The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  He was holding a gun. It was trained directly at Kit.

  30

  Kit looked at the man holding the gun. Oddly he wasn’t so surprised although everyone else was. Or nearly everyone else.

  ‘Jean-Valois,’ said Kit.

  ‘Lord Aston,’ said Jean-Valois, bowing. He glanced at Mary and said, ‘Lady Mary, I am, as ever, your slave.’

  Mary was somewhat perturbed not only by the Frenchman’s arrival, but more pertinently, by the direction his gun was pointing. To her viewpoint, it seemed trained on Kit. This feeling of disquiet became acute when the only other person not to be surprised, spoke.

  ‘You took your time,’ said Goodman. All eyes turned to the fat man who was, once more, smiling benevolently.

  It was Alastair who spoke next.

  ‘Well, aren’t reunions just lovely. Now, would someone mind telling me what the blazes is going on?’

  Goodman was more than happy to fill the gaps in everyone’s knowledge. ‘Jean-Valois is working for me, of course. Did you think I would have Mr Israel travel across Europe and an ocean without some support? Now if you will hand over the painting and, more importantly, your guns.’

  Kit looked to Agatha and Alastair and nodded. Goodman stepped forward to take the guns. He stopped suddenly as Bourbon spoke again, ‘Not so fast, Sidney.’

  If Goodman looked confused it was as nothing to the rest of the room.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Goodman but with his heart sinking fast he already knew the answer. For wasn’t Jean-Valois a man like himself? A man of the world. A cultured man. An aesthete, even. A man with not a single trustworthy bone in his body.

  ‘I think you do, Sidney. Lady Frost and Lord Alastair, if you please, can you throw your weapons over to me?’

  They did so and Bourbon put them in his pockets. He looked at the painting, now sitting on Goodman’s desk. Kit reached down and brought it over to the Frenchman. They locked eyes for a moment. Kit tried to read the eyes of the man who had seemed such a buffoon on the ocean liner. And then not so much in New York.

  Mary voiced what was on Kit’s mind, ‘But we saw you with the police in New York.’

  Bourbon smiled and then performed a shrug so Gallic it only needed to have onions draped around its shoulders to complete the part.

  ‘A little trompe devil on my part. I telegrammed the New York police in advance to warn them about my old friend. When I realised he did not have the artefact, I ensured he was released so we could follow him.’

  ‘We?’ asked Kit.

  Bourbon smiled. To be fair to the Frenchman, he was an attractive man, as personable as he was dangerous. He rolled the canvas up and put it in his pocket. A thought struck him. He turned to Sandra Robins.

  ‘Madame, could you collect the key to the office from Sidney? I need to go now, and I would prefer not to be followed.’

  Moments later he saluted the group and turned towards the door.

  ‘You won’t get away with this.’ Ironically, it was Goodman who spoke. Everyone else was sure, by now, he could and would get away with this theft.

  ‘I must disagree. But for now,’ and he really did salute at this point, ‘I must bid you farewell. One last thing, Lord Aston.’

  ‘Yes?’ asked Kit, who was resting on the back of the sofa.

  ‘Olly says Hello.’

  Moments later the Frenchman was locking the door.

  ‘Olly Lake?’ asked Alastair.

  Kit nodded before saying, ‘Long story.’

  Hammett walked towards the telephone on Goodman’s desk. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. Dialling a number, he spoke and asked for Lieutenant Mulroney.

  ‘Hello, Sean. It’s Hammett. Can you come over to Goodman’s Antiques? I’ll tell you when you get here. On Pine, yes.’ Hammett looked at Kit. He said, ‘The police will be here in five minutes. Do you want to tell me about what just happened?’

  -

  Jean-Valois du Bourbon walked away from the office. He put his gun in his inside coat pocket. Just as he did so, a man came into the store. He was dressed in a suit with a tell-tale bulge. He was quite short and seemed to be looking for someone.

  ‘Monsieur,’ said Bourbon, ‘Do you work here?’

  The man looked confused and replied, ‘No. Why?’

  ‘It is strange. I arrived a few minutes ago but there is no one here.’

  The man processed the information and said, ‘Perhaps you should leave, sir.’

