“Do you think those books are in Fergus’s library? What would we be looking for?”
“Leather-bound books with titles in Russian. That’s all we know.”
“They shouldn’t be hard to find though,” I said. “I’ll organize a search as soon as we get back.”
The thought of searching for books reminded me of Duncan’s surreptitious sweep of the library. And Lucy’s unexpected offer to help Fergus with his book inventory. Had they actually been looking for these Russian novels? There was something else, another thought swirling through my head, but I couldn’t pin it down.
Alistair was watching me, his head angled to one side like a bird. “You’ve come up with something?”
“What if we've been focusing on the wrong treasure? What if it's not an egg we should be looking for, but something much older?”
Alistair met my gaze and nodded. “Something that has already been killed for. Many centuries ago."
“You and I both saw the vision of Agnes Fenton holding the codex before she was murdered,” I said. “There has to be a reason for that.”
Alistair nodded. “The Tsarina was the latest known owner of the codex. Let’s assume she gave it to Anna for safety, along with her other valuables. Maybe Anna understood the true value of the codex, maybe she didn’t, but she did know that her beloved mistress, Alexandra, had treasured it. Anna would have wanted to ensure it survived the coming war. What if she deliberately hid it in a chest full of other old leather-bound books, hoping it wouldn’t draw attention to itself if the authorities laid their hands on it? Of course, she couldn’t have envisaged her so-called friend selling the entire hoard to an unscrupulous dealer who had no idea what he’d acquired.”
“And Gordon MacKenna bought the case of books, which hid the codex and a Fabergé egg.” I leaned back in my chair, overwhelmed by the thought that we were close to understanding what had happened nearly eighty years ago.
Josh and Fergus strolled into the bar just then. I jumped up and hurried to join them while they ordered drinks. “Mission accomplished,” Josh said. “We were able to fax the lists to Knox.”
“Good. And we have some interesting news,” I said. “Come and sit. Alistair can tell you himself.”
We pulled up two more chairs and gathered around the table. Keeping his voice low, the historian explained what he’d found out with the help of his friend Ian.
“But where could the items be?” Fergus asked. “Even if my grandfather did purchase the books and the egg, where are they now?”
“We start with looking for the Russian novels,” I said. “Maybe that will give us a clue.”
“Were there any Russian books on the inventory list?” Josh asked Fergus.
Fergus shrugged. “A few, I think. And some in French and in German, a fair number in Spanish. My father was widely-read and a bit of a polyglot.”
“You mean, if we find these books, we find the codex and the egg?” Josh asked Alistair, who lifted his tweed-clad shoulders.
“Not necessarily. We could be wrong about the inclusion of the codex in the original sale to Thorpe, or it’s possible he recognized it and removed it from the crate before selling those books to Gordon MacKenna. There are no guarantees. All we know is that it was presumed to be in his possession in 1940 and there have been no reported sightings of it since.” Alistair checked his watch. “I must get on before the supermarket closes. Will you ring me if you find anything?”
“Of course,” Fergus said. “And thank you for all the work you’ve done on this. You’ve discovered a great deal in a very short time.”
It was dark when we headed into the hotel car park, and we were quiet as Josh drove home to the castle. Sitting in the back, I watched the landscape roll by, mile after mile of monochromatic moorland, barely lit by a crescent moon that occasionally peeped through heavy clouds.
When we reached the castle, we were surprised to see McMahon’s car parked at the top of the drive. The inspector stood at the front door, talking to Mrs. Dunsmore.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re here,” he said once we’d joined him on the front steps. “Something has come up, and I need a few minutes of your time.”
29
Fergus ushered us all into the drawing room, where McMahon produced his mobile. “The video is poor quality because I copied it to my phone for convenience,” he said. “But tell me if you recognize this man, Kate?”
