The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

  “It wasn’t my idea to call you. Terrence asked me to.”

  Anne sat up, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. “Terrence? Why would he ask you?”

  “I’ll explain when I get there. I know we’ve had our differences, and I’m sorry about that, but I think you’ll want to talk to me when you hear what I have to say.”

  Remembering her advice to herself earlier with regard to Darby to beware of Greeks bearing gifts, she was wary, but she needed to find out what Terrence wanted. “All right, we can talk. I’ll tell the hotel to let you in.”

  She put on a robe and slippers and ordered tea from downstairs while she waited. She didn’t have to wait long; Darby arrived just after the tea was delivered.

  “The press has the place surrounded.” Darby looked around the room, saw the tea and headed toward it. “Thank God, I’m parched.”

  “Help yourself. I had them send up regular and herbal.”

  “Definitely regular for me.”

  Anne inclined her head to the window in the direction of the press gauntlet. “It’s been like that all night. The hotel’s been good about not letting them inside, though.” Anne waited until Darby had served herself before pouring a cup of the herbal mint tea. Taking her cup with her, she sat on the edge of the bed.

  Darby took a drink of tea, then shook her head. “The press don’t know me, so I had no problem getting through. Was it like this in California, as well?”

  Anne nodded, wondering if she had the strength to go through again what she’d gone through with the press in California. Just the thought of it made her want to go back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and not move for a week. “For a while. Then they went away. These will as well—eventually. What did you need to talk to me about?”

  “May I sit down?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Darby sat in a chair by the little desk. “So are you still planning to stay in Scotland?”

  “For now.”

  “Terrence was afraid you’d decided to go back to the States with the artist.”

  So that was why he hadn’t called. “No. I have a job to finish.”

  Darby reached out and took Anne’s hand. “I’m sorry I’ve not been very nice to you. I was wrong. I hope we can be friends.”

  Anne tried to hide her surprise. “Of course.”

  “I know I’ve been a right bitch to you. I’ve no excuse, but I want us to start over.”

  Finally, Anne thought. She’d tried so hard with Darby before, but nothing seemed to make a difference. Now, when she was at her lowest, her sister-in-law was finally accepting her.

  She could let bygones be bygones. “I want that, too.”

  Darby released Anne’s hand. “How much do you know about what Terrence is working on?”

  “Not a lot. I know he’s investigating Walter for some financial crimes.”

  “It’s much worse than that.” Darby explained the ties they suspected Von Zandt of having with the Heidelberg University bombing and terrorists plotting similar attacks.

  Anne bit her lip. Why hadn’t he told her any of that in the first place? “No wonder he wants me to quit working on the Lynstrade Manor gardens. Is that what you came to tell me?”

  “No, actually, he’s decided he needs your help. If you’re agreeable.”

  “My help? With what?”

  “The investigation. We’ve had no luck getting anyone inside Von Zandt’s organization. He said that Von Zandt had earlier asked you and your boss to stay at his place, but you’d turned him down. Terrence suggested that you tell Von Zandt you’ve changed your mind, that you need to be somewhere the press isn’t bothering you.”

  Anne frowned. “He wants me to stay at Walter’s? I don’t understand. He made me promise to stay away from him.”

  “He’s changed his mind. We think you might be able to get some of the information we’ve been looking for.”

  “Don’t you need a warrant or something?” Had he changed his mind because he no longer cared about her?

  “Technically, we would, as we’re law enforcement, but you’re not, and if you’re a guest, there’s nothing stopping you from looking around, or paying attention to what’s being said around you. Von Zandt can hardly say he doesn’t know who you are—who you’re married to.”

  Anne wasn’t sure that made sense, but she knew little about the law, and certainly nothing about the law in Scotland. “Terrence usually has a fit if I suggest doing anything he thinks is dangerous.”