  ‘Very well. If you see the owner, could you tell him I do not wish to part with the painting. He will understand.’

  Foley nodded to the Frenchman then quickly hustled him out of the store. He looked around the store. It was, indeed, empty. He saw the door at the back. Guessing this was the office. He tried the door, but it was locked. It was then he heard the shouts from inside.

  -

  The door to Goodman’s office was already open when Mulroney arrived with several other police officers. He looked at Hammett who came over and made the necessary introductions and briefly summarised the events of the previous few hours. All the while, Mulroney eyed Goodman. He knew of Goodman’s activities, but the police had not yet been able to pin anything solid on him. The look on the fat man’s face suggested they would have to wait longer.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Hammett,’ said Goodman, his voice was almost teasing, ‘you keep referring to guns and being held captive. I see no guns here.’ He opened his arms expansively. ‘The police have been most meticulous in their search and have uncovered nothing. It seems to me, sir, that it is your word, against mine.’

  Hammett nodded and smiled. Then he pointed out, ‘Not if we find your pal. He has your guns and I think we’ve established he can’t be trusted. He’ll squeal.’

  This brought Goodman back to earth, but he remained composed. All of this left Mulroney in a quandary about what he should arrest Goodman for.

  ‘What about Dain?’ said Algy. There was something in his voice, though. Kit looked at his cousin. The events of the past hour, in fact twenty-four hours, had clearly affected him. The new tone seemed strained, as if he was forcing himself to care. Kit looked at Mary. Her eyes narrowed, and then a frown appeared.

  Hammett explained to Mulroney about the disappearance of Dain Collins and his suspicion that she was being held at Lehane’s. Kit was barely listening though. He was more worried about Algy. He walked over to his cousin.

  ‘Algy, I haven’t met Dain but from what you’ve told me she is not the person Goodman described.’

  Algy sat down and ran his hand through his hair. He shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know what to believe anymore.’

  Meanwhile the conversation between Mulroney and Hammett had become more heated.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t raid the place?’

  ‘Based on what?’ said Mulroney in exasperation. ‘I’ll be busted down to traffic duty if I turn up there with San Francisco’s finest and find the state Governor and half the judges enjoying a night out without their wives.’

  This point was unarguable, and Hammett let it go.

  Mulroney added, ‘You can’t even be sure they have her.’

  This was also true.

  ‘Can’t we go to this place?’ asked Mary. ‘We could look for her.’ She pointedly ignored the contemptuous laugh from Goodman and smiled.

  The policeman and Hammett looked at the beautiful, refined Englishwoman speaking. It was Mulroney who spoke, ‘It’s not your kind of place, lady.’

  ‘Lady Mary,’ said Hammett. Mulroney looked at him in confusion. ‘It’s Lady Mary, Sean. She’s a real life lady.’

  Mulroney was not a man to disagree with what his eyes were telling him. Then he remembered that Kit was a lord. He shook his head and said, ‘The English are coming.’

  This helped lighten the mood but brought them no closer to a solution. Then Mary asked, ‘Can you tell me more about what type of place this is?’

  Mulroney looked at Hammett with a ‘be my gues
t’ look. Hammett explained broadly about Lehane’s but drew a discreet veil over the details. When he’d finished, Mary had a look in her eye that Kit knew spelled trouble.

  ‘In which case, I have an idea,’ said Mary.

  -

  ‘This is madness,’ said Kit when Mary had finished. He looked around for support.

  ‘I agree,’ said Agatha, ‘It’s far too dangerous.’ She looked to Alastair for support. However, her brother did not meet her eye. ‘Alastair?’ she pressed.

  Alastair shrugged and continued to look away. In fact, he was looking at Algy, sitting alone, further away from the group. As he looked at him, he realised he had succeeded. However, he felt no sense of triumph. He felt desolate. As desolate as Algy. There was only one thing to do. He turned to Mary and Hammett, who was clearly in support of Mary’s idea.

  ‘What can I do?’

  Agatha glared at her brother. She turned to Kit. However, Kit was looking at Mary. It required no ability to read a mind to see who was going to win this battle.

