Brotherly Blood

by Jean G. Goodhind

  ‘Does anyone suspect who you work for?’

  ‘I don’t think she does, but her boyfriend is suspicious.’

  ‘Understandable that he has contacts. I trust you made it clear that it was not a police matter.’

  ‘I did and he understood the warning. I think he’s done all in his power to persuade his girlfriend not to pursue the matter, but of course we want her to pursue it. He doesn’t know that, of course, and even though we primed the half brother to get her involved, he doesn’t know the exact reason why. We merely intimated that she might be able to go where official authorities could not.’

  The man nodded and said nothing. Like Dominic he was a man of few words. However, he was a man used to interrogation, to sensing a thought beneath voice tone.

  ‘I sense you have reservations.’

  ‘She’s headstrong and very curious, the sort who, if given interesting information, can’t help poking her nose in. I saw her talking to the Witchell woman, an old friend of Tarquin. I caught a little of what she told her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She was talking about what Tarquin did – his travels etc. Witchell told her he was a diplomat.’

  The man with the cold eyes folded his bony fingers beneath his chin.

  ‘Hmm. Well if it helps to keep her poking her nose in...’

  He threw the report onto the desk in front of him.

  ‘She’s no fool, but I don’t think she’s got a clue about her father’s past and how he fits into all this.’

  ‘Good. It’s best she doesn’t know.’

  ‘Even though her life is in danger?’

  The man across from him pursed his lips. ‘That’s the way this department operates and that’s the way it should stay. We did what we thought was right, even down to the funeral request.’ A broad smile brightened his face. ‘Nice touch don’t you think? And we did it before the pathologist could delve too deeply. To the Tarot Man his death was something of a ritual. A modern equivalent of hanged, drawn and quartered except in his case the ingestion of mud was the equivalent of being drawn. His signature.’

  The man’s face returned to the deadpan expression that was his working face and his chill eyes returned to the report. ‘Something interesting has come in. A number of young women have been killed in much the same manner. They’re not connected to each other or to this case. The one thing that connects them and the dead man is the method of killing. It’s been suspected that he murders for pleasure as well as on a professional level. We know for sure that after his father died he found out who had betrayed him. He’s not here just to murder young girls. He’s here to take his revenge on those who killed him. The hotel woman’s father is dead, but she is alive. He will revenge himself on relatives of those he feels are guilty. Unfortunately for Mrs Driver she ticks both boxes of his agenda, both the personal and the professional. Good work, Christiansen. We couldn’t have hoped for better bait to set the trap.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The Cat’s Liberation Society was holding a meeting in the small conference room at the end of the first floor landing. It was being chaired by Honey’s mother, Gloria.

  It was a mystery to Honey as to why her mother had joined such an organisation seeing as she didn’t own a cat.

  ‘I was a cat in a former life. Luckily for me I lived in the lap of luxury, but there are so many cats leading such miserable lives, I felt I had to step in and do what I could.’

  Honey didn’t bother to ask how she knew she’d been a cat in a former life, though she had to admit there was something of the feline about her. Mary Jane, their resident professor of the paranormal had a lot to answer for.

  Before her mother marched off to take charge of the meeting, Honey caught her half way up the main staircase.

  ‘Mother, are you responsible for the cat that seems to have moved in on me?’

  Her mother blinked. ‘What cat?’

  ‘The one I keep finding in the coach house.’

  The coach house was Honey and her daughter’s private living quarters, though when Lindsey wasn’t around Doherty sometimes slept over.

  Her mother shook her impeccably coiffed head of beige blond hair. ‘I don’t know anything about a cat. I told you, my interest in the society is purely as a result of being a kindred spirit to all felines everywhere.’

  The sound of sneezing came from behind the reception desk.

  ‘There,’ said Honey. ‘Lindsey’s always been allergic to cats. We’ve got to stop it coming in. If I catch it again I’ll take it to the Stray Dogs and Cats Home.’

  ‘I haven’t been allergic to cats for years, Mother. I’ve got a cold.’

  ‘Sorry, dear.’

  Honey gave up. There were too many other things to occupy her this morning. Smudger had asked to have a word and she’d promised to speak to him as soon as possible.

  Despite having attended a funeral, she felt refreshed. It hadn’t all been dark and dire. She and Doherty had had some time to themselves.

  ‘Oh. I almost forgot. A man left this,’ said Lindsey. She passed her mother a brown manila envelope. ‘He said he promised he would send it to you.’

  ‘Did he leave a name?’

  ‘No. He said you would know who it’s from. Dishy though.’

  Lindsey smiled. ‘Not a rival for your affections is he?’

  Honey gave her a blank look. ‘I wouldn’t think so.’

  Not unless it’s Dominic Christiansen, she thought to herself and only just managed to stop blushing profusely.

  ‘If anyone wants me I’ll be over in the coach house.’

  The coach house sitting room was cool, the chair was comfortable. Honey gave the envelope the once over before opening it. There was nothing in it except for a Tarot card – a high priestess dressed in blue. Quite fetching.

