Queen's Gambit

by Bradley Harper

  “It’s very quiet for a school.”

  “Aye, for now. Lads are all off to practice for the big ceremony. Keeps the young hellions off my back and out of mischief. Now off with you. We’ve both got work to do.”

  Herman found the wiring recently installed and in good order. He estimated the building had been electrified within the past two years. He could look at the swirling mass of lines and see an order that was close to religious. Everything connected to something else, each an indispensable part of a larger whole, and it hurt his craftsman’s heart to create a flaw in the system. He added a small loop and a switch that opened it, connecting it to the main cable. Then, with the switch closed, he stripped the insulation from one side, and fastened the bare copper to a water pipe. When the switch was opened, the entire building would lose power.

  After reconnecting the building’s wiring to the outside cable, he performed a safety check of the entire system in the basement. He wished the boys no harm, and it ensured he got his hands dirty and didn’t finish his work too quickly. Once done, he kept the power on and returned to the ground floor to perform various voltage checks to the satisfaction of the custodian. “I sleeps here meself with my missus, so good to know we’re being looked after.”

  After the ground floor was complete, the two men climbed to the first of the two floors containing the dormitory and classrooms.

  “I’m also here to check your protection against lightning strikes, so I’ll have to look at the outside of the building to check the cables and connections between your lightning rods and the ground.”

  “Makes sense,” the custodian said, “It’s all electricity, ain’t it?”

  Herman relaxed at the man’s ready acceptance of his explanation for his need to inspect the exterior. The hardest part’s done, he thought.

  The window in the corner room on the first floor was possible. Just. The second floor was perfect. The direction was dead on, and the angle would allow him to fire over the crowd and mounted escort. The boys had bunk beds, and as the window was six feet above the floor, he would need to fire from the top bunk adjacent to the window. He would check the roof, but he reasoned he would likely be spotted from an adjacent building if he took any time at all to fire. Here he could lie back from the window and wait for the perfect moment. I won’t miss this time.

  As Herman had suspected, the roof was a poor choice for a position, as the flat portion was skewed too far to the left with a large tree partially obscuring the view. The rest of the “inspection” went quickly, and the custodian was relieved the building got a good report. Herman handed the custodian two copies of a form to document the work that had been done. He used a blank invoice from Luigi’s previous electrician to give his visit the air of authenticity and to provide the custodian with an address near the antiquities shop.

  “Keep a copy of the form,” Herman said, “should you require further work, though everything seems to be in perfect order.”

  Jack “made his mark,” and they shook hands, one working man to another.

  The long-suffering custodian went back to his endless task of undoing the damage the troop of bored young boys regularly inflicted on their home. If he had taken a moment to look out a window, he would have noted the electrician pacing back and forth between the steps of St. Paul’s and the corner of his building.

  Eighty-eight paces, Herman wrote in his notebook after three trials. Then he reaffirmed his earlier thought, I won’t miss, not this time.

  That afternoon, when the custodian submitted a copy of the form verifying the work on the boarding school had been completed, a clerk in the dean’s office found no record such work had been requested. He sent a strongly worded note to the address listed on the form denying payment, mentioned it in passing to the dean, then promptly forgot about it.

  26

  Tuesday, June 15, cont.

  Once we’d reached the entrance to the apartment building, I was surprised when I found a package in my mail drop. “Looks like a book,” Elizabeth said.

  I examined the address written on the package. It had been forwarded from the postal office closest to my previous apartment. I accompanied Elizabeth to the Ethington flat to store away my peace offering to James before opening the package. Inside, as Elizabeth had predicted, was a book, this one containing poetry. I noted a bookmark leading my eyes to John Donne’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. The inscription gave me pause, “May these words bring you as much pleasure as they do me.” The sender had signed the inscription only as H.

  So that’s how he found me. I thought. God bless the Royal Mail. They brought him right to the front door. I looked at Elizabeth. And her.

  “What is it, Margaret? What’s wrong?”

  “I know how our assassin found me.”

  “All this from a book? Explain, please.”

  “Let’s go inside, in case the killer is loitering about. Then, Detective, you can study the evidence and tell me what you make of it.” God, I miss Bell right now.

  Once inside my flat, Elizabeth carefully studied the book and the wrapping, her brows knitted in concentration.

  “Don’t tell me what you deduce,” I said. “Not yet. Just describe what you see. If you jump to a conclusion too soon, your mind will filter out anything that contradicts your hypothesis. Look. Analyze. Then deduce. Professor Bell taught me well. You could find no one better to emulate than him.”

  “The package was forwarded from your apartment’s address.”

  “Too soon. You’re making deductions. First, describe the handwriting on the cover.”

  Elizabeth took a breath, then studied the addresses again. “Two different hands. One bold with heavy strokes. The other lighter, precise.”

  “Which address for the bold hand?”

  “Your previous apartment. The lighter hand for the one here.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “Heavy Hand didn’t know your forwarding address. The lighter one is probably the Post Mistress.”

  “Good so far.”