  ‘How do we get Lady Mary into Lehane’s?’ asked Hammett.

  To everyone’s surprise it was Agatha who spoke next. She looked unhappy but said, ‘I should have thought that obvious.’ Hammett had the look of a man for whom the workings of the female mind had long since been territory he had considered best left unexplored. This counted double for the woman he was looking at. Agatha patiently explained her thinking.

  Hammett nodded, impressed. He said, ‘The singer’s name is Elsa Nichols. I remember the poster outside. How do we get to her?’

  ‘Let Saul handle it,’ suggested Alastair. Hammett saw Agatha’s eyes light up. He took this to be a good idea.

  Mulroney had been listening with increasing incredulity to a shamus and a bunch of the English aristocracy planning a raid. He looked at Hammett, ‘Count me in too. Just me. I must be mad.’

  Hammett nodded, ‘What about this mob?’ He glanced towards Goodman, Israel and Cookson.

  Goodman was looking uncomfortable, ‘I hardly see what charge you can bring.’

  Mulroney didn’t look at Goodman, instead he turned to his men. ‘Take them to the Hall,’ he ordered. ‘Keep them locked up until tomorrow morning. They don’t speak to no one. Kidnapping and...’

  ‘Possible murder of Dan Cowan,’ said Hammett, although on this he was not so sure.

  ‘I must protest, sir,’ said Goodman.

  No one was listening.

  31

  Eddie Lehane was in a foul mood and he took great care to ensure everyone knew it. He’d been expecting a call all afternoon from Goodman to confirm the acquisition of the painting. As he thought of this, he glanced at his walls. Aside from the Picasso, he had drawings by Luca Giordano, a Fragonard and a Renaissance piece he was hoping would prove to be a Titian. He just wasn’t sure who he could bribe to prove this. He’d come a long way from the Bronx.

  As it was, the only call he’d received in the afternoon was from Elsa Nichols. And this had been bad news. She was crying off due to a sore throat and a cold. It sounded genuine enough, but he was still angry. He was also angry at himself as he’d fired the only other singer. She’d proved all too resistant to his charms. This hadn’t been a career-enhancing move on her part.

  However, Eddie Lehane’s late afternoon was about to pick up unexpectedly. One of his men knocked on the door. They entered when Lehane growled ‘Come in.’

  ‘Boss, there’s a woman wants to see you. She’s asking if there’s a job as a singer going.’

  Under any normal circumstances the coincidence would have sent Lehane’s suspicious nature into a frenzy. Before he had a chance to think about the unlikelihood of such a stroke of good fortune, Mary walked in.

  Lehane’s brain shut off immediately. This was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Then she spoke.

  English.

  This elevated her to the top position immediately. Listening to her speak, class oozing from every syllable, any chance of correlating this vision with the police was as far from his mind as getting to know this young woman better was front and centre.

  ‘I was hoping you might have a job as a singer,’ said Mary, accompanying this with a dazzling smile.

  ‘When can you start?’ asked Lehane.

  ‘Any time. Mr...?’

  ‘Call me Eddie, sweetie. Let’s go out to the club. You can sing me something and maybe, if you’re good, you can start tonight.’

  Unless she sounded like a mating moose, and her speaking voice definitely suggested otherwise, then she had the job, thought Lehane, but he wanted an excuse to see her in action. His only disappointment was the proximity to opening time; otherwise, he would have conducted the interview along the traditional lines he reserved for the more attractive job hopefuls.

  He walked with Mary through his office into the club. She saw a large room with tables and chairs sitting on top of them. A black cleaner was mopping the floor. The orchestra was slowly assembling. Lehane motioned for the band leader to come over.

  ‘Ed, meet Mary Tanner. She’s singing tonight instead of Elsa.’

  Ed looked at Mary. He obviously approved because he broke into a grin, ‘Good to meet you, Mary.’ He had a Mexican accent.

  ‘And you, Ed.’

  ‘Elsa?’ asked Ed to Lehane.

  ‘Sick. Mary came asking for a job at the right time. Let’s hear her.

