by Ben Hopkin
Kyra had been here for a couple of days, but it had been long enough to begin to get to know these people. And while she didn’t feel anything in the way of what others might consider normal attachment to them, their deaths were sobering.
She motioned to Locroft and Kent to follow her. Lord Rhys began to follow them, but she held up a hand. That was not part of what she wanted to have happen right now, and while she knew that antagonizing the man could affect her bottom line, there was information she needed.
Information she wasn’t going to get while he was around.
But she might still be able to salvage it. “No need to follow, Lord Rhys. You take a moment to catch your breath. This was a near thing.”
The man seemed inclined to argue with her for a brief second, until Locroft added a nod and a gesture for the Baron to remain. That had been unexpected.
Once out in the hallway, Kyra wasn’t even able to open her mouth before Kent was speaking. Even though the timing spoke of the profiler pouncing, his tone was that of someone that couldn’t really care less.
“Want to explain why you were lying back there?” he drawled.
Locroft stiffened and sucked in a big breath, as if in preparation for a verbal harangue. But then he seemed to catch a look at some common thread in both Kent and Kyra’s demeanors. The breath escaped from his mouth in a long sigh.
“There is something that you should know about here,” he confessed. “When you asked me about someone I might suspect, Lord Rhys’ son sprang to mind.”
That had not been anywhere close to what Kyra had been thinking. But rather than comment, she kept her mouth closed and was gratified to see that Kent was doing the same. The more they could keep Locroft talking, the more they might be able to find out about this new wrinkle.
“I didn’t want Lord Rhys to hear me,” the Superintendent explained. “He loves his son, even though the boy’s a wastrel who’s been spending the family money almost faster than Lord Rhys can pull it out of his investments.”
“Do you have a specific reason to suspect him?” Kyra asked.
Locroft nodded. “The young man seems to think his father is holding out on him, and he’s made several threats.”
If that were the source of this poisoning, it said two things. One, Lord Rhys’ son was a piece of work. Two, the man was a complete moron.
Kent seemed to agree. “So he makes threats and then takes out an entire room full of inspectors? That’s brilliant.”
“No one said the lad was smart,” Locroft managed. “The general consensus is that he’s shot up, snorted, or smoked most of his already limited intelligence away.”
That had a strange sort of logic to it, although Kyra could see they were still missing something. The idea that this had nothing to do with the Ripper copycat seemed impossible, although one of the first rules of investigating was not to make just those sort of assumptions.
“Can we bring him in?” she asked.
“Tricky,” Locroft responded, and sighed once more. “But necessary. I’ll get my men on it, and let you know once he’s brought in. I’ll go tell Lord Rhys.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kyra asked, placing a hand on his arm. “Perhaps you should give him some time.”
Locroft glanced down at the touch, then gently extricated himself. “Better it comes from me than he finds out on his own.” He straightened his shoulders and moved back into the conference room. Kyra could feel his reluctance in every step.
She turned to Kent. “Well?”
“Well what?” came the reply. Kent was following Locroft’s process back through the doorway into the site of the slaughter. There was an odd expression on his face.
“What do you think of Rhys’ son as a suspect?”
Kent seemed to come back to himself. “What? No. Not even close.”
“But--”
“Come on, Kyra, you’re smarter than that.” Kent ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “One, the guy’s an idiot. Two, the MO’s completely wrong. Third…” He trailed off, a frown crossing his features. Shifting from one foot to the other, Kent swayed where he stood.
“Okay, the idiot part makes sense, but what about the torso murders? Doesn’t that throw everything off?” Kyra pressed. There was no way that she wanted to pass over a possibility just because it didn’t seem to immediately fit.
Kent appeared to shake off whatever thought was troubling him. “I thought so too, at first. But we don’t know when the torso murder was committed. It might have been perfectly slotted in. It wasn’t on our radar.”
“Fine, but what about the third thing you were about to say?”
Blowing air out past lips pressed together, Kent made a raspberry sound. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
Kyra didn’t believe him. Wouldn’t. “Come on. You never say something like that unless there’s something behind it.”
Kent stared at her for a long moment, then he said one word. “Access.”
The word spurred Kyra’s thoughts into hyperdrive. Where before, Kent’s little hints were almost irritating, now they seemed to act as fuel to her own natural capacities. That extra glow of light that seemed to surround Kent increased by a factor of five.
Access. Whoever had committed this current crime had somehow managed to secure access to a place where he or she shouldn’t have been able to go. That was the only way the tragedy could have occurred.
But Kent said this had nothing to do with the case. However, his expression belied that assertion. Something had struck him, and that word was the key. So what did he mean by access?
What if it wasn’t just physical access, but access of information? Access of influence?
So far, this new Jack the Ripper had managed to elude them, even though the killer was sticking to a strict schedule. How could that work? It seemed impossible.
But if that person had some way to penetrate the veil of secrecy the department had been working under, it could allow the killer to stay a step ahead of them.
