“So, his body’s lying in a ditch somewhere waiting to be discovered.”
“In all likelihood, yes.”
I shook my head. “That’s crazy. All these murders were made to look like something else. A motorcycle crash, someone visiting a sick relative overseas, and a suicide.”
“Someone really wants that algorithm. And now that they managed to access Amelia Waters’ computer, they have it. I hope whoever did it does not want Peter Alcott dead that badly.”
“So, you don’t think he’s a suspect anymore then?”
Violet shrugged. “Who knows. He was convincing, but I have met many murderers in the past who were just as convincing.”
“Wait, so you possibly just told a murderer to flee the country?”
“I would rather allow a murderer to flee than to allow an innocent man to be killed by remaining here,” Violet replied. “Besides, it is not as though the world is infinitely vast; if it turns out he is the murderer and he has fled, I will find him all the same.”
I smiled at Violet’s arrogance. “So, what’s the plan for today? We need to find out why anyone would want that algorithm?”
“Yes, we do,” Violet said thoughtfully. “That is an interesting question, that. Still, I want to talk with Oliver Hollingsworth, Earl of Norwich.”
“Wait, the guy she was dating was an Earl? That’s like, important here, right?”
Violet tried to hide a smile. “Yes, the peerage in Great Britain is still significant. Oliver Hollingsworth is a man of both great riches–he is known to be one of the savviest investors in the country–and of great power. The earrings and handbag that Amelia was given were proof the owner was a man of means, and when Layla told me his name was Oliver, I immediately thought of Hollingsworth, a man who keeps a large stable in Norwich which has produced a large number of the UK’s most famous horses over the past fifteen years.”
“Oh yeah, those sound like normal facts any normal person should know,” I said. How on earth did Violet know that off the top of her head?
“It is my job to know these things; if I did not know them we would still not know who Amelia Waters’ boyfriend was.”
“True, so what’s the plan?”
“We go to find him at his club,” Violet replied with a smile. “But first, we are going to have to change.”
Chapter 9
So far in my life, when someone asked me if I wanted to go to a club, they meant pounding music, questionable dancing and copious amounts of alcohol.
It was absolutely nothing like this.
We were at the corner of Pall Mall and Waterloo Square, staring at a phenomenal white building. Stand-alone both in location and in style, the Athenaeum Club was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The three-story tall white building was style and class epitomized. The entrance was marked by six Corinthian columns, topped with a golden statue of Athena herself, which shone brightly even on this overcast day. The exterior wall of the second floor was decorated with a bas-relief frieze against a blue background, and the third floor was set back slightly, allowing for a large balcony space.
No wonder Violet had made us change.
She was now wearing a form-fitting grey dress that went down to just past her knees, with a gold belt to hold it in place. I had borrowed from Violet’s closet and was now wearing an azure dress with a Queen Anne neckline that just reached my knees. My normal purse was now a black designer clutch, and I’d traded in my sneakers for a pair of kitten heels–with my knee never having gone quite back to 100 percent, high heels had a tendency to irritate it after long periods of time.
We entered through the wooden doors, and made our way toward a well-dressed man.
“We are guests of Sir Charles Dartmouth,” Violet told him. “He is expecting us in the coffee room.”
“Of course,” the man replied deferentially, bowing slightly to us. “Please, follow me.”
We were led through to a room so incredible I felt small and insignificant just standing in it. Thick, deep red curtains with gold accents hung from the windows, while old-world style chandeliers hung low from the ornate ceilings. The plush carpet was the same deep red as the curtains, also accented with gold. The white walls were tastefully decorated, with just a hint of gold here and there, and the room was filled with small square tables that allowed four people to sit at each.
A low hum from the club members floated across the room while waiters danced between the tables carrying trays of food and drink; I was pretty sure just one piece of cutlery here was worth more than all the dishes I owned combined. This was obviously a meeting place of the elite, and I tried not to look around and gape as I followed Violet between the rows of mahogany tables.
As soon as he saw us, a tall, thin man in a tweed jacket with a small grey mustache and thinning hair stood up with a smile.
“Violet Despuis!” he said, opening his arms wide as Violet made her way toward him and double kissed him on the cheek.
“Charles,” she replied with a smile.
“You look as ravishing as ever, Violet,” he said. “And your friend as well.”
“This is Cassie Coburn,” Violet said as I held out a hand, which the man promptly shook. “Cassie, this is Sir Charles Dartmouth, an old friend.”
“You must be quite the woman, to manage to be friends with Violet,” he told me with a warm smile that reached his eyes. His accent was the epitome of high English; he sounded like he could have been best friends with Prince Charles. In fact, given the clientele that seemed to be here, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was.
“Thanks,” I said, blushing. “She can be a handful, but she is very interesting.”