  “It won’t be dangerous at all. Von Zandt isn’t dangerous—he’s just the money man. Besides, he shouldn’t suspect a thing. All you’re to do is look around, pay attention, listen, and report to us what you see and hear. Frankly, we’re desperate. We’re expecting another attack within the next two weeks, and it’s likely to be worse than the last one.”

  “The next two weeks?”

  “Before classes get out.”

  Still, Anne felt unsure. “Why didn’t Terrence come talk to me himself? I’ve called him over and over and he won’t even answer.”

  “He’s in meetings with the brass. There’s a lot of pressure on him right now.” Darby gestured to the press outside. “Besides, he can’t come here unobserved, and he thinks it’s better if Von Zandt thinks the two of you are rowing. It will make him less likely to get suspicious that you’re helping Terrence.”

  “But he’s still upset with me?” Anne felt humiliated having to ask Darby, but she needed to know.

  “I didn’t ask him that. But he asked me to talk to you, so if he is, I think he’ll get over it.”

  Anne wasn’t so sure. “You think so?”

  “He’s gotten over worse from you, hasn’t he?” A hint of the old snide Darby slid through her sister-in-law’s voice, though Anne had to admit Darby was right.

  “I guess so. And nothing happened.”

  “Right. So what do you want me to tell him?”

  Anne didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Tell him yes. Of course, yes.”

  Darby smiled. “Great. I have DC Allison Muirhead downstairs waiting. She’s a member of Terrence’s team, and he sent her to help. I’m going to have her come up and fit you with the wire we want you to wear. She doesn’t know anything about the personal situation between you and Terrence, so don’t mention anything in front of her.”

  “Of course not. Will Terrence be calling me?” Anne felt her heartbeat speed up.

  Darby shook her head. “He wants to, but he asked me to tell you to be patient. He needs to get Von Zandt packed away before he can think about anything else. There are too many lives at stake.”

  Anne nodded. Of course, stopping more terrorist attacks was more important that this silly misunderstanding about Andrew.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Darby went to open it.

  A young, fresh-faced woman came in, carrying a black case. She was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a denim jacket. “Lady Anne, I’m DC Muirhead. I’m going to fit you up with a wire.”

  FRIDAY, APRIL 17

  Chapter 61

  ANNE’S LUGGAGE sat by the door of her hotel room waiting for the bellman. She’d had room service bring breakfast up so that she’d have more time to pack, but she hadn’t been able to eat. She took her cell phone off of the charger and rolled through the message list. There were messages from her mother, and her sisters. Nothing from Terrence, although she’d called him several times during the night and left messages for him to call her. She still wanted to talk to him about what she was doing. She wiggled her hand down her bra to check that her wire was in place.

  A knock sounded on her hotel room door. The bellman had made it in record time. The hotel must be anxious to get rid of her, and to be honest, she didn’t blame them. She let the man in to get her bags, then followed him down the hallway to the elevator, slipping her cell phone into her pocket.

  She took a deep breath, dug out her sunglasses from her purse, and prepared herself for the gauntlet of the press waiting for her o
utside.

  * * * * *

  A stern looking woman with jet black hair and a German accent greeted Anne at Lynstrade Manor, introducing herself as the housekeeper. She led Anne to her suite of rooms through long hallways decorated with modern art instead of the ancestral portraits and landscapes more typical to these old homes. Anne thought the housekeeper’s name was something like Hedda or Helga, but wasn’t quite sure because the woman’s accent was so thick.

  Anne’s rooms consisted of an elegant bedroom and a sitting room, as well as a well-appointed bathroom. The furnishings were luxurious, replete with antiques and rich fabrics and, in Anne’s opinion, a little over the top. Everything that could be gilt, was, and everything that could be covered with expensive silks and brocades, was. It looked like a courtesan’s room, decorated lavishly for entertaining her guests. There was a small but well-stocked bar containing a small refrigerator, microwave, and coffee maker. There was no telephone and no television, but instead only a discreet sound system stocked with an inventory comprised almost entirely of classical music.

