by Ben Hopkin
Unfortunately, the Dynevor family no longer resided there. From what Kent could find, it now belonged to the government, and tours were conducted through the Newton House, the castle and the grounds.
Perfect.
And judging by the look on her face, Kyra was about to lose it. The difference between her and most other people was that her face showed almost nothing. Well, except when she was crying, which had only happened just the once. Then she showed a lot. Way too much.
But that was all in the past, right? Now the only way Kent could tell what was going on with her internally was by the ever-increasing rhythm with which she checked the time, and a certain physical shiftiness.
So, it was time to take a more direct approach. “Do you still have Little Lord Fauntleroy’s number on your phone?”
“What, you’re just going to call him?” Kyra asked, her tone just two notches down from challenging.
Fantastic. That was just what he needed. Get her off the kiss and back onto the case. Of course, now he needed to teach her to ignore the person who was holding the checkbook.
That might take more time.
“Sure. Why not?” he goaded her.
“Umm. For one, this is one of the people who is backing my being here. Seems a bit crass to bark at the owner of the house that’s being robbed.”
Kent sneered at that. “Please. He’s not the only reason you’re here, and he doesn’t have as much influence as he’d like everyone to believe he has. The guy’s Welsh.”
But Kyra just stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, apparently unconvinced. You would think a rebuffed kiss would buy Kent some tractability here, but this was Kyra he was talking about.
“Think it through,” he urged her.
He watched as her face went through several minute changes that indicated that she was doing just that. After a moment, she opened up the recent call list on her phone and showed it to Kent.
“You’re right,” she admitted with a sigh. “We’ve already got an invitation.”
Good girl. Lord Rhys wanted them to keep him updated. All they had to do was tell him that there was information that was sensitive enough that they needed to speak with him in person.
“So…” he drawled. “Do you want to make the call, or should I?”
* * *
Kyra could feel Kent beside her as she stared up at the huge complex in front of them. Would that heightened sense of awareness of the man ever leave her? At least the shame was no longer a hot blade in her gut. It had downgraded to a dull ache. That was something, she supposed.
Time for her to reclaim that unnatural poise that so many found disconcerting in her. Where was her analytical side, the one that was so unaffected by trivial things like emotion or affection… or guilt?
Kent had told her to walk through it. Maybe it was time to listen. She wrenched her attention back to her surroundings.
Across Page Street, where the residence was located, was a small park. The green of the lawn contrasted with the sprawl of concrete round about.
The dying light of the day streamed through the cracks made by the buildings that were set so close together it felt as if she could leap from one building to the next if the windows were left open.
The early evening sun reminded her of the time that was slipping through their fingers. The urgency of their task bore down upon her in a way that it didn’t seem to affect Kent at all. What would it be like, to have that much confidence in your skills that ordinary pressures of a case didn’t get to you at all?
Kyra found herself digging deeper. The profiler had shown her a softer, more vulnerable place inside him that she’d only seen once before. It caused her to wonder how much of what he allowed others to see was just an act.
Kent was arrogant, yes, but she was beginning to suspect that underneath all that bravado, the real story was much more complicated. The way he constantly tweaked the nose of anyone in authority spoke of some deeper issues that seemed to have little to do with confidence.
At least the conversation with Lord Rhys had gone well. When she’d called, the man had seemed genuinely excited to hear from her. Almost too excited.
Which meant that Locroft more than likely hadn’t spoken to him yet, as Kyra was confident that particular conversation was going to cool their relationship somewhat. There was no way that Locroft wasn’t going to implicate Kyra and Kent as the ones responsible for having the Baron’s son taken in for questioning.
The only question he’d raised was whether or not Kent was going to be there. When she’d answered in the affirmative, the only response had been a bit of a sigh and the man’s address.
The address was located not far from where they had been. Kyra supposed that for a man as serious about working with law enforcement as Rhys was, and for a member of the House of Lords, it only made sense to take up residence in Westminster.
But she had an idea of how expensive properties around here were. The fact that this was almost certainly Lord Rhys’ second residence… at a minimum… made the address that much more impressive.
The complex in which the Baron made his residence was a brand new affair, a structure of concrete and glass that managed to look both opulent and urban. Considering his very traditional appearance, Kyra would have expected something much more old school. The modern building made an impact, and it wasn’t a bad one. Not in the slightest.
Kyra’s wealth radar had always been high. Growing up with a father obsessed with class distinctions, money and power had influenced her on a deep level.
Pushing down the black memories that threatened to surge up from the dark place where she kept them hidden, Kyra glanced at Kent to see if he’d noticed anything. But he seemed to be intent on what was before them.
As they entered in through the front doors, the lobby opened up to their view. Vaulted ceilings took the viewer’s eye up to the massive lighting fixtures, which were in the shape of O’s. There was more glass than anything else, with huge floor to ceiling windows covering the entire back wall of the complex. Behind the complex, Kyra was treated to a view of a gorgeous inner courtyard garden, filled with grass and trees that were barely visible in the dying light.
