Both Barry and Molly stumbled forward, and the maid squirmed out of Barry’s grasp. Barry turned, struggling but ready to fight. Joe had dropped the statue after the hit, but he closed his fist and threw a punch, connecting with the man’s face. Barry dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, knocked out from the hit.
Thom caught the maid before she escaped and held tight as she wiggled, begging him to release her and fumbling over her words as she tried to tell them her side of the story.
Eddy set the gun on the table and rushed forward, securing handcuffs on the unconscious Mr. Barry laying in a heap on the plush carpet, blood seeping out from the split on the back of his head.
Irene took all this in instantly before rushing to Joe, immediately worried about him. He leaned against a credenza, wincing and shaking his hand.
Irene grasped his wrist, flattening his hand in hers. “Joe, are you alright?”
One of his knuckles was split and a drop of blood beaded on his skin. He nodded, however, and stood tall, flexing his fingers.
Thom finally subdued Molly, and she snivelled on the couch, cheeks red and tear-stained. Mr. Barry was coming to, and Eddy dragged him to a seated position, resting him against the sofa. Barry mumbled some incoherent words in a foreign language under his breath, and Irene attempted to decipher them but couldn’t make out any syllable.
“That was a hell of a punch, Doc,” Eddy said, frowning at Barry who wiggled against the cuffs.
“This man bred dogs then dumped them at a shelter,” Joe said, the bitterness in his voice seeping into every word. “Perhaps I didn’t realize how much that angered me.”
“Don’t forget about murder,” Irene added, crouching down to Barry. “Isn’t that right Mr. Barry? Though, I doubt that is your real name.”
He spat a word at her, and she finally figured out what language he was speaking.
“I will admit,” Irene continued, standing to tower over him. “I am not too familiar with the Russian dialect, but I do know the language when I hear it.”
Joe stood beside her, peering down at Barry. “A Russian stealing from London’s most affluent? This case certainly did take a turn.”
It was at this moment that Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp arrived home. Wilson the dog bounded into the flat barking happily at all the new people, and the Beauchamps both gasped when they saw Molly and Mr. Barry in cuffs.
“There’s been a lot of sneaking around behind your backs,” Irene told them. “Why don’t you take a seat over there by the fire and I shall explain it all to you.”
* * * * *
Half an hour later, Irene and Joe sat across from the Beauchamps, having just explained that it was Mr. Barry who’d been strategically stealing all of their antiques.
Thom and Eddy had taken Molly and Barry to Scotland Yard to interview them, and Mrs. Beauchamp had demanded to go as well to give Mr. Barry a piece of her mind.
Once Irene and Joe had calmed her, the four of them sat in the living room, and Mr. Beauchamp wrote out another cheque for the rest of their work.
“As soon as all the stolen items are located,” Irene said. “We shall inform you and return them at once.”
They stood to leave, and the Beauchamps followed suit.
Mr. Beauchamp shook their hands. “I know I was a bit passive in this whole affair, but I’ve never been as passionate about things as my wife. But you’ve made her happy and prevented a scoundrel from entering our homes again. If you’ll excuse me, I shall inform the others and tell them that you will be in touch about our antiques.”
He gave Wilson a scratch behind the ears before leaving the flat. Mrs. Beauchamp clutched Irene’s hand and let out a great sigh.
“I want to thank you, Miss Holmes.” She smiled. “I know that when you first met me, you must have made the assumption that I was just another rich house-wife that only cared about what could be valued in money. Yet, you kept investigating and trusting me.”
“I will be honest,” Irene said, attempting to claim her hand back from the woman, but Mrs. Beauchamp held tight. “I did think of you that way, but you have proven that you are rich and capable.”
“We all spent our fair share of nights in our own Anderson shelters,” Mrs. Beauchamp went on. “And though mine may have been built in a back garden in Kensington, I worried about those bombs just the same as you and Doctor Watson.”
