Dent moved away from the desk and approached McCall, the triangle of men meeting at the banquette seating in the Grand Hall.
“Report?” Dent asked.
“About two hours ago,” McCall said. “Explosion near the Edgware Road Underground Station.”
“Heading toward Marylebone or Paddington?” Glass asked.
McCall tapped his temple, his disordered hair waving. “Marylebone. Mean anything to you?”
“We run operations from a flat near there,” Glass said. “Where exactly did this happen?”
“Newsagent on Lisson Street.”
“What is nearby?” Dent asked.
“Art gallery next door was damaged, too, but the dynamite was set in the newsagent’s. Easy pickings, that shop. Not much in the way of a lock.”
Arrows flashed in Glass’s mind. Marylebone. Art gallery. Dynamite. Too many coincidences.
“What gallery?”
“The Pankin Gallery.”
He hadn’t heard of it. “You’re thinking Konstantin?”
Dent raised his eyebrows, making the circles under his eyes widen. “Why?”
“I’ve learned something about him,” Glass revealed. “His closest living relative in London is an artist. That’s not the gallery she shows at, where he’s been seen with her, but they might have ties to it. Is it Russian-owned?”
McCall pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped through a few pages. “Viktor Pankin.”
“Is that Russian?” the unidentified man asked.
“Yes,” Glass and Dent said together.
Glass turned to Dent. “Haven’t heard the name before, however.”
Dent shrugged. “Nor me.”
“I’m concerned by how close this was to my operation,” Glass said, “but it’s probably a coincidence given the art gallery.”
“We need to get Konstantin off the streets,” Dent said. “Are you ready to nab him?”
Glass put his hands on his hips. “I don’t have a location yet. His cousin has been terrorized by him for years. I believe her, but I also know she’s been shielding him, perhaps because of her fear or merely loyalty. He’s got money. Took five quid off her recently.”
“What is our first course of action?” asked Dent’s man.
“Who are you?” Glass asked.
“Stone. Detective Allen Stone.” Stone looked to be in his late twenties. Smaller than the others, though still at least average height, he had lean, foxlike features; dark brown hair; and suspicious gray-green eyes.
“Just transferred into my command,” Dent explained.
“How do we know this is the work of your man Konstantin?” Stone asked.
“First, he’s a bomb maker. We don’t know that he ever sets a bomb,” Glass explained. “He uses dynamite. I’ll have to see the remains to know if it truly matches his modus operandi.”
“They are combing through the site now,” McCall said.
“I’m suspicious because of the Russian component.”
“I have to say that the newsagent isn’t Russian,” McCall said.
“Fair enough,” Glass admitted. “We need to build a dossier on both the newsagent and the art gallery owner, see what connections we can find.”
“Who has hired Konstantin in the past? We broke up the cell that went after the Grand Russe,” Dent said.
“That’s the only case we know for absolute certain. But we’ve found the same signature triggers in three other places around the UK,” Glass explained. “It’s likely they are all him. All three of the other bombs were up north.”
“Hull?” McCall said.
“That area,” Glass said.
“I’m going to assign Stone to you,” Dent said. “So you have someone to make arrests. What do you want to do now?”
“Sent McCall back to the bomb site to gather what we can. Let’s verify the trigger signature,” Glass said. “I think we should re-interrogate everyone in custody from the Grand Russe bomb attempt.”
“I’ll get on that,” Dent said. “And you and Stone?”
“His cousin just moved in upstairs,” Glass said grimly. “We have to find out if she’s made contact with him since he stole her money.”
Stone frowned. “She’s a guest?”
“Employee,” Glass said. “Tread carefully. She’s also a Russian princess.”
Stone cocked a hip. “You are telling me that the relative of a Russian imperial is a bomb maker?”
“Her family tree is a long ways away from the imperial family,” Glass said. “Much closer to the bomb maker. From what the princess has said, he’s just an evil sort of chap.”
“Evil chap with a skill,” McCall said. “More’s the pity.”
“With me,” Glass said, nodding to the Special Branch detective. He sketched a wave at the other two men and went to the lifts.
The main guest lift did not go to the tenth floor, but he knew the hotel rather well and simply went to the service lift. Another bank of lifts was being taken out of mothballs, as it were, so that new residents of the higher floors could access them as they opened. For now, only staff had a reason to rise that high so the service lift had to do.
Stone nodded his approval as Glass took his place at the controls. “I never expect an aristocrat to know how to do anything.”
“I am a fourth son. I knew I’d have to fend for myself. Learned a few things.”
“Soldier, of course.”
“That I was.”
“I’ve some unlovely scars to show for my bit,” Stone said. “Nothing to scare the ladies in public, at least.”
“All I have visible is the one on my eyebrow,” Glass said. “The worst is on my leg. Took shrapnel.”
“I was out after Cambrai. Landed in the tank corps. I made it to the end of November twenty-first but then—”
“It ended?”
“Yes. There was so much mist and smoke and noise that we didn’t even know we were on fire at first. Burned badly enough that it was my war’s end.”
“Plenty of battles still to fight, now that you’ve joined Special Branch.”
