Crooked

by Bronwen John

  Ash winced at a particularly loud bang from inside his office. “What’s going on?”

  “Making sure everything is safe and secure, including that beguiling jewel Esther Crook had secreted on her person,” Holmes said.

  There was a string of loudly spoken Eastern European, though whether curse words or not, Ash was unsure.

  “New safe. Keeps things safe… unlike your little deal with Innocent… now I know who you are underneath it all.”

  “Christ, Harry, I gave the kid my word!” Innocent snapped, trying to step forward to stop them, only to be shoved back.

  “I didn’t give mine.” Holmes looked at Paulsen. “Take her away.” He smirked. He could see the anguish on the girl’s face, but he had plans for her. Not nefarious ones… or not, at least, in the way she was thinking at the moment.

  She’d be a good lieutenant, with the head she had on her shoulders. If this plan of hers worked out, he could mould her into his shape; beat the ridiculous idea that she was a con artist out of her head with kindness. She couldn’t be much older than Henry. Perhaps he’d suggest a merger. He’d had to kill fathers of useful sons, sons of useful fathers. Other times he’d offered them power; other times offered them mercy. It occasionally worked, and often didn’t.

  He wondered if, when she heard Esther Crook scream for mercy, she’d break too.

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Well, the sun’s down, so it must be after six,” Ash said, frowning.

  “That makes sense. Was just wondering.”

  For someone who had been betrayed by her protégée, Esther was dealing with it remarkably well, Ash thought. Or…

  “You knew I’d do it, didn’t you?”

  “Take Ezra Innocent’s deal? I was rather banking on it,” Esther said, smirking at her as she wiggled her fingers.

  “Think they’re going to cut you down from there?”

  “I doubt it. It reminds me of that poem by Noyes. Or is it Robert Louis Stevenson? Something about a landlord’s daughter… I remember that much.”

  Ash looked up at where Esther had been tied up. She had several ropes tied around her wrists and arms. One wrong move and her wrist would break; Vin had emphasised that point. As Esther’s ‘honest’ work was playing poker, she’d quickly acquiesced. Ash was lying spread-eagled on the bed, each of her limbs tied to a bedpost.

  “Noyes… it’s The Highwayman.” Ash looked up miserably. “I did it for my exams this year. Luke drummed it into me.”

  “Really?” A nod in her direction. “I had to do three Shakespeare plays between fourteen and sixteen. I did them for fun then until I remembered the quotes.”

  “Any in particular that you like?” Ash said, tugging uselessly at the rope that bound her.

  “Have a preference?” Esther said, throwing a hooded glance up the bed.

  “How about one about death? Seems like we’re walking to our own.”

  “Nah, we’re just acting in a play called life,” Esther said, before smirking to herself. “And actors are better con artists than us. They get paid for being liars in honest capacities.”

  Ash snorted through her nose. “Shakespeare?”

  “Nah, some American actor. True enough, though, con artists are actors,” Esther hummed, as the doorknob was jostled. “Ah – our hostess.”

  Elizabeth Holmes entered, sharing a scowl with Esther, before pulling out some dresses. “I’ve estimated your sizes.”

  “You know, I never had you down for a trafficker,” Esther said, smirking at the woman as she shot her a glare. “Oh yeah, plausible deniability.”

  “You’d know all about that, Crook. By the time we’re done with you, you will be known all through London.” Elizabeth glared as she cut Esther down before holding the knife to Ash’s throat. “And any more smart-mouthing will lead to a few new cuts.”

  “I’d sooner die than become your pawn, and if you lay that knife on the kid’s throat, I’ll make sure you never recover from the storm I will arrange to hit you,” Esther said, sticking her chin out defiantly.

  “You haven’t got enough power?”

  “I’m on first-name terms with most of the social elite in Monte Carlo, who, I hasten to remind you, you are desperate to fit in with. Not to mention that I was the ward – as dated as the term may be – for Chris Adams, an ATF agent whose team has a 100% success rate. Think it over.”

