by Ritter Ames
I looked at his empty hands. “You didn’t find anything you liked?”
He shrugged and gave a chuckle. “Found a million things, but my wallet pled poverty. Some of it I’ll buy online later at a price loads cheaper. Others, like the gorgeous sports car over there…” He pointed to a gold Bugatti parked at the curb. “Gives me something to work toward for the future. What do you think? A million-pound price tag?”
Actually, I knew the MSRP had been exactly two million euros. The Saudi prince who owned the beauty invited me for a joy ride early in the summer. We were in Monte Carlo at the time, and the sweet baby handled those seaside curves like a supercharged mountain goat. The prince apparently liked it enough to have the car transported afterward, given it sat twenty feet away. Or maybe he had one garaged in every country. “I’d heard Knightsbridge has a bit of a problem with rich residents and their toys. Good to know there’s a basis to the rumors.”
“I’d really love to drive that baby.”
“I did. It’s a high-octane dream.”
His eyes widened. A second later, he roared in laughter. “You’re joking!”
“I never kid about driving expensive cars I’ll never be able to own.”
Dylan’s face held a dazed look. He turned to Cassie as if for confirmation. She smiled and nodded.
“I am impressed,” he said. “Look, can I buy you both a drink?”
“Actually, we’d love to, but we need to go,” Cassie said. “We have an appointment.”
“She’s right. But it was nice seeing you.”
“How about a rain check?” He pulled a couple of business cards from a case. “I’ll be leaving for Milan soon to meet with boring bankers there. I’d love a chance to catch up sometime.” He handed a card to me. “Get to know you both better,” he said as he slipped the other into Cassie’s hand.
This was awkward. The logical response would be to give him one of our cards. Except our office was in ruins, and I was having second and third thoughts of ever going back there. “Our office—”
“We’re doing some redecorating,” Cassie cut in, removing one of the embossed Beacham Ltd. cards from her wallet. “You won’t be able to find us at this address at the moment, but the business line is forwarded to my cell when we’re away. I always know Laurel’s schedule.”
God, she’s brilliant.
“We’ll see each other again soon,” he said, giving us a smile as he walked off. We moved to the curb to try flagging down a cab.
Cassie turned to watch Dylan’s departing figure. “He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He is,” I replied.
With public transportation reduced for the holiday, vehicle traffic was horrible. A dozen or more occupied taxis zoomed by in the first few minutes. Finally, a black cab stopped on my signal. The driver reached out of his window to twist the handle and open the back door for us, and we scrambled inside. Cassie gave the driver the address as I slammed the door. Traffic was stop and go, but eventually we got to Nelly’s building. We had five minutes to spare.
My cell buzzed with a text as we hit the sidewalk. The superintendent reported his car was a few minutes away and said the package was “safe.”
“What do you think it is?” Cassie asked.
“We’ll find out soon. Probably some art item like we’d talked about.”
The outer door of the building was ajar. I frowned. The door had always been closed before, and Nelly released the lock electronically. I motioned for Cassie to follow me, and we moved up the stairs. I rapped on Nelly’s dark green door. Cassie and I waited. And waited.
“Think she’s already left?”
“No. She said she was leaving a bit before five, but it’s not yet straight up four o’clock.”
I knocked harder. Again, no answer.
“You’re sure she’s expecting you back here? She wasn’t going to courier it to the office?”
“Of course I’m sure. She suggested using a messenger, but I told her one of us would be back to pick up the parcel.”
I was about to knock again when the sound of something moving came faintly through the door. I stepped closer and put my ear to the wood.
Then we heard the crash.
The doorknob turned in my hand. Inside, the room was trashed. I pushed Cassie back into the hall. “Go to the street to meet the superintendent. Call and tell him to hurry,” I said, turning her toward the stairs and urging her on. “Tell him to bring medical help too.”
She looked at me, chewing her lower lip.
“Go on!” I shoved my own cell into her hand and waved my hands urgently. “I’ll stay here and wait.”
She was convinced and flew down the stairs, the phone at her ear. I waited until she got past the outer door and slipped into the loft flat.
A straight chair with a broken back barred my way, and I stepped over it, careful not to turn an ankle from the rest of the debris scattered throughout the space. The other end of the open room was equally disastrous, but deserted. It was Nelly’s workspace. The heavy table she used was shoved aside, and two floor lamps lay on the carpet, the bulb burning in one and the other in pieces. The chest holding her thread and supplies was ransacked, the specialty trays from inside tossed around the room and the work materials unspooled and unrolled. A piece of linen had a man’s boot print nearly covering the square of fabric. He had to be huge.
I spotted a pair of scissors near the back of an overturned chair. I scooped up the sharp shears and held the handles tightly in my fist.
A short staircase alongside the far wall led up to a sleeping alcove. On the back wall was a door leading to her kitchen. A glittery blue high heel held the door open a few inches.
