Innocent Conspiracy

by David Archer

  Murphy shrugged once more. “It was only a thought,” he said. “And if you think I won’t trade my word and a few hours of being your protector for my life, you should think once more. That’s all I’m saying, is we can make a deal. I go home, either with you or without you, and you’re safe for at least a few hours. At my place, you can sleep as long as you want, then get up and leave when you choose. As for my reputation, I think I’m ready to retire from this line of work. I’ve got a new name all set up, and the old family place waiting back in Scotland.”

  “And all you want out of the deal is your life?” Denny asked.

  “That’s right,” Murphy replied. “That’s all I want. I’m just not quite ready to give up living just yet.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that sooner.” Denny raised the silenced pistol and pointed it at Murphy’s forehead, then squeezed the trigger.

  There was a round in the chamber after all. Luckily, Denny jerked the barrel up at the last second, and the bullet passed over Murphy’s head and struck the wall. Murphy ducked and flinched, then stared at Denny with his eyes wide.

  Someone in the room on the other side of that wall pounded on it. “Har! People trying to sleep over here!”

  “Well, damn,” Denny said. “You did have one in the chamber. Silly bugger me, I almost killed you. Now if I decide to kill you, I have to go ahead and wake up the whole bloody hotel.”

  Murphy swallowed hard. “I meant what I said,” he said. “I give you my word, I won’t betray you.”

  “Well, I think we’re going to find out. Have you any idea who I am?”

  Murphy shrugged. “Didn’t get a name,” he said. “Just told me what room you were in and to kill you before morning. That’s all.”

  “Are you from around here?”

  “Twickenham,” Murphy said. “Been there nigh ten years.”

  Denny nodded. “Then you’ll know who Lord Chamberlain was?”

  “Oh, aye,” Murphy said. “Fine old fellow. Did you say was?”

  “Yes, was. He was my uncle, who was murdered earlier. I’m Dennis Cortlandt, his heir. Now, Giles Murphy, can you think of any reason why I might want you alive?”

  “I can think of two,” Murphy said. “First, you want me alive so somebody else thinks you’re dead. Second, you want me alive because you want to know who killed your uncle.”

  “Doesn’t really matter who he is, he’s already dead. What I do want to know is who paid him to do it. A man in your line of work might be able to find out. And that, Mr. Murphy, might be worth your life.”

  Denny left his car at the Green Man and rode with Murphy, hunkered down in the passenger floorboard with his gun still aimed at the killer. “Anyone come ’round your place in the mornings?” he asked.

  Murphy shook his head. “Never,” he said. “I’ve got no one. My daughter, but she lives back in Scotland, and I haven’t spoken to her in years. Neighbors all think I’m eccentric, because of my hobby; I build things, inventions, I calls ’em. Machines to do stuff I’m a bit too lazy for, that sort of thing.”

  “Really? What sort of machines?”

  “Odd ones,” Murphy said with a shrug. “Built a big hoover to clean up the yard, and a ride on mower with an overhead blade, to trim all the low branches on the trees, that sort of thing.”

  “Overhead blade? Sounds a bit risky, that. Bounce off the seat and get a haircut down to your neck.”

  “Oh, it has a guard. Got fingers in it, to guide the branches to the blade, and a chute so they don’t land on top of me, but fall out the back. The Hoover picks ’em up, then, it tows behind.”

  Denny grinned. “You’re an interesting fellow, Giles Murphy. How did you become a killer?”

  Murphy shrugged again. “Was an accident,” he said. “I had a niece, she got raped and left for dead by five local lads. She knew who did it, but the police said they couldn’t convict just on her word alone, and there was no other evidence. I found one of them walking in the rain one night, nobody about anywhere, so I stopped and chatted him up, got him to boasting about what he and his mates had done. I only wanted to make him say it, but I got so angry that I beat him to death, right then and there. Stood in the rain till the blood was all off, then drove away and waited for the coppers. They never came, and a few days later I came across the second one, he’d had a flat and didn’t have a jack. He didn’t know me, so I offered to help, then cracked his skull open with the jack handle.”