  Elizabeth Holmes scowled. “Fit the damn dress and get out of here, or I get one of the boys to bring you out in whatever state of dress or undress you are in.” She smirked. “And don’t bother with the windows. We’ve upped security here since our apartment in LA was broken into.”

  “Anything stolen?” Esther said politely as she rubbed her wrist.

  Elizabeth Holmes shot her a look.

  “Now, now. I’m not a thief, as you well know.”

  “No. Now get your backside down the stairs.”

  “Now, who am I to turn down such an invitation?” Esther flashed an unerringly false smile at her hostess, who stormed out at this slight. “Come on, we’d best bow out in style.”

  If Ash hadn’t known any better, she would’ve sworn that Esther was deriving pleasure from being caught.

  The party was the pinnacle of false high culture in Ash’s opinion. She was being escorted around by Innocent and his bodyguard Jesse, who was talking extensively to her. Once Ash had been dressed in a red ballgown she had been dragged away from Esther and kept within her gaze.

  Esther wore a black georgette satin one-sleeved gown with a black-and-gold metallic floral brooch. The long sleeve practically hid her arm to the fingertips. But then she opted to pretend to be networking, talking animatedly about the artwork on the walls, looking every inch an aficionado of the arts. Ash just felt, and knew she looked, like a fish out of water.

  “You don’t seem to be having a nice time.”

  Ash turned to see a dark-haired older woman standing next to her. “I’m… a bit indisposed,” she said politely, deciding against irritating the gargantuan figure guarding her. “Mentally occupied, shall we say?”

  “If you don’t mind, could you read this?” the woman asked, gesturing to the card below the painting.

  “Sure… it says it’s a replica of Van Gogh’s Still life: Vase with Oleanders. It was purchased very recently.” Ash gestured at another painting on the wall. “The Painter on His Way to Work, also by Van Gogh… they all seem to be replicas of artworks that were stolen by the Nazis.”

  The woman nodded courteously.

  “I think that is her work… looking at old paintings.”

  “So I have heard, and my particular interest lies with these pieces especially given their history,” the woman said, smiling.

  Ash was about to question this statement when there was a sudden clink of a spoon against a crystal glass that had everyone spinning around. Holmes was standing on a small platform wearing an ingratiating smile.

  “It is with great honour that I welcome you here today, especially given the circumstances. As many of you will know, our very home was broken into a few weeks ago, but the perpetrators got away with nothing but indignity.”

  There were a few hollow laughs around the room.

  “But we are here tonight because of one young lady. Esther Crook. Esther, if you could come over?”

  Instantly, there were whispers. A lot of the bankers in London had heard the name spoken in corridors, almost as reverently as a prayer said in church. The underworld had naturally heard of her, but there was respect, too. Innocent raised his eyebrows as he saw several men tense, as did Ash, but unlike Ash, who remained in place, Innocent walked over.

  “Miss Voleur?” he called as she made her way over.

  “Yes, Mr Innocent?” she said, pausing to look at him as he stopped briefly next to Ash and the large bodyguard.

/>   “Have you got your way out?”

  Esther raised her eyebrows, and walked over at his motion for her to join them. “Holmes intends on breaking our deal?”

  “Miss Crook?” called the man in question.

  Esther raised her hand. “Voleur and I have some financial dealings.”

  There was a titter around the room.

  “Of course, but if you could keep an eye on my friend? Once my business with Holmes is concluded, then we can discuss my options to escape.”

  “Why, yes, my fair lady.”

  Esther gave a tilt of her head in acknowledgement and winked at Ash as she passed by. She quickly stepped up to where Holmes was waiting.

  “Now, as many of you here will know, me and Mr Holmes have a long, chequered history. He insists on calling me Esther Crook when I much prefer the name of Darnell Voleur,” she said, taking on the speech and the box before he had a chance to move.

  Holmes glared at her, the spotlight having been stolen.