With my first thought for Nelly’s safety, I automatically rushed to open the kitchen door—and stopped. Instinctively, I knew I had to take stock before going forward. I looked through the gap held open by what I presumed was my friend’s shoe, though there was no foot in the heel. I couldn’t see anything from the angle but one wall and counter. The door resisted as I tried to push it farther into the kitchen. I was afraid to put my shoulder into it and possibly hurt Nelly or mess up evidence. I heard a moan, and the soft cry decided things for me.
It took all my strength, but I was able to move the door enough to get my head through the opening. Nelly was curled up by one of the cabinets, her dark hair haloing her head. She’d changed to a dressier outfit and wore the mate to the blue shoe. She whimpered as I tried to take in the scene. I craned my neck to see behind the door. Along the door and wall lay one of the largest men I’d ever seen. His head was next to Nelly’s bare foot, half his skull caved in and bloody. He didn’t appear to be breathing. His massive black-shirted chest was motionless. A large-blade knife was just out of reach. On the floor beside Nelly’s right hand sat a large meat mallet.
What appeared to be glass from a broken vase littered the floor. Presumably, the cause for the smashing sound I’d heard when we were at the flat’s door.
“Nelly?” I squeezed through the gap and hurried to kneel beside her. There was blood at her neck; he’d started slitting her throat. Her pulse was weak, but gave me hope. I yanked a towel hanging on the wall and pressed it against the wound.
The wailing be-bop of a siren sounded in the distance. I heard the clatter below of the entrance door getting flung open and banging against the wall. Boots pounded up the stairs. I heard more sirens coming closer.
“In here,” I shouted.
Whatley blasted in first. An emergency tech with a medical tool case followed close behind.
“She’s alive,” I cried, looking through the opening. “But her assailant isn’t. He’s blocking this door. Do you want me to move him?”
Two more men entered the flat and the superintendent motioned them to come and help. They slowly pushed the door unt
il they displaced the dead man’s body enough to get through.
Superintendent Whatley roughly pulled me back into the workroom area of the loft. His face was a mottled red. “You should have stayed downstairs with your friend.”
“In case I could help Nel—”
He pointed to a step stool near the closet. “Sit there.”
“I tried not to contaminate the scene, but I had to put pressure on the wound. Nelly was bleed—”
A voice called out from the kitchen, “She’s alive, but the bloke is dead. Looks like she brained him good with the mallet at his temple. Lucky strike.”
Whatley grasped my arm and we moved to make room for the empty gurney bumping into the room.
“I understand,” Whatley said. “You were only trying to help. I’ll talk to you in a moment.”
“Would you prefer I go downstairs?”
He shot me a harried look. A lock of his blond-grey hair flopped onto his forehead. “Actually, with the day you’ve been having, I think I’d like to keep you in sight.” He motioned for a uniformed officer. “Go downstairs and stay with Miss Beacham’s assistant. I’d like to keep them separate until I have a chance to interview everyone. Her assistant is the blonde with the…” He mimicked making points of his hair.
“Got it.” The uniform turned on his heel and left. Whatley entered the kitchen, and I made myself semi-comfortable on the hard plastic stool.
A couple of crime scene techs came in with tool chests of supplies. One poked his head into the kitchen and told Whatley they were going to work. They each gave me nods and brief smiles before starting on the other side of the space. I looked around at the upended sofa and chairs. The worktable I’d already noticed. Nelly had a small roll-top desk in one corner. One of the techs began working there.
“I can’t imagine her opening the door for anyone she didn’t know or didn’t have an appointment with,” I called out to the techs. “She needed to leave before five and would have been in a hurry to get ready. She was squeezing me in for a pickup. Her calendar probably has a clue where she was headed tonight, and maybe—”
Oh, good lord, I was dithering. I apologized, “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Very good, miss,” the tech at the desk replied. “All good information for us to know.”
He was being nice about it, but I redoubled my efforts to keep quiet.
A large rectangular dress-sized box, wrapped in packing paper, lay crushed under the arm of an overturned chair. I had the feeling my tapestry was inside.
Ready to go as soon as I got there. My hands itched to move the chair and open the box to make sure my treasure was safe, but I knew I wouldn’t win any points with Whatley or the two techs if I did.
Minutes later, the door was pushed open and held wide by one of the EMTs. I jumped to my feet. Nelly was strapped to the gurney. She was so pale. The emergency crew had applied a thick gauze pad to her neck, but in my mind’s eye I could see the gash and imagined she was likely bleeding into the white bandage. They moved quickly through the room. I heard some banging as they carried the gurney down the narrow stairs.
Whatley came through the kitchen door next and walked over to me. “They’re not sure she’ll make it, but you adding pressure right away helped. I don’t want to recommend you start running into violent situations, but your instincts may have saved her life.”
“Thank you.” The frown lines in his forehead told me I was dangerously close to a lecture. I changed the subject. “You have some questions for me?”
“Yes, you said you came by earlier. Why did you come back?”