  Anne felt her stomach grow queasy, whether from morning sickness or something else, she didn’t know. For the first time since Darby had talked to her, Anne started to feel a little afraid. Would she really have enough freedom in the house to try to find the things they wanted her to look for? She was thankful Terrence trusted her to help, though, and she had to make sure she did the best she could for him. When Darby had told her that Walter was tied to the Heidelberg bombing and to plots for more attacks that were supposed to happen soon, Anne had been shocked. Terrence had said Walter was a dangerous man, but she hadn’t understood the magnitude of what he’d meant.

  “Dinner will be at eight, Lady Anne.” The housekeeper cleared her throat, interrupting Anne’s thoughts. “The family usually dresses for dinner.”

  “Thank you.” Anne silently groaned. Great. She hadn’t had time to replace the dress Terrence had ruined, and she hadn’t packed anything else remotely suitable. “Actually, Hedda,” she said the name quickly so that the woman wouldn’t be able to tell if she’d gotten the name right, “I may not have anything appropriate to wear. I’m afraid I did not pack with dressing for dinner every night in mind when I left the States. Would you please ask Mr. Von Zandt if it would be all right if I just had something on a tray in my room?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she was alone, Anne looked longingly at the bed. She really wanted to nap; the baby was making her so tired. After Darby had left, she’d tried to get back to sleep, but had only managed to fall asleep for short periods. As it turned out, she hadn’t even had to call Walter to wrangle an invitation to stay at Lynstrade Manor. Elisa Von Zandt had called first thing in the morning, right after she’d seen the papers, to offer Anne the use of a guest suite in their house.

  The thought of the newspapers led Anne’s thoughts back to one of the things that kept her up the night before. The photographer happening to be there at the exact wrong time—how had that happened? The desk clerk. It had to have been him. He’d been so nice, but Anne had the distinct impression that right after Terrence had shown up that first time, he’d put her name and face together with the stories from when Andrew’s daughter was killed. He’d treated her differently after that, looking at her with that eager interest in everything she did that she’d come to know and dread. He must have called the press when Andrew showed up. He probably recognized Andrew as well. Their photos had been plastered all over the international news when Lenore had been murdered, and they’d been suspects. She’d meant to ask Andrew how he’d known where she was staying, but getting him to leave was all she could think of after Terrence stormed away.

  As tired as she was, she needed to get out to the gardens and get to work. Jonas had probably already started work for the day. She would have to explain to him about what happened, and apologize for the whole thing with the press. At least the news stories she’d seen hadn’t included any mention of her company’s name. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. If she was let go from such a prestigious firm, who would ever hire her again?

  Then she thought of other people seeing the news stories. Terrence’s family and his own bosses. Anne blinked away a flash of pain, remembering what Darby had said to her earlier about Anne embarrassing their family and hurting Terrence’s career. But surely the people Terrence worked for wouldn’t hold him responsible for any of this mess. Nor could his family blame him, though they must be appalled at her. Terrence had grown up in a family where things like this didn’t happen. Perfect parents, perfect childhood, perfect career, perfect life. Until her.

  She’d made so many mistakes. Anne circled two fingers around her stomach. Don’t worry, baby. Your mama’s not perfect, but she’s trying and we’ll be okay. No matter what, we’ll be okay.

  Anne changed into her gardening clothes, trying to figure out how one woman could attract so much trouble, then went outside to find Jonas.

  Chapter 62

  REID SHOOK HIS HEAD. He couldn’t have heard right. Holding his mobile phone steady against his ear, he said, “Tell me again?”

  “She checked out of the hotel this morning, Lord Reid.” The man from Stirling’s security firm was clearly troubled, and more than a little nervous.

  “Checked out? Where did she go?”

  “I followed her taxi as far as I could, but the estate is gated, and I didn’t think I should try to get past the gates.”

  His heart sank. “What estate?”