  Elizabeth sat back, her eyes looking far away. “He watched her write the address down. That’s how he found us.”

  “Precisely. By leaving a forwarding address, I left a trail straight here. Straight to you and your father. I am so very sorry.” Suddenly I felt exhausted. “My first instincts after the attack were right. Ott is clever and relentless. I should probably leave for Australia on the next available ship. That would be the smart thing to do, but I’m not going to be scared off by this man, only to have him hunt me wherever I go. I do think however, that I should change my lodgings again until he’s caught, to throw him off my trail.”

  “You can’t go! Not yet. He revealed himself when he fired at us. This is probably the safest place for you now. He knows Father and you are armed and will go after him. Please don’t go, at least not until you speak with Father.”

  I was torn. Elizabeth reminded me of myself at her age. Her companionship would be missed . . . and James’s.

  “Very well,” I said. “Besides, we have a fine derby hat to present him. It’s the least I can do after his former treasure fell honorably in combat on my behalf.” We laughed together, the cloud of parting’s sorrow gone for now. “What should we have for dinner?”

  James came in just then, smiling.

  “Did I hear someone mention dinner?” he asked.

  “Yes, Inspector, you did, though the jury is still out as to what that might be.”

  “Might I make a plea before the court?”

  “Plea away. If we don’t have the ingredients, however, you’ll be overruled.”

  “Then if it please the court, I plead for suckling pig with truffles.” Elizabeth and I laughed. “Out of order!” I said. “The court has no such provisions. Care to plead insanity in your defense?”

  “Your Honor, I plead hunger. Perhaps you could reduce the sentence to roast chicken and potatoes?”

  “I’ll grant you clemency this one time, if you agree to thirty
-minutes’ servitude washing up afterward.”

  “Hard labor! Very well, Madam Judge, I accept, though next time I’m getting a better barrister.”

  I glanced over at Elizabeth as she stared at the two of us teasing each other like children.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and rushed out.

  James looked after her, then he turned to me, his hands splayed out. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing, James. Sit down. You’ll find Elizabeth’s notes in shorthand of our day’s activities. Mister Kropotkin was a fairly tame assignment. Whatever you did today was surely more profitable than our labors, if sitting on a park bench can be described as labor.”

  James rubbed his chin as he perused the hieroglyphics. “Kropotkin’s daughter flirted with Elizabeth?”

  “Well, no, not exactly, but she did give her a second look and a smile. Elizabeth’s disguise was quite convincing. Her report is thorough, wouldn’t you agree? You might want to mention that when she comes to supper. Give me an hour to prepare dinner. That will give you time to transcribe the report into your hand and style to turn in.”

  “Capital. I did, in fact, have a very productive day, though not on our current case.”

  I smiled when James said “our” case. I hadn’t been involved in such adventures since the Ripper affair, nor had such close companionship. I shook my head and returned to the chicken. “How so?” was all I could say.

  “I believe I identified an embezzler in the Municipal Utilities Department. Turned it over to Financial Crimes at Scotland Yard. I reckon I’ll hear back in a couple of days. The man nearly jumped out of his skin when I showed him my badge. Felt like a policeman again. Useful.”

  Dinner was a success, and Elizabeth glowed with her father’s praise. “Well, my girl, if you are dead set on being a detective, then be the best one you can. It seems you are well on your way.” Turning to me, he complimented, “Thanks to your excellent instructor.”

  There was an awkward silence as Elizabeth and I exchanged glances, then I stood up and said in a too-loud voice, “And now for dessert!”

  James patted his stomach. “I couldn’t possibly, but . . . well, I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings. What are we having?”

  Elizabeth perked up. “I’ll go fetch it, Father. It’s in my room.” James looked at me. “Well, I hope it isn’t ice cream.”

  A minute later Elizabeth returned, carrying a box tied in a red satin bow.

  James reached out and carefully opened the box, then pulled out a handsome new black derby.

  “Your name’s inside, Father, just like your old one!”

  James said nothing for a moment more. Then he looked up at the two of us waiting for his reaction. He stood, placed the derby on his head, and bowed deeply. “Thank you, ladies. Assuming I avoid snipers from now on, it should serve me well for many years.”

  James placed the derby on the hat peg by the door, where the previous one had rested, before sitting back down. “All in all, this has been one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. Thank you. Let me finish my tea, and I’ll serve my sentence in the kitchen.”

  Elizabeth cleared the table. This done, she turned to her father.

  “You’re granted a stay of execution, sir. I’ll do the dishes while you and Margaret retire to the sitting room.” She looked at me, “I’m sure you have much to talk about.”

  Curious, James ambled to his favorite chair and waited for me to join him. “Yes, Margaret, what is it?”

  I looked into his face. It was open. Trusting. I took a deep breath before the plunge. “I have lupus.”

  “Lupus?” James asked. “What’s that?”

  “Doctors can’t really say, but it is an inflammatory condition which gradually involves the entire body. As it is, I have to stretch every morning before I can walk normally.”

  James swallowed. “Is it fatal?”

