Lost Distinction (Jordan James, PI Series)

by Rachel Sharpe

  The ambassador stared down at the man. “Will that be all?”

  Winston stared up at him, unaffected by his intimidation attempt. “No, sir, I need to see everyone’s passports. Standard protocol. You understand.”

  I felt a knot develop in my throat and my heart raced. I glanced at Rick and saw him flinch. He quickly composed himself again and did not show another sign of concern. The ambassador stared down at the man.

  Without a word, Ambassador Cross walked down the hallway and moments later, returned with three passports. He handed them to the airport official who immediately studied them. After a few moments of agonizing silence, he handed them back to the ambassador.

  Winston turned toward the door, then paused. He glanced back at me and stared into my eyes. I swallowed hard as he crossed the cabin and stood within inches of my face. We were about the same height so he stared directly into my eyes when he said, “Ma’am, I need to search your purse.”

  I looked at Rick then the ambassador and finally back at Winston. I reluctantly handed it to him. He unzipped it and popped it open callously, nearly spilling the contents. Irritated, he scanned through it, checking my cell phone and lipstick and finally pausing on the news article.

  My heart rate increased as he unfolded it and read the headline. His pause caught the ambassador’s attention and he slowly walked over. As soon as he realized the ambassador was approaching him, he folded the paper, stuffed it in my purse and handed the bag back to me.

  “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The ambassador frowned before repeating, “Will that be all?”

  Winston glared at him. “No, I still need to check your luggage.”

  The ambassador’s brow furrowed. “Very well.” He walked over to Connor. “Would you be so kind as to get me another scotch on the rocks?”

  Connor ran down the hall to the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with the drink. During his absence, Winston had exited and was standing near the luggage cart, carefully inspecting my clothes.

  “This ‘ere is a bloody mess,” the ginger-haired man lamented, shaking his head. “A damn waste of time, too. I mean, if you can’t trust a bloody ambassador, who can you trust?”

  “Even political officials are humans,” Rick replied, “and power corrupts.”

  The ginger stared at Rick. “You’re a bit of a downer, aren’t you, mate? And bloody ‘ell, what ‘appened to your eye?”

  Rick ignored this one-sided conversation. It seemed odd because he was by nature a kind person, but for some reason, he felt the need to be rude. He turned his attention to me. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine. It sure doesn’t feel like the afternoon. It feels like the morning.”

  “That’s normal,” the ginger interjected. “You’ll ‘ave loads of energy tonight, but tomorrow,” he whistled, “you’ll be lucky if you’re up by noon, love. I’m Devin, by the way. Devin O’Malley.” I accepted his hand and we shook.

  Beside me, I felt Rick tense up. Devin noticed and grinned and he released my hand. “Easy there, mate. Not trying to steal your bird. Just a friendly ‘ello. I work for the ambassador.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I replied. “So do I.”

  “Do you? What do you do?”

  “She’s here about Arthur and let’s not discuss this any further,” the ambassador responded curtly.

  Devin’s grin fell and he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, it seems that our luggage has been cleared. Devin, I would like to leave as soon as possible. We have a lot to do.”

  Devin jumped down the stairs as he raced to load the luggage in the trunk of a black BMW SUV. The ambassador led the way down the rolling stairs. Before heading to the stairs, I turned to Connor, who was picking up the ambassador’s empty glass. “Thanks for everything and good luck with school.”

  “Thanks. Enjoy London.”

  I smiled at him before leaving. When I reached the final step of the stairs, Rick helped me down. The ambassador was already seated in the vehicle. Devin was behind the wheel, which was on the wrong side of the car.

  I stared momentarily then shook my head.

  Rick leaned close as we approached the SUV. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I forgot cars here are opposite of American ones.”

  Rick laughed. “Yeah, that messed me up when I was here last. My first night, I nearly collided with a taxi because I forgot to drive on the other side of the road. Shook me up bad. After that, I either let Arthur drive or we took the train.” His smile faded into a frown as he thought about Arthur.

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to find him.”

  Rick offered a tormented smile. “I sure hope so.”

  Chapter 13

  Our drive to the Cross family’s London flat took about thirty minutes. I was surprised to learn the police had cleared the crime scene so quickly, but Rick’s agitation suggested he believed the ambassador’s “corrupt power” was the cause. As we rode, Mr. Cross focused on some paperwork that Devin gave him and Rick stared out the window in silence.

  I was filled with apprehension about the first missing person case I tackled being that of my boyfriend’s cousin so I spent some time trying to decide what would be the best approach to my investigation. Even anxiety could not quash my enthusiasm when two great London landmarks came into view. I nearly jumped up in excitement when we passed Big Ben and Parliament, but I controlled myself. I had to remember this was work, not a vacation.

