by Banks, Evie
A bell rang.
“Lock the doors,” shouted the Speaker.
This was it. Renee pushed back the wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She looked at Bretton and felt a steely calm. She was ready.
The Speaker cleared his throat and spoke. “On the question of whether Georgina Renee Montshire Krebs will be instated as the next monarch, Tellers, give me your votes.”
The two vote counters who had stood at either end of the hall to record the votes, stepped forward.
Renee held her breath.
The first Teller opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything there was a frantic banging at the locked Lobby door. Renee could hear a muffled voice shouting. A House official cracked open the door. “We’re conducting a vote in here!”
“You have to stop the vote! I have information that is pertinent to the decision. Get the Prime Minister.”
Renee’s heart leapt. It was Chase!
“Close the doors,” directed the Speaker in exasperation.
The official tried to shut the door, but Chase threw his shoulder into it and knocked the official a step backwards.
The official recovered quickly and he and another Member of Parliament moved to forcibly close the doors, but Harry, who had been standing by the doors, grabbed them by the shoulders and pulled them back, allowing Chase to run in.
“Prime Minister, stop the vote!”
Prime Minister Rufus stepped forward. “Mr. Chase, we are in the middle of the most important vote in decades!”
“Yes, Sir, I’m aware, but you must see this!” Chase held up a file folder.
“I believe you were relieved from duty, were you not?” said Rufus. His bushy brows couldn’t hide the anger that glinted in his eyes.
“That’s right—”
“And yet you have continued to involve yourself in these matters.”
“Yes—”
Rufus motioned with his hand. “Bailiff, remove this man so we can proceed with our vote!”
Renee jumped to her feet. She wasn’t going to let Rufus remove Chase from her life again. She stood in front of Chase and blocked the bailiff, who halted, confused, unsure of what to do next. Dare he put his hands on the potential future queen in order to do as the Prime Minister said? Harry joined her, though Renee wasn’t sure if he was guarding her or Chase at this point.
Rufus looked furious.
Even Britchford looked agitated. “Chase, this is hardly the time—”
Renee glanced over her shoulder, but Chase wasn’t looking at her. He was staring hard at Bretton. “Prime Minister, I have evidence that Bretton murdered three women in the United States and his trial was only dismissed because he murdered the witness as well!”
There was dead silence and then the room exploded in shock.
The Speaker shouted “Order, Order!” to no avail.
In the turmoil, Renee looked from Britchford to Rufus to Bretton. Britchford looked stunned, Rufus looked ready to combust, and Bretton…Bretton got slowly to his feet. He approached Chase, noticed the camera that was televising to a live audience, and stopped. He spoke louder than was necessary to make sure the microphones picked him up. “This is nothing less than character assassination. The country will not stand for it.”
Chase didn’t take his eyes off of Bretton or blink. “I’m happy to let the country decide that. Shall I begin reading?”
Bretton froze.
Britchford leaned in. “Chase, are you certain?”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
Britchford looked up. “I motion for an adjournment while we discuss this new element.”
The Speaker, stunned by the unexpected course of events, nodded and then remembering his role, said, “Motion granted. The time is now 11:15 pm. We shall reconvene for a vote in thirty minutes.”
Prime Minister Rufus, Britchford, Renee, and Harry formed a small knot that led the way out of the pandemonium of the House of Commons. Chase trailed behind, elbow to elbow with Bretton as if to ensure he wouldn’t flee. A man and a woman, both in suits but clearly members of law enforcement, peeled off from where they had stood just outside the Lobby doors and followed them.
“Who are they?” asked Rufus.
“Metropolitan Police. They’re here to serve an arrest warrant for Ammon Bretton,” said Chase.
Rufus frowned.
They entered an ornate library. “Everybody out!” barked Rufus. “No journalists!” Once everyone had been chased out, Rufus whirled around. “This had better be good.”
Britchford held up his hands. “Before we start, I just want to be sure that you’re aware of the libel laws that you may run afoul of if you’re wrong.”
Chase nodded. “I’m aware.” He took a deep breath and began. “First of all, the three murders in question were all in the Massachusetts and Connecticut areas, where Bretton has spent his life.”
“Millions of people live in those states,” said Bretton.
Chase continued. “All three of the women were strangled by hand, rather than by a rope or some other instrument. Several criminal psychologists have agreed that this means the murderer enjoyed the act of killing, that he wanted to feel the women die.”
“This is very macabre,” said Britchford.
“Indeed,” said Chase. “It becomes even more so when we learn that the victims were…for lack of a better word…violated as they were being choked to death.”
“So far, I hear nothing linking Ammon to any of this,” said Rufus.
“Not yet,” said Chase. “But were you aware that Bretton was confined to a psychiatric institution when he was sixteen?”
“Ammon, is this true?” asked Rufus.
Bretton stole a glance at the two agents standing by the door. “Yes, it’s true. But back then they used institutionalization rather than medication. My mother was a delicate sort who didn’t know how to handle an active teenage boy. Today they would prescribe Ritalin or Prozac, but back then imprisonment was the only option.”
