The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (24 page)

I obeyed.  Lady Mary drew out of her handbag a vicious
little stiletto sheathed in tan leather.

“Sit down.”

I did as she commanded.  She started to French braid my
thick curls.  She braided in the leather sheath and continued braiding until
she got to the end of my hair.  Lady Mary then inserted the blade and wound my
hair around and secured it.  She gave me a hand mirror and tapped the mirror on
the dressing table.

“See here.  All you can see is the decorative clip on top of
the braid.  Give me your arm.”  I gave her my right arm.  She guided my hand
over my head, and I felt the hilt of the stiletto.

“Pull it out, slowly.”

The blade slid easily out.  I put it back in.  I shook my
head and was confident that it was secured. 

“Turn around.  We aren’t finished yet.”

There was a light tap on the door, and Paz walked in with a
roll of duct tape.  She handed it obediently to her Grandmother.  She placed a
bag on the table and left without a word.

Lady Mary took a scissors and cut a V-neck into my T-shirt.  She
then turned around and worked on something on the dressing table.  I heard the
duct tape ripping.  Turning back around she reached into the neck of my sweater
and T-shirt and into my bra.

“Hold on, don’t squirm.”

She taped a tiny sheath on each breast.  She then carefully
inserted a tiny knife into each sheath. 

“If you have to use these, you may get scratched, but if
you’re desperate enough to use them, then what is a scratch or two when you
have saved your life.”

“Thank you, I’m speechless.”

“Don’t gawk at me girl, what did you think I did during the
war?  Roll bandages?  Paz left you some things on the table.  May you never
have to use any of these, but if you do then do me proud.”  She leaned over and
kissed me on the forehead and left.

I adjusted my shirt and sweater.  The dressing table held a
plain brown paper bag.   It contained a whistle, can of mace and a pair of
brass knuckles.  I didn’t want to know whose these were.  I was still in shock
over the knives of Lady Mary’s, and my poor brain couldn’t handle too much more.

I left the room and walked down the stairs to wait for the
police.  Before I reached the bottom of the stairs I could see that Peter was
already at the door talking to the two constables.  He looked at their IDs and
let them in.

“Ms. Fin-Lathen.  I’m Constable Green and this is Constable
Strongheart.”

I reached forward and shook their hands.

“Constables, I am worried that there is a small possibility
that someone may already be on the grounds.  My daughter Noelle, Paisley Price,
and William Comstock could also be in danger.”

“Inspector Fitch of the Met has already thought of this. 
There is a unit presently searching the grounds.  Strongheart will attend to
the house.  Shall we go?”

“Lead the way.”  I turned and kissed Peter on the cheek. 
“Take care of her.”  I turned quickly, so he wouldn’t read any fear in my
eyes.  I was out the door and in the front seat of the car before I had a
chance to back out.

Did I really think I was going into a fight?  No.  Reason
dictated that I would go to Maurice’s office and help search for clues, or at
least be able to talk face to face with the Chief Superintendant.   Reason was
a good way to live, but I acted by instinct.  Reason put the police in charge,
but instinct put the knives on my person.  Reason said I would never need them,
but my instincts told me this was going to be a long and dangerous night.

The ride was swift and uncomplicated.  Constable Green was
informed only on a need to know basis, but he was excited to be involved in
something other than patrolling the streets of this well-tended community.  We
didn’t encounter any traffic until we hit the heart of the city, and that was
mostly cabs, taking the residents home from their evening’s activities.  London
is as beautiful a city at night as it is during the day.  It is by far my
favorite city of the world.

Constable Green pulled up alongside the other Met vehicles
and told me to wait.  He walked cautiously around the vehicle and opened my
door.  As I got out I noticed for the first time that he had been issued a
gun.  We walked quickly up the steps and into the building.  Mrs. Roberts was
brewing tea and coffee for the officers.

She looked out of her small kitchen at me and said,
“Anything to keep busy.”

I walked over to her and said, “I’m so very sorry.  He
clearly thought the world of you.  He even confessed to us that he was
entertaining the idea of running away with you.”

She smiled sadly, “I came back to return his credit card and
was surprised to see that his light was on.  We had this code, if he knew he
was running late, but still wanted to work after the clients left he would hand
me his credit card.”

“I thought that was, er, rather unusual.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I always buy something to soothe my
irritation for having to work late.  This time it was shoes.”  She shook her
head to clear it.  I was worried that he wasn’t waiting for me by the door
and...”

“You saw that he left his light on...”

“He is, oh, was a very frugal man when it came to the
utilities so I went in to turn off the lights, and that’s when I found him.  He
was a mess but his eyes held fear, not resignation.  Ms. Fin-Lathen, they found
a note.  Type written.  His signature, but he didn’t type.  I don’t think he
knew how.  I typed everything, and I assure you I didn’t type that letter.”

“He didn’t kill himself," I assured her. “I don’t have
to look at him to know that.  Don’t you worry; I’ll make sure that they
understand that.”

“Ms. Fin-Lathen, I’m sorry I had to tell him that you,
Michael and Angela Bathgate were here earlier.  The Cornwall CSP didn’t take it
well.”

