His voice was barely a whisper, and Nathan had to lean closer to catch his words.
“We didn’t know what happened to him. Where he’d gone. He never ran away. Then yesterday we found him behind the outhouse. He’d been shot.”
“No.” Nathan didn’t know what shocked him more, the news of the dog’s death, or Antonio’s shattered state.
“No,” he said again stupidly. “Shot? For goodness sakes, who would shoot him? Did one of the neighbors hate him?”
Antonio shook his head. “They all loved him. No, it must have been the men who killed Uncle Vance.” He tugged at the reins with a grim hopelessness, like a man going to his death. “I’ll walk the horse.”
“Wait. Wait. Why do you say it must have been the men who killed your uncle? We don’t have any evidence that anyone deliberately set out to harm him. It might have been an accident.”
Antonio gave him a hard, disbelieving look and spat out three words. “You think so?”
*****
Smells of tomato and pork lard filled Anna Santa Maria’s kitchen; a fragrant soup that bubbled on the wood-fired hob gave the house a welcoming air, but the cook herself stood stony faced, hands on hips, implacable.
After giving the sheriff the barest account of the deaths at Sixways, Nathan had collected Antonio from the stables and brought him home. Antonio’s mother was not pleased to see him.
“I don’t want to take this any further, Mr. Russell. We will not waste time looking back. We need to just keep on going forward. Do you understand?” She stared at Nathan, partly defiant, part imploring. “I cannot get involved. I have six children to care for…”
Nathan sighed. “I understand, Anna. Really I do. Please. Please, let’s sit down and take a breath.”
He gestured to the table and pulled out one of the chairs and slumped into it. She hesitated and sat down opposite him with a reluctant “humph.”
“The children will need to eat shortly. I don’t have a lot of time to sit and talk.”
“Please, just go over with me what happened with Neptune. Antonio said he was shot?”
She glared at him in a way that said, You try raising six children alone, and he felt ashamed to be putting her under any extra pressure.
“He was shot. Shot inside the house. There was blood in the hall. But dumped outside. I suppose that was just to delay us finding him.”
“Was anything missing from the house? Anything stolen?”
“Not that we could see. We don’t have anything worth stealing. It was just terribly upsetting for the kids. They felt safe with that dog around.”
Nathan nodded in agreement. “It’s really knocked Antonio. On top of Vance’s death… I think he’s concluded the world is against him. He seems without hope.”
Maria sighed. “They were very close. The others are too young to understand. He’s not. For some reason he is convinced it’s all part of a bigger plot involving his uncle’s enemies. Though who those enemies might be is beyond me. I certainly don’t know of any.”
Nathan felt a queasy churn in his stomach. He thought back to the boy’s question on the day of the vigil; if Vance had found out something about someone, would they come after them now?
“Try and think again, Anna,” he said. “Is there anyone Vance had a disagreement with?”
She shook her head vehemently. “He wouldn’t have told me if he did. He believed in protecting his family from worry as much as he could. His whole reason for living was keeping his family safe.” Anna’s voice choked, and steam rose as she lifted the lid on a simmering soup and stirred it.
“I told you before. He had a strong sense of justice. There is nothing else.”
She picked at a fingernail reflectively, as if considering any hint Vance might have given of conflict, and shook her head again, this time more slowly.
“I need to get dinner. There is nothing to be gained from poking around in Vance’s affairs. It’s just likely to bring us more trouble. Stop asking questions, Mr. Russell. And please…” She smoothed her skirt against her thigh nervously. “Please, leave us alone. It’s not good for us to be seen talking to you.”
With that she turned her back on him and began ladling soup into the bowls arrayed before her. As he made his way to the door, he spotted Antonio, hanging around outside the kitchen, shoulders hunched and his face dark and sulky. He averted his eyes as Nathan walked by.
