Too late, he noticed that Kingstone had seen it too. The senator shivered but it wasn’t the dank, chill atmosphere and the presence of the corpse that were affecting him, Joe guessed.
“My God!” Kingstone’s voice was a stunned whisper. “Someone’s watching me. I’m being—what’s that phrase they have in witchcraft?—overlooked. He knows where I’m going … what I’ll do next. He’s got into my hotel room and now he’s here with me in the morgue.” He rubbed the back of his neck between his shoulder blades. “I know what it feels like to have a sniper take aim at you. But this one’s targeting the inside of my head. Let me see that, Sandilands.”
Joe held it out. An inoffensive enough address: For the attention of Assistant Commissioner Sandilands.
In elegant black calligrapher’s handwriting.
A LABORATORY ATTENDANT tapped on the door and entered without waiting for a response. He seemed agitated.
“Doctor Rippon, sir. Urgent message from the river.” He glanced at a note in his hand. “Telephone just now. Redirected from HQ. From Inspector Orford for Commissioner Sandilands. They said he might be here.”
“You’ve come to the right shop then,” Rippon replied. “Here’s Commissioner Sandilands.”
“Sir! He’s found a body. Another one, on the riverbank. He’s having it brought in now.”
Joe and the doctor exchanged glances. “Lucky to have caught us,” Joe commented. “Were you planning to sleep tonight, Rippon? Do you have an assistant who could …”
“Same as you, Sandilands, I reckon. I learned to do without sleep years ago. All the same …” He turned to the attendant. “Thank you for that, Harper. Look—better ring Doctor Simmons and tell him I need to speak to him. And can you stay on? What about Richardson? He can type. Have him paged, will you?”
“You’ll be needing all hands on deck if the Commissioner’s planning a gathering of the sheeted dead,” Kingstone said bitterly. “Who’re you expecting now, Sandilands, to turn up for your weekend come-as-a-corpse party? Male or female?” he asked anxiously. “And—that envelope—do I have to snatch it from your hand and open it myself?”
Joe bit back a spirited reply, reading the man’s mood.
“Psychological projection,” he’d learned to call this reaction. Dorcas would have explained that Kingstone, unable to bear the strain, was resorting unconsciously to a defence mechanism in order to maintain his stability. Blame someone else and ease the load. Not quite so primitive as an outright denial of events but disturbing. Inevitably, the man must now be conjuring with the idea of a second dancer’s body coming to light in the same place. Natalia this time? Kingstone was right—why the hell couldn’t the inspector have said—“a male body” or “a female body”? The awful thought that perhaps he’d been unable to make a judgement occurred to Joe. They were always the worst cases: the indistinguishables.
Kingstone had suffered three shocks to the system within the last hour and now, Joe feared, a fourth blow was about to be delivered. Nothing good was going to come out of the envelope all had their eyes on.
He ran a finger under the flap.
JOE READ THE few lines quickly and looked up at his audience. He was carried back for an uncomfortable moment to a time long-distant when he’d been staying with his elderly uncles in London. Unusually, there had arrived, addressed to the eight-year-old Master Joseph Sandilands, a letter which bore a stranger’s handwriting. To Joe’s fury, Uncle George had, without thought, opened it and read it before revealing the contents to Joe. The sender and the message were so innocent and so unimportant—an invitation to tea and a children’s play at the theatre—Joe could barely now recall them. But, with the indignant and pleading eyes of his audience on him at this moment, he could relive the urge to snatch it from his uncle’s hand. And now, he could also understand the old man’s concern to protect and act as a buffer between his nephew and the unknown.
How to defuse this explosive piece of nonsense he was holding? Impossible. The shell had been launched and, one way or another, it would reach its target. Joe could not deflect it.
“More of the same,” he said, dismissively. “Medieval writing, medieval thoughts from a medieval mind! I’d say—chuck it in the bin, if I weren’t obliged to keep it in evidence. I’m not going to pass it over to anyone—it will have to be examined—so I’ll read it out then show it to you.
“Darest thou die?
The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.