“Yes. Bloody Bolshies,” Stone replied. “Not a royalist, you understand, but those animals have destroyed an entire country. To think they were our allies not that long ago.”
Chapter 8
Glass spread his stance to account for the lift’s steady rise to the hotel’s tenth floor. “Not the same place anymore, Russia.”
“No.” Detective Stone’s gaze swung across Glass’s face. “What am I to call you?”
The lift shuddered, and he shifted again. “Glass on duty. Lord Walling in social situations or when we are trying to do our work quietly.”
“Very well.” Stone cleared his throat. “Sorry none of your brothers made it home.”
Glass focused on the lift controls. “Thank you, Detective.”
When they exited the lift they found a silent floor. He knew more of the rooms were uninhabited than not and hoped they could speak to the princess without waking the rest of the floor and causing a scene.
Unlike his digs, he knew the princess had only one room, so a simple knock at the door would probably wake her. What he didn’t want was any awkwardness with her thinking that he’d come to her door for a tryst. That would lead to making explanations to the detective that he didn’t care to offer.
He nodded to the man. “You knock, Stone.”
Stone nodded. He was the police officer, after all. First, he rapped smartly. After thirty seconds, no answer came from inside. His cheek twitched, and this time he banged on the door, rattling the frame. “No way out of there?”
“Not easily. The only exit that doesn’t involve fire ladders would be to go through the bath into the unoccupied adjoining room and then out the door to our right.”
“Keep an eye on it,” Stone said, lifting his fist.
The door opened. Olga peered out, clutching a stained wrapper of indeterminate color around her neck. A thick braid lay across her shoulder and
was tied with a faded pink ribbon that lay over one breast. She glanced at the detective, blinking hard, and wiped her eyes with her free hand, adjusting to the hallway light.
“What?” she asked. Her gaze traversed the corridor, lighting on Glass. “L-lord Walling?”
The detective pulled his badge from his coat and showed it to her. “We need to speak to you, ma’am.”
“What is this about? I’ve been asleep.” She blinked again.
“It’s just before four in the morning, Your Serene Highness,” Glass said. “May we come in?”
She pressed her lips together hard, and her cheeks trembled. “Yes.” She turned, her shoulders going back.
They followed her into the small room. She went straight to the back middle of the room and began to pull a curtain across.
“I’d prefer you didn’t do that, ma’am,” the detective said. “Are you trying to hide something?”
She turned back, still holding the curtain. “My unmade bed. You woke me.”
Stone stepped forward and walked around the curtain. Glass heard his footsteps as he checked the space. Glass closed his eyes for a moment and checked the front of the room. He opened the bathroom door and looked behind the tub curtain. When he exited, he could hear a closet door open and close.
“It’s clear,” Stone said. “Seen your cousin Konstantin lately, Princess?”
Olga glanced at Glass. “What is happening?”
“A bombing next door to the Pankin Gallery. Do you know it, or Viktor Pankin?”
“What was bombed?”
“A newsagent. The gallery took some damage, too.”
“Why do you think Konstantin is involved?”
“Why do you think he wouldn’t be?” Glass countered.
“He promised,” Olga said and muttered something in Russian.
Glass wanted to suggest they all sit. He pulled one of the chairs away from the small table and nodded at the upholstered chairs. Stone and Olga both seated themselves. “Did you believe this promise?” he asked as he sat.
“He took enough money from me to lay low for a while.”
“Maybe he’d already delivered this bomb to whoever laid it,” Glass said.
“Does he set off his own work?” Stone asked.
“It’s an art form for him, these bombs. I don’t think he is quite right in the head. He sells them like I sell paintings.”
“What is his ideology?” Stone asked, whipping out a notebook.
She shook her head, her expression mournful. “He has none. No allegiances. I am his prey, nothing more. So ashamed.” Her head sank into her hands.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Stone glanced at Glass. He spread his hands out and moved them up and down, indicating that Stone should keep the situation calm and respectful. “Can you give us the general overview of his movements?”
“He always comes to me.” She lifted her head. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “I’m sure you know he was here at one time, holed up in the basement.”
Glass nodded.
“He claims he spends a great deal of money on rent. He moves weekly, I think. I don’t know how his clients find him. He knows I disapprove. I’ve tried to make him stop, but I have no power.”
“You need to give us something,” Stone said.
“Why is Lord Walling here?” Olga asked, her head trembling on her neck. “I don’t understand.”
Glass licked his lips, acutely uncomfortable. “I work for His Majesty’s government, ma’am.”
She took a sharp breath. “I don’t understand why. You’re a nobleman.”
“I am a fourth son. I needed a profession,” he said.
“Yes, but you must assist a government minister or such, correct?”
“Not exactly.” He kept his eyes on hers and watched for the light to dawn. She was a woman of intelligence; it did soon enough.
“You’re here to spy on the Russians?” she asked.
He saw her hands shake. “Yes. They’ve been involved in some unsavory activities. But your cousin has become a greater danger.”