Fourteen
“Slow down, Nat. Slow down.” Sebastian Russell let out an irritated sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose like he was fighting to understand something. His usually cheerful face—hazel eyes, reddish brown hair, lightly freckled even features—was grim. Too keyed-up to sit, he stood, one foot resting on a chair, elbow leaning on his thigh, listening to Nathan’s account of the killings at Sixways. It was too late to ride out there tonight to start his investigation, and Nathan could see that made him edgy.
Removing his foot from the chair, he put his hands on his hips and paced to the door and back. He hadn’t changed. Even as a kid he’d kept his own counsel, and now that he’d matured, Nathan recognized he had a ‘still waters run deep’ quality about him.
Maybe that was because Sebastian’s mother, Honor, daughter of wealthy Boston merchants, had died giving birth to him. For the first year of his life he’d been raised by wet nurses and an amah. When Nathan’s mother had married Sir Robert, Seb had been a robust, resolute one-year-old who rode rough shod over adversity, barely acknowledging its existence. Even at two he’d had a sense of being his own man. He’d stolen Arabella’s heart.
Nathan took a deep breath and re-started his tale. “When I got there everything seemed normal. Everything happened so fast. I got no warning.”
He reached down and pulled out the gun he’d used and placed it on the table in front of them.
“He definitely went for the woman first. That was my good luck. If he’d been gunning for me as number one target, I’d never have had time to fire.” Seb had slumped into a chair at the table. “I’ve never killed a man before. It feels strange. I’m a bit light-headed or something. Does that seem odd to you?”
Seb shook his head. “Not at all. You’d never want it not to affect you.”
For a few seconds neither of them spoke. During their long separation, Seb had studied engineering and joined up with the Union in the Civil War. He’d seen more death than Nathan could contemplate, but they’d not had a chance to talk about his wartime experiences.
As boys they’d been inseparable. Like John, Seb hadn’t married. Strange that, Nathan thought fleetingly. Of the three of them, he was the only one who’d married, and he was the youngest.
“So we’ve got three people killed. Two by an unknown assailant or assailants, and one by you.” Seb recounted the facts as they knew them.
“Right. I’ve no idea if there was more than one of them. As I say, it happened so fast. But that’s not the only death. Vance Pedersen’s watchdog was killed the night of his funeral. Looks like someone broke into the house and killed the dog so they could take a look around. That seems proof that Vance’s death was no accident, if we needed it.”
“When did you hear this?” Seb narrowed his eyes in irritation. “Anna Maria didn’t say anything to me.”
“Antonio told me tonight when I left my horse at the stables. They didn’t discover the carcass until a couple of days ago. Whoever it was dumped Neptune in a ditch out the back. When he didn’t appear they thought he’d been stolen or had run away.”
Seb nodded in agreement. “That certainly reinforces the idea that Vance’s death was no accident.”
There was a rattle behind them and John stepped into the office. “Evening, boys. Is what I’m hearing right? Madam Moustache has been gunned down?”
“’Fraid so,” said Sebastian. “And Nathan only narrowly missed joining her.”
“Bloody hell!” The older Russell looked from one brother to the other. “Tell me.”
They spent the next ten minutes
filling him in on the day’s events over some good strong coffee brought in to them by one of the cleaners.
“I needed that,” said Nathan, taking a last appreciative sip and putting his cup back on the serving tray. “Okay, so, Seb, let’s get down to business. You’ve been sniffing around ever since Vance was killed six days ago. What are your conclusions? Let’s assume these deaths are related. Who’s got the most to gain?”
John cleared his throat and joined in. “If you were making a suspects list, who’d head it?”
Seb cast a fleeting smile his brother’s way. “A rogue version of you, John. Someone with money to burn who’s got no scruples and is determined to get their hands on that mine.”
Seb got up from his chair, hauled a large piece of slate out of a corner and scrabbled for a piece of white chalk from a nearby shelf.
He wrote numbers across the top and made notations underneath in a bold clear hand: V killed, M abducted, Dog killed, and V house burgled, MM guard and MM killed.