  “Where she’s working, my lord. Lynstrade Manor.”

  “She took her luggage?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The man cleared his throat. “What would you like me to do now?”

  “I’ll be in contact. Stay there, as close to the gates as you can without being spotted. Let me know immediately if you see her leave. And follow her.” He paused. “But don’t approach her unless it looks like she’s in trouble. She doesn’t know you’re watching out for her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reid ended the call. What the hell was Anne doing? It sounded as if she was staying at Von Zandt’s. After what he’d told her about his fears that the man was using her to get to him, he couldn’t fathom her reasoning.

  The press. Perhaps she’d fled the hotel to get away from them. He knew from Stirling’s man that they’d been camped around the hotel after the management had forbidden them to wait for her inside the building. The news stories, punctuated by the photographs of his own angry face directed at her pleading one, and others of her and Grainger having their cozy dinner before he arrived, had been gleefully speculating on the love triangle—as they unimaginatively termed it. At least they hadn’t heard what Anne and he had been saying to each other. There had been nothing in the news about the baby. He grimaced. That would have been a story the press would have been on like hungry hyenas tearing meat off their victims’ bones.

  Who had told the press that Anne was there at the hotel with Andrew Grainger? The hotel desk clerk? Reid clenched his jaw. It had to have been him. He’d kill the little shite. Of course, the desk clerk hadn’t known Reid was going to change his plans and come a day earlier. It had just been an extra bonus to have the injured husband walk in and find the guilty couple huddled together in an intimate conversation.

  In the few moments he’d watched Anne with Grainger that night, Reid had seen how well the two knew each other, and in Grainger’s face, how much the man loved her. He’d not been able to see Anne’s face, and for that he was glad. If he’d seen just a fraction of the feeling that showed in Grainger’s face reflected in Anne’s face, he didn’t know if he could have survived it.

  He was sure that the press was making Anne’s life miserable, though they hadn’t bothered him much. They were more circumspect with him, probably because, from time to time, they needed him. Reid had ignored multiple calls from Carolyn Caspary. Although he assumed she’d be sympathetic to him and offer to publish his version of eve
nts to refute this morning’s stories, he didn’t have a version of events to contradict what had been reported. He couldn’t even imagine what Carolyn must be thinking about the pathetic gullibility he’d displayed during their conversation the other day.

  Then he thought of McMurty and Shreve. And Nelson Schilling. If they read the papers or watched the semi-news, they’d now know by now about Anne working for Von Zandt. They’d be waiting for him to call, giving him the respect of turning himself in, so to speak. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t brought up on charges, demoted, or just plain kicked off the job.

  He forced himself to turn on the television. He wasn’t sure if they’d gotten more pictures or film of Anne, or what exactly they were saying as he had studiously avoided the news reports or, indeed, any television at all. Perhaps he’d better check it out. He needed to know to what extent they were harassing his hapless bride.

  Reid groaned as he watched the sleazy celebrity news show. As he’d feared, the press had surrounded Anne like hounds surrounding an unwary rabbit—and she’d fled. He watched the film as she left the hotel and got into the cab. She wore dark glasses and kept her face serene, not hurrying her pace in the least and ignoring the questions being thrown at her. As poised as she appeared, he knew the effort that charade took.

  Anne was probably feeling humiliated and vulnerable. But to go to Von Zandt’s house? To move there? Surely she wasn’t planning to stay there for the duration of the project. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to determine what to do.

  He hadn’t left things between them in such a way that he could call her and just ask what the hell she was doing. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that it was over between them. And it was, but God knew, he didn’t want her to come to harm. It was none of his business if she wanted to stay at Von Zandt’s or Buckingham Palace for that matter. Nonetheless, if she was in danger from Von Zandt, it was because of him—because of any importance Von Zandt might think she had for him.

  Reid closed his eyes. Nothing was ever uncomplicated with Anne. Nothing. He called Harry to let him know of the newest glitch.