Killer Words

by V. M. Burns

  “You do that, and don’t worry about anything.”

  I accomplished the bath. I stayed in the tub until my skin started to pucker. Sleep was more elusive. Rather than fighting it, I went to my laptop.

  Lady Elizabeth sat on the sofa near the fireplace and pulled out her knitting. “I think we’ve all had a busy day.” She glanced at her husband. “Perhaps you’d like to go first, dear.”

  Lord William coughed. He took out his pipe and refilled the bowl. “Sent a message to Nigel Greyson at the Home Office. Met me for lunch at the club.” He lit the tobacco and puffed. “Bright man, Nigel. He confirmed what James told us. Chester was a maths genius, but apparently, they were more interested in his friend . . . Alan Turing. The two men were . . .” He glanced at Detective Inspector Covington and coughed. “Rather close. He’s concerned that the attempt might have been meant for Turing and somehow got mixed up.” He puffed. “Nigel did say they were concerned about infiltration. So far, there doesn’t seem to be any leakage about what’s really going on up at Bletchley. They suspect Bolshies trying to recruit over at Cambridge. Afraid it’s just a matter of time before the Nazis are trying to do the same.”

  James Browning paced. “It’s a big concern for MI5, but it’s hard. England’s a free country. We can’t just arrest people because they think differently. So far, it’s just a few idealists who believe socialism is preferred over free enterprise, and that’s not a crime.”

  Lord William puffed. “That’s all Nigel was able to tell me. The rest is hush-hush.”

  Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Well, I had tea with eight former debutantes who are now all working at Bletchley Park. Bright girls. The only thing they were able to tell me that might be of any use is that Philip Chester and some of the other boys liked to play practical jokes. They believe it’s a practical joke gone bad, innocent fun that got carried a bit too far. Although the girls have taken to carrying a brick in their purses, just in case.”

  “Sounds like a good idea, although it has to make their purses heavy,” Lady Clara said. “Maybe I’ll do the same.”

  “It certainly couldn’t hurt,” Lady Elizabeth said, smiling.

  Thompkins coughed. “Excuse me, your ladyship. I found out mostly the same thing from Mrs. Ridley, the housekeeper.” The butler summarized his conversation with the housekeeper.

  “Well done, Thompkins.”

  “How did things go with Uncle Winnie?” Daphne asked.

  Lady Elizabeth finished a complicated stitch before continuing. “Winston bellowed about the safety of the empire for a good five minutes. Eventually, he told me that Bletchley was critical to the war effort. Things are . . . progressing very rapidly, and he feels Britain will be at war before the year ends. If the enemy manages to infiltrate Bletchley Park, then England won’t stand a chance.”

  Lady Clara gasped.

  “I can’t repeat most of what he had to say about Lady Nancy Astor.” She colored slightly. “The two don’t agree on anything, but even still, he didn’t feel her capable of murder or being a spy. He felt when the rubber meets the road, she’ll get in line and support the nation. His feelings about the American ambassador were a lot more coarse.”

  Lord Browning smiled. “I can imagine they were.”

  “He’s of the opinion that Mr. Kennedy will be recalled to the States soon. The man’s become an embarrassment and is harming relations. He doesn’t think very highly of Ambassador Kennedy, saying the man lacks integrity and will stoop to any lengths to get what he wants. However, he doesn’t feel Kennedy has the . . . intelligence or the stomach to murder someone himself. He felt pretty much the same way about the German ambassador. Both men are idiots.” Lady Elizabeth stopped knitting and looked up. “He wasn’t well acquainted with John Cairncross or Don Maclean, but he instinctively felt that if there was a murder, then those two were in the middle of it.”

  Detective Inspector Covington sat on the edge of his seat. “Based on what evidence?”

  Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing that you would find useful in issuing a warrant against the men. I’m afraid Winston doesn’t trust Cambridge.”

  Lady Clara sat up. “I might be able to help when it comes to evidence.” She shared what her friend Marguerite remembered from the embassy dinner. “There were three men present who attended Cambridge: John Cairncross, Donald Maclean, and Billy Cavendish. If Oliver Martin remembered something about Cambridge, then it had to be one of those three people.”

