Crowned and Dangerous

by Rhys Bowen

  “And who might you be, young lady?” Chief Inspector Callahan asked.

  I decided this was not a time for concealment. It was a time to pull rank. “Lady Georgiana Rannoch, cousin to His Majesty, King George,” I said. “And this is the Princess Zamanska. We are both old friends of Mr. O’Mara and we are over here to show our support for the O’Mara family, and to do a little preliminary work while a barrister is being chosen for the defense.”

  I think that Inspector Callahan swallowed hard. “It’s good to know that O’Mara has friends in such high places,” he said. “Not that it will do much good. Unfortunately we are no longer part of Great Britain here. You can have no influence on the outcome of Irish justice, however royal you are.”

  “Of course not,” Princess Zamanska said in a sweet, gentle tone. “But that doesn’t prevent us from helping a chum in need, does it? Especially now that the whole matter appears to have taken on a very different twist. I think your investigation should now focus on why this man was here and who might have paid him a visit recently, don’t you, Chief Inspector?”

  The chief inspector had now gone very red in the face. “I work with facts, madam,” he said, either not knowing that she should be addressed as “Your Highness” or choosing to ignore it. “The facts are that there was no sign of forced entry into the castle. There were no visitors that day. Lord Kilhenny’s fingerprints were the only ones found on the club and he admits that he was so drunk he remembers nothing of the evening in question. Those are facts and good enough for me to come to the conclusion that Lord Kilhenny struck Timothy Roach, or whoever he is now, over the head with the club during an argument and killed him. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to work. I will have the photographs sent over to you, Mr. Wexler, and please keep me informed of any further developments.” He nodded to the American, then turned back to us. “And may I suggest to you ladies that you confine yourselves to more suitable pursuits like dances and dressmakers. A little knowledge is a very dangerous thing and you could end up only making things worse for the man you are trying to help.”

  “Odious man,” Princess Zamanska muttered as he stalked out. “Even if I did not care so passionately about Darcy I should now feel compelled to throw myself into the fray on behalf of his father.”

  Darcy had retrieved a calling card from his pocket. “I am currently staying at the lodge with my father,” he said, handing it to the American, who looked rather uncomfortable following the heated scene he had just witnessed. “I would appreciate it if you would contact me as soon as you have any pertinent information.”

  “I certainly will, Mr. O’Mara.” The American held out a big hand and shook Darcy’s. “We could well find that someone is sent over from the States to assist in this investigation. And until I am advised how my government wishes to proceed, you can rest assured I will not allow any criminal trial to go forward.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy said.

  As we came out of the building the princess turned to Darcy. “Maybe one of us should go over and dig into this ourselves,” she said. “I’ve just been wondering whether my little aeroplane would make it across the Atlantic. It takes so horribly long by sea. Two weeks wasted in the crossings, and then trains and things. By then that boorish policeman will have your father convicted and hanged.”

  Darcy shook his head. “Zou Zou, there is no way you can fly across the Atlantic Ocean. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not Lindbergh.”

  She shrugged. “I only wanted to do something useful, you know. I could buy a bigger plane. One that carries more fuel.”

  Darcy put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a kind gesture, but I don’t think anyone needs to go over there. I’m going to telephone a certain chap in London and I think he’ll know who to contact in the States so that we have someone on our side over there.”

  “You’re such a spoilsport, Darcy,” the princess said. “I was looking forward to braving the elements and flying in to the rescue and earning your undying gratitude.”

  “You’re a hopeless romantic, Zou Zou,” Darcy said.

  “Just doing my bit to help a chum, as I told the horrid policeman,” she said. “So what do you propose doing next? We can’t just sit back and leave it to other people. If this man was here under an assumed name, then he had to be up to no good. He was probably hiding from someone, and that person found him, crept into the castle and finished him off.”

  “I don’t think you’ve taken a good look at the castle yet,” Darcy said. “It’s not that easy to gain entry. The gates are locked. There’s a high wall. Besides, the manservant was there.”

  “And claimed he heard nothing. And he has already said that your father came in and out without being noticed,” I pointed out.

  “That’s a fact that hardly helps my father’s case,” Darcy said dryly.

  “What I am saying is that if anyone was keeping an eye on the castle and observed your father, they could see how he got into the castle and emulate it.”

  “I presume my father still had a key to the servants’ entrance or the wine cellar.”

  “Which someone could have taken and borrowed or copied if your father fell into a drunken sleep,” I went on. I saw him wince at the word “drunken” and wished I had been more tactful.

  “This implies that someone was in the neighborhood long enough to have studied my father’s comings and goings, to have had a key cut. Kilhenny is a small community. A stranger who lingered would be noticed.”

  “We should consider the strangers we know about,” I said. “The American professor who didn’t seem to know much about archeology. And the young priest who Kevin the Garda didn’t know.” I waved my hands. “And the ghost. Don’t forget Mrs. McNalley saw a ghost.”

  “A ghost? How divine,” Zou Zou said. “I adore haunted houses.”

  “I was suggesting that this ghost might have been an intruder she observed,” I said.

  “Ah. I see.” She nodded.

