Murder in Misdirection: A Doyle & Acton Mystery (The Doyle and Acton Scotland Yard series Book 7)

by Anne Cleeland

  Trust the evangelicals to want to huddle, and get all touchy-feely in the midst of a crisis, Doyle thought with irritation. A bit angrily, she shook off the man’s arm and said to Savoie, “I don’t know what’s been cooked up, Philippe, but you mustn’t kill this man. It’s very important that I get him out of here.”

  Surprisingly, she could feel the dismayed reaction to her words from the other two. They didn’t respond, and so with some insistence, she repeated, “I’ve got to get him out, and you’ve got to help me.”

  But into the silence, the door was flung open, and Mathis was marched in; the guard she’d been flirting with holding her firmly by the elbow, and the floor’s desk supervisor accompanying the other two.

  “All right; what’s going on, here?” the supervisor asked in an ominous tone.

  The usually unflappable Mathis was emanating extreme concern as she informed Doyle, “I’m afraid there is a surveillance camera, in this room.”

  And I’m roundly an idiot, Doyle realized in acute dismay.

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  Worried, he phoned the concierge to ring her, and discovered that she’d left with Mathis. Strange, that neither had mentioned it.

  T here was a tense moment, whilst Doyle went through her options, none of which seemed very good.

  “Ȇtre prêt à prendre son arme,” said Savoie, into the

  silence.

  “What?” The supervisor glanced at him. “Do you know these two, Mr. Savoie?”

  Her mouth dry, Doyle forced a giggle, and tried to sound a bit stupid. “Of course, he does—after all, I asked him to come here. I think we’re havin’ a misunderstandin’ is all—we are going to produce a program about a prison break, and I think you heard us practicin’ our lines.”

  But it seemed apparent that the supervisor wasn’t buying what Doyle was selling, and he addressed Savoie again. “I don’t like this—what do you want to do?”

  “Moment,” Savoie instructed, and stepped forward to push Doyle rather roughly into the chair. He then bent over her, with a hand on each of the chair’s arms so that his face was close to hers, his manner menacing. “You will tell me what your purpose is, here.”

  The DCS interrupted, “Say; that’s quite enough—there’s been a misunderstanding, and there’s no need to frighten the poor woman.”

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  “We were playactin’,” Doyle quavered. “Please, please believe me.” If it came to it, she could clench her fists and attempt an upward throat-punch, but she doubted she could get the drop on someone like Savoie—not in her current condition.

  But his next words were unexpected. “I do not think so; I had the meeting with you before. At the projects.”

  With a show of extreme nervousness, Doyle nodded, and wished she could see where this was going. For some reason, he was referring to the night she’d first met him—the night she’d been attacked, and he’d rescued her.

  “Enough; please—”

  But Savoie ignored the DCS, and continued to fix Doyle with his pale, menacing gaze. “That was a fine weapon.”

  There was a small pause. “It still is,” she answered in a frightened whisper. So—he was asking if she was wearing her ankle holster, which she was, but it wasn’t at all clear whether she should allow him to have her weapon, or whether she should try to shoot him, instead. “I was afraid there was a wolf, wearing sheep’s clothes.”

  “Non,” he answered, and lowered his head even further, so that his face was an inch from hers, his posture sinister. “Not the wolf. The Saint Bernard.”

  Nothin’ for it, Doyle thought; I hope I’m not making a monumental mistake, here. In a semi-hysterical voice, she waved her hands a bit wildly, and began to plead, Oh, please—please, sir; my baby—”

  With a swift movement, Savoie pulled her weapon from its ankle holster and turned to shoot the supervisor directly in his face, then pivoted to shoot Mathis’ guard, who had pulled his own gun in abject surprise, but was thwarted when Mathis leapt to pull his arm down just as he fired. The resulting shot went wild, and then that guard collapsed also, a bullet hole centered on his forehead.

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  Savoie swore in French, and staggered, grasping the edge of the desk before taking careful aim at the surveillance camera in the upper corner, and hitting it directly in the lens.

  There was an astonished silence, and then Mathis, her face spattered with blood, scrambled to reach for the fallen guard’s weapon.

  “Back,” ordered Savoie, as he turned Doyle’s gun on the girl. “Don’t shoot Mathis,” Doyle pleaded. “She’s a friendly.” Then to clarify, she addressed all of them. “No one should shoot

  anyone else.”

  “Amen,” said the DCS, with some irony.

  With a grimace, Savoie inspected the bleeding wound on his leg, where the guard’s bullet had wounded him. “Tell me what you do here. Quickly.”

  “There’s a plot afoot to murder this man.” Diplomatically, Doyle didn’t mention that it was no doubt Acton’s plot, with Savoie providing the assist. “I’d like to extract him; is there anyone here that’s not utterly corrupt?”

