“How likely are they to accept your change of heart?”
“Very likely. They expect to be successful. They’ll think I’ve come to my senses. Cracked under the strain and given in. And they’re practical people, never forget that. With things coming to a head, there’s not much time for them to recruit and train on a substitute. I fit the bill perfectly. They won’t want to lose me. I can do what I have to do under cover of the conference.”
“Ah. There goes Sunday,” Lydia said sadly. “I suppose you’re both going to go haring off back to the capital to twist a few arms?”
“Not at all, Lydia. If ever I needed a good breakfast and a few hours of calm before the storm breaks, it’s now. Though, for everyone’s peace of mind, I will just make one change to my schedule.” Cornelius managed a smile. “I’ll stand Marcus up and go ratting with Brutus.”
CHAPTER 24
Early though the hour was, Armitage was already waiting in the lobby on Monday morning, every hair in place, smile on face and large gun in its usual position when Joe smuggled Kingstone back into the hotel.
“Glad to have you back, sir!” The welcome and relief seemed genuine. The sharp eyes looked quizzically at the laundered shirt and the freshly pressed elegance of the evening suit Kingstone had put on for the return journey. “You’re looking pretty chipper, Senator, after two nights out on the tiles. I hope your weekend wasn’t too demanding.”
“Just what I needed, William! A leisurely couple of days in the country. Friends dropped in for a visit … caught a few rats …” Kingstone said blandly. “You know the sort of thing. Now. Change of clothes. Notes. Ready for take off in one hour? You stay down here and confer with Joe, will you?”
Armitage gave Joe a frosty nod of acknowledgement. Joe was determinedly brief. “All well? Good show! No alteration to the senator’s arrangements. The Geological Museum Hall in Knightsbridge. Got your pass ready? I’m afraid you’re in for a boring day at the conference, Bill. Though I have heard it hinted that the French delegation may provide the assembly with some entertaining histrionics. You may have a chance to extend your vocabulary. We’ll see. I should take a good book in with you.” He opened his briefcase and took out a garish thriller he’d snatched on a whim from his sister’s shelves. “Here—try this. Murder Came Calling. It’s the latest in the Shadow of the Assassin series by Captain Dalrymple. Do you enjoy shockers?”
“No time for them. I’m halfway through A Farewell to Arms. Mugging up on American literature. Look—could you take a minute to see Julia? Miss Kirilovna has still not made an appearance and the maid’s wondering what she should do next.”
“Oh, yes, Julia. Were you able to distract her from her concerns this weekend, Bill?”
“I wasn’t able to offer what she wanted. Dancing’s out. She’s seen all the films. She let me take her out for fish and chips on Friday night but that’s it. No idea where she spent Saturday and Sunday. I was in my room with Ernest Hemingway. She didn’t join us. But she’s in her room now. We’ve exchanged ‘good mornings’ and that’s it. She had breakfast taken up at seven.”
“Then I’ll pop up and see her. Say hello.”
Joe made his way upstairs and tapped on her door. Receiving no reply, he banged more loudly. The door was locked as security required. In sudden anxiety, he darted down the corridor, making for Kingstone’s room. Had he left Cornelius in danger? That bloody Julia with her Cockney sparrow ways, always there in the background with her reassurances and over-familiar gestures of concern, was too easily overlooked.
The door was opened for him at once by a welcoming Julia. “Joe! Hello! Now, this is a good moment—just for once—to stick your nose in. Come in and advise. Silver grey or blue paisley tie for this shindig?” She waved two samples in front of him and, in a whisper, “I thought he could do with a little help this morning. First-day nerves? Looks like stage-fright to me. He’s a bit shaky and having trouble doing up his buttons. Such stubby fingers, bless him … What have you been up to? Never mind—you can tell me later.”
“Grey. Definitely the grey. Statesman-like and sober is what we’re after. He’s not going to tea with a duchess. I was looking for you, Julia. I have to see you. There’s something I have to tell you. I’ll be having breakfast downstairs. Come and find me when you’ve done up here, will you?”
“Fine. I’ll look forward to that.” She smiled again as though she meant it. Joe returned the smile.
The ease and normality of Claridge’s was beginning to settle around him like an eiderdown, soothing and slowing his reactions. He shrugged it off. Unease and abnormality were his lot in life. As was the breaking of bad news. Julia seemed not to have heard yet that Natalia was dead. Kingston appeared from his dressing room, slipping on his jacket. “Joe! It’s all right. Just screwing my courage to the sticking point but you can leave it to me,” he said, reading Joe’s expression. “Go have your breakfast. We’ll be fine.”
COTTINGHAM AND ORFORD, engaged in companionable chatter, were waiting for him at his office door at Scotland Yard.
Joe swept them inside. “The very blokes I wanted to see! Sit down, both of you. I want you to work together over this next bit. All our irons have been heating in the same fire, it would appear. First, Ralph—can you take the evening duty watching over Kingstone when he leaves the conference hall?”
They confirmed schedules for the coming week and then the three men turned their attention to the pile of documents on Joe’s desk, a pile that increased impressively with Orford’s contribution. The inspector was clearly bursting with information and Joe invited him to launch into his story. Murmurs of surprise and approval greeted his neat account.
Two victims were now named: Marie Destaines, with a grandmother in Stepney, and Absalom Hope, of no fixed abode.
The written information given by the murdered sailor had been used to track down the vehicle used for the deposition of the body of the dancer and Orford had followed the trail to the back kitchens of a clinic in Harley Street. An awkward moment. Orford paused to allow the Assistant Commissioner an opportunity to rap his knuckles for effecting an unauthorised entry but an encouraging chortle filled the guilty silence.
“I didn’t hear that. You mumbled, Inspector! Carry on.”
Orford passed a note of his conversation with the clerk at Companies’ House and watched as Joe’s delight turned to astonishment. He blinked, looked again and gave a low whistle. “So that’s where you are, you bugger! Hiding in plain sight! There for anyone to see if they know where to look. On paper this a well-funded and highly respectable establishment, Inspector. I’d buy shares in it. We’d better be very sure we’ve got this right. And remind ourselves that one of the links in the chain is a dead down-and-out’s sighting of a number plate in the dark. I don’t want to be the one who stands up in court and delivers that bit of evidence with a straight face and raised right hand, do you, Orford? Tell us what impressions you were able to form from the tradesmen’s level.”
“It gets no better, I’m afraid.” Orford summarised his impressions of the nursing home, touching on everything from the efficiency of the organisation to the healthy state of the drains. He referred with quiet pride to his uncovering of the menu.”
“All that holds up,” Joe agreed. He explained the circumstances of the girl’s death. “So—not a murder in this case but an illegal disposal of a body and denial of a respectable burial is what we have on the books. Not much is it? But at least we’ll have some news, even though heartbreaking, for the granny. It will at least be less distressing to account for a death in hospital in the course of a tricky operation. Orford—would you …?”