The Complete H-Series of The Eulalie Park Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  Chief Macgregor sighed. “My officers hate going into the forest. Even the youngest and fittest of them find it exhausting.”

  “Let me know when you’ve found two who are willing to go, and I’ll organize a guide for them.”

  “Would your information by any chance include the name of the person who fired the arrow?”

  “I’m afraid not. Sorry, Chief. It looks like that detail with remain a mystery.”

  She heard him make an incredulous noise.

  “You can’t win them all.”

  “Hmm.”

  She knew the case would remain open and unsolved, but that the presence of the gun with all the forensic evidence it would yield would make him feel better about the fact that it wasn’t closed. She was sure he had figured out who was behind that arrow, but for her sake, and in the absence of any evidence, he wouldn’t push it.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  “I’m going to grab a late lunch and then I need to phone Jimmy the Knife. I have some information for him.”

  “You’ll wake him up,” Chief Macgregor warned.

  “I know. He won’t be mad once he’s heard what I have to say. Then I’m going to prepare for this afternoon’s meeting.”

  “I’ll see you later then.”

  Eulalie picked up a ham and cheese baguette from La Petit Patisserie, as well as coffee for herself and Mrs. Belfast. Then she went into the office where the cat greeted her rapturously by winding his way repeatedly through her legs. She bent down to scratch his head.

  “Yes, hello, Paddy. I’m happy to see you too.”

  She straightened up.

  “What’s the word, Mrs. B?”

  “Good afternoon, dear. I think I have a lead on your Lord Pringle. There’s a man who is known to the Hong Kong police whose face is an excellent match for…”

  “I’m afraid Chief Macgregor got there ahead of you, Mrs. B, but that’s amazing work. I see you’re figuring out my facial recognition software.”

  “It’s terribly useful.”

  “His name is Tom Stubbs, and there’s a warrant out for his arrest. Chief Macgregor is planning on picking him up this afternoon. I’m going to work in my office now. Please send me anything you can find on the history of Robson’s Field. I’m especially interested in who owns it.”

  “Right away, dear.” Mrs. Belfast turned back to her computer.

  Eulalie settled down in her office and unwrapped her baguette. The cat jumped onto her lap, looking out eagerly for any bits of fallen ham.

  When she had finished eating, she thought she had worked out a strategy for approaching Jimmy. She picked up her phone and called his cell number. It rang eight times and went to message. She dialed again.

  This time he picked up after seven rings.

  “What?” he grunted sleepily.

  “Jimmy, its Eulalie.”

  “I can see that,” he grumbled. “It says so right here on my phone. Why the hell are you calling me at the crack of dawn?”

  Eulalie injected a tone of breathless urgency into her voice.

  “You know I wouldn’t call if it weren’t urgent, Jimmy.”

  “What is it?” He sounded more alert.

  “It’s a tip for you and you only.”

  “And why would you be giving me tips?”

  “We have a good working relationship. I don’t want to see you taken out of commission. It would be very inconvenient for me.”

  “Hey! Who’s taking me out of commission?”

  “You know the rumors about mammoth tusks in the deep forest?”

  “Mammoth tusks?” he gasped. “I’ve never heard of such a…”

  “Save it, Jimmy. This is important.”

  He saved it. “What about them?”

  “A task force from the governor’s office did a survey of the riverbed where the tusks are supposed to be. They used sonar technology to sweep the whole area. They found nothing. There are no more tusks there. The one that was found years ago was a one-off.”

  “They’re lying,” said Jimmy. “They want to keep the ivory for themselves.”

  “No, listen, Jimmy. That’s the thing. They’re not telling anyone the results of this survey. They want people to think there still are tusks in the riverbed. There’s a ring of ivory smugglers that the cops are trying to bust. The cops are planning to lie in wait for anyone who comes near the riverbed and arrest them.”

  There was a thoughtful silence.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you’re my contact, Jimmy. You’re no good to me in jail. But you mustn’t tell anyone that there are no tusks left. We want them to think that there is still ivory to be had. That way Chief Macgregor can arrest the smugglers and get them off the island.”

  “No more tusks?” said Jimmy. “Not even one?”

  “Not even one. But keep it under your hat. Don’t tell a soul.”

  When Jimmy spoke again, his voice sounded stronger. “Mum’s the word, girlie. Mum’s the word. You can count on me.”

  Eulalie thanked him and hung up, safe in the knowledge that the information would be all over the island by nightfall.

  If that wasn’t enough to keep the ivory hunters away, nothing would be. And if some of them didn’t get the memo and came looking for tusks, well, the riverbed had its own defenses. There was a Russian man lying on a slab in the Queen’s Town mortuary right now to prove that.

  Eulalie’s computer chimed.

  She looked down and saw that Mrs. Belfast had emailed her some information about Robson’s Field.

  “Thanks, Mrs. B.”

  “It’s a pleasure, dear. Chief Macgregor’s office just sent through an ID on the dead man in the mud. I’m forwarding it to you now.”

  Eulalie opened the email and saw that the dead man was one Jurg Danshov – a businessman with suspected connections to the Russian mob.