  “And the other three?”

  Murphy smiled. “Took me a few months, but I got them all. By then, I was enjoying it. Some of the gangs, the old ones, not the punks we get today, they let it be known they might have some work for whoever did it, and I’ve been up to it ever since.”

  “What kind of jobs?” Denny asked.

  “Mostly gang rivalries. Take out the competition, that sort of thing. That’s what the caller said about you, you were cutting into his business.”

  Denny grunted. “You might be a bit more selective in the future, Giles. I’m an old MI6 lad; had you gotten the job done, they’d have come looking, and they would have found you.”

  “Aye, ’twas obvious you’re not the typical gangster,” Murphy said. “I’m wishing I hadn’t taken the job, right enough.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes, then Murphy put on the turn signal. “Almost there,” he said. “Stay down till I get us inside the garage. The shades are all drawn, so once the overhead comes down, no one can see inside.”

  “And how is it,” Denny asked, “that I can be sure you’re not going to cut my throat as I sleep?”

  Murphy sighed. “Well, I suppose you’re going to tie me up. Since it’s going to keep me alive, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

  “You really are an interesting fellow, Murphy. You’re not the most intelligent killer I’ve ever met, and you’ve obviously never run up against anyone like me before. How is that you managed not to get yourself killed?”

  “Guess I’ve been lucky, eh? To be frank, you’re making me think seriously about that retirement I mentioned.”

  “Really? That may be the most intelligent thing you could do. Tying you up sounds like a good idea.”

  Murphy nodded. “There’s plenty of rope in my garage,” he said. “Or I’ve got handcuffs, if you prefer.”

  He made another turn and Denny heard gravel crunching under the tires. A moment later, they stopped and Murphy pushed a button on the remote clipped to the sun visor. He waited until the garage door had opened, and then the car eased inside. Denny sat where he was until the door had closed behind them.

  “All right, let’s step out gently,” Denny said. “No sudden moves.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Murphy said. He climbed out the driver’s door and stood there, his hands on the car, as Denny got out to the passenger side. “Rope is hanging on the wall,” he said, pointing.

  “Get it, then, and let’s go inside. Might as well make you comfortable.”

  Ten minutes later, with Murphy securely tied to a kitchen chair that had been brought into the living room, Denny sat in an easy chair facing him. “I’m going to nap for a bit,” he said. “Getting out of that would make some noise, so I don’t think there’s much chance you can escape and get the jump on me. Give me a couple hours, and then we shall see what to do next.”

  Murphy nodded, but said nothing. He watched in amazement as Denny leaned his head back and seemed to go to sleep only a moment later.

  *

  Denny woke to find the sun shining in, and looked immediately at Murphy. The hired killer was still tied to the chair, his head drooped against his chest as he snored.

  “Oy! Murphy!” Denny called out, and Murphy yanked his head up. “What bloody time is it?”

  “Looks to be around nine,” Murphy said. “Clock’s on the wall in the kitchen, only one I’ve got.”

  “Around nine is close enough,” Denny said. He got up from the chair where he’d been napping and walked over to Murphy
, then reached down behind him and pulled an end of the rope. A moment later, it came free and Murphy began moving his arms and legs to get the circulation working again.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Murphy said after a moment, “about how to find out what you wanted to know, about who paid for your uncle’s murder. I can call some of the gang boys, one of them might know something.”

  “And how do you think they’ll take you asking about it?” Denny asked. “Might make them wonder a bit about you, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Nah, not so much. All I’ve got to do is say I’m pissed there’s someone else working ’round here, and I want to know who’s tossing work out there without calling me.”

  Denny shrugged. “I suppose it’s worth a try,” he said. “See what you can learn.”

  Murphy went into the kitchen and made a pot of tea, then sat at the table and used the wall-mounted phone, while Denny sat across from him and watched. An hour later, he finally hung up for the last time and shrugged.

