“So first, just after nine last night, we get this guy in his twenties brought into accident and emergency. I don’t even know what he was on, but it was some crazy stuff. First he tried ripping his IV out, screaming that we were from the Men in Black and trying to erase his memory. So it took four of us to hold him down and convince him that no, we were not in fact going to erase his memory. We sedated him, and that was the end of that, but man. Hallucinogens are getting weird these days.”
“Oh, man,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s not even top three on the worst parts of last night’s shift though. About half an hour later, a woman came in with her husband. And she was big. Like, twenty-six stone big.”
“How heavy is that in normal people numbers?” I asked.
“Uhhh… three hundred and fifty pounds or so? Maybe a bit more? You Americans, you totally don’t get to make fun of the rest of the world for using weird and out-dated measurements,” Brianne teased. “Anyway, so she comes in complaining of abdominal pain. The first thing I notice is there’s this completely awful smell emanating from her.”
“Uh oh.”
“Yeah, exactly. So I start to move my hands under her panniculus, looking for any abnormalities.” A panniculus was the fancy doctor term for a large fat roll. “I’m pressing around, trying to find the source of her pain, when suddenly I feel something weird. I grab it, and pull it out. It was a piece of fried chicken. At least, that’s what I assume it was. It was covered in mould, and smelled worse than anything I’ve ever smelled before.”
“Ahhhhhhh, that’s so gross,” I squealed, laughing.
“I know! So I threw out the chicken in one of the medical waste bins, because I was pretty sure it could walk on its own again, and it turned out she had gallstones and is having her gallbladder removed, but ugh.”
Just then the waitress came by with our drinks and took our orders. While perusing the menu I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and I was actually starving. I ordered the fish and chips while Cassie ordered a burger and fries—“after the shift I’ve had, I’m allowed all the calories I can eat today”—and she continued her tales from the shift from hell.
“And just when I thought that was all I could handle for the day, the coppers come along with a man. The man got a bit drunk and decided to rob a home. So he breaks into the place and is on the ground, rummaging through a box of video games. The homeowner wakes up and grabs his crossbow, sees the man on the ground and shoots him with it. Right in the anus.”
I was laughing so hard I was almost crying. “Oh my God!”
“I know, right? So the cops are all around him, he’s on his stomach on the gurney, crying out in pain, and has to go for emergency surgery. I swear, it’s like the full moon came early this month.”
It had long been a myth—that a large number of medical professionals believe in—that the full moon leads to more admissions and crazier happenings in the emergency room than at any other time of the month. Personally, I didn’t believe in it. After all, that was crazy talk. But even those of us who didn’t believe in it still referred to the “full moon effect”.
“That sounds awful!”
“It was. Thankfully I didn’t have to be involved with that surgery, because I got called in to watch over the next one, which was a guy who had a house blow up over him as he was walking home.”
“Wait, in Belgravia?”
“Yeah, you heard about it?”
“I was there!” I quickly recounted everything about that night to Brianne. “So the guy is going to be ok?” I asked.
“Definitely. He suffered a bit of internal bleeding, and he has a broken foot, and a broken clavicle, so he’s not going to be comfortable for quite a while, but he’ll survive. He’s been coming in and out of consciousness; I only got to speak with him for a moment. I imagine in a few days he’ll be starting to get back to normal.”
“I’m really glad to hear that,” I replied.
“Absolutely. I met his wife when he came out of surgery. She was beside herself with worry. They live on Cadogan Lane, apparently he was walking back from the tube to go home. She said he’d stayed at work late for the first time in ages, he was trying to get some sort of big deal worked out. He works for an insurance company in Holborn.”
“Well all of a sudden I feel a lot less sorry for him,” I joked.
“Hey, hey, hey. It’s not like he’s a lawyer or something,” Brianne replied with a grin. “He was nice though. I stopped in on him, he wanted to know if anyone had died in the explosion, so I had to tell him about the two people living there.”
“Ah, that sucks.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s better than having to tell family members about a death though.”
“That’s true.”
The waitress brought our food by just then, and for the next few minutes Brianne and I ate in silence. The fish and chips were absolutely amazing. I had always been told that San Francisco had the best seafood in the world. And of course, that being American, we were the best at deep frying it. But I had to admit, as I bit into the crunchy haddock and followed it up with a perfectly crisp French fry and a forkful of mushy peas, the British absolutely had us beat when it came to fish and chips.
“So you’re solving crimes with the crazy genius again?” Brianne asked, and I nodded.
“I guess so. I mean, how can you say no when someone calls you up at two in the morning and tells you to come look at a dead body’s liver?”
Brianne laughed. “She’s good for you though. She’s absolutely insane, but she’s good for you.”
“Yeah, she is,” I admitted. I had moved to London after a strong bout of depression, and I had to admit that I’d been spending a little bit too much time sitting in my flat, unable to muster up the energy to go outside for anything other than food and walking Biscuit before Violet’s phone call.
“I’m totally going to want to meet her one day. I read an article on one of those online news sites the other week about her. Did you know she actually foiled a major terrorist plot in England last year?”