  She pondered what it meant but basically didn’t have a clue. There were two people who could enlighten her. One was her daughter Lindsey who could trawl the internet and tell her. The more immediate option was Mary Jane. Anything to do with the occult – including Tarot – was right up her street.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Caspar arrived mid afternoon to ask whether there was any progress with the investigation. Honey suggested they convene in her office so they could talk in private.

  ‘Have you decided what to do about your inheritance?’ she asked him.

  Caspar cleared his throat before answering.

  ‘What am I to do?’

  He rolled his head as he said it as though his brain was trying to escape his head.

  Now it was Honey who cleared her throat, not sure what to say next.

  ‘The funeral went well – don’t you think?’

  ‘It was farcical! Why be so melodramatic? I go to too many of them nowadays. Never did like them. Always preferred dinner parties. So did Tarquin, though in his case the wilder the better!’

  Honey refrained from raising a surprised eyebrow.

  ‘Still, if it was what he wanted...’

  Caspar pursed his lips and threw her a disapproving look.

  ‘I don’t know that it was. I never saw anything in the will suggesting it was what he wanted, though all that melodrama would have been right down his street.’

  Honey frowned. ‘He didn’t ask for it?’

  ‘Well if he did, he didn’t put it in writing.’

  ‘And you didn’t arrange it?’

  He shook his head and shivered. ‘Definitely not. To my mind it was in appallingly bad taste.’

  ‘The family must have misunderstood his wishes.’

  ‘What family? I was his closest relative and our decrepit aunts and uncles assure me it was nothing to do with them.’

  Honey looked at him puzzled. She recalled Caspar telling her that it was nothing to do with him.

  ‘So if the family didn’t arrange it then who did?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ As he shook his head a look of pure confusion crossed his face.

  Honey had never belie
ved the old saying about blood running cold. The nearest she’d ever got to feeling that kind of chill was when skiing in the Austrian Alps and ending up head first in a mountain torrent that had failed to freeze over. By the time they’d got her out her teeth were chattering and she was soaked through.

  Caspar’s declaration had scared her. This case was proving the most complicated she’d ever been involved in.

  There were the complications regarding the police investigation for a start along with Doherty’s reluctance to get involved. The mystery surrounding the funeral arrangements were more curious. What was the point? Unless there was something more incriminating about the body than met the eye of your average pathologist.

  ‘If it wasn’t an accident or a suicide, who would have wanted to kill him and why? An old flame? An old flame’s husband?’

  ‘I cannot enlighten you. Tarquin was admired by both men and women. A man’s man. A woman’s man.’

  She thought about mentioning the Tarot card she had received but decided not to. The sender was an easy guess; Dominic Christiansen. But what did it mean?

  The meeting of the cat ladies finished at around four thirty once they’d consumed pots of tea, cups of coffee and a delicious array of cream cakes, cucumber sandwiches and salmon mayonnaise vol au vents.

  ‘I’ve decided it would better suit my understanding of both myself and the world of cats if I purchased a cat,’ her mother declared.

  Honey eyed her mother’s matching outfit of turquoise cashmere trimmed in a contrasting sable.

  ‘What sort of cat?’

  Her mother closed one eye and regarded her with what she could only describe as disdain.

  ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic,’ Honey added quickly. ‘I was just wondering whether you knew that kittens scratch wood and upholstery and pull threads in woollen suits.’ Her mother and a cat? She couldn’t see it herself.

  ‘I still think I would like one. Not a long haired cat. I understand that involves a lot of brushing and talcum powdering.’ She shook her head decisively. ‘I don’t think I could do that.’

  ‘And nothing too expensive. What about Stewart? Will he mind a cat around the place?’

  ‘If it pleases me then he’s pleased!’

  Her tone was resolute. Honey wasn’t so sure her mother’s new husband would be so keen.

  ‘As long as he’s not allergic or anything.’

  ‘I just want a pet.’

  Honey thought of the stray that kept appearing in the coach house.

  ‘Tabbies are nice. Or tortoiseshell! Yes. Tortoiseshells are quite rare.’

  ‘Are they?’ Her mother’s eyes were round with delight. If there’s one thing she liked to be was one up on everyone else and what better than to own a cat of rare colouring. ‘Where can I get one?’

  Honey put her arm around her mother and placed a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Leave it with me. I think I know where I can find one.’

  Back in the coach house she looked for the cat. ‘Here kitty, kitty!’

  There was no sign of it.

  ‘Well isn’t that just typical. When you don’t want it it’s there and when you do want it it’s nowhere to be seen.’

  Lindsey came in humming to herself prior to showering and going out on a date with a lecturer in historical forensics who’d been quite a regular boyfriend of late.

  ‘Have you seen the cat?’

  ‘What cat?’

  ‘The one I was telling you about that I’ve found in here a few times.’

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘I’ve already told you, mother. I haven’t seen a cat in here.’

  ‘Not in the last few days?’

  ‘No.’

  Not ever?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Must dash. Shower and change then Frederick’s Bar at eight.’

  Slumped on the sofa, Honey listened to the sound of running water from the bathroom. Her mother didn’t have to give the stray a home of course, but it would have been nice.