  “He once turned to me and said that the greatest gift for a woman is a blood red ruby.” She smiled ingratiatingly at Elizabeth Holmes. “That is why I take delight in handing this beautiful ruby necklace to your lovely lady wife.”

  There was muted applause around the room as Esther stepped back, smiling at Holmes and gesturing for Elizabeth to take her place.

  “Of course, there are necessary documents to sign?” Holmes said, baring his teeth in a very flimsy semblance of a smile.

  “Of course,” Esther said, smiling as Holmes handed the documents to her to read through.

  Ash winced. The piece of paper set to hang her, and Esther had handed over the death warrant.

  “Here’s my John Hancock.” Esther signed the document with a flourish. “Enjoy your moment in the sun.”

  “Now, DCI Banks.”

  There was a murmur through the crowd. Many in the room began looking at the walls anxiously.

  “Please don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen; the DCI is here to arrest the notorious criminal, Esther Crook.”

  Esther, however, walked by DCI Banks without an air of concern on her face, pausing to kiss the older woman who had shared the conversation with Ash about the Van Gogh. There was a quick nod, and Esther grinned before joining Ash.

  “You took your time,” Ash groused. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Just waiting for the fireworks,” Esther said.

  The police officer looked down at the ruby that had been set into the necklace. It looked so innocent, almost false. But the pigeon blood red colour and the star-like fault in the centre revealed what it was. If they hadn’t already seen the news, she and her compatriots would be holding Esther Crook and reading her her rights. If they hadn’t already walked through it with the Natural History Museum and Interpol, let alone that Isadora Cross-De Braun woman, then she would’ve been grinning delightedly. If she hadn’t known any better, she would say she was going to derive some glee from being wrong.

  “You know, Holmes, you’re lucky I’m not charging you with wasting police time,” DCI Banks said, smirking at the man’s sudden change of expression. “You’ve bought exactly what you paid for. A good one, I grant you, but an imitation. Let alone, I have been on to Border Control, who assure me that Esther Crook has not entered the UK, and when I enquired with the Norwegian authorities they told me that she hadn’t left the country since the last time she visited her grandmother, Isadora Cross-De Braun, in Monte Carlo last year.”

  “That’s impossible. I heard it verified by a jeweller of good repute,” snapped Holmes. “See…” He looked frantically in his pockets, patting them and finding nothing. “There… she’s taken them.”

  Ash looked at Esther. “How—”

  Esther just rolled her eyes and put one finger to her lips to indicate silence.

  “Not quite. You see, it got caught up in the geologist Dr Victoria Jones’s exhibition. It seems that they mixed it up somehow with the exhibition items that were going on to the Natural History Museum. Her poor graduate student sat through hours of interrogation with us, but it looks to be an innocent mistake.” She handed the ruby back to Innocent. “It was verified this morning in the early hours. Seems your appraisal may have been done for a jewel… but not that one.”

  Holmes felt himself flounder, and all hope sink below his knees. The kid. The kid had sold him out… or Crook had allowed her to. Regardless, she was dead. Forget the bordellos or the backstreets. Dead.

  Then he saw her face; pure shock and horror. Crook had conned her too. For all Azeri’s planning, Crook had got around it. Half of him felt a strange delight; the other half still felt rage.

  His feelings were interrupted by the police officer. “But this… this interests my learned colleague here,” she said, pointing at the artwork on the wall. “This is Vase with Oleanders by Vincent van Gogh – am I correct, Mrs Du Barry?”

  The older woman with greying hair stepped forward and appraised it in silence before nodding in satisfaction. “Do you have a receipt for this?”

  “But of course.” Elizabeth smirked, as her assistant went into the office for her.

  They waited in silence, everyone captivated by the front-seat drama that was taking place. The assistant soon returned and handed her a billfold of the documents.

  “I didn’t realise that police salaries stretched to this. A very good reproduction.”

  Du Barry ignored Elizabeth as she studied the invoices that had been given to her. She, herself, brokered a small smile. “The very best kind, Mrs Holmes. Go ahead, Banks.”