“We’ve already got quite a list. You’d have to think whoever it is knows something about that underground real estate that the rest of us are missing. Otherwise it seems to be a very big risk for uncertain rewards.”
Seb tapped the slate with his chalk to get their attention. “So how many rogue Sir Johns have we got out there?” He regarded his oldest brother with a twinkle in his eye.
John was perched on the edge of his chair, tapping his heel in an anxious cadence. He cleared his throat. “Firstly, I’ve assured you I’ve got nothing to do with this mess. I like to win, and I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of, but I draw the line at extortion and murder.” He pulled his mouth down in a sour grimace. “I hope that would be obvious to you two without me having to spell it out, but just in case…”
Seb nodded. “I don’t think either of us thought for a minute you’d be involved. But the fact is that the longer this goes on, the more likely it is to be someone just like you pulling the strings,” said Seb. “And they’re almost certainly not the ones also pulling the triggers. They’re paying someone to do the dirty work.”
“That’s exactly what I meant the other night in the hotel when we found Minette. That was all too neat. I suspect someone did the dirty on Madam M and then killed her because they were afraid she’d squeal. The kidnap wasn’t her idea, you can bet on it.”
“Yeah. Think you’re right there,” said Seb. He turned to John. “So, Jonno old boy, you know the territory. Who around here has got plenty of dosh and no scruples?”
“As far as money goes—well, quite a few. But having money doesn’t make them guilty, surely. I’d be reluctant to comment on their morals.”
“You can let us be the judge of that,” Nathan said. “Like who? Name names. How about Hector de Vile, for starters. He was very aggressive that morning Minette went missing. Brutal in fact.”
John shifted uneasily. “De Vile? I hear he’s trying to get to Washington and he’s not stupid. I can’t see him risking a national political career for a crummy bit of worked-over mine.”
“What about Willoughby Martens?”
“What about him? He seems a decent enough chap.”
“He’s not.” Nathan gave John a hard look. “He’s not a decent enough chap. He’s an out and out crook.”
John returned his gaze with a dubious stare. “Since when?”
“Since he swindled twenty thousand pounds from James Barclay, at Barclay’s Investment House. Arabella’s husband. My stepfather. Jimmy only ever recovered a few hundred. The stress of it destroyed him.”
As Nathan was speaking, John had put a hand up to his eyes, as if to ward off the information being delivered. There was a stunned silence when he’d finished, and then the older man shook his head. “I had no idea. You’re certain of this? You’re not being influenced by personal animosity? Martens is your brother-in-law after all”—his eyebrows curled up as if seeking confirmation of their relationship—“and I gather he’s still angry about his sister’s death.”
Ice gripped Nathan’s very core. He felt his diaphragm lock down so tightly he struggled to breathe. “He said that?”
John nodded. “In passing. He didn’t make a big thing of it.”
Nathan shook his head in disbelief. “It is a big thing. Believe me. And he’s got completely the wrong story.”
“That may be. It’s been tough, I understand that. I just wonder if you’re the best judge.”
“Obviously you think not.” Nathan took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders to try and loosen up his rigid posture. “So who else then?”
John linked and flexed his fingers, the joints giving a succession of clicking sounds as he manipulated them. “There’s any number of people who could be capable, I suppose. The problem is we don’t have a shred of evidence against any of them. Is that right, Sebastian?”
Seb nodded, and Nathan couldn’t shake the feeling they were further behind now than when they’d begun.
Fifteen
Tuesday, July 7
Hector de Vile took a long, slow draw on his finest Cuban cigar and blew a deliberate stream of blue smoke in the other man’s face. Martens felt a hot surge of anger at the Belgian’s arrogance and tamped it down. He couldn’t allow flushed cheeks to betray his true feelings.
They were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the Wolf Creek Hotel at the bottom of Mill Street. It was early, and there was no one else in the bar. The barman had served them a quart each and then disappeared out the back. A soothing yeasty smell hung in the air, and Martens felt the tension in his shoulders momentarily ease then stiffen again as de Vile took a long gulp and stony faced, banged his beer pot down.
