All Gone

by Joel Goldman

  “Forget it, Tresch,” Jake said. “You’ll have to check that book out yourself. Cassie doesn’t have a library card.”

  “Ignore him,” Cassie said. “I’ll do it.”

  Jake said, “Don’t be stupid, Cassie. He’s going to kill us anyway.”

  “Do you think I’m going to kill you and your friends, Ms. Ireland?”

  “We both know you’ll try, but I’ll take my chances.”

  “You’re the poker player, Mr. Carter,” Tresch said. “Wouldn’t you agree I’m holding all the cards?”

  “I’d say you’re holding a full house, aces over eights.”

  “Is that a winning hand?” Tresch asked.

  “No. It’s a dead man’s hand,” Jake said.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  SARAH ST. JAMES STARED at the clock on her nightstand. 3:46 a.m. Another sleepless night. She’d been anxious enough in the days before the exhibit opened. But her worry paled in comparison to the terror she’d lived with since the Magna Cartas were stolen five days ago.

  The thieves’ ransom note said they would provide instructions for the exchange sometime today. And that made any thoughts of sleep impossible.

  She’d hoped that Cassie and Jake could recover the Magna Cartas before the deadline, but that had proved to be a fantasy. Now they were on the run, suspected of murder, and chasing after Lord Tresch, as if there was any chance he was behind all of this. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.

  And even if, by some amazing stroke of good fortune, the thieves did return the Magna Cartas, what damage will have been done to them. Did they know how to properly care for eight-hundred-year-old documents? But that was a secondary concern. The important thing was getting them back. Please, God, she prayed silently. Let us get them back safely.

  “You all right, luv?” Michael’s voice in the darkness startled her. She had told him everything when she’d come home on the night of the grand opening. He’d urged her to go to the police, despite the warning in the ransom note, but had ultimately respected her decision and given her unwavering comfort and support ever since.

  “I’m petrified.”

  Michael pulled her close. He didn’t offer any platitudes or empty reassurance. He was just there for her, warm and solid. And she loved him for it. She kissed him, gripping the back of his neck, wanting to lose herself in the feeling. Michael responded with equal passion. They made love in the quiet, pre-dawn hours, letting her push aside for the moment thoughts of what the day might bring.

  The alarm clock blared an hour and a half later, jolting her back to reality. She had to go to work. She showered and dressed, then checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls. Maybe she’d have a message from Sir Robert, letting her know that they’d already made the ransom exchange and he had the Magna Cartas in hand. No such luck. She tried to check in with Cassie, but got no answer. As she headed for the door, Michael stopped her.

  “Call as soon as you hear anything, yeah?”

  “I will.”

  She kissed him and left the apartment. She parked in the underground car park at the St. Pancras Railway station, then stopped at her favorite tea shop at the station and ordered their special herbal blend.

  As she stirred in some honey, a stranger bumped into her as he passed, the man muttering, “Sorry.”

  Sarah reached into the pocket of her coat for her phone and felt a slip of paper that hadn’t been there before. She pulled it out. It read, Regent’s Park rose garden, 11:00. Be prepared to wire $. These were the instructions for the ransom drop. It was really happening, just over two and a half hours from now. Heart pounding, she looked around the crowded shop for the man, but she hadn’t even glimpsed his face.

  ***

  INSPECTOR GERALD MURDOCH was on his way to the British Library, intending to brace Sarah St. James again when his phone rang. It was Inspector Patel.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Murdoch said.

  “I wish it were.”

  “No luck finding your suspects?”

  “I thought they were our suspects.”

  “My apologies,” Murdoch said. “Our suspects.”

  “We had a lead but it didn’t pan out. A hotel desk clerk in Maidens…”

  Murdoch interrupted, “Maidens? In Scotland?”

  “Aye. The clerk recognized them and alerted the manager who got busy and forgot to call us until the clerk saw them leaving. Ireland and Carter were dressed in costumes. McNulty drove them off in a borrowed limousine.”

  “And you thought that was a good lead?”

  “Not until we sent the local police to the hotel to check the surveillance video showing them checking in and confirmed it was them.”

  “But why the costumes?”

  “We’re told there was a costumed charity gala benefitting the Dawn of Hope Foundation at Culzean Castle. Maidens is the closest village. The Maidens police force had been detailed to provide security at a golf tournament and didn’t send anyone to the castle until this morning. They arrived at the same time as the caretaker who was the only one there. He confirmed there had been a gala the night before but knew nothing else.”

  “Why would they go to the gala? What do we know about the Dawn of Hope Foundation?” Murdoch asked.

  “It’s a children’s charity founded by Sir William Tresch and his wife, Lady Lillian Tresch.”

  Murdoch thought for a moment. “Lady Tresch is one of the Magna Carta trustees.”