Rufus and Britchford appeared to relax somewhat, but Renee could see that Bretton was so tense and still that the only part of him that moved were his nostrils flaring as he breathed. He didn’t even blink.
“That’s a touching story,” said Chase. “The only problem is that it’s not true. The young Ammon Bretton was institutionalized for attempted strangulation of a female classmate. His options were to be tried as an adult or spend a year in psychiatric care. He chose the latter. The records were sealed because he was a minor at the time,” said Chase, anticipating Rufus’s next question and pulling out a sheaf of papers from the folder.
Rufus, who was starting to look less blustery and more cautious said, “That doesn’t link him to any of the three murders in question.”
“No, of course not. It merely shows he has a history of such things,” said Chase.
Bretton clasped his hands behind his back and wandered over to a glass display case. Chase’s eyes followed him.
“I can see that I’m going to be tried, convicted, and executed here,” said Bretton.
“That’s not what’s happening; this is merely informational,” said Rufus, but he pulled a stub of a cigar from his pocket and began chewing on it nervously. “We don’t have much time. If you have any positive proof about anything you need to come out with it. Otherwise, this is a terrible slur that will not be allowed to stand.”
Chase nodded. “I understand, Prime Minister. The three murders all happened along Interstate 91 in towns Bretton was known to inhabit at the time. The first murder was in Chicopee where Bretton was a valet at a country club. Interestingly, the victim was a hostess at the same country club.”
“Coincidence,” said Rufus.
Chase cocked his head. “Could be. The second murder was in Hartford. A high school student called her mother to tell her she had a flat tire on the highway. Her body was found a week later in the woods. Again, Bretton was in close proximity; he worked as a cashi
er at a gas station a half mile from where the girl’s car was parked on the side of the highway. There’s even video of her entering the gas station.”
Rufus rocked back on his heels. “This ought to be easy to prove. If there’s video of the girl then there should be video of Ammon at work. Isn’t that right, Ammon?”
But Bretton acted as if he hadn’t heard. He continued to look in the glass case as if studying the crumbling piece of paper displayed within it.
“Oh, yes. There’s video of him working in the gas station all night. The register was perfectly reconciled in the morning. Not one penny was missing,” said Chase.
“I thought so,” said Rufus with a satisfied air.
“But he was an hour late.”
Rufus stopped grinning.
“And his absence corresponds with the time she is believed to have gone missing. Bretton’s coworker—the one seen in the video when the girl makes her appearance—noted that Bretton seemed distracted and that his clothes looked dingy when he arrived, not his usual spic and span self. Those are his words.”
Britchford interrupted. “Nobody supports the Montshire claim more than I do, but Mr. Chase, I did used to be a barrister and so far I haven’t heard anything rock solid. It’s all circumstantial.”
“Yes, I agree. But you’ll also agree that two murders that occur where Bretton worked could be merely a coincidence of circumstances, but a third time is a pattern. He worked as a dishwasher in New Haven—you’ll notice that every time he changes job he loses status, taking positions that were less likely to conduct background checks or question why he would abruptly leave a job as a cashier to become a dishwasher, or why a highly intelligent, articulate person would seek to hide among the hoi-polloi he so detests.”
“Conjecture,” warned Britchford.
Renee didn’t need to hear any of this to know the truth of what Chase was revealing. She remembered the touch of Bretton’s fingers on her neck and how in thrall to him she had been. She could easily imagine the scared teenage girl looking for help with her car, only to run into a handsome man who, with a single smile, could convince you that he had the best of intentions. Yes, I know exactly how to change a tire; let’s walk this way back to your car, it’s a short-cut, you know. Renee could hear exactly how the situation would have played out. Or the country club hostess who was not blind to the charms of the valet and who thrilled when he put his hand on the small of her back, suggesting they find a quiet place. Or perhaps she needed a ride home and he acted as her white knight, pulling up in his car as she waited by the bus stop. Renee shivered. She could have been one of these women. She so nearly was, and was so busy contemplating her lucky escape that she nearly missed Chase discussing the third murder.
“—was a known prostitute and often frequented the bar where Bretton worked. But unlike the previous two women, this one was street smart. She carried a small blade on her person—called it her life insurance—since her line of work could sometimes be dangerous. A witness saw them leave the bar together. Her body was found in an alley two days later. The blade was not with her. When Bretton returned to work he had a long slash across his face. He claimed that he had an unfortunate accident while fly-fishing over the weekend, but the witness’s testimony of him being the last person seen with the deceased was enough to get him hauled in before the police.”
Rufus cut in. “Like he said before, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time an awful lot of times,” Britchford retorted.
“It looks like the police agreed with Mr. Britchford,” said Chase. “They started looking into similar murders and discovered Bretton’s proximity to them. He was charged with all three, but it was the witness from the bar who was the clincher to the case. Without him the rest was just a string of coincidences, unlikely but not impossible.”
Bretton hadn’t said anything during all of this. Renee was getting more and more nervous. She glanced at the clock: it was already 11:30. They didn’t have much time for further discussion, but Chase wasn’t finished yet.
“Bretton posted bail. A week before the trial the witness was found dead in his car. It had driven off the road and into a ravine. It was determined to be an accident, but there was unexplained bruising on the neck. No fingerprints were found anywhere on the vehicle. Without the witness the case crumbled and could not be prosecuted properly and he was released.”
