walking over and snatching the pen and napkin. Leaning over the metal table, he jotted something down quickly. Standing up straight, he handed them back. I glanced at the paper and my suspicions were confirmed.

  “Devin?”

  “What?” he exclaimed, no longer hiding his disdain.

  “You were Henry’s connection to Bronx.”

  “What?” Devin’s green eyes widened then narrowed. “That’s a pretty wild accusation, Love.”

  I held up the napkin and pulled out the slip of paper from Henry’s medical book. When Ms. Chambers had flown into the room, I grabbed the paper before she had a chance to notice. Both papers were written in the same long, left-slanted script. Devin stared at the evidence and swallowed hard.

  “Look familiar? I found it in Henry’s room. You introduced him to Bronx. You were his contact.”

  Devin brushed his red tresses out of his eyes and held his hands up defensively. “Listen ‘ere, I didn’t make ‘im a junkie. That bloke ‘ad been using for years.”

  “Maybe, but you made sure he had an unlimited supply.” I shoved the papers back in my purse. “Haven’t you worked for Mr. Cross for years? How could you betray him like this?”

  Devin glanced back to make certain the balcony doors were still shut. He then moved to the edge again and crossed his arms. Speaking barely above a whisper, he hissed, “I didn’t ‘ave a choice. ‘enry found out about my little problem.”

  “You’re a user, too?”

  Devin scoffed. “Are you bloody joking? Do you think I’d be ‘ere if I did drugs? No, my tastes aren’t that trite.” When I continued to stare, he sighed. “One of me vices got a bit out of ‘and when I was trying to, uh, resolve it, ‘enry caught me borrowing a bit of money.”

  “How much money?”

  He clicked his tongue. “‘bout three ‘undred pounds.”

  “What was the vice?”

  “May as bloody well tell you. You’ve figured this much out. I’ve got a bit of a gambling problem.”

  “Casinos?”

  “No, the tracks.”

  “So Henry caught you stealing and demanded, what? You help him score or he’d rat you out?”

  “That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”

  “How did you find Bronx?”

  Devin presented a curious smile. “I don’t think you really want to know that.”

  I sat there in silence, considering all he said and what else I needed to know. Finally, when he was about to light another cigarette, I heard myself say, “I want to meet Bronx.”

  He dropped the cigarette. It rolled several feet before getting caught in a crack in the stone. He glanced down at it before looking up at me with a bewildered expression. “You want to what?”

  No longer surprised by my own statement, I repeated firmly, “I want to meet Bronx. He’s probably the last person to see Arthur. I want to know what he knows.”

  Devin shook his head back and forth. “No, no, you really don’t want to do that.”

  “Listen, the only reason I’m here is to find Arthur. I need to follow his last known movements if I’m gonna have any chance of finding him alive.” I paused, glaring at Devin. “If you refuse, I suppose we can tell Mr. Cross about you and Henry and then maybe he can talk to Bronx”

  His face turned an even whiter shade, making his freckles the only signs of life on his face. He shook his head again. “No, no, no, no. Don’t.” He paused, staring down at the cigarette. Finally, he met my gaze and groaned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’ll see if he’ll meet me?”

  “I’ll bloody try, all right? Now, promise me you won’t go blabbing about all this.”

  I glanced at the balcony doors and saw Rick walking toward them, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Devin followed my gaze and swallowed hard. “Promise?”

  “Fine,” I said as Rick opened the door. He walked over to me and put his arm around my waist. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he replied, staring at Devin suspiciously. “Is everything okay?”

  Devin swallowed hard and picked up the cigarette. “I need to get a bit of fresh air,” he stammered, heading to the balcony doors, which led into the flat.

  “Fresh air? You’re outside,” Rick reminded him, his suspicion mounting.

  Devin licked his chapped lips. “Right. Well, you see, this air is too fresh. It’s not, uh, filtered. Never know what you may be breathing, Mate. Toxins and what ‘ave you. I need some fresh, filtered air. Right,” he nodded as he headed inside.

  Rick watched him before looking down at me. “What’s up with him?”

  I shrugged. “He’s British.”

  Rick raised an eyebrow.

  “Look, he came out here to smoke. I wanted to see if he had any leads that might help me find Arthur.”

  “Did he?”

  I stared through the balcony’s French doors and watched as Devin sat down on a chair, clasping his hands nervously. Shaking my head, I muttered, “We’ll see soon enough.”

  Chapter 14

  By eight o’clock London time, the ambassador excused himself for the evening. He insisted that he wanted to begin working on the case bright and early the next morning. From the looks of him, I figured he wouldn’t be u
p until the next afternoon. I was surprised to find how alert I still was after such a long and unusual weekend. Rick, too, seemed unaffected by jet lag.

  “Just wait,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to feel like we were broadsided by a double-decker bus.”

  Although he was content to watch television after Devin went home for the evening, I wanted to start working while I was still energized. After all, Arthur was missing. I pulled my hair up into a makeshift ponytail. “Rick, what kind of things did you and Arthur do while you were living here?”

  “We hung out. You know, movies, dance clubs. Stuff like that.”

  “Are those the kinds of things Arthur would still be interested in?”

  Rick leaned back against the couch, staring up at the five-inch crown molding. “Yeah, I guess he’d still be into that sort of thing.”

  I leaned forward, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Well, then, let’s check out some of those places. Now.”

  Rick blinked. “Tonight? I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t think we’re going to find Arthur at the movies.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I know we won’t see him there, but there’s a chance someone there may have seen him.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  I adjusted myself on the couch, crossing my legs. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking: Arthur comes here with a plan. He’s gonna take care of Henry’s thing, but, he packed a lot of clothes. And dropped his summer classes. Maybe there was something else he wanted to do. Maybe there was someone else he needed to see.”

  Although the thought of Francine Harris, the dead journalist, crossed my mind, I still couldn’t find a logical connection between the New York woman and London. Still the postmark on the envelope made me curious.

  “If that’s the case, that Arthur had other plans, you think those plans included vanishing for a while?”

  I furrowed my brow, considering the possibility. Finally, I shrugged. “It’s possible, Rick. I don’t know Arthur. There’s very little I know about him, to be honest. You’re his cousin, his friend. Does that sound like him? Would he disappear?”