“That’s Measure for Measure, I think.” Joe steadied his voice. “There’s one more line. Not the Bard’s words. He adds: The beetle suffered.”
Kingstone appeared drained of colour and his voice, when he could find it, seemed lifeless. “That’s it. A message for me. They’ve killed her and I’m next. That’s what all that means. I ignored them for a while. Like you, Sandilands, I scorned their mumbo-jumbo. I didn’t ring the number they gave me. They said they had her and the only way I could save her was by hearing them and doing what they told me. I refused.”
“Would this have anything to do with your role at the conference?”
“Of course it darned well would! Everything to do with it. They wanted me to make a speech at the meeting this afternoon—”
“To the Pilgrims?”
“That’s right. To the world’s policy makers. The Pilgrims. A speech advocating a very particular political and economic direction. Delivered straight to the listening ears of influential men and all reported in tomorrow’s Times. Yes, they’d arranged for a reporter to be there. But he never got to write up the script they fed me. I heard my cue and let it go by.”
Even in his distress, Kingstone was choosing his words, Joe noted.
“I fouled up their schemes. I guess they sent the toe to indicate their displeasure.”
“And have they contacted you subsequently to question your non-performance?” Joe asked carefully, remembering Bacchus’s account of the Nine Men’s meeting.
“I’ve just told you. The toe. That was their communication. Speaks volumes, wouldn’t you say? I didn’t expect a bunch of flowers. And now this damn-fool note.”
“And is that it? One demand denied and retribution extracted? If you’re still dangling from a hook they’ve set up for you, I should very much like to be told.”
“I think you know I am. The speech was only to have been the first step in a progression. Their ultimate aim is that I should give words of advice directly to the president. Not necessarily advice I would normally give.”
Joe’s fingers were clenching with the raw urge to seize the man and shake him until he spat out the truth. The worst possible approach in these circumstances, he knew, and he calmed himself to ask, “Is your influence so great that the president would listen to you and act according to your suggestions?” He thought he’d better get this straight at least.
Kingstone paused and gave a considered reply. “In the end, he’ll do what he wants to do. But he’s been known to take advice from those close to him. Men he trusts. He trusts me. He chooses his friends carefully and stays loyal to them. We’re working together on some very special projects … his New Deal? You know about that?”
Joe nodded.
“We’re both concerned to get a scheme running … in the Tennessee Valley. My home county. If it goes well, schemes like it could pick the country up by its bootstraps, reinvigorate the US economy.” He gave Joe a twisted smile. “Interesting, isn’t it—and revealing—the way different countries react to a depression? The US hitches up its britches and puts the unemployed and impoverished into work, building hydroelectric power schemes and farming new land; the Germans invest a billion marks they don’t yet have in autobahns, bridges and steel mills; you British cry, ‘Hey, nonny, nonny,’ and build a luxury liner or two.”
Joe smiled at his jibes but did not reply to them, sensing
Kingstone was getting close to making a point he wanted to hear.
“Well, this president’s bottom-up way for economic growth isn’t popular with some. His democratic ideas, which we would see as far-sighted, bold and compassionate, are anathema to many.”
“To many? Whom have you in mind?”
“Republicans, Communists, Fascists, Daughters of the Revolution, Seventh Day Adventists … you name it. Hard to believe, but a fully employed population earning a living wage with provision for good health, equal status for coloured folks and immigrants of all races, and equal rights for women come pretty low on the agenda of the wealthy and privileged. But how to attack it without appearing inhumane? They tar it with the same brush as ‘communism’ and take this as the authority to stamp down hard on it in a self-righteous, patriotic hand-on-heart way. Their number includes some bankers and industrialists he hasn’t yet managed to haul on board and never will. And these same money-men are right here in London. Plotting and planning.”
HE WAITED TO see if Joe had got the point of his speech, which had been delivered with increasing urgency, his breath shortening, his jaw tightening.
“And coercing politicians into taking action against their better judgement?” Joe said. “That’s a crime, I’m sure. I don’t know exactly what we’d call it here but give me what you have and I’ll run them down and charge them with something high-sounding enough to shove them into the Bloody Tower for a spell. Perhaps an appointment with the axe man on Tower Green at dawn? If any Englishmen are involved, they’ll find that treason is still a capital offence.”