  “Which is why I called. You asked whether any of my murder victims were connected to the British Library but you didn’t say why you were interested. Is the Tresch connection relevant to your case?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, then, do remember where you got this information if it proves useful,” Patel said.

  “Indeed, I will, Inspector.”

  Murdoch got out of his car in the St. Pancras Railway Station underground car park when he saw Sarah St. James walking toward an elevator that led to the main hall of the station. Happy at the chance of talking with her away from the Library, he followed her.

  He slipped into the tea shop while Sarah was stirring her tea. The shop was too crowded for private conversation. He decided to wait until she left and then invite her to go somewhere quiet to talk.

  A burly man pushed his way toward the front of the line, brushing against Sarah, then kept going until he was out the door. Murdoch kept his eyes on Sarah. A moment later, she reached into her coat pocket and drew out a slip of paper. Reading it, her chin fell and the color drained from her face. She stuffed the note back in her pocket and hurried out, leaving her tea behind without noticing Murdoch. He caught up with her outside the shop in the Station’s main hall.

  “Mrs. St. James,” he said.

  She whirled around, hand to her throat. “Inspector Murdoch? What are you doing here?” She arched an eyebrow before he could answer. “Are you following me?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because…because,…” She drew herself up. “Because you’ve been nosing around all week, popping up every time I turn around.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t help it. It’s what a policeman does. May I have a word?”

  “Have I done something wrong? Are you here to arrest me?”

  “Of course, not. Though I must say you look quite vexed. Is everything alright?”

  Sarah swallowed. “Everything is fine. It’s just that I have a very busy day and no time for idle conversation. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “What was in the note that man passed you? Is that what’s upset you so?”

  Sarah stared at him goggle-eyed, then marched off without a word.

  FIFTY-SIX

  “OH, THANK GOD YOU’RE HERE,” Sarah said when Cassie walked into her office. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Is everything alright?”

  The words tumbled out of Sarah’s mouth in a torrent. She was sitting behind her desk, tapping a pen with o
ne hand and drumming her nails with another. She jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around Cassie in a bear hug.

  Cassie peeled her away and held her hands. “Sorry about that. Everything’s fine.”

  Sarah took a step back. “Well, you don’t look fine. You’re always so put together but you look like you were thrown together. When was the last time you slept?”

  “There will be plenty of time to sleep when this is over. Bring me up to date.”

  “I was at the tea shop in Pancras Station this morning when a man bumped into me and stuck this note in my coat pocket saying to be at Regents Park at 11:00.”

  She handed the note to Cassie.

  “How far is Regents Park?”

  Sarah said, “About a mile. I’d barely gotten out of the shop before Inspector Murdoch popped up. He’d seen what happened with the man and the note and wanted to know what it said. Of course, I didn’t tell him but between the man, the note and Murdoch, I’ve been coming undone.”

  “I doubt Murdoch just happened to be there. Either he was on his way to the Library or he’s been following you.”

  “I don’t care which it is. I just want this to all be over. Sir Robert will wire the money once I call him and verify that the Magna Cartas are authentic.” She gave a short, unhappy laugh. “That would be ironic, wouldn’t it? If the thieves tried to sell us their own set of forgeries? We could put them on display right next to mine.”

  “It’s going to be alright. I promise. I’ll come with you.”

  “Would you? I’d feel so much better. We’ll walk. Finding a parking place on the street is impossible.”

  While Sarah gathered her things, Cassie scooped up the keycard Sarah had left lying on her desk. She’d need it to navigate the Library after hours, even though every swipe of the card would leave an electronic trail leading back to Sarah. At best, Sarah would be accused of negligence. At worst, she’d be charged with conspiracy. One more mess Cassie would have to clean up if she survived the next twenty-four hours.

  “Give me your phone,” Cassie said when they reached the street.

  Sarah handed it to her. “Who are you calling?”

  “A friend. Keep walking. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  Cassie waited until Sarah was half a block in front of her before calling Gunnar.

  “It’s Cassie.”

  “You’ve really stepped into this time. Wanted for double-homicide. I’ve got strict orders from Prometheus to bring you in if you call. He knows you and Jake are wanted by the police and it’s the Jake part that he’s really angry about.”

  “He’ll get over it and if he doesn’t, that’s fine by me but I’m not coming in until this is over. I need you to do something for me.”

  “Ha. You never were much for following orders. What is it?” Gunnar listened as Cassie explained. “I can do my piece but how are you going to do yours?” he asked her.

  “I’ll figure it out. Just be ready. It’s going to be close,” she said and ended the call.

  It was a cold, gloomy day and there weren’t many visitors in the park. As they walked across the York Bridge, Cassie swept the landscape for anyone following them while evaluating the threat potential of each person she saw. Though no one stood out, she knew better than to let her guard down.

