“Yes,” I answered too quickly. “Apparently.”
“Where?”
“I’ll find out.”
“William, you’re one of them aren’t you?”
I neared the portrait. “In 1726 Voltaire insulted Chevalier De Rohan, an influential nobleman.” I took hold of her hand and swept her fingertips up and over the canvas. “Voltaire was given two options, imprisonment or exile.”
Her hand trembled beneath mine.
“Ingrid,” I whispered, “which one would you choose?”
The artist had captured Voltaire’s intelligent eyes, a reflection of hope, his desire for freedom. I wondered if she’d caught it too; that and his wise presence revealing a lifetime contemplating reason.
I left Ingrid standing there and headed back toward Blake and Sebastian. The knight’s jaw had slipped again only this time without any help. I paused briefly to ram it shut.
“We have a problem.” Sebastian greeted me. “Exhibit A.” He squinted at the warrant. “This stipulates a search of the grounds only. No entry into the castle has been granted.” He handed it back to Blake.
Blake folded up the warrant and swapped an uneasy glance with Ingrid, who’d rejoined us.
“A misunderstanding?” she asked. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek here and there.” Perhaps it was something in her expression or the way she shifted her position when I slowly approached her that revealed her intrigue.
She flashed the sweetest smile. “Let’s start in the dungeons.”
I gave a look of frustration. “Haven’t had time to clear out all the cadavers.”
Sebastian let out a nervous laugh. Ingrid pouted, trying to disguise the fact that she was taking mental notes and threatening to draw on them later.
I gestured to the door, much relieved that Blake took the hint and headed for it. Ingrid hesitated for a moment and then turned and followed him. My hand reached for the lower curve of her back, lingering there though not actually touching.
Sensing my gesture, her brown eyes found mine and unwittingly she let me in. A thrill shot up my spine as I realized I’d just glimpsed her psyche, exposing her secret obsession with the underworld and its intoxicating promise of forbidden pleasures yet to be discovered.
I lingered on the top step waiting just outside the front door, watching her stroll away down the pathway, daring to recall the vision of her shackled to the wall, helpless, fear oozing from her pores twinned with her innate need to be cherished.
To be saved.
Squeezing my right hand into a fist and then relaxing it again, I regretted not being able to tell her who I really was. The door to Ingrid’s world had to close and I was the only one preventing it.
Having watched Ingrid and Blake set off toward the mainland and satisfied they were really leaving, I went back inside and found Sebastian sitting halfway up the staircase.
“Never a dull moment here,” he said.
I made a discreet scan of the foyer wondering if Alex had caught any of Ingrid’s visit. I headed up the staircase taking two steps at a time, soon passing him.
Sebastian stood up. “How about a thank you?”
I paused, my grip tightening on the banister.
“I did after all prevent them from looking around,” he said.
I turned to face him. “Brilliantly executed.”
“Why were they here?”
I gave a shrug. “They have nothing better to do?”
“What’s Alex done?”
“Nothing.”
“Miss police detective believes he has.”
“Ingrid’s obsessed with this place.”
“Ingrid?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Inspector Jansen—”
“Is obsessed with you.” He ran his hand over the curve of the banister. “She’ll come back.”
“Perhaps.”
“I can help you.” He took a step closer. “I’m dying to know more about you.” He cringed. “Dying in a metaphorical sense, not in becoming one of your cadavers sense.”
“Seb, there are no dead bodies here.”
“So what’s up with that coffin?”
I caressed my forehead.
“I want to repay you,” he said. “You saved my life.”
Peace seemed so far out of reach, and there came that familiar dread that the castle’s safety was threatened; our once private domain was slipping from our grasp.
“Come on.” I headed down.
“Where are we going?”
“Thought you might like to check out the dungeons. It’s a good place to start.”
“Start what?”
I waited for him to catch up. “The tour.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?” Sebastian sped up, following me down the east corridor.
“I like you, Sebastian, and I trust you.”
Moonlight flooded in through the dusty windows illuminating the way ahead with a grayish tinge, weaving along the mutated white hallway.
“This place is over a thousand years old. It has a rich history.” I glanced at him. “It’s worth saving.”
“It’s under threat from the Inspector?” he asked.
“There may be some inheritance issues that need straightening out.” Which wasn’t so far from the truth.
We soon came upon an ordinary looking door and I twisted its well-worn handle.
Sebastian peered into the blackness. “Am I going to regret this?”
“Regret anything so far?” From inside the doorway, I lifted the halogen lamp and with a flick of a switch readied it to light our way.
Sebastian took his first step toward the belly of the castle and said, “My stay at law school only lasted a year but it might prove invaluable.”
“Have a feeling it might.” I guided him downward. “That’s why I’m going to show you everything.”
“And tell me everything, too?”
I continued eastward. “Thought you might like to see where they once entertained unwanted guests.” Lifting the lamp, I swung it around us. “See, no bodies.”
He scratched the back of his head. “You share a crazy sense of humor with your brother.”