  She opened the next email and began to read through the documents Mrs. Belfast had pulled from the deeds office about the ownership of Robson’s Field.

  As five o’clock drew closer, Eulalie had to switch off her phone to avoid the barrage of texts and calls from Fleur asking for progress on her attempts to track down the man calling himself Peter Pringle. She seemed now to have accepted that she had been conned.

  Fleur: Tom Stubbs??? What kind of name is that? Are you telling me he wasn’t even British?

  Fleur: If they arrest him, will they be able to get my money back?

  Fleur: He can’t have got rid of all the money already, can he?

  Fleur: My parents will kill me when they find out about this. Any respect I might have built up from them over the years will be gone. Gone!

  Fleur: I was going to show them how clever I was with money by tripling my investment. Now they’ll think I’m a fool.

  Fleur: I’ll have to pay it back with money from the restaurant. I don’t have twenty-five thou lying around!!!

  Fleur: Stop ignoring my messages! I want you to phone me the MINUTE he gets arrested. The minute, do you hear me?

  It was exhausting and distracting, and it was putting too much pressure on Eulalie. If she were to do her job properly, she had to stop thinking about how much it mattered to Fleur. She especially had to stop thinking about how every villager in the deep forest was counting on her to divert Megamoxy’s attention away from the forest.

  Blocking this deal from going through by appealing to the Governor, for example, would probably work, but not for long. Huge greedy multinationals like Megamoxy didn’t take no for an answer. They could afford to play a long game – to wait out the current governor and see if the next one would be more sympathetic to their plans.

  Blocking them was only a temporary solution. They needed to believe that they had got what they wanted all along on the most favorable terms. If she could make them believe that, she would have won.

  At four-thirty, Eulalie switched off her computer and took her Vespa to the smoked glass building in Harbor Roa
d that Megamoxy was using as its Queen’s Town headquarters. Chief Macgregor and three of his officers were already there, parked on the opposite side of the road in unmarked police cars. He greeted Eulalie with a nod.

  “In the last half hour, three stretch limos with blacked-out windows have pulled into the underground parking lot across the road.”

  “Bringing delegates for the meeting?”

  “No doubt. We’re working on the assumption that Howard Waylon – a man who has been reported as a missing person by his own wife – as well as Tom Stubbs, an international felon, are inside this building.”

  “That sounds like probable cause to me. I presume you have a warrant to pursue them inside?”

  He tapped his shirt pocket. “Got it right here.”

  “Then I’m coming in with you.”

  They waited until five-twenty when the meeting might be supposed to be underway. Chief Macgregor and his officers walked up to the security desk and told everyone to stand away from their screens and devices.

  He showed his arrest warrant to the head of security and declined the man’s request to contact the chairman of the board and let him know what was happening.

  “Tom Stubbs is a flight risk,” said Chief Macgregor. “There will be no advance warning for anyone in the meeting. One of my officers will stay here to ensure that you comply with this.”

  Eulalie could see that the head of security was itching to contact his bosses, but Chief Macgregor gave him no opportunity.

  Four of them – Eulalie, Chief Macgregor, and two officers – took the elevator to the third floor where the meeting was being held. They were escorted by a security guard.

  “It’s happening in there.” The guard gestured to a glass door, through which they could see an oval conference table with seven people sitting around it. At a glance, Eulalie recognized Howard Waylon and Tom Stubbs as two of the people around the table. Stubbs was wearing his Savile Row outfit. He was clearly not familiar with the etiquette that a gentleman should remove his overcoat when indoors.

  Heads turned in their direction as they approach the door. Eulalie noticed Stubbs tensing up, his hands on the table and his eyes flicking from side to side. He seemed to realize that there was no escape because he subsided into his chair and tried to look relaxed.

  At Chief Macgregor’s nod, one of his officers pulled open the door and stood back to let them through.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” said the chief. “I apologize for the intrusion. I have here a warrant for the arrest of Thomas Stubbs who is wanted in several countries for fraud and theft. I also need to interview Howard Waylon who has been reported as a missing person by his spouse, Natalie Waylon.”

  A man who had been sitting at the head of the table rose to his feet. Eulalie recognized him as Texas billionaire Amos Barnaby who was currently the chairman of the board of Megamoxy.

  “Now see here,” he drawled. “Can’t this wait until we’re finished? You can see that Howard here is fine and well, and he can explain himself to his wife later. And who the hell is Tom Stubbs anyway?”

  “He’s the man you know as Lord Peter Pringle,” said Chief Macgregor.

  “I knew it!” said Barnaby. “I knew that guy was a phony. Coming in here dressed like a magician’s assistant. If y’all weren’t so hell bent on having a lord on our letterhead, we would never have been taken in like that.” He glared at his colleagues, who wilted under his gaze.

  “Well, get him out of here,” Barnaby ordered. “And he can take Waylon with him. We don’t need either of them.”

  This wasn’t going according to plan. In a moment, Stubbs and Waylon would be out the room, and Eulalie would have lost her chance. She flicked a glance at Chief Macgregor and saw calm understanding in his eyes.

