by Saint,Nic
Jingoist suddenly strode up to Jarrett, and he winced when the man thrust out a powerful hand. Then he grabbed Jarrett’s hand and shook it vigorously. “No hard feelings, Mr. Zephyr?”
Jarrett gingerly touched the twin bumps on his head. “No hard feelings,” he returned.
“As you said, just a simple misunderstanding,” Jingoist said, then gestured with his battle-ram of a chin to the woman in black. “Set up an appointment with my assistant.” And with a curt nod, he added, “Nice to do business with you.”
“Nice to do business with you,” he agreed, shaking the man’s hand. He had an extremely powerful grip, but then he knew that about him already.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to,” Jingoist said, as he retreated to the door.
Jarrett watched him move away with rising dismay. The cops could be here any minute now and with them his final chance to get his hands on the book. “Erm, Mr. Jingoist, sir! A question?” he called out, stalling for time.
Jingoist turned and gave Jarrett a piercing look.
“Erm… how does it work exactly, this healing thing? And are there any, erm, side effects? Like… sprouting a second nose? I mean, I’m sure Mum wouldn’t enjoy a second nose, being perfectly content with just the one.”
“Perfect healing. No side effects,” Jingoist grunted impatiently.
“We must go, Master,” the woman in black insisted. She had the Clavicule Necroire tucked snugly under her armpit and had her hand on the doorknob.
“Yeah, I must be off, too,” Master Edwards said, as he started inching toward the door. “I have friends to meet, bones to break, the usual stuff.”
Panicked, Jarrett cried out, “Wait! Nobody move!”
They all watched him with surprise, then Edwards started laughing. “You’re a funny guy, Zephyr!” the old crook chuckled. “Bonkers but funny!”
Just then, there was a loud explosion near the entrance, and as everyone looked up in surprise, Jarrett decided to go for broke. So he snatched the Clavicule Necroire from the woman in black’s hands and made a mad dash for the door. And he would have made it if Jingoist hadn’t tripped him up, and as he went down, all hell broke loose, the room erupting into utter and complete chaos.
Chapter 40
Harry felt exceedingly frustrated. First Darian had told her not to move from his mother’s apartment, and when she’d put her foot down and insisted to tag along on the police raid he was mounting, he’d put her in a police van and had locked the door! As if she was some kind of rare and delicate plant that would wither and die when it came into contact with the outside air!
Now all she could do was watch on as the police operation ran its course. Darian had left nothing to chance. Dozens of officers had been summoned, and the firearms unit of the Met—akin to SWAT—was on the scene, making its incursion into the building. They’d cordoned off the street, and Harry could see heavily armed black-clad police crawling around on the rooftops, fleetingly visible each time the moon slipped from behind cloud cover. Snipers were in place and ready to engage, as if about to take down an actual terror cell housed in this small inconspicuous family restaurant.
But of course Jingoist had murdered and had eluded police capture on both occasions, and then there was the possibility that more of his ilk were ensconced inside the building. She watched, awed, as smoke poured from the building, loud explosions audible even through the police van’s closed doors.
When finally the show was over, she watched as first Master Edwards was marched from the restaurant, looking extremely healthy and vigorous for a dying man, then two Philo lookalikes, and finally Jingoist himself and his assistant, the woman in black. The operation was a success! They had them!
She cheered to no one in particular, and wished someone would finally open the door and let her be part of the celebration!
But then she saw how Jarrett was also escorted from the building, his hands cuffed, and her cheerful mood vanished. Hey, what were they doing with Jarrett? They didn’t think he was part of Jingoist’s operation, did they?
Finally, Darian jogged over to the van and released her from its confines. As soon as the door opened, she yelled, “Why did you arrest Jarrett?”
Slightly taken aback, he riposted defensively, “He’s a suspect.”
She jumped from the van. “A suspect? He was only trying to help!”
Darian remained implacable. “He was present at the scene for no apparent reason, and we have reason to believe he was negotiating with Jingoist. He might even have assisted him in his nefarious activities.”
“You don’t believe that!” she shouted, anger making her voice shrill.
“I have to look into every angle,” he insisted, standing his ground.
“You have to let him go! He’s got nothing to do with this.”
He suddenly rounded on her. “You don’t know the first thing about this guy! For all we know he might have been working with Jingoist all along.”
“I know him well enough to know he’s not involved in any of this.”
“We’ll see about that,” he snapped and walked away with fury in his step.
She stared at his disappearing form, even as Jarrett’s head was pushed down into a waiting police car and was whisked away. God, Darian was such a… “Horrible person!” she yelled, stomping her foot. But he kept on walking.
What came next was something of an anticlimax after all the buildup. Instead of being escorted back to Em’s, she had to find a taxi to take her home, police protection obviously no longer her privilege. At Em’s, she explained in a few brief words what had transpired, and she could see that her hostess, too, was disappointed in her son’s appalling behavior.
“Darian can be the most obstinate person in the world,” Em said. They were in Harry’s bedroom, with Harry packing up her meager belongings. The room was still a mess, and even more so after the police had trudged through it. “He’s exactly like his father. Cop first, human being later.”