Kingstone’s sudden guffaw was alarming in the grim room. Armitage put a hand on his arm to steady him but he shook it off with unnecessary vehemence. Rippon cast a glance full of professional concern at Joe and raised a warning eyebrow.
“ ‘Assault on the gold standard with malice aforethought’? How does that sound? Because that would be hitting the nail on the head. That’s what it comes down to. Money and power. And a British bobby like you wouldn’t get near the men involved. They can spend millions on getting their way and then covering their tracks. They are men of the world, international power brokers. They stand to make grotesque amounts of money if the conference goes the way they’d prefer. If it doesn’t?” He spread his hands and shrugged. “No problem whatsoever. They can still make money. They just need to know for sure before the announcement’s made. Coming off or staying on the gold standard may sound like a political decision to you but when there are fortunes to be made or lost, politics, morality and the law get squashed like that damn beetle.”
He looked down with anguish at the dead girl. “And this poor child? And her dancer’s toe? Why is she caught up in this net? A substitute? A token?… Oh, Lord! I see it! I’m not thinking straight! She’s an understudy, a stand-in, pushed on stage to play a dying role …” The enormity of the realisation seemed to make him reel. “Why? Where did they lay hands on her? They just used … killed and disfigured her in order to scare the hell out of me? Can I believe that? I don’t want to believe that. But it is believable because I’ve known them do worse harm for less gain. Used and thrown away.”
He was muttering to himself. Repeating words and phrases. His normally clipped, allusive style was reduced to fervid ramblings. Seeing Joe’s concern, he swallowed and pulled himself together. “And Natalia? She’s been used too. Tortured. Dead. I’ve accepted that. They don’t waste time. The next body you haul in will be hers. All to coerce a pigheaded, God-fearing, straight-talking Tennessee man who wouldn’t be bought, who was naïve enough to think they’d never go that far. Not in a civilised country. But I’ll tell you what I’ve learned, Joe—you talk of the Tower of London … huh!… these guys have the keys to your Tower in their back pockets! As they always have. Think of your boss. Now think of his boss and then his boss and you’re getting somewhere near the guy they’ve got on the end of a lead. You’re just another insect under their boots, Joe. And, believe me, I’m no giant, but I’m going to die. Sooner rather than later.”
He was breathing fast, his limbs were twitching uncontrollably, his face, in the cold room, shone with perspiration. Joe was uneasy with his task but he knew he had to push Kingstone to the limits of his resilience.
“That’s how you interpret this scholarly bit of venom? I mean—it’s hardly ‘Pay up or you’re a gonner, guv,’ is it?” He held the elegant black writing in front of Kingstone’s face.
The man shuddered and pulled away. “It is. That’s just a bit of theatre. They’re devilish but they’re human. They even like their bit of fun. And they’re clever. They can converse in ancient Greek, can you believe that? Shakespeare? That’s for dumbos like me … they could give you the whole of the Iliad at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave me to squirm a bit, but not for long. They won’t waste any more time on me. I’m expendable. No—worse than that—I’m a walking liability. If she’s dead, I have nothing more to lose. I’m a loose cannon and they’ll have to tip me overboard. It’ll be so subtle you won’t hear the splash. It’ll come suddenly and apparently entirely naturally. A heart attack, a traffic accident. Ask Armiger here—he knows this sort of stuff. He’s up to his ears in clandestine thuggery. That’s why I have him around. But even he can’t stop a London bus if it’s aimed at me. I’m not even going to make it back to the hotel.”
His head went down with the abrupt, sobbing despair of a winning racehorse whose heart had given more than it had in reserve and was about to fall to its knees in the paddock.
