by Ben Hopkin
* * *
There were so many moments that Kyra was taken by off guard when it came to Kent. But after watching him insult and manipulate person after person today, what ended up being the most shocking was watching him be… polite.
What the hell was going on right now?
From the moment he’d come back from his ill-advised cell phone conversation, Kent had been… Okay, polite was too strong a word. So was civil. But not openly arrogant or condescending? Hell, Kyra would take it.
Except for the fact that she didn’t trust it for a moment. Something was going on here, and she was pretty sure that she wasn’t going to enjoy the endgame.
That wasn’t true either, at least not completely. She probably would enjoy it. In fact, the more time she spent with Kent, the more she realized how much she resembled him. Under normal circumstances, she was the one that was shocking and offending everyone around. And her team, mostly Jacques, were the ones that had to pick up the pieces.
Fascinating, and more than a little maddening, to be on the other side of it.
The constant lecturing from Jacques on how to deal with clients must have started to sink in. The problem was, she so much preferred Kent’s way of doing things. Go in, stir the pot, see what came to the surface. Do your job, do it better than anyone else, screw the consequences.
Seemed to have worked out pretty well for Kent.
So that’s why his current obsequious behavior… anything short of an out-and-out insult could be considered obsequious for him… toward Lord Rhys was so out of character.
“So that’s how you get into the House of Lords?” Kent asked, his eyes wide. “I had no idea.”
“Yes, well, so often there is that American misunderstanding of how the original example of Parliament is supposed to work, don’t you see? There’s no permanence over there. No sense of history.”
“Wow. I never saw it that way before. Tell me more.”
Kyra did what she could not to roll her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil the buttering up that was happening right now. Especially after she’d had to talk Lord Rhys down after Kent’s cell phone interruption. That had nearly turned into an international incident.
“So what purpose does this tea meeting serve?” Kyra asked, finding herself in the place of the one that was interrupting. Having Kent on his best behavior was interfering with her style more than a little bit.
“It’s something Superintendent Locroft and I came up with a year or two ago,” the Baron said. “He was looking for a way to improve morale and interoffice communication. I provide the meal as an incentive for the department to get together and share ideas on current cases.”
“That seems like a perfect way to marry tradition with modern efficiency models,” Kyra replied, thinking about how something similar might benefit her team. They worked so cohesively when they were in the middle of something serious, but the day-to-day interactions could get a bit tedious.
Stepping out of the elevator onto the twentieth floor, Kyra led the way to the conference room, where most of the department had already gathered and were beginning to pour themselves some tea. In addition to the finger sandwiches that she’d been expecting, there was also a selection of scones and crumpets, the latter of which several of the inspectors were buttering and then covering with a thick layer of jam or marmalade.
Beside her, Kent made a sound somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.
“Beg pardon?” Lord Rhys asked, looking sharply at the profiler. It was clear that no matter what sort of behavior Kent was exhibiting right at the moment, the man didn’t trust the American farther than he could knock him with a cricket bat.
Kent turned his groan into a cough. “Nothing. Not used to London weather. Are those crumpets? And cucumber sandwiches?”
“Why yes, they are. Quite tasty.” The Baron moved off in search of some food, waving to Locroft, who was peering at Kent and Kyra with a mixture of apprehension and expectation. About par for the course, as far as Kyra could tell.
“What are you doing?” Kyra whispered to Kent, now that the Baron was across the room from them.
Kent’s eyes were wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sponge cake?” he asked, pointing toward one of the baked goods on the table nearest them. In addition to the scones, crumpets and what looked to be cucumber and smoked salmon sandwiches, there was another table completely devoted to pastries.
Kent scooped up a plate and loaded it with several slices of the various cakes. There was a Battenberg cake, with its distinctive checkerboard pattern of pink and yellow squares, as well as a Victoria sponge cake with raspberry jam. There was a scent of almond extract that was wafting up from the table, probably from the maraschino cherries atop one of the confections.
Kyra sighed and picked up one of the heavy silver teapots that lined the tables and poured herself a cup of tea. She could do with some caffeine in her system after dealing with Kent’s antics all morning. The man was brilliant. And a stimulant shot to her system might help her be able to keep up.
It wasn’t just his way of keeping everyone around him off-balance. That was fascinating enough. But what really made the man so much of a challenge was trying to anticipate his next move. Just when Kyra began to think that she had a grasp on what was happening, Kent was off in another, completely unexpected, direction.
She poured some cream into her tea, watching the swirl of the thick, white fluid as it blended with the darker tea. Kyra didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so she generally took her tea and coffee without sweetener.
As she was lifting her cup to drink, a hand lashed out and struck the cup from her grip. Kyra whirled about, ready to confront whomever it was that had kept her from her afternoon pick-me-up, when she heard a gasp from somewhere else in the conference room.
There in front of her was Kent, and he was peering about the group of collected law enforcement. Several of the inspectors were staggering about, seemingly confused. Two more had collapsed.