“Oh yes,” Charles said. “When I got a phone call from her last night requesting an invitation to breakfast here at The Athenaeum, how could I say no? After all, Violet does not make social calls, and so whatever she has planned is bound to be entertaining.”
Violet couldn’t hide her small smile. “Perhaps.”
Just then a waiter came by, handing us each a menu, and Violet ordered a coffee while Charles and I each ordered some tea.
“So how do you know Violet?” I inquired politely, and Charles smiled.
“We have similar business interests,” he replied.
“Charles deals in information,” Violet clarified. “Well, that and the stock market.”
“Information is far more valuable than technology ever will be,” Charles told me. “But it does help to have a more legitimate front. Now tell me, because I am curious, what is it about you that Violet makes you the only human being she has ever taken along with her on a case?”
“So, you saw the picture of us in The London Post-Tribune this morning?” I asked, and got a wink in reply. “Well, I think the main thing I have going for me is that I don’t complain too much when Violet poisons me with nightshade by accident and I end up in the hospital.”
“You have done nothing but complain about that since yesterday!” Violet replied, while Charles burst out laughing.
“Stories like that are why I adore Violet’s company,” Charles said. “Although I must say, I would absolutely not have the fortitude to handle those sorts of adventures on a daily basis, I prefer to hear about them later in a comfortable setting such as this one.”
The waiter returned with our drinks just then, and while Charles and I placed breakfast orders–I imagined if anywhere was going to make a delicious eggs benedict it was here–but Violet declined. I wondered why, but I was sure Violet had a plan. When the waiter left, she turned toward me.
“Charles here has placed himself perfectly to get a good view of the show. If you look directly behind me, the man at the next table facing us, you should recognize him as Oliver Hollingsworth, the man who was dating Amelia Waters at the time of her death.”
I looked behind Violet and sure enough, the same older man with the charming smile was currently entertaining three other men, the quartet all dressed in full three-piece suits.
Violet got up from the table and I watched with bated breath as she made her way toward the table next to ours. I had no idea what was about to happen.
“Oliver Hollingsworth, I thought you would be here,” Violet said, making her way to their table and holding out a hand. Hollingsworth looked Violet up and down for a second before extending his own hand and shaking.
“Violet Despuis, you’re the private detective. What are you doing here?” he asked, the smile on his face leading to ice cold eyes.
“I have some questions to ask you about Amelia Waters,” Violet said confidently, although the men around the table were now giving each other glances, wondering who this intruder was. “It is my understanding you were dating her.”
“Well if that’s your understanding, I won’t deny it.”
“Did you kill her?” Violet asked, and I saw a facial muscle in Hollingsworth’s face twitch, although he managed to keep the smile in place.
“I did not,” he replied.
“Where were you in the afternoon two days ago?”
“I was at the Queenwood Golf Club, enjoying a round with a few friends,” he replied. “Not that I have to explain myself to you.”
“Did you know about the program she was working on, the mathematical probability one?”
“Listen, Violet, I was dating Amelia, yes. And she was a nice girl. But I wasn’t much interested in her maths skills, if you know what I mean. Now, look, I’m trying to have a nice breakfast here. I’ve answered your questions, now stop harassing me in front of my friends.”
“All right, well, you say you did not kill her, so I will go,” Violet replied, turning back toward the door. I noticed palpable relief among Hollingsworth’s friends, but after Violet had taken three steps away, she stopped and turned back around. “But you know, I do have one more question. You are the kind of man who would prey on a naïve university student fresh from the country. You are the kind of man who would give her earrings and a handbag in exchange for her company, until eventually you pressure her into having sex with you, because you cannot attract a confident, young woman of the world on your own. What happened? Did she reject your advances? Did she tell you–rightfully–that purchasing her some expensive things did not give you the right to her body? Did you get angry, after having to ride a creaking lift which smelled of mildew up to her apartment?”
“How… how dare you?” Hollingsworth spluttered out, his face turning purple. “I’m one of the most powerful men in the country, I can have any woman I want. So I wanted to make a country girl happy for a little while. I can get along with anyone, regardless of class, I don’t need to buy them things. So what if the lift in her building smells like mold. If you’ve ever been in a stable, you know that’s nothing. I bought her those things to make her happy, to bring a bit of joy into her life. There were no strings attached and I certainly didn’t kill her in anger.”
Not only were the men at the table looking uncomfortable, but now after Hollingsworth’s outburst, but now all other conversation in the room had stopped, as the other diners all looked toward the drama developing at the Hollingsworth table.
Violet simply laughed at him in return, and his face turned another shade of purple. “Do you honestly believe that? That a brilliant young woman fell for a man like you, whose hair is starting to grey, because of your charm? That she would willingly let herself be groped by someone old enough to be her father?”
“Women like power,” Hollingsworth growled at her. “And I have lots of power.”