  “Not necessarily. Some do die of complications after many years, but for most, it affects one’s ability to walk and care for oneself. I should have some years yet of fairly normal activity before becoming bedridden. It is crucial I remain as active as I can for as long as I can, to maintain the function I currently have.”

  “I understand. It changes nothing as far as I’m concerned.”

  “My doctors have recommended I move to a warm climate to prolong my mobility.” At this, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ve booked passage to Australia on a ship sailing the seventh of July.”

  “Oh . . . I see.” James stood up and went to the kitchen. I followed, puzzled. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. Opened it. Smelled it. Elizabeth was busy with the dishes when he entered and she froze as she watched him, her face pale.

  Then he handed the bottle to her. “Pour it down the sink. Please.” She did as he asked. He watched intently as it splashed away, out of reach. “Funny,” he said, as though to himself. “I never really liked the taste.” He turned back to me. “You’ve helped me remember what my life was like, before . . .” He pointed to the now-empty bottle in Elizabeth’s hand.

  “I’ve returned to being a father, and a policeman. I found myself in time and I’m not going back. I will be the man I was for Elizabeth, if not for you, but I am still in your debt.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears as I took his hand. “I’m sorry, James. Truly. You are a good man, and Elizabeth and I have become fast friends. I never meant to deceive you.”

  James released my hand. “No blame of yours. I’m glad you moved into the same building so that we could spend some time together. Ott would have surely killed you on your own, and I got to know you better, while I could.”

  “I’ve liked that as well. But Ott might come back here. I received a threat today which could only have come from him.” I showed James the book I’d received and its sinister inscription. “I think I should move again. I can’t bear the thought of placing you and Elizabeth in further danger.”

  James thought for a moment. “I think you should stay. My own selfish motives aside, I think he’ll lay low. He had a chance to stand his ground and risk dying or killing you. He fled. I am certain he’ll try again when the chance presents itself, but he knows we’re looking for him and that we’re capable of armed resistance. I believe you’re in the safest place you could possibly be, at least for now.

  “We understand one another. I cannot leave my position and lose my pension. You can’t stay in this climate. I would like for us to part as friends. Besides, I might need your help with this Ott fellow. I am uncomfortable with him wandering the streets of London armed with a high-powered air rifle so close to the Diamond Jubilee. Please remain near us until it’s time to sail.”

  I considered his offer. “All right, I’ll stay, but I need to help pay for our food.”

  James chuckled. “Your cooking more than pays for your meals. It’s a week until the ceremony. I see no further need for you to watch Mister Kropotkin parade around a park. Tomorrow you can join me as Pennyworth and Elizabeth can watch our Russian one day on her own. We need to run our sniper to ground.”

  “Where do we start?”

  “The Electricians Guild Hall. They should know of any new craftsmen in the area and who’s hiring them. I may be recognized from my old days on the regular force. I’ll need you, the manager of a wealthy estate, to seek out workers to upgrade his residence. Are we agreed?”

  “Agreed, James. Thank you for letting me assist. It’s my fault the man’s here.”

  “It’s nothing you could have foreseen. We’ll get him . . . together.” After James and I returned to the sitting room, I glanced back and saw Elizabeth smiling in the kitchen. A storm had passed, and the way ahead—though difficult—was now clear.

  27

  Wednesday, June 16

  “I’m looking for an electrician,” the slender, well-dressed Mister Pennyworth said to the clerk at the Guild Hall. “I’m upgrading my employer’s lodge and need to install electricity throughout the main and out
er buildings. An acquaintance of mine mentioned a fellow, a German, recently arrived. Sadly, my friend couldn’t recall the chap’s name. Can you help me?”

  The clerk’s right hand was gone, a cheap hook in its place. The price of progress, I suppose. I had no personal experience dealing with electrical burns, but my acquaintances still in the nursing profession told me the smallest of external injuries often hid extensive damage of the underlying tissue, and amputation was frequently required if the victim survived the initial jolt.

  The clerk scowled when he heard me inquire for a foreign worker, but opened his roster of active electricians all the same. If the man were a guild member, his dues paid the clerk’s salary. “I have three German sounding names here, sir,” he said. “Wasserman, Schmidt, and Heller. Any of those sound familiar?”

  “Afraid not. Any of them recent members of the guild? My acquaintance said the man had only arrived in England within the past month and had been an electrician in Germany.”

  “Then I can’t help you, sir. It takes at least a year as an apprentice and a reference from a guild member before one can apply for membership. Even if he was a master electrician in his own country, we require them to undergo the same program as anyone else.”

  “Do you register apprentices?”

  “No, sir. Many don’t complete their training. It’s not easy, and . . .” He held up his hooked hand, “not entirely safe. We don’t track ’em ’til we ask for dues. We have several skilled workers I can refer you to, if you’d like.”

  I sighed. Another dead end. “No, thank you. Not yet, at least.”

  I had just turned to go when a red-faced man burst into the office and rushed toward the one-handed clerk, nearly shoving me aside.

  “Simmons! I’ve a complaint to lodge!”