  James Browning glanced at Lady Elizabeth, who gave him a slight nod. “Perhaps I should share my special assignment.” He stood in front of the fireplace. “I was tasked with following my dear friend Detective Inspector Peter Covington.”

  The detective stared. “Me? What in the devil would make you do that?”

  Lady Elizabeth took a deep breath. “I must confess that he did it at my bidding. Please understand that it was solely for your safety.”

  “Yes, old man. If someone was trying to kill you, then we thought it would be better if we intercepted them first.”

  Detective Covington acknowledged the truth and nodded. “Well, you must have done a good job, as I’m still here.” He smiled. “Did you discover anything?”

  “I learned that I’m not cut out to be a policeman. Too much walking. But I didn’t notice anyone following him.”

  “Normally, I spend a fair bit of time with paperwork, but today I did a bit of running around, and it’s faster to walk or take the Tube than drive in London sometimes.” He smiled. “Next time you’re following me, let me know and I’ll slow down.”

  “Did you find out anything in your investigations?” Lady Elizabeth asked.

  “I couldn’t find any connection between Oliver Martin and Philip Chester, other than the fact that both attended Cambridge University. However, both men were poisoned. It’s common enough to find in most homes . . . arsenic. Like Clara, I think Cambridge is the link connecting both murders.”

  Lady Elizabeth stared at her niece. “Daphne, you’ve been very quiet.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just thinking. I talked to the vicar and Mrs. Price, the head of the Ladies Aid. I really don’t believe any of the locals are suspicious of Bletchley Park, but Mrs. Price did mention that several of the farmers have mentioned seeing suspicious lights out in their fields at night.”

  James frowned. “What kind of suspicious lights?”

  “It’s silly, but she said the farmers believe there are aliens.” She laughed.

  “Not as silly as you might think.” James rubbed his chin. Eventually, he stood up. “It could be signal lights, or they might be using Morse code to pass messages to the enemy.”

  “Morse code?” Lady Clara said. “Don’t you need a telegraph machine or something for that?”

  Lord Browning shook his head. “Messages can be sent using a variety of methods. It’s basically a language using dots and dashes.” He pulled out his lighter and demonstrated by opening and closing the lid. Sometimes the flame was only shown for a brief second, and others it was allowed to flash longer.

  Lord William watched intently. When the flashing ended, he said, “Clara.”

  Lord Browning nodded confirmation.

  Lord William stuck out his chest. “Never forget my military training.”

  “Someone is sneaking out into the night and sending messages with lights,” Lady Clara said.

  “The critical part is who is sending the messages and to whom are they sending them?” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “Mavis, I’m going to walk to the village,” Lady Clara said as she strolled the grounds of Bletchley.

  “You going to meet that dishy copper?”

  “I wish. He’s all work and no play mostly, but if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll just happen to run into him.”

  “Well, be careful. I’m sure Philip’s death was probably just some darned fool accident gone bad. I mean, who would want to kill him?” She shook her head. “Regardless, Mr. Knox, the boss, wants all of us girls to be ext
ra careful.”

  Lady Clara bent down and picked up a brick that had come loose from the wall and slipped it into her purse. “I’ll be careful.”

  In the village, Lady Clara caught sight of Peter. She raised her hand to get his attention but dropped it when she noticed two familiar figures leaving the Shoulder of Mutton: John Cairncross and Donald Maclean. The two men got into an automobile and drove off.

  Clara hurried into the pub’s reception area and spoke to the owner.

  “Hello, I don’t know if you remember me from the other day, but my name is Lady Clara Trewellan-Harper. I was here with my cousin, Lord Browning.” She leaned across the desk and smiled brightly.

  The pub owner stood up straight. “Of course, your ladyship. What can I do for you?”

  “I thought I saw a friend of mine in here, and I just wondered if you could tell me if Lord Hardcastle was staying here?”

  The pub owner frowned. “I don’t rightly recall a Lord Hardcastle.”