  “My assistants—the people who work in the ministry with me,” the DCS offered.

  “They’re probably not very good in a fire-fight,” Doyle reflected doubtfully.

  Mathis spread her hands in a disarming way at Savoie. “Let me have a look—you may need a tourniquet.”

  Jerking his head in acquiescence, Savoie hoisted his leg onto the desk. “Who else is on the floor?” he asked the DCS, and then grimaced and swore, when Mathis probed his wound.

  “No one—since this floor isn’t for incarcerations. But there will be a security check-in at the top of the hour, and the central command will notice when no one checks in.”

  Savoie glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Do you know how to do this check-in?”

  “No,” the DCS confessed.

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  “I can try to do it, by looking at the history on the laptop,” Mathis offered, “but if I don’t do it correctly, it may trigger an alarm. I’m rather surprised the disabled camera hasn’t triggered an alarm.”

  Savoie made no comment, and Doyle belatedly realized that the alarm probably hadn’t been triggered because everyone knew Savoie was in the room, and they were all carefully trying not to notice that he was murdering the DCS.

  Savoie asked Doyle. “Any extra rounds?”

  “Just the one cartridge,” she admitted. Truly, she wasn’t of much use, and unless she very much missed her guess, she was asking Savoie to turn coat on his own people, and they were not the sort of people that handled such things very well.

  “There’s an exit wound,” Mathis pronounced. “And the bone’s not impacted.”

  “Bien,” said Savoie, as Mathis firmly pressed his bloody leg between her hands.

  Doyle spoke up. “A through-and-through is nothin’, truly. I’ve been shot in the leg, myself.” Best not to mention the circumstances, of course—talk about awkward, that would be the topper.

  His jaw clenched, Savoie glanced over at Doyle. “Acton, does he know you are here?”

  “No,” Doyle admitted, and then realized a bit glumly that there was no way she would be able to sweep this little contretemps under the rug.

  Without comment, Savoie pulled a disposable mobile out of his prison jumpsuit’s pocket, and pressed the call button.

  With a touch of gallows humor, Doyle remarked to Mathis, “I’m betwixt the devil and that sea person.”

  The devil and the deep blue sea,” Mathis corrected, lifting a hand to take a glance at the oozing wound.

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  “Quiet,” said Savoie. He began to speak rapidly in French, and then paused. Doyle couldn’t hear the words, but she could hear the sweet, sweet tones of her husband’s voice, and suddenly had to blink b
ack tears.

  Rather to her surprise, Savoie handed the mobile over to her. Doyle swallowed, and pulled herself together. “I walked into

  a rare randyrow, Michael, all unknowin’. I’m truly sorry.”

  “No matter, Kathleen. If you would, please give me a report.” “We’ve two guards down, and Savoie’s been wounded.

  Mathis is here, and we reckon we’ve got six minutes before someone realizes somethin’s amiss.”

  There was a small pause. “Is your hair in your eyes?”

  He was referring to the signal they used when she knew someone was lying, which meant he was apparently wondering if it was a trap. Small blame to him, what with the DCS and Savoie figuring prominently in this little holy show.

  “No,” she replied steadily, and hoped it was true—she hadn’t had a chance to sound out Savoie’s loyalty to the Russian contingent as yet, since that concern had suddenly dropped down in her list of priorities.

  “Are you hurt?

  “I am hale and hearty,” she lied. Her back felt like it was set to break in half.

  “Tell him I can access the roof,” the DCS offered, in the background. “I conduct baptisms on the roof, and now we have the guard’s security access card. The stairwell is across the hall.”

  “Did you hear?” Doyle asked Acton.

  “Put him on,” Acton said, and Doyle handed the mobile over.

  It was apparent that Acton began asking about schematics. “C-3,” The DCS responded. “Bars on the windows, and reinforced glass. A security door on the stairwell and at each end of the hall, but otherwise minimum security, since it’s an administrative floor. Can you pull it up on your screen?”

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  There was a pause, whilst he listened to Acton. “I don’t think we should wait; they will employ tear gas through the vents, as a riot-control tactic. DS Doyle probably shouldn’t breathe tear gas.” He paused, and then lowered his voice. “And I’m afraid it may be a GBH.” This was a police term—grievous bodily harm—that referred to a highly dangerous situation, where the suspects were willing to do their worst.

  Then to the roof we go, thought Doyle, mentally girding her loins. “Best to move quickly,” she said aloud, trying to sound confident.

  Suddenly, they could see flashing lights through the glass panel in the door, and a blaring alarm sounded. With one accord, they all leapt to their feet, and Doyle’s water broke.

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  He signaled to his assistant,

  and started issuing rapid-fire orders.

  “W e should move,” the DCS said. “Once they realize these two are down, they will turn off all security card access and institute a lockdown. Then they’ll

  turn on the tear gas—it’s what I would do.”