  Thoughts about the cat melted into thoughts about the Tarot card sent to her by Dominic Christiansen. Despite the card, and seeing him at the funeral, there’d been no contact. The card was of a hanged man, exactly the same as the one left with the flowers. It seemed a far-fetched idea, but she wondered if he knew who might have made arrangements for Tarquin’s funeral.

  Lindsey didn’t take long getting ready.

  ‘You look good enough to eat,’ Honey said to her as mother and daughter exchanged kisses.

  Lindsey grinned mischievously. ‘I’m hoping Sean thinks so.’

  She winked and made a clicking sound before exiting. Honey sat there thinking about her next move when it struck her how chirpy her daughter had seemed. No other boyfriend had made her like that before. She wondered if this was the one then dismissed the thought. Her daughter was happy in the Green River Hotel.

  Her thoughts went back to Dominic Christiansen. She reached for the business card he’d given her and dialled the listed number.

  There was the usual ringing tone then a click before the ringing continued. If it did seem odd at first, but there were so many private companies running what used to be public service utilities nowadays. They all had their own little foibles.

  ‘Hello. Is that Dominic Christiansen?’

  ‘Honey. I wondered when you would ring.’

  Honey paused. ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘I’ve got one of those clever phones that displays the numbers and matches it to people I’ve rang or met before.’

  ‘Oh! How terribly clever.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it. I take it you received my little gift.’

  ‘The card? Yes. That was what I was phoning you about. Well partly. There was another question as well, but...’

  ‘Let’s talk about the card first. I like the sound of your voice. Speak to me.’

  Forked lightening couldn’t have made her tingle more.

  ‘I just wondered at its significance. There is some kind of significance attached to it isn’t there?’

  ‘That’s what I hoped you would tell me. I’ve asked around but nobody’s come up with anything conclusive.’

  Honey’s heart raced. ‘So you think I might be able to shed some light on it. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be. You’re a very intelligent woman. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. How about dinner?’

  ‘I...’ The question took her completely off guard. Yes, she’d love to have dinner with him, but there were obstacles. Well, one obstacle in particular. Steve Doherty.

  ‘I promise I won’t sweet talk you into going to bed with me. Neither will I tell your boyfriend. It’ll be strictly business. How about it?’

  A sudden thought struck her. What a feather in her cap it would be if she solved this case despite Doherty’s warnings not to get involved. Dining with the mysterious Dominic Christiansen was bound to yield results. Wouldn’t it be wiser to ask him questions over dinner?

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  It wasn’t until the call disconnected it came to her that he hadn’t asked her a suitable time, he’d told her when he would pick her up. She concluded he was a man used to giving orders and not asking favours. She also wondered what she was letting herself in for.

  She might have pondered more if she hadn’t seen the cat lying across the stairs, lazily cleaning first one fat paw then another.

  ‘Stay right where you are,’ she said softly as she got to her feet. ‘Let me just make sure the door is shut...’

  After making sure the door was shut, she turned round, ready to pounce and claim the tortoiseshell cat for her mother. Instead she stood empty handed. The cat was gone.

  Dominic Christiansen had made up his mind that the best way to protect the Honey Driver woman was to keep her close. Her police officer boyfriend might not like it, but Dominic was ready with both arguments and sweet words. He would use whichever was necessary to trap the Tarot Man. His only regret was
not being able to tell Honey Driver that she was a Judas Goat, a trap set to catch a dangerous killer, one they’d been after for years.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘So, what do we really know about Tarquin St John Gervais?’

  Doherty and Honey was sitting knee to knee on a couple of high stools at the bar in the Zodiac Club.

  In the hope of taking him by surprise, she scanned his face over the rim of her glass containing vodka, tonic, ice and slice.

  ‘We know that he’s dead.’

  The answer was compact and his expression was bland.

  ‘That woman I spoke to said he was a diplomat. But that can mean so many things.’ Pausing she leaned closer. ‘Perhaps he was a James Bond type – licensed to kill.’

  ‘But got himself killed? Couldn’t have been much of a spy. Certainly not up to 007 standards.

  Honey narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re being facetious.’

  Doherty looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Honey. Leave it alone. It isn’t a police matter.’

  ‘But you wish it was – don’t you? And don’t deny it. I can see it in your face. You want to be involved but you’ve been warned off.’

  Doherty shook his head and looked away. ‘That’s the way it is. We’ve all got our job to do and we don’t go treading on departmental toes.’

  ‘He was Caspar’s brother.’

  ‘Half brother.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him a bad person.’

  ‘Leave it.’

  ‘I’m having a day out at Torrington Towers. I asked Caspar for tickets and he gave me some kind of pass that will take me all over the house and the safari park. Do you fancy coming?’

  He shot her a warning look. ‘You’re not to go poking your nose in.’

  She threw up her hands and did the innocent look. ‘I won’t if you’re with me, but if you can’t come I can take my mother. She’s into cats at the moment, the ones that curl up on the hearth rug and catch birds in the garden. I thought the lions would be fun.’

  ‘Lions are never fun. They eat you.’