  Although it shouldn’t have surprised me, I was taken aback when we arrived at the Cross family’s London “flat.” In a word, it was massive, equivalent in size to three small Manhattan apartments. As soon as we crossed the threshold, an elderly woman named June greeted us. She had the physical characteristics, the charm and mannerisms of the late Grace Kelly. While Devin struggled to bring our luggage inside, June whisked us into the impressive, cream-colored drawing room. She insisted we have some tea while dinner was being prepared.

  The ambassador accepted the tea but declined dinner, insisting he had pressing matters to attend to. His haste seemed warranted. The moment Devin, red and winded, stepped inside, the ambassador took one last sip of tea, stood up, and excused himself.

  Devin wheezed as he followed Mr. Cross out the door without a word. I stared down at my cup of jasmine flavored tea, considering what to do while waiting for the ambassador to return. Still not my drink of choice, but when in Rome, I mused. As I nibbled on a scone, I realized that I didn’t necessarily need to wait for Ambassador Gatlin Cross to begin my investigation. There could be potential clues throughout the apartment itself.

  “What are you plotting?” I glanced up to see Rick turning his cup around in his hands.

  “I was just thinking about taking a look around and seeing if there are any clues to Arthur’s disappearance.”

  Rick’s smile faded as he placed the half-empty cup of tea on the sterling-silver serving tray. “What makes you think there’s anything here?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just a hunch. Henry”— I hesitated when Rick’s face fell at the mention of his late cousin’s name—“With what happened to him and this place being the last known sighting of Arthur, I just think there may be something here that was overlooked.”

  “Makes sense.” Rick nodded thoughtfully. “So what’s the plan?”

  I stood up and straightened my shirt. “I’m going to do some snooping.”

  “Okay.” Rick stood up. “So what should I do while you snoop?”

  I heard June mutter something as she cleaned the entry hall. “Could you distract her?”

  Rick turned in the direction of the sound. “Distract Ms. Chambers?”

  I stared at him. “You know her?”

  Rick rubbe
d his neck, frowning. “Let’s say we’ve met before.”

  I inched closer and stared up into his gorgeous eyes, offering a slight pout. “Please?”

  He exhaled. “Fine. Just be careful. That woman is no fool. She knows if one lump of sugar is missing.”

  I hugged him and he returned the embrace. Sighing, he walked out the room and I heard the muttering stop. “Yes, Richard? My goodness, your eye looks positively dreadful. Whatever happened? You’re not still getting into trouble, are you?”

  While Rick diplomatically tried to explain how her employer’s son popped him in the eye during a brawl for my honor, I turned the corner and tiptoed down the hall. The first room on the right was a bathroom and the second two were the guest rooms where Devin placed our luggage.

  As soon as I opened the door of the second room on the left, I realized it was the ambassador’s study. Furnished with a large, mahogany desk, two espresso-colored bookcases and a small, beige couch, it seemed a polite business setting.

  The next door stopped me in my tracks. Placed across it in an “X” pattern was blue and white tape with the words “DO NOT CROSS” written in well-spaced intervals. While the flat may not have been deemed off-limits, this room was another story. Whatever happened to Henry happened in that room.

  Glancing back to make sure no one was around, I held my breath and, using the bottom of my shirt to avoid leaving prints, pushed the door open and quickly entered the room. I closed the door behind me quietly before turning on the light and looking around. I’m not quite sure what I expected to find in what was probably Henry’s room.

  I guess I hoped there would be something that stood out and explained why he made the choices he did, how his decisions cost him not only his own life, but also put the life of his younger brother in jeopardy. Instead, there was nothing, just a simple, evergreen-colored room with light brown curtains covering the two windows. A queen-size bed stripped of its sheets and pillows took up the middle of the room.

  On the light-colored carpet near the bed was white body outline tape and where the head was traced, a dark discoloration suggesting a morbid mixture of blood and bodily fluids. The sight was disturbing, but I didn’t have time to dwell. Nothing about the room suggested foul play, but I still had my doubts. Stacked randomly on a bookcase between the two windows were medical books. I picked up an anatomy book and flipped through the pages.

  A small slip of paper fell out and landed on the floor. I placed the book on the shelf and reached down for the paper. In a long, left-slanted font, someone had written, “Bronx 020 5555 7799.” I figured that this must be some kind of contact information for Henry’s cocaine dealer. As I placed the paper back inside the book, another fact became clear.

  Henry had not written down Bronx’s contact information. Looking again at the anatomy book, I realized that Henry had written things throughout the book. He left notes, drawings and unanswered questions everywhere in a neat, cursive script. It did not match the writing on the slip of paper I had picked up. The page I had opened the book to showed a large-scale drawing of the human heart and its four chambers and valves.

  Henry had drawn a crude cross through the center, separating the four chambers more distinctly. Incoherent jargon littered the page. Although I wasn’t medically trained, I recognized his additions to the text were conceived while he was high.