The image on the grainy black and white footage was hard to make out, and the man had his back to the camera for much of the video, which only lasted for ten seconds. At the end, however, he turned, and I immediately recognized Remy Delacroix. After asking the inspector to replay it, Josh agreed with me that it was Remy, and Fergus said he recalled seeing the man but hadn’t known his name.
“You’re sure?” McMahon asked me.
“Absolutely,” Josh and I said at the same time.
“Then look at the time stamp.” He pointed to white numbers on the bottom of the video clip. “The recording took place at two-fifteen this afternoon.” He paused. “The footage is from the CCTV camera in the car park behind the pub in the village.”
“But Pierre told me Remy left yesterday for Oban,” I said.
“Clearly, he didn’t. Maybe he changed his plans.”
“Or maybe he lied to Pierre— or Pierre lied to me.”
“I requested CCTV coverage of the pub car park,” McMahon explained. “Because you said that’s where you parked the Land Rover for an hour or so when you went out with Fiona. The camera only caught images of the entrance, though, so there’s no footage of the cars. That means we don’t have any hard evidence tying Delacroix to the alleged tampering. However, it is interesting that he was in the vicinity at the time you were in the cafe.”
“What now?” Fergus asked.
“We’re asking questions in the village. See if anyone noticed Delacroix hanging around the Land Rover, and I’ve put out an alert for him. Regardless of his reasons for being in the car park this afternoon, there’s sufficient justification to bring him in for questioning. Since he was working in the kitchen on the night Duncan was killed, he’ll need to explain his actions that night and today. I’m going to talk to Pierre again, given the connection between the two of them.”
Once McMahon had left for the kitchen, I gave Fergus a hug. For the first time in four days, a glimmer of optimism lifted the gloom. “The police will catch Remy,” I said. “And I believe you’ll be safe once he’s in custody.”
“So, you think Pierre was working with this Remy chappie?” Fergus didn’t look as excited as I felt. “I always considered myself a good judge of character, but it seems that I’m wrong about him.”
I wasn’t sure about Pierre either. His friendship with Remy didn’t make him guilty, but something wasn’t right, and I couldn’t help remembering his dexterity with a knife. “Well, let’s give Inspector McMahon time,” I said. “Meanwhile, why don’t we go search for the books that Alistair told us about?”
Feeling energized by Alistair’s revelations and McMahon’s pursuit of Remy, I sprinted up the main staircase with Josh and Fergus trailing behind me.
“Shall we inspect the inventory catalogue or look for the actual books on shelves?” Josh asked when we reached the library.
“Let’s check the shelves,” Fergus said. “Even if we find Russian titles in the catalogue, we’ll want to verify that the books are old and leather-bound as Alistair described them.”
“Wouldn’t you be aware if they were here?” I asked him. “Even if you’d never noticed them before, you’d have found them when you did the inventory, wouldn’t you?”
He tapped his cheek, thinking. “Probably. But, remember that Lucy helped me and she did a lot of the physical scanning, clambering up and down that rolling ladder. So, she may have seen them and entered them in the inventory list, as she did with many of the other books.”
“I’ll check that list,” Josh offered. “If you two are happy to start lookin
g for the books themselves.”
We were interrupted just then by the arrival of Inspector McMahon. He stood in the doorway of the library, accompanied by Mrs. Dunsmore. “Sorry to intrude,” he said. “But I want to let you know I’m taking Pierre Gagnon into custody.”
Fergus’s shoulders sagged. “Why? Do you think he killed Nick? And Duncan?”
“Following our little chat, I’m finding inconsistencies in his story that I need to investigate further.”
“Inconsistencies about what?”
“His relationship to Remy Delacroix, his whereabouts on Saturday night, and what Delacroix told him about his travel plans.”
“I know you need to do your job, Inspector.” Fergus sighed. “But I’ll be glad when this is over.”
“We all will,” McMahon replied. “I’ll wait downstairs until the squad car arrives.”
As he turned away, Mrs. Dunsmore threw her hands up in a gesture of despair. I knew she liked Pierre. Then she quickly caught up with the inspector, leaving us in shocked silence.