“So far all of this can be found in the public record and we did find it,” said Rufus.
Chase didn’t falter.
“But you didn’t find the blade that went missing from the last victim. You didn’t have it tested and find Bretton’s blood on it.”
Rufus choked and turned red. “What the bloody hell are you saying, that you have physical proof of his involvement?”
Chase nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
BOTH BRITCHFORD AND RUFUS appeared shaken. The realization that they were standing in the same room with a serial killer seemed to have sunk in and neither knew how to respond, but both shrank back as they stared at Bretton’s still back.
“Of course, he will have diplomatic immunity if he becomes the king,” said Chase, but looking around, Renee could see that no one in the room thought that very likely. “The American prosecutors felt that they had enough information to indict him and have signed a writ of extradition. Our officers are ready to take him into custody.”
“It’s a bloody diplomatic crisis now,” said Rufus through his teeth, and glowered at Chase as if he were the source of all the trouble. He threw his cigar stub into a wastebasket. “So be it. Ammon, it’s not your time to be king. There is a legal process that must be followed. The trial will ferret out the truth.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Britchford, taking up the chorus. “I have the greatest confidence that justice will be done. Mr. Chase, do be so kind as to open the door and let the officers in—”
The subject under discussion, Bretton, had remained silent during it all. He unclasped his hands and laid them on the glass display case. He turned his head and from Renee’s vantage point she could see that his pupils had shrunk to mere pin points, and before he had even twitched, she knew that he was not going to allow himself to be taken away in handcuffs. Chase opened the door and the two waiting officers stepped inside. In that moment, Bretton grabbed a small, bronze bust off the shelf in front of him and brought it smashing down onto the display case, setting off a shrill alarm. He reached inside and snatched the paper from amongst the chunks and slivers of glass. Chase and the two agents drew their weapons.
“Don’t shoot!” yelled Britchford, going completely white. “That’s the Magna Carta!”
They held their fire, but kept their guns trained on Bretton.
Bretton backed away, keeping the ancient document in front of him. For every step backwards, Chase and the two officers took a step forwards. Bretton leered and his scar stood out in pale relief.
“I could have been a great king,” he said.
“You’ve got blood on your hands,” said Chase.
“Name a leader who doesn’t.”
He continued to back slowly away and then suddenly turned and disappeared down a row of leather bound volumes. Chase and the officers immediately followed. Renee was about to spring after them, but Harry grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Somebody turn that blasted thing off,” shouted Rufus.
Britchford walked over to the smashed display case, felt around underneath, and the alarm stopped. “That’s better.” But his hands were shaking.
Rufus stumbled over to a chair and fell heavily into it. “My mother told me to go into boiler repair. A job that would never vanish, she said. I should have listened.”
“It’s never too late in life to learn these things,” said Britchford, attempting a joke, but stopped when Rufus glared at him from under his bushy eyebrows. In a more placating manner he said, “You
couldn’t have known—about Bretton, that is. He comes off as rather dashing and upper crust. It’s frightening to think what dreadful things a person can hide under good manners. You don’t suppose—it seems impossible, but I suppose we must consider it in light of what we’ve just learned…Oh, what a terrible thought!”
“Out with it, Britchy, what’s on your mind?” said Rufus, gruffly.
“Only that I was wondering if Ammon Bretton had anything to do with the explosion at the Grand Reunion.”
Rufus passed a hand over his eyes. “Anything is possible.”
The two leaders were both lost in contemplation of this horrible possibility when Renee cleared her throat. It was almost 11:45pm. Britchford looked at his watch and made a squeak of surprise, and Rufus started to his feet. They both hurried to the door and would have reached it at the same time, but the door would not accommodate two rotund men at once.
“I’m still the bleedin’ Prime Minister,” said Rufus.
Britchford stepped aside and held his arm out in an exaggerated gesture indicating that Rufus should lead. Rufus walked through the doorway and Britchford followed him though Renee heard him mutter, “Yes, you are. For a few weeks more, anyhow.”
They hurried down the hallway, nearly running, towards the House of Commons. Rufus shouted at his aide who was up ahead, “Everybody votes Aye! Anybody who doesn’t will end up as chief rubbish bin counter in East Manchester!” The aide immediately began running, shouting “Vote Yea!” at surprised MP’s as he flew by.
They were nearly at the doors.
Rufus addressed Renee. “I suppose you’ll want to be here for this. Right this way, Lady Montshire.”
Renee held back. “I’d like to be with my family.”
“As you wish.”
Rufus turned to go into the House, evidently still smarting from the loss of his favorite.
Britchford hugged her. “Oh, this is momentous! The next time I see you, you will be the Heiress Elect!”
“Close the doors!” came the cry. MP’s hurried to make it before the doors closed.
“See you on the other side,” said Renee. She caught a final glimpse of Britchford before the doors closed. “Come on!” She and Harry ran down hallways, skidding when they rounded corners, and burst into Britchford’s office where Cassandra, Audrey, Leanne, Roberts, and her security guard John were gathered around the monitor.