  Mary glanced around nervously. The plan had sounded simple in theory. But she was here now and standing in front a dozen men, most of whom were professional musicians. Her qualification for singing hardly extended beyond the school choir. She was under no illusion on the criteria by which she would be selected, but all the same, she wanted to impress them professionally.

  A pianist strode over and Lehane pointed to a seat by the piano. He lit a cigar. He wanted to enjoy this. The pianist was in sixties and had a kindly face.

  ‘I’m Enrique,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘What would you like to sing?’

  ‘Do you know, “A Pretty girl is like a Melody”, Enrique?’

  Enrique didn’t answer, instead he played a few bars of the song and Mary smiled. Lehane looked at her smile. It said a three letter word to him. She would be f-u-n also, he thought. And then she began to sing.

  Lehane along with everyone listening was immediately transported by her voice. It was crystal in its clarity. Noting was more appropriate than hearing her sing, ‘A pretty girl is like a melody, that haunts you night and day.’

  She lacked the earthiness of Elsa but had something else you couldn’t buy. Class. She was pure class. Lehane’s mind drifted into imagining her in another outfit. This line of thinking proved as intoxicating as the cheap liquor he sold his customers.

  Why bother waiting until later tonight he thought? It hadn’t stopped him with the other girl. Sometimes he preferred it when they fought back. He looked directly into her blue eyes. Yes, she would be fun. And he wanted her immediately.

  But this was not Lehane’s day. A large man came over to him and said, ‘We’ve had a call from our man down at the Hall.’

  ‘So?’ said Lehane irritably. He was counting the seconds until the end of the song. They hadn’t much time.

  ‘Goodman and the others. They’ve been arrested.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Lehane so loudly that Enrique stopped immediately causing Mary to stop singing. Lehane looked at Mary and apologised. He turned to a woman who was sitting watching the performance with him, ‘Sweetie,’ he said, unable to remember her name, ‘can you take Mary down to get ready.’

  ‘Thanks, Mary, that’s great.’ He meant it too.

  Mary curtsied and said, ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  Lehane almost cancelled the order there and then in favour of something else but business called. He followed her all the way off the stage. He and the rest of the orchestra. Then he stood up and strode towards his office.

  ‘Who’s this?’ he asked on the phone.

  The voice at the
other end of the line, recognising Lehane’s voice said, ‘Frank Nelson, Mr Lehane.’

  Lehane racked his memory but couldn’t place him. He had so many policemen in his pocket, it was difficult to keep track of all of them.

  ‘You say Goodman’s been arrested?’

  ‘Yes, sir, Mulroney just brought him in.’

  Lehane covered the mouthpiece and asked the other man in his office, ‘Do we own Mulroney?’ The man shook his head. Lehane spoke again on the phone, ‘Look, Frank, we need you to find out what’s going on. Can you speak to Goodman?’

  ‘They have him and the others locked up. I can’t get near them,’ said Nelson

  ‘There’s a hundred for you if you can. Call me back in an hour.’ He hung up and cursed passionately and with no little eloquence.

  -

  Mary and the woman, who was called Sofia, entered a large room situated on a corridor just off the main stage. This was clearly the dressing room. Inside were lots of women, mostly Hispanic, dressing for the evening.

  Sofia went to a wardrobe and handed Mary a dress. She said, ‘This is for you.’

  Mary held it up, then said, ‘What do I wear over the top of this?’

  ‘Honey, that’s what you’re wearing on stage tonight.’

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up. The dress was as short as it was revealing at the front. She made a mental note not to bend over too low.

  ‘I hope it’s hot out there tonight,’ said Mary.

  Sofia smiled and looked at Mary, ‘Honey, in that dress, you’re gonna raise the temperature real high.’

  This was paradoxically both flattering and far from the reassurance she would have liked at that moment. She noticed that all of the other women were changing where they stood. Mary had no choice but to do likewise. She changed as quickly as she could. With the dress on, well, so far as a dress with so little material could be described as being on, she looked at herself in the mirror. Kit would have a heart attack when he saw her. She turned around to view from another angle. Oddly, she quite liked what she saw. Perhaps she would keep the dress when all of this was finished. Her chance to view what passed for the dress was interrupted by a knock on the door. Sofia went to answer it. Moments later she returned to Mary.