The Last Queen of England (45 page)

“I need some time to myself,” she’d said.
 
“Call for me later.
 
Nine o’clock.”

That was all she’d said.
 
Then she’d disappeared behind the lift door as it closed and Tayte had gone to the bar and started drinking for both of them.
 
He wasn’t drunk - not even close.
 
His appetite had kicked in before the alcohol took hold and he’d gone into the restaurant and eaten for both of them, too.
 
He could still feel her parting kiss on his cheek, or liked to think he could.

Tayte checked his watch again: eight-forty p.m.

He’d already shaved and showered, and he figured he looked about as good as he was going to, given what little he had to work with.
 
At least his hair was clean again and tidy for a change, and he thought the aftershave he was wearing smelled nice, which was something.
 
He wanted to see Jean again.
 
He wanted to see her smile again, too: the kind of smile he’d seen the day they first met in
Rules
restaurant when Marcus introduced them.

Marcus...

Tayte thought about his old friend and he felt bad for not thinking of him more often, but the events of the past few days simply hadn’t allowed him to.
 
He supposed he would have plenty of time to mourn his friend’s passing once his life found its rhythm again, but he still hadn’t resolved everything.
 
Not yet.
 
Marcus’s murder had been avenged but he still had to complete the research that had led to his death.
 
He knew how much Marcus hated to leave his research unfinished once he’d started and he thought he would do that for him in the morning, knowing as he did that there was more to this royal heir hunt than he had let on.

He started drifting with his thoughts, tripping down memory lane with Marcus Brown: the greatest genealogist he’d ever known or was ever likely to know.
 
He thought about his college years as he often did.
 
He was fond of that time.
 
It was somewhere he went back to when he needed a happy thought.
 
He supposed everyone had a place like that in their lives.
 
He thought of his first introduction to Marcus, recalling his passion and his wisdom, and the hope it had given him when he first started out in genealogy.
 
Tayte felt he owed it to both of them now to resolve his own unfinished business and he was just beginning to feel the familiar weight of all those failed attempts begin to smother him again when he was saved by the telephone.
 
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Mr Tayte?
 
It’s Jack Fable.
 
I’m down at reception.”

Tayte hadn’t expected to hear from the detective again so soon.
 
“What is it?”

“We found Joseph Cornell.
 
More by chance than good police work.”

Tayte thought that was good news, but he had the feeling Joseph Cornell wasn’t the reason the detective had come to the hotel so late.
 
His next words confirmed it.

“There’s something else,” Fable added.
 
“Something that can’t wait until morning.
 
I tried calling Ms Summer’s room, but she’s not answering.”

That said it all.
 
“You found her son?”

“I’d rather talk to Ms Summer in person,” Fable said.
 
“You think you can call on her and bring her down to the bar?”

“Sure,” Tayte said, and every bad scenario he could think of began to tumble through his mind.
 
“We were going for a drink at nine,” he added, putting his loafers on.
 
“Jean was probably getting ready when you called her.”

“Yeah, that must have been it,” Fable said.
 
“I’ll see you both shortly.
 
Oh, and tell her to bring her jacket.”

When he saw Jean again, Tayte didn’t go into the details of Fable’s call - not that he really had much information to share.
 
What he did have was enough to worry him though and he thought he’d spare her that for now.
 
After all, Fable hadn’t really said anything about Elliot.
 
It was just his concerns over the probability that it now appeared Cornell had kidnapped her son, not Michel Levant.
 
He knew the kind of man Robert Cornell had been and he didn’t suppose his brother was any different.
 

“Why does he want me to bring my jacket?” Jean asked as they walked to the lift.

“I guess you’re going somewhere,” Tayte said, praying it wasn’t to the city morgue.
 
“Let’s just wait and see what he has to say.”

Fable was sitting at a table in the Churchill Bar when they entered.
 
It was quiet.
 
A young couple were sitting on stools at the bar.
 
A few other tables were taken.
 
Background conversation was barely audible.
 
Fable stood up as they approached and they all sat down together as a waiter came to take their drinks order.
 
Tayte ordered a Jack Daniels to continue where he’d left off an hour ago and Jean had the same.
 
Fable declined.

“This is becoming a habit,” Fable said to Tayte.
 
He reached down beside his chair and lifted Tayte’s briefcase up.
 
“What is it with you and London taxis?”

Tayte smiled as he reacquainted himself with it for the second time in as many days.
 
“Thanks,” he said.
 
“I’ll try not to let it happen again, believe me.”

Fable held something else out.
 
It was a black plastic box the size of a slim matchbox.
 
“They found this taped inside.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a GPS transmitter.”

“A tracking device?” Tayte said.
 
He scoffed.
 
“Good place to put it.
 
My case goes everywhere with me.”

Jean sat forward and took a closer look.
 
“So that’s how they knew we were at St Paul’s Church in Shadwell.”

“I guess it is,” Tayte said, wondering who had access to his briefcase recently.
 
A second later, he said, “Michel Levant.
 
He could have put it there when I left it in the taxi the first time around.
 
He followed us to the construction site where Robert Cornell worked.”

“And whoever put it there wrote the notes,” Jean said.
 
“And they kidnapped my son.”