“McMahon is on it,” Josh said. “That’s good. Any sort of progress is good, right?”
Fergus sighed again. Then he straightened up and rubbed his hands together. “We may as well get cracking,” he said. “Kate, why don’t you start over there, and I’ll take this side.”
I walked slowly along my stretch, scanning the book spines for any sign of the Cyrillic alphabet. When I reached the end with no result, I turned around and repeated the process.
“All done apart from the top. I can’t see that high,” I told Fergus ten minutes later. The uppermost shelf hung a couple of meters above my head.
“I can solve that,” he gestured at the rolling ladder. “You take a break.”
I was about to sit on the sofa when lights scrolled across the library windows, and I hurried over to peer outside. Two cars had pulled up at the front door. Both had their headlights on full beam and, although there had been no sirens, blue lights flashed, casting an eerie light on the cypress trees that lined the driveway.
“Police cars,” I told Fergus and Josh. I watched from the window while Pierre got into the first car, guided into the back seat. Doors slammed. When the cars slipped away quietly down the drive, I turned around to check on Fergus. His aura still swirled. To me, that indicated the threat had nothing to do with Pierre, but it wasn’t definitive. The chef might be released after his interview with the inspector and, once free, could still pose a risk. I hoped that McMahon would keep him in for a while. He’d be one less person to worry about.
While Fergus continued to search the upper shelves, I dropped onto a sofa. “My head’s about to explode,” I said to Josh when he came to sit next to me, bringing the binder with him. “Alistair Ross seems sure the codex and the egg are here, but where? Why would they go missing if your great-grandfather bought them? Did he sell them?”
I watched Fergus as I spoke. He perched on the ladder, pulling out books and checking the dark spaces behind them, just as I’d seen Duncan do. It seemed like weeks had elapsed since then, but in fact only three days had passed.
Josh continued examining the lists. Suddenly, he slapped a page with the palm of his hand. “They’re here. Look.”
I peered at the yellowing paper, squinting to read the entries. Whoever had compiled the document wrote in a small, flowery script that I found difficult to read. The books weren’t named as individual titles, simply notated as “Assorted Russian books, quantity 12.”
“And there are no initials next to the entry, which means Lucy didn’t find them when she did the inventory,” I said.
It seemed that Fergus hadn’t found them either. He stepped down from the ladder and flopped into the armchair opposite us.
“Seems like we’ve hit a dead end,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
The disappointment weighed heavy on my chest. I took a few deep breaths to pull air into my lungs.
“But they must have been here at one time,” Josh said. “Because they’re on the inventory.” He turned a page. “When were these entries made?”
Fergus held his hand out to take the folder and then perused the pages. “The original library register was completed, like the furniture list, around 1920, organized by my grandfather. Then, my father updated all of the inventories in 1952, partly in deference to my grandfather, who’d initiated them, and also to calculate a value for the insurance. As you’ve seen, many of these books are first editions, or rare copies. Anyway, the later additions are on different paper, see?” He held the file out for us to look at. It was obvious now he’d pointed it out— a distinct difference in the handwriting, on paper that was smoother and less yellowed. “The Russian books appear on the additional pages added in the 1950s.” He ran his finger over the words.
“Which is consistent with what Alistair told us,” I said. “Your grandfather, Gordon MacKenna, bought the books in November 1940, so they would show up on the later record.”
“That’s right. But if they were here once, where are they now?”
We’d come to a crashing halt in our search for the Russian books.
“Knock, knock,” came a voice from the door, and McMahon stepped inside again. “Pierre has been taken to the station and I’m leaving now. I’ll be in touch if anything comes of the interview.” He glanced around, and his eyes came to rest on the binder on the coffee table. Fergus must have noticed.
“We’re following up a lead from Alistair Ross,” he said. “I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not, but you might want to hear about it, just in case. Kate can explain it. Can you spare a minute? Come in and sit down.”
