Old friend, her ass. If that was Lionel on the phone, she could be meeting him around the corner to plan their next attack. Miranda thought about Parker’s warning that someone might push her into traffic. She’d have to be careful when she went back out on the street.
Beside her Davinia let out a long sigh. “Again I apologize for my daughter-in-law’s lack of manners, Ms. Steele. She’s so unpredictable. I try to give her guidance, but it’s an uphill battle.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Davinia picked up a spoon and stirred her tea absently. “Gabrielle lost her mother at a young age and her father had no idea how to raise a young girl. He sent her off to boarding school and showered her with gifts. I’m afraid she’s a bit spoiled.”
That explained some of her behavior. But not all of it.
Miranda took a breath to steady herself and smiled warmly. “That’s all right. It will give us a chance to talk.”
“Yes, I’ve wanted to talk to you.” Davinia’s fingers caressed the handle of her china teacup as her expression took on that drawn, tired look. “I’ve been wondering how the case is going. Are you close to finding who took the dagger?”
Not the first question she expected out of this lady. But it was reasonable. She gave her a canned reply. “I’m not allowed to say much. We’re making about as much progress as usual at this point.” If she could catch Gabrielle at whatever game she was playing.
“Poor George Eames.”
“Yes,” Miranda said allowing sympathy into her voice. “His lawyer hasn’t been able to get him released yet.”
“Such a pity. And Trenton is one of the best barristers in the city.”
“Is he?” He didn’t seem to be doing much for his client.
“He courted me after my first husband died.”
“Trenton Jewell?”
She nodded. “He was very ambitious, always talking of big plans he had. Pipe dreams, really.”
Let her talk, Miranda decided. She mirrored Davinia’s movement, stirring her tea and waited.
“He even proposed marriage. But I chose Neville instead, of course.” Her lips turned in a sad smile. “Lionel didn’t approve of either of them. He was only a teenager then. The type who could be very vocal about his opinions. I thought he’d get used to the idea. But to this day, he resents Neville. He feels I married beneath my status.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “I got that impression at dinner last night.”
“Oh, Lionel doesn’t hold back his feelings.” Davinia took a sip of tea.
Which meant Gabrielle knew about his feelings. Probably got the brunt of his complaints. So they team up to steal the dagger? Why? To embarrass his stepdad? Make Davinia see what a fool she married? Didn’t seem worth going to prison but maybe they thought they were above that. And was Lionel’s friend Sebastian a part of the scheme?
Davinia’s heavy sigh brought her out of her thoughts.
The woman was wringing the napkin in her lap and fighting the moisture that had suddenly appeared in her eyes. “The truth is, Ms. Steele…Neville and I haven’t been happy for a long, long time.”
Miranda didn’t know what to say to that. She had guessed as much but she didn’t expect the lady to come out and admit it. Not to her.
“I think Neville stopped loving me years ago.”
“Oh—I’m sure that’s not true.”
She shook her head. “All he cares about is his museum, his artifacts, his precious relics. The only time we spend together is at social gatherings. If it weren’t for those, I wouldn’t see him at all. We never talk. Not really. Not like we used to. Oh, dear.” She took her napkin and dabbed her eyes. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to unburden my soul like that.”
Miranda stared at the lovely woman, suddenly feeling as sorry for her as she did for her husband. She was the last person to hand out marital advice but she dared to reach over and touch the Lady’s hand. “It’s all right. I wish I could say something to help, but I’m just the investigator here. As I told your husband, Parker and I will do all we can to find the Marc Antony dagger.”
“Thank you, I know you will. And I know when you do, it will ease Neville’s mind.” Her face went dark and a little hard. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it will help our situation at all.”
And so she was seeing another guy on the side because of resentment? And did that have anything to do with the theft? Miranda wasn’t sure. But two things struck her hard.
First how human this noblewoman was. And second, despite her professed concerns for her husband’s feelings, Lady Davinia seemed almost glad that the dagger had been stolen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Parker paced the parquet floor beside Sir Neville’s antique desk in the Director’s office. He glanced at his watch again, the tension in his temples working into a headache. It seemed Miranda wasn’t the only one who’d deserted him this afternoon.