“Those were certainly different times,” Irene agreed. She hadn’t thought much about the countless nights that she’d spent in the shelter, either tucked beside Eddy, Marla, or a complete stranger, and she didn’t want to start now.
Mrs. Beauchamp finally released her hand. “We shall keep you in mind, Miss Holmes, should we ever need anything more, and please let us know if we can do any favours for you.”
An idea suddenly came to Irene, and she inwardly scolded herself for not thinking of it earlier. “Actually, I’d like to chat with either you or Mr. Beauchamp about refrigerators when this is all said and done.”
Chapter VIII
A New Level of Criminal
Mr. Garrett Barry stared, stone-faced, through the viewing room window keeping his eyes on Irene as she and Joe watched the interview.
Lestrade and Gregory were both in the room, attempting to get some piece of information out of the Russian man, but he simply wouldn’t budge.
Beside Joe, Irene had an amused smirk on her lips. She held a copy of Mr. Barry’s fingerprints, and Joe knew that she was anxious to find out why Barry had touched the deer statue but hadn’t stolen it, as his fingerprints matched the ones found in the Beauchamp’s flat.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked. “That man looks like he wants to murder you. It’s unsettling.”
“This is all so intriguing,” she admitted. “This man is clearly some intelligence level above the average criminal, but I still doubt that he thought of this plan all on his own. Also, poor Thom and Eddy do try their best, don’t they?”
Joe looked back into the interview room and frowned. The inspectors had grown more frustrated with each passing minute.
Lestrade leaned on the table. “Can you at least tell us if you’re working for someone? You aren’t even required to give their name, we just want to know if there is someone else out there.”
Barry finally pulled his eyes from the window and looked at Lestrade, and the smallest movement tugged his lips.
DI Gregory banged his fist on the table, then spun around to look at Irene.
“Holmes!” he called, a vein on his forehead poking out. “Get in here.”
Irene sighed happily. “I thought they’d never ask.”
Joe followed her out of the room and into the hallway. “Since when has that stopped you?”
She chuckled as they entered the interview room. Mr. Barry glanced at her, and Joe paid good attention to his face. For the briefest of seconds, he looked intrigued as to why the inspectors had called Irene into the room.
Gregory gestured to Barry. “Use your magic trick and figure out something about this man before I turn his other cheek black and blue.”
Irene stared at Barry for a moment, then pointed to the table. “Move this, please.”
Lestrade stood behind Barry as Gregory and Joe moved the table away from him and against the wall.
Irene shooed them away and circled Barry, eyes in constant motion. Joe was on edge now as that table had provided a barrier between the Russian criminal and his friend. Irene was now within reach of this seemingly dangerous man, and knowing her the way Joe did, she was bound to start rattling off observations that might turn Barry angry and vengeful.
“You are not in charge,” Irene started, sitting in a chair across from Barry. “Though you’d like to be, or at least equal with whoever is. What gave you away, Mr. Barry, is the fact that you made rich people too comfortable and gave them something to look forward too. You also had the mistake of having me investigate you, but even I will admit that if you had been at the most recent party of yours, and given me a
reason you had to cancel the last meeting, I may have believed you, depending on how good a liar you were. I am willing to bet that you are quite good because you kept this charade up for months. And how agonizing that must have been, surely. Catering to the rich and dealing with their rambunctious dogs. Whose idea was it to bring in dogs, anyway? It couldn’t have been yours, as you didn’t seem to care for them one bit. I also wonder who knew to hire you? A member of the Russian crime syndicate of thieves? That is what that spider means on your forearm, does it not?”
Mr. Barry hadn’t moved at all during Irene’s entire speech, but as soon as she mentioned the tattoo, he looked up at her.
“You also didn’t have any help for this scheme,” Irene continued. “Did you? That is why the knees of this suit have dirt pressed into them, and you have a piece of straw peeking out from the leg cuff. You had to hide all your stolen artefacts on your own. I doubt the owner of the long blonde hair on your shirt was of any assistance.”