  “Darn it. I was sure I saw him. Would you be a duck and check the register?”

  “Of course, your ladyship.” He pulled out the register, and Clara glanced over the counter. “No. I’m afraid there’s no Lord Hardcastle checked in.”

  “Thank you so much for checking.” Lady Clara smiled and walked away.

  When the owner got called back to the pub, Lady Clara seized her chance. She raced around the corner and up the stairs. She found the door she wanted. To be safe, she knocked first. When she didn’t get a response, she reached up and pulled a hairpin from her hair. She stuck the hairpin into the lock and fidgeted until she heard a click. She glanced over her shoulder and then opened the door.

  Once inside, she rummaged through drawers and searched under the mattress. She was just about to give up when she noticed a foil wrapper sticking out from under the bed.

  Clara dropped to her knees and pulled out the scrap of foil. By holding it up to the light, she was able to detect the embossed name of a chocolate company. She also found a large suitcase.

  Now, why would they keep this suitcase under the bed? She pulled the suitcase out and opened it, discovering a wireless receiver and a massive torch inside. She closed the suitcase and rushed to leave, taking the evidence with her. Just as she opened the door, she bumped into Donald Maclean.

  The two locked eyes.

  Lady Clara recovered her wits and tried to push past, but Maclean was too quick and brandished a gun from his pocket.

  “Lady Clara, didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to take things that don’t belong to you?” He wrenched the suitcase out of her hand. “Back in the room.”

  Lady Clara took one step backward and then swung her purse as hard as she could.

  The brick connected to Maclean’s head, and he dropped like a rag doll.

  “I can’t believe that worked.” Lady Clara grabbed the suitcase. “Now I’d better get out of here before your partner returns.”

  She ran down the hall and turned the corner toward the stairs. She was almost out of danger when she ran straight into a solid wall of flesh.

  Chapter 24

  A pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her in place.

  She struggled to free herself.

  “Clara! What are you doing?”

  She looked up into the face of Detective Inspector Covington and nearly collapsed with relief.

  “Peter, it’s Maclean and Cairncross. Maclean grabbed me and tried to—”

  “Did he hurt you? Where is he?”

  She smiled. “Actually, I think I might have hurt him.” She pointed toward the room.

  “Stay here.”

  “Not on your life.” Clara followed the detective.

  They heard the squeak of someone coming up the stairs.

  Detective Covington shoved Clara behind him and prepared to pounce on the intruder, but James Browning appeared around the corner.

  Peter released a sigh. “Still trailing me?”

  Lord Browning looked from Peter Covington to Lady Clara. “I didn’t mean to interfere.”

  The detective blushed. “Wait. It’s not what it looks like.”

  Lady Clara colored slightly. “Let’s go into the room, and then I can explain.” She led the way down the hall to the room where Donald Maclean was still lying in the doorway. “I might have coshed him harder than I thought. He isn’t dead, is he?”

  Detective Covington bent down and checked Maclean’s pulse. “He’s still alive, but what did you hit him with?”

  She held up her purse and pulled out the brick she’d added earlier. “Turns out, Mavis was right.”

  Peter and James slid Maclean back into the room and closed the door.

  Clara quickly explained what had happened, and although Detective Covington looked as though he wanted to throttle her, he remained quiet. When she was done, she opened the suitcase with the wireless equipment and handed over the foil wrapper. “I was just on my way to find you when he came back.”

  They revived Maclean and interrogated him.

  However, he refused to say anything.

  Eventually, the detective gave up. “We may not be able to prove treason, but you’re going to hang for killing Oliver Martin and Philip Chester.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Maclean said. “I swear it. Look here, I’m not a traitor. I work undercover for the British Secret Intelligence Service. My job was to infiltrate the Russian spy ring. I’ve been working undercover for nearly three years.”

  “Then what happened?” Detective Covington asked.

  “We met Oliver Martin at Cambridge. I tried to recruit him to the GBCP, that’s all.”

  “What’s GBCP?” Lady Clara asked.

  Lord Browning said, “The Great Britain Communist Party.”