“Jarrett had nothing to do with this,” Harry pointed out again. “He was there because he wanted to take down Jingoist all by himself.”
“Which was not a very bright idea now was it?” Em suggested.
“Well, that’s just the way he is. It doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Em patted her arm. “You know what we should do? Go and have a talk with Darian together. Perhaps he’ll listen to the both of us.”
“I very much doubt it,” she said moodily.
“Yes, me too,” Em said. “My son doesn’t listen to anybody. Which is probably what makes him so good at what he does. He simply looks at the evidence and won’t allow himself to be swayed by anybody’s influence.”
“Well, if he looks at the evidence he’ll have to release Jarrett, won’t he?”
“I’m sure he will, honey. He just doesn’t want to take any chances.”
When Em left, she finished gathering up her stuff. She was going home. Home to her own little flat and to Snuggles. The case of the rogue priest and his miraculous book was closed, and it was time to move on with her life.
And not for the first time she wondered what had happened to Buckley. She hadn’t seen him in ages. He’d deserted her, just like Darian had deserted common sense when he’d gone and arrested Jarrett, she thought bitterly.
She then sent a quick message to Alice and Uncle Curtis, letting them know she was all right. They might read the papers in the morning and worry about her. And then it was time to say goodbye to Em.
She walked into the living room, where Em was waiting, arms folded across her chest and a worried smile on her face. First light was tentatively starting to glow on the horizon when she hugged her warmly, having become very fond of the woman in the short space of time she’d been her guest.
“Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?” Em said, her voice sounding a little funny. “Drop by anytime you like. Anytime at all.”
“I will,” she said, her voice equally wobbly.
“And you must start throwing those fabled parties again,” she told her. “No matter what Darian says.”
Em laughed. “Looks like someone dropped out of your list of most favorite people.”
“He’s in my top ten of least favorite people now,” she grumbled. “In fact he may just have snagged the top spot.”
Em stroked her hair. “Darian is just the way he is, honey, and I’ve learned to take the good with the bad. In fact if not for his stubborn streak I doubt whether he’d be a very good policeman.”
She shrugged. She had her doubts about that. Just then, the door opened and Darian strode in, looking haggard and drawn. He was still dressed in the same clothes he’d started the previous day with and looked positively knackered. The man hadn’t slept at all, Harry suspected.
When he saw her, he blinked. “Still here?” he asked rather curtly.
“Just going,” she pointed out, just as curtly.
“Now, now, children,” Em said, “don’t fight. Kiss and make up.”
“Is Jarrett still in jail?” Harry asked, implacable.
Darian pursed his lips. “His lawyer posted bail. He walked an hour ago.”
“Surely you won’t be pressing charges against him,” Harry challenged.
Darian gave her a long look, then shook his head. “No, we won’t. Looks like you were right. He was out there trying to play the hero, taking down Jingoist all by himself, and stealing the book so he could cure his mum. Probably not the smartest move, but then stupidity isn’t punishable by law.”
Harry’s face cleared. “I knew it! Is he all right? Was he hurt?”
Her words seemed to hurt Darian, for he winced. “No, he’s fine,” he said softly. “Just some cuts and bruises from the tussle, that’s all.”
“What about the book? Did you get it?”
“We retrieved the Clavicule Necroire and it’s being returned to the Absinthian Church as we speak.”
“So all is well that ends well,” Harry muttered.
Darian gave her a long, level look. “It appears that way.”
She picked up her small suitcase and raised her chin. “That’s fine, then. I think I’ll be off.” She gave Em another hug, gave Darian a frosty look, and said, “If you need me you know where to find me, Inspector Watley.”
And without another word, she left, pulling the door closed behind her.
This chapter of her life was over, and she was ready to start another one. She had no idea what lay before her, but Darian Watley wasn’t part of it, that much was certain.
She strode out into the street and hailed a taxi. Not that she could afford one, but her bicycle was still in the boot of Jarrett’s car as far as she knew. Speaking of Jarrett, she took out her phone and called him. He picked up on the first ring. “Harry!” he cried. “You won’t believe what I’ve been through!”
And as she listened to his tale of the tense scenes that had taken place at Xing Ming, she didn’t notice how above her, on the second floor of the Watley residence, a curtain shifted, as Darian stood watching her intently. Nor was she aware of the cluck-clucking sound Em made, nor her comment, “Just call the girl already, Darian. Don’t be such a stubborn know-it-all.”
“I’ll call her when I need to for the investigation, Mother,” he said briefly.
“Then you’re as big an idiot as she is.”
“That may be so,” he muttered, “but she’s made her choice and now she’ll have to live with it.”
“Made her choice?” Em laughed. “You mean Jarrett? You do know that man is gay, don’t you, darling?”
Startled, Darian looked up, and his mother laughed at his expression of utter befuddlement.
“Oh, darling. You may be an ace detective, but in the ways of the world you are a mere babe in the woods!”
“Zephyr is gay?”
