Death at the Cafe (9 page)

“Meaning it was my fault?” Bishop Murphy replied with wry humor.

“Gosh, no!” Annabelle protested. “I simply meant that you know more than anybody else how unlikely it is that Mary stole the emeralds. Perhaps you could also put in a word with the police – ” Mary shot Annabelle a surprised glare, begging her not to be so forthright. “I mean, of course, if it’s not terribly bothersome for you. I understand this is a big request and – ”

Bishop Murphy chuckled and raised his hand for Annabelle to stop.

“Yes, of course. I did bring you here to apologize anyway, and it is, in a way, entirely my fault. This is not the first time somebody has gone after Teresa’s riches and gotten away with it. I’ll make some calls and ensure that you get back to Africa in time, safely, and that no mention will be made of this unfortunate affair.”

Mary’s stifled sobs disappeared with the quickness of a rainy day turning bright.

“Really?” she exclaimed, her eyes as astounded and as brilliant as a child’s on fireworks night.

“You’re a nun in the Catholic Church. It’s remarkable that the thought would even occur that you’d be involved – let alone a suspicion. I take that as a personal affront. I’m just sorry that this has wrecked your plans for funding, but I’ll make some calls regarding that too at the first opportunity.”

“Oh, Your Excellency! That’s so… benevolent of you! I’m… speechless!” Mary said, looking toward her friend. Annabelle smiled warmly at the disappearance of the frown lines and clouded eyes that had plagued Mary’s expression. “I wish there were some way in which I could repay you.”

The Bishop brushed the request aside. “You repay the Catholic Church greatly with the work you do in Africa. It is something of which we are all immensely proud.”

Mary smiled, her hands in her lap, but her knees jogging with excitement.

“I feel as if the world’s weight has been lifted from my shoulders!” she said to Annabelle.

Annabelle beamed Mary’s smile back to her as neatly as a reflection, before a slight pause for thought.

“It does make one wonder,” she said, thoughtfully, “as to who actually stole the emeralds and killed Teresa, as well as the other woman, her niece.”

Bishop Murphy nodded. “Lauren Trujillo was her name, a wonderful young woman. She had taken good care of Teresa in her later years. As for who could have done it, I’ve been thinking very hard about it myself.”

“It’s almost as if the entire thing was constructed to place Mary at the center of events. As if someone were framing her,” Annabelle said.

“It has certainly placed an incredible amount of suspicion upon her. I’m rather surprised Cutcliffe allowed her to roam London without further questioning,” the Bishop agreed.

“Yes,” agreed Annabelle. “I’ve been racking my brain about it since the moment it happened. Who would frame someone for a murder? Particularly when it would have been easier to murder Teresa and steal the emeralds before we had even arrived.”

“Somebody close enough to Teresa to have suspicion immediately cast upon them,” Bishop Murphy added.

“Precisely!”

“That’s a keen mind you have there, Annabelle. I’ve not been disappointed in the high praise I’ve heard about you. I will make some phone calls and see what I can find out. In the meantime, you should probably try to protect Mary from any further plans this person may have. Keep her safe and sound. Out of harm’s way.”

“I most certainly will,” asserted Annabelle.

“Thank you once again, Your Excellency. I am extremely indebted to you.”

The Bishop waved Mary’s compliment away shyly. “The least I can do. For now, let me see what I can dig up about this business – as well as your funding.”

Annabelle and Mary stood up, said their goodbyes, and left the Bishop, who was already picking up the phone and dialling fervently.

Sara flashed one more headlight-bright smile as they left, and they made their way down the sunny streets of Kensington. Mary was almost skipping with joy, while Annabelle smiled and laughed at her friend’s overflowing delight.

“Oh Annabelle, finally, we can relax! Let’s go to Kensington High Street, it’s been so long since I’ve seen it.”

“Me too,” said Annabelle, before reluctantly frowning. “Shouldn’t we do as the Bishop says, however, and stay somewhere safe?”