“I don’t doubt that.  Don’t worry I will explain it if he
lets me.”  I squeezed her hand and walked into Maurice’s office.

Maurice’s body was long gone.  The crime scene investigators
had already processed the room.  CSP Browning motioned me over.  The room had a
sickly copper smell mixed in with the soft leather and wood polish.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.  I’m not too happy with
you at this moment.” Browning growled.  “We will talk later.  We found this
note.”  He handed me a plastic enclosed type-written note with a signature,
which was more of a flourish than individual letters.

To the people of the United Kingdom:

I am hardily sorry for the crimes I have
committed with Bentley Hughes and find that I cannot bear to live another day. 
I am a plagiarizer, a liar and a thief.  My brother in-law and friend Bentley
Hughes aided me in every endeavor.

I have lied to my brother Michael Sherborn and
Angela Bathgate.  These lies kept my brother from being with the love of his
life.  So many years wasted while I benefited socially and financially.

I am sorry that I have embarrassed the crown and
cast scandal on my family’s name.

Maurice Sherborn

I shook my head.  “No, this isn’t a letter Maurice would
write.  Mrs. Roberts said he couldn’t type.”

“He blew his brains out with an old military pistol.”  CSP
Browning held the gun incased in plastic in his hand.

“Where’s the bullet?”

“Crime scene dug it out of the wall.”  He held up the bag.

“I suggest you take that bag to FSS and compare it to the
one they took out of Donald.”  I stood up, giving the CSP the full benefit of
my height.  “Maurice never was enlisted, bad health.  His brother Michael was
in the military, although I don’t know what branch.  If they kept any records
of who received what weapon, which I doubt, I would bet that it’s Michael
Sherborn’s pistol.”

“Why are you so hot to blame Michael for this?”

I told him about Michael’s telling slip concerning Billy. 
“He had supposedly never seen any of us before.  And Billy thinks Michael looks
familiar.  Michael knew Angie was alive, and I think he and Ivana have been to
Cornwall recently.”

“That sure paints a different picture.”

“My God, Jesus-Mary and Joseph.”  Mrs. Roberts ran into the
room.  “I didn’t see it when I came in.  I put my purse over it.  Come, come.”

She grabbed my arm, and I followed her to her desk.  CSP
Browning was one step behind me.  Mrs. Roberts pointed to her dictaphone and
the light was blinking indicating a recording ready to be heard.  She pushed
the button.

“Mrs. Roberts, I hope you are enjoying your red shoes. 
Let’s go out dancing to break them in this weekend.  I enjoyed my talk with Ms.
Fin-Lathen, and she really enjoyed the scotch.  Please do me a favor.  If I am
not at work tomorrow could you deliver the rosewood clarinet to Ms.
Fin-Lathen.  She was so understanding, and I would like her to have something
nice to remember her stay by.  “Oh dear, there is someone at the door.  I will
finish this later.”

I took a deep breath.  “That doesn’t sound like a man who
was planning to commit suicide.  And who was at the door?”

Mrs. Roberts grabbed my arm and dragged me outside.  She
pointed up to the eaves of the building.  “The security camera!  We had it
installed when we first renovated.  We had some break-ins, and the insurance
company insisted we put a good security system in.  There are two alternating
tapes that are recorded over in forty-eight hours if we don’t access them,”
Mrs. Roberts explained.

“Where are the recorders?” CSP Browning asked.

“Upstairs, let me show you.”  Mrs. Roberts walked down the
hall and took out a key and opened a wood panel door.  She reached in and
flipped on a light.  “We don’t use the upstairs for anything but storage.  For
aesthetics, the outside looks like it’s lived in.”  She stopped at the top of
the stairs and turned more overhead lights on.  “This way.”  We followed her to
a small room at the back of the townhouse.  Inside the room was some metal file
cabinets and on top of them was a double videotape recorder.  Wires led up into
the ceiling.  The machine was plugged into a battery backup.

Mrs. Roberts lifted up her glasses to read the dials.  She
tapped the top slot.  “The bottom tape is running now.  Since it’s after
midnight, I think this tape has just started recording today.”  She reached up
and ejected the tape and handed it to CSP Browning.  “There aren’t any viewers
here, but there is one in Maurice’s, ah, Mr. Sherborn’s office.”

She opened up a new tape and inserted it.  We waited for her
to lock up.  By the time we reached Maurice’s office, Detective Moore had
arrived.  CSP Browning briefed him on what had occurred since he left the
building.  His eyes lit up when he heard about the tape.  He wanted to wait
until we had seen the tape before disclosing what he had found out at the
hospital and Angie’s house.

The television and VCR were hidden from sight by double wood
doors that matched the décor of the room.  I sat back while the lawmen fussed
over how to operate the machines.  Finally they located the remote control
unit, on the shelf labeled, “VCR Remote,” the tape was put in and we sat back
to watch.

