by Shéa MacLeod
Look at me, calling it a mission. I almost laughed aloud.
“Some of Lady Lucas’s old doctor bills and such,” Mr. Singh said, referencing my aunt. “Rubbish that needed gotten rid of.” He made as close to an expression of distaste as I’d ever seen him give.
I suppressed a grin. How very like Mr. Singh to play dual duty. Not only did he get rid of the rubbish, but they suited a purpose. Instead I said, “What do we do?”
“The priority, of course, is to free Mr. Chaz, but I would also like for you to get them talking. We need to get a confession.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Hale frowned.
I patted his arm. “I can handle myself, but how will that help? Even if we get one, why would the police ever believe us?”
“Because this case is not just full of documents,” Mr. Singh said, laying it on the bonnet of my car. He pressed the latches in a certain combination, and a secret compartment popped open. Inside was a strange machine with two reels, not unlike film reels, but smaller.
“Press the handle of the case down like this.” He showed me. “It will activate a secret lever and start the recording tape.”
“This is a recording device?” I stared at it in wonder. It was so small! It fit right inside the briefcase.
“Indeed. It is a prototype. Not yet on the market. You must get quite close. As close as you can.” He closed the briefcase and handed it to me.
I took it from him with some trepidation. “How the deuce did you get your hands on such a thing?”
“You may have friends in high places, my lady, but I know people in rather lower ones.”
Had Mr. Singh just made a joke? Surely not.
“Are you certain about this, my lady?” he continued.
“I have to do it, Mr. Singh. You can’t. Nor can Hale. It must be me, or Chaz’s life will be in danger.”
“I am more worried about your life. As, I am sure, are Mr. Chaz and Mr. Hale. I am the one who got you into this mess.”
“You asked for help, and I was glad to give it,” I said. “I’m not about to give up now in the eleventh hour.” I squared my shoulders. “Once more into the breach.”
“You, my lady, are the most admirable of women.”
“You got that right,” Hale muttered.
I threw a look over my shoulder. “Aw, you two are making me blush.”
Up the steps I went and into the building as instructed. Taking a deep breath, I rapped on the door.
The door opened to a dark room, a single spotlight shining in the center. I couldn’t see who had opened the door, but I could see Chaz, tied to chair, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. If they’d harmed him—
Instead of showing my ire, I gazed around calmly. “Well, here I am as you asked.”
“Step into the light.” It was the same voice I’d heard on the phone. It was so familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it
Not sure what else to do, I did as instructed. It put me closer to Chaz. He looked a mess, but at least he was still breathing.
“Show yourself,” I demanded.
The was a crunching footstep and then a figure stepped into the light. He was a slight man, barely taller than my own five-foot-six, dressed in a suit that was just a tad big. He moved like a soldier, though, with a straight back and shoulders. I recognized his build as one of the men at the club with John Goode. Even more, I realized he was the man who kidnapped me from the hotel in Brighton. The one I thought of as Gravel Voice. That was where I’d heard his voice before.
I carefully set the briefcase on the floor and flipped the handle down, activating the recording. The man’s eyes flicked to the case, but he didn’t move toward it.
“Who are you?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“As I said on the phone, I want the documentation you have on the Emily Pearson murder,” Gravel Voice said.
“What do you have to do with her death?” I demanded.
“That is none of your affair. The woman’s been dead for years. Let it go.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.” It was probably all sorts of stupid to tell the man I wouldn’t back down, but Mr. Singh was right. We needed a confession. “I’m not going to stop until I find out the truth.”
He sighed heavily and removed a gun from his pocket. He pointed it at me. “That’s really too bad.”
“That’s a gun!” I gasped, wanting to make sure it was recorded on the tape.
“How astute.” His tone was dry.
“Are you really going to shoot me? You know who I am. The police won’t just let this go.”
“They won’t find you. You’ll be at the bottom of the Thames along with your mate here.” Gravel Voice waved the barrel at Chaz who still hadn’t moved.
