Crowned and Dangerous

by Rhys Bowen

  Lord Kilhenny opened the door warily, peered around it and scowled. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “What do you want?”

  “What a charming greeting,” Zou Zou said. “Did you really mean to say, ‘Oh, how wonderful to see my son and his friends’?”

  I thought I saw a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth and realized I had rarely seen him smile once. “I suppose you want to come in,” he said, “but I can tell you, you won’t make me change my mind about accepting charity and this barrister I can’t afford to pay.”

  “You’d rather hang, would you?” Zou Zou said. “Your choice, of course. If it were me, I’d choose life.”

  “Because you have plenty to live for,” he said.

  “Recently, yes, but only because I came through incredible darkness, just like you. I saw my husband hacked to pieces. I had to flee for my life with just the clothes on my back. I had to rely on the charity of others to get me out of Poland, across Europe and to England, where I was made welcome by people who didn’t know me. I spoke good French but little English. I had to start from square one with my life, and look at me now.”

  He was looking at her. He nodded. “You’ve turned out quite well.”

  “I should bloody well say so,” she replied and he actually laughed.

  “But we won’t talk of barristers or crime today,” she said.” And we come with a special request. Your aunt Oona wants you to join us for luncheon. It’s leg of lamb. The Rolls is waiting outside, but we’ll wait for you to dress more suitably.”

  “Is this Aunt Oona’s idea or yours?” he asked.

  “The request came from your aunt originally but I added mine to it.” She looked at him long and hard. “Will you come?”

  “Very well,” he said gruffly. “I am fond of roast lamb.”

  Zou Zou shot a look of triumph at Darcy and me. We were waiting in the sitting room when there was a knock at the door. Darcy went to answer it.

  “Good morning, sir,” said a very Irish voice. “Are you the owner of the house?”

  “I am not,” Darcy said. “What do you want with him?”

  Curiosity got the better of me. I tiptoed to the door, followed in hot pursuit by Zou Zou, and peeked around it. A young priest was standing there.

  “It’s the annual collection for the children in the slums,” he said. “We try to provide some Christmas cheer for those in need.”

  “Were you here once before?” Darcy asked. “A week or so ago?”

  “No, that would have been Father Brendan. But he marked that there was nobody at this house at the time, so I’ve been sent out to do the follow-up, so to speak.”

  “Did Father Brendan try to go to the castle?” Darcy asked.

  “He did. He thought that there might be a generous donation because he’d heard that a rich American had moved in, and Americans are known to be free with their money. But he never got past the gate, I’m afraid.”

  Zou Zou pushed past me. “A donation you’re wanting?” she said and pushed a pound note into the tin that he carried.

  Like other men we had encountered while with Zou Zou, the priest actually blushed. “You’re most generous,” he said. “God bless you.”

  “Well.” Darcy turned to me as he shut the door behind our visitor. “So the priest was genuine.”

  “Makes one wonder whether Professor Peabody will also turn out to be who he said he was,” I said.

  “What about the University of Southern Nebraska?” Darcy asked.

  “I suppose the girls at the dig could have got the name of the university wrong,” I suggested. “Which means either that an unknown person was responsible for the murder or Mickey acted alone.”

  “I’m coming to believe the latter,” Darcy said. “Maybe he was waiting for orders from America before he did the deed.”

  I shook my head. “I still wonder why he went to all that trouble when you could so easily make a death look like an accident in an old castle.”

  “We’ll find out more when—” He broke off as his father came down the stairs. Lord Kilhenny had changed into a dark suit and looked remarkably handsome. And quite young too.

  Zou Zou went over to him. “Well, that’s more like it,” she said. And to my astonishment she slipped her arm through his and escorted him out to the motorcar.

  Oona was equally impressed when we arrived with him.

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day,” she said, her round face alight with joy. “Come in. Come in.” She pushed the dogs aside. “Dooley, look who has come to eat with us. Such a celebration.”

