Johns waited and prayed it wouldn’t be Helen Ryes’ prints.
“Did they get a match?” he asked.
“Yes, two actually. There was one thumb print matching a Ukrainian hit man named Victor Holub who goes by ‘The Dove.’ Cute, huh?”
Johns nodded and braced himself for bad news. “And the other set?”
“That was the interesting set. They belong to someone who has a restricted access which means it’s probably not going any further until we hear back from the Secret Intelligence Service,” Dr. Townsend said.
“Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate the information.”
Johns thanked her again and headed to his car and logged on to the Police National Computer, a database of criminals and their descriptions. He wanted to read about Victor “The Dove” Holub.
There was plenty of information on the Ukrainian hired gun and his earlier career working for Polish Military Information Services. Holub had dropped out of sight after the reorganization of Poland’s Secret Service in 2006. Out of a job probably due to a shift in alliances, he must have gone rogue and worked for the Russian mob. The database’s picture was probably ten years old, but it would do. Johns got out of the car and assessed the investigation scene, noting the arrival of the armored police van.
“Are they in there?” he called to the two uniformed officers standing guard in the temporary police paddock roped-off by yellow tape.
“Yes, Sir,” the taller officer answered.
Johns made his way along the outside of the roped-off paddock and over to the designated van. He knocked on the door. Michael opened it and moved aside for him to come into the small mobile unit. There sat two unwholesome characters neatly restrained at wrists and ankles. Neither showed interest in the comings and goings of the police officers. Instead, they sat in their chairs with expressions of boredom and annoyance.
“So, want to explain what you were doing on the boats tonight?” Johns asked while reading the papers Michael handed him. Not getting any answer, he locked eyes with one of the men. “Victor, I asked you a question?”
There was a tremor of movement in the mouth area of the strongly built, dark-haired man’s face.
“So, nobody here is Victor ‘The Dove’ Holub.”
Johns turned to Michael. “Sergeant Endicott, call SIS and get their people down here. I think once we run this one’s prints, it’s probably going to match the ones found on the murder weapon that killed Laura Rossar-mescro.”
The dark-haired man exploded in his chair, writhing like a wild beast and toppling onto his side. He ranted in a foreign accent while twisting and kicking at the officers who tried to manage him. The other prisoner screamed at him using the same language, but it didn’t slow his machinations to free himself. Michael and another officer did their best to subdue him, but it took five minutes of working with straps and tape to immobilize him completely.
Once Victor was back in a sitting position but disheveled and breathing hard, the other detainee said something to him in an eastern language resembling Polish. The tone indicated a threat and Victor grumbled, “Rozumiem.”
Johns realized he wouldn’t get any sort of compliance from the two men. They were professionals and whoever they were working for would rather see them dead than let them offer information to the police. So, Johns stepped back out of the van and told Michael to take two constables with him and put both of the detainees in holding cells at the constabulary. He would get the SIS to send their people. Victor was a real prize for them and they would love to get their hands on him.
Outside, he lifted his gaze to the night sky. There in the clearing of a cloudless, star-filled heaven, he threw up a grateful thank you to the person or persons responsible for delivering to him the two mongrels responsible for killing Laura and possibly Sharon O’Connor as well.
The wind picked up and blew the mist down the river valley. Johns huddled deeper into his macintosh coat and strode to the boats floating like two brightly colored toys brilliantly lit by the enormous utility lights the police set up to see their work area better.
A young constable named Evans walked up to him and said, “Sir, the inside of the boats are in good condition. Things are disheveled, but there’s no damage. They were looking for something.”
Johns stepped across the gangplank and down into the cabin of the blue boat named the Blue Hen. The room was messy but undamaged. He continued to the back of the boat, making a note of the bed covers strewn around the cabin.
He wondered if there were competing parties involved. The boats needed to be impounded. Whoever had rifled through them, must be searching for something very valuable. The big man sighed and ran his hand through his bristly hair in a gesture of uncertainty. His cell phone rang. It was the constabulary. “Yeah. This is Johns.”