I was getting a bit worried. About both of us, to be honest.
“Well, then, you won’t mind explaining things.”
“Why? You’re going to die. It isn’t going to matter.”
“True,” I said lightly, “but I’m the curious sort. If I’m going to get killed by it, like the proverbial cat, then I should at least get some satisfaction before I do. Don’t you think?”
He scowled. “You are an irritating woman.”
“You’re not the first to say so,” I admitted, rather proudly. “Now you and John Goode were in on it together, weren’t you? Along with that other man with you at the club, I’m betting. Is he the same man who drove the car when you kidnapped me? The one with the scar? I’m betting so.”
“You got it all worked out, don’t you?”
“Not really. You see, I know John Goode was behind my kidnapping in Brighton. To what? Throw me off the scent?”
Gravel Voice shifted. “We thought a warning was in order. Figured it would scare you off.” He snorted. “Fat lot of good that did. Nosey broad.”
“Yes, I’m not easily frightened. All right, so that solves that. Although I’m curious. Who played the part of the housekeeper?” I snapped my fingers, recalling the familiar look of the wardrobe mistress. “It was the woman from the theater who played the housekeeper, wasn’t it? Who was Mr. Haigh?”
He snorted. “Too clever by half. Mr. Haigh wasn’t at all what you think.”
Not at all what I thought. Just like I wasn’t what they thought when I posed as a man in Uncle Billy’s clothes. Molly Malloy’s laugh. At the theater. And earlier at the manor house. “Molly Malloy. She posed as Haigh. But why? And I still don’t know why you had to kill poor Emily. Because you did kill her, the three of you.”
“It was an accident,” he said stubbornly, not answering my question about Malloy.
“An accident? You drowned her in the pond!” I snapped.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what exactly happened?” I demanded.
“John was chasing her, and she fell in. Hit her head. We didn’t hold her under, but we didn’t help her up either. Figured it solved our problems.” The sneering smirk on his face made me queasy.
“What problems?” I persisted.
“You really are a nosy cow, aren’t you?”
“Why don’t you tell her, Robert?” another voice broke in. “I’ve a feeling she knows anyway.” John Goode stepped into view.
I actually didn’t know much of anything, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “Where’s your third wheel?”
Goode smirked. “Taking care of your man outside. What?” he said at my start. “You didn’t think we’d notice? Well, he won’t be our problem for much longer. You’re going to have lots of company where you’re going.”
“I’m sure,” I said dryly. Actually, what had caused me to start wasn’t that they knew about “my man,” but that they seemed to think there was only one. “Now, what’s this all about? What did Emily see that she wasn’t supposed to?” I eyed them carefully, my mind churning. “It was supplies, wasn’t it? You were stealing supplies from the hospital and she caught you at it. I believe that’s called war profiteering, and it’s highly illegal. Why, they’d ha
ve shot you for treason!”
“Indeed,” Goode said smoothly, “which is why we had to take care of your little nurse. Only she managed to do herself in instead. Very fortuitous.”
“But why would you do that? Weren’t you all soldiers? You were stealing from your own men!” The idea horrified me.
Goode snorted. “Not my men. We were wasting our resources on a bunch of heathens from the subcontinent when we could have been using them on our own men. Good, Christian, British men!”
Sweet lord above. “So this is all about greed and racism?”
“Why shouldn’t we profit?” Robert said. “We were doing all the work. Making all the sacrifices. We deserved something for our efforts.”
“You two disgust me,” I snapped. “How can you call yourself men?”
“That’s really not your problem, is it?” Goode said. “Robert?”
Robert raised the gun, a cold smile on his face. “Hope you’ve said your prayers.”
Chapter 13
I wasn’t entirely sure that saying prayers would do me any good. I was rather distraught at the thought that not only was I about to die along with my best friend in the world, but that I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to Aunt Butty or Hale. Perhaps I could haunt them in the afterlife. Aunt Butty would love that. I wasn’t sure what Hale’s reaction would be.
