“So you drop her into the midst of the feebleminded and insane ?” Colin growled, and I felt my heart sink at his description of the place I once had to stay. “Is there any wonder she struggles for a will to survive?”
“Need I remind you that Edmond sent his wife there himself some years back. Surely you do not mean to chastise him?”
“Oh, but I would if he were here,” Colin said as he came around behind me. “Which begs the question, Mr. Tessler, under whose authority did you have Mrs. Connicle remanded there?”
“My own,” he answered, his posture stiffening and his face clouding with offense. “Because of Mr. Tolliver’s current incapacitation I am the estate’s temporary executor.”
“Current incapacitation?!” Colin thundered over my left shoulder. “The man’s incapacitation is clearly catastrophic and permanent.”
Mr. Tessler went still. “Do you mean to suggest that you are a prescient medical professional as well as an investigator? Because I have not been told such a thing about Mr. Tolliver from anyone.”
“Have you seen him, Mr. Tessler? Have you tried to speak with him?”
Wynn Tessler stared back at Colin with obvious confusion, and for a moment I thought perhaps he had not caught the scorn in Colin’s question. But a minute later he gave a terse chuckle and stood up, taking his time to tug at the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and adjust the emerald-cut diamond cuff links pinching them together. Only after he had completed that bit of smartening did he finally cast his gaze at Colin with the well-worn patience of a shrewd negotiator. “Gentlemen,” he said with ease. “I hope I have accorded you every assistance required. I have certainly done my utmost to try. But you must forgive me in my refusal to engage in your invectives. I am headed to Zurich on business in two days and there is much I must do to prepare. If there is anything further I can do . . .” He crossed behind us to the door and cast it open with a flourish. “Well, you have only to ask.”
Colin was out the door in an instant, leaving me to rally myself back to my feet and offer the necessary pleasantries before I could make my own escape.
That Colin was livid was unquestionable, so I was not surprised to find him on the street cursing every carriage that passed by as though it were a personal affront. Before he could throw himself bodily in front of the next one with the intent of ejecting some poor sod from his cab, I caught the eye of an approaching driver by discreetly waving a pair of crowns. The man deposited his current fare at our feet with a hurried excuse and we were on our way in a heartbeat.
I stayed quiet for a time, knowing Colin was best left to his brooding, but as we drew nearer to our flat in Kensington I could keep my peace no longer. “I hardly know what to think of Mr. Tessler—”
“The man is a bollocky, buggery bastard,” Colin said, his face taut with fury. “Mrs. Connicle may warrant some treatment, but to commit her as he has done?! To discard her future as though it were piffle?! He is lower than a snake’s balls.” Colin turned his gaze back outside as we rounded the corner from Queen’s Gate onto Gloucester.
I considered correcting his reptile physiology before deciding instead to mutter, “He has been helpful. . . .”
“As it suits him,” Colin grunted as he sat forward and stared toward our flat. “And now Varcoe has come for yet another ruddy visit.” I turned and caught sight of Varcoe’s coach parked at our curb, one of his blue-suited bobbies milling about with evident boredom. “Perhaps I’ll have Varcoe look into that accident of Mr. Tolliver’s!” he groused as our cab pulled to the side of the road. “I’m beginning to find that whole affair unsettling.” And before the driver could bring us to a full stop, Colin hopped out and strode to our door with such swiftness that the bobby only managed to come to attention after Colin had snapped past him.
“I suppose you’ll be wantin’ tea?” Mrs. Behmoth asked when I finally stepped inside after settling with the driver.
Heated words were already drifting down from overhead, and while I could not tell what was being said, there was no doubt of their disgruntled nature. “Yes,” I said as I headed upstairs. “I’d say we will need a distraction.”
By the time I reached the landing I knew I was right. Colin had planted himself in front of the fireplace and was swinging the poker around as though it were an extension of his arm. “I am not going over this again,” he was raging as he turned and stabbed at a burning log, which I suspected was a surrogate for the inspector himself.
“You will go over it again!” Varcoe howled from his position behind the settee, legs spread and hands on his hips as though he were about to draw his gun. “And you will go over it as many times as I want you to.”