  “We go, then,” said Savoie, as he held out his hand for the mobile. “Come, come.”

  The DCS willingly handed it over, and Mathis asked, “Should we leave it on, so that Acton can track us, and hear what’s happening?”

  “Non,” Savoie replied succinctly, and lifted the phone to his ear. He listened for a moment, said “Bien,” and then rang off to shove it into the desk drawer.

  “It’s a burner phone,” Doyle explained. “Can’t keep usin’ it, or they’ll hone in.”

  “Give me a gun, then,” Mathis said to Savoie. “I’ll stay behind, and fire at them down the hall when they try to approach. It will buy some time.”

  While this seemed an excellent plan, Doyle knew she couldn’t allow such a thing. “No, you’re comin’ with us.”

  “I’m sure they won’t shoot me,” the girl insisted, and it was not exactly true.

  “Non,” said Savoie, who was apparently willing to back Doyle. “Allons.”

  But the girl’s heroics had triggered an idea in Doyle’s semi-panicked brain. “They’ll be reluctant to shoot—or even use the

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  gas—if they think Savoie’s a hostage. I’m sure there’s a camera in the hall, and they don’t know Acton’s on the way. It might buy some time.”

  “Good idea, Sergeant,” said the DCS with a nod. “He’s already been shot, so that will add authenticity.” The DCS held out a hand to Savoie. “Here; I’ll hold a gun to your head.”

  As could be expected, Savoie flatly refused to hand a gun over, and so the DCS suggested, “Take the ammo out, then; they need to think you’re at risk, and that I’ve already shot you.”

  There was a tense moment, and so Doyle offered, “It’s that deep-sea-devil-person, again, Philippe. Nothin’ for it.”

  With a grim expression, Savoie pulled the cartridge out from one of the guard’s guns, and then handed the weapon to the DCS.

  “Thank you,” the man said. “Now, put your hands behind your back, and I’ll wrestle you across for the cameras.”

  “Bien.”

  “Here,” Mathis stepped forward to smear her bloody hands on Savoie’s face. “We have to make it obvious; they may not be able to see the leg.”

  It’s all very ironic, thought Doyle, and if I weren’t dying to lie down somewhere, I think I’d appreciate it miles more.

  “Got the security card? Good. Everyone ready?” The DCS paused. “My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.” He kicked the door open, and then made a show of manhandling the bloody Savoie down the blaring and flashing hallway. In a menacing manner, he gestured with the weapon toward Mathis, who hurried over to the stairwell access door, with Doyle close behind.

  There was a tense moment when the card didn’t seem to activate the heavy iron door, but then the green light flashed, and Mathis began to pull down on the handle. “I’ll need some help, she shouted at Doyle over the noise. “It’s heavy, and if it re-locks it may not let us activate again.”

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  Galvanized by this potential disaster, Doyle grabbed the handle and pushed with what little strength she could muster, but was surprised to find another hand impatiently pushing hers; a man’s hand, encased in a thick, leather glove.

  With some surprise, Doyle looked up to see the Trestles knight, heaving the door open in a manner that left little doubt that he was very unhappy with the fair Doyle.

  “Sorry,” she shouted at him over the din, as Mathis braced herself against the heavy door to prop it open. “I didn’t realize I was in labor.”

  “You’re in labor?” Mathis stared at her in alarm, as the DCS pushed Savoie through. The girl glanced down the hall toward the empty security desk. “Go; I’ll stall them. We’ve got to give Acton enough time to get here.”

  “No,” Doyle shouted. “Everybody who works here is bent; you come with us.”

  But the girl had stood back, and was allowing the door to automatically swing shut. In vain, Doyle clutched at her arm, but Mathis yanked it away. “Go—I’ll be all right.”

  But then, Mathis jumped forward with a small yelp. “Ouch; what was that?”

  A sword, thought Doyle, as the door clanged shut behind them, the tip of the sword getting caught in the process. Yet another sin to be laid at my door; the stupid knight was very fond of his stupid sword.

  The closed door had the benefit of muffling the alarm, and they paused to recover for a moment, whilst Savoie immediately demanded the empty gun back—it was apparent he didn’t want the DCS to have any type of weapon.

  “Lady Acton is in labor,” Mathis announced, carefully suppressing her extreme alarm.

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  “It’s early,” Doyle disclaimed in an airy tone. “Nothin’ to speak of.” She was then subject to a wave of pain that caused her to bend over and cry out, before she bit her lip, embarrassed.

  They all stared at her in dismay for a moment before the DCS took her elbow. “Then let’s move up to the roof, while you still can.” They began to climb the stairwell, and he smiled at her in a reassuring manner. “Not to worry; I’ve del
ivered a few babies, in my days as a field officer. It’s not something you forget how to do.”