  I dismissed most of it as babble. One comment was so frightening, it chilled me to the core. Near the left atrium, Henry drew a star with a message beside it: “The pulmonary vein carries oxygenated blood. If there is a primitive duality of man, as Stevenson suggests, perhaps man’s most base evil can be contained if the amount of oxygenated blood flowing can be modified.”

  Although the message was strange, it also sounded vaguely familiar. After a moment of reflection, I made the connection. I decided the Stevenson he referred to had to be the author Robert Louis Stevenson because the “primitive duality of man” sounded like something out of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

  If Henry did believe in this theory, it frightened me to think that he may have attempted this method while operating on an unsuspecting patient. I also wondered why the police had not searched his books for evidence. How could this be deemed an open and shut case? Everything about it was suspicious. Suddenly, the door flew open and I whirled around, startled. In the doorway stood a very incensed June Chambers. She raced into the room at a speed I thought impossible for someone her age and had the book closed and shelved before I had a chance to blink.

  “This room is off limits.” Rage flickered in her eyes. “You must respect the rules of this house if you have no respect for the dead.”

  “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I don’t care what your reasons are. This is off-limits! It hasn’t even been two days since Henry,” she covered her mouth with her hand and blinked away a single tear. Regaining her composure, she added, “Dinner is ready. I expect to see you both in the dining room presently.”

  I followed her out of the room, ducking under the crime tape, then she shut the door and walked away. I glanced up at Rick, who was standing in the hallway. The swelling around his eye had gone down but maintained its reddish-purple coloring. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry. She figured out I was trying to stall her. I didn’t really have anything to talk about.”

  “You didn’t try to warn me, either.” I shook my head and brushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear.

  “What?” He blinked. “I texted you.”

  “No, you,” I trailed off when my phone beeped. It was his message. “Oh.”

  “What did you find in there? Anything about Arthur?”

  “Nothing about Arthur, but I was looking through one of Henry’s medical books and, forgive me if this sounds rude, but that guy was crazy.”

  “Crazy?” Rick’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” I leaned against the wall. “I don’t know much about cocaine. You know, the side effects or whatever, but it looks like he was searching for ways to reduce the amount of evil in a person.”

  “The amount of evil?” Rick repeated, dubiously. “I don’t get it. We have free will. You can’t control someone like a robot unless, you dope them up.”

  “Yeah,” I nodded in agreement. “Strikes me as odd that a doctor would be thinking like that. I’ve heard my sister talk about her work before, but she never said anything like this. I figured he must have written it while he was, well, high. I mean, who uses Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as a medical source?”

  Rick was silent as he took in everything I said. Despite the recent change in his behavior around me, he was still a very private person whom I could never read. That was beginning to bother me more than I liked. Luckily, he didn’t notice.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “There was a slip of paper with the name Bronx written on it and a strange sequence of numbers, too.”

  “A strange sequence of numbers? How many were there?”

  I thought back. “Ten numbers, or maybe it was eleven. I don’t know, but something like that.”

  “It was probably eleven. That’s a phone number over here. What was the name again?”

  “Bronx.”

  “Bronx,” Rick repeated, disgust rising in his voice. “I was never close to Henry, but he was a good guy deep down. He wanted to help people. Mr. Cross wanted all his boys to be lawyers, even me. But Henry had a calling. He knew he was meant to help people.”

  “What changed for him?” I asked.

  “Med school must’ve taken a lot out of him. Henry was never good when the pressure was on,” Rick said. “I can’t tell you when he started using, but Arthur told me that over the past year, it got so bad he didn’t recognize him. Then there was that near-fatal mishap during that operation.”

  I took Rick’s hand.
“I think he was still trying to help. As crazy as his writings were, it’s clear that the thought behind it was concern. Even if there wasn’t much of him left, what was still there wanted to help others.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Rick smiled as he lifted my chin with his hand. “You’re utterly amazing.”

  I smiled, tilting my head back as I stared up into his crystal blue eyes. “Really?”

  “Really. I care about you so much. I don’t know if I show it enough.”

  “You show it.”

  “Do I?” He leaned closer and our lips were inches apart. I felt his strong arms envelop me as he added, “Maybe I should show it right now.”

  I closed my eyes in anticipation.

  “Dinner!” My eyes flew open at the sound of June Chambers’ voice. I frowned when Rick released me. As we walked toward the dining room, I tried to hide the frustration I was feeling. It was difficult.

  A more composed June Chambers, pretending that the earlier incident hadn’t occurred, greeted us. She served a delicious spicy pork shoulder in cider with something called Bakewell Pudding, a flaky pastry pie with jam, for dessert. It had a unique, tart taste and Rick insisted it was a British favorite. Personally, I didn’t like it.

  As we were finishing up, she lamented, “I’m sorry I couldn’t provide you a proper meal. I wasn’t expecting anyone back here so soon. Mr. Cross said he and Mrs. Cross intended to be in the States for several days. But then, Henry,” she trailed off sorrowfully. “Well, I suppose you must be very tired from your travels.”