The Scotland Yard Exchange Series

by Stephanie Queen

  “We should suggest the title of your next book. What research project do you have going that looks promising?” Sarah spoke as if Jon had not. Madeline and Jon looked at each other.

  “Did I miss something?” Morty asked.

  “Yes and no. Sarah’s suggestion implies that she thinks I should quit. She is about to be vetoed. My real problem is why she ever suggested it, since she knows I’m a fighter not a quitter. I thought she was too.” Madeline paused to look back at Sarah and try to keep the accusation of traitor from her eyes. Remembering that Sarah deserved the benefit of the doubt was hard right now.

  “How can I salvage my reputation without PJD’s endorsement in three weeks or less?” She spread her arms and looked at each of them expectantly.

  “Prove the nurse is lying. Get her to confess. Someone is obviously paying her off, and she knows you know she’s lying,” Morty said matter-of-factly, as if this were a spelling bee and he was asked to spell the word “go.”

  “Then it’s a go. How do we do it?”

  “You get the law enforcement people on it. Like Jon said, they should be looking into the question of how St. Cyr got his hands on private medical documents at the very least,” Val said.

  “I’ll look into what they’re doing about that,” Jon said.

  “I’ll look for the money. Same as with the mayor, only I’ll target the nurse this time,” Morty said.

  “Don’t tell me the details of how you’re going to do that,” Madeline said.

  “Oh, nothing illegal. There’s a ton of information out there if you know where to look,” Morty said.

  “So if Morty’s info shows us that the nurse is getting paid off and maybe even who’s paying her, we still need to get her to confess, don’t we?” Val looked at her for an answer.

  “We bluff. I’ll confront her. After all, as Morty said, I’m the one person who absolutely knows that she’s lying.” She looked at Sarah.

  Sarah left the room.

  “But how are you going to turn her private confession to you into proof for the public, let alone evidence for a trial?” Jon asked.

  “Secret tape recorder.”

  “Which is against the law.” Jon frowned.

  “Not if you get permission from a judge.” She took a breath. “I know PJD could help with this. We definitely can’t do it without him and his law enforcement contacts—at least not in three weeks.”

  Mad looked around her at the dwindling inner circle. She knew Sarah would be back. She could only hope Dennis would change his mind. That left Val, Jon and Morty to carry on with her mission.

  She kept hearing that theme from Mission Impossible in her head.

  She felt like the runner nearing the end of the marathon who knew she couldn’t catch the guy in front of her and then got cramps and a limp and ended up struggling just to hobble over the finish line even if she came in dead last. She shook her head.

  No limping. She stood, stretching her spine as tall as it would go.

  “Tomorrow we have our first public appearance since the Forum debacle. Get prepared for the Chili Fest.”

  The next morning felt odd without Sarah there. Mad would have to forego the French-twist hairdo. She may as well change her hairdo along with her priorities. She combed her hair straight. There was a knock and the door opened.

  “Are you ready for some chili in Salisbury?” Jon walked in with Morty behind him.

  “All the candidates will be there. The North Shore League of Women Voters invited everyone. The election is three weeks off, and this Chili Fest is the only event left on our schedule,” Jon said. He’d taken over the schedule with Sara gone.

  “I know. I was kept in because I’m the only woman candidate.”

  Val walked in from the office door.

  “Here are this morning’s Boston papers. Note the headlines about PJD’s primary victory. ‘Douglas and Thompson Win after Spurning Grace.’ They couldn’t just leave you out of it. The media is fixated with the betrayal angle and you’re still trending on twitter. The soap opera continues,” Valerie said, her outrage showing in her clipped tones. “We don’t have to worry about your name not being a daily constant in the news. Seems a woman from the clinic is only too happy to give endless interviews about the fictitious abortion. No one else knows anything about it. Your denial looks like a blatant lie in the face of this.” Valerie shook her head.

