by Ritter Ames
He shouted, raising the forearm with the knife to shield his eyes. The baton became his lifeline to balance. He tightened his hold.
It was his last mistake.
I clutched the trim tighter and yanked the baton, pulling him off-balance. As he fell, I let go of the weapon. I loved the little beauty, but I couldn’t take it home with me. The police may as well find it with him. My leather glove wasn’t just pretty—it did a great job at helping obliterate any fingerprints I might have left on the weapon’s handle too.
First there was a thud, then a moan, but I didn’t look to see. All my attention stayed trained on the open window with light streaming out. No point in risking a fall at this point to see a man lay motionless in a cobblestone alley. The second person I may have killed this evening.
As I crawled back through the window to my room, I heard police sirens coming closer. I wouldn’t have to call down to the desk for an ambulance after all. When I could stand safely on the carpet, I looked out the window, leaning to see into the alley. Simon was nowhere to be seen.
Twenty-Two
I went to the lobby and sat in the lounge to wait, choosing a chair affording me a view of the desk and front entry. Wishing desperately for my phone and wondering if Jack had taken the burner phone with him or left it upstairs in his room, I decided to go check. In that exact moment, Rollie walked through the hotel entrance.
“Surprise!” His hair was longer again. He’d probably had it pulled back into a ponytail on New Year’s Eve. I was beginning to worry about my powers of observation.
He pulled me into a hug. I’d expected someone to arrive. I wasn’t sure who, but was glad to see a friendly-enough face. Despite the fact I was still a little cautious about Rollie’s alliances after learning so recently Simon’s changed as the wind shifted.
They always say there’s no honor among thieves.
“You are shaking,” he said, frowning. I hadn’t noticed, but he was right. He asked, “You are not afraid of me?”
“No,” I said, though he wasn’t completely wrong. “Too many unexpected things have occurred today. My body is shocked out.”
“I come and yell surprise.” He shook his head. “Très sorry.”
“Apology isn’t necessary. I had a feeling I’d see someone soon. The police, if no one else.”
He grimaced and waved a hand. “The gendarmes are gone.”
“Did they catch Simon?”
He looked into my eyes as he spoke, and I could see a toughness in his expression to bely his normally bright persona. “Non. My men came to get the car you drove. One of them saw Simon fall. He—how you say? Slipped our net earlier. But you foiled his plan. They saw, but could not get to you to help.” He pulled something from his pocket. “They said these belong to you.”
My hairspray and glove. I wondered what happened to the baton, if it was covered in blood. Would they have shot Simon from the ledge if they’d arrived sooner?
“Thank you.” I held an item in each hand, then wrapped my arms around my torso, feeling a little sick. “Was he…dead?”
He waved his hands. “Simon was in pain. How could he not be?” Rollie shrugged. “Still, he was alive.”
“A doctor—”
He held a finger to my lips. “He has been taken where he needs to go. You won’t see him again.”
I shouldn’t ask about him again either, I’ll wager. Aloud, I said, “Thank you,” as my brain processed options.
He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded piece of paper. It was an airline boarding pass.
“We will go to the room and gather yours and your friend’s things. I have a car waiting to drive you to the airport.”
“I can’t leave without Jack.”
“He was…banged up. But he will be flying with you. You’ll see him at the airport.”
“I need to talk to him first.” The desk clerk looked up, and I realized I’d raised my voice.
“Non, he—”
“I’m not leaving until I do.” I spoke softer this time, but both of us heard the edge in my voice. One part of me was numb, but I felt equally ready to break something—or someone—if any additional interference was thrown into my path. My emotions were all over the spectrum and would stay so until I heard Jack’s voice. “I’ve quit counting how many times I’ve been attacked in the last twelve hours.” I reached up and caught his coat lapels in my hands. “Even by my own late father who I found out was very much alive all these years, and who didn’t care that he left me in a financial abyss when he played dead. I’m completely shocked out, Rollie, and I’m not taking more crap. Either tell me how to reach Jack or leave without me and I’ll find him myself.”
He pursed his lips a moment and nodded. “I must have my phone.”
I let go of his coat and stepped aside.
Seconds later I was talking to the doctor working on Jack. The doc tried to put me off, but I was persistent.
“I’ll be okay, Laurel.” Jack sounded weak, but alive. I knew how little he’d slept and hoped most could be cured with a good night’s sleep. Or two. He continued, “I never thought I’d say this, but go with Rollie. He’s right. We need to get back to London. Especially you.”
I didn’t want to ask if anyone had found my father. Or if I’d killed him. Jack’s last words decided things for me. We ended the call and allowed the impatient doctor to get back to work. I handed the phone to Rollie.
“I appreciate your help. Thank you.”
“Mais oui.”
As we headed upstairs, I said, “Please thank your grandfather for me as well. His…little gift…saved my life several times tonight.”
“Oh, I am reminded.” We were nearing the door to my room, and he waited while I used my key. He closed the door solidly behind us before finishing, “A knife was found when Simon was…transported…by our associates. We’ve kept it to see if you would like the weapon for law enforcement contacts.”