Irene quickly reached forward and plucked a hair sticking out from Barry’s lapels. She held it up to the light and studied it for a second before continuing the one-sided conversation with Barry.
“Now, I assume that you didn’t mind hiding the stolen goods as much as you minded all the work of stealing the artefacts. Yes, it is your speciality, but why do something difficult if you can make it easy? Work smarter, not harder is the saying, I believe. When you saw help in the form of the maids and poor Freddie the doorman, you instantly pulled them into your scheme. It wouldn’t have been hard to woo Molly and for her to convince all the other maids to help you. After all, you were charming and exotic, and they got to seek some type of sick revenge on their employers. And befriending Freddie allowed you access into the building.”
Joe saw Barry tense in the chair and he made eye contact with Lestrade, subtly bringing it to the inspector’s attention. Lestrade shuffled a little closer to Barry, ready to subdue him if need be.
Irene leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring Barry down as she continued her narrative. “Suddenly, you had access to all the flats once a week, and you could scope them out and steal things at your leisure while everyone was off playing with the puppies. That was a clever one, with the puppies. They are quite distracting, and no one would think someone who raises and trains dogs would have any ill-intentions. But that’s all you had, wasn’t it, Mr. Barry? That is why you sent those dogs to the pound the first chance you got. You should’ve waited a couple days, though, and you would have gotten that Cartier necklace back.”
Barry’s cheeks reddened, but he stayed stoic and still.
“Things began to unravel.” Irene sat back in the chair, confidence oozing from her words, and Joe knew she lived for this kind of speech. Laying out the facts, catching the bad guys in the middle of their scheme and shocking people with her observations. “Freddie was becoming unhinged and nervous, and he was being suspected of stealing a statue the Beauchamps had noticed was missing. So, he had to go. Now, you could’ve hired someone to kill him, or could’ve told your employer about the situation, but that wouldn’t have made you look very good, would it, Mr. Barry? So, you took care of Freddie yourself, as evidence of the blood spatter on your cufflink. Funny thing, accessories. People love when they shine, but often forget to clean them after a murder. Not that I would expect you to know how to properly clean a murder scene. You are a thief. A good one that’s part of a very bad group, but a thief, nonetheless. Once Freddie was dead, and I’d learned that fifteen items were stolen from the tenants of that building, then the rest was easy as pie, and it was only a matter of luring you in.”
Irene smirked, and Joe grew even more worried that she might be reaching Barry’s breaking point. His face was completely red, and his hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles had turned white.
“All of it was so simple, actually,” Irene said. “But that’s not really your fault, is it? You were just following orders. Unfortunately, those orders made you a chump in whatever game the higher-ups were playing.”
Barry finally snapped, and he launched himself at Irene with an enraged yell. Lestrade and Gregory were on him immediately and grabbed his shoulders, holding him down in the chair. Joe rushed to Irene’s side, but she all she did was lean back, a triumphant smile on her face.
“Who’s your employer, Mr. Barry?” she asked, speaking over his struggles. “I shall inform them that you, unfortunately, weren’t quite up to performing the task required.”
Mr. Barry settled in the chair, accepting that he wasn’t going to win against the inspectors, and he spat a few sentences of Russian at Irene.
“Who hired you?” Irene asked again.
Barry laughed. “Someone who would turn you inside out, little lady.”
Irene stood. “That sounds like someone I would very much like to meet.”
She stepped away from Barry and addressed Gregory and Lestrade. “Inspect the knife you confiscated from him. I guarantee that it is a match to the one that murdered Freddie. You may even find traces of blood on the handle. If Mr. Barry was careless enough to forget his cufflinks, then perhaps he was careless with cleaning his knife as well. Also, speak to Molly. Pressure her just a little, and she shall crack like an egg. In fact, all the maids will, especially Sasha, as she will be furious when she hears that Mr. Barry murdered her beloved Freddie.”
Irene fixed her gaze on Barry again, and Joe caught the sly gleam in her dark eyes. “Tell me one more thing, Mr. Barry. Why did you leave the deer statue? Was it actually not as valuable when you saw it up close? Or did something shinier catch your eye?”