This place was stunning.
The doorman at the front desk took their names and rang up to the Lord’s apartments. He motioned for them to take a seat in the lobby.
“Someone will be down in a moment to take you up,” he said in the overly rounded tones of someone from the lower classes who had taken elocution lessons. The sound was always distinct from those who had grown up with the dialect.
It was incredible to Kyra that the idea of Received Pronunciation, the accent the man was using, still existed. Even though it was now considered out of vogue, the posh sounds of the Queen’s English could still open doors and provide opportunities.
Even the name Received Pronunciation spoke of class distinctions. From Kyra’s knowledge as one who had grown up here, albeit outside of London, the name was a shorting for Received in the Best Society Pronunciation. The casual arrogance implied in the phrase was stunning.
It wasn’t long before an attractive young woman approached them. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, sleek and shining against her head. Her face was angular, with a look that was appealing, if a bit pinched. She was smartly dressed, with a pair of stunning red Manolo Blaniks that spoke of both taste and a large paycheck.
This woman was clearly good at her job.
“Ms. Karela and Mr. Harbinger?”
Kyra stood and nodded. The woman appeared to take them both in for a moment, lingering on Kent, then motioned for them to follow. Whether her assessment of the profiler had been one of disapproval for his stubbled appearance, or an appreciation for his good looks, Kyra wasn’t able to assess. The young lady’s control of her expressions rivaled Kyra’s own. Well, Kyra’s control before she’d decided to kiss her mentor, anyway.
“Lord Rhys is finishing up a conference call at the mome
nt, but he told me to make certain that you were well taken care of while you wait,” the woman spoke as they headed toward the elevator. “My name is Samantha Hall. I am one of Lord Rhys’ private secretaries.”
Here was another person with the affected speech that only long years of training could provide. She wore it much better than the doorman had, but the way she pronounced secretary… SEH-kreh-tree… was so posh it make Kyra’s teeth ache.
“Thank you, Sam,” Kent said, giving the woman a broad smile.
Kyra observed the familiarity Kent was using with the woman. Did he really think that his charm would work on everyone? Okay, it had on Kyra, but…
Actually, come to think of it, Kent had never behaved that way with her. Reviewing their interactions with honesty, there had never been anything but that intensity that he got when he was fully engaged with something. Someone.
It was so much more intimate. And no longer available to Kyra. The thought gave her a twinge, another uncomfortable reminder of just how much feeling she had done in her one day together with Kent. Whether that experience proved to be a positive one was still a matter up for debate.
The private secretary blushed, not quite as in control of her expressions as Kyra had previously thought. Apparently, Kent was right in believing in the strength of his charm. That also answered the question of what that lingering look from before had meant.
“Sam’s what my father used to call me,” the woman admitted.
“Of course it was,” Kent replied, laying on the charm thick. “Sam, do you think you could give us a tour of the apartments while his Lordship is occupied?”
Again, the young woman blushed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s a bit of an unusual request…”
“It would mean so much to me,” he urged. “I’ve never been to a Lord’s home before.”
Samantha coughed, a dainty little sound. “I don’t see how it could hurt. But just a brief stroll about the rooms,” she amended, probably thinking of how her employer would react.
“Of course,” Kent said, turning toward the door of the elevator that had just opened up on the top floor of the building. “We’re just excited to be here.” He gave a sideways glance toward Kyra as he spoke.
Kyra had to admit that was true. No matter how much of the world she saw, it was hard not to be affected by obvious wealth. To want a part of it. She also acknowledged the subtle hint from Kent. She was not to be swayed by the opulence. They were here for a specific reason. To see if Lord Rhys could possibly be connected to the murders. It was good for her to keep that fixed in her mind.
As they walked through the front door to the Baron’s suites, the first impression was of marble. Marble floors, marble finishes, even a marble statue in the entryway. Here was the throwback to old school wealth that Kyra had been looking for. Good to know that her instincts were not too far off.
She supposed that finding an old building with charm in Westminster was more and more difficult these days, a practical impossibility. But taking a modern set of apartments and creating an air of elegance and age inside was not beyond a good designer with an unlimited budget.
“Let me just check on Lord Rhys, and I’ll be right back to show you about,” Samantha said, once more allowing her gaze to linger on the profiler. Kent gave her a roguish wink and a grin that once more set the woman’s cheeks ablaze.
Kyra knew firsthand how much her looks could influence the men… and occasionally the women… with whom she interacted. But she had never seen anyone use their assets quite so well as Kent. It seemed to go beyond mere physical attraction and enter a realm of some kind of mystical personal appeal.
One to which Kyra was not at all immune. Clearly.
There was a sharp pain in her side, and Kyra realized that Kent had jabbed her with his elbow. It only took her a moment to realize what he was asking.
“Is there a restroom I could use?” she asked.
Samantha turned about and pointed to a door there in the entryway. “The guest water closet is right there,” she replied.
