The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1)

by Loy Ray Clemons

  Roberts reached the top landing of the stairs and slowly opened the door to the queen’s apartment. He switched on a flashlight and walked to the center of the room. He stood listening for a moment before moving over to the now covered floor opening in the center of the room. He played his flashlight around the room and on the floor around the opening, bending over occasionally to examine the floor.

  Hammersmith motioned for Thorne to cover the door to the stairs. Thorne moved stealthily toward the door and stepped on a small chunk of dried mortar.

  Roberts’s flashlight swung immediately in the direction of the sound, catching Thorne in the beam of light. At the same time, Hammersmith’s flashlight came on, and he shone it directly in Roberts’s eyes.

  “Drop the torch and don’t move,” demanded Hammersmith.

  Roberts hesitated briefly before dropping the flashlight. “What’s this?” he asked. “I’m a town building inspector. Who are you, and what are you two doing here?”

  “I’m Inspector Hammersmith of the Stratford Police Department, and I’ll ask the questions, Roberts. What are you doing here?”

  “Like I said, I’m a town building inspector. There’s been a serious accident here. I’ve come to investigate. The town may want to file charges against the general contractor.”

  Hammersmith sneered, “At four o’clock in the morning—in the dark? My, but aren’t we ambitious.”

  Roberts stammered. “I—I say—what are you getting at? I just wanted to—to—investigate when there was no one here so as to—to—not arouse—not arouse suspicion with my investigation.”

  “That’s enough, Roberts. We know you don’t work for the town. Maybe you should—”

  Roberts looked around wildly as if he were seeking for an avenue of escape. “I—I don’t—”

  Hammersmith grabbed him by his lapels and snapped, “It’s no use, Roberts, we know all about you. Tell us what happened.”

  Roberts relaxed and said resignedly, “All right—all right. I’ll tell you what happened, but it’s not what it seems.” He reached for his wallet and produced a business card.

  Hammersmith read the card; VICTOR ROBERTS, PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.

  “I’ve been hired to do a little surveillance for clients. I only met one, the other I spoke with over the telephone. Not too long ago, before the unfortunate accident, they requested things of me that I’m not usually involved in. They asked me to do a job here in the building.” He paused and ran his tongue across his lower lip.

  “And that was?”

  “They said they wanted to send a signal—a casual message.”

  “A signal? What kind of signal?” Hammersmith asked.

  “They wanted me to come up here and—and cause a pallet to fall to—to the floor down below. I don’t know what the purpose was.”

  Hammersmith was furious. “You didn’t know what the purpose was! What the purpose was? Don’t give me that.”

  “Well, they said they wanted to send a signal. I suppose it could have been a warning.” He shrugged, “But who knows. I didn’t want to get too involved.”

  Hammersmith exploded. “Didn’t want to get involved! A man was killed, you idiot. You call that a warning?”

  Roberts shrugged. “It was suggested I doctor up the rope—you know, cut it a little to weaken it. Then come up here and push off a few stones to make the load on pallet heavier.”

  “And drop it on the man a hundred feet below!” Hammersmith retorted, his voice rising.

  “Wait a minute—wait a minute,” protested Roberts. “Now—no one was supposed to be there. I suppose they—my client—clients—just wanted to show how dangerous it was. What could happen to them if they—if they—”

  “Well, it appears there was someone down there. You’re telling me he just happened to walk under the—”

  “Yeah! Yeah!” Roberts said excitedly. “That’s right. He must have just walked into it. I looked down. Before I nudged the stones onto the pallet, there was no one down there.”

  Roberts put his hand over his face.“ And then I heard the man scream. Then I knew what had happened as everyone rushed over to look down. I felt terrible. I didn’t look, I—”

  Hammersmith moved over close to the small man, not six inches from his face. “You’re holding out on us, Roberts. We want the name of who—”

  Thorne could keep quiet no longer. “He’s lying, Inspector. He attacked me and he’s been trying to kill me, too—even while I was in Arizona.”