“But I’ve not been in London for over a year! And I’ll probably not return for a while either. With all this fuss, I’ve barely had a chance to enjoy it. This is the first time we’ve been able to spend some quality time together. Come on, I’ll buy you something.”

Annabelle locked arms with Mary, and said: “You’ve convinced me!”

Though like many areas of London, it had changed much over the years, Kensington High Street still played host to many of London’s most discerning – and richest – shoppers. Filled with one-off boutiques, antiques dealers, and some of the finest chocolate and bakery shops in the whole city, Annabelle and Mary found themselves easily occupied simply window shopping.

Now it was Mary’s turn to lead Annabelle, as she flitted from shop to shop as randomly and as gleefully as a bumble bee in spring. As good as her word, she even bought Annabelle a bag of exquisite fudge, which Annabelle sneakily ate as she tried to keep up.

“These ornaments are astonishing!” Mary said, leaning over and peering into an antique shop window.

“Mmm,” Annabelle replied.

Suddenly, Mary stood upright and turned toward Annabelle with a pale-faced look of chilling terror.

“I know,” Annabelle said, nonchalantly, “these prices are shocking.”

“No!” Mary said, grabbing Annabelle’s arm and shaking her. “I saw him!”

“Who?”

“The man in the tweed suit. The doctor. The one who ran across the street when Lauren collapsed in front of me.”

Annabelle spun around, scanning the street.

“Where is he?”

Mary looked around herself slowly, frightened by the prospect.

“I saw his reflection in that silver mirror.”

Annabelle turned back toward her friend. “I’m sure it wasn’t him. How could you have seen him so clearly in a mirror so small? It’s just your mind playing tricks.” Mary drew close to Annabelle, clutching her tightly. “Ow! That hurts!” she said.

“Let’s go, Annabelle. Please.”

“Okay, okay. The tube station is nearby. Here, have some fudge to calm yourself down.”

Though Mary scanned her surroundings as they entered the station with all the intensity and thoroughness of a tourist, she could not find the man again. They boarded the tube, and she found herself relaxed in the safety of the carriage.

“See?” Annabelle said. “We would have seen him if he was following us.”

Mary didn’t reply. Annabelle noticed that she wasn’t looking back at her. She followed Mary’s eyes to the window at the back of the carriage. Standing in the carriage two behind theirs was a man in a tweed suit.

“That’s him,” Mary said coldly, her face a mask of stilled fear.

Annabelle jostled through the people to get to the window and take a closer look. It was difficult to see clearly through the crowd of the intervening carriage, not least because the curvature of the rail tracks brought him in and out of view. He was a slim, tall man, with dark skin but with features which didn’t seem entirely African – much as Mary had described him.

Annabelle turned around.

“Are you sure that’s him?”

Mary simply nodded and grabbed Annabelle’s arm tightly once again.

“We’re safe, he can’t do anything to us.”

“What if he’s just waiting for the right moment?” Mary said in a shaky voice. “We have to call the detective.”

“I agree, but you know there’s no phone reception on the tube. Let’s try something. I saw it in a film once. Just do as I say.”

Mary nodded.

As the train rolled to a stop at the next station, Annabelle ushered Mary toward the door, keeping her eyes on the carriage she had seen the man in. The doors opened with a sharp hiss, and Annabelle stepped out of the train clutching Mary’s arm. They stood in front of the doors of the train as people pushed and pressed past them, Annabelle’s eyes searching through the marching crowd of commuters for sight of the tweed-suited man. At the very last moment, with the expert timing of someone intimately familiar with London’s transport system, Annabelle shoved Mary back onto the train and jumped in behind her. The doors closed, and the train started pulling away.

Mary glanced around her, checking for any sign of him.

“Did he get off? Is he still here?”

“I don’t know,” replied Annabelle, “but I don’t see him. Yes, I think he’s gone.”

Mary allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. “Let’s just go somewhere safe.”

“I’ll take you to my church. We’ll call DI Cutcliffe on the way.”