Was there time to throw the briefcase at Roberts and knock off his aim? Or perhaps run at him head-on like an insane person? No, he’d shoot me dead, sure and certain.
So I did what any intelligent woman would do. I simultaneously let out a bloodcurdling scream while dropping to the floor like a rag doll. Only blockheads swoon when in danger, but the good thing about men like John Goode and his mate Robert was they always thought women were blockheads.
Fortunately, I am not a blockhead.
My move threw Robert off guard. He swung the gun toward me, shooting at the same time. The shot went wild, and the recoil threw him off balance. At the same time, both men’s attention was on me.
Chaz—who’d been faking this whole time apparently—launched himself forward, chair and all, taking Goode—who was closest—to the floor with him. At the very same time, there was a crash, and Mr. Singh came flying through the window like a ninja. Yes, I know. Wrong country, but there you have it. I’d never seen the like.
With a few furious moves, he had Robert unarmed, pressed face down to the wood floor, arms tied behind his back.
Hale was hot on Mr. Singh’s heels, facing off with John Goode who had managed to knock Chaz over and climb to his feet. He looked a little stunned, but his face was flushed with fury and he was reaching for his pocket. I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the case and swung it. Right between his legs.
Hale’s eyes widened. Goode went down in a heap. There may have been tears. His, not mine.
“Where’s the other one?” I demanded a little breathlessly.
“What other one?” Hale asked.
“There was a third man at the club,” I explained. “And Robert, the one you’re sitting on, told me there was another man involved. I think he’s the man with the scar that helped kidnap me.”
Hale’s eyes grew ever wider. “You were kidnapped? Ophelia—"
“He’s not here,” Chaz said, cutting off Hale’s tirade. “He’s on his way to Brazil. And could someone please untie me?”
“Oh right.” I kicked the case aside, knelt down, and managed to get the knots undone.
Chaz rose to his feet, rubbing his wrists. “Well that was an experience I could have done without.”
“Who is the other man? Do you know?” I asked.
He shook his head. “All I know is that they sent him on ahead to the ship with whatever they had left of their ill-gotten gains. They were going to join him once they’d destroyed the evidence and got rid of the witnesses.”
“They’re awfully trusting for a bunch of traitors and thieves,” Hale said. “He could have run off with the dough. Too bad we don’t know who it is.”
“I do,” Mr. Singh said quietly.
Our heads swung toward him and in unison we said, “Who?”
“It’s been awhile, but I recognize these men. They spent a great deal of time at the hospital. That one,” he pointed at Robert, “was a clerk. He would have had access to all sorts of records and supplies. Goode was also stationed nearby. I recall he was seeing one of the young women who worked at the pharmacy.”
“Thus giving them access to anything they wanted,” Chaz said grimly.
“Yes,” Mr. Singh agreed. “I saw them often together. Along with a third man named Adonicus Fitch. He was the man in charge.”
“What the deuce kind of name is that?” Chaz wondered.
“Doesn’t matter. We have to get to that ship and stop him.” I turned to Mr. Singh. “What did this Fitch look like? Does he have a scar?” I only remembered him vaguely from the club. I’d been so focused on Goode.
“Average height, well build, white-blond hair, cut close. He dresses very neatly. Like a gentleman.” Mr. Singh frowned in thought. “His eyes are what mark him, though. Like shards of blue ice. And yes. He has a scar on one cheek.”
A man with that coloring shouldn’t be too hard to spot. “Can you manage here, Mr. Singh?”
“But of course, my lady. Detective Inspector North is already on his way. Your aunt rang him and explained everything. He might not have believed her, but she got Louise involved.”
“Of course she did.” I didn’t bother pointing out North was now a Detective Chief Inspector. It was a lot more fun to annoy the policeman. “Very good, then. You stay here. Chaz, Hale, let’s go stop a killer.”
