Murder in Containment: A Doyle and Acton Mystery

by Anne Cleeland

  Having been given the impression that he was following Acton’s orders, Trenton turned down the hallway to approach the lift, studying the drawing as he did so. Behind his back, Doyle sped, soft-footed, over to the emergency stairwell, and quietly slipped through the door. Whilst Trenton was reestablishing his position, she’d slip out through the parking garage, with him none the wiser.

  A short time later, she shut the door quietly behind her at the Met’s forensics lab, and was relieved to see Lizzie Mathis, seated at a counter, and measuring DNA suspensions into test tubes. Doyle approached, and leaned in to speak to her. “Mathis, I’m sorry to be interruptin’, but I need a huge favor from you.”

  Mathis paused, and turned to look up at her, making no comment as her gaze took in the cuts and scratches on Doyle’s face.

  “Please call DI Williams, and ask him to come down—here’s his mobile number. Tell him—tell him the contraband person is here, and needs to speak with him. Please don’t use my name.”

  The girl’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Doyle hastened to explain, “It’s not what you think, Mathis; I need him to drive me somewhere—I can’t drive myself.” Carefully, she drew the wrapped syringe out of her pocket. “And while we’re waitin,’ I need to know what’s in this syringe, please.”

  “Right.” Mathis held out a gloved hand.

  “Be very careful,” Doyle cautioned. “I think it may be deadly.”

  The girl paused, emanating wariness. “Which case is this? I should log it in.”

  Doyle swallowed. “This one’s off the books, I’m afraid.”

  Mathis scrutinized Doyle as though she were a specimen under a microscope. “I see. Does DCI Acton know of this?”

  Here was a tangle patch—Acton trusted Mathis, but Mathis did not necessarily trust the fair Doyle. “Not yet, but I promise he will; I think he may be in danger.” Doyle paused, struggling with what to say so as to enlist the other’s help, but still keep the particulars a secret. “I’m afraid to call him, because it may be the wrong thing to do under the circumstances, and I don’t know enough, as yet.”

  Apparently satisfied with this rather disjointed explanation, Mathis rang up Williams, and then rolled her chair over to the spectrophotometer, carefully positioning the syringe so as to inject some of the contents into the machine. Very quickly, the screen displayed varying calibrated columns, with a designating label beneath each.

  “Pancuronium bromide,” the girl announced, and looked at Doyle.

  Resisting an impulse to shake her, Doyle instead asked, “And what is that, Mathis? I haven’t a clue.”

  “At this dosage, it would induce a progressive coma.”

  Doyle was expecting this, but she was shaken, nevertheless. “And death?”

  “Yes. And death.”

  Doyle blew out a breath. “How long would it take?”

  “How heavy is the target?”

  Doyle swallowed again. “About eight stone.”

  Mathis eyed her. “Perhaps two hours. Less than three.”

  At this juncture, the door opened to admit Williams, who was looking remarkably grim as he shut the door behind him. “Start talking, and this had better be good.”

  “No need to take that tone,” Mathis informed him coldly. “This is a very serious matter.”

  Williams ignored the other girl, and addressed Doyle. “Are you insane? No need to ask if Acton knows you’re here.”

  But Mathis was not to be ignored, and before Doyle could attempt an explanation, she interjected, “Lady Acton has come to me because she believes Lord Acton is in danger, and must be warned.”

  Williams turned to the other girl in irritation. “She goes by ‘Doyle,’ here at work.”

  “Thomas,” Doyle cautioned, “Not important, just now.”

  “This is a very serious matter,” Mathis said again, with just a hint of rebuke. “You should listen to her.”

  Williams frowned at Doyle. “All right; tell me whatever it is, and I’ll report to Acton, but meanwhile, I’m taking you directly home.”

  “No; I’m needed—and I don’t have time to discuss this with you,” Doyle replied impatiently, mainly because she wasn’t clear on why she was needed, herself. “You must drive me to Trestles so that I can warn Acton. And I have to call Reynolds on the land line, but I don’t remember the number.”

