“Fine. I’ll convince the higher-ups to hold off the press conference until tomorrow morning. Text me when we can go and arrest him.”
“I knew there was a reason I called you and not one of your coworkers,” Violet smiled.
“And boy do I ever appreciate it,” DCI Williams replied. “The two of you should leave now; I’m going to call for a car to come pick me up just in case. This would be a bad day to be robbed on the underground.”
Violet and I left, paid for the food, and made our way back into the street. Violet hailed us a cab, but instead of giving the cabbie our home address, she asked him to drive to St. Bartholomew’s hospital.
“We’re going to give Andrew Greenhouse a bit of a visit.”
Chapter 20
As soon as we were in the cab I texted Brianne to ask what room Andrew Greenhouse was in. She texted me directions, and a room number, which I relayed back to Violet. Ward 4F, bed number thirty-two.
“Good,” Violet replied, pulling a small laptop out of her purse and typing away on it furiously. By the time the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital, Violet still hadn’t finished what she was doing, so we sat on a bench outside for a while. I looked over at her computer once or twice, but it was all gibberish to me; she was in a program that I didn’t recognize, with words flying by on the screen.
Finally, about ten minutes later, Violet closed the lid in triumph.
“Good,” she said. “We are ready.”
“Why are we here?” I asked Violet. “Shouldn’t the cops be doing this sort of questioning? After all, even if you get Andrew Greenhouse to admit to the crimes, it’s still he said-she said.”
“You are correct, of course. Simply the recovery of the painting means that Greenhouse will be found guilty of the murders. I lied to DCI Williams: I do not want to find more evidence. With that painting, even the police and the Crown Prosecution Service will not be stupid enough to fail from here. And on top of that, there were likely fingerprints on the gas line, and I have also solved Jenny Lin’s cipher; I know how LW refers to Andrew Greenhouse. But I want the whole story. I need to know exactly what happened, and exactly what the plan was. No one else will tell me. Follow my lead.”
“Wait,” I said. “Before we go in there… how did you figure out what the note meant? The LW leads back to Lin Wei, doesn’t it?”
“Ah, but Jenny Lin was more clever than that. She had codes for nearly everything. For example, did you know the Mandarin word for ‘milkmaid’ is jǐ nǎi nǚgōng?”
I shook my head. “No, of course I didn’t know that.”
“And that the word for ‘green’ is lǜsè? And the word for house is wū?”
“Ahhhh!” I exclaimed. “That’s what the LW was for? Green House?”
“Exactement,” Violet said, nodding. “It was not a difficult code to crack once I realized she was simply translating into Mandarin, but using the Roman alphabet.”
I shook my head, completely impressed with Violet’s problem-solving abilities as we made our way through the front doors of the hospital.
As soon as we made our way inside, immediately a flood of memories came rushing back to me. White walls and off-white tiles. That familiar smell. People rushing around. The sounds of worried families mingled with the efficient medical speak of the professionals trying to assuage their fears. It was like being punched in the stomach, in a way. The hospital was where some of my best memories were made. It was also where I woke up after the car crash. Where I learned that I was now a patient, instead of a doctor. It was where I learned I was never going to be a doctor.
“Cassie? Are you all right?” Violet asked in a surprisingly caring voice. I snapped out of my almost hypnotic state.
“What? Uh, yeah, I’m ok. Just… memories, you know?”
Violet looked at me with concern. “Are you sure you are up to doing this? If you would like, you can stay outside. I can take care of the interview myself, and you do not have to be in this hospital.”
“No. No, it’s ok,” I said, shaking my head. The last thing I wanted was for being inside a hospital to become a trigger that reminded me of the worst time in my life. No, I was going to continue on. I followed Violet to the reception desk, where a friendly, but overworked-looking woman wearing scrubs looked up at her with a wan smile.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, we are here to visit a friend, Natalie Juneau, in Ward 4F please,” Violet said.
The nurse typed something into the computer quickly, then nodded.
“Just take that lift over there please,” she said, motioning to our left. Violet thanked her and made our way to the elevator. No matter what, I couldn’t get that sinking feeling out of the pit of my stomach. This was my first time back in a hospital since I’d been discharged; my follow up appointments and physiotherapy had all taken place at a small clinic in San Francisco. I was not handling this well.
“It will get better,” Violet said to me softly, giving my hand a quick squeeze, as we went up the elevator. I had to admit; I was touched. For all of her quirkiness, she noticed that I wasn’t comfortable here, and she was actually helping.
When we got off the elevator we found ourselves at ward reception.
“Hello, we’re here to see Natalie Juneau please,” Violet said softly to the nurse at the station.
“Sign in here please,” the lady said, and Violet signed the form. I noticed she used a false name, so I did as well. I was now Caroline Smith. It certainly wasn’t the most creative name ever, but for the spur of the moment I didn’t think it was too bad.
“She’s in bed thirty-three, at the end of the ward, thank you,” the nurse said as I handed her back the clipboard. We thanked her and made our way that way, but at the last second Violet quickly slipped into the room labeled bed 32 instead.
