The Kill Fee

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  Rollo grinned. “Spitting nails. She read the riot act to Martin about arresting Oscar.”

  “Yes, she did,” agreed Yasmin, then frowned, her beautifully shaped eyebrows touching over the bridge of her Egyptian nose. “But she admitted to me that she realized Martin didn’t have a choice. Oscar was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And seeing that it’s his place, well…” she motioned with her manicured hands.

  Poppy tucked her own short-nailed fingers, cracked and split due to hours of pounding her typewriter, into the palms of her hands. “Have they found the murder weapon yet?” she asked.

  “No,” answered the solicitor.

  “Then surely that’s the hole in their case.”

  Yasmin smiled at the young reporter. “Have you ever thought of going into law, Miss Denby? Your mind works in very clever ways.”

  “Back off, Yazzie; she’s mine,” growled Rollo. And they all laughed.

  “Poppy’s right though. That’s exactly what I’m going to be using to get Oscar out. And as soon as we’re finished here I’ll be drawing up my deposition to a judge to accelerate Oscar’s bail hearing.” She sat up straight in her chair. “So, if you’ll forgive my directness, Poppy, can we hurry this up please? What else have you got for us?”

  Poppy took out Nogovski’s file and opened it on the desk, the picture of him in Paris with Selena uppermost. “Comrade Andrei Nogovski. Seems like he used to be Selena’s bodyguard. She pointed to the younger bearded man behind the princess.”

  “By Jove it is!” declared Rollo, picking up the photograph and examining it closely. “Amazing how a beard can change the look of a man.”

  “And the feel,” purred Yasmin. Rollo chuckled. Poppy blushed.

  “So you didn’t put this picture in the file?” observed Poppy. “It must have been Ike… or Ivan.” Poppy chewed her lip, sorting through the problem. “But why would he have…”

  “Hello, Miz Denby!”

  “Sorry. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you but haven’t had a chance with all the recent drama. Ivan warned me to stay away from Nogovski. He told me he was a very dangerous man and that he’d known him back in Russia when he was a member of the tsar’s secret police. Ivan was a reformer,” she added for Yasmin’s benefit. “But Ivan being Ivan is not too forthcoming with information. I was wondering if you could have a chat with him, Rollo, to see what he knows. It might not be any more than is already in here, but there’s a chance…”

  Rollo nodded. “Will do. He’s been more glum than usual – because of what he’s heard about his family – but I’ll take him out for a drink and see what I can get out of him. Do you mind if I give him a ring, Yazzie?”

  Yasmin passed him the phone. He picked up the earpiece and spoke to the operator, asking for a number. The Russian answered. Poppy could hear his gruff voice across the room as he grumbled and groaned that he was too tired to go out. Rollo quipped that this was the first time he’d ever known a Russian to turn down a free drink. Ivan’s tone lightened as he asked whether Rollo was offering to buy them. Rollo said he was, but only if Ivan was man enough to take off his slippers and meet him at the Cock. This seemed to do the trick and they agreed to meet at Ye Olde Cock Tavern in an hour. Rollo put the phone back in its cradle and meshed his fingers behind his head. “Spiffing. Righto. Let’s wrap up here and I’ll give you a lift back to the office, Miz Denby.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I can tell you the rest in the motor…”

  “Splendid!” said Rollo and slapped his thighs. He got up, went around the desk and kissed Yasmin on the cheek. “Later, toots!”

  Yasmin gave a mocking scowl at the provocative, sexist slur and raised her eyebrows towards the door. Then she pulled out a legal pad and started making notes.

  “Sorry, Miss Denby; time is of the essence if I’m going to get a hearing for Oscar tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course,” said Poppy congenially, and started to gather her things. However, she hadn’t had a chance to discuss her suspicions about the connection between Andrei Nogovski and Adam Lane, and which of them might be the killer. Nor why she was trying to give this information to the police. Delilah! She needed to telephone Miss King to find out if she’d located the young actress, but Yasmin had already picked up the receiver and was asking for a number at the Old Bailey. Poppy closed her files and put them in her satchel. As she did, a sheet of paper slipped out and fluttered onto Yasmin’s desk. The solicitor’s eyes widened when she saw what was on it – the sketch of the sapphire and ruby necklace stolen from Selena in Paris in 1912.