Sergeant Evans was hovering just inside the room by the coatrack, his well-lined, round face peering at me with discomfort. He respected Colin with some consistency, unlike Varcoe, whose affections were as transient as a young girl’s. “What are you two on about?” I asked with an overzealous smile.
Varcoe turned on me, launching a feral leer that warned me I was more at the center of this dispute than I knew. “Let’s ask Pruitt again since he was there.”
“I was where?” I asked with the innocence of ignorance.
“In a deserted alley in the East End with a known felon.” A disingenuous grin bloomed across Varcoe’s face. “A dead felon,” he added.
“You should be thanking us,” Colin put in gruffly. “Not grilling us.”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, Pendragon!” Varcoe snarled. “We’re supposed to be partners on this case and all you’ve done is shuffle around me like the whole of Scotland Yard is at your disposal.”
Colin gritted his teeth and sucked in a slow breath as he turned and hung the fireplace poker back in its place. “You’re right,” he abruptly conceded as Mrs. Behmoth’s thudding footfalls could be heard coming up the stairs. “I have been exclusionary and foolish.” He threw himself into his chair with a feigned look of contrition that appeared to placate Varcoe at once.
Mrs. Behmoth set the tray of tea paraphernalia down with a sneer and I knew she wasn’t fooled, either.
“Sit down, Inspector,” Colin said. “Sergeant . . . We’ve some tea and Mrs. Behmoth’s fine ginger biscuits.” Colin gave her a smile that earned him a roll of her eyes as she headed back out. “I will catch you up on our endeavors and perhaps you will do the same for us. I leave that to you.” He snatched the teapot and poured us all some tea as Varcoe settled onto the settee, followed by Sergeant Evans wearing an expression of barely concealed amusement. “So that sorry bloke turned out to be a felon?” Colin mused as he handed out our cups.
Varcoe snorted. “He had a litany of arrests going back almost twenty years. Some of them here, most of them in Budapest, Prague, and Munich. Not your stellar citizen. We can’t even find a next of kin to notify of his death. Doesn’t seem like anybody gives a ruddy shite.”
“Pity . . .” Colin threw in without much effort, though I could see he was paying close attention. “What was his name?”
“Name?” Varcoe looked over at Evans.
The sergeant checked his notes. “Eckhard Heillert,” he answered. “Prussian. Accused of his first murder at seventeen.”
Colin slid a glance to me and I knew I was meant to remember that name. “How is it that our dear city draws such types?”
“Never mind that.” Varcoe set his cup down and grabbed several biscuits. “What have you been up to? What brought a rogue like that into your line a sight?”
“It came to our attention that he’d been throwing money about,” Colin offered lightly. “Living in East End squalor but flashing the sterling of someone who’s gotten himself into some fine game, say murder for hire, for instance.” He gave a dismissive shrug. “I thought it worth a look,” he went on. “But all Ethan saw was the result of a deal gone sour.”
“I suppose that’s something Pruitt knows a bit about.” Varcoe snickered. Colin’s eyes narrowed, but it, as with so much else, was lost on the inspector. “Ne
ver mind all of that.” He waved a hand through the air. “I want to know what you’re up to on the Connicle case.”
“Then you’d best mind your tongue where Ethan is concerned.” Colin flashed a tight smile as he dug a crown out of his pocket and began coaxing it between his fingers.
Varcoe’s eyes went hard as his face bloomed rose.
“Do you have any leads on who killed Mr. Heillert?” I asked, intent on returning the conversation to firmer footing.
“Nobody sees anything down there,” Varcoe grumbled. “Like we were the bloody enemy. The problem is that nothing down there draws the least bit of attention. A man could rampage down the street with a bloody knife in his hand and no one would raise an eye. The Ripper has about proven that himself.”
“Nevertheless”—Colin mustered a generous smile—“it would seem you put him out of business in spite of yourself. You must be pleased with that.”
Varcoe pursed his lips and threw an ill-tempered glare at Colin. “How about we stick to Edmond Connicle.”