  They reached Queen Mary’s Rose Garden at 10:55. The February weather had reduced it to a sad-looking collection of bloomless shrubs arranged in a circle with pathways radiating out like the spokes of a wheel.

  Cassie chose a wrought iron bench in the middle of the circle. From there, she had a clear view over the tops of the rosebushes for thirty feet in every direction. Within that perimeter, there was nowhere for someone larger than a toddler to hide.

  There was more cover in the trees outside the perimeter where she caught a glimpse of someone in the shadows. She could make out a man in a long coat wearing a hat but that was all. He retreated deeper into the trees until Cassie lost sight of him. One of Tresch’s men, she thought, backup for Dekker if anything went wrong. There was nothing to do but sit and wait.

  “What do we do if they won’t give the Magna Cartas back?” asked Sarah. “I mean, even after we pay the ransom?”

  Cassie said, “I don’t think that will happen. This is a business deal. Keeping them puts the thieves at greater risk. The Trustees and the Library would have to go to the police. There’d be nowhere for the them to hide and no one willing to buy the Magna Cartas. This way, they get their money, the Magna Cartas go back in the display cases and no one, except for us, are the wiser. It’s as close as they can get to a perfect crime.”

  “Let’s hope they are as rational as you are.”

  At 11:00 a.m., Max Dekker sauntered down the garden path as if on a leisurely morning stroll. He was carrying Tresch’s slender briefcase.

  “Oh, God, this is it.” Sarah clutched Cassie’s arm.

  “Just do what he says and you’ll be fine.”

  The women stood as Dekker approached. He stopped a couple of feet away and looked around, then nodded and raised the briefcase.

  “Go ahead and wire the money.”

  Cassie said to Sarah, “Stay here.” Then motioned Dekker to follow her. She stopped when they were out of Sarah’s hearing. “Call Tresch. I want to make sure Jake and Gabriel are okay.”

  Dekker shook his head. “Not part of the deal, Missy and, in case you forgot, you’re not calling the shots.”

  Cassie crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Deal’s off. Go home.”

  Dekker’s jaw dropped. “Oi, you can’t do that.”

  “I just did. Go home and tell Tresch you screwed up the exchange and cost him a hundred million pounds. You’ll be the first one he kills.”

  “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t let him kill your lover boys.”

  “We both know they’re already dead. The only question now is whether you live or die.”

  Dekker hesitated, grinding his teeth, then called Tresch. “She wants to make sure the blokes are still breathing.” He listened for a moment, wincing, then handed the phone to Cassie.

  “Who’s this?” Cassie said.

  “It’s Jake.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Never better. You can’t beat these all-inclusive vacation packages.”

  “And Gabriel?”

  “Still with us.”

  “Take care of each other and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cassie said.

  Cassie gave Dekker the phone and they walked back to Sarah. She faced Dekker, the top of her head inches beneath his chin.

  Sarah said, “Let me see the Magna Cartas. Please.”

  “You have the money?” he asked.

  “It’s ready to transfer to your account.” She pulled her cellphone from her coat pocket and held it up. “As soon as I give the word.”

  “Right.” Dekker opened the briefcase and spread the Magna Cartas, each in a plastic sheath, across the iron bench.

  Sarah gasped. “You haven’t been keeping them in this flimsy plastic, have you? Do you have any idea of the irreparable damage you might have caused?”

  She took a jeweler’s loupe from her bag and knelt beside the bench, carefully examining each document. After several minutes, she stood, brushing damp earth from her knees. “I would need to run tests in the Conservation Centre to be absolutely certain…”

  “Yes or no?” Dekker said.

  “Yes,” she told him. “They’re authentic. Give me the wire instructions and I’ll call Sir Robert.”

  Dekker recited the instructions with the stilted cadence of a schoolboy who’d memorized his lesson. Sarah made the call. Dekker watched the screen on his phone, a satisfied smirk creasing his face as one hundred million pounds appeared in the designated account.

  “That was easy enough,” Dekker said.

  “We’ll take the briefcase too,” Cassie said. Dekker didn’t answer. “We don’t want anyone to see us walking through the park carrying the Magna Cartas under our arms like the
morning paper. Something could go wrong.

  Dekker’s eyes shifted from the bench to the briefcase in his hand, then he handed the case to her. “All yours,” he said and walked away.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  SARAH LET OUT A DEEP BREATH. “I’m so glad he’s gone. That man blocks out the sun even on a cloudy day.”

  She returned the Magna Cartas to the briefcase.

  “Mind if I carry it,” Cassie said. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely. My hands are shaking enough as it is.” She gave Cassie the case, then locked arms with her. “By God, we did it, didn’t we? It’s over. It’s finally over. I’ll put them back on display tonight after we close and then you and I are going out for a drink. My treat.”