The possibility of matching up the murder weapon with the people who were killed—even a few of them—would help our efforts tremendously. “Yes, Rollie. Having the knife would be wonderful.”
“Should I have it sent to your office—”
“No, Simon tried to destroy the place on New Year’s Day. Ask someone to get an address from Jack. I’m sure he has drop boxes scattered all over Europe. He’d be best at knowing how to take it in and get listened to. Plus, all the pesky chain-of-evidence stuff everyone worries about.”
“You do not.”
“I don’t want thieves to get away scot free, but I’m always more interested in retrieving masterpieces than leaving with nothing more than the master criminal. I have to ask, was there ever a sword? Or is it one more myth created by Simon?”
His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Oui, the sword. You should forget the sword.”
Something told me it was on a wall in one of Moran’s chateaus. I said, “Has anyone ever said you answer questions exactly like your grandfather?”
“All the time.”
I threw what few things I’d unpacked into my carry-on bag. Rollie helped me straighten the duvet, and the bed no longer looked like Simon tried to kill me on it. We set my things by the door and moved to Jack’s room.
He’d unpacked less than I had. I grabbed his razor from the bath and slipped his travel clothes into the unlocked pocket of his bag. The burner phone sat on the nightstand. I added it to the jacket pocket with the hairspray. The burner would do until I got my phone back.
“Okay, looks like we’ve packed it all,” I said. Rollie hefted Jack’s bag, and I started to turn out the light. “One more thing. I’m assuming Simon isn’t going to be available for trial.”
He looked at his watch then back at me. His brown eyes had none of the softness I’d noticed when I’d first met him. “Non,
there is little possibility. But often families feel better knowing it can be proved who did the crime, even if the perpetrator is already, shall we say, sentenced?”
To death. I hit the light switch, and we returned to the other room to grab my bags and leave.
I checked us out, grateful Jack left a credit card number and I didn’t have to play credit line roulette with mine. Rollie waited for me by the front door. At the curb sat a Mercedes G-Class SUV in gleaming ebony and sporting tires with serious off-road and badass weather capabilities. All the back windows boasted blackout glass. I paused. My track record riding in Mercedes vehicles wasn’t the best lately.
“A problem?” Rollie asked.
The burly driver’s face was set in a frown as he stowed my luggage in the back. Was Jack right? What was I doing getting into this kind of a vehicle with someone who just gave me the coldest look on record when obliquely reporting his associates bundled Simon away and killed him?
Rollie smiled and nodded. “Ah, you are having second thoughts.”
Or third or fourth. “I’m kind of losing track on how many people are making decisions for me.”
“I could stay here if you would feel more comfortable with only my driver,” he said.
Another look at Mr. Burly had me shaking my head. “I think—”
“I had hoped we could talk and maybe if you have questions, I could answer something.” He shrugged.
The man knew my weakness, but I wasn’t ready to capitulate yet. I stayed silent, hoping he’d somehow sweeten the deal. I thought I’d worn him down when he blew out a long breath. He waved the driver over and said, “Give me your gun.”
“Oh no!” I spun around and ran back into the hotel.
“Laurel, wait,” Rollie called. He chased me. I pulled on the door to the stairs, and he slammed a palm to keep it shut. He whispered, “Put this in your coat.” He handed me the heavy black gun. “I was getting it for you. Not to hold you at gunpoint.”
“Oh.” That kind of made a difference. At least I hoped it did.
He put an arm around my shoulders and directed me back outside, talking into my ear the whole time. “I wanted you to feel in control. You are exactly right. You have had too many people directing your movements.”
We stopped at the curb. Mr. Burly assumed a sentry position, holding open the back door and frowning. I wondered if he was irritated about losing the gun.
Or he could have a resting frown face—or another gun. My fingers tightened around the rubberized grip. I wished I’d checked if the clip was full.
Rollie stepped aside so I could enter first.
Between the luxury interior and the control panel for Mr. Burly to operate the vehicle after he settled back into his pilot’s chair, I figured this model likely ran quite a lot above MSRP. Which wasn’t cheap to begin with. The outside may have looked a little Jeep-y, but the inside was first class all the way.
I took the opportunity to open and close my door. To make sure I could. Rollie looked at me and chuckled, but I found nothing funny about any of this. I buckled up and put the gun in my lap, before deciding to put it in the pocket of the bomber jacket to keep it less accessible to Rollie.
He fired off a fast fusillade of instructions to the driver in French, adding Jean-Luc near the beginning, so I assumed it must be Mr. Burly’s actual name. I identified about every fifth word. Probably the plan—talk fast to keep me from following the spirit of the conversation. As the car pulled smoothly into traffic, he turned to me. “I think you have some things you’d like to ask me, no?”
Oh, boy, do I. I needed to play this carefully. I didn’t know what kind of game Rollie could be playing, and showing my hand did not seem the best response. The look in his eyes earlier, hard as stone, wouldn’t be something I’d soon forget. I couldn’t help patting the gun.