  “Not exactly a celebration, dear Aunt,” Darcy’s father said. “I’m still out on bail with a charge of murder hanging over me. But I thought I should make peace if I’m about to meet my maker.”

  “Don’t say that,” Oona said. “You’ve got a good team on your side now. And you have the truth too.”

  With that we went into a splendid luncheon. Queenie helped to serve and didn’t spill anything. All in all, a day of miracles.

  Chapter 34

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 7, AND LATER THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND

  After so much frantic activity we sit and wait. This is hard.

  By the next morning the snow had turned to rain and the last traces of snow were rapidly being washed away. A gloomy dark day when a roaring fire and a hot cup of tea seemed like the best idea. Darcy came over after breakfast, saying that he had been into the village to telephone Sir Grenville and suggested that no meeting with my father should be arranged until we had more information from America. Zou Zou acknowledged that this was a smart move, giving us time to make him see sense. Nobody apart from her felt like scouring the countryside looking for Professor Peabody, but she made us agree that it was something we could do while we waited. I suggested that we might try Trinity College itself to see if he had presented his credentials there, which any visiting academic would surely do. That way we’d know if he was a fake.

  So we bundled into the car and drove through the rain. We ascertained that nobody of that name had visited the history or archeology departments. In fact we ran into our two graduate students who had been kept from their dig by the weather. From them we got a little more detailed description with which we then tackled the Dublin train station. A ticket collector did remember a large American gentleman asking for the train to Kilhenny, but then he added that the destination seemed popular with Americans these days. So not a definitive identification.

  We were tempted to go to the embassy but realized that it was still too early in the day for any results from Chicago. We’d just have to wait and be patient. We went back to Kildare and asked at the local pubs to see if Professor Peabody had stayed there, but drew a blank. So we returned to Mountjoy. It was hard to be patient and do nothing, but everything now hinged on the results from America.

  “I don’t suppose anything will happen over the weekend,” Darcy said.

  Aunt Oona frowned at him. “What a horrid Americanism, Darcy. Where did you learn such a word?”

  Darcy was amused. “You mean ‘weekend’?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, it does nicely define the two days when not much is going to happen and we’ll be stuck here.”

  “You make it sound like a penance,” Aunt Oona said. “Speaking of which, you can all come to church with us on Sunday.”

  Darcy shot me a look. “We have Georgie with us,” he said. “She won’t want to—”

  “I’ll come too,” I said. “Will your father want to join us?”

  Darcy shook his head. “He rejected the church long ago.”

  “Stupid man,” Zou Zou said. “Rejecting everything and everyone who could give him comfort and solace. Someone needs to make him see sense.”

  So on Sunday morning we all piled into the rolls and joined the villagers of Kilhenny in the little church.
It was strange to hear the Latin chanted and to watch the smoke of incense curling up and hovering in the cold air. Strange, but somehow special in a way that church services had never seemed when I was growing up. We got plenty of inquisitive stares and after mass the villagers came up to Darcy, shaking his hand and wishing him well. It was quite moving to see how well liked he was and how the inhabitants of Kilhenny village still felt an attachment and obligation to the O’Mara family.

  After mass Oona insisted on visiting Darcy’s father, but he had sunk back into a black mood and didn’t want our company. We drove home feeling subdued and spent a rainy afternoon with each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts.

  When we heard nothing on Monday, I began to worry that they would find no information on the true identity of Timothy Roach or that the background of Mickey Riley raised no red flags. In that case Chief Inspector Callahan would be anxious to push ahead with the trial. We were a gloomy lot at dinner that night. Oona hadn’t dared to invite her nephew to join us again, and Darcy had chosen to eat with his father.

  Thus we were most surprised when at nine o’clock, as we were sitting by the fire, enjoying a cup of coffee after dinner, there came a thunderous knocking at the front door that set the dogs barking furiously.

  “What in heaven’s name?” Oona demanded.

  “I’ll go,” Dooley said, getting up hurriedly.

