Subtle Blood Page 9

  “I’ve got new. Big news.”

  “So do I. Can you come over?”

  “Back way all right?”

  “No, the bastards have cottoned on to it. There’s photographers at both ends— Hold on.” Muffled voices, which was odd because Will wasn’t sure who he’d be talking to, then Kim came back on the line. “Right. Wear a flat cap and that ghastly old mac over something decent, bring a box of books or what-have-you, and turn up at the front at, let’s say twenty past two on the dot. Don’t be early or late, and you should be able to slip in unseen. You’ll know how.”

  He hung up. Will stared at the receiver, wondering what the hell Kim had to be so chirpy about, because that had sounded for all the world like suppressed excitement in his voice. Then he stopped wondering and went to get ready. He had his orders.

  He took the tram and walked up Holborn at a leisurely pace towards Gerrard Mansions, a brown paper parcel of books under his arm. He’d come disguised as a deliveryman before, but round the back. He wondered what Kim was up to now.

  It didn’t take long to see the diversion. There was a commotion outside the building, a scrum of half a dozen men with cameras and more with notebooks, all clustered around and shouting. It didn’t sound hostile, though: more like excitement. He got closer, saw a flash of colour, an elegant turn of a head—

  It was Phoebe. Phoebe Stephens-Prince herself, standing like the mannequin she’d been and posing for the Press in a dress of startling brevity. And next to her, spectacular in red and wearing something that Will had to assume was a hat because it was on her head, was Maisie Jones.

  Will didn’t drop the parcel and run, or shout her name, or stand and gape. He did miss a step, but anyone might do that given Phoebe’s legs and Maisie’s bosom, both emphasised by Paris fashions. He recovered himself, touched his cap in a polite sort of way as he passed the baying gaggle of reporters—Why are you visiting Lord Arthur, Miss Stephens-Prince? Is the engagement back on?—and got up to the door without anyone bothering to look at him. The doorman did look, gave a tiny twitch of a grin, and let him in without a word.

  Kim must have been waiting by his front door. He opened it at the first knock, and the look of unalloyed joy on his face was such that Will dropped his books, grabbed him, and kissed him ferociously. Kim staggered back at the impact, clinging to him, laughing in his mouth. Will pulled away after an enthusiastic moment to get a proper look at him and the sparkle in his eyes.

  “She came back,” Kim said. “She came. She read a British newspaper, saw I was in trouble, and they took a private aeroplane to Croydon this morning.”

  “I bloody told you.” Will hugged him hard. “They’ll be back up, right?”

  “As soon as the Press has been pandered to. I imagine there will be a great deal of newspaper interest in her return, but needs must, and as Phoebe said, we may as well take advantage of it. On which, dear God, I have wanted you here.”

  Will kissed him again with an intense sensation of relief out of all proportion to the elapsed time since he’d seen him. It probably wasn’t what he should be doing first; he didn’t care. It felt important, even urgent, to snatch this moment back from the outside world and feel Kim aflame with uncomplicated happiness.

  They were still kissing when the door opened and a cloud of chiffon, powder, and perfume announced Phoebe. “Oops! So sorry, Kim. Will, darling, how utterly glorious to see you!”

  Will reeled back from Phoebe’s scented embrace into a bear hug as Maisie caught him round the chest. “Oh, you. Missed you.”

  “You too,” Will said wholeheartedly. “Blimey, it’s good to see you. Where did you two spring from?”

  “Paris, darling,” they said in cut-glass chorus, and burst into giggles. Maisie grabbed his hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

  “Yes, and Kim, darling, cocktails at once,” Phoebe ordered. “Of course it isn’t too early, don’t be silly. Goodness knows we need a drink. We came over in the most appallingly tiny machine—with a lady pilot, I’ll have you know, in trousers—and it was positively terrifying, not to mention that my mother will find out any moment that I’m back and want to know why we aren’t staying with her as if that isn’t obvious.”

  “Are you not?” Kim said, and then, “You aren’t staying here, are you?”

  “Certainly not, darling, we’re at the Savoy. Now tell me at once—sorry, Will, darling, but we’ve already done the how-are-yous with Kim and I know Maisie is dying to tell you everything but we did fly over here for the Chingford catastrophe, so let’s just launch into that and then we can catch up on everything afterwards.”

  Will glanced at Maisie, who gave him a laughing nod. “Carry on.”

  “Wonderful. Now, what on earth has he done this time?”

  “Murder,” Kim said, and summarised the situation crisply while he mixed sidecars.

  Phoebe made a face of profound disgust at the end. “Really, he is the most appalling nuisance. You don’t think he’ll hang, do you?”

  “I am exceedingly concerned he will.”

  Phoebe glanced at Will, who was on the sofa with Maisie. He opened his hands to indicate I know, we’re buggered. “Oh, but no. That won’t do at all. Your father—”

  “If you have any ideas on how to avert it, I’m all ears.” Kim handed glasses round.

  “But you’re doing something, aren’t you?”