  Roberts broke for the door, and Hammersmith reached for his walkie-talkie. “He’s coming down! Stop him, but be careful. He may be armed.”

  Thorne moved to stop the fleeing Roberts, but the small man ducked under his outstretched arm and came up with his fist, catching Thorne on the shoulder. Thorne staggered backward, trying to keep on his balance as Roberts went through the door and down the stairs.

  The constable on the floor below came out of the room onto the landing as the small man crashed into him, knocking him to the floor. Roberts continued his flight down the stairs and met the sergeant coming up just as he broke onto the top landing of the large eighty foot high space.

  Roberts was still moving as he swung a clinched fist at the policeman. He missed and lost his balance, crashing against the temporary wooden guardrail on the outer side of the landing.

  With a resounding crack, the wooden guardrail collapsed and fell over the side into the darkness. The sergeant frantically grasped at thin air as Roberts followed it over. Roberts and parts of the guardrail crashed to the floor eighty feet below.

  Thorne joined the others as they looked over the landing and shone light on the crumpled form on the stone floor below.

  Hammersmith was the first to speak. “Well, I guess that solves who killed Mr. Hollister. The man saved us a lot of paperwork and a trial. Now we have to find out who he was working for. I think we’re agreed Roberts was only the instrument.”

  Chapter 55

  Thorne put down the newspaper describing the previous night’s events. He didn’t like the thought of leaving England without knowing who else besides Roberts may have been involved in Freddie’s death. Although Helena had told him she was in financial trouble, she also said she had friends who were helping her. Still, he felt he would give her peace of mind with the disclosure of Roberts’s role in Freddie’s death.

  Thorne went to the bookstore, planning to see Helena one last time before leaving Stratford. He smiled at the two women as he passed the checkout counter on the way to the office in the corner of the store. As he approached the closed office door, he heard voices coming from within. He went over behind a high bookshelf, picked up a magazine and sat in a chair to wait for the person to leave before seeing Helena.

  The door was cracked, and he could hear their conversation. The first voice was that of Helena.

  “But, aren’t you planning on getting married.”

  “Helena, surely you know it’s always been you even when we were kids together in school. Now that Freddie’s gone—”

  Thorne stood, stunned at what he was hearing. He moved closer to the door. Now he recognized the voice. It was one of the voices he’d heard that night before in the castle.

  It was Neville Forestal!

  It was now clear. Forestal had been one of Freddie’s partners in the search for the necklace. Freddie had given Forestal and the other unknown partner the second page. Now Forestal was ingratiating himself with Helena for additional information about the necklace.

  “Neville, I appreciate you helping me get the line of credit for the store. It’s going to solve our problems, but—.

  “Helena, you know I’ve always—the only reason I planned to marry Gweneth is because you were with Freddie and I—“

  “Neville, when we were younger—before Freddie, I cared for you, but—”

  “Oh, it makes no difference now, Helena. I’m fond of Gweneth, but I love you. Don’t you remember what we had years ago. You chose Freddie, and I’m sorry
he’s gone, but—”

  Thorne couldn’t believe his ears. What was going on here?

  A chair scraped and Helena said, “Oh, I don’t know—”

  Forestal changed direction in the conversation. “What did Freddie tell you about the—the new bookstore—and the castle addition? I could help you more if I knew. We could do so many things if I knew what Freddie’s plans were. I want to help you take over what Freddie was doing. Did he tell you anything?”

  The realization of what Forestal was trying to do shocked Thorne. It was now coming clear to him. Evidently, Forestal and Helena had been romantically involved when both were younger.

  Forestal was using their former relationship—before her marriage to Freddie—and pleasant memories to convince her he was willing to give up Gweneth in hope of reviving their romance.