“As gay as Elton, darling. Gayer, I dare say.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. Now give the girl a call and ask her out on a date already, will you?”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can’t.” Em sighed. “The spitting image of your father, down to the last maddening gene.”
“Dad is a great person and a wonderful policeman,” Darian grumbled.
“He’s also an ass, and so are you.”
The curtain shifted again, and then was still. Darian had returned to his own apartment to catch a few hours of sleep, while Harry returned to hers to do the same. Soon, while London awoke, the protagonists of The Case of the Clavicule Necroire were all sleeping soundly, except perhaps for Master Edwards, his two ‘assistants’, Jingoist, and Chantelle Chan, as the Woman in Black’s name really was. They were lamenting a fate that had brought them in the crosshairs of Scotland Yard, and were now cooling their heels behind bars, where they’d remain for the foreseeable future.
Jingoist might possess the power to direct his astral body to other places, but his physical body was now safely behind bars, and he seemed to think better of going around murdering people while he was in police custody…
Chapter 41
Harry watched with approval as a large group of homeless people gathered in the reception area of the Absinthian Church and shuffled into its canteen for the free meal the church offered. They’d been helping out the poor and homeless in their home country ever since their inception, the Elder explained as he showed Harry and Jarrett around. The London branch was only one of many they now had around the world, the Absinthian Church growing by leaps and bounds outside of their home country of China.
“We believe in feeding the hungry and clothing the naked,” said the Elder, “in quite a literal way. To give something back to the community that supports us, and to be a force for good in the world.”
“That’s very commendable,” Jarrett said with a nod of approval. “My father feels exactly the same way. He feeds the hungry and clothes the naked.”
It was obvious he was thinking of himself. “I think the Elder means a group of beneficiaries a little bigger than one person, Jarrett,” Harry said.
“Oh, but he does a lot for the community!” Jarrett defended his father. “He has an entire slew of good causes he donates money to, and he sits on the board of several more. He’s one of the biggest charity donors in the country.”
“Well, he can definitely afford it,” Harry commented, thinking Jarrett Sr was not on a par with the Absinthian Church’s generous program. “Have you set a date for your mother’s healing?” she now asked.
Jarrett nodded. “She’s coming in tomorrow.”
“Yes, all the preparations have been made,” the Elder confirmed. “And I will be doing the honors personally.”
“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Jarrett exclaimed. “Mother will be thrilled.”
“It is but a small token of my appreciation for returning our holy book,” the Elder said with a slight bow.
They were walking through the canteen where the homeless were enjoying their meals, volunteers ladling soup into bowls and food on plates. Harry recognized the receptionist from the other day, but when he saw her, he pretended not to notice, for he quickly averted his gaze. Odd, she felt, for she was now in the company of the Elder, so he must know she was a distinguished guest and not an interloper. She watched the row of volunteers. There were about a dozen, some of them dressed casually, others in long black robes. She noticed none of the women were wearing robes, though.
“Are these all priests of the church?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” the Elder said with a light chuckle. “Only the ones dressed in black. The rest are laypeople or parishioners, carefully selected to be part of our church’s inner workings.”
“So do you have women priests?” she asked, watching a young woman with long red hair handing an extra slice of bread to one of the vagrants.
The Elder stared at her for a moment, his smile wiped away. “Of course not,” he barked shortly. “Everybody knows that women are not the right vessels for the
blessings that come from the higher source.”
Harry was taken aback by this. Somehow she’d figured this church was more modern than most organized religions. “You mean no women are ordained?”
“None,” he said with a finality that gave her pause. “And none ever will be.”
Jarrett intervened. “What Harry means to ask is whether—”
“This interview is over,” suddenly the Elder announced quite abruptly, and before either Harry or Jarrett could put in a final word, he’d walked off, leaving hem stumped and not a little surprised.
“I guess he doesn’t like women,” Harry said, slightly bewildered.
“No, I guess he doesn’t,” Jarrett confirmed.
They walked on, Harry feeling more and more uneasy with every step. She’d never been big on organized religion, and now she remembered why. Some of these people were really stuck in a very distant past, where men and women weren’t treated on equal footing, and it irked and saddened her. Then again, plenty of religious people had decided to join the twenty-first century and had done away with those old and antiquated notions from a different era. Apparently the Absinthian Church simply wasn’t one of them.
“Have you heard the latest news about Jingoist?” Jarrett asked, changing the topic.
“No. To have heard about Jingoist implies I’d have heard from Darian and the Inspector hasn’t been in touch,” she said in clipped tones.
“Well, he says he had nothing to do with the murders of either Buckley or Lakesha Fenton.”
“Ha! That’s rich. Then who did?”
“He says he will talk if they consider cutting him a deal.”
“Darian is too smart to fall for that.”
“Well…”
She glanced up at Jarrett. “He’s cutting a deal with Jingoist?”
“He might. From what I’m hearing he’s desperate. There’s absolutely no evidence linking Jingoist to any crime, not even to the attack on us.”
“But that’s impossible. He was right there!”
“Well, when he was turning Em’s room into fricassee he was apparently having supper with Madame Wu’s family. There were at least a dozen people present, more than willing to testify on his behalf.”