“We have been searching for some correlation between the Connicles and Huttons beyond the proximity of their homes. We know that Edmond Connicle was a founding partner in—”
“Columbia Financial,” Varcoe interrupted crossly. “And the Huttons were clients there too. Tell me you can do better than that.”
“The man who was to have been the executor of the Connicle estate, Noah Tolliver, suffered a catastrophic riding accident several months back and has been rendered incapable both mentally and physically. As a result it appears control of their estate has reverted to Mr. Connicle’s partner, Wynn Tessler.”
“So what?”
“Mr. Tessler already controls the Hutton estate,” Colin pointed out. “That would be the strongest correlation I have yet.”
Varcoe’s eyes went wide even as his brows caved in. “That’s it?!” He looked at Sergeant Evans and gave a snort as he got to his feet. “Well, thank bleeding hell I ain’t paying you.” He sauntered over to the fireplace before turning back to us, smiling as though he were landed gentry surveying his domain. “The Yard, on the other hand, has learned a great deal,” he practically crowed. “We have found not one, but two other African groups who practice that voodoo twaddle here in the city, and one of them knows the Connicles’ scullery maid by name.”
“Alexa?” Colin said with obvious disinterest. “I should think it a small population. It would surprise me if they didn’t all know of one another.”
The smile dropped from Varcoe’s face as he stabbed his fists onto his hips again. “Well, would it surprise you to learn that one of them accused her of malfeasance?”
One of Colin’s eyebrows arced up. “It would surprise me if any of them knew what that word meant,” he replied.
“She is despised in her own community!” Varcoe thundered back. “She is said to be haughty and feral.”
“Feral, is it?” Colin repeated. “Did she bite someone?”
Sergeant Evans snorted into his tea, earning a momentary glare from Varcoe. “The poison they found in the stomachs of the Aston dogs was cyanide,” he said as he circled around behind Colin’s chair. “Something any scullery maid can get her hands on without even leaving the house. And Miss Hollings told us Alexa was afraid of the missing Hutton boy. Like his condition was some balmy sign of evil mumbo jumbo.” He leaned over Colin. “We’ve also found something else you’re going to be interested in, Pendragon.” He chuckled as he ambled back over to the fireplace, a grin tickling the corners of his mouth. “My men discovered a crude ladder half-buried in the brush not far from the Huttons’ house. It’s crafted from wood rails exactly like those Alexa’s husband was using to fix the Connicles’ fence. We believe the ladder was used to spirit William Hutton from his room. And can you guess what was stuck to one of the corners of that ladder?”
“What?” Colin mumbled, any mirth gone from his eyes.
“A small scrap of black cotton like that used in a maid’s skirts with enough chloroform on it to immobilize a man. Very sloppy. Somebody who doesn’t know a thing about chloroform. Probably never had a tooth properly extracted.” His eyes flashed cruelly. “You know, like an African scullery maid. Denton Ross declared that given the cocked-up amount used on the boy, he would’ve stopped breathing within a matter of minutes. I’ve got my men out right now searching the woods on the property. We brought the dogs out a short while ago. So you see, Pendragon, there is much the Yard has been able to accomplish while you’ve had Pruitt here gallivanting about in back alleys for old times’ sake.”
Colin flashed a tight grin as he slid the crown he’d been shuffling back into his pocket. I worried what he might be about to say, but he surprised me, as he often does, by simply leaning back and stating, “It is indeed an impressive amount of information that you’ve been able to assemble. But I wonder to what end Alexa would have had all of these crimes committed?” he continued. “And what of her husband? What of his death?”
“Maybe he didn’t like what his wife was up to. Maybe he threatened to turn her in.” Varcoe shrugged blithely, and yet I could tell Colin had poked at the inspector’s own misgiving.
“We have come upon murders with lesser motives,” Colin admitted, his gaze drifting off. “Are Mrs. Hutton and her daughter still there watching your men and their hounds rooting about?”