Sir Neville gave him a worried look. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping Toby, Russell. He’s always punctual.”
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Parker pointed out.
The assistant had paged the young man three times. It looked like the intern was avoiding being questioned.
Sir Neville leaned back in his leather chair and studied the copy of the employee schedule. “Perhaps we should go look for him. Though I don’t know where he’d be.”
He was supposed to be in the storeroom helping to pack an exhibit to be sent to the Louvre, but he wasn’t there when Sir Neville had called the supervisor a few minutes ago.
Parker blew out a frustrated breath. The boy might have left the building. If so, it would implicate him further. They would have to track him down at his residence. Perhaps get Inspector Wample involved for a warrant. Not an idea he relished.
Parker was about to ask where the employees signed out when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Sir Neville called.
The door opened slowly and a smiling face with wavy red hair to his shoulders appeared. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes. Come in, Toby,” Sir Neville said in the tone of a trusted old friend.
The young man slipped through the opening and stood on the far end of the room, hands behind his back, soldierlike. “I’m sorry I didn’t see your page before, Sir Neville. I was ’elping Ms. Chopra.” His youthful accent was lower class with a thin veneer of polish from his education.
“That’s all right. Come in, won’t you?” Sir Neville waved for the boy to enter.
Gingerly, he advanced a few steps.
He wore the plain black slacks, blue blazer and red tie at the neck that seemed to be the standard museum uniform. His eyes were bright green and with his red hair, fair complexion and a smattering of freckles across the nose, Parker could see a touch of Ireland in his features. The picture of youthful innocence. For a moment he wondered if his hunch was totally off.
“Toby, this is Mr. Parker. He’s conducting an inquiry about the dagger.”
“Oh. Is that what this is about?” His high-pitched voice went up a few notes.
If he’d been with Emily Chopra, he knew exactly what this was about, but he seemed surprised. Parker gave him his most ingratiating smile. “I just want to ask a few routine questions, Toby. It won’t take long.”
“Of course. Anything to ’elp.”
“Have a seat.”
He settled into the padded leather chair across from the desk, rocking back and forth as if he couldn’t find a comfortable position.
Parker sat on the edge of the desk where Miranda had been before, frustrated she wasn’t here now. With no understanding of interrogation methods, Sir Neville was a poor substitute for her. But Parker needed a witness.
He began. “You’ve worked here about two months?”
The young man nodded vigorously and smiled. “Yessir.”
“And what do your duties consist of?”
“Oh, well.” He rocked some more and wiped his palms over his pan
t legs. “I’m an ’elper. Mostly in the storeroom. You know. Packing and unpacking deliveries, tidying up. That sort of thing. I also ’elp Ms. Chopra and Mr. Eames with their projects.”
“Such as the Marc Antony dagger?”
The rocking stopped. The smile faded. “Yessir.”
Parker leaned back. “And do you enjoy working with Ms. Chopra and Mr. Eames?”
The smile came back, as well as the nodding. “Oh, yessir. They’re the absolute best. I’ve learned a lot from them.”
Letting a moment pass, Parker got to his feet, picked up the clipboard with the employee names Miranda had used. Her notes were on it. He hoped Sir Neville hadn’t read them. “Tell me what happened on the morning the dagger was delivered.”
“Thursday morning?” His voice rose in pitch again.
“Yes. Thursday.”
He blinked several times. “Well, it was stolen, as you know. Bloody awful, pardon my language.”
Parker gave him a patient, fatherly smile. “I mean, tell me chronologically. When did you arrive at the museum that morning?”
“When did I arrive?” His face went blank, as if he couldn’t remember. “Oh, around eight, as usual. The presentation wasn’t until nine, so I went to Special Exhibits to ’elp out there. Then I went round to the café to get a coffee. Then I went down to the storeroom.” As he spoke he fidgeted in the chair, making it squeak as if it were a rocking horse with a riding-obsessed child as its owner.