“I thought I made it clear. No fuss. No mess. And certainly no more violent deaths to draw attention. So how is it we’ve now got the deputy investigating three suspicious deaths—and a near miss on his own brother?”
De Vile cleared his throat angrily and glared at Martens over his half raised beer mug.
“You’ve had a full week to get the widow’s shares signed up and to find that Pedersen report, Martens. Still no result, and now you’ve messed up with Russell’s annoying brother. If you’re too obvious, you’ll have the deputy on your back sooner than you can draw breath.
No more bodies, Martens. You hear me? You’ve got three days to get the business done—the share deal finalised and find the report. Three days or our agreement is off and you’ll get nothing. Just don’t underestimate Nathan Russell.”
At the mention of Nathan Russell’s name, Martens felt acid rise in his throat. Memories of the confrontation in the Sydney waterfront office, the humiliation of being walked off the premises, stripped of his keys and his reputation, just because he’d taken a ‘temporary loan’ from the investment accounts.
He’d fully intended to pay it back. It had all been Nathan Russell’s fault. He was the one who picked up the discrepancy in the accounts and reported it to his stepfather. If he hadn’t ratted on him, the stupid old man would never have been any the wiser. And Russell wasn’t even willing to keep quiet for a cut. What a loser. The guy had no killer instinct.
He cleared his throat and took another sip of beer. “Forget Nathan Russell. Couldn’t defend his own grandmother.” Or his wife, Martens thought bitterly.
“He accounted for your Sydney Duck no problem.” De Vile pulled on his cigar. “Maybe you should have left that sidekick in the San Francisco stews where he belongs.” De Vile leaned back in his chair and picked up the beer again. This time he took a slow sip.
Martens felt a shooting pain down the side of his face and relaxed his gritted teeth. “Nobody’s going to miss those losers up at Sixways. And nothing is going to link their deaths back to us.”
“I certainly hope not—not to me anyway. I’m telling you again. Not to me, they aren’t.” De Vile raised one eyebrow. “Best you use Weavers for backup from now on. And cover your trail at the mines by laying low, not making headlines.”
Martens s
tood up, propelled by a sudden need to escape. He felt a poison ivy twitch in his thighs, like he was breaking out in a rash. He wasn’t going to step back from the Ruby, whatever this domineering foreigner said. It was the best opportunity for easy pickings he’d come across since… well, since Sydney. He’d just have to make sure he didn’t get caught, that’s all.
He hated Nathan Russell more every minute. What kind of bad luck to have him turn up here, on his California patch. Him with his righteous ways and rich brother to protect him.
He savored the burn that flared in his gut at the thought of Russell and of arrogant rich bastards like de Vile who imagined they controlled him, for a few more breaths, then finished his beer in one long gulp and stood up.
“I’ll get Weavers onto it. You’ll have what you want by Friday.”
*****
A sturdy, companionable housekeeper who identified herself as Mrs. Danville answered Lisette Guilliame’s door at Nathan’s knock. They explained briefly who they were and why they were visiting, and she ushered him, along with Graysie and Minette, into a comfortable living room, where a tense, pale young woman met them, a small child hanging from her skirt. She was clad in black, and her forehead wrinkled as she stood to greet them.
Lisette Guilliame was a petite brunette, who he guessed would once have been considered dainty, but who was now rapidly approaching gaunt. Her shoulder blades poked out from the draped back of her dress as she turned to sit down.
A portrait of a strong-featured man with a decisive jaw, its oval shape framed by a bay leaf wreath, hung above the fireplace, and the arms of the sofa and chairs were draped in black fringing.
The blooming woman he spotted in a wedding portrait on the other wall had vanished. Too many tearful nights had left tight, tired lines around her eyes. The child, a teddy bear dangling from one hand, regarded Nathan warily.
They quickly exchanged handshakes, and Graysie handed the young widow a bunch of white roses she had cut from the Gold House garden.
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 9