“That’s not all we share.”
“What’s that?” He followed me into the dim chamber and took in the antique sconces, their candles burned to the wick, rusty chains hanging here and there, and that time-tested torture table artfully rounding out the sinister decor.
“Well, what do you think?” I watched him.
“Is that what I think it is?” His wide-eyed stare was locked on the torture table, rusty shackles hanging from its sides.
“It’s no longer in use.”
“Why the hell keep it then?” Sebastian shot me a wary look. “Just a suggestion, perhaps next time you should start off your tour in the garden?”
“A gentler introduction?”
He emphasized his point, raising his eyebrows.
“Pity, this being my favorite.” I suppressed a smile.
Chapter 12
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED and the man standing just inside the Knightsbridge flat oozed privilege and he regarded me with annoyance.
“James Lemont,” he introduced himself and slipped his hand into mine, his grip matching his icy-stare. He glanced at the gift I’d tucked under my arm.
Though he wouldn’t recognize me now, I’d first met James when Ingrid had invited me here to his London flat. He was hosting a party for his well-connected friends, and I remembered thinking then that Ingrid’s bohemianism seemed contrary to the upper-class crowd.
“Who is it?” Ingrid froze with a brightness in her eyes. “William?” Her casual T-shirt and yoga pants extenuated her curves.
James moved aside allowing me to enter.
“What a nice surprise.” Her eyes widened and she glanced over at James. “This is William.”
James didn’t notice her reaction. “That a present?” He took the wooden box. “To what pleasure do we owe this visit?”
“We were just about to eat,” Ingrid said.
“Like to join us?” James’s insincerity was glaring.
An annoying ringtone broke the uncomfortable silence and James shoved the box back into my hands and reached into his pocket. “Have to get this.” With his Blackberry pressed to his ear, he ambled into the living room.
Ingrid came closer, her gaze narrowing when she saw the box. “What is it?”
I handed it to her.
“How did you know I’m staying here?” she asked.
“You must have mentioned it.”
She frowned. “No I didn’t.”
“Perhaps Blake did.” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, feigning trying to recall. “Anyway, consider this a peace offering.” I glanced at the box she’d just taken from me.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“You asked me to find out where Orpheus is buried.”
She pursed her lips and hugged the box, gesturing for me to enter.
I headed on in toward the sitting room. James sat on the arm of a chair, chatting away on his cell.
Ingrid ambled into the kitchen. “I’ll check on dinner.”
Just as I remembered it, James’s flat exuded all the elements of a bachelor pad with its mismatched leather and beige furniture wickedly clashing with the green carpet, a sight hardly saved by the modern light fixtures. African masks screamed from where they hung on stark white washed walls. I was left with the distinct impression James was not only eccentric but also colorblind. Eager to escape the nerve grinding still life, I headed into the kitchen.
Ingrid slammed down the receiver onto the cradle of a wall phone.
I motioned to it. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“It can wait.” She reached for her glass of Chardonnay and took a sip.
The rich aroma of tomato sauce filled the kitchen and something else too, garlic. I suppressed a frown, baffled by the myth that nightwalkers were fended off with an herb.
I leaned against the counter. “Aren’t you going to open your present?”
She shrugged. “You had no right to come here.”
“You’re right of course. I’ll go.”
“Wait, where’s Orpheus’s grave—”
“So, James?” I raised an eyebrow.
“We’re just friends,” she said. “I’m looking for my own place.”
“Kind of him to let you stay,” I said, wondering if she’d finally caught on that James was quietly in love with her.
Ingrid seemed to pick up on my ruminations. “What’s in the box?” She put down her glass. “Something else to place into evidence?”
“That would be a shame. It’s a rare 1945 Monte Saint Claire vintage.”
Ingrid’s intense brown irises grew larger and that delicate reflex spoke volumes.
A wave of conflicting memories caused my focus to waver and a nagging guilt lingered. I reached for the box and flicked open its two catches, lifting the lid to reveal the red bottle of wine, admiring the label that had stood the test of time.
“Have you seen Alex since we last spoke?” she asked.
“I’ve been in London.”
“Why are you really here?”
I closed the lid.
“Do you really have information for me?” She took another sip.
I wanted to open a window and allow the cool night air in to clear the stifling temperature yet resisted the urge to move in any direction and risk startling her.
“I doubt he’s dead.” Ingrid came closer, close enough for her Chanel to reach me and stir a desire that was ill-timed. “Want one?” She raised her glass. “That’s right, you only drink blood.”
“Perhaps you’ve had too much.”
“Perhaps I haven’t had enough.” She took another sip to make her point. “How come you’re friends with both Jadeon and Orpheus?”
I caressed my forehead, trying to ease the building tension.
“Looks like I’ve hit a nerve,” she said.
“More like a dead-end.”
She rested her drink on the countertop, spilling the liquid over the rim. “What do you do?”
“I’m an art dealer.” I made it sound convincing.
“That’s how you know Jadeon?”
