A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “Delighted to be of service,” the disheveled dandy said. “I’ll pick you up in my car.”

  Johns grumbled. “You’re the most stubborn women.” He stalked off to other duties but not before calling over his shoulder, “I’m sending a constable to sleep outside your doors.”

  Martha flicked Helen a “whatever” expression and they followed Polly upstairs to pack their things.

  “Helen,” Piers said, causing her to turn around. “I would feel better if you would stay at Healy tonight.”

  She turned back to him. She saw his worry in his face and his affection. It humbled her momentarily. When Johns turned to Piers for his word, it was as if the two chattels had been neatly shifted from one man’s responsibility to another’s. She wouldn’t be dealt with like that ever again.

  “I appreciate your kindness and your generous hospitality, Piers. You are a dear man, and we’re even. You saved me tonight.” She gave him a pat on the arm and standing back. “I am going to stay in a hotel with Martha and Polly. The thought of bringing more danger to Healy doesn’t set well with me. We’ll be fine.”

  Piers’ face showed a sliver of frustration. He gave Helen a quick, terse smile and said, “I’m going to run by The Grange to check on things. If you need me, I’ll be in town for a short while.”

  Helen hoped she’d not appeared ungrateful. She was fine and she enjoyed being in control and wasn’t going to relinquish that authority to anyone ever again.

  He nodded. “I get it. Johns was right.”

  “About what?”

  “Stubborn. He said you are both stubborn.”

  Helen laughed. “Damn right we are, but in all the right ways. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Thank you again.”

  “For what?” he said.

  “Being such a good person, Piers.”

  He studied her face for a moment. “No one’s ever said that to me, Helen.”

  She cocked her head toward her shoulder and said, “They missed the best part of you, then.”

  Helen, with a short wave, walked out of the room to go pack her things.

  Piers watched her go and, in a hushed voice, said, “No, that part wasn’t there before…you.”

  Chapter 26

  “CHIEF? IT’S WATERS. I HAVE two pieces of good news for you. Dr. Billings, the forensic specialist at New Scotland Yard, faxed a file regarding the document we sent down. They’ve translated the letter written in Russian.”

  “Donna, send a copy to my phone but read me what the translation says,” Johns said.

  Donna read:

  “I, Sotnik Ivan Ivovich Lysenko, of the Leib-Guard for Her Imperial Majesty The Empress Dowager Maria Feodorovna, left Russia on May 23, 1917.

  The Empress’ items I retrieved from the barge that left Kiev are in safe keeping. I am not able to return to My Empress. She is under house arrest in Yalta. I have made it to England and wish to see the items safely in your hands. I am ill and probably dying. This letter I entrust to this woman, a friend, Sophia Rossar-mescro, to bring to you along with the following items:

  Empire

  Blue Hen

  Cherub

  Mauve

  Your faithful servant,

  Sotnik Ivan Ivovich Lysenko”

  Johns’ mind was in a whirl. No wonder people were trying to kill the Rossar-mescros. They must have something extremely valuable in their keeping that belonged at one time to The Empress Dowager of Russia. He didn’t know his Russian history well, but he did know the Romanovs lost everything during the Bolshevik Revolution. Was this something belonging to them? Who was this letter meant for?

  “What do they say about the carbon dating of the paper? Does it match with the date on the letter?” Johns asked.

  “Yes, they put the carbon dating at between 1915 and 1920 for both documents. The document analysis done has DNA residue from two distinct individuals. Dr. Billings says it will take time to work with the Russian consulate to match the one sequence, but the other sequence matches Laura Rossar-mescro’s DNA sample.”

  “What is the other good news?” Johns asked.

  Donna, with suppressed excitement, answered, “I’m sorry I didn’t get this to you earlier when you came by to relocate the Rossar-mescro’s but Sam must have taken it off the fax machine and forgot to tell me.”

  “I’m going to pull that boy’s up by the scruff of his neck the next time I see him. What did the fax say?”

