Stiletto (45 page)

“A flower for the young gentleman?” she asked in a lilting accent. “You’ll be blessed by God.”

“Oh, how nice,” said Alessio.

“Touch him, and I’ll break your fucking wrist,” said Clements. The woman fell back, aghast. They walked on, the Leliefeld siblings exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“I don’t think she was a supernatural threat,” ventured Odette. “I think she was just trying to sell him that flower for his buttonhole.”

“Yes, I know,” said Clements absently. “I’d say that to anyone who tried to sell us something.”

“Oh.”

They came to the end of the lane and there on the brow of the hill, beyond a broad street crawling with people and vehicles, was the huge structure of the grandstand at Ascot racecourse.

For some reason, Odette had thought it would be an old, majestic stone structure.
There’s something about the adjective
royal —
you expect everything to look like a castle,
she thought. This building looked like the castle of the king of the Internet. It was modern, metal and glass, and stood proudly against the sky. Steel columns climbed up and branched out to support a curving roof of diamond-shaped panels like leaves through which the light shone. Gigantic Union Jacks stretched the height of the building, and golden flags emblazoned with
Royal Ascot
fluttered gaily in the wind.

Odette was so taken with it that she didn’t even notice Clements prodding her along a bridge, across the road, and down some stairs. She had to concede that Clements had been right about the traffic. If they’d driven, their emaciated corpses might eventually have found a parking space. A stretch limousine inched along at the speed of a tectonic plate, followed by three stretch Humvees in pink, gray, and silver.

She drank in the crowds, the clothes, and, above all, the hats. A tiny woman teetered by on high heels wearing a hat as big as her torso and made of rigid corrugated glitter. Odette could practically hear the woman’s neck bones crumpling under the weight. At the gate, Clements opened her handbag and handed them pink badges with their names on them. “Don’t lose them, or you won’t be allowed back in,” she cautioned. She looked at her watch and sighed. “I’m afraid we’ve missed the royal procession. I expect the Court is scattered around the enclosure, along with Graaf van Suchtlen and Dr. Leliefeld.”

“Any tips?” asked Alessio keenly.

“Lentus Ultimusque in the fifth is what I heard,” said the Pawn, and she ushered them through the gates.

The Royal Enclosure was definitely more than a paddock. They found themselves in a long sweeping garden that curved down toward the grandstand. There were trees and benches dotted about, and white marquees along the sides. They were quite the nicest tents Odette could ever recall seeing, with glass walls and elegant dining rooms inside. Some of them seemed to have their own little outside enclosures of tables and chairs under white canvas umbrellas, barricaded by tasteful little bulwarks of rope and flowerpots.

“What are the tents?” she asked.

“They belong to various clubs — White’s, the Garrick Club, the Cavalry and Guards Club. They’re by invitation only. That one over there is for guests of the monarch.”

“Is there a tent for the Checquy?” asked Odette.

“We’re a covert government agency that no one has ever heard of,” said Clements acidly. “Having a marquee with our name on it would probably draw questions.”

“There’s Rook Thomas,” said Odette, hurriedly changing the subject.

“Where?”

“Over there, under that orange hat.” It was an apt description. The Rook was wearing a teardrop-shaped hat that added a significant amount of height to her silhouette. It swooped up and was adorned with a green rosette and some startling red and green tendrils. It looked like an enormous tropical flower had sprouted from her head.

“Rook Thomas, I love your hat,” said Odette when the three of them reached her. It was true that she looked magnificent, although the hat really appeared to be the dominant partner in the relationship.

“Thank you, Odette,” said the Rook. “And you all look very nice. Alessio, my condolences on the suit, but at least you blend in. Think of it as camouflage.”

“Where is everyone else?” asked Odette.

“I have no idea,” said Thomas. “I only just got here twenty minutes ago, after spending several years in my car and then a couple more walking from the car park. I was just going to find a drink and place a bet. You can come with me, or you can have a stroll.” Odette shot a look at Pawn Clements, who was standing as close to attention as one could in heels on grass.

“We’d love to come,” Clements said. Ten minutes later, Odette and the Rook were sipping from glasses of Pimm’s Cup while Alessio and Clements (who was technically on duty and also appalled at the idea of drinking alcohol in the presence of her superior) had lemonades.