“I see.” She swallowed hard and stared at her hands. “I’ll tell you as soon as I see my cousin again. I’ll tell you everything I can find out. But I don’t know anything right now. The friendly part of my relationship with him is over now. The last time I saw him he became so cruel.”
Stone rattled off several questions. He went back to her first days in England six years ago, spent an hour taking her through the development of her relationship with her cousin, trying to pinpoint acquaintances, favorite places, and habits.
Olga seemed to know nothing. Glass wasn’t convinced she wasn’t hiding a few things, though he had no idea why. She truly seemed to have given up on her cousin.
“Is there anyone else who might harbor him?”
“I’m the only member of my immediate family in England,” she said. “I think my sister is in China, if she’s still living, and I have no brothers, no parents.” Her hands shook.
“It’s very cold,” Glass said. “Can I fetch you a blanket?”
Stone rose before she could speak. “I think we are done here for now. I have a few ideas.”
Her gaze lifted to him. “I gave you something useful?” She seemed shocked.
“Places to begin,” he said. “People to interview.” He nodded at her.
Glass rose as well. His eyes met Olga’s for a moment. Her face had no expression, but her skin was paler than he’d ever seen. She was a wounded bird, yet all the more magnificent for it.
“I am glad you want to lock him away,” she said before they departed. “He needs to be kept from the world if he will risk people’s lives. I have always feared he may have done worse than the bombs.”
His hand on the doorknob, Stone turned back. “Why do you say that?”
“I’ve always thought he killed his mother. She died in a fire in a garden shed. It never made any sense to me.”
“You have evidence?”
“Just the way he spoke about her when I came to England. Sneering, prideful. I always thought there was more to the story than I knew.”
“Anything else?”
“He courted a girl, I don’t know, ten years ago, no, a dozen. Her family, the entire family, was killed in an automotive crash a couple of weeks after she said yes to another man’s marriage proposal.”
“Lovely,” Glass muttered. “So he’s tried arson and maybe even sabotage before turning to bomb making.”
“Maybe,” she said in a dull tone. “But I think he has a strong bent for revenge. I try never to give him reason to hate me. Who else do I have?”
“Do you feel safe from him here?” Glass asked.
“Of course not. He’s always come in before at will. Has the run of the place really.”
“Do you think anyone on the staff helps him?”
“They wouldn’t need to. He’s clever.”
“Thank you for your time,” Stone said. He held his pencil over his notepad. “I’d like the name of that family who died.”
She gave it to him and they left. Glass took a look back at her before closing the door. Often, witnesses seemed smaller after a conversation like this, diminished by a realization of the evil they’d encountered. But she appeared stronger, as if the discussion had given her power. He realized she’d needed to share these thoughts with someone, thoughts she had perhaps kept locked inside for years.
* * *
Olga flinched when she heard the knock on her door on Thursday evening. She hadn’t slept much after Douglas had arrived with that police officer on Wednesday morning, and she had spent the day moving like a turtle. Despite her concern over her cousin and his actions, she’d slept well on Wednesday night. Douglas hadn’t come to her again, and he hadn’t been in his suite either yesterday or today. She wasn’t sure he’d even slept in the hotel the previous night.
As she went to the door, she worried. Was he resting anywhere? She hoped he’
d gone to his home or to his father’s house. The idea of him out chasing Konstantin without sleep or a change of clothing disturbed her.
The idea of her cousin in similar circumstances, however, did not trouble her at all. Had he spent her stolen five pounds on explosives, fuses? Who had hired him to make the bomb? How had Konstantin become this person? A decade older than she was, he’d been a full-formed adult by the time she’d come to England. When she’d visited England as a child, he’d had no interest in her. Indeed, her family’s meetings with his family had been brief and perfunctory due to their disgrace.
Therefore, Konstantin had been nearly thirty before she’d known him. She understood now that he’d probably never seen her as anything but a mark.
Hoping for Douglas, she opened the door but found Peter, his hands free of cigarettes or champagne glasses for once. Freshly shaved and pomaded, he slouched elegantly, hands in his trouser pockets.
She peered at him. “Are you growing a mustache?”
“Never been able to,” he admitted. “Thought I’d give it a go.”
She perused his face. “I don’t know that it is going to fill in right there, on the right.” She traced across his upper lip with her finger. Then, when she noticed the red rip in her cuticle, she closed her hand into a fist. Cleaning destroyed the hands.
His gaze narrowed. “What is troubling you, Olga? You aren’t speaking to anyone.”
“The government is looking for my cousin. I assume you know the entire story now.”
“Why don’t we talk about it?” Peter asked, putting his hand on the doorframe.
Fear made her pulse race. Was Konstantin about to cost her this position? She didn’t want to, but she invited Peter inside. What they had to say to each other might best be said in private. “Please come in.”
He glanced around the small front area. “Chose the two-chair option I see.”
“What of it?”
“I’d have thought you would choose the one reclining chair.” He sat in one of the chairs, and she took the other on the opposite side of the square table.
“I didn’t expect to have many visitors,” she admitted, “though I seem to have miscalculated. I made the right choice, though I did it for looks rather than comfort.”
Lady Be Good Page 11