Andrew Greenhouse had been given a private room; the hospital bed was in the center of it, a bathroom against the far wall. His heart rate monitor beeped steadily at around sixty BPM; he was obviously asleep. On the other side of the heart rate monitor was a crash cart and his IV hook-ups. When Violet closed the door behind her, he opened an eye.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice was weak; it was obvious he hadn’t done much speaking over the last few days.
“My name is Violet Despuis, and I know you killed the Lin children,” Violet said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Greenhouse replied, his voice stronger now.
“I also found the painting you stashed in the vent of the gent’s at The Antelope.”
That definitely got Greenhouse’s attention. His eyes widened.
“How…” he asked, his voice trailing off.
“The how is not important right now. What is important is that you answer my questions. It is the only way you will get your painting back.”
Greenhouse’s eyes darted from Violet, to me, and back to Violet. He was obviously trying to make a decision here.
“How do I know you have the painting?” he asked.
“Well for one thing, I told you where you hid it,” Violet said. “But if you need more proof,” she continued, pulling a mailing tube that looked identical to the one we’d found in the bathroom out of her purse. I struggled not to look shocked. She had given that to DCI Williams. Surely, she had. Then it hit me: this one was a fake. Of course Violet would have thought to bring a fake.
“Give it to me,” Greenhouse ordered, but Violet shook her head. “No. I am not interested in handing you over to the police, but I want answers. You tell me what I want to know, I give you back the painting.”
Greenhouse snarled at her, but leaned back in his bed.
“How do I know you’re not just going to take the painting to the police anyway?”
“You do not know that I won’t. However, I can tell you that by refusing to answer my questions, you have absolutely zero chance of getting your painting back.”
Greenhouse seemed to ponder the question for a little bit.
“Fine,” he finally responded.
“Why did you kill the Lin kids?”
“I needed to ruin Lin Wei’s smuggling operation. With the kids gone, his whole method goes up in smoke.”
“Why did you want to ruin his operation though?” I asked.
“He was ripping me off. I was getting him information on paintings worth stealing. He was paying me a commission based on the hot value of those paintings. Then I find out that he’s making high-quality imitations of all the paintings—making three, five, sometimes six times the value of the painting, and sending the originals to his family in China for safekeeping. I decided to take The Milkmaid as back pay.”
“How did you find out he was ripping you off?”
“I’m not an idiot. I have a contact apart from Lin Wei in the Bamboo Revolution. The contact told me what Lin Wei was doing.”
Violet nodded. “So you effectively took his last, most valuable painting, then killed his entire smuggling operation as revenge for him not paying you what you thought you deserved?”
“Exactly. Now give me my painting.”
“Fine,” Violet said. She gave Greenhouse the mailing tube, and he relaxed visibly. He leaned back in his bed. “I got away with it, too. The police haven’t even come to visit me, except to ask if I’d seen anything that night before the explosion. I told them about a Chinese looking man running from the scene a minute or so before the explosion, that should get them off my back permanently. They have no idea it was me. How the hell did you figure it out?”
“All of the paintings Lin Wei stole were insured by your company. Once I discovered what the Lin twins were doing, and found Jenny Lin’s list of paintings, it was easy to put two and two together.”
“I still don’t see how you found the painting.”
“You had to store it somewhere, it wasn’t found on you when you were taken to the hospital, so it had to be nearby.”
Andrew Greenhouse shook his head. “You’re better than the police, I have to give you that.”
“Of course I am,” Violet replied. Suddenly, however, Greenhouse leapt out of the bed and grabbed Violet in a chokehold. She was only a foot or so away from his bed, and didn’t have a chance to react. Violet kicked out multiple times, but I quickly remembered what Lin Wei had said: his contact was an expert in Kung Fu. Violet was strong, and she was a skilled fighter, but I wasn’t sure she stood a chance against someone like that.
Suddenly, all of my medical training kicked in automatically. I darted over to the crash cart and opened the top drawer. Grabbing the pre-loaded syringe full of suxamethonium chloride I ran over to where Greenhouse was still choking Violet. She was struggling to breathe; I knew I had to act fast. I wasn’t in any sort of condition to fight a grown man, but I knew he couldn’t take us both on at once.
I had once sedated a schizophrenic who thought we were the CIA coming to kill him. I’d also had to sedate a two-hundred and fifty pound wife-beater who’d been shot by his wife’s best friend in her defense, who was trying to escape the hospital so he could kill her. This was nothing.
Honing in on the IV, I jammed the syringe in and pressed, hard.
“What the hell did you just put into me?” Greenhouse asked between clenched teeth. Violet was struggling less and less now; only a few more seconds and I knew she’d be unconscious.
However, only seconds later, the sux—as it’s commonly referred to by medical professionals—kicked in and Greenhouse fell to the floor, completely sedated.
Violet gasped for air, clutching at her throat. “Well, Andrew Greenhouse will now truly be spending the rest of his life in jail; on top of the theft and two murders the police can add attempted murder to the charges. Thank you, Cassie. I knew it was a good idea to bring you.”
“It turns out I still remember what drugs are in a crash cart,” I replied, looking at the unconscious body on the ground. Violet took out her phone and sent a text; I imagined DCI Williams would be on his way to arrest Greenhouse soon.