Inside, the grandstand was hollow — a tall, long atrium with walkways hugging the walls and escalators leading up. More Union Jacks were scattered around, but the architecture was all so futuristic that the race-goers looked as if they had been Photoshopped in. The Royal Enclosure appeared to take up about half of the building. As the four of them moved through a crowd at the base of an escalator, the Rook paused and looked back, slightly bewildered.

“Are you all right?” asked Odette.

“Yeah, I just...” She trailed off. Her eyes narrowed. “No, I’m fine.” She led them through the grandstand and out onto the grass by the racetrack. They placed their bets with the bookmakers according to their own personal systems. Rook Thomas and Clements studied their form books avidly and picked the odds-on favorite while Alessio picked his horse because of its name (Watson’s Crick), and Odette was lured by the colors one jockey was wearing (a scarlet
Y
on white, which reminded her of an autopsy).

“That’s the royal box up there,” said the Rook, pointing to the middle of the grandstand where a curved structure was bulging out of the wall. “At this very moment, the monarch, the royal spouse, and various royal hangers-on are in there, looking out at us and eating crisps.” Odette squinted up. There was a small, tasteful royal crest under the window. The glass was lightly tinted, but she could dimly make out people inside.
Well, it’s cool to have
probably
seen the ruler of Great Britain,
she thought.

Off to the side, beyond the bookmakers, she could see the other sections of the grandstand. They were far, far more crowded and extended much farther along the track. The people inside looked like battery race-goers. Then the race began, and she was buffeted slightly by the roar of the crowds. The rumbling of the horses drew nearer and Odette found herself shouting wildly with the rest of the people. Alessio jumped up and down and yelled like a mad thing. Even Clements was cheering.

To Odette’s delight, her horse came in an unlikely second. She and Clements left Alessio with Rook Thomas while they went to the bookie to pick up Odette’s thirty pounds. They returned to find the Rook talking on her mobile phone and appearing extremely perturbed. Alessio was looking on in fascination.

“No, tell them to keep it quiet,” she said into the phone. “Threaten them with the Official Secrets Act. Thank God the security guard had the sense not to announce it to the world.” She listened for a moment. “No, they’ll want this to get out even less than we do.”

“What’s happening?” Odette asked her brother.

“I don’t know, but the Rook is not happy.
Really
not happy. I learned several new words.”

“Well, in that case,” said Rook Thomas, “conference the racecourse chief of security in on this conversation.” She paused and addressed her companions. “Something has happened here. It looks as if it falls within our purview.”

“Here at the
racecourse?
” asked Clements.

“Here in the enclosure,” said Thomas flatly. “A man is dead.”

“What are we —” began Clements, but the Rook held up a hand and listened intently to her phone.

“Major Llewelyn, this is Dr. Nicola Boyd. Do you acknowledge my authority?” She nodded in satisfaction and then caught the startled gazes of Odette, Clements, and Alessio. She made a face that meant
It’s a secret government thing; I’ll explain in a moment
and turned her attention back to the phone. “Excellent. All right, I think we can agree that we want this to stay as quiet as possible, so no police, no ambulance. Your security guards can keep everyone out of the bathroom for the moment.” She paused. “Give them my name and tell them to admit me and anyone accompanying me. I’ll be there in five minutes, and I’ll be able to tell you if it belongs to me, or if we turn it over to the police. Fine. I’ll call you back shortly.” She hung up and turned to them.

“Nicola Boyd is one of my working aliases,” she explained. “She’s something high up in the Home Office. Now, I have to go look at this and decide whether or not it’s within our bailiwick.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully and glanced around. “I want Pawn Clements for this, and I don’t think it would be wise for us to leave you two alone. So you should come with me.”

“Is it safe?” asked Odette.

“Yeeeah... probably,” said the Rook unconvincingly. “But you’ve got me and Pawn Clements, so it will be less unsafe than it might otherwise be.” She paused briefly and mentally parsed what she’d just said. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Rook Thomas,” said Pawn Clements. “You might want to take off your badge that says Myfanwy Thomas on it.”