Aiming to be succinct, I told the inspector the story of the Romanov treasures given to Anna Vyrubova, and how she’d entrusted them to a French friend who’d betrayed her. “He took them to Paris to sell them,” I said. “We’re hoping to find some books that were part of that consignment. Mr. Ross thinks Fergus’s grandfather may have purchased a crate of books which may well have contained an ancient codex and a Fabergé egg from the Romanov collection.”
“The egg that you thought Duncan and Miss Cantrell were hunting for?”
“That’s right.”
McMahon wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “And these items, the codex and the egg. They’re both worth a great deal of money?”
“Millions, we believe,” I said. “Which would make them worth killing for, don’t you think?”
“People have killed for far less,” McMahon agreed. He tapped his fingers on the table. “You say this purchase originated in Paris. That’s where Delacroix is from. Is there a connection?”
“We’re not sure, other than that he’s French and an antiques dealer.”
“An antiques dealer eighty years after this alleged purchase by Gordon MacKenna.” McMahon looked dubious. “I still don’t see the connection. It’s flimsy at best.”
“I know.” I sighed. “But will you follow up? Just ask Remy about it when you bring him in? And Pierre?”
McMahon nodded and then stood up. “I should get down to the station. Thank you all for the update. I’ll be back in touch very soon. Kate, can I have a word?”
I followed him to the landing outside the door. “I wanted to check up on Fergus,” he said. “But I didn’t want to ask in front of him. Is there any change there, with that aura thing?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Sadly not. But maybe it will go away once you’ve got Remy in custody too.”
30
After McMahon left, Mrs. Dunsmore came up to the library. “Can ye believe he’s arrested our Pierre?” she said, her voice shaking with indignation. “Some rubbish about Pierre changing his story and his friendship with that other Frenchman. I think that inspector’s a… what’s that word? Franco something.”
“Francophobe,” Fergus said, leading her to the sofa and insisting that she sit down. “I’m sure that Pierre will be home very soon.”
“Mind you,” she continued. “I dinnae like that man, Remy. Righ
t full of himself, he was.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “Do ye think he killed Duncan? Is that why the inspector is looking for him?”
Fergus poured a small amount of whisky into a glass. “Drink this,” he said, giving it to her.
Her eyes widened. “It’s just a wee dram,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
She knocked it back with more relish than I expected. “And what do we do about dinner, now that Pierre’s away with the inspector?” she asked.
“We’ll manage,” I said. “I’ll be happy to help cook. Let’s go down and see what there is in the pantry.” I looked at Josh. “Okay? You’ll stay with Fergus?”
Mrs. Dunsmore led the way to the kitchen where we rummaged around in the fridge and the pantry for likely ingredients. “How about a cottage pie?” she suggested. “We’ve got potatoes, onions, carrots and beef.”
We set to and, forty-five minutes later, filled a casserole dish to the brim with thick stew and creamy mashed potatoes. “It’ll need to sit in the oven for half an hour until that cheese on top browns and bubbles,” Mrs. Dunsmore said. The smell of the almost-ready pie made me realize how hungry I felt. It seemed that I kept missing meals or turning down food because my stomach was churning with anxiety and stress. Tonight, I intended to eat.
“I’ll set the table,” Mrs. Dunsmore said. “And I’ll ask Master Josh to open a bottle of wine. Will you keep an eye on the pie? Make sure the top doesn’t burn.”
Alone in the kitchen, I felt the skin on my arms prickling. I glanced at the meat locker, glad to see the door remained firmly closed. Poor Duncan. He was a total jerk, but he hadn’t deserved to die, and certainly not in such a callous way, being stabbed in the back like that. He hadn’t even had a chance to defend himself. In my strange vision, Agnes Fenton had been stabbed from behind too. From the way she glanced back, she must have been aware of her pursuer. I wondered if Duncan had known someone was there, or had the attacker crept up on him?
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 108