My eyebrows rose. “Did she really?”
“Yeah. The article was titled England’s greatest detective is actually French.”
I laughed. “If she sees it she’ll be mad,” I said, then put on a fake French accent. “Bah! I am the greatest detective not only in England, but the whole world! They could at least give me the proper credit!”
Brianne burst into a fit of giggles at my impression of Violet. “Is she really like that?”
“Yeah, she has an arrogant streak that she says she’s earned. But if you look past that, she’s genuinely a pretty nice person. She’s just a bit… weird.”
“I guess most geniuses are.”
Suddenly my phone buzzed. Violet told me we were going to meet Jake at four that afternoon, three hours from now. I groaned.
“What?”
“Violet wants me to go to the morgue with her.”
“So?”
“So Jake is totally going to be there.”
“Yeah, and speaking of people who are weird… you’re going to go, and you’re going to have a normal adult conversation with him, because you are an adult, not a five year old. Stop hiding from the guy you like because you’re being a weirdo.”
I groaned. “I’m not being a weirdo about this. It’s been so long now, it’s awkward.”
“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Life happens. Besides, he knows you’re messed up, because you admitted it to him on your first date. And you know he’s a keeper because he didn’t run away from you screaming right then and there.”
I sunk my head onto the table. “I’m not good with dating. Why are you on his side, anyway? You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend, that’s why I’m giving you this advice. Because I want you to bump naughty bits with the hot guy.”
“Is that a medical term? Bumping naughty bits? Is that what they’re teaching
you in medical school?”
“Stop trying to distract me from my excellent love life advice,” Brianne told me, wagging a finger at me. “It’s not going to work. Go to the morgue. Act like a normal human being in front of Jake. Maybe he’ll ask you out again. Maybe he won’t. No matter what happens though, don’t panic and ask him to marry you.”
“I’m not that bad,” I muttered.
“Just making sure,” Brianne laughed.
“Fine,” I sighed, exasperated. “I’ll go, and I’ll try not to look like an idiot.”
“That’s pretty much my goal every time I get out of bed in the morning,” Brianne replied as she took a big swig of her drink.
Chapter 5
We finished eating and drinking around two, with Brianne begging off because she was sure she was about to nod off right there in the booth if she didn’t get home soon. I headed back to my flat, certain that Biscuit was going to give me hell about not feeding him breakfast this morning. I figured I would feed the little guy—and maybe throw in a Temptations treat or two to beg for forgiveness—and then take him for a quick walk before heading over to the morgue.
Walking down Eldon Road, however, I quickly noticed something was wrong. And it wasn’t that my detective powers were getting better, it was that six big, black SUVs were parked in front of Violet’s townhouse. At first, I told myself it was none of my business. After all, Violet led a weird life. Maybe she was expecting visitors. Visitors who came in giant SUVs that I very rarely saw on the streets of London. This was a city of luxury sedans, fuel efficient Smart cars and scooters. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen an Escalade in this city, let alone six of them.
I went into my flat, where Biscuit immediately began meowing loudly at me. Evidently I was being scolded for forgetting breakfast.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I told him, putting some food in a bowl that he pounced on as soon as it hit the ground. As I listened to my little cat eating, I looked out my front window to Violet’s place.
“Listen little guy, I’ll be back soon, ok? At least, I hope so,” I muttered as I went back out the door. I walked over to Violet’s house, a gorgeous white building. Climbing the five or so steps to the front door, I put my hand up to knock, then realized that if Violet was truly in trouble, that wouldn’t exactly be the smartest idea.
Instead, I slowly tried the door and found it was unlocked. As it creaked open, my breath caught in my throat. What if something really bad was happening? What if Violet was being held at gunpoint by a crazy person she’d had arrested in the past? I paused in the doorway as I heard voices coming from further back in the house. Wasn’t the kitchen back there?
I gathered my nerves and forced myself to make my way through the study and back to the kitchen. I saw four men at first, they were all standing with their feet spread apart, hands in front of them. All of them wore dark suits. I didn’t see any weapons. That was a good sign, at least.
As I walked down the study toward the kitchen, I stopped next to a wrought-iron floor lamp, grabbing it by one hand I called out “Violet, are you all right?”
Instantly the voices all stopped.
“I am fine, Cassie. You can come into the kitchen, it is all right. I am simply having a bit of a chat with some gentlemen from the government.”
I tentatively let go of the lamp and made my way into the kitchen. Violet was sitting on top of the kitchen table, her legs crossed, an amused smile on her face. The men, on the other hand, looked like they’d just come from a funeral. Not a single one of them was smiling. There were four men against the wall, and one standing a few steps further forward.
“This is the woman you were with at the crime scene this morning,” the man said.
“Congratulations, your observational powers are second to none,” Violet replied, clapping her hands sarcastically. “I can see why MI5 has chosen you to lead this investigation.” The man glared at her while I looked at Violet, confused.
“MI5?” I asked.
“Yes,” the man replied. “I am Agent Tompkins from MI5. I am here to tell Miss Despuis here that she is no longer welcome to investigate the deaths of Jenny and Kevin Lin.”