“Pretty much.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“We move in the same circles.” I gave a shrug.
“Is William Rolfe your real name?”
“Of course, why?”
“Shakespeare’s editor was called William Rolfe.”
“It’s actually quite common.” I shifted my stance. “Ingrid, am I under investigation now?”
“No one gets ruled out,” she said, “until proven innocent.”
“There are those of us who abhor any wrongdoing.”
“You’re referring to the murder of the innocent?”
“I’m trying to convince you that the threat is over,” I said simply.
“You admit to having knowledge of these murdered girls?”
“All I can say is . . . you’re safe.”
“Not good enough.”
I didn’t react.
“Two nights ago an entire gang went missing,” she said. “Last seen hanging out around Tottenham Court Road.” She folded her arms. “Know anything about that?”
“Maybe they moved to the country. City life can be stifling.”
She continued, unfazed. “Witnesses heard screams coming from where the gang was last observed.”
I glanced toward the living room. “Where was James? Did you check out his whereabouts?”
“William,” she chastised.
“Seriously.” I grinned. “He has Jack the Ripper written all over him.”
Ingrid almost smiled. “More like one of your crowd took a dislike to them.”
“Are you calling my crowd a band of crime fighters now?”
This was the moment I wanted to remember, seeing in Ingrid’s eyes not hatred, not fear, but a sense of wonder, fondness even.
Her lips came close to mine. “Don’t ever come here again.”
The spell was shattered.
“I’m not going to let this go.” Her gaze fell to my lips. “No matter what bribes you offer me.”
“How can I convince you that the continued pursuit of your obsession is futile?”
“You can’t.”
“Then you’ll waste the rest of your life chasing shadows.” Realizing I’d been staring at her, I tried to break the intensity. “I should go.”
“I never thanked you properly for what you did to me at Belshazzar’s,” her tone was sarcastic.
“You should never have gone there.”
“If I keep digging, what other skeletons am I going to find?”
“It’s important for . . . Jadeon to know you’re safe. You’re happy.” I shook my head, trying to shake off this welling grief brought on by seeing her. “It’s time for you to move on.”
“Jadeon told you that?”
“Yes.” I tried to make it sound convincing. “Jadeon’s not coming back.” These lies tasted foul. “I’ll see myself out.” I passed James who was still chattering away on his mobile.
I almost made it to the front door but Ingrid was right behind me and she clutched the back of my coat.
I eased off her fingers. “This is your life we’re talking about.”
She glanced over her shoulder to check James couldn’t hear.
I opened the door. “Have you ever questioned just what it is about the underworld that draws you to it?”
“What are you insinuating?”
I stepped out and turned to face her. “Highgate cemetery.”
“Orpheus is buried there?”
I backed away. “Enjoy your gift. That vintage survived a Nazi invasion.”
I left her standing there.
Chapter 13
NIGHT RETURNED ONCE MORE to Highgate Cemetery, bringing with it the bitterest chill to a fast fading evening and throwing an e
erie luminescence from the few flickering light bulbs, failing miserably to scare off the murkiest of shadows.
Wearing a long woolen coat and flat heeled boots, Ingrid strolled through the high-fronted brass gates and crisscrossed along the pathway, pausing now and again to view the names of the departed engraved on the well-tended tombstones.
Undetected and shaded by dusk, I moved amongst the low hung sycamore trees, looming close enough to encroach on her thoughts that trailed quickly away like the falling leaves around me.
The modest mausoleum was the final resting place of one Daumia Velde. Ingrid took the three short steps to the door and found it locked. She rummaged through her handbag and pulled out an L shaped tension wrench, a rake pick, and half-diamond pick. Checking to see no one was watching, she picked the lock.
Ingrid stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
With a flash of thought, I entered right behind her and settled into a dusky corner.
She rested her flashlight on her handbag and pointed it in the direction of the sarcophagus. She ran her fingers along the marble lid.
I stepped forward. “Never knew you were into burial desecration.”
She jumped backwards and bashed into a stone stand upon which rested a porcelain vase filled with wild orchids. It slid toward the wall and cracked.
“You scared me half to death!” she gasped.
“I know how that feels.” I examined the vase, running my fingers along the fissure, feigning concern. “Qing dynasty.”
She coughed, clearing dust from her throat.
I tutted. “I should press charges. Let me see, breaking and entering, desecrating a tomb.”
“I haven’t touched anything.”
I glanced at the vase.
She hesitated and then said, “I’m here to pay my respects, and you?”
“Careful.”
“Jadeon and Orpheus were enemies, so how come I’ve seen you both at the castle and the club?”
“I’m a peacemaker.” I held her gaze, hoping to convince her.
“Are you in touch with either Orpheus or Jadeon?”
My focus turned toward the sarcophagus. “What part of deceased don’t you get?”
“The answers I need are in Belshazzar’s, I just know it.”
“Ingrid, please close this case. It’s too dangerous.”
“That some kind of threat?”
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