  “We could make use of the embassy while we’re here,” I said to Darcy. “Could they not check up for us on a Professor Peabody from the University of . . . Southern Nebraska, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Darcy said. “Wait here. I’ll go back inside and ask.”

  We waited. It was not unpleasant in the sunny forecourt. A robin flew down and landed a few feet from us, looking up hopefully. It flew off again as a door slammed and Darcy emerged from the building with a determined look on his face.

  “We might be onto something here,” he said as he approached us. His eyes were finally bright again, with hope in them. “I asked the young chap at the reception desk and he looked it up for me. There is no University of Southern Nebraska.”

  “Aha. An imposter.” Zou Zou clapped her hands in delight. “The plot thickens. He was here to case the joint.”

  I had to smile at these words coming from her lips.

  “Of course, the graduate students we spoke to might have got the name wrong,” Darcy said. “One doesn’t always take in such things, especially if they were concentrating on their task.”

  “But it’s a starting point,” I said. “And we have a description. A big man. Big enough that the girls giggled when he said his name was Peabody. Now, there can’t be too many large Americans in this part of Ireland. It’s not the time of year for tourists. Someone will have spoken to him at the station, or given him directions, or driven him in a taxicab.”

  “And if they did, what is any of this going to prove?” Darcy demanded. I could tell his temper was wearing thin. “We have no way of knowing who this Peabody really is or why he might have wanted to visit Timothy Roach. We can really do nothing until someone in America identifies Roach from his photograph and finds out why he came to Ireland.”

  “You don’t seem keen on doing anything, Darcy,” I said.

  “I agree,” Zou Zou added. “A complete wet blanke
t, which isn’t at all like you. The Darcy I know and love is a man of action. He wouldn’t give up so easily.”

  Darcy shrugged. “I can’t get over the fact that there were no other prints on that club. Or that my father will say nothing in his own defense. He must believe that he is guilty. In which case, what hope do I have of proving his innocence?”

  “We must get cracking on finding that barrister,” Zou Zou said. “Why don’t you drive me to a suitable hotel first, since it appears there is nowhere closer to put me up. Where do people stay in Dublin, Darcy? I mean, people like us?”

  “That would be the Shelbourne,” Darcy said. “But are you sure you want to stay, Zou Zou?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling boy. I haven’t had this much excitement since I had to flee from Poland with just the clothes on my back.” She put her hand on his arm. “So come on. Buck up. Drive me to this hotel then I’ll telephone Roddy and tell him to get a move on and find us the best barrister in Ireland.”

  “Zou Zou, we’ll have to find out first whether my father’s solicitor has already engaged the services of a barrister.”

  “Oh, so there already is a legal team working for your father? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  Darcy grimaced. “Because it is Leach and Leach, the family solicitors, and I don’t expect they are much use. They are fine with wills and conveyances, but I’d like to bet that they have never tackled a murder case before.”

  “Then let’s go and visit them and tell them not to bother, that we have everything under control and have the top barrister in Ireland representing your father.”

  He had to smile at this. “Zou Zou, you make it all sound so simple, don’t you? Everything under control. I wish it were.”

  Chapter 23

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4

  IN DUBLIN.

  So relieved to find Darcy thinks the princess is an added complication too!

  My opinion of Dublin as a city rose considerably as we followed the Liffey to the city center where elegant sandstone buildings replaced brick factories and row houses, and spires and domes replaced factory chimneys. Darcy had been right. It was an attractive city and one that he would be proud to show me someday. We passed the lovely yellow stone buildings of Trinity College where students swarmed across the lawns, looking like flocks of bats in their gowns. The Shelbourne Hotel, facing a garden called St. Stephen’s Green, looked as elegant as any of the public buildings, with its glass portico and sculptures. I was just thinking that it looked horribly expensive when Zou Zou exclaimed, “Oh, I think this will do nicely.” How lovely to have money!

  She was welcomed with suitable decorum. A room was found for her and she was escorted up to it, leaving Darcy and me standing in the lobby.

  “Oh God, Georgie,” he said, leaning closer to me. “I really wish she hadn’t come. I mean, she’s absolutely adorable and so generous and all that, but life is a big game to her. I rather fear she’ll be an infernal nuisance. And draw unwanted attention to us.”

  “I don’t think you’ll manage to get rid of her that easily,” I said. “Not unless you can find her something to do that will require flying around in her aeroplane, or something that has to be done back in London.”

  He had to laugh at this. “Flying around in her aeroplane. Maybe we should have her fly low looking for Peabody.”

  I laughed too. It was a wonderful feeling that we were coconspirators, two of us against the world.

  “How long will she be, do you think?” I asked. “Is there something else we should be doing while we wait?”

  Darcy stared at the lift into which she had disappeared. “I don’t see what else we can do until we know who the dead man really was. That was a turnup for the books, wasn’t it? He comes to Ireland with enough money to buy a castle. . . .”

  “And enough know-how to get a passport in the name of a dead man. That must indicate he’s a criminal, don’t you think?”

  “Either that or a very rich man who needs to escape for some reason.”