  Madeline got up from her chair and paced in short quick steps. Getting the bad guys was Peter’s specialty. She needed to talk to him fast. She stopped short, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

  “Today, at some point after the Chili Fest, I’m going to talk to Peter about going to the clinic to investigate this. The whole thing is clearly sabotage, and he’ll know how to deal with it.” When Val, Jon and Morty continued to look unenthusiastic, she added, “We agreed we need his help. This is his game. He’ll be able to get the warrants and know—better than we do at any rate—how to get the nurse on record to expose the fraud. We need to get the truth out of the nurse about who’s behind it all. We can give Peter whatever Morty has, and he can go from there. We don’t have any time to waste waiting for the routine law enforcement response on this.”

  “I thought Peter was going to call you?” Jon asked quietly.

  “You’re right about needing Peter’s help, but he may not want to help you.” Val’s concern showed.

  “He will. He knows it’s a scam. He hates it as much as we do. I talked to the judge, remember?”

  “He said Peter would call you. It’s been over a week and he hasn’t,” Jon reminded her again.

  Madeline smiled her kindest smile at the three of them. They were afraid she was wrong about Peter again. But she had to ask him for help. It was about time she called him anyway. He would help her. She had to be right about that.

  “Don’t worry. I really am right about Peter on this. I have not one single doubt.”

  She decided to call him and make sure.

  “It’s about time you called. Giving up the campaign?” Peter said the words without thinking—although the decision to do so was deliberate. He had decided not to hold back on any of his emotions when he spoke with Madeline as soon as he saw it was her calling his private cell phone. He didn’t care if he sounded angry or hurt, or even adolescent, like he figured he did just now. Let her deal with it. She knew how.

  “I know this has all been difficult for us both, but we can’t talk about it now, not over the phone.” He could hear her take a deep breath. “I was wrong. I should have done things differently. But that’s something I didn’t know then.” She paused again. He wasn’t ready to speak.

  She was holding back, Peter thought, and he was taken aback by that. And angry. But he cooled himself down immediately because he could operate in that mode way better than she could.

  “Let’s talk at the Chili Fest,” Madeline suggested.

  “Fine.”

  He clicked off. The Chili Fest was looking a lot more interesting. Peter still held the phone in his hand, shaking himself mentally. The wireless made him think of Acer, and he wondered what the man was up to. He’d been sent out to trail Theresa. She was the only person they knew for sure was involved. The door to his study banged open and Acer blew in as if Peter’s thoughts had caused him to materialize.

  Acer had a big smile on his face.

  “Something useful to report?” Peter returned the smile. Progress in a mission always put him in a good mood.

  “Something interesting. Theresa had an out-of-the-way meeting with a certain Mr. St. Cyr. It was clear neither of them wanted to be seen together or identified. Should I put a trace on her lines now?”

  “No. It’s still illegal.” Peter shook his head and contemplated the meaning of that tidbit. “What’s your theory? Any exchanges?”

  “Nothing exchanged but heated words. Theresa was upset. St. Cyr was in the catbird seat and looking smug. I couldn’t get an exact read on his lips, but he appeared to be ma
king some threatening remark with reference to the mayor.”

  “Aah. This is very interesting. Theresa is feeding inside info to St. Cyr to protect her father. St. Cyr is blackmailing her and using the inside tips for his column in exchange for keeping quiet about something. What could that be?”

  “St. Cyr knows about the mayor’s role in the campaign fraud? The mayor stole the medical records and then altered them?” Acer speculated.

  “Or St. Cyr knows about the mayor’s affair with the senator’s wife.”

  “We don’t have a confirmation on the affair,” Acer said.

  “There’s your next assignment,” Peter said.

  “What about reeling Theresa in?” Acer asked.

  “Leave that to me.”

  Acer handed Peter a slip of paper scrawled with pencil marks. “Here’s an itinerary of Theresa’s regular haunts.” He saluted and started back out the door he came in. “I’ll be in the Berkshires tailing the dishy Mrs. Senator Brown.”