  Williams reached for Mathis’s desk phone, but Mathis got to it first, and entered the number for Doyle. Doyle then rang up Reynolds, and instructed him to wait three hours before calling an ambulance. “Pretend you’re havin’ a heart attack, or somethin’. Try to cover your face when they wheel you out; we have to draw the suspect in, so that Trenton can collar ʼim.”

  “Who is being collared?” demanded Williams in the background.

  “Never you mind,” said Doyle, mindful of Mathis listening, and then hung up on Reynolds, who was in the midst of expressing his deep apprehension about this turn of events. “Now, let’s go to Trestles, and track Acton down.”

  “I’ll drive,” announced Mathis, rising to her feet.

  “No,” Williams and Doyle protested at the same time.

  After a small pause, Doyle continued in a more amicable tone, “Thank you, but not at all necessary, Mathis.”

  “I’m driving,” the other girl repeated, pulling on her coat. “Neither one of you is familiar with that area, and I can call my great-uncle, to see if I can discover anything of interest.”

  This did seem a helpful point, and Doyle nodded her acquiescence, mainly because she was worried that Mathis would squeak to Acton as soon as they left, anyway. “Mathis’s great-uncle is the steward at Trestles,” she explained to Williams.

  “Hudson?” he asked.

  “Yes, Hudson.” Surprising that Williams would know his name, but then again, Williams was Williams.

  “Keep your hood up, and your head down,” Williams instructed Doyle as they made for the door. “I’ll put my arm around you, and you can lean into my shoulder.”

  At this instruction, Doyle had to laugh. “Faith, Thomas; if you have your arm around someone, it would draw even more attention than if you didn’t. Tanya at the front desk would probably start weepin’ into her hands.”

  “Let’s switch coats, then,” Mathis suggested.

  But Doyle could not like this plan, either. “No thank you; I’ve bad memories from the last time I switched coats. Instead let’s just walk out to the garage like we’re all goin’ on a break, and there’s nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

  Having reached the utility garage without incident, Lizzie’s car was revealed to be a Mini Cooper.

  “I should drive,” said Williams, holding a hand out for the keys.

  “Why should you drive?” demanded Mathis, ignoring his hand.

  “You’ll need to make your call.”

  “I am capable of multitasking, Officer Williams.” The girl gave him a withering look as she unlocked the car with the remote. “Perhaps you can take notes—have you a pen?”

  “Have you a pen, sir,” he prompted with suppressed fury.

  “I’m a civilian, sir,” she returned with the merest thread of sarcasm, and deposited herself in the driver’s seat.

  It’s a shame I can’t crack their heads together, Doyle reflected as she slouched down in the back seat. I truly must learn how to drive myself about; mental note.

  47

  After they were underway, Williams asked Doyle, “What’s happened?”

  “It’s a long story, Thomas.” They had time for a long story, but Doyle didn’t want to tell it in front of Mathis. She didn’t mention the syringe, and neither did the other girl. It was almost funny; Williams and Mathis each knew parts of the story, but neither knew the whole, and each would jealously prevent the other from knowing what it was that they knew.

  “Who is threatening Lord Acton?” asked Mathis.

  “I’m truly not certain,” Doyle lied.

  But apparently she wasn’t very convincing, and as Mathis
drove, she offered in an even tone, “If you need to tell Officer Williams, I will keep whatever you say confidential.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mathis, but Acton would want to keep it a private matter.” This was diplomatic; Doyle had experience with women who were devoted to Acton, and she didn’t trust them an inch. She hadn’t yet decided if Mathis fit into that category, and so caution was advised—after all, Mathis may not be one to mourn the fair Doyle’s demise.

  Williams was apparently still smarting about his misguided attempt to pull rank, and said with a bit more venom than was necessary, “It’s not your concern, and the less you know, the better.”

  The other girl glanced at him in rebuke. “If I can help Lord Acton, I will do as I’m told; you needn’t be so nasty.”

  Before blows could be exchanged, Doyle relented, and hastily explained, “There’s been another attempt on my life, Thomas, and I think someone’s tryin’ to frame Acton for my murder.” It had suddenly occurred to her that she should probably tell them, just in case the matron managed to pull it off.