There was a day/time box that showed up in the bottom right
of the frame.  To check its accuracy the tape was fast-forwarded to when
Michael and I arrived.  Detective Moore checked his notes and concurred that
the time listed was indeed correct. They ran through the tape at a higher
speed.  We saw Angie and the constable arrive, Mrs. Roberts leave, and as she
was leaving she turned and pulled out a set of keys and locked the door.  The
next activity was the four of us leaving.  At 19:30 hours Michael Sherborn
arrived and Maurice let him in.  At 19:45 Michael Sherborn left, stopping to
pull out a set of keys and tried a couple of keys before he found the one he
wanted; he locked the door.  At 20:13 Mrs. Roberts arrives, pulls out her keys,
unlocks the door and walks in.  And at 20:28 two police constables arrive. 
Mrs. Roberts let them in.

“When did she call 999?” I asked.

Detective Moore flipped through his papers.  “20:15.”

“When will you have an exact time of death?”

“Tomorrow, but it will be within ten or fifteen minutes.”

“That would clear Mrs. Roberts.”

“Should.  We didn’t consider this a murder till Mrs. Roberts
played the Dictaphone.  The tape pretty much tells the story.”  CSP Browning
stopped the tape and turned to talk to us. “What went on here this evening?” he
asked me.

I did my best to tell him everything that had happened from
the moment I entered the building till the time I left Michael, Angie and
Constable Core to get into a cab to go to the hospital.

“Let me get this correct, He was adamant that Bentley Hughes
could not be a murderer?” Browning asked.

“Yes, Michael disagreed but Maurice held firm.”

“What about the attempted murder of Michael Sherborn?  We
have Bruno, and you yourself are one of the witnesses.”

“Michael was never a target of Bruno’s.  Bruno was probably
supposed to shoot at whoever was closest to Michael.  Michael knew that Angie
was alive before we told him because he was in Cornwall, maybe with Ivana. 
Why?  I don’t know.  Perhaps, looking for any trace of Donald that may throw
suspicion on himself?  I don’t think so.  He wouldn’t be looking for proof that
he wrote ‘Spring Water Music’ because he gave permission for Maurice to use
it.  There must be something else there.  What about Angie?  Father Michael?”

Detective Moore checked his notes.  “Father Michael
disappeared from the hospital between 18:00 and 19:00.  The nurse discovered
him gone when she came in to take his vitals. No one has seen him.  Angie
Bathgate was last seen at 19:55 when she and Constable Core finished a
television program.  She went into her room and closed the door.  The Constable
stayed in the living room reading until Inspector Fitch’s call relayed Ms.
Fin-Lathen’s request.  She looked in and found Angie gone.

“The window was jimmied from the outside.  The latch broke
under the pressure of what looks like a pry bar forcing the window.  The bushes
are broken under the window and someone had clawed at the dirt, we assume this
was Miss Bathgate.  She also scratched a heart with an X over it in the dirt
close to the wall of the house.  It looks as if she may have been forced
through the window.  She fell into the bushes and was able to leave us a clue
before she was dragged away.”

“Why take Angie?  The heart is obvious.  Michael broke her
heart somehow.  I’d say dragging her from her bed is a good reason.  I
understand that Brighton is missing a constable?”

More pages were flipped as Sergeant Moore searched for
information.

“They found the constable dead.  He was strangled and locked
in the trunk of his car.  Ivana Penny is missing.”

“Is she dead or an accomplice?” CSP Browning thought aloud.

“This is wild, but I always talk my wild ideas out,” I said
as I rubbed my tired eyes.  “Ivan Bendonovich meets Michael Sherborn at
Bathgate.  They are mates and got along wonderfully.  I doubt that Ivan came
out of the closet there, but the two had a very strong friendship.  In or
around 1960 Ivan escapes from Eastern Europe and comes to Michael for
sanctuary.  The two of them start an intimate relationship, and Michael uses
his money that Maurice gave him to pay for Ivana’s operation.  She probably has
been living with Michael on and off since.  Michael carried her picture because
she/he is his girlfriend.

“Both of them were cheated of their glory over their music. 
They hold Bentley and Maurice responsible.  Bentley may have been innocent or
guilty in this.  Bentley’s reputation is the single most important thing in his
life.  Michael and Ivana set out to ruin it by this elaborate frame-up. 
Maurice needed to die because he wasn’t exactly convinced of Bentley’s guilt. 
But what set them off now?”

“The knighthood?”

“Maybe.  But he had already declined it.  Hold on, Michael
killed Donald probably in 1945.  Nothing happened until April of this year. 
First Horace Beaufort.  Wait a minute.  Didn’t Maurice say that Horace met with
Bentley, and they had an argument?  What was the argument about, and why did
Ivana send her henchman after him?  What did Horace know?”

I sat back in frustration.  My brain was fried.  Maurice was
dead.  Angie and Father Michael were missing.  Everything was spiraling out of
control.

“Excuse me.”  Mrs. Roberts was in the doorway.

“Yes, Mrs. Roberts.  Come in,” CSP Browning beckoned.

“I’m tired, and the constable out there said I could go.  I
wanted to give Ms. Fin-Lathen the clarinet before I go.”