One woman, who was a bit overweight, had fallen so that her skirt had hiked up around her thighs and was convulsing on the floor. Her head struck the tile of the floor repeatedly, with a sound that was horrifying. Something about the indignity of that sight added to Kyra’s mounting sense of dread.
Kent pointed at one of the teapots that dotted the room. One word fell from the profiler’s lips.
“Poison.”
CHAPTER 10
Nicole worked to make sure her jaw wasn’t hanging open. Awestruck. That was what she was feeling. Completely gobsmacked, as the British might say.
Down on the lower levels, everything was more haphazard and crammed together. Row after row of statues, pottery, friezes… all of them placed atop white bases and squeezed in like sardines in a can.
The lighting was stark and unflattering, the floor obviously less kept up than those up above. It was as if these glorious pieces of art had been sent down below to die an ignominious death, and then be buried in a mausoleum. A crypt for antiquities. The whole floor was a complete and utter mess.
Nicole loved it.
These were exhibits that had much more limited exhibition times, and so were most often inaccessible to the public. And Nicole was being given access to them all. With a running commentary that continued to be as interesting, or more, than the pieces themselves.
Right now, Cordelia was escorting her through the Wolfson galleries, where there were huge collections of Roman and Greek sculptures. In front of her was an urn with delicate images carved in relief all along its surface. The work was exquisite in its detail.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Cordelia breathed as she leaned in beside Nicole to examine the surface of the large and ancient container. “Let everyone else stare at the Rosetta Stone. I appreciate finesse.”
Nicole could only nod as she let her eyes wander over the carvings. The figures she was examining were of two men, one clothed, the other naked. The clothed man had his arm draped over the other’s s
houlder. There was no overt homoeroticism about the scene, but the musculature on the naked man’s torso was so precise that she could feel the man was on the point of stepping off the urn.
Standing back from the ancient stone work of art, Nicole breathed out her admiration. “This is… It’s amazing,” she said.
Cordelia smiled. “I haven’t taken you everywhere yet. There’s something I wanted to show you, but I wasn’t positive if you would enjoy it.”
It was five-thirty and the museum was closing. The guards were beginning to make their way toward the exits. Several made obeisance to the Lady Blackwater, but none made any move to force them to leave.
The main lights overhead went out, leaving only minimum work illumination in their absence. It was a twilight world they had entered, but Nicole thought she could still see a mischievous gleam in Cordelia’s eye. What exactly did this regal woman have in mind?
Only one way to find out.
Nicole motioned for her to lead the way. After seeing so many wonderful pieces of art here at the museum, she couldn’t imagine the older woman leading her astray even for a moment.
They moved toward a door marked “ACCESS LIMITED TO MUSEUM STAFF”. There, Cordelia brought out a collection of keys and found the one that fit the lock. As the door opened, Nicole spied a set of stairs going down.
A basement to the basement?
This was turning out to be the best day ever.
* * *
The space looked like a tornado had hit it. Which wasn’t too far from the truth. When immediate action was taken, Kent knew how to make it count.
After striking the cup out of Kyra’s hand, Kent had run through the room, doing the same for anyone holding one of the porcelain cups. Most of the tables and chairs went down during that frantic twenty seconds. By the fifth or sixth shattered teacup, people seemed to get the idea and placed them down with shaking hands.
Kent noticed that the cups were hand-painted with incredible detail and had that fragile look that antiques often possessed. This may have been an incredibly expensive afternoon tea.
The fact that Kent could recognize that fact, he blamed on his new wife. At what other point in his life had he paid that much attention to chick stuff? Although the death angle might turn it back into an area that was more masculine. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to take a poll on that one, though.
Kyra was staring at him like she’d just seen the face of God. Well, he had saved her life, so he supposed some level of gratitude was appropriate.
In the end, out of the twenty-three men and women that had been in the conference room, thirteen had consumed at least a small amount of tea. Of those, eleven had been pronounced dead at the scene, with two more being sent to the hospital. Only one of those two was still alive, and was being listed in critical condition.
Twelve dead.
Locroft and His Holiness the Baron weren’t among those who had succumbed. Kent was still trying to assess whether or not that was a good thing.
There was one take-away from this afternoon’s light meal. Cyanide wasn’t something to screw around with.
After that first sound of shattering porcelain and splashing tea, the aftermath became evident almost immediately. It hadn’t been more than a few minutes more before it was clear that everyone who had drunk any tea had been affected.
The only poison that worked that fast and could be ingested through liquid was cyanide. That, combined with the scent of almonds that Kent had taken to be one of the pastries that might have gotten an extra dose of extract, and you had a recipe for death that was clearly potent.
“How could this have happened?” raged Locroft. “This is a secure facility!”
There were tears in the man’s eyes, evidence of his strong feelings toward the people under his command. There was no British reserve here.
“Obvious,” Kent answered, even thought the question hadn’t been directed at him. Time to take control of this runaway train. “This was the work of someone with access.”
“You mean an inside job?” Kyra asked. Kent was gratified to note that she seemed to have shaken off her newfound awe of him, which would make their work here a lot easier.