“Sir, this is Cross. I’m at the constabulary and a couple of things are going on I thought you might want to know about.”
Johns rolled his eyes heavenward and chewed his lip.
“Well, don’t keep me waiting Cross. I can barely stand the anticipation.”
“Sir, Stephan Rossar-mescro is here and one of their children, Tallant, is gone. The two women you had requested to stay the evening, Mrs. Littleword and Mrs. Ryes, are not in the constabulary anywhere and…”
Johns’ blood pressure began to simmer. “What?” he asked incredulously. Why was Martha Littleword the most difficult woman he’d ever met? Why did she continue to push his blood pressure to the boiling point every time he dealt with her? With no answers coming from either the divine or from his own wearied brain, Johns sighed and said in a subdued tone, “Finish your story of woe, Cross.”
“Um, well, Sir. Sam is gone and it appears there’s another missing child at Healy, Emerson Carstons. The note on the night sergeant’s desk is written in a florid style and it smells of gardenia.”
“Martha,” John said in a low growl through almost gritted teeth.
“What, Sir?” asked Sergeant Cross.
“I said, that Littleword woman bolted and she’s God knows where. You’ll need to be ready for some detainees. Endicott and Evans will be bringing them in. I’ll go to Healy and find out what is going on. Put Mr. Rossar-mescro in an office. I’ve got two men being brought in and I don’t want Stephan to see them yet. It’s possible he’ll be able to identify one of them. Tell him to wait there at the constabulary. There’s a good chance the two boys are together.”
Johns thought a short minute before he continued. “Cross?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“The two prisoners being brought in are extremely dangerous. I don’t want anyone to know they’re being detained. No one except you, Endicott and Evans. Tell them to keep it quiet. If the Secret Intelligence Service shows up tonight, they’re the only ones other than you three who may have anything to do with the prisoners. With special precaution, get Rossar-mescro to see if he recognizes either man. Got it?”
“Got it, Sir.”
“Good. Oh, by the way, I’m pretty sure Sam’s at Healy. He’s been trying to find a reason to charge over there all week. If he shows back up, send him home immediately.”
Chief Johns hit end on his phone. He dialed Martha’s number and counted the number of rings trying with each one to get control over his blood pressure. He heard the phone click.
“Don’t be mad, Merriam,” she said. “We aren’t on the lam. Helen and I heard about Emerson. We could do more good helping at Healy than sitting in that ridiculous cell all night. Your mother is asleep in cell number one, by the way. Tucked in like a bug in a rug. She found your brandy, so she probably won’t be in a good mood in the morning.”
Why was it whenever he heard her voice, his resolution dissolved into mush? Johns tried to work up his irritation again to at least sound firm. “Martha, you and Helen left without being released from custody. What is wrong with you? There’s a murderer on the loose.”
“Merriam, there wasn’t anyone at the constabulary. I felt like a sitting duc
k and Helen’s worried about Emerson. Hang on a minute,” Martha said in a rushed, tense tone. “We’ve pulled into Healy and three men I don’t recognize are signaling they want to talk with us. Hold on a minute.”
“Martha?” Johns hurriedly said into the phone, but all he heard was a garbled conversation.
She came back on the phone. “Merriam, I think there is something strange going on. Those men were acting extremely weird. I didn’t stop. One is a constable you’ve been working with a lot. I need to call you back. Helen is trying to tell me something.”
“Martha, do not hang up the phone…”
The line went dead and he stared dumbfoundedly at the phone. He dialed again but only a busy signal blared annoyingly through the phone’s speaker. Frustrated by the random twists of technology, he told himself to be patient. The universe rewarded his choice to not over push and the phone rang.
“It’s me,” Martha said. “I needed to hear what Helen was trying to tell me and I wanted to put some distance between me and those men. Something about the way they were acting and how they tried to bend down to see in the car.”