“Who?” Kyra breathed, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. If the individual had access, it meant that taking him down would entail collateral damage. Damage to her reputation, to that of International Hunters, Inc. This killer wouldn’t hesitate to destroy her, of that she was certain.
“I don’t know,” Kent confessed. “But this person has power, influence, a sharpness of education.”
“It seems almost…” Kyra began, then trailed off.
Kent took up the baton. “Like a royal?”
“Yes, or like someone here. I know you said you think it isn’t someone on the inside…” she said.
“No, I didn’t. I said that it wasn’t necessarily someone on the inside. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look into it,” Kent finished for her.
“Yeah,” she said, looking at the floor. A thought sprang into her mind. “What about Rhys?”
Kent chuckled. “What, you know one royal, so he’s now a suspect?” But Kyra could tell the criticism wasn’t serious. Kent mulled the idea over. “Could be. We should go check out his house.”
That would teach Kyra to speak before she thought things through. But there were two possible suspects that they might be able to get information on at that residence, and she was starting to feel the press of time.
“The guy’s a Baron,” she said with some internal acknowledgement of what that might mean. “Do you really think we can get in and out of his house and actually manage to find anything?”
Kyra could tell by the glint in Kent’s eyes that she had managed to issue some kind of a challenge to him. This may not have been his idea of where the consultation was supposed to take him, but he seemed more than happy to take the plunge.
That seemed like a dangerous idea on so many levels
This case was getting more and more complicated by the moment. And Kyra, for one, did not find that reassuring.
They had a killer to catch, and by her calculatio
ns, there were only about five and a half hours left before he struck again.
CHAPTER 11
Nicole followed Cordelia down the stairs to a part of the museum that was no longer so well maintained. Paint was chipped and peeling down here. The corridor was narrower, and the lighting was strange and harsh.
This wasn’t an area where tourists were supposed to be allowed.
How exciting was this? As the décor became more and more shabby, Nicole’s heart beat faster and faster. This was a part of London that she’d never hoped to be able to see. So much better than what she had on her list.
List.
She allowed herself a small internal sigh. There was no way she was getting though her itinerary before eleven o’clock now.
Didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have missed this for the world.
The stairs below their feet creaked in protest, as if they didn’t want to hold up the weight of the intruders into their domain. Dust was much more prevalent down here, and Nicole had to hold her breath to keep in a sneeze.
Cordelia noticed. “I know, dear. It’s a bit less kept up than the rest of the place, isn’t it?” She made a firm line of her lips, as she seemed to second guess herself for a moment. “Do you want to go back?”
“Are you kidding?” Nicole exclaimed, then she modified her tone. “I mean, no. No, thank you. This is exciting!”
Cordelia giggled a bit, an unlikely noise to come out of the elegant woman. “I know. I think it is, too. I’m such a naughty woman.” She grinned at Nicole. It was a co-conspirator’s smile, one that was filled with mutual secrets.
“Lead the way, oh wicked one,” Nicole intoned in her best Shakespearean voice. The older woman raised her eyebrows at that.
“Wicked one? I like that.”
“So, where are you taking me?” Nicole asked.
Cordelia had turned to move back down the stairs, but turned her head to look over her shoulder. The smile hadn’t left her face, but now had shifted to something a bit more devious.
“Oh, I’m not about to tell you that, dear. It would ruin the surprise.”
The setting continued to deteriorate, turning from one of the most elegant and British of locales into something straight out of a horror movie. The long hallway that stretched out before them was narrow and lined with oak cabinets on either side wall. It ended in an oak door that lay directly in their path.
Cordelia moved to the door and pulled out her keys once more. “Are you sure you want to continue? Last chance to say no,” she said.
“Not a chance,” Nicole stated.
The woman slotted the key into the lock and turned it with some effort. The door appeared stiff and difficult to open, but after a bit of prodding they were through. More hallway lined with cupboards greeted Nicole and the older woman.
They moved down the aisle, and Nicole saw that each of the cabinets had a bronze plaque that specified its number. That number went up with every step they took along their path.
49, 50, 51…
At length, they stopped before number 54, and Cordelia turned to face Nicole.
“Welcome,” she said, “to the Secretum of the British Museum.”
* * *
Kent set a pace as they walked from Scotland Yard to the Baron’s son’s apartment. They were crossing the Thames River.
Kyra put a hand out and touched his arm. “Kent, wait.”
She seemed out of breath. Her cheeks were lit up a bright red and her breath came in starts. The girl really needed to up her planking.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you want to barge over there?”
“Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”
He understood Kyra’s concern. She had a team to support. Kyra needed to stay on good terms with the Yard. Kent though? Kent was freer than he had ever been. Who cared if Scotland Yard hated his guts? This wasn’t his backyard, so he could, in fact, relieve himself here if he so chose.
“Kent, can we please take a moment and think it through first?”
Suppressing an eye roll, Kent stopped and turned to Kyra. Only for Kyra. Anyone else and he would picked up the pace.
“Fine,” Kent stated as he leaned onto the stone bridge. The rock was cool. Only then did he realize how beautiful London was. The bridge, the water reflecting the moon, the city lights twinkling.