“You do! You have the power to buy sapphire earrings, and Balenciaga handbags. And I am certain that Amelia loved how the earrings glittered in the light in the selfies she took, even as she and her roommate giggled about how out-of-touch you are with her generation. I am not judging; after all, prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, you were simply going about it in a legal way.”
“That’s enough!” Hollingsworth roared, stepping toward Violet and grabbing her violently by the arm.
“Be careful, please,” Violet said, completely calmly. “I am rather fond of this arm, and do not want it to bruise. Just as I am sure you are rather fond of your nose being the shape it currently holds on your face.”
A smile tugged at my lips as I realized Violet had just threatened the man.
“Oliver,” one of the men at his table said quietly, and for a moment afterwards it was as though the world was standing still, until finally it was as though Oliver Hollingsworth realized what he was doing and let go of Violet’s arm.
“I’m calling for security,” he announced.
“It is all right, I can see myself out,” Violet said to the man making his way toward her, and as she turned to the door she winked to the both of us, just as the waiter came by and put our food down in front of us.
I felt a little bit awkward. After all, should I go after Violet? Would that look weird? We were guests of Charles Dartmouth; would it be rude to leave him here? Luckily, a moment later Violet sent me a text.
Enjoy your breakfast with Charles, text me when you are finished and I will meet you outside.
“Now you know why I accepted Violet’s invitation for breakfast,” Charles laughed as he poured me some more tea. “You’re welcome to go, of course, but if you’d like to stay I’d welcome your company.”
“Of course I’ll stay,” I replied with a smile as I picked up my knife and fork. “Although I will admit to feeling slightly out of place here; medical school was expensive and my mom wasn’t rich, so I was more used to take-out and cheap tacos than this sort of thing.”
“Oh, well you’re in better company than you would expect here,” Charles told me. “The Athenaeum Club was originally created for the intellectual elite. This club has had members that have won Nobel Prizes in every category. Charles Darwin was a member here as well, among others. Having a brain and being able to use it is often more of an advantage here than being born into the right family.”
“Unless your plan is to harass existing members in the middle of breakfast, apparently,” I replied with a small smile, and Charles laughed.
“Oh yes, well, I believe Violet will be quite chuffed for having been allowed to exit via the front doors after that stunt, but if she ever applied to be a member here there would no doubt be many who would second the motion. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if a certain man’s membership were revoked after that little scene, and I can’t say I’ll be displeased when it is,” he added, and I realized then that Violet had goaded him into anger on purpose.
“She’s really not worried about looking like an idiot in public,” I said.
“Well, it’s all in the pursuit of her murderer. I know all too well what lengths she goes to catch them. But you’re a doctor, you say?”
“I didn’t quite finish my degree. I got hit by a car six months before graduation so I can no longer be a surgeon.”
“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “That’s a shame. I wondered about you since I saw you on the cover of The London Post-Tribune this morning with Violet.”
“Oh yeah, that,” I replied, my disgust for the paper evident in my voice.
“Eddie Cornwall is just upset that his boy’s going to jail. Serves him right for letting the boy get away with anything and everything as a child. I can prove nothing, but let’s just say this wasn’t the first crime Edward Cornwall Junior should have gone to prison for. He’ll get over it.”
“Well, it would be nice if he didn’t rake Violet’s name through the mud in the meantime.”
Charles nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it certainly would.”
“Anyway, thank you for the lovely breakfast conversation,” I said as our plates were cleared away.
“My pleasure,” Charles replied, standing. He leaned over and did the double kiss on the cheek, but before pulling away, leaned close to me. “If you really want Cornwall to
stop writing about Violet, I recommend that you do a bit of digging yourself. Perhaps look into the works of their star reporter, the one who wrote that article. He thinks wide, globally. You should too.”
“Thank you,” I replied, not entirely sure what Charles meant by that, but I’d spent enough time around Violet to know that way too many of her acquaintances spoke in riddles.
“Take care of yourself, it was nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I said, giving Charles a smile before turning and leaving the room, texting Violet on my way out that I was ready to meet back up with her.
Chapter 10
“Did Charles enjoy the show?” Violet asked me when I crossed the street after leaving the Athenaeum and met up with her.
“He did, he mentioned to me that Oliver Hollingsworth is likely to have his membership to the club revoked after that.”
Violet grinned. “It was easier than I thought to provoke the man; control over one’s emotions is one of the most important things in life, and Oliver Hollingsworth has none. Unfortunately for us, however, he did not kill Amelia Waters.”
“How do you know that? Did you check his alibi?”
Violet shook her head. “There was no need. I mentioned the flatmate’s name being Sarah, instead of Jessie, and that the building had a lift. He made no movement to correct me on the flatmate’s name, which would by itself be understandable, but then he implied that he had been in the lift at Amelia’s apartment. Of course, the building has none, which means that he has never been to Amelia Waters’ apartment, where she was killed.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “That’s some clever trickery.”
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