  If this was true, Forestal was giving up everything in Stratford—all for the necklace. It was also obvious, he had no long-term plans with Helena. It was all a ruse. He was now into pumping her for information about what Freddie had done with the necklace he had taken from the castle.

  “Did Freddie ever tell you about things he may have found in the castle?” Forestal asked.

  “What kind of things?” There was puzzlement in her voice.

  “Oh, things he may have found that might be used in the new bookstore. Artifacts. Things like that—things of value.”

  There was a silence, then she said, “No—no, I can’t think of anything like that. He never told me he’d found anything.”

  Forestal was giving up. Freddie had told her nothing. His fake ardor cooled. After a long silence, he said, “Well, I have things I must do. I’ll meet you at the bank and sign as a reference for you, say around ten o’clock? Think about what I’ve said—will you. Try to remember—and please, don’t mention our conversation to anyone.”

  “All right, and thank you, Neville. You’ve been a dear to do this for me.” She paused. “And Neville—I appreciate your interest in our—in our previous relationship, but I don’t feel the same way now.”

  They were both silent for a while. She said, “Oh, I forgot. Mr. Thorne came by and looked at that painting we have at the front checkout counter. Is that of any help?”

  There was silence before Forestal spoke. “What did he find?”

  “He said it was just a note from Freddie. Something about construction—the addition. He didn’t seem to think it was too important.”

  The door began to open, and Thorne ducked back behind the bookshelves. Forestal paused at the door before coming out.

  “Helena, please don’t tell anyone about our conversation.”

  After Forestal left, Thorne sat for a long time in his position behind the bookshelves. He’d been stunned by the conversation. He no longer had conflicting emotions about extracting himself from the situation. The complexities of the relationship of the people here in Stratford wasn’t what he wanted any part of. There wasn’t anything to be gained by talking to Helena.

  He had been fired and shorted on his fee—his friend Freddie was dead—Helena no longer needed his help. He was worried about Gweneth but realized he could do nothing for the time being. He repeated over and over in his mind that he didn’t owe anybody anything. He was ready to take the necklace and leave. He would see that Helena got a share after he sold the necklace and that would be the end of it. He owed that much to Freddie. He knew he would also have to eventually tell Gweneth about Forestal.

  Should he put a bug in Inspector Hammersmith’s ear about Forestal? No, he would have to explain about the necklace and he shouldn’t get any further involved. No one knew he had the necklace and Hammersmith would find out the other facts soon enough. After all, he had no proof Forestal was the one who ordered Freddie’s death. It was just an assumption. No, he would just cut his losses, let it lay and get out of here—and soon.

  He realized he’d been all over the map with the emotional doubts—his guilt—his desire to remain true to Freddie’s memory and to be helpful to Helena and Gweneth. Now, he had made up his mind about the necklace.

  He began to formulate a plan as to how he would proceed.

  Chapter 56

  Thorne went to the Beaton and Wicke bank and retrieved the packet with the necklace.. He left the letters in the safe deposit box, withdrew all of his funds on deposit, and changed them into Euros, Pound notes, and American Express Travelers Checks.

  Back in his room at the White Rose, he repacked his luggage for the trip to Paris. He stuffed the packet with the necklace into an expandable file folder, and placed it into his laptop briefcase..

  He flipped open his cell phone and called Tom Willis. They chatted briefly about Denver and England and how their respective jobs were going. Thorne told him his job in Stratford was finished, and he was leaving for Paris, keeping details to a minimum. He didn’t mention the death of Freddie, the firing, or finding the necklace. After more small talk, he got around to asking Willis for information. He knew Willis would not ask why he wanted the information.

  “I need a contact in London. A fence in London or Paris who can provide a passport, driver’s license, and travel ID. That sort of thing.”

  “I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” said Willis.

  Thorne finished packing and was sitting on the edge of the bed when Willis called back.