“Well I, for one, am happy that your medical knowledge came in handy for more than simply identifying Jenny Lin’s cause of death for me.”
“Me too. You’re crazy, but your cases are certainly interesting.”
“How long will the sedative last?” Violet asked, and I shrugged.
“Probably about fifteen, twenty minutes. The recommended dose is one to one and a half ml per kilo, and I didn’t exactly check his weight or how much was in the vial before I stuck it in him. If I dosed him properly, he’d be awake in ten, but I suspect I put in a bit more than I had to. Don’t worry, there should be another sedative in there if we need it.”
“Good,” Violet said. “I do not need a repeat of that experience.”
“Who knew even Violet Despuis has a weakness?” I joked.
“It was not that I was weak,” Violet said. “He was simply a skilled fighter, and I expected him to be weaker than he was after his stay in hospital.”
“Ah,” I said, trying to hide the smile on my face. Violet was completely incapable of admitting any sort of fault.
“Although,” she said, “I probably should have remembered Lin Wei mentioning that his contact was skilled in the art of Kung Fu. That was—how do you say—very sloppy of me.”
“I think you might need to sit down, obviously the flow of oxygen to your brain is still constricted if you admitted you made a mistake,” I told Violet, who laughed.
“You joke, but I think I will sit,” she said. As soon as she said it, I was up on my feet. I didn’t have a stethoscope so I took her pulse manually. Seventy beats per minute. A little bit high for Violet, but not too bad at all considering someone had tried to kill her a moment ago.
She acquiesced as I moved her neck around, making sure there was no damage.
“I’m fine,” she insisted as I poked and prodded her.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I said, but quickly realized that she was correct. Considering what she’d just been through, Violet was in great shape.
“I thought you gave the painting to DCI Williams,” I said when I eventually decided Violet wasn’t in any immediate danger.
“I did,” she replied. “I simply went and bought a similar tube. It does have a Milkmaid in it, but it is not real.”
“Wouldn’t Andrew Greenhouse have immediately known it was a fake?”
Violet smiled. “Ah, but no. You do remember the man we met at the Museum of Natural History?”
“Edward? The skinny geologist who likes rocks and paintings?”
“Yes, him. He is in fact one of the most skilled art forgers in the country. He had the fake made for me after my visit, in case I was in need of it. He warned me that the work was very rushed, but it would have easily passed muster with all but the most experienced art historian.”
I didn’t even know what to say. I’d had no idea that the man working with the rocks at the museum was actually an art forget. Violet ran in strange, strange circles.
Just then DCI Williams entered the room.
“We were waiting outside for your text; ready to come in whenever,” he said as he saw the unconscious Greenhouse on the floor. “Is everything all right?”
“You can add two counts of murder and one count of attempted murder to the charges,” Violet told him. “I will warn you though: MI5 won’t be happy.”
“That stuff is for my bosses to hash out,” DCI Williams replied. “I’m sure they’ll take the flak from the intelligence services in exchange for getting the glory of solving this case.”
“Agent Tompkins isn’t going to be happy,” I said to Violet.
“Agent Tompkins is never happy,” she replied with a smile.
Chapter 21
The next twenty-four hours or so went by in a blur. First of all, Violet and I both had to go to the police station to get our official statements taken by DCI Williams when it came to the attack on Violet.
After spending three hours in the police station, I wanted nothing more tha
n to go home, collapse into bed, and sleep for at least twelve hours, but Biscuit had other ideas. He meowed at me when I returned, complaining that I’d been neglecting his regular walks for the last few days.
“All right little guy,” I told him, grabbing his leash and harness. “Let’s go for a walk, then I’m ordering Chinese food and scarfing it down as fast as I can before passing out.” That certainly sounded like a good plan to me.
Biscuit happily jumped down off the chair he was standing on and trotted toward the door, patiently waiting for me to put the harness on him, and then happily bounding outside, scaring a pigeon standing on the sidewalk outside my suite.
We made our way to Kensington Gardens, where I ran into Linda, walking Kiki, looking a little bit depressed.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked her when I saw her. Linda sighed.
“Just having one of those days, you know? I was on a date with Aaron last night, and I mentioned my sister, and he got noticeably uncomfortable. I’m sure he’s lying to me, you know?”
I nodded. “I do know, actually. And I think I can possibly put your mind at ease.”
“Oh I told you not to bother your friend with my dumb problems,” Linda told me.
“I didn’t! I swear. I actually ended up looking into it a bit myself.”
With that, I told Linda what I’d found out, that Aaron’s sister was in jail.
“Oh,” Linda said when I finally finished. She walked away from me for a minute, processing the information I told her, then turned back to me. “You know, that actually makes a lot of sense,” she said. “I mean, yeah, I kind of wish he told me, but at the same time I can also understand him not wanting to. No one wants to have to admit to someone they’ve dated like three times that their sister’s in jail, you know?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “That was what I thought as well when I found out. I mean sure, he could have just told you he had a sister and then not said anything about her, but he probably didn’t want to lie to you if you started asking questions about her, so thought ignoring her existence completely would be the right way to go.”
Bombing in Belgravia Page 13