“What notes?”

Tayte felt his cheeks flush.
 
“I wanted to tell you, detective.
 
I just needed room to think.”

Jean explained everything and Fable looked disappointed.
 
“You damn well should have told me,” he said.
 
He paused, letting it go.
 
“Look, before you go jumping to conclusions about who put this in your briefcase, there are things you need to know.”
 
He cut right to it.
 
“Joseph Cornell is dead.
 
His body was discovered at a flat in Islington earlier this evening.”

“Dead?” Tayte said, considering the ramifications.
 
“How?
 
When?”

“Someone reported hearing a gunshot earlier this evening, or what sounded like a gunshot.
 
Turned out they were right.”

“Who was it,” Tayte asked.
 
“A neighbour?”

“Anonymous call from a payphone.
 
Local.
 
People don’t always like to get involved.”

“What happened?” Jean asked.

“Joseph Cornell was found sitting in an armchair with a hole in his head.
 
A handgun was found on the carpet beside him.
 
Time of death coincides with the call we received.
 
Suicide seems the probable cause but it’s yet to be confirmed.”

Their drinks arrived, suspending the conversation.
 
When the waiter left again, Jean knocked half her drink back, eyes on Fable the whole time.
 
“Why did you want me to bring my jacket?”

Fable leant towards her and gave a reassuring smile.
 
“It’s good news, Ms Summer.
 
Your son was at the flat.”

Tayte waited for Jean to say something but she didn’t.
 
Instead, she continued to look at Fable until her eyes welled with tears.
 
Then she stood up, sniffed and put her jacket on.

Fable rose with her but he beckoned her to sit down again.
 
“Finish your drink,” he said.
 
“He’s in safe hands.”

“Where is he?”

“Guy’s Hospital, but he’s okay.
 
He’s being checked over, that’s all.
 
Just routine.”

“They didn’t hurt him?”

“He has a few bruises.
 
A possible cracked rib.
 
Nothing more.
 
He probably struggled at first.”

Tayte thought about the phone message he’d left for Elliot’s kidnapper.
 
It was over.
 
That’s what he’d said.
 
The heir could not be found.
 
He thought Cornell must have seen no other way out.

But what about Levant?

Tayte couldn’t get past the fact that the Cornells needed a genealogist.
 
And he couldn’t see how Joseph Cornell could have planted that tracking device in his briefcase.
 
Apart from when he’d left it in the back of the taxi at the gasworks it had been by his side every step of the way.
 
If Joseph Cornell had been there, surely he would have intervened when Levant showed up.

Jean stood up again.
 
Her cheeks glistened beneath the ceiling lights and her hands were shaking as she downed the rest of her drink.
 
“I want to see my son,” she said.
 
“I want to see him now.”

“Okay,” Fable said as he rose.
 
“Let’s go see him.”

As they walked, Tayte asked how officers Jackson and Stubbs were.

“They’re going to make it,” Fable said without elaborating.

“What about the man who shot them?
 
Did they pick him up?”

Fable shook his head.
 
“The manhunt continues.
 
He probably made it to the river and my guess is that he’s one highly resourceful son-of-a-bitch.
 
I doubt we’ll see him again.”

They reached the lobby.
 
In her haste, Jean had pushed ahead.

“Any idea who he was working for?” Tayte said.

Fable sighed.
 
“Does it matter?”
 
He sounded beat.
 
“It’s over, Tayte.
 
The people at Thames House bought your story, even if I didn’t.”

Tayte said nothing.
 
He just looked at his shoes as they headed across the lobby.

Fable stopped halfway to the door.
 
“Someone didn’t want you to find what you were looking for,” he added.
 
“I’m sure Joseph Cornell was a marked man, too.
 
Maybe he killed himself.
 
Maybe he didn’t.
 
There are powerful people out there who’d rather let sleeping dogs lie, if you know what I mean.
 
My advice to you is to do the same and move on.”

“And what about you?” Tayte said.
 
“Are you moving on?”

“There seem to be a few loose ends still, don’t there?”

Tayte nodded, thinking about Michel Levant again as they caught up with Jean.
 
He gave her a smile and changed the subject.

“Well, I’ll let you take it from here,” he said.
 
“I’m sure you’d like some time alone with your son.”

“Thank you,” Jean said.
 
“And don’t wait up.
 
I don’t think I’ll be coming back to the hotel tonight.
 
Elliot’s dad will want to spend some time with him, too, so I guess we’ll go there.”

“Oh, okay,” Tayte said.
 
“Well, I’m glad things turned out.”

Jean nodded.
 
She turned away, then she quickly turned back again.
 
“How about lunch tomorrow?”

Tayte’s face lit up.
 
“That’d be great.
 
Where?”

“The National Portrait Gallery.
 
I’ll meet you there around midday?”

Jean leant in and kissed Tayte’s cheek for the second time that evening and Tayte suddenly felt light on his toes.
 
She glanced back as she followed Fable to the car and Tayte thought that was a good sign.
 
He was still smiling to himself when he reached the lift, thinking that all he needed now was an early night.
 
If he was going to continue this royal heir hunt and finish Marcus Brown’s research in time for lunch with Jean he needed a good start on the day.