  Yasmin asked the operator to wait a moment and turned to Poppy: “Where did you get this?”

  “It was in the Jazz Files,” said Poppy.

  Yasmin took the paper. “Do you mind if I hang on to this?”

  Rollo snatched it from her hand, folded it up and put it in his breast pocket. “I’m sure you’ve got enough to deal with this evening, toots.”

  She glared at him, but then was distracted by a voice from the telephone. “Ah, yes, good evening. May I speak to Judge Denvers please… Yes, yes, I know it’s gone six o’clock, but…”

  Rollo took Poppy’s elbow and steered her towards the door as Yasmin continued her conversation.

  “What was all that about?” asked Poppy in the black cab on the way back to Fleet Street. Rollo checked to see that the glass division between the driver and the passenger compartment was firmly shut.

  “Yazzie was very interested in that necklace. She’s obviously seen it before.”

  “But how could she? It was stolen eight years ago.”

  “Exactly, Miz Denby, exactly. But I’ve known Yasmin Reece-Lansdale long enough to read her expression.”

  “Why didn’t you just ask her about it?”

  “She was on the telephone. And besides, even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t have told me. Not if it had something to do with one of her clients. Which I suspect it has.”

  “With Oscar? Oh, you don’t think he is involved with this after all?”

  “No, I don’t. I feel it in my water, Miz Denby. Call it a newspaperman’s sixth sense.”

  “Then who? The Yusopovs?”

  Rollo nodded. “Very possibly. I need to do some more digging. I’ll start with Ivan and see if he can suggest someone else to speak to.”

  “You don’t think that Felix Yusopov could be the killer after all, do you? Have you changed your mind on that?”

  Rollo shrugged. “I’m keeping my options open. What do you think?”

  Poppy touched her cheek. “Well, I’m not sure now. The Felix Yusopov connection has put a spoke in the wheel…”

  “It has. But before you heard his name, who else did you think was involved in this?”

  Poppy leaned back in the cab and pressed her head into the leather upholstery, stretching her neck. “Well, that’s why I was at the police station, you see. It’s possible that Adam could be the killer, and that puts Delilah in danger.”

  Rollo snorted. “Adam Lane? A killer? Come on, Poppy. Do you really think that? What’s in your water? What do you really feel?”

  Speaking of water, Poppy had not had a chance to visit the restroom at Yasmin’s chambers and really needed to go. She crossed her legs as subtly as possible. Then she thought of Adam, the man she had come to know since the summer. Handsome, charming and good-natured, he clearly thought the world of Delilah. But from the evidence she had seen so far, he seemed to be a man with a secret. Was the secret that he was a killer? She didn’t really think so, but whether this was a newspaperman’s sixth sense or a woman’s intuition she didn’t know. Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking – wanting to think the best of Adam for the sake of her friend. The cab dipped into a pothole. Poppy’s bladder lurched. She crossed her legs the other way.

  “I think Adam’s involved with the theft,” Poppy said eventually, “but I don’t think he’s the killer. However, the chances are that he knows the killer. Or perhaps is even in
partnership with him. And I think Selena was involved too. I think there were three of them in on the exhibition theft: Adam, Selena and someone else.”

  “And might this someone else be Andrei Nogovski?”