  “See Morty for a list of Mrs. Brown’s favorite places to spend money before you go.” They traded grins before Acer disappeared over the threshold. Morty had been a great find. Exactly the addition he needed for his team. Peter stood. He loved this game. Maybe he should have stayed in espionage. The second he thought it, he grunted and pulled himself back from the boyish daydream. The planning and plotting was always more fun than the doing. It was in the doing that things could go wrong. And that was no fun at all.

  He stood looking out his window and watched Acer’s nondescript figure disappear along the street, lost in the anonymity of the city. He loved that man. Acer would be okay on this mission. This was not likely to be a deadly enterprise. As Peter stood at the window, he glanced at the scrap of paper in his hand. Bill walked in with a stack of newspaper clippings.

  “From Rick. Where do you want them?”

  Peter arched his brow in response and Bill laughed, dropping the news on the empty green blotter in the center of the well-ordered desk. It was time for Peter to come up with a plan to get Theresa to talk about what she was up to. He’d need help from someone she didn’t recognize.

  Maybe Bill would be just the guy to fit the bill. Peter waved the scrap of paper that Acer had given him.

  “Says here we have an appointment this morning to get our hair and nails done on Newbury Street.” Peter slipped the paper in his pocket enjoying the puzzled look on Bill’s face, and even more the scowl on Rick’s face as he walked in the door behind Bill.

  “What the hell are you talking about? You have a meet and greet at Star Market in Cambridge at nine and—”

  “Rick, before you rattle off the intriguing list of spectacular events that you have lined up for me today, phone Marcus and tell him he’s on his own until one. I’ll join him at the Star Market meet and greet then.”

  There was a no-holds-barred scowl planted on Rick’s face now, and he stuck his hands on his hips for good measure. “What the hell?”

  “I have some pressing business with Theresa Torini.” As Rick’s scowl deepened so did Peter’s grin. “Bill will be my accomplice—I mean he’ll be accompanying me.” Peter moved and grabbed Bill by the arm for cover on the way by Rick.

  “Hot dog!” Bill said.

  “Shit!” Rick said. Peter couldn’t help chuckling as he heard Rick shouting after them something about how funny he was.

  “Do you really think we’ll need bailing out? Rick was kidding, right?” Bill was hot on his heels as they drummed down the stairs to the basement.

  “Don’t worry. Rick was bluffing. He’ll bail us out.” Peter didn’t crack a smile but waited until Bill finally did. Then he went to the closet and pulled out a gym bag.

  “Our uniforms. Where’s your car parked?”

  “A block away on the other side of the street—as instructed.”

  “Good. Any distinctive markings on it?”

  Bill thought for a second on that one before confirming. Peter shook his head and thought this was the price of working with an amateur. They threw on the outfits—worn jeans with sleeveless T-shirts—and then Peter applied the fake snake tattoos.

  “You sure we need these tattoos?” Bill looked skeptical.

  “That’s my favorite part.” Peter narrowed his eyes for emphasis.

  Finally armed with sunglasses and baseball caps, they made their exit out the window. It was on the side of the house behind some bushes and close to the fence where there was a gap large enough for them to sneak through. His neighbor wasn’t home—off to work like the rest of the city, including the reporters, Peter noted, as he stayed low behind the bushes. Bill was about to speak and Peter silenced him with a look. They stole through two more backyards, circled in a wide arc around the neighborhood and landed at Bill’s nondescript-enough sedan.

  “Lucky thing I didn’t shave yet this morning. Stubble fits the disguise don’t you think?” Peter looked at his reflection in the window as Bill unlocked the car. “Drive, James.”

  “Sure. But don’t you think it’s a bit overcast for the sunglasses?” Bill said. Peter turned to him and lifted his shades as they pulled from the curb.

  “My eyes are a dead giveaway. The shades stay. Besides, we’re going to Newbury Street. Everyone looks odd there.”

  “And I thought the Newbury Street crowd was supposed to be the height of style.”

  “So do they. Sad, isn’t it?” Peter shook his head and Bill laughed out loud.

  “What’s our mission?” Bill asked.

  “When we get there, follow my lead. And whatever you do, don’t look surprised. Plaster a bored but menacing look on your face and leave it there for the duration.”