There was a brief moment when Johns heard Helen’s voice. She sounded unsure. Martha came back on the phone.
“Helen says one man is a dead ringer for Thomas Albright, you know, the man she told you about?”
Johns’ stomach dropped and at the same time he realized the situation was a colossally horrible one. He needed backup at Healy, he needed to keep the boats safe, two children were missing and now he needed Martha and Helen to be safe.
“You two are in danger, Martha. Which man are you talking about?”
“It was the older detective you had with you this afternoon.”
Was it true? If Martha and Helen were right, Richards was Albright. Albright must be after the Romani, too. How did he get past security at Nottingham? Johns’ brain went into overdrive. He wouldn’t take a chance letting the girls go back the way they’d come.
“No,” Johns said, “but you are to go on to Healy. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“We’ll see you there.”
The Chief walked firmly to the police utility vehicle. He flipped on the blue emergency lights and siren. The police vehicle jerked forward and picked up speed. Somewhere in the dark grounds of Healy a group of dangerous men would stop at nothing.
Johns had seen his fair share of those in positions of authority abuse their power for nothing more than money. On the other hand, he thought to himself, if Richards or Albright was a cop that had gone bad, there would be no mercy for him from his fellow officers. That, in Johns’ book, was the vilest form of betrayal: a dirty cop.
Chapter 31
PIERS’ CAR MOVED EFFORTLESSLY ALONG the tight curves of the road. His mind worked out the details of his last two conversations with Helen. He’d been involved with so many women in his life. Most of them incredibly beautiful and dying to have his attention. Helen was more than all of them rolled up into one. She was an exquisite gem but cold like one in some ways, too. He wasn’t sure if Helen was pretending to be indifferent to spike his interest, or if she was set on the notion of only wanting his friendship.
He wasn’t interested in friendship. The more she resisted him, the more he wanted her. This evening made it undeniably clear how much she meant to him. He shifted down into third gear, increasing the power of the car to climb the hill faster.
Not since Emilia had anyone made him feel this way. The thought of Helen made his blood burn in his veins and her constantly pushing him away was driving him crazy. The car topped the hill and shot down the other side giving Piers a small rush and some satisfaction at least in the unconditional speed and handling his car offered him.
A tinkling sound over the car’s sound system indicated an incoming call. He saw the time of eleven-thirty, blinking on the dashboard’s screen. Touching the answer button on his steering wheel, he said, “This is Piers.”
Celine’s voice was hysterical. “Mr. Cousins, I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I must have dropped my phone in the car when I went into The Grange. What’s wrong?”
“Emerson slipped out of the house. He turned off the security alarm. I can’t find him anywhere. Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!”
The girl was crying and as she finished, he heard another voice in the background.
“Celine, calm down. He’s probably gone to check on the fox trap. Where is Mr. Chattersworth?”
He heard her talking to someone, a man, about if he’d seen the gamekeeper, Chattersworth.
“Celine, who’s there with you?” Piers asked.
“It’s a constable who was sent here to watch over some guests you’ve invited for the night,” she answered. “It’s Detective Richards. He’s going to help find Emerson.”
Piers put his foot down with a firm pressure on the accelerator making the car jump forward into a new realm of speed. “Celine, I’m just now leaving the village. I’ll be home in ten minutes. Stay in the house.”
The hedgerows and the silhouettes of trees flashed past as his car flowed through the claustrophobic tunnel of vegetation flanking the road. Like a thunderbolt exploding above him, Piers’ instinct slapped him in the face and he knew the fear all parents feel at least one time in their lives: his child was in danger. The truth came to him with each word reverberating in his brain like a heartbeat. If there were predators in the woods, Piers realized, it would be the human kind.
He dialed his phone and counted the rings. One, two, three… “Hello,” came Chattersworth’s sleepy voice. “That you, Mr. Cousins?”