It was on one of the forward rocks that Parker noticed the last button on his coat was missing. “Do you have the code to access the storeroom?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Oh, no sir. I wasn’t issued the code. Someone has to let me in. Same as any other intern.”
“And Thursday morning?”
“Thursday morning? Ms. Chopra and Mr. Eames were already there. One of them buzzed me in.” So far, that matched Emily Chopra’s narrative.
Parker turned a half step away from the boy and pretended to study the clipboard. He stole a glance at Sir Neville. The confusion on his friend’s face told him he didn’t see why Parker was asking questions he already knew the answers to. He needed to wrap this up.
“Did you notice anything unusual, Toby?”
“Unusual, sir?”
Parker let his gaze rest on the missing button. “In the storeroom Thursday morning.”
Toby wiped his hands on his slacks again. “Oh, well. No. Everything looked in order. I…I mean everything was just right as rain.” He grinned and nodded but there was fear in his eyes.
“Were you surprised by that?”
“No, I—What do you mean?”
Parker sighed. He set the clipboard down on the desk and moved over to the window. “Mr. Yeats, the security director, thinks someone from the museum let the thief in through the door on the side.”
Toby’s face went pale. “Really? Blimey. I mean. ’Oo would do a thing like that?”
“It looks like Mr. Eames did.”
Toby shook his head with even more vigor. “I don’t believe that. Not for one minute. There’s nobody more upstanding than Mr. Eames.”
Parker pretended to study one of the potted plants on the windowsill. “And yet, he’ll no doubt go to prison for this crime.”
The boy fell silent, pondering that thought.
“All the evidence points to him. He’s already in custody as you know.”
The young man fidgeted, wiped a finger under his nose, glanced about the room as if looking for an escape. “I ’eard that. I—I don’t know what to say.”
“He’ll get at least five years. Perhaps more since Buckingham Palace seems to want to make an example of him. When he gets out he’ll never be able to work in a museum again. I don’t know how he’ll survive. Or who will take care of his mother. Then again, he might not survive the incarceration. Can you imagine what prison will be like for a man like Mr. Eames?”
Parker risked another glance at Sir Neville. The poor man looked perfectly aghast. Parker gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He returned a silent nod.
Then Parker turned back to Toby.
The boy’s mouth was open. His green eyes, filled with shock were spilling over with tears. They ran down his face and dripped onto the coat of his museum outfit. He stared at Parker a long moment, his shoulders shaking.
Parker stood, waiting, trying not to feel sorry for the lad.
At last he lurched forward, thrust his head into his hands. “Oh, God! What ’ave I done? What ’ave I done?”
Parker moved to the boy, put a steadying hand on his shivering back. “Just tell us what you know.” He glanced over at Sir Neville.
The man’s eyes were wide, his mouth also gaping. He stared at Parker as if he were looking at the eighth wonder of the world.
Sir Neville got to his feet and hurried to Toby’s side. Parker was afraid his friend would tell the boy not to say anything more. But he didn’t.
“Toby,” Sir Neville said softly. “This must be so hard for you, lad. But you must help Mr. Eames if you can.”
The boy nodded. Slowly he raised his head. His eyes were red and his face smeared with tears.
Parker reached into a pocket and gave him a handkerchief.
The boy snatched it and dabbed it under his cheek as he began to babble. “There’s this bloke I used to know. Name’s Malcomb. Malcomb Shrivel. Tough guy. We went to school together. Up until level ten. ’e dropped out after that. I heard ’e joined a gang in the area. Tottenham, where I grew up. My sister still lives there.”
He was rambling. “What about this Malcomb?”
“Well, I hadn’t seen ’im for years. Forgot about ’im, really. I wanted to get out of that area. Better myself, you know?”
“Of course, you did, Toby,” Sir Neville soothed.
“About three weeks ago, I went round to Tottenham and popped into The Winkin’ Owl for a pint with some of me old mates.”
“The Winking Owl?” Parker asked.