  Williams turned in his seat to stare back at her. “Christ, are you sure?”

  With an exasperated breath, Doyle blew a tendril of hair off her face. “You mustn’t blaspheme, Thomas Williams.”

  But he was alarmed, and beyond worrying about the niceties. “Why can’t we ring him up, Kath? He should be warned.”

  “I worry that his mobile is bein’ monitored, and I don’t want the suspects to know they’ve been twigged. We’ve got to time it just right; I’ve set up a crackin’ good trap and seizure at the flat to catch the killer, but I also want to show Acton that I’m alive so he doesn’t—so he doesn’t do anythin’ rash. I imagine they are countin’ on him to react a certain way, as part of the set-up.” Hopefully, she needn’t say more, and Williams would know what she meant. No question that Acton would not react well, which would only lend credence to the whole illustrious-chief-inspector-has-gone-bad storyline. It wasn’t that much of a stretch in the first place.

  Williams ran his hand through his hair, and said with heavy emphasis. “Acton will slay me for bringing you into danger, Kath. Let me call for a car, and we can send you back home.”

  “That might leave her vulnerable,” Mathis pointed out. “I think now that she’s here, she’s better off with us.”

  “Thank you for your input, Miss Mathis,” said Williams with icy politeness, “but I think we’ve little choice—we can’t take her straight into danger.” He paused, and then said with some meaning, “And he’ll not appreciate it if we interfere with his protocol.”

  This was of interest, and Doyle raised her brows. “Is there a protocol?”

  “Yes,” said Williams. “There is.” He offered nothing more.

  “Oh.” Doyle thought about this for a moment, but shook her head. “He doesn’t know about the frame-up—I’m sure of it—and what he doesn’t know might hurt him. And—” here she paused for a moment, trying to decide how best to put it “—and I’ve been told that I’ll be needed. It’s—it’s similar to the Marnie situation.”

  Williams glanced over the seat at her, thinking this over. “Oh. Well, I guess I can’t argue, then.”

  Frowning in thought, Doyle peered out the windscreen at the road ahead. “You’re right, though; we can’t go crashin’ in like the cavalry, and ruin whatever plan he’s got on his end.”

  Her voice must have betrayed her concern, because Williams put his arm over the back of his seat, holding out a hand to her, and she willingly placed her hand in his.

  “Hey.” He squeezed her hand. “Not to worry.”

  She took a steadying breath. “No; it’s counterproductive. But even though the attempts have been made on me, Acton needs to know that he is the target, here—he’s being framed, and I’m only the collateral.” She could feel Mathis’s eyes slide over to watch her in the rear view mirror.

  Williams slowly replied, “He’s already aware of that possibility, Kath. We’ve discussed it.”

  She raised her brows. “You have? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; trust Acton to outfox everyone.”

  Mathis added, “He’s taken precautions; he is wearing a vest.”

  Doyle blinked. “He is?” She thought back to their last embrace. “He wasn’t when he left.”

  “He came by to get one, and to check on some mobile phone records.”

  Doyle felt an irrational twinge of jealousy that Mathis knew more about this than she did, and craned her head to look at the girl. “Whose mobile records?”

  “How do you have access to mobile records?” demanded Williams.

  “I don’t have access to mobile records,” Mathis replied calmly, and didn’t elaborate.

  But Gabriel does, guessed Doyle, and had to admire her husband’s ability to recruit his henchmen. “Whose records?” she repeated.

  Mathis hesitated for the barest moment, and then said, “I’m afraid I can’t say.”

  “So you want us to tell you what we know, but you don’t have to tell us what you know,” Williams summed up in an angry tone. “Wonderful.”

  “I must honor Lord Acton’s requests.”

  “But Lady Acton is in danger,” Williams reminded her with a full measure of scorn. “Where’s your loyalty to her?”

  Mathis made as if to say something, then pressed her lips together, two faint spots of color appearing on her cheeks.