Shaking with nerves but somewhat eased by Annabelle’s firm presence, Mary allowed herself to be taken all the way to Old Street Station, where they left the train and made their way up the escalators to the many exits.

As soon as they emerged into the bright daylight, Annabelle pulled out her phone and foraged in her pockets for the card that DI Cutcliffe had given her.

“Blast! I’ve lost the Inspector’s number!” she said.

“No need,” uttered a rough voice behind her.

Annabelle and Mary spun around and saw DI Cutcliffe standing feet away, two of his officers standing behind him as if flying in perfect formation.

“Detective!” Mary explained, with relieved surprise.

“We have to tell you something, Inspector.”

Cutcliffe raised a broad hand to stop them. “There will be plenty of time for that,” he said, in an even firmer, more authoritative, and antagonistic tone than the one he usually used. Annabelle and Mary looked at each other curiously.

“Mary Willis. Annabelle Dixon,” he continued, as his officers stepped forward. “I am arresting you on suspicion of murder and burglary. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned anything which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

CHAPTER 5

ANNABELLE STARED IN disbelief as one of the officers stepped forward, gently pulled Mary’s hands away from her face, and placed her in handcuffs. The other officer placed his hand around Annabelle’s wrist, but instead of complying absently as her friend had done, Annabelle furiously shook away his grip.

“This is utterly, astoundingly, unbelievably preposterous!” she shouted incredulously. “What on earth are you thinking, Inspector?!”

DI Cutcliffe snorted derisively.

“I don’t know what I was thinking earlier, allowing both of you to walk away from two separate crime scenes. My instincts were wrong on this one.”

Once again, Annabelle shook away the young officer’s attempt to place her in cuffs and shot him a glare so defiant that he looked to the detective for advice. Cutcliffe merely scowled and nodded for him to try again with more force.

“And what, may I ask, has caused this sudden turnabout? This incredible bout of folly, Inspector?”

Cutcliffe didn’t balk from the indignation in Annabelle’s tone.

“The right information, at the right time, from the right person,” he said, cryptically.

Annabelle stared back in disbelief. The young officer moved forward, hoping to catch Annabelle in this stunned moment. Instead, Annabelle’s eyes squinted, and her almost perpetually gentle, caring face stiffened into a look of determination.

And then she ran.

The Inspector had seen many strange things in his decades of service, from an elderly lady who suffered from dementia eventually turning out to be the head of a crime syndicate, to a man who stole shop mannequins by carrying them outside as if they were his girlfriend. The sight of a five foot eleven, sturdily-built, and typically bashful vicar, sprinting out into the street, cassock flying behind her, was an entirely new occurrence, however. She had all the ferocious acceleration and natural grace of a gazelle. He watched for a few seconds, frozen by the complete strangeness of seeing Annabelle weave between moving traffic, before setting off himself.

“Take her to the station!” he commanded the officer next to Mary, before turning to the other. “You come with me!”

By the time DI Cutcliffe and his fellow officer had set off, Annabelle had already made it to the other side of the street. She bombed forward with long, powerful strides and a stiff back, screaming polite requests as she ducked and dived through the dumbfounded crowds.

“Excuse me!”

“Sorry!”

“Move, please!”

“Vicar coming through!”

Cutcliffe and his companion did their best to keep up with Annabelle, but after a minute of full-on sprinting, Cutcliffe doubled over to catch his breath.

“You okay, Chief?” his officer asked.

“Has she been drinking holy water or something?! How the hell is she so fast? Get after her!”

The officer immediately broke into a sprint, with Cutcliffe huffing and puffing behind him.

“Stop that woman in the dog collar!” he screamed.

Annabelle reached a corner that led into a marketplace, swung her head from side to side with all the perspicacity of a guard dog, then burst forward once more between the market stalls of fruit and vegetables. Shoppers and stall owners, their heads snapping from side to side as if watching race cars at a race track, looked on in awe as the galloping vicar, followed by the policemen, raced past them.