  “All I can tell you,” he said, “is that none of the locals heard anything about it. Most of them are pissed, and I mean very pissed, that the old Lord Chamberlain is dead. Most of them knew him, and he was always good for chipping in when somebody was in need. I’m supposed to let them know if I find out who hired it done.” He shrugged again. “Couple of them even talked about having me go deliver a little justice.”

  “Then I’m almost tempted to tell you who it was,” Denny said. “Unfortunately, I want the bloody sod to pay for his crime, and getting killed is the easy way out.” He sat back in his chair and stared at Murphy for a moment. “Which leaves me with a dilemma. Should I let you live, even though you didn’t find out what I want to know? Or should I just kill you now and get it over with?”

  Murphy licked his lips. “Well, I suppose that’s going to be up to you. I’m quite sure you know what I would prefer, but you are the one holding the gun.”

  Denny chuckled. “That was a nice little nap,” he said. “Now, come on, take me back to my car. I’ve got to make arrangements for uncle Devon.”

  Murphy seemed surprised when Denny simply got out of his car and let him drive away. Denny had contemplated calling the local police and turning him over, but he knew that Murphy was right about the policemen in the area. The “gangs” that he kept referring to were not the types of gangs that are prevalent in the United States, but something closer to the organized crime that used to dominate American cities. They were involved in loansharking, prostitution, some drug distribution, and other crimes that were highly profitable, and the vast majority of police in the area accepted the occasional gift to look the other way. Turning him in would probably only result in a few wasted hours, because Murphy would undoubtedly be back on the street before the day was over.

  Denny quickly went up to his room and gathered his things, then checked out and drove off in the Jaguar. He headed into London proper, but chose a hotel that was off the beaten path and accepted cash. The last thing he needed was for anyone to figure out where he was staying now, because he had several things to accomplish before he headed back to the States.

  His first move after getting a new room was to call his uncle’s barrister, an actual friend of the royal family named Sir William Winningham. The old lawyer knew Denny from his younger days, and had handled the estate when Denny’s mother had passed away a couple years earlier.

  “Dennis, old boy,” Winningham said. “So sorry to hear about Devon. I understand you were there when it happened?”

  “Yes, and I shot the bloody bastard who did it. Listen, Willie, I don’t even live in the U.K. anymore, but I have dual citizenship, between Britain and the States, because of my father. What’s going to be involved in handling uncle Devon’s estate?”

  “Why, almost nothing,” Winningham said. “Your uncle put all of his assets into a living trust, which passes to you. One of our younger associates is the current trustee, and she has done a marvelous job thus far. I would highly recommend that you keep her in that position.”

  “That’s all? What about taking possession of the estate?”

  “Under the terms of the living trust, it became yours at the moment of your uncle’s passing. I believe his friend Charles has the keys and paperwork for you.”

  “Well, that part was bloody painless,” Denny said. “Are there accounts I need to settle? Debts, anything like that?”

  “No, no,” Winningham said. “You should speak with your trustee, her name is Margaret Milligan. She’ll need to establish you on the banking accounts, of course, but I know that she keeps all of the debts paid. Hold a moment, and I shall transfer you to her.”

  Denny waited only a few seconds, and a pleasant voice picked up the other end of the line. “Mr. Cortlandt? This is Margaret Milligan. I need to set an appointment with you to arrange a few minor matters, when would be convenient for you to come in?”

  “I’m about ten minutes away,” Denny said. “If we can do it now, that will be best. I’ll be returning to the States about any time.”

  “Well, I actually have an appointment this afternoon, but your uncle was a valued client. Do come down as soon as you can, and I shall simply take the time.”

  “All right,” Denny said. “I’ll come down now.”

  Thirty minutes later, Denny had signed all the necessary paperwork to put his name on the estate accounts, he had signed an authorization for Charles to continue living at the Manor for the rest of his life, and he had confirmed Margaret as the trustee. He left her office feeling accomplished, and finally decided to call Sam.