Maybe he would bring Nicole here. This was that kind of romantic crap she loved so much.
When he looked back over to Kyra, her eyes were at half-mast as she tilted toward him.
What the…
Then her lips touched his. It was like an electric shock. Like a cattle prod. Painful and horrible.
He reeled back, putting his arm out to keep her from trying that again.
“Kyra!” Kent exclaimed, shock, horror, worry and embarrassment coursed through his veins. What had he done to make her think… to think…
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Kyra murmured, turning away from him.
He used his sleeve to wipe her lipstick off his lips. He wanted no other woman on those lips except for Nicole.
Nicole. Oh god. She was going to have a cow when he told her, if he ever told her.
Emotions rolled over him, then off his back. Being a certified ass sometimes was a good thing. He didn’t feel the need to internalize feelings and beat himself up with them.
Waste of time.
And it was just a kiss. And for all her professional knowledge and mannerisms, Kyra was just a girl.
In love with him. Could he blame her?
“Kyra,” he said more gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, turning her to him. “Come on. We need to dissect this and move past it.”
“How can we?” Kyra cried out, her tone weeping with self-flagellation.
He tilted her chin up. “I’m sorry. This must have in some way been my fault. I must have given you some mixed signals. I love you, but I love you like a daughter.”
Kyra waved a hand at him. “I know, I know.”
But she didn’t seem to know, not really.
Time for another teachable moment.
* * *
Kyra had never felt so much as she did in this moment. She’d never felt shame in her life. Never. Yet it burned in her belly. Her mind spun as she suppressed the urge to vomit.
Kent’s tone was gentle, even kind. That’s how she knew she’d really screwed up. Kent didn’t go into the soft tones unless things were really bad. She’d heard them before. Like when he’d come to tell her that her father was dead. He had sounded just like this.
Had their relationship died? Had the only man that had truly looked after her decided he was ready to bolt? She couldn’t blame him. What she’d done was inexcusable.
“Kyra,” Kent coaxed. “It was a two second fritz, if we just walk through it, we can make sure it doesn’t have to happen again.”
Oh, trust her. She was never going to kiss Kent again. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“Why did you think I thought about you that way? I’m a newlywed.”
Kyra could feel her cheeks burn. “A newlywed who is spending his honeymoon on a case rather than with his wife. Nicole didn’t even wait for you back at the old Scotland yard.”
Kent squeezed her hand. “Listen. You need to hear this. It’s important for your work and for you personally.”
That got her to lift her eyes.
“Every marriage is an individual relationship that can take on many different visages. What you see as indifference is actually deep trust and care. Nicole and I are navigating our relationship with respect for one another.”
Most of the words that Kent said sailed right past her. All she could think about was the warm feeling of his lips on her, then the cold detachment. She felt like she’d brushed up against heaven and then got unceremoniously dumped in hell.
“Got it, you are in love with your wife.”
“No, Kyra you aren’t listening to me. You read our relationship wrong because you were imposing your own mo
rals and communication style. “
Things were slowly making more sense. If she hadn’t already been madly in love with Kent, this little talk would’ve solidified it. He was doing his best to take the shame away and refocus her on her job.
Would any man ever understand her the way Kent did? Too bad he didn’t feel the same way about her.
“Are the Baron and his wife having sex?” Kent asked, jolting her out of her comfort zone.
“What?” she demanded, incredulous that Kent has asked such a question.
“I am saying, apply what we’ve learned here to a different situation. Again, are the Baron and she having sex?”
Kyra took in a deep breath, wiping away the tears. “No.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one they are British.”
Kent nodded. “Valid point, but what else?”
“He is way too interested in the case. It sounds like he wants an excuse to get out of the house.”
“And?” Kent prompted.
Kyra paused for a moment. She thought she’d nailed it, but this was Kent and he always insisted you dig for the answer.
* * *
Kent watched Kyra’s face reflect her internal workings and allowed himself to feel a slight sense of relief. A scowl of concentration painted her features rather than the scrunched-up look of crying. Dear god, anything but the crying.
“He needs an adrenaline rush to replace the one at home,” Kyra answered.
Kent smiled. He made sure it was devoid of seduction. When you were Kent, you had to be careful.
“Correct.”
Kyra gave a faint, flickering smile. As soon as it was there, it was gone.
“Ready to catch Jack the Ripper, or at least his long shadow?”
Kyra nodded, but couldn’t look him in the eyes.
That would have to do for now. It was going to take a while to put that little tryst in the rearview mirror. But the best thing Kent had ever found to wash away anything uncomfortable…?
Catch a serial killer. It was a balm for so many ills.
Kent turned and continued down the bridge.
Finding the residence of the Baron Dynevor had been harder that it might have appeared at first. After using Paggie’s smartphone to look up the Dynevor line, it was established that there was a castle back in Wales, the ancestral home of the Rhys family. There were pictures of the property, the castle, even a more modern building called the Newton House that had been built much later on, barely a century old.