“It’s a pub off Broadwater Road. Me sister Winnie’s a barmaid there. She’d called me and told me they’d be there and she really wanted me to come. Said she ’ad something to tell me.”
“I see. What happened?”
“Well, Winnie was busy so I took a table with me mates. After a pint or two and a bit of catching up, everyone decided to go ’ome. Most of ’em ’ad to be up for work the next day. Meself included. That was when Malcomb walked in. ’e’s a tall one. Muscular. ’e’d been working out. ’e was all in chains and black, with ’is ’air dyed and all spiked up. You know, tough guy look.” Toby took a few quick hyperventilating breaths as if the very thought of this Malcomb was too much for him.
Parker waited for him to settle.
“So’s I go over to Winnie and ask ’er what did she want to tell me. She says it’s Malcomb who wanted to talk to me. And ’e wants to talk in the back room.” He stopped, face white, breathing like a diver running out of air in his tank.
“Steady, Toby,” Sir Neville purred, his hand still on the lad’s shoulder.
Toby gave a quick nod. “I shouldn’t ’ave gone but I didn’t ’ave much choice. I stepped back there with ’im. This tiny little place with no windows. ’e got me up against the wall and told me ’e was dating Winnie and what a…what a fine lay she were.” He closed his eyes and took more breaths. “’e said it would be a shame if anything were to ’appen to ’er. Like if she were to get beat up really bad and couldn’t work. ’E said that wouldn’t ’appen if I cooperated and gave ’im what ’e needed.”
Parker’s narrowed his eyes with anger. “What did he need?”
Toby rubbed his hands over his slacks again and shook his bowed head from side to side. “I shouldn’t ’ave done it. I shouldn’t ’ave.”
Sir Neville nearly shook him. “Toby, what did you do?”
The lad lifted his head with a boyish pout, his freckled cheeks wet with tears. “I gave him a keycard to the outside door and the access code to the sto
reroom.”
Sir Neville was aghast. “How did you get the code?”
“Mr. Eames was always complaining about learning a new one every month. ’E mentioned ’e ’ad to write it down. I—I snuck into ’is rooms. ’E doesn’t lock the door during the day. I found it on a slip of paper on ’is desk. Labeled and everything. I would never ’ave done it if it weren’t for Winnie.”
“And the keycard?” Parker asked.
“I gave Malcomb mine and told Mr. Eames I’d lost mine. ’e got me a new one.”
And Eames hadn’t even mentioned it. Yeats didn’t either, because he thought Eames to be innocent. But the police might know. And that would be the nail in the coffin of the case against him. No wonder they hadn’t released him.
Parker leaned over and picked up the hem of the lad’s coat. “Does this missing button mean anything?”
The boy’s face went red and he closed his eyes in pain. “That night at the pub, Malcomb tore it off me coat. I’d worn it to show off in front of me mates. Stupid. That morning. The morning the dagger was to be presented, I saw the button on the floor right next to the cart ’olding the crate. I thought it was some sort of message from Malcomb. A warning I ’ad better keep quiet about all this. I kicked it under one the shelving units before anyone could see it.”
And now the police had the button, too.
All at once the boy lunged forward, head in hands panicking. “Oh, God. What’s going to ’appen to me, Sir Neville? What’s going to ’appen to Winnie? I’m so ashamed of meself after all you’ve done for me. I swear I’d never ’ave done such a thing if it weren’t for Winnie.”
“We know, lad. We know.” Sir Neville looked up at Parker with glassy blue eyes. “What are we going to do, Russell?”
There was only one thing to do. “Toby,” Parker said with as much kindness in his tone as he could muster. Despite the chaos the boy had caused, his heart went out to him. “I’m afraid we have to ask you to tell your story to Inspector Wample.”
Slowly the lad raised his head and stared helplessly at Parker. Then after a long moment, he nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Miranda watched Lady Davinia’s lips go tight with annoyance as she studied her watch before glancing anxiously around the restaurant. “Thirty-five minutes. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into Gabrielle.”
Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) Page 12