  “He seemed like the right type of chap,” Maclean said. “Young, idealistic. Once he joined the party, the next step would be convincing him to spy for Russia, but Martin refused.”

  “Is that when you killed him?” Covington asked.

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I’ve wondered that too. John swears that Ribbentrop did it.” He rubbed his head. “He believes Ribbentrop put the poison in the champagne.”

  “Why would Ribbentrop kill Oliver Martin?” Lord Browning said. “Don’t tell me the German foreign minister is a member of the Russian Communist Party too.”

  Maclean shook his head. “No idea, but John thinks Ribbentrop wanted to cause problems between Britain and the United States. A British citizen, better still, a policeman, is murdered in the American Embassy? If the newspapers got hold of that, well . . . John thinks Ribbentrop is stupid enough to believe that might prevent the U.S. from joining the war, but who knows. Ribbentrop is an idiot.”

  “Ribbentrop may be an idiot, but starting an international incident is a cunning plan,” Browning said.

  Maclean stared at the duke.

  “If Ribbentrop killed Oliver Martin, then why were you trying to kill Peter?” Lady Clara said, holding up the foil. “And don’t say you weren’t.”

  Maclean sighed. “John was certain Martin told him what he knew about the GBCP before he died. Then you showed up here, near Cambridge, and his superiors in Russia said you were a danger to the organization and ordered him to . . . finish you off.”

  Lady Clara shivered.

  “Frankly, I tried to convince them that you’d be much more valuable alive and suggested they try to recruit you, but your reputation worked against me. Apparently, you’re too bloody honest. That’s when John tried to murder you. He sent those poisoned chocolates with the love note.” He rubbed his head. “I hoped to get to The Park ahead of you. I drove like a madman. That’s when I nearly ran you off the road. Unfortunately, I was too late, and Chester had snagged the chocolates. I’m sorry about that.”

  Detective Covington grabbed him by the arm. “Well, that’s a nice story that paints you in a slightly better light, but it’ll be up to a jury to decide
. Come on.”

  Maclean stared at the detective. “You don’t honestly believe any of this will ever make it to a jury, do you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Maclean turned to Lord Browning. “Ask your friend.”

  “What’s he talking about, James?”

  Lord Browning paced. “I need to make a call.” He left the room for a few minutes, and when he returned he said, “Release him.”

  Later, Detective Covington, Lord Browning, and Lady Clara sat in the Shoulder of Mutton’s private alcove.

  “I’m sorry, Peter,” Lord Browning said. “My boss at MI5 will make sure that Scotland Yard is alerted. Within hours, both Oliver Martin’s and Philip Chester’s murders are to be declared accidents, and the files closed.”

  “What if Maclean is lying?” Covington said.

  “What if he’s telling the truth?” Lady Clara asked.

  “If he’s telling the truth, and he really is a double agent, then he will be useful when the war starts. If he’s lying . . .” James shrugged. “Either way, they’ll keep a closer eye on him. They’ll make sure that he doesn’t have access to any information that could harm Britain or her allies. Unfortunately, that’s the way this game is played. We’re entering a different world now, and the old rules no longer apply. The days when you knew exactly who the good guys were are gone.”

  Lady Clara looked from James to Peter. “Well, I think I know who I can trust.”

  Chapter 25

  Saturday morning, I slept late for the first time in years. I stretched, and my muscles felt sore. Ten pounds of poodle was curled up on my chest, which might have been part of the reason I was sore, but then I was accustomed to sleeping with the ten-pound weight on my chest.

  I rolled over and dislodged the sleeping poodle and got out of bed.

  Snickers moved to the spot I had just vacated, turned around twice, and then curled up in a ball to continue her nap. Life was hard.

  I spent longer than normal in the shower and allowed the hot water to pelt my skin. Reluctantly, I got out of the shower and finished dressing. Fully dressed, I tried to coax Snickers to come take care of business. However, she ignored me. Eventually, I picked her up and carried her out of the room. Oreo preferred sleeping in his crate, and as soon as he saw Snickers and me leaving he followed.