  “Like what?”

  “He’s murdered his wife? He was involved in a scandal and he’s faking his own death?”

  “Oh yes. Good point. And anyone rich enough can pay for most things. But if he was rich wouldn’t he be well-known? Wouldn’t he worry about being recognized and having somebody say, ‘You’re not Timothy Roach, you are . . .’”

  “Which is why he acted the recluse,” Darcy finished for me.

  “But he went to race meetings. We know that.”

  “Maybe just to the stable area, though. Maybe he never appeared in the grandstand or the paddock where he might have been recognized.”

  “So . . .” I was warming to this subject now. “We need to know of any scandals among the rich in the last few years. Any millionaires who disappeared and were presumed dead. That shouldn’t be too hard to find out. And Chief Inspector Callahan has photographs he’s going to give to the American embassy. There’s a good chance someone will recognize him.”

  “But none of this alters the fact that my father’s prints were the only ones on the club,” Darcy said. He stared past me, out to the front door where a lively party had just entered, laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  “There may be an explanation for that too,” I said.

  “Such as?”

  “What if the club was not the weapon? What if it was left beside the corpse and the real weapon was destroyed or hidden? Surely your father would have handled the club sometime. Maybe he showed it to somebody. Took it down from the wall and it has his prints on it.”

  “Then how would the real killer know to plant that particular weapon, chosen from all of them, on the wall? A little far-fetched, I’m afraid.”

  “What about an interrupted burglary?” I said. “That’s not far-fetched. It’s all too plausible. Drat. We should have brought up the possibility of burglary when we were speaking to the detective inspector. He should let you look around the castle to see if anything has been taken.”

  “I suggested that to my father,” Darcy said. “There would be no point in looking around without him. I haven’t been home for several years. I’ve no way of knowing if my father sold off family heirlooms when he was short of money, or if the dead man sold them off since.”

  This, of course, was true. “But it would introduce an element of doubt to a trial, wouldn’t it? You could testify that there used to be a valuable painting on the wall and now it’s missing.” I waved a hand at him. “We could get Mickey Whatever-his-name-is to testify.”

  Darcy snorted. “Hardly. If something’s missing there’s a chance he took it himself. He doesn’t seem like the most trustworthy of chaps to me. Certainly not my view of an old retainer. Which shoots down our suggestion that Roach was a millionaire gone into hiding. If you were a rich man you’d hire a servant with more class, wouldn’t you?”

  “We’ve never seen Mickey in action. As we said before, perhaps he’s a brilliant actor and plays the part of the valet to perfection when he’s working. But I agree there is something about him I don’t trust. When you come to think of it, so much of the damning evidence against your father comes from him. He says nobody else came to the castle that day. He says he overheard an argument in the afternoon but heard nothing when there was a scuffle that evening and he says he found his master dead. But what if he were lying? What if he killed the man himself?”

  “What reason would he have to kill his employer? Jobs are hard to come by these days, and the depression is even worse in America, so I hear. I should think this job was a plum—not much work and only one man to look after.”

  “But if he also wasn’t who he claimed to be? If he was on the run and Roach found out about it?” I touched Darcy’s arm as another thought struck me. “We should take a photograph of him and give that to the embassy too. You never know, someone might recognize
him. And his fingerprints. We could get those.”

  “And how do you propose doing that?” Darcy looked almost amused now.

  “We’ll have him touch something. We’ll say, ‘Here, look at this.’”

  “‘Here, look at this?’” Darcy actually laughed.

  “Yes, you know. We’ll show him a photograph and say, ‘Do you recognize this man as having come to the castle?’ and he’ll take the photograph from us and we’ll have his prints on it.”

  Darcy looked at me, long and hard. “God, Georgie, I love you,” he said. “The eternal optimist. In spite of everything, I’m very glad you came.”

  “Am I interrupting something?” said a voice behind us, and Princess Zamanska came toward us, having changed out of the leather jacket and trousers of her flying gear into a mink coat and a scarlet pillbox hat and matching scarf. I wondered how she had managed to get so many things into such a small suitcase.

  “It looked like such a touching and intimate little scene,” she said. I realized I had been standing with my hand on Darcy’s arm and withdrew it.

  “We were strategizing,” I said. “Trying to think what we should do next.”

  “And I have been doing the same,” she said. “I had them put through a telephone call to London for me. Roddy promised me faithfully that he is working hard on our behalf and should have news any moment now. I told him he can leave messages for me at the hotel. So it’s lucky I’m staying here, isn’t it? More chance of getting messages than at the pub in your village.”

  “Do you want to remain here now, or come back to Kilhenny with us?” Darcy asked.

  “With you, naturally,” she said. “Unless you can think of anything useful I could do in Dublin. But I have to visit my dear little aeroplane and make sure it’s taken care of. I can’t just leave it in a field full of horses, exposed to the elements. Is there an airfield nearby, a proper one with hangars, do you know? I don’t think they’d let me land it on St. Stephen’s Green. Too many people and trees.” She glanced out of the windows as if to confirm this. “I should have bought a seaplane. Then I could have landed it on the Liffey.”