Well, that wouldn’t do. The point was to get further in to the inner part of the suites without raising any alarm. Now she was relegated to having to find another excuse to get back there.
But Kent was on top of it. “I could use a trip to the facilities myself,” he said with another warm grin at Samantha. The way her eyes dilated, you would think the profiler was some sort of drug. Kyra grimaced. Actually, that might not be too far off.
“Eh… right. There’s another one right through here,” she said, pointing down the hallway. “Third door on the left.”
“Perfect,” he gushed. The man was laying it on pretty thick, but Samantha didn’t appear to notice at all. In fact, Kyra was half-convinced Kent was doing such a good job that he’d end up getting a visit from the young lady before he had time to accomplish his objective. Kyra was forced to suppress an unusual emotion. One that seemed to be trying to convince her to rip the woman’s face off.
Was she jealous? Kyra experienced another hot flush of shame. It was time for this emotional rollercoaster ride to end. Reaching for her sense of calm, Kyra breathed in and out, seeking balance.
This was not the moment to be experiencing these newfound emotions. Kyra had her own performance to worry about here. Realizing that any moment Samantha might see that Kyra was far too engaged in what was happening with Kent for a woman who needed to use the loo, she turned back to the door and walked into the lush furnishings of the guest water closet.
There was a large, flat stone over which water was flowing that greeted her upon her entrance. The trickling sounds that washed over her gave her the impetus to pee that hadn’t been there before she’d entered. Kyra supposed it was intended to be soothing, and on some level it might have been, but it was just a precursor to the other delights the bathroom contained.
Everything was automated, with nary a handle in sight. There was a bidet alongside the toilet, as well as what looked to be a sitting room off to the side, replete with a flat-screen television. The mirror in front of the sink stretched over the entire wall and extended up to the ceiling, magnifying the already large proportions of the room.
If this was what their guest facilities looked like, she could only imagine what Kent was experiencing at the moment. Although, with any luck, he wouldn’t spend more than a moment or two inside.
It all rested on Kent’s shoulders now, and she hoped he was able to find something. They had just over four hours left before the copycat struck again. And that might be their last chance to catch the killer. At that point, the case could dissolve into the London fog.
Kyra could not let that happen.
* * *
Nicole was greeted with a sight that she would never have expected in a million years. No, make that a trillion. Not that she didn’t think such collections existed. Just that she didn’t think they were usually kept under lock and key in the subbasement of a famous museum.
Nor that they would be trotted out by someone as apparently conservative as Lady Cordelia Blackwater. Just went to show that anyone could have a perverse streak inside them.
Right in front of Nicole, inside Cupboard 54, was a collection of penises. Lots and lots of penises.
“You can see why I was a bit hesitant to show you,” confessed Lady. “It’s not every patron that’s prepared for a cabinet filled with phalluses.”
Nicole cleared her throat. “It’s… fascinating.”
And it was. According to Cordelia, most of the collection that had been labeled the Secretum back when it was formed in the 1830s had now been distributed back into the museum. What was left was a collection of lesser importance, if not lesser length and girth.
In addition to the wax phalluses that first made their presence known when the door swung open, there was also a number of ancient Roman rings, all graced with the image of an erect penis. That didn’t seem to Nicole to be a comfortable accessory for anyone.
Co
rdelia seemed to notice where Nicole’s attention was centered. “Ah, the rings. As far as we can tell, the Romans didn’t think of them as being all that sexual.”
“How can… that…” Nicole said, pointing to a particularly turgid depiction, “not be considered sexual?”
The older woman shrugged, a smile playing about her lips. “They considered the symbol one of good luck, not as something pornographic. Even children would wear them.” For emphasis, she pointed to a couple of the rings that were clearly not of an adult size.
For all Nicole knew, that might be a more healthy way to look at things, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine a child wearing one of those rings. Dragging her eyes away from the jewelry, another section of the cupboard caught her attention for a moment. Off to one side, a collection of vintage condoms was kept.
“Those were made of sheep’s intestines,” Cordelia said, her gesture toward them reminiscent of Vanna White on The Wheel of Fortune.
Examining them closer, Nicole saw a hint of pink, right at the base of the prophylactics. “What is that?” she asked, pointing.
“Oh, those were the satin ties that would be used to keep them from slipping off during coitus,” Cordelia answered, as if it was the most straightforward thing on the planet.
“I see,” was all that Nicole could muster.
“Have I managed to offend you?” the elegant lady asked, her brow furrowed.
“No, no,” Nicole protested. “Not at all. I just… It was unexpected, that’s all.”
Lady Blackwater turned to close the cupboard. “I just thought … considering the fact that you’re on your honeymoon… that this might be apropos.”
That was puzzling. “How did you know I was on my honeymoon?”
Cordelia stopped moving for a moment as her eyebrows lifted, then chuckled and gave Nicole a grin. “Well, it’s hardly much of stretch. Your slip with your last name when you introduced yourself. You’re newly married, aren’t you?”