  “You? You couldn’t deter a mouse, my darling,” she said. “I present a much more formidable figure.” And she strode toward the door. We waited, holding our breath, for bad news. Then we heard Oona’s deep, booming voice. “Ye gods, Darcy, you scared the pants off us, banging on the door like that.”

  “I came as soon as I got the news,” he said breathlessly. “Mr. Lennox just sent me a telegram. He’s heard from Chicago. And he’s driving out to meet with us in the morning.”

  It was hard to sleep that night. Tomorrow we would perhaps learn the truth and maybe exonerate Lord Kilhenny for good. I was up early, put on my coat and walked around the property to try to tame that excess energy. It was a typical old-fashioned estate with a large kitchen garden growing rows of cabbages and cauliflower, a few sheep, a couple of cows and chickens and ducks all over the place. The thought crossed my mind that I could be happy in such a place as this. I met Oona herself coming back from the henhouse with the day’s eggs.

  “Not laying well in the winter, I’m afraid,” she said. “Can’t say that I blame them.” She gave me an inquiring stare. “You’re out early. Excited about what the day will bring, or worried?”

  “Hopeful,” I said.

  She nodded as if she understood. “Any idiot could tell that Thaddy didn’t kill anyone,” she said. “Unfortunately some juries have their fair share of idiots.”

  We walked back to the house together and breakfasted on fried eggs and bacon. The princess joined us just as we were on the toast and marmalade. She looked composed, elegant and serene, as if her biggest task today would be shopping at Harrods. I waited impatiently until Darcy arrived at ten, and we all drove back to the lodge. On our way down the drive we passed Queenie, walking with a shopping basket over her arm.

  “Should we give her a ride?” Darcy asked. He slowed the car. “Where are you off to, Queenie?” he asked.

  “Lady Whyte was out of some things we needed for baking,” Queenie said, “so I said I’d go into the village for her.”

  “Jump in, we’ll give you a lift,” Darcy said.

  “Oh, thank you, sir. Most kind,” she said, blushing scarlet, and climbed in beside the princess. Again I waited for something disastrous to happen, like snagging her basket on Zou Zou’s silk stockings, but miraculously we dropped Queenie off in the village with no ill effects. A new leaf was definitely turning.

  Lord Kilhenny was looking tense and drawn, staring into the crackling flames as we sat around the fire at the lodge waiting for Mr. Lennox to arrive. None of us spoke much, each wrapped in our own thoughts and worries. Mr. Lennox came before eleven. He still had that serious look on his face, like an anxious schoolboy, and we couldn’t tell if he brought good news or bad.

  “Okay, this is what we know so far,” he said, stretching out his long legs as he sat across from us. “Still no identification on the dead man. Naturally his face matches no pictures we have on our wanted files, so I think we can confirm that he had facial surgery done. And we have no real fingerprints. However . . .” And he paused for effect. “We have a match on Mickey Riley.”

  “I knew it!” I gave Darcy an excited smile.

  “He’s a small-time gangster called Mickey ‘the Weasel’ McHenry. Small potatoes, as I said. On the fringes of big crime. Acts as driver, lookout, that kind of thing. Has done time for receiving stolen goods, participating in a robbery.”

  “So a criminal element is involved in this,” Darcy said.

  “Almost certainly. So the question is still, who was the dead man, and who wanted to kill him?”

  “As I mentioned before, the only suspicious person who was seen near the castle recently is the one who called himself Professor Peabody,” Darcy said. “We checked with Trinity College and he was not known there. And we have a better description of him now: about six foot two, not fat but stocky, large head, sagging jowls and a bulldog look to him.”

  Lennox was actually smiling. “I knew it! That’s a good description of Lofty Schultz,” he said.

  We looked at him expectantly.