  Up until a few minutes ago, Nogovski had been her prime suspect. But the mention of Felix Yusopov added another possibility. Both men had a motive to get the eggs – or more likely, what they contained. Yusopov’s motivation would probably be to protect the royal families – the British and Russian; Nogovski’s, as a Red, would be to expose the corruption (or whatever dirty secrets the egg contained) to discredit the royals once and for all to sway public opinion towards the revolutionary cause. Could they be working together? No, it wasn’t possible. One was White, the other Red. On the other hand, Nogovski had been working for the Whites until a few years ago… Was his conversion fake? Possibly, but then Poppy remembered the evening she had danced with Felix Yusopov, and he and his wife Irina had seen Nogovski talking to Watts at the bar. They had looked terrified and left immediately. Why? Were they scared Watts was going to expose them as jewel thieves? Were they jewel thieves? Had they commissioned Adam to steal the egg? It couldn’t have been them personally; they were both still at the Crystal Palace after the police arrived. And what was their connection with Selena? Was all of that arguing and catfighting just a smoke screen? Very possibly, thought Poppy.

  For the rest of the journey Poppy expounded her thoughts on the matter. Rollo nodded in agreement with her line of thinking. “We need more information, Poppy, but I think we’re on the right track. I’ll see what I can get out of Ivan. And you?”

  Poppy wasn’t sure what to do now. She needed to find Delilah. She also needed to see Monsieur Stanislavski in the hospital. Which reminded her: the envelope… her first priority was to see what information Marjorie had dug up on the fingerprints on the chocolate box card. “I’m not sure. I’ll go back to my desk, write up some notes and take it from there.”

  “Righto,” said Rollo as the cab pulled up outside The Daily Globe.

  CHAPTER 29

  Poppy and Rollo went up to the fourth floor together and entered the newsroom. Ike was still at his desk and Rollo went over to catch up with him. Poppy listened to Ike’s good-natured ribbing of Rollo the Jailbird as she slipped into the restroom. When she emerged she saw Rollo examining Vicky’s flowers on the filing cabinet, a scowl on his face. “How did these get here?” he growled.

  Poppy was surprised at his tone. She hadn’t thought Rollo would be so offended by flowers. Perhaps it was a feminine touch too far in the previously all-male newsroom. Which reminded her: she really needed to speak to him about getting a separate restroom for ladies installed on the fourth floor. The only ladies’ lavatories were on the ground floor, just off the foyer. So she and Vicky had to go all the way down and up to spend a penny if they didn’t want to use the communal facilities in the editorial department. But perhaps now was not the best time.

  “Vicky found them in Ivan’s bin. She thought they had some life in them still, so she brought them up here. I think they’re lovely.”

  “In Ivan’s trash can? What were they doing there?”

  “Exactly the question I asked. She didn’t know. Perhaps you can ask him about them when you see him tonight.”

  “Perhaps I shall,” said Rollo through pursed lips. “Well, Miz Denby, I’ll be off to warm a stool at the Cock. Drop in before you go home, will you, and let me know which line of enquiry you’ll be following next.” He looked around the near empty newsroom. “Oh, and Poppy, don’t stay after Ike’s left. We don’t want a repeat of the Saunders incident.”

  Poppy shuddered at the memory of what had happened during her last big story, when she had been working alone – or so she thought – in The Globe offices after hours, and was attacked. Why on earth would Rollo be thinking of that now?

  Poppy frowned and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “What are you suggesting, Rollo? Do you think we have another mole?”

  Rollo shook his shaggy red head. “No, not that. But people are dying, Poppy. I –” he cleared his throat. “I just don’t want you to be hurt, that’s all.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “And I don’t want to be responsible for it.”

  Poppy was taken aback. First, by the emotion in his voice and secondly that he had touched her so… so personally. It wasn’t like Rollo. What was going on?

  “Are you all right, Rollo?” she asked.

  He was gathering his things and preparing to leave. “Right as rain, Miz Denby, right as rain.” Then he left the newsroom.

  Still puzzled, Poppy waited until she heard the lift open, close and then start its descent to the ground floor. She thought of mentioning Rollo’s odd behaviour to Ike, but he was engrossed in typing and she didn’t want to bother him. He was already behind deadline on tomorrow’s lead and he wouldn’t thank her for the distraction.