I explained Nelly’s perfectionist tendencies, and how I needed to come back in time for her to leave for her appointment. I added my impressions about her nervousness, and my fears her assailant was the person she was supposed to meet later in the evening. “If so, you might find a calendar with the name in her desk. She keeps a desk calendar book. Blue leather cover. I’ve seen her use it when I’ve been here.”
“How long have you known her?”
“About four years. We’re not close friends, but we have friends in common. I learned about her through a colleague, though I don’t remember at the moment who originally referred her. She’s excellent at her craft.”
He walked closer to the working techs and told the one at the desk to look for the calendar, then he returned to my spot. “Do you know where she received her training? To help us learn how she gets her clients.”
“No, I haven’t a clue. Cassie might know. A lot of their individual expertise had influences in common, and they may have talked when Cassie first brought the tapestry by.”
“You’re saying the victim only worked with your assistant before today?”
“No, I phoned initially to hire Nelly. I always do. I’ve used her several times in the past. We talked about the tapestry, what work needed to be done. I was busy at the time Nelly said to bring it by. I asked Cassie to instead.”
“And that was…”
“Four weeks ago.”
Whatley scratched his ear. “This was a big job, I take it?”
“Not particularly. A medium-sized work, but Nelly is meticulous, which is why I hire her. These are irreplaceable items that have been damaged. With the right expert touch, the repairs are practically impossible to spot. A perfect repair is what we’re always hoping for.” I motioned toward the chair and the box. “I believe the smashed box is the package I came to pick up tonight. I would really appreciate being able to leave with it. I don’t want to disappoint the owners by telling them the priceless tapestry they plan to lend for an upcoming exhibit is in an evidence lockup.”
He got one of the techs’ attention. “When you get the chance to work the area around the chair there, see if you can get things to the point where we can release the box to Miss Beacham.”
The tech nodded, aimed the camera and took a few pictures of the box in situ. At the same time, Whatley motioned for me to follow him to the kitchen.
“I realize this is pretty grisly, but I wondered if you had a good look at the man. In case you saw him hanging around when you were here earlier.” He looked embarrassed to be asking.
“I didn’t really take a good look at his face after I saw he wasn’t breathing. I can look now.”
“We’ll be taking him out in a few minutes,” Whatley said.
“I can handle it,” I assured him as we stepped through the doorway. A collapsed gurney waited alongside the body which had been moved to free up the entrance. The lone tech working on collecting the kitchen evidence rose from his crouched position and pressed against the counter to give us space to get in closer. I saw the coagulated blood all over the side of his head. The man’s face was turned away. When I noticed the bandaged wrist, I felt my knees weaken.
Whatley caught me before I fell.
“Here, we can show you a photo later. Let’s get you back—”
“No.” My voice didn’t sound as strong as I wanted it to. I tried again. “No. I want to see his face. It’s important.”
Whatley supported me as we neared the body. The tech leaned down to turn the face up, to get me a better look. It was who I’d feared.
I looked around. “Where’s the knife he had?”
The tech stood again and grabbed an evidence bag. The knife was a different one, but the man was the same.
“He was the guard Simon posted in the hallway of our building. The one who tried to keep Cassie and me from escaping out the back.”
“Are you sure?” Whatley asked.
I nodded. “Pull back his bandage and I promise you’ll find a broken wrist.” I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. “I need to sit down.”
“Certainly.”
Whatley helped me back into the main room, and one of the techs brought over a
straight-backed chair. Too many thoughts ricocheted through my brain. I shook my head to try to clear it.
“I don’t know how he could have found her by following us. He had to have gotten here ahead of time to attack her, but how? Could he have overheard me giving you the address over the phone?”
“Sit here and collect your thoughts. I’m going to go and talk to your assistant. I’ll be back. Would you like some water?”
“No, thank you. I only need a minute here.”
Thinking didn’t help, however. Nothing made sense. The only way he could have known I was coming back this evening was if he followed me earlier and overheard Nelly giving me the return time. If so, was he following me to report when I would be in the office?
The tech in the kitchen called for one of the others to help him. Seconds later, they moved out another gurney. Though this time the body strapped to the bed was zipped into a body bag.
Cassie cried out. I jumped to follow the men downstairs and see what was wrong. As I finally reached the ground floor lobby, Whatley was holding my sobbing assistant and looking very uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” I pulled her into my arms and received a relieved smile from the superintendent.
“The note…” she sobbed. “I…I…” Another cry swallowed up any of her words.
Whatley spoke, “I believe she left a note back at your office with the address. At least it’s what I’ve put together.”
She nodded and the pieces fell together for me. “Yes, the time and address were written on a notepad on her desk. I said she might have to do the pickup. She has trouble remembering London addresses.” I smoothed her hair as she started to hiccup, trying to stop her tears. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I feel horrible,” she wailed, and the tears began fresh.
The tech who had been working on the desk thundered down the stairs and sidled up to Whatley. I could see he carried the calendar, as well as something much smaller. The two men shared a whispered conversation. Whatley asked me, “Would you have any idea why she has three passports in three different names?”