  “Dassin Stockton. Runs Stockton and Rohmer, Ltd., a photography studio in London near the Tower Bridge. From what I hear, he’s discreet, does excellent work, has a lot of contacts, and is expensive. Tell him you were referred by Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul, Minnesota. He’ll ask for the given name of Mittelmeir. Tell him it’s Helmut—Helmut Mittelmeir.” He gave Thorne the London address and phone number. “Let me know how things work out. Keep in touch.”

  “Thanks. Let me know if I can return the favor,” Thorne said and hung up. He looked at his watch and decided it was too late in the day to drive to London and make connections with Stockton. He would drive down the following morning.

  He dialed the telephone number given him by Tom Willis. A man answered the telephone. “Yes?”

  “I’m David Riley. I was given your number by a Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul. I understand you take passport pictures.”

  “St. Paul?”

  “St. Paul, Minnesota.”

  “Oh yes. How is Dietrich?”

  Thorne played along with the qualifying procedure. “I don’t know Dietrich, but his brother Helmut is doing just fine.”

  “All right, come by tomorrow around eleven. Bring cash—in pounds.”

  “I’ll need to wait for the identification.”

  “No problem. Be here at noon.” He repeated the address and hung up.

  Now that Roberts was dead, he was sure Kelly, Forestal, and his partner would intensify their efforts to get the necklace and silence him. They would not give up shadowing him. They would follow him to London, and on to Dover where he planned to catch the ferry to Calais the next day.

  Chapter 57

  LONDON

  Tuesday, December 21

  10:45 AM

  The following morning Thorne put maps and the packet with the necklace in a large expandable file folder and took them with him when he went down to breakfast. He studied the maps over breakfast and traced the route he would take to Paris.

  Back in the room, he put the packet back in the laptop briefcase before carrying his luggage down to the Land Rover. As he left the hotel parking lot, he did not see the now familiar van fall in behind him. After he had driven a mile or so, he saw the van following about two hundred yards back. .He couldn’t make out who the two men in the van were, but he assumed they were Kelly and Forestal. He could not see anyone else in the van.

  The van followed at a distance of a quarter of a mile or so. That was interesting. Why so much distance behind him?

  He suddenly realized they had bugged the Land Rover, probably with one of those GPA devices that was transmitting his exact location. They could have planted
the GPS device on the Land Rover while it was parked at the hotel the night before, or possibly earlier. They must be confident of his location as they kept a distance of ten to twelve cars from him throughout the trip to London. When an opportunity presented itself, he would look for the suspected transmitter on his Land Rover.

  When Thorne arrived in London, he drove to the Tower Bridge and found the address given him by Dassin Stockton and the sign displaying STOCKTON & ROHMER, PHOTOGRAPHERS AND REPRODUCTIONS in the second floor windows. He didn’t see the van, but was sure they were close by.

  He took his laptop briefcase with him as he went up to the narrow stairs to the office. Inside the large well-lit reception room, photographs of wedding parties and brides covered the walls. A door to the rear opened and a mild middle-aged woman in a long black rubber apron and straight hair the color of dried grass appeared. She smiled and the corners of her calm blue eyes crinkled into crow’s feet behind rimless glasses. She had a pleasant voice that would have coaxed relaxation from any subject being photographed. “Hello? May I help you?”

  “I’m David Riley. I have an appointment with Mr. Stockton.”

  She pressed the intercom button on the desk. “Mr. Riley is here.” She smiled again, and went back through the rear door.

  After a short interval, a gruff voice came over the intercom. “Come in, Riley.”

  Stockton was a portly red-faced man with an unpleasant smirk on his fat lips. He didn’t rise or offer his hand as Thorne entered. “What is it you need?” he asked abruptly and popped a chocolate bonbon into his mouth.

  “You’ll recall Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul, Minnesota referred me to you. I need a passport, license, pocket litter, and—”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “France—Paris. Then back to London, and then to New York. I’ll also need the name of a contact in Paris who deals in gold coins, expensive antique jewelry, and crystal—that sort of thing.”