“No, I’ll stay,” Chaz said. “I bashed my leg trying to get away from them. I won’t be much good to you. Besides,” he slid a look at Mr. Singh, “I think perhaps closure is needed.”
Mr. Singh bowed graciously. “Closure would be very much appreciated.”
THE SHIP WAS STILL there when we arrived, careening onto the dock. We clambered out and charged up the gangplank. A uniformed crewman stopped us.
“Sorry, lady and gents, but the ship’s been fully boarded. We’re about to cast off. You’ll have to go ashore.”
“No can do, my good man,” Hale said, pushing past. “You’ve got a murderer on board this ship, and we mean to stop him escaping justice.”
“Now wait a minute.” The crewman reached out to grab Hale, but I stepped in his way.
“Listen here. I am Ophelia, Lady Rample.” I had his immediate attention, so I continued. “Aboard this ship is a man who is not only responsible for the death of an innocent young woman, but for the deaths of hundreds, nay thousands, of soldiers during the war.”
The young man paled. “What do you mean?”
“The man’s name is Adonicus Fitch, and he and his cronies were war profiteers. They stole medicines from a military hospital so they could resell them, leaving our boys without supplies that were desperately needed.”
His face flushed angrily. “I did my duty in that war. I can’t abide those that didn’t. They deserve to be punished.”
“Yes, they do,” Hale agreed. “And two of them are already in police custody. The third is aboard this vessel. He will escape if we can’t stop him.”
“Help us,” I pleaded.
The young man nodded. “Digby at your service. What’d you say his name was?”
Hale, Mr. Singh, and I exchanged triumphant looks.
“Fitch,” I said.
He flipped through some papers on a clipboard. “Right. This way, please.” He stopped only long enough to murmur something to one of his colleagues, and then we were trotting after him through the massive ship. “Where are the police?”
“On their way.” I hoped that wasn’t a lie. We hadn’t taken the time to call them, but I’d no doubt Chaz would tell North about it as soon as he arrived to arrest the other men.
Digby led us across the deck and down a rather narrow set of stairs
before knocking on a door. Without waiting for an answer, he swung it open. Inside sat a man with white-blond hair, ice blue eyes, and a scar on his check. It was the driver who’d helped kidnap me. He was in the process of counting stacks of money.
I stepped inside. “Adonicus Fitch, I presume. Counting your ill-gotten gains?”
“How many soldiers had to die for you lot?” Digby sputtered.
“You have no authority over me here,” Fitch said with a sly smile. “The ship will leave any moment, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I say, yes there is!” Digby declared.
Fitch ignored him. “How did you find out about me anyway? Those guys spill their guts? Weaklings.”
“I saw you at the club and an old friend of mine told me who you were,” I said.
He lifted a brow. “Old friend?”
I smiled coldly. “Remember a young woman you killed? Emily Pearson?”
“We didn’t kill her. It was her own fault.”
Hale snorted. “Helped along by you.”
“Hardly. It was Dorothy that gave her the stuff, not us,” Fitch said.
That was a new one. “The stuff?”
“You know, something to make her woozy,” Fitch said, standing up. “Dorothy said the stuff would make Emily confused. She’d wander out into traffic or something. It would take care of our little problem.”
“The problem of Emily knowing what you were up to,” I guessed.
“Sure. We were just supposed to follow along. Make sure she didn’t just take a nap on a park bench. Best for everyone she fell into that pond.” He laughed.
Mr. Singh let out a sound I’d never heard from him before. A low, almost feral growl. Fortunately, I was standing in front of him so he couldn’t get past me to wring Fitch’s neck. Although I almost wished he would.
“So it was Dorothy behind all this? The thefts of the hospital’s supplies, Emily’s death?” I asked.
“She was the mastermind.”
“But why?” I demanded.
“Money of course. Woman had ambitions.” He said it as if it were perfectly logical.