  In a manner very uncharacteristic for him, Williams lost his temper, and leaned over to berate the other girl. “Oh, please—it’s obvious that you’re mooning after him; don’t think we both can’t see it. You’re only embarrassing yourself; he’s madly in love with his wife.”

  Emphasis on the “mad,” thought Doyle, and watched with interest as Williams and Mathis went at it, hammer and tongs.

  Mathis glared back at him, her color high. “You are mistaken, sir; I admire the chief inspector for his intellect, which is more than I can say for your crush.”

  “Now, that’s just mean,” declared Doyle, stung, but the combatants were paying no attention to her.

  “So you are in no position to make accusations,” Mathis concluded with some heat, and turned away from him to watch the road again. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  Williams threw his head back in derision. “Don’t make me laugh; if Acton paid the slightest attention to anything other than your intellect, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

  Outraged, she turned to face him again. “How dare you.”

  Pointing an angry finger at her, Williams emphasized, “You wouldn’t hesitate, and it would be wrong on at least ten different levels.”

  Doyle slouched down in her seat, and stared in amazement at the back of Williams’ head. Truly, this entire experience was bordering on the fantastic; if she weren’t so worried, she’d be hard-pressed not to laugh out loud.

  “I will not dignify that remark with an answer,” Mathis retorted.

  “Fine,” said Williams.

  “Fine,” said Mathis.

  Silence reigned, and Doyle slid her eyes from one to the other. I’m no expert on sexual tension, she thought; but if I keep watching, I will be.

  After a few silent moments, Mathis offered in a stilted tone, “I beg your pardon, Lady Acton.”

  Doyle smiled into the rear view mirror. “Just Doyle, Lizzie. And please don’t mention it; I’ve a temper that could saw wood, myself.”

  Williams had regained his composure, and was looking for a way to ease the tension. “My fault; I shouldn’t be goading the driver. I’m sorry, Miss Mathis.”

  “Lizzie, please,” the girl said, but Doyle could see that she was embarrassed and uncomfortable—neither one of them was used to pitching a fit, being as they were both English in the stiffest tradition.

  With a mighty effort to pretend the donnybrook had never happened, Williams suggested, “I think there’s no reason I can’t make a call to Acton, just to report in. It would be a way to feel the situation out.”

  “Yo
ur position could be triangulated,” Mathis noted, trying her best to maintain a level tone. “An interceptor would know you were on the way.”

  “A very good point,” Williams conceded with a fine show of cooperation.

  Doyle was tired of trying to out-think everyone—truly, Mathis was right, and she was not the brightest of bulbs—and wished that Maguire had given her some detailed instructions, or a written list, or something. “I wish I knew what was best to do. If Acton has a protocol in place, I don’t want to muck it up.”

  Williams turned to take her hand again. “Trust Acton, Kath, and try not to worry. How does Edward?”

  “Edward is excellent. Never finer.”

  “Edward is the baby,” Williams offered in an aside to Mathis, eager to show he had more knowledge than she did.

  “After Lord Acton’s grandfather,” the other girl agreed.

  Touché, thought Doyle.

  But Williams was not to be outdone. “That’s where the current heir’s claim got a bit muddled, I understand.”

  Surprised that he’d studied up on the House of Acton’s lineage, Doyle was about to disclaim any knowledge of the situation, but saw that he looked to Mathis for a response, almost as though he was testing what she knew.

  There was a small silence, and since Doyle was never one to pour oil on troubled waters, she offered, “I think Sir Stephen knows that there’s a problem with his claim.”

  “Its water under the bridge, now,” was all the girl replied. “Although I probably shouldn’t use that idiom around you, Lady Acton, since you don’t have fond memories of the water under a bridge.”

  “Good one,” said Doyle, who appreciated this attempt at humor, such as it was.

  “She asked you to call her ‘Doyle’,” Williams was quick to remind Mathis.

  48

  They were about twenty minutes away from Trestles, and Mathis was on her mobile with Hudson. “I thought I’d ring you; I was in the area to visit Gram, and if you’re free, I’ll come by.”

  She listened for a moment, then said, “Well, that’s the way of it, I suppose—do you need any help at table?”