They couldn’t reach him, so far had he sunk. Joe had seen many strong men broken by circumstance and he knew that Kingstone had put his finger on it when he’d claimed, crazily, “they’re targeting the inside of my head.” A series of incessant, calculated, malicious blows—possibly more than Kingstone had declared to anyone—had laid the senator low. Joe was tempted for a moment to produce the slim hip flask of scotch he kept inside his jacket for just such crises of confidence but a glance at the puritan features of the pathologist dissuaded him from the simple soldier’s gesture.
Armitage turned a distraught face to Joe with a silent plea. When it came to protecting his boss, Bill could out-gun, out-run and out-wrestle anyone, Joe guessed, but he had no skills to save him from the mental collapse that seemed to be taking place before their eyes. He had no idea what to do next.
It was the doctor who stepped in. “Have a seat, sir.” With brisk authority, he pushed forward a chair and, hand on shoulder, eased Kingstone onto it.
In instant understanding and collusion, Julia pulled up another one for herself and settled down, side by side with the senator. Her pat on his thigh was a nanny’s reassuring gesture and her voice brisk and unruffled: “Cor! I thought no one was ever going to offer anybody a seat! And you call yourselves gentlemen! That’s a long time to keep a lady standing on one leg, if I may say so. You need to take the weight off after a shock like that. Any chance of a glass of water, Mr. Harper?” The attendant, who was just coming back into the room, took in the scene at a glance, turned round and hurried off again.
Humming a jaunty air from Cosi Fan Tutti, Rippon casually took Kingstone’s wrist and began to check his pulse. The routine, authoritative gesture seemed to calm Kingstone a little. “Fine,” he said. “Racing just a little. One quite sees why!” He pulled down a lower eyelid, peered at the colour and nodded approval. “Well—I’d say you were a man in the pink of health and the prime of life, Mr. Kingstone. Yes?”
Kingstone nodded dumbly.
Rippon hummed another bar, then cracked open Kingstone’s starched collar and removed it, along with his tie. “The window, Sandilands, if you wouldn’t mind. Your friend needs some air. These fumes can be very debilitating if you’re not used to them.” He turned back to address Kingstone. “I’d further guess—a man of physical action? A soldier?”
Kingstone nodded again and breathed deeply the waft of London air that gushed into the room.
“That’s a nasty wound I see you keep under
your collar. Or was, when delivered. It’s healed well. Bayonet rather than bullet?”
Kingstone confirmed his guess.
“In that position on the neck, oh, dear! I must be the hundredth person to tell you—a lucky escape. Half an inch either way and curtains, Kingstone. So, I reckon if I came at you with a weapon of some sort, you’d know what to do?”
“You bet.”
“I’ll be circumspect when flourishing my scalpel in your presence,” the doctor said lightly. “I know I’d get an instant and very physical response and possibly feature at the top of Sandilands’ to-do list.”
Joe thought he could guess where the doctor was going with all this chatter but even he was surprised by the next question.
“Have you got a coin in your pocket? Give it to me. A penny will do the trick.”
The senator fished about in his pocket, pulled out a half crown and handed it, bemused, to Rippon.
“Good. If I accept this—and I do—you are officially employing me. You’ve hired my professional services at the cost to you of half a crown so I’m entitled to give you my physician’s opinion on your case. Agreed?”
“Guess so.”
“As it seems to be the fashion to quote Shakespeare, let me remind you of a few lines I’m particularly fond of from The Winter’s Tale.”
The groan was nearly audible. They’d all had enough Shakespeare. Rippon tuned in to the dismay at once and threw out a hook to regain their attention: “The spider? Do you know the bit about the spider?”
No one admitted to knowing about the spider, so he carried on. “Anyone here suffer from arachnophobia? Glad to hear that you don’t. Well, my mother did. A rather bad case. I’m afraid to say my brothers and I were your usual selection of naughty prank-loving boys with no fear at all of spiders. Nuff said! Until the day I was made to read this piece at school. I so well understood my mother’s condition, I banned any further reference to the creatures in her presence. And I assiduously cleared any of the little creatures from her bathroom without a word.” He paused and then grinned. “When was he alive and writing, our Bard? Early sixteen hundreds? Astonishing—his psychological insights into the human psyche! Just astonishing! Freud is rarely so acute and never as readable. Listen:
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