  She walked quietly to her desk and sat down. Poppy had already submitted her copy for the morning’s edition, so she was free to have the night off. But she couldn’t possibly go home, not yet. There was too much up in the air. Delilah, Adam, Oscar, Daniel… she shook her head. No, she was not going to think about Daniel now. She needed to patch things up with him, yes, but she was still too angry – and too busy – to do so. It would have to wait until the morning. Perhaps they could thrash it out over lunch.

  She refocused on her desk, reaching for the small pile of memo notes from the receptionist, Mavis Bradshaw. It was nothing unusual; there were often messages waiting for her when she’d been out following a story – people who had called to see her, sources passing on leads and occasionally a visitor who had dropped by on the off-chance she was there, like Delilah had done earlier that day.

  The first message was from Miss King, who asked Poppy to give her a ring. Poppy did, anxious to hear how the older woman had got on in her search for Delilah. Poppy checked her watch – it was a quarter to eight, and Aunt Dot and Miss King would be having dinner. The telephone was in the hall outside the dining room, so it didn’t take long for someone to answer.

  “The Denby residence. May I help you?”

  “Miss King? It’s Poppy.”

  “Poppy,” Miss King answered, lowering her voice. This was not a good sign; clearly Miss King did not want Aunt Dot to hear what she was going to say. Poppy’s stomach tightened.

  “What is it? Did you find Delilah?”

  There was a pause, then: “No. I didn’t. Firstly, I rang the theatre to see if she was there, but she hadn’t returned after visiting you. So then I popped down the road. She wasn’t at Oscar’s – the place was still crawling with police – and she wasn’t at the flat. I knocked and there was no answer. However…”

  “What?”

  “I thought I heard a clatter, like someone was going down the fire escape.”

  Poppy could just imagine the situation. She had once fled Delilah’s flat the very same way when an undesirable had come calling. Although Delilah’s apartment was swish, it was not large, and it was quite feasible that Miss King had heard someone on the fire escape from the front door.

  “Did you see who it was?”

  “No. By the time I got around to the back of the building he – whoever it was – was gone.”

  “Why do you say he, Miss King? It could have been Delilah.” Then she told the older woman what had happened during the Dorchester story and how she had left Delilah’s flat via the fire escape. “Delilah told me she occasionally let suitors out that way when she didn’t want the neighbours to see who had been calling.”

  Poppy could hear the disapproval in Miss King’s voice. “Well, that’s as may be, but I had the distinct impression that it was a man – and that he was up to no good.”

  “What gave you that impression, Miss King?”

  “I have not always been an invalid’s companion,” she said primly. “I have – how should I say? – a certain background in such things.”

  A certain background? Poppy’s he
ad spun with possibilities. But they would have to wait until she had more time. Miss King’s shady past was the least of her worries now.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said Poppy in a conciliatory tone. “Did you alert the police?”

  Miss King sucked in her breath. “I did not. In my experience the police are not always the best port of call in such circumstances. There is no evidence that a crime has been committed and – well – after the way they behaved here at your aunt’s house last night, I think they would be more likely to think of “our lot” as suspects, not victims.”

  Our lot. Poppy stifled a giggle. The phrase encompassed so much: suffragettes, socialists, theatre folk, journalists…

  “Well, thank you, Miss King. And obviously, if you see or hear anything, let me know. I – I’m still concerned about Delilah. And it may require a telephone call to her father in Malta. His boat should be docking tomorrow, I think. Let’s see what the morning brings and we’ll decide then, shall we?”

  “I think that would be wise, Poppy. And I wouldn’t mention anything to your aunt yet either. Considering Miss Marconi’s track record, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her whereabouts.”

  Poppy agreed that there could be, thanked Miss King again, then hung up the telephone. There could be, but what if there isn’t? thought Poppy, recalling how distressed and out of character Delilah had been earlier in the day. And there was also the odd coincidence of Delilah’s telephone having been disconnected. Poppy needed to see for herself. She had a key to her friend’s flat – she occasionally house-sat when Delilah was out of town – so she might just pop by and check things out for herself. Yes, that’s exactly what she would do. She just needed to go through the rest of the messages from Mavis and then she’d be on her way.