Barry shifted in the chair and Gregory and Lestrade each grabbed a shoulder, securing him to the seat should he make a leap at Irene again.
She smirked at him before leaving the room. Joe followed her out, and two constables hurried into the room. Once they presumably secured Barry, Gregory and Lestrade exited.
“Well done,” Lestrade said to them. “As always. Though, I have to figure out how to answer for that perfume bottle in pieces in the Beauchamps trash bin.”
“I can always speak with Mr. Jones,” Irene offered.
Lestrade shook his head. “No. You will most likely make it worse. I will sort out something with the antique dealer myself.”
Irene raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Miss Hudson will be pleased, as well, as we’ve kept our reputation, and the reputation of 221B, intact and perhaps even raised it.” She turned to Gregory. “Special thanks to you, Thom. You and Jeannie were invaluable.”
Gregory shook her hand and winked. “See, I am not an ass all the time.”
“Oh, you definitely are,” Irene replied with a grin. “But this time you were a helpful one.”
They chuckled, but Lestrade interrupted with a frown. “We are forgetting something crucial. Where are the stolen goods stashed?”
“Of course!” Irene said. “They are out on Wallow’s Way. Follow us.”
* * * * *
The terriers barked at the automobile as Irene drove her and Joe to the cottage with the red roof. She pulled in the laneway and cut the engine. Joe climbed out of the automobile and gave a wave to Gregory and Lestrade as they parked their police vehicle behind them.
All four of them entered the house and went straight to the bedroom covered in straw. For a moment, Joe, Irene, Gregory, and Lestrade all stood in the middle of the room, exchanging glances at each other. Irene kicked at the straw, uncovering the floorboards and stomping on the wood.
“There has to be a false bottom to one of these planks,” she said.
Joe started knocking on the walls. “Or perhaps a false panel?”
The inspectors did a quick search of the rest of the cottage but came up empty-handed.
Irene muttered angrily to herself. “We couldn’t have missed it. It’s got to be here somewhere.”
Joe glanced out the window, and the small shed caught his eye, and suddenly he felt foolish.
“Oh, goodness...” he said
before rushing out of the cottage. He went right to the shed and flung the door open. It creaked, then the remaining hinge snapped and it crashed to the ground with a thud.
The floor was still coated in straw and Joe dropped to his knees, clearing the wooden planks. He saw Irene’s shadow appear as she stood behind him.
“I didn’t even think to investigate this further.” He knocked hard on the floorboards, and a hollow sound echoed back. He pried up a piece of wood, fingers stinging, and the cut on his knuckle opening. He pulled up two more pieces and tossed them aside. Two feet down in the ground was a large bundle wrapped in burlap. Joe reached down and grasped the bag, gently lifting it, glassware and silver clinking together.
He set the bag on the straw and undid the top. Irene crouched down and poked through the bag, a pleased smile on her face.
“Well done!” she exclaimed, turning her grin to him.
He shook his head. “I looked in this shed earlier and saw nothing. This whole case could’ve been solved had I looked harder.”
“No bother, Joe.” She waved him off. “I would not have thought of the floorboards either.”
He raised a brow. “Yes, you would have.”
She hesitated, thinking about her words. “Well, perhaps I would have, yes. But we found them now, and judging by the amount here, and the list I am holding, everything might be present and accounted for, and worth as much, if not more, than one of those Kensington flats.
Irene was correct, but it didn’t make him feel any less foolish. It seemed that just when he thought he had a grasp on this detective role, he missed something. She must’ve seen his disappointment because she grasped his hand.
“The case is over,” she told him encouragingly. “We shall return these to the tenants in the building, and they shall be overjoyed and shower us with praise.”
Joe chuckled and stood, watching her practically skip out of the shed to meet Gregory and Lestrade. As much as Irene didn’t care for people’s opinions, she did welcome true genuine praise.
The Red Rover Society Page 11