  “Are we roughing someone up?” Bill teased.

  “I wish. You’ll be retrieving a witness for me to interview. Bill, you know I would never do anything that wasn’t strictly legal.” Peter grinned at his new sidekick and figured he would do.

  As luck would have it, Theresa was entering the building as they drove by. Bill pulled over three doors down and went in after her.

  Peter stood a few feet from the entrance on the walk. Not too many pedestrians about here at this hour. Bill emerged with Theresa by the arm. Peter suppressed his amusement when she swatted him with her purse.

  “Hey, wait a second. I don’t believe that phony baloney story that my dad sent you. Let go of my arm. He would never hire a brute like you.” Theresa was getting loud. Peter decided it was time to intervene as he saw Bill look around. At least he hid his panic fairly well for an amateur. Of course if he’d been a professional, he wouldn’t have had to panic. Peter approached Theresa from behind on the other side and whispered to her to calm her down.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I hired this particular brute, not your father. Don’t say anything. Walk with us.” He put an arm around her shoulders and motioned for Bill to drop her arm. Theresa looked up into his face with an odd mixture of stunned surprise and skepticism. But the important thing was, she kept her mouth shut—or rather she didn’t say anything. Her mouth was agape. He gave her a calming smile.

  Then he hustled her to their parked car and ushered her into the back before she could recover her voice. Bill slammed the door closed on them the same split second Theresa announced, “PJD—it’s really you!” in a fairly loud and shrieking voice. Peter winced. Bill got in the front and Peter nodded. Bill pulled out and drove. Fast. Out of town.

  “Yeah, Theresa, it’s me. Let’s talk,” Peter said.

  “Did my father send you? What’s the emergency?” She furrowed her brow.

  “No. Forget the emergency. It was a clever line to get you out of there fast. We need to talk—”

  “But what about my nails?” Her furrow deepened.

  “Forget your nails. What about St. Cyr?” he said. That shut her up, but he wanted her to talk. He watched the light dawn on her face.

  “You know?”

  “Some. Not everything. Spill it, Theresa. The whole story. Why is St. Cyr blackmailing you?”


  She crossed her arms, set her face in a scowl and looked away from him. Then when she noticed her reflection in the rearview mirror, she shrieked.

  “Oh my God, look at me! Why couldn’t we do this after my hair appointment?” She turned back to Peter, who figured he didn’t have to bother hiding his annoyance since it would all be lost on her anyway. He mentally slapped his forehead and snuck a quick glance at Bill in the mirror. He was busy suppressing his laugh, only half successfully. God almighty.

  “Focus, Theresa. Why is St. Cyr blackmailing you? I’m one of the good guys. I am a DA, Remember? I can help you.”

  “Yeah, right. Why would you help me after I…well, you know.”

  Deep breath. “No, Theresa, I don’t know. Not exactly. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what you did?”

  “I’m not sure I should trust you, PJD. You’re still the enemy even if you are a hunk and a pretty good guy.” She knitted her brow.

  “I’m better than St. Cyr. Once he gets caught—and we will expose him—he’ll probably try to blame it all on you,” Peter said.

  “No! That rat would, wouldn’t he?” Panic and fear filled her face.

  “Don’t worry. Tell me the whole story now and he won’t be able to get away with it.”

  She started crying. Meanwhile, he still had no information. He checked his watch in a futile gesture and glanced up at Bill in the rearview mirror when he heard what sounded like stifled chuckling-slash-coughing. Peter did some quick thinking.

  He shoved his hand in the pocket of his pants to retrieve his phone.

  Theresa shrieked again. “Don’t shoot me!”

  This time Bill laughed out loud. It was Peter’s turn to drop his jaw. But he shut it quick and scowled at Bill in the rearview. It was too much to bear. Waving the phone in Theresa’s face he figured would be a reassurance, but she looked more annoyed than relieved. Not caring if his exasperation showed, he punched one button and stuck the smart phone on his ear. He aimed the menacing scowl on his face directly at Theresa—who was now mollified but remaining silent. He spoke when Sam picked up on the first ring.