“Ah, good catch.” She led them up the steps and into the grandstand, up a couple of escalators, and down a corridor. They stopped in a comparatively quiet corner in front of a handicapped restroom. Two uncomfortable-looking men in dark suits flanked the door.

“I’m sorry, miss,” said one of the guards. “This lavatory is out of order.”

And so it needs two security guards?
thought Odette.
Great cover story.

“Gentlemen, I’m Nicola Boyd. You’re expecting me.” They nodded in relief, although they looked a little startled at the company she was keeping. Apparently, people didn’t usually bring thirteen-year-old boys to crime scenes. “Have you looked inside yet?”

“I found the body, ma’am,” said the guard on the left. “It’s — it’s pretty horrible.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve never seen anything like it, he’s all —” Rook Thomas held up a hand.

“Have you told him” — she nodded at the other guard — “what you saw?”

“No, he hasn’t, ma’am,” said the guard on the right. “Just that there’s a dead body. Major Llewelyn ordered him to say nothing else.”

“Good,” said the Rook. “Now, what’s your name?” she asked the guard who’d found the body.

“Ralph,” said Ralph. “Ralph Witt.”

“All right, Ralph, did you touch anything while you were in there?”

“Just the door handle. And I was sick in the corner,” he added apologetically.

“We’ve all been sick in a corner at some point. But are you sure you didn’t try to check the person’s vitals or anything?” asked the Rook. “Take a pulse?”

“No, ma’am,” he said with certainty. “You’ll, um, see why when you go in there.” The Rook nodded unenthusiastically.

“Are you prepped?” she asked Clements.

“Yes, ma’am.” The Rook and the Pawn opened their purses and took out sealed plastic packages containing surgical masks and latex gloves. The two women donned them after removing their hats and putting them on a nearby chair.

“You two,” said the Rook to Odette and Alessio, “will stay out here. Mind the hats.” They nodded obediently. “If someone starts approaching you in an odd way, just, um, bang on the door and scream, and we’ll come out.” She didn’t stop to see the Grafters nod.

Just bang on the door and scream?
thought Odette incredulously. She looked around and saw no one moving in a manner that suggested supernatural hostility.

“I’ll go first,” said the Rook. She opened the door a little and stepped through. They heard her gasp and then exclaim, enraged, “Oh,
fucking
hell!” Everyone froze. “It’s fine, Clements, you can come in,” she said finally. Clements went and the door shut behind her. There was a silence that some might have described as “ominous.”

Then the door opened, making Alessio and Odette jump. Clements emerged, looking a trifle dazed. She pulled off her gloves and mask and walked over to her handbag to pull out another plastic package.

“Here,” she said, offering it to Odette.

“Here what?” said Odette.

“Rook Thomas wants you to go in,” said the Pawn. “She wants your opinion.”

“My opinion? On what?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to taint your first impression,” said Clements. “Here, give me your hat.” Odette reluctantly yielded her chapeau and snapped on the gloves and mask. She opened the door hesitantly and moved in through the narrow gap.

Oh. Well, that’s a first,
she thought. The sight before her left her feeling a little light-headed.

The lavatory was spacious, and very clean. A wheelchair stood next to the toilet, and it was evident that the dead man had moved himself over from one to the other. He was dressed in a morning suit, hat still on his head, and his trousers were down (as was usual, given the locale). He was dead, and Odette could see why Ralph the guard hadn’t felt the need to check his vital signs.

Huge glittering crystals sprouted from the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room. They thrust out at the man on the toilet, piercing him all over. One that came from the wall behind the man had gone directly through his right eye. It held his head up, so he appeared to be looking at them with a one-eyed, somewhat reproachful gaze.

Rook Thomas was standing in a crystal-free space near a corner. Her arms were crossed, and she had an expression on her face that suggested she was taking this whole situation extremely personally. “Fucking hell,” she said to herself, sighing.

“All right, Major Llewelyn,” said the Rook to the security chief of Ascot Racecourse. “It’s definitely ours, and we definitely don’t want word getting out about this.”

“Is it murder?” asked the major. The Rook looked a little hunted. The gray-haired, dignified man was at least fifteen years older than her, a foot taller, and had a tendency to bark out questions. Odette could see her trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make things worse.