  “Mrs Elizabeth Holmes, I am arresting you for the purchase of stolen goods.”

  “I’ve not… they are verified receipts!” snapped Holmes, gesturing at the paperwork.

  The older woman merely put these into an evidence bag.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “This, at first glance, looks to be the verified original which has been missing since 1940. These documents seem to suggest they fell into the Göring collection, that you purchased them from a well known dealer in Nazi artworks so these documents prove ownership to yourself.” Du Barry smirked. “It’s rare that someone hands something to us so willingly.”

  Innocent froze and spun towards where Esther Crook had been standing, to see only an empty space with no sign of Crook or Azeri, whose Christian name he hadn’t even bothered to get.

  “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t. You love me with a passion. You just hate my methods because you don’t see the madness. That’s your trouble, you know; you don’t see the creativity behind the methods. That’s a new hint for you.”

  Esther ran down the stairs, practically skipping for joy. They’d slipped out of the room after she had quietly asked for the ladies for them both. Innocent’s bodyguard had been willing to allow for bodily functions but then Esther had produced a derringer pistol – God knows where from – and cold-cocked him. Once in the toilet, Esther had reached beneath a sink and pulled out a bag, sticking her hand in withdrawing a set of uniform waitress clothes that had been walking around the party all evening. They’d changed into the clothes and then joined the mass of waitresses already leaving as the police made their way up the stairs.

  “You could’ve told me.”

  “I told you the basics. I used your con; just improved it. You told him the truth; he just chose to believe that I would be stupid enough to fall into that trap. I’m surprised you didn’t recognise Anton’s voice when he was swearing in Russian… from my brief understanding, the safe was being awkward.”

  “How’d they do the painting?”

  “Oh, that switch? Happened under Hughes’s nose. All that security and it’s all focused on you and me, who made no attempt to escape. Pity about the professional thief that’s fixing your safe on the wall with his retired Uncle Fyodor.”

  As
h glared, feeling angry that it wasn’t so much that she had been blind to the truth; it was just that she had seen the truth differently.

  Esther looked at her as she walked down the stairs with measured calmness, Ash allowing herself to radiate the disapproval that she felt.

  Esther evidently felt it burning into her back, as she turned her head slightly. “What?! You can’t con an honest man,” she recited. “Or woman.”

  “That you can’t.”

  Esther stopped on the stairs, spinning around to glare at Ash.

  “I have just opened the Pandora’s box for Interpol’s art fraud department?!”

  Ash froze, realising her intention. “You got his reputation.”

  “The one damned thing he cares about beyond riches and the bitch who will sell him down the marketplace. The very reason he knocked her up was so he could leap on her family’s respectability. And that high-born lady is nothing more than a Nazi-hoarding bitch. The rumours that have been whispered but were dismissed? They are true.” Esther threw a defiant look up at the gallery. “That bitch has stolen artworks that were plundered by the Nazis and hidden behind doors. They’ve suspected her for years, but had no proof. The pieces belong to the families who were butchered. If she was a good, honest person she would’ve handed it over – this… this is a revenge for them. Plus, we’ve hit him where it hurts.”

  “But his family?”

  “I never said I was below working at his level.” Esther glanced at the man’s Rolex Submariner watch on her wrist. “Now, we need to go; we don’t have time for this debate.” She slipped out of her heels and into a pair of flats in one fluid motion and began to run. “Come on, Ash! We have to beat the hangman!”

  Twenty

  Holmes’s goons slid into the parking area of the apparently newly named Henson’s. Holmes got out of the car, closely followed by Innocent, who was wearing an equally grim look.

  Holmes knew that Liz knew everything about his business; a silent partner, as it were. He loved the woman desperately, and that much was clear. She, he knew, loved their son and the notoriety, but had little affection for her fling that had resulted in a shotgun marriage thanks to her strictly Catholic father. She knew where the bodies were and where to bury him while playing the grieving widow. His only chance was Kat, who would have the invoices to show that they were being set up.