“Chattersworth, get up. Emerson is missing. Bring Kaiser to help. This is just the situation for a well-trained German Shepherd. Wait for me in the front drive with two rifles and two horses.”
“I’m half-way there,” Chattersworth said and hung up.
Chapter 32
CELINE, FEELING MISERABLE, SAT IN the high-backed chair next to the inglenook fireplace in Healy’s main hall. She wasn’t able to drink the tea Senior Agosto placed for her on the dainty tea table to her left.
“All will be fine, my dear. The child will be found and no worse for wear, as they say,” the gentle man was saying in an effort to soothe her. “I, too, was a boy and I tell you it is normal to slip away and have adventures in the night. Emerson will be back soon.”
Celine had come to love Senior Agosto even though he was high-tempered and difficult at times. But where Emerson was involved, she knew he enjoyed creating beautiful masterpieces for the child’s teas. Tempting sandwiches in shapes of bees, flowers, and even boats were forever gracing the delicate child-friendly china plates sent up from the kitchen. Sugar-a-plenty and the best cream for the tea were never skimped on by Healy’s master of confectionary eloquence.
“I know, Senior. I feel like a fool and if something should happen to Emerson, I would rather die than see him lost or…”
There was no finishing that sentence. The poor girl broke into sobs and Senior Agosto, completely flustered by someone else’s high emotional state, sat down and gently patted Celine’s hand, with a beseeching glance heavenward for assistance.
The front door swung open and banged against the brass floor stop, causing them both to jump. It was Sam Berry, a bedraggled knight errant come to slay whatever dragons Celine might deem necessary. She stood up.
“Can I…I…help you?” she asked.
Sam strode across the room, taking Celine off her guard by his handsome, earnest face. “I took the call about the child being lost. My superior officer sent me to help. Do you have any idea where he may have gone?” Sam asked, barely able to look Celine directly in her beautiful but worried eyes.
Uncertainty clouded her face. “We think he’s gone to the fox trap. Mr. Cousins should be here any moment. I’m confused because the constabulary already sent an officer, but he left.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrowed but he didn’t let the news of another officer weaken his own position. “I’m happy
to help any way I can. Do you know if the child took any personal items with him?”
“No, but I think he took his backpack.” The sound of a vehicle’s tires on the gravel outside switched her thoughts and attention to who was arriving.
In less than a minute, Piers walked in with a take charge attitude. His jaw was set in a firm hardness.
“Where’s Chattersworth?” he asked.
“In the kennel area waiting for you,” Celine replied. Her voice raspy with restrained emotion.
“Is the constable with him?” Piers asked.
Celine and Agosto glanced sideways, redirecting Piers’ focus onto Sam.
“Sam has come to help. The other constable left.”
“That’s odd,” Piers said, “but Sam, thank you for coming. I’m sure we can use your help.”
To both Agosto and Celine, he said, “There will be no special cakes, sweets or privileges for one week starting tomorrow for Emerson. He willingly disobeyed. Do you both understand?”
They both nodded. Celine more earnestly than Agosto, who first pursed his lips indicating he didn’t absolutely agree, but finally assented only after Piers stared him down.
Celine began to cry softly. Sam’s moment had come. He quickly picked up her phone that had fallen to the floor and handed it to her. Gently taking her by the elbow, he said soothingly, “Come sit down Miss Rupert. We’ll find him.”
He guided her to the tall wing-back and waited for her to sit.
Huge tears continued to pool in her pretty blue eyes and she again nodded. For a brief moment those eyes locked on Sam’s.
“I’ll bring him back. I promise,” the boy constable said sounding more like a man with every word.
Piers was already moving toward the front door. “Come on, Sam. Celine, drink your tea. I’ll be back soon with the little escapee.”
When he swung open the door, there in the feeble light given off by two massive gas door lamps, Celine saw two dark bay Irish Hunters saddled and ready to ride with Chattersworth holding their bridles.
A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 16