  The murder weapon that killed Laura Rossar-mescro may have turned up. It was offered to an antique dealer in London yesterday. He bought it and according to the officer I spoke with on the phone, if it is the actual weapon, it’s a valuable piece. But here is the best part. It has an inscription: Leib-Guard, Sotnik Ivan Ivovich Lysenko.”

  “That nails it, Donna. It has to be the murder weapon. Any description of who sold it to the dealer?” Johns asked as he stood outside watching Endicott and Cross hammer an old piece of wood over his blown out kitchen window.

  “Yes, a woman in her late thirties. Wearing sunglasses. Her brunette hair was pulled up in a bun. The man said he’d remember her perfume if he ever smelled it again.”

  “How was she paid?”

  “Diamond necklace,” Donna replied.

  “What? A diamond necklace? Did she take it in trade?”

  “Yes, but she did have to sign and you’ll never guess the name on the signature line.”

  “No,” Johns said shaking his head in frustration, “but make my day and tell me what the signature says.”

  “Helen Ryes. The signature says Helen Ryes.”

  For at least five seconds Johns didn’t say anything. He stood staring at the unattractive wood paneling they found in the barn to cover his mother’s kitchen window. He said, “Did they get prints on the weapon?”

  “Yes, they did, but they need to run them through Interpol,” Donna replied.

  “I’m bringing in Helen for questioning and fingerprinting. Don’t share this information with anyone else at the station. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Johns ended the call and flagged Sergeant Endicott over.

  “Helen Ryes left yet?” he asked.

  “No, Sir. She’s in the kitchen with your mother and Mrs. Littleword.”

  “Good. I think it’s time to find out more about our Mrs. Ryes.”

  Johns headed to the front door of his house. With each step he took, he mentally connected another dot. One person was at the center of every conversation and every event: Helen.

  As he emerged from the dark entrance hall into the light, he saw the three women standing around the table. They turned toward him.

  “No hotel tonight, ladies. I’m taking you to the constabulary. You’ll be safe there.”

  “We said we would get a hotel.” Helen’s tone indicated a slight annoyance.

  “Not an offer,” he said pausing for effect. “Let’s say it’s more of a…necessity.”

  His tone indicated it wouldn’t serve to argue. Opening the door and standing to the side so they might pass in front of him, Johns waited. One by one Helen, Martha and Polly walked outside into the dark. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 27

  THE AUTUMN EVENINGS IN YORKSHIRE can turn cool, especially close to the water. A low mist was forming above the river Calder creating eerie twisting shapes whenever the soft night wind blew down from the higher hills. Seemingly indifferent to the breeze’s frigid bite, Perigrine and Alistair, unrecognizable in black clothing and face masks, sat hunkered down within fifteen feet of the Rossar-mescro’s three boats still moored below The Traveller’s Inn. With each breath of wind, soft tinkling sounds came from the small bells tied into the lines, keeping evil spirits from settling on the Romani’s water homes.

  P and Al had sequestered themselves behind a long row of hedges bordering the canal. They kept a vigilant outlook for any unusual movements along the old tow path. Perigrine, wearing a pair of night vision binoculars strapped to a type of head gear allowing him t
o keep his hands free for the evening’s work, barely breathed as he scanned the dark environs up and down the canal.

  “Nothing and no one is about, Alistair. Should we go?” he asked in a soft whisper. “It’s getting late, almost ten-thirty,”

  “One minute,” Alistair replied. “Here comes Constable Cross moving toward the boats for one last inspection. He should be expecting a relief officer soon. Once they’re talking, I’ll release the lines to the black boat and you be ready to board the blue one.”

  The goggle-head nodded. The sound of a car door slamming beside the inn made their heads jerk slightly to see who it was. Constable Cross called out a hello and soon they saw another police officer walking up to the outdoor dining area. He was chafing his hands together trying to adjust to the cold. The two constables talked for a while and moved to the back door of the old pub as if they might go inside.

  “Go!” Alistair hissed.