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Mr. Barnaby.” His clipped Scottish accent made a strange contrast to the chairman’s drawl. “We’ll be out of your way as soon as possible, but we need to investigate the possibility that Tom Stubbs was acting on behalf of Megamoxy.”

  “Him?” Barnaby said in ringing tones. “He was not. He approached us, asking for the chance to invest in this damn money pit of a theme-park in return for putting his name on our letterhead to encourage other investors. No decision had been made. Anything else he might have got up to while he’s been on this island was a frolic of his own.”

  “That remains to be seen. Stubbs’s latest act was to defraud local businesswoman Fleur du Toit of twenty-five-thousand dollars. He can demonstrate his willingness to cooperate with the authorities right now by returning that money.”

  The man Eulalie had known as Peter Pringle smiled apologetically.

  “I would if I could, Chief, but I’m afraid that money has gone to pay back an old debt. There is no possibility of getting it back.”

  He smiled again and shifted in his seat as though his thick clothing were bothering him.

  Eulalie felt a crackle in the air as her eyes met his.

  “His overcoat,” she said. “Check his overcoat. The money is in there.”

  At a nod from Chief Macgregor, the two officers stepped forward and told Tom Stubbs to stand up. They checked his pockets thoroughly.

  “There’s nothing here, Chief.”

  Eulalie shook her head. “Not the pockets. The coat has a double lining. The money is inside the fabric.”

  “No!”

  Stubbs’s cry was anguished as one of the officers took out a penknife and slit open the lining of his overcoat.

  “Sacre bleu, Chief. It is true. There is money in here.”

  Eulalie breathed out in relief.

  “Get him out of here!” Amos Barnaby roared.

  Chief Macgregor held up a hand.

  “What is it now? You’ve made your arrests. Now get out of my boardroom.”

  “One of our liaison officers would like to address this meeting about another attempted fraud against you,” said Chief Macgregor.

  Eulalie stepped forward. She had thought about trying to appeal to Barnaby’s better nature but decided he probably didn’t have one. The best approach was to make him believe that he was saving money.

  “Tom Stubbs is not the only person who has attempted to defraud you over this contract, gentlemen,” she said. “You also hired a consultant by the name of Sawyer Blakely.”

  Barnaby nodded. “The dead guy. What about him?”

  “He tried to persuade you that the best place to build your jungle theme park was in the forest of Prince William Island.”

  “Are you telling me he was wrong, girl?”

  “I’m telling you his only motivation for pushing that agenda was his consultant’s fee. He deliberately withheld a much more suitable site for the theme-park because it would have made his role as negotiator unnecessary.”

  Amos Barnaby’s gaze sharpened. “What site?”

  “There’s a large brownfield site available for sale just twenty minutes out of Queen’s Town. It’s government land, administered by the Parks and Forestry Board.”

  “You say it’s a brownfield site,” said one of the other board members. “Does that mean the land is polluted?”

  “No, it’s not polluted. But it’s unsuitable for agriculture due to a very high salt content in the soil. The best part about it is that it will cut your construction costs by about seventy percent. It is also much more accessible for tourists and local families. You won’t get a bottleneck of people queuing at a cable car to get to the theme-park.”

  “Damn that Blakely,” said Barnaby. “He led me to believe that the forest was the only viable site on the island.”

  “Sawyer Blakely wasn’t a local. He might not have known about Robson’s Field.”

  “What about the jungle within a jungle thing? That was going to be our USP – our unique selling point. The adventure begins before you even get there – that kind of thing.”

  A flurry of nods around the table told Eulalie that this was going to be her biggest obstacle.

  �
��You need to set that off against the goodwill you will gain from the public for choosing a brownfield site rather than an environmentally sensitive one.”

  Unconvinced faces looked back at her.

  “The alternative site will be available much sooner,” she hurried on. “Who knows how long it would take to get permission from the governor’s office? Especially with Sawyer Blakely out of the picture. There would have to be a change in legislation. You might have to wait for a new administration to get approval. The alternative site is available for development right now.”

  She scanned their faces anxiously. None of them looked impressed. She opened her mouth to launch into another argument, but Amos Barnaby got to his feet.

  “Thank you, young lady. I think we’ve heard enough. We’ll think about what you’ve said and make our decision in due course.”

  As Chief Macgregor and his officers led Tom Stubbs and Howard Waylon out of the meeting, Eulalie knew that the opportunity had slipped away from her.

  Epilogue

  She double-checked the app on her phone.

  Yes, this was the right place. Number 7, Marigold Avenue, Sea View. It was a small two-story house that looked exactly like all the other small two-story houses on the street. It was white, with a slate grey roof and darker grey window accents.

  It was hard to imagine Chief Macgregor living in such a sweetly suburban home. Eulalie checked the app again. This was definitely the place.

  She swung her leg off her Vespa and took off her helmet. The air was full of the sound of harpsichord music. Eulalie thought it was probably Bach, but certainly something from the Baroque era.