“Why did you come to London for New Year’s?” I asked. “We were really surprised to see you there.”
He shrugged in perfect Gallic style. “I was in town. It was an event.”
“How did you find us in the crowd?”
“I heard you cry out and recognized your voice. I simply wanted to help.”
Right. Suddenly I had an epiphany. “Did you deliver the package to my office from your grandfather, or did you hire someone?”
“How did your assistant describe the delivery person?”
Answered my question. If it hadn’t been Rollie, he wouldn’t have known I wasn’t in the office. It also meant he was still in London when Jack and Scotland Yard thought he’d left. He likely delivered the package to my old hotel too. When I returned to London I needed to check my things for transmitting devices, in case he somehow found out my room number and snuck upstairs. I didn’t know why this new information unnerved me more than I already was, but it did. When I saw the grin he shot my way, I knew that he knew I’d figured it out.
“How did you get through customs into the U.K.?”
He made a tsk-tsk sound. “Let’s not ask boring questions, Laurel.”
“I don’t find the question a bit boring. I’d wager Scotland Yard wouldn’t either.”
“I find talk of Scotland Yard boring as well. Let us find another conversation.”
Hmm. Must try a less direct route next time. “Was Hamish Ravensdale working for you? Is he the one who signaled where we were at the fireworks display?”
“Good idea to ask about him.” Rollie reached behind the seat and pulled a thermos and a wine bottle from a container. “Would you like some refreshment?”
“No thank you. And please don’t compliment me one instant and change the subject the next. It was your idea to tempt me into riding along by promising to answer questions, remember.”
He chuckled and returned the thermos to the rear area. Following the maneuver, he pulled out a wineglass and set it in his closest cup holder.
Of course, we must have proper stemware for to-go wine. I noticed they were all very deep cup holders in this rear seat.
“I’m glad you mentioned Monsieur Ravensdale. He is an old friend of yours?”
“No, he went to school with Jack.”
“Ah.” He opened the wine and stood it in a small rectangular container set into the floor. “To breathe,” he said. He pulled out his phone and flipped screens with his thumb. “I hired several men to follow Monsieur Ravensdale while he was in London after receiving several scouting reports like this one.” He turned the screen my way and showed me two shots of Simon sitting with Hamish at different café tables, their heads close together each time. Plotting.
“Where and when were these photos taken?” I asked.
“The first is Milan in September. The second is Cannes—”
“In May,” I finished his sentence.
“Oui. You understand.”
Definitely. It backed up my belief Simon was responsible for the Greek’s death when I was to pick up the snuffbox at the castillo near Lake Como, as well as the forger who was killed at the time of the international film festival on the French Riviera. Which he pretty much admitted tonight when he made his execution statement. “I suspected as much of Simon, but I didn’t know the Hamish connection. If the days coincide—”
He spoke two quick dates and more pieces fell into place.
“What business did he have with Hamish?”
“I assumed a connection with you. I saw you talking together as a group at the Florence event.”
“I hadn’t met him or his wife until that night.”
Rollie stared off a moment in thought. “Then I can only assume he works for Ermo Colle. All I know for sure is he was under orders to watch you.”
“Weird. You’re saying he came up and spoke to us at the Florence event because of me? Not Jack?”
“His history with your friend Jack…it was…co
nvenient?”
A lightbulb went off in my brain. “Putting the question of Hamish aside for a moment, if you had Simon under surveillance in May, you already suspected his change in allegiance before I even got involved in this thing. Why did it take until September before he ran away? Did you tip him off that you’d figured it out? If he hadn’t run away, we wouldn’t have known he worked for your grandfather and was a traitor to Beacham. By then he really didn’t work for your grandfather—he worked for Ermo Colle according to your scenario. Why did he go to Le Puy? Was he meeting you there? Or Moran?”
“Everyone thought he worked for my grandfather. Fleeing to Le Puy kept the illusion alive. I had suspicions, but it was complicated.”
“You suspected Simon was working all sides. You had the photos and the reports from whoever did the surveillance. You knew you couldn’t trust him. Why didn’t you out him earlier? Save all of us a lot of trouble?”
He gave a half-smile and remained silent.
I closed my eyes when the impact of the realization hit me. “You wanted the sword.”
“He alluded to future things, I cannot say if—”
“But there is a sword. You don’t have to confirm it for me to know.” I hit the door panel with an open palm to try to eliminate some of the pent-up anger surging through my body. Another masterwork of history and art gone without a trace. Confirmed. One more important item to add to my list of “where are they now?” things to someday try to locate. I didn’t even want to tell Jack. He’d likely be more furious than I felt.
Suddenly, two sets of headlights flashed in from the windshield. Jean-Luc cursed and hit the door locks. He started to turn the truck around, but even through the seriously blackened glass we saw two more vehicles join the party and block an exit in the opposite direction.
Automatic weapons and gunfire came next.
I don’t even remember removing my seatbelt, but a second later I was in the floorboard. Rollie stayed in his seat. The bullets bounced off the glass and car doors.