  Perigrine moved cautiously, staying within the shadows of the foliage along the river’s embankment. Al ran to the boat farthest away from the potential view of anyone left inside the inn and lay flat on the ground. At this angle it wouldn’t be possible for anyone standing up on the pub’s patio area to see the embankment’s edge below.

  In a hunkered run, Alistair untied the boat’s rear lines and tossed them onto the back deck. He moved to the bow end and untied the other set of lines, slinging them onto the front deck where they landed with a quiet thud. The boat, free from its restraints and shrouded by the mist, did the bidding of the river’s current and quietly slipped away from the embankment and floated downstream without a sound.

  By the time both constables disappeared inside the pub, Perigrine was already on board the blue narrowboat and using the night-vision goggles to work the lock on the door to the living quarters. The latch turned over easily letting Perigrine slip safely inside the cabin unseen.

  Alistair scrambled back to the red boat landing lightly like a cat on its deck. Putting on his own pair of night-vision head gear, he moved with feline agility to the boat’s aft end and picked the cabin’s lock. Again, it gave way in less than a minute and Alistair gently stepped down into the cabin and shut the door behind him. He touched a slim metallic gadget clipped to his chest. This two-way radio paired with Bluetooth headsets, allowed the two men to communicate with one another.

  “Are you able to hear me?” Alistair asked.

  “Perfectly,” responded Perigrine. “You?”

  “Perfectly,” Al answered. “Keep to the sweeping strategy we planned. The boats are from the same builder so their layout must be similar. We probably should expect some hoopla once the third boat is discovered gone. Should give us time to search these two from top to bottom.”

  With a delicate hand and a consummate attention to detail, they gleaned each boat for its potential hidden secrets. Success depended on sticking to their plan of meticulous investigation. Lifting cushions, searching inside mechanical holds, tapping interior walls and discussing the renovations done by the family, gave them a precise map of the entire boat. Because the Rossar-mescros had lived on these boats for over seventy years, upgrades would be normal consequences of changing times and technology.

  For the most part, the boats retained their original charm, but there was nothing indicating poverty or want in the Rossar-mescro’s lifestyle. The appliances were all relatively new and the interior was well-maintained, and other than the old tiffany-styled dining lights probably original to the boats that still hung over the cozy sitting banquets, the rest of the electronics, lighting and furnishings were homey, up-to-date and in excellent condition.

  Perigrine heard it first. His movements ceased all together and he whispered into his microphone, “Someone’s outside. They aren’t on the boat…yet.”

  No response from Alistair. Perigrine waited as still as a speck of dust in a library.

  “Don’t move, P. We’ve got company and it’s not the police,” Alistair finally answered.

  A sound came from the deck of Perigrine’s boat. He spoke hurriedly into the tiny microphone, “I’m heading to the rear of the boat to the main bedroom. There’s a door there. I’ll take care of this one.”

  “Remember, we can only bag the trash,” Alistair said.

  “Of course.”

  Perigrine waited. He’d found a perfect hiding place on top of long shelving which ran the length of the aft bedroom cabin above the wardrobe. Easily hoisting himself upward, he settled his long, skinny black frame in a side-ways position resembling a tidy bed roll waiting to be retrieved from its snug shelf. Digging into a small zippered pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and a thimble-sized plastic bottle filled with a clear liquid. All was quiet.

  Soon, he heard the subtle sounds indicating another life was in the boat. He waited making himself calm and ready, being careful to not exude any energy which the other person might sense. As the boat’s floorboards creaked with the weight of an approaching body, Perigrine unscrewed the bottle and waited to soak the hanky with the liquid inside.

  A tall figure moved into the room and hesitated momentarily. Approaching the drawers, it rifled through them and once done, it lifted a few pictures hanging on the walls. The silhouetted form switched its attention to where Perigrine lay and opened the wardrobe, digging around directly beneath him. As the person shut the doors and turned around facing the bed, Perigrine leaned over, grabbing the person’s throat in a choke hold, and lifted him off the floor while pressing the handkerchief to his face. The body struggled and slapped at the air wildly, but went limp in less than twenty seconds. Perigrine let the person slip quietly to the floor.