  “Lofty Schultz, member of the Lake Shore Gang. They had been a powerful force in Chicago crime since the twenties. Made their first money in bootlegging rackets. Then, when liquor was made legal again, they set their sights on bigger things.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “In 1929, before the crash, they pulled off the heist of a US mail truck containing cash, bonds and jewelry. Two million dollars’ worth of assets.”

  Darcy whistled.

  “Which was never recovered,” Lennox went on. “They took off in a getaway van, leaving Lofty Schultz behind. He was arrested. There wasn’t enough evidence to pin that crime on him and he was sent to Leavenworth federal prison in Kansas for five years on a lesser charge of tax evasion. He was released after four years for good behavior.”

  “So what happened to the money and the rest of the gang?” Zou Zou asked. She had seemed composed at first, but now she was sitting on the edge of her seat.

  “The gang split up. We think Weasel McHenry was the driver but again it was never proved. We think the gang leader’s girlfriend, Lola Martinez, was the one who made sweet with a contact at the US post office and got the information on when the shipment was going to be sent. Neither of them was caught or prosecuted and both seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. However, two of the big players were caught. Skeets Kelly—we reckon he pulled the trigger that shot the mail truck driver—and Bugsy Barker. Bugsy was the gang leader. He masterminded the whole thing. They were both sentenced to life and later moved to the federal prison on Alcatraz. That’s an island prison in San Francisco Bay. No one has ever escaped from it. The freezing water and the currents make swimming impossible for more than a few minutes.”

  “So they are still there?” I asked.

  Lennox shook his head. “A few months after they were sentenced they managed to escape. They cut their way into a ventilation shaft, went down a wall on a rope and swam for it. Through the grapevine we believed they had arranged a boat to be waiting for them, but there was a high wind that night, and the water was quite rough. We found Skeets Kelly’s body washed up on the San Francisco shoreline. Bugsy was never found, presumed drowned.”

  “And the contents of the mail truck?” Darcy asked.

  “Never found, either.”

  He looked around us with satisfaction.

  “So you think that the man who called himself Timothy Roach was really Bugsy Barker?” Darcy said, his voice sounding unsteady. “He didn’t drown, but was res
cued by the boat?”

  Lennox nodded. “We’re beginning to consider that possibility.”

  “Of course,” I exclaimed as something struck me, then flushed as all eyes turned to me. “Bugsy, and he chooses the name Roach. Isn’t it funny how often people give themselves away in their choice of names?”

  “Well done.” Mr. Lennox looked at me with new appreciation. “Quite astute.”

  “Then if Professor Peabody was really this Lofty person,” Zou Zou chimed in, “he discovered who Roach was and came to seek revenge for being left behind and for leaving their fellow gang member to drown.”

  Lennox nodded again. “But I think it’s more likely that Lofty came to find out where the rest of the loot was hidden. Obviously Bugsy/Roach used some of the cash to buy the property. But none of the bonds or jewels have turned up yet.”

  “You think Bugsy brought them with him to Ireland and has hidden them in the castle?” I asked. “Do you think Mickey was sent to find them? Or do you think that Bugsy was doing him a favor by hiding him over here?”

  “The latter, probably,” Mr. Lennox said.

  “Until Lofty showed up, posing as Professor Peabody, and persuaded him to help find the bonds and jewels.” Zou Zou clapped her hands like a delighted child.

  “Or threatened to go to the police and expose him,” I added.

  “So he had to have let Lofty in, planted evidence against my father, and got Lofty away again after they killed Bugsy,” Darcy said.

  All this time Lord Kilhenny had sat silent and brooding, staring into the fire as if he was in his own world. Now he looked up. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “The man who called himself Timothy Roach was really Bugsy Something, leader of a gang. And Mickey and this professor chap are really former gang members?”

  “That’s correct,” Lennox said.

  Darcy’s father continued to stare into the flames. “Can any of this be proven?” he asked.

  “I’ve already asked the Garda to arrest Mickey Riley, alias Mickey Weasel McHenry,” Lennox said. “I think he’s the kind of small-time crook who will squeal.”