“No. The two of them left this morning for Paris. And so much the better without them. She was threatening to single-handedly end my career,” he griped. “And that after I told her the Yard was working around the clock on the case.” His tone dropped and I could sense his displeasure. “I even admitted that we’d brought you in as a consultant, but she was not to be assuaged. I don’t think she’s much of a fan of either of us.”
“She made that clear to me as well,” Colin muttered, swiping a hand through his hair.
“She demanded we deliver her and the girl to Claridge’s before sunset last night. Claridge’s,” he scoffed. “She refused to even go back to the house this morning. They left everything they hadn’t taken with them yesterday and were off to Dover by nine. Went to stay with a sister, or cousin . . .” He waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t remember. We’ve got the address. Not to mention that she’s already contacted us once and she hasn’t even been gone a damn day!”
“You can hardly blame her,” I said, glancing over at Colin and finding him wholly preoccupied as he stared out the window.
“Evans and I are on our way over to have another go at that snarky scullery maid of the Connicles,” Varcoe announced as he crossed to the doorway. “That woman is into this in some way. You can’t tell me you don’t agree.”
Colin turned from the window and looked back at the inspector, his expression unreadable. “You certainly have some potent evidence against her,” he allowed. “But what bothers me, what I cannot stop thinking about, is why?”
“Those people,” Varcoe sniffed. “Life has no meaning for them. They kill their own like they kill the beasts for eating. You’re looking for logic where there is none, Pendragon. You’ve been living too high for too long.” A complacent smile curved Varcoe’s lips. “We’ll let you know if we need you anymore. Otherwise, stay out of the gutters, boys.” He chuckled as he flicked a last mocking grin at me.
CHAPTER 38
Varcoe’s warning meant nothing to Colin, as we were back to the same harsh East End neighborhood that very night. An incessant drizzle persisted in spitting from the thick iron-gray clouds brooding across the evening sky as the two of us split up and trolled through a goodly share of pubs and taverns seeking anyone familiar with the late felon Eckhard Heillert. For his part, Colin failed utterly. I, on the other hand, did manage to find one barkeep and two working ladies who recognized the name, though none of them could tell me much of consequence. The barkeep and one of the women remembered having seen Mr. Heillert freely spending a fair amount of money, but both insisted they knew nothing of how he’d earned it. The other woman recollected his bragg
ing about doing a series of jobs for a gentleman but admitted she didn’t care a whit about it as long as Mr. Heillert paid for her services. Which, after a second stout, she confessed she had adjusted upward and he had happily given. But beyond those meager scraps, we learned nothing.
I spent the better part of the next day completing my chronicle of our recent case involving the Arnifour family while Colin paced around our flat, tossed his weights around for a bit, took a walk, pretended to take a brief nap, and disassembled and cleaned four handguns and a rifle. When I began to fear he might be on the verge of tackling his knife collection he announced that it was time for us to visit Prakhasa Guitnu and return his bounty of jewels to him. So as tea time approached, we headed east to Holland Park.
We arrived to find the Guitnu family at home, including middle daughter Sunny, who looked positively ill at our appearance. Nevertheless, all three daughters were subjected to tea and the most delicious little coconut cakes for the first half hour of our visit before Mr. Guitnu finally released them, along with his wife, so we could turn to the crux of our visit. The doors to the great library had barely closed before Mr. Guitnu turned to us. “What have you learned? Do you bring me news?”
Colin picked up the valise he had brought and extracted the sack Cillian and Sunny had given us. “I believe you will find everything there,” Colin said, his tone soft and, to my ears, filled with misgiving.
“What?!” Mr. Guitnu’s eyes went bright as he pulled the sack open and fished a hand inside, extracting the same sapphire necklace I had so admired at our flat. “It is a miracle. You are a master, Mr. Pendragon.” He beamed. Yet not a moment later his brow began to furrow as he quickly pawed through the items with a mixture of relief and mounting concern. “But how . . . ?” He looked at us.
“Ah . . .” Colin flashed a quick, thin smile as he sat back in his chair. “I shall give you a full accounting, but might I trouble you to answer a few unrelated questions first?”
The Connicle Curse Page 24