  “One down,” he whispered into the microphone.

  Not getting an answer from Alistair, he knew to wait and listen intently for any indications that another person was on board. Nothing. He lifted the man lying on the floor up under his arms, and dragged him to the bunk. Once there, he rolled him in the blankets to secure him from moving even if he did wake up.

  In his ear, he finally heard, “I’m outside, P. My pig’s in its blanket. Meet me down behind the mill. We need to see where our other boat floated to.” Alistair sounded out of breath.

  “There in a tic,” Perigrine answered lightly.

  Within three minutes, he stood in a cold misty night near the five hundred year old Marsden-Lacey mill. Nothing stirred the serenity of the scene. The village was as quiet as one might expect it to be on an autumn night with everyone sleeping deeply in their beds.

  A movement beside him and a wicked chuckle let him know his best friend was enjoying his nocturnal adventures, too.

  “What did you do with yours?” Alistair asked.

  “Put him to bed. Should be sleeping comfortably when the police arrive. By the way, we should make a phone call.”

  “Already done. Did it while I was on the boat. Let’s take a hike before the police arrive. The new constable who came on duty will be Johns’ favorite chew toy for a few weeks. He’s nowhere to be seen. We’d better get moving. It’s already eleven-fifteen.”

  “Why didn’t we find anything? Do you think they moved them into a bank safety deposit box?” P. asked as they walked along the path, careful to hug the shadows.

  “I’ve inquired around and the Rossar-mescros do have a bank account, but it’s in London. My gut tells me they don’t even know what they have. The boats hold the answer.”

  The boys took off downriver. Their steady strides halted for only a minute to turn around to see a commotion of lights and men yelling behind them. Car floodlights and sirens whipped the calm, nighttime environment into a whirlwind of activity. Voices called to one another and officers poured over the edges of the two boats.

  They saw Johns stomping around on the embankment pointing downriver, but P. and Al were safe from detection in the foggy gloom of the tow path’s thick, overhanging vegetation.

  The lost boat would be hunted and, once found, hauled back to The Traveller’s Inn and inspected. Perigrine and Alistai
r hoped it would continue to float unencumbered until it was caught in the back-current of the first bend of the river right near the embankments of Healy House.

  The boys needed to move fast and even though Perigrine and Alistair were motivated by mercenary intentions, they still always tried to give back to their community. It was going to be Christmas-come-early for the police force of Marsden-Lacey. Al and P. had thoughtfully left two pretty presents handily wrapped and tied for the constables to find once they inspected the Romani’s boats. Presentation was everything, Alistair would have said, if he’d been present at the discovery. Currently though, he was busy. He and Perigrine were on their way to a rendezvous of sorts with the last boat in the Rossar-mescro fleet: the Empire, and punctuality, in their game, meant the difference between life and death.

  Chapter 28

  BEING OUT AT NIGHT WAS a revelation to the child. All his senses were working double-time and the feeling of freedom was exciting. The darkness didn’t scare him. Instead he was more aware and alive. It was cold but his youth and his expensive outerwear kept any real threats of exposure at bay. The flashlight’s beam flicked around as he made his way closer to the fox trap. He knew Tallant would go there as soon as Chattersworth left.

  He heard the sound of whining and a cry like a baby or a woman coming from the wood to his right letting let him know the fox was probably in the trap. He turned off the path, moving the hanging fir tree limbs aside to pass deeper into the undergrowth.

  The light from the torch was weakening so he turned it off to save the battery in case he needed it later. The moonlight was more than enough for him to make his way.

  Emerson heard the sound of metal on metal like a latch being scraped against something made of steel. He hesitated, feeling the hair on the back of his neck lift. Instinct told him to stay still. Without breathing, he hunkered down in the spot where he stood being careful not to make a sound with his feet or his body brushing up against surrounding vegetation.