“No, not necessarily,” he corrected. “Just someone that could get close to the meal.”
The idea of a mole in law enforcement was a common one, but it was a lot harder in fact than it might be in the abstract. Hiding destructive impulses from one’s co-workers on a regular basis was much more difficult that most people might expect. There was a reason serial killers had a tendency to be loners. The ones who weren’t were discovered, usually before they could kill.
People’s emotional radar could be manipulated, but most killers had no idea how to do it. So the strangeness that existed in their souls that allowed for murder to be an option would come out eventually. They might be able to pass for a day, a week, a month. But long term? Not likely. Not for the majority of them.
“Why is the distinction important?” Locroft growled after a moment when he had seemed to be processing Kent’s statement. From the tone of his voice, it sounded like the Superintendent was battling with a desire to strangle Kent and another, stronger impulse to listen to him.
“Because we’re not looking for a policeman,” Kyra interrupted, and Kent suppressed a smile. It hadn’t taken her long to get up to speed. All Kent had needed was to introduce the idea, and the girl had run with it.
“Who provides the meal?” Kent asked. “This isn’t something that comes out of the departmental budget.”
The Baron, who had been staring forlornly at the broken tea sets scattered around the room, looked up at that. He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands against his slacks.
“I am the one that brings in the tea. It’s not a common thing, just something I do every so often when the lads are working a tough case.” He peered about at the destruction. “This is devastating.”
Whether he was talking about the loss of life or the loss of the tea services was unclear, but Kent needed a different answer right now. He turned to Locroft.
“Who did this?”
Locroft’s face stretched back in a mask of shock. “You think I know who did this?” His tone went up so high that his voice cracked. “That is the most offensive thing I’ve heard all day.”
“Oh, just wait,” Kent answered with a wink. But at that point, Kyra stepped in.
“That’s not what he’s implying,” she stated. “He wants you to tell him, without thinking about it, who this might have been.”
Again, smart. It was almost as if Kyra was reading his mind, there was such a high level of connection between them. This was close to the level that he worked on with Nicole, and that was after years of experience together.
Powerful stuff.
Locroft’s expression, in the meantime, had gone blank, and it appeared that the blood had rushed out of his face. Whatever had come to his mind, it wasn’t anything pleasant. The Superintendent glanced over at the Baron, who was looking at the man with a strange expression on his face.
“No,” Locroft said finally. “I can’t think of anyone.” His gaze held on Lord Rhys for a long moment, then dropped to the floor. “We’ll have to just go through a list of the staff that had access to the tea services.”
“That’s the entire building, pretty much,” spoke up one of the women, an inspector that had managed to avoid the death sentence of the tea.
“Start with all the ones who didn’t drink the tea,” Kyra urged.
Good thinking. When it came to the Brits and their tea, once it was out, it was as good as consumed. The fact that there were more than half of the group that had abstained was odd, even when taking into consideration good manners.
Some of them might have been waiting for Locroft and Rhys to serve themselves before they partook, but there were thirteen of them who hadn’t. It didn’t pan out as an excellent excuse.
“Also, take a look at Rhys’ staff as well,” Kent said. Lord Rhys whipp
ed his head around, his expression one of defensive affront. “Sorry, dude. It came from your palace, or whatever.”
“It isn’t a palace,” the Baron groused, as he motioned for a man standing just outside the door to come in. The man was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He was either one of the Men in Black, or he was a part of Lord Rhys’ staff.
“Who else came in with you?” Kent asked the man, who was blonde haired with striking blue eyes. Nothing at all like the Baron’s ink black hair and dark orbs, indicative of his Welsh heritage.
The server hesitated, his gaze drifting over to Lord Rhys before answering. That was twice that Kent had seen that same response. Something was going on here.
“Ah, just another server, sir,” he answered with the deference of the consummate professional. “She went back to the residence to clean up. Left me to stay behind to monitor the tea here.”
“Did you notice anything unusual as you were bringing the food here?” Kyra asked.
Again, a brief pause, although it was shorter this time. “No. Not at all.”
Well, this was interesting.
So far, as far as Kent could tell, everyone he had questioned was lying through their teeth.
* * *
Kyra could sense Kent’s train of thought as if he was speaking his thoughts out loud. From the moment the profiler had knocked her cup out of her hand, Kyra had seen him as if he was outlined in a nimbus of light.
Not that he was some sort of an angel. Far from it. The light accentuated his quirks. The stubble of his cheeks. The way he cocked his head from time to time as he questioned those left in the room.
Even his scent, that combination of spice and something darker, now seemed to have a bright note running through it, adding to its intoxicating effects. His smell made it difficult for Kyra to think.
So she stared at one of the bodies on the floor. It was the woman who had gone into convulsions, the one that had convinced Kyra of her peril.
The sight of that dead woman, with the crime scene investigators beginning to swarm about her, managed to clear her head in seconds. There was something strange about this whole scenario, beyond the fact that a killer had just taken out twelve of their number.