“The government says I am not allowed to do a lot of things,” Violet said from her spot on the kitchen table. “I am not allowed to murder people. I am not allowed to vote in this country. I am not allowed to enter the City of London in a vehicle without paying a tax. And yet today I am honored by them sending me my very own secret agent to tell me that I am not allowed to do my job.”
Agent Tompkins was obviously getting annoyed at Violet’s glib demeanour, and I had to admit, I found it a little bit funny. A single vein in his neck began to pulsate as he took a deep breath before answering her.
“Your job is not to investigate murders. And while the police occasionally tolerate you because you solve cases for them, I do not tolerate it. You are not to investigate this murder.”
“Ah, because you think you can solve it yourself, do you?”
“Yes, as we have done with thousands of other cases in the past, without your help.”
“Oh I am not certain that is completely true,” Violet said dreamily, her eyes moving to the ceiling. “In fact, I believe it was less than a year ago. But ah, I cannot speak of it. It is classified, and above your pay grade. But I can tell you that I most definitely have helped your organization in the past.”
Two of the men against the wall dared share a glance with each other while Agent Tompkins clenched his fists against his sides. Violet was definitely getting to him.
“I don’t care what stories you’re making up. This murder investigation has national security implications. The Prime Minister herself has made evident her desire to have this case cleared up as quickly as possible. I will not have an amateur running around playing Hercule Poirot.”
“Ah, but I am not Hercule Poirot,” Violet said, straightening herself up. “I am French, not Belgian.”
“I don’t give a sh…” Tompkins started before stopping and taking a breath. “I do not care what you think of yourself. I do not care where you are from. Stay the hell away from this murder investigation. You and your American friend. I’m warning you.”
“I’m actually Canadian,” I interrupted. I didn’t know why I said it. I just thought it would be funny. Evidently, Violet did as well, though her smile was almost imperceptible.
“Yes, I can see the Queen’s finest is on the case,” Violet said, jumping off from the table.
“I don’t care where she’s from,” Tompkins spat.
“Well, before you leave, I will give you a little bit of help,” Violet said. “Kevin and Jenny Lin’s father is Taiwanese. That is an island, off the coast of mainland China. I recommend you download Google Maps onto your phone and have a look before you visit the embassy. It would truly be embarrassing if you caused an international incident by visiting the embassy of the People’s Republic of China instead. That one is the very big country in the middle of Asia.”
This time I let out an audible giggle. Tompkins’ face was starting to look strongly like a tomato.
“We’re not done here,” he growled as Violet headed back to the front door.
“Oh, but we are,” she sang. “You’ve said your piece. You have come here thinking that I would be scared of parked cars and men in suits, waving your government credentials around in a way that makes me think you must be overcompensating for something. You do not want me to investigate a murder. I have understood. I simply disagree with your opinion that I am not needed. Also, I recommend that you take flowers to your wife tonight. She has not been pleased with you lately.”
Violet stood in front of the door and waited patiently. Sure enough, a minute later, Tompkins made his way back to the door, his men following noiselessly behind. I could tell Tompkins wanted to ask about the comment about his wife, but kept his feelings to himself.
“As glib as you may be about the situation, I assure you, Miss Despui
s, it is deathly serious,” Tompkins said to her between clenched teeth as he stood on her doorstep. “If I find you messing around with this investigation, I will have you arrested and imprisoned.”
Rather than answering, Violet simply closed the door in Tompkins’ face.
Violet turned to me and broke into a giant grin. “Well, that certainly was an interesting conversation, was it not?”
“They were MI5. Why are the secret agents taking over this case?” I asked.
“Well, really MI5 is the equivalent of your FBI, or it is as close an approximation as is possible between the two agencies. I am not very surprised that MI5 has taken control of this case, although I did expect it to take at least twenty-four hours before they sunk their teeth into it. Because the victims were the children of a very high-level diplomat, MI5 is involved to make it seem as though the Crown sees this as being a case involving national security.”
“But they were just college kids.”
“College kids who possibly had access to important secrets. I remind you that as of yet we do not know what reason is behind their killings. Yes, if I was MI5 I would have taken over this case as well. Although, I likely would have put a slightly less pompous moron than Alexander Tompkins in charge of it.”
“I gathered that the two of you didn’t exactly get along. I saw a bunch of black SUVs in front of your place and thought maybe you were in trouble; that was why I came in.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw Violet’s eyes soften slightly.
“Ah. Well I thank you, although I promise you, I had everything under control,” she said, motioning for me to follow her to the front window. Violet drew away the blinds and waved down the street toward my house. I saw the figure of Mrs. Michaels, the eighty-something year old widow who served as my landlady. She was standing in front of her living room window, holding something against her hip… oh my God!
“Is that an Uzi?” I asked Violet incredulously as Mrs. Michaels casually returned the wave, as if they were just ordinary neighbors saying hello.
Bombing in Belgravia (A Cozy Mystery) (Cassie Coburn Mysteries Book 2) Page 3