  “Denny?” Sam asked. “How’s it going over there?”

  “Bloody buggers, Sam,” Denny said. “I’ll tell you most of it when I see you. I’m about done over here, though, since Charles will arrange the burial, though the actual funeral won’t be for a few weeks. Where are we on your end?”

  “There won’t be anything new until Monday. That’s when the DA is going to file charges and start the extradition proceedings. I don’t know how long all that will take, but I think we can start to consider this case solved.”

  “It won’t be bloody solved until Benjamin Hickam is sitting inside a jail cell,” Denny said. “Extraditing someone from the U.K. to the States, especially a British national, is probably going to take months. I doubt these bloody bastards over here will ever even take him into custody, so he’s going to get plenty of chances to skip out. That simply isn’t going to work for me, Sam.”

  “Denny, I understand,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, there’s not much else I can do. I suppose I could ask DHS to look into it, but I can’t even do that before Monday.”

  “Bloody hell,” Denny said. “I guess I need to come home, then. Can you arrange me a flight?”

  “Sure,” Sam said. “No problem at all. Too bad you can’t invite Hickam to come along. If he happened to set foot on American soil, the warrant our DA gets Monday would be all we need to pick him up.”

  Denny was quiet for a moment. “Now, suppose that could be arranged, Sam. Would the bloody bugger be able to get out on bail?”

  “Him? I seriously doubt it,” Sam said. “He’s a billionaire from another country, so that makes him an absolute flight risk. I don’t think there’s a judge in the world who would allow him bail. Just exactly what are you thinking, Denny?”

  “Me? Why, I’m only thinking about inviting the bloke for a holiday.”

  “Yeah, well,” Sam said, “I don’t think that would necessarily be a good idea. The last thing we need is for the U.K. to be trying to extradite you back up there to face kidnapping charges.”

  “True. Oh, well, it was a nice idea while it lasted. Give me a flight, Sam, I need to come home and take some rest. This has all been a bit much, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll get on it right now,” Sam said.

  24

  “But who in the bloody world would want to kill the old blighter,” asked David Darwin. He, David Cross, and Benjamin Hickam were at the Travell
er’s Club, where they often met for breakfast. “That’s what I want to know. Old Chamberlain never hurt a soul in his life, unless you count those rotting bastards he caught in their own corruption. It certainly seems to me that only a true bastard would want to cause him any harm.”

  “Why, ’twas Ben what did it,” said David Cross. “After all, Chamberpot called him out the other night, remember, it was all over the plot to kill that lad in the States in order to make more money. Old Ben had to hush him up, don’t you know, save himself from ruin.”

  “Oh, aye,” Hickam said. “Can’t have him running around spilling out my secrets. Bloody bastards, the both of you. All four of us been friends nearly fifty years, and you can sit here and make light of Devon being murdered. Should have bloody well been one of you, instead of him.”

  “Only I’m not making light,” Darwin said. “That was Cross, not me. All I said was nobody would want to hurt the old boy, unless they were a true bastard.”

  “Calm your knickers, Hickam,” Cross said. “No one believed you would hurt Devon. Old boy was getting a bit dotty, I might say, what with all that rot he was saying. According to Arthur Lansdowne, he actually believed you might have been involved in that thing, poor old bugger.” He shook his head. “Sad, that, when a man’s mind starts to go.”

  Hickam nodded. “Very sad. I’m putting up a reward, you know, to help the police find whoever paid the killer. He was some sort of professional, they’re saying. It was Devon’s nephew that shot him, you know. Dennis, he was SAS a while back. I understand he also told the police that he believes I arranged it.” He snorted. “Bunch of rot. I used to bounce that lad on my knee.”

  “It’ll pass, Ben,” Darwin said. “Far too many people know what a generous sort you truly are, they’ll not believe stories like this. Flash in the pan, you will see.”