  “Trying to. Will discovered that Fairfax, the victim, was not the blameless innocent of the newspaper reports”—at this, Maisie sat up very straight—“but a blackmailer. That opens the door to the possibility of other culprits, but it also offers an obvious motive for Chingford. Motive, fingerprints, presence at the scene of the crime, and it would suit everyone if this could be tidied away promptly. Except for Chingford, of course, and my father, and me. I wonder if we have been so united as a family before.”

  “But haven’t the police got evidence of other victims?”

  “Not a scrap,” Kim said. “They have the testimony of one chap he tried it on with, which the Inspector in charge is now taking rather more seriously, but that’s only so much to go on. The Inspector also says they have been through Fairfax’s house with a fine-tooth comb and found nothing that casts a bad light on the man. He paid his taxes. He was a blameless bachelor, or at least divorcee. No wine, women, song, or unexplained sums in his bank account. He didn’t have a little black book of victims, or if he did, they haven’t found it.”

  “But—” Will and Maisie said at once. He glanced at her. She said, “I’ve something to say, but you go first.”

  “But.” Will felt bad about raising this in front of Phoebe, but Kim needed to know and they were, or ought to be, finished with lies. “The thing is, he had a tattoo on his wrist. A funny sort of one—”

  “The Zodiac people?” Maisie said on an inhale.

  “It could have been a Zodiac one, possibly. Or it could have been perfectly innocent,” Kim said, with a frown at Will that clearly communicated he would have gone for the lie of omission.

  “It could be, yes. But I spoke to a chap from the Private Bureau today—”

  “I beg your pardon?” Kim said. “What the hell do you mean, you spoke to the Bureau?”

  “—and he said there’s several Zodiac they haven’t yet accounted for. Out there, not arrested. And—”

  “Just a moment. You think this man Fairfax was one of—of my father’s people?” Phoebe asked, very calmly. “I didn’t recognise him from the photograph.”

  “You wouldn’t have known most of them,” Kim said. “Waring didn’t let one hand know what the other was doing.”

  “They kept secrets,” Maisie put in. “Lived double lives.”

  “Indeed. But let me repeat—”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Will said. “I hadn’t finished. The thing is, it’s not just that Zodiac are still out there. They’re coming back.”

  Kim’s entire body locked still, a cat that had just seen a mouse scuttle by. “What?”


  Will repeated what Merton had told him. Kim’s eyes were blazing by the time he’d finished. “My God. My God.”

  “But you put a stop to them,” Phoebe said. “Wasn’t that what it was all about before? They were meant to be stopped!”

  She put out a hand. Maisie grabbed it. “And what are they up to that this man couldn’t be part of? They wanted to spread some awful disease to whole cities before, so what is it now?”

  “That’s for the Private Bureau to discover,” Kim said, voice quelling at her note of alarm. “They have a number of well-trained and well-supported agents who will be working on this, and they won’t need or want me sticking my oar in. The relevant point here is that if Fairfax was Virgo, and if someone is trying to revive the organisation, and eliminating members who have cold feet—if this was, in fact, a Zodiac killing—”

  “Oh, no, no,” Phoebe said. “Surely not.”

  “Not what, Fee?”

  “Not Chingford. He can’t be one of them. Daddy wouldn’t have trusted him to ring for sandwiches.”

  Will’s jaw dropped. Kim said, “I...didn’t mean that. Dear God. No, I can’t see it. He’s every bit selfish enough to join, but far too stupid and loud-mouthed to be let in.”

  “Darling, you’re bewildering me. If Fairfax was killed because he was one of them, by one of them, but Chingford wasn’t one of them—”

  “Then maybe Chingford didn’t do it,” Maisie said. “Is that what you meant, Kim?”

  “Think about it. Leo is taking over as the new master. He has ambitions, a new plan, and he contacts the scattered members of Zodiac to let them know that they are once again under orders. That might be a very unpleasant thought if you were you’d spent the last four months worrying about being caught and attempting to hide your guilt. Or if you just wanted to count your money, and Leo was the fanatical type with some murderous scheme. We know his proposal didn’t go down well with the fellow who tried to turn King’s Evidence. Suppose it didn’t go down well with Fairfax either?”

  “He’d already had his tattoo covered up, and he was doing nicely for himself,” Will said. “He didn’t want to be called back in, but he’d be for the chop if he refused, so he decided to run instead. Is that why he tried it on with Yoxall, for a bit of extra cash to fund his escape? Only Leo got him first.”

  “With a vicious killing, brutal enough to make sure everyone hears about it, but a neat scapegoat in Chingford,” Kim agreed. “If a new master was looking to assert his power, wouldn’t that be a way to do it? Kill the defector, and make another man—a wealthy, well-born one—take the blame in a spectacular public manner. Demonstrate to the people who need to fear you that disobedience will be fatal, and you can get to them, whoever they are. It’s perfect.”

  “Well, it might be,” Will said. “Only, first, Chingford still had a good reason to kill him, and second, we don’t actually know Fairfax was Virgo.”

  “Spoilsport.” Kim sat back. “You’re right of course, and this is the problem. The Met have found nothing suspicious, and my chances of persuading them that this clearly blameless man was leading a double life, without any evidence—”

  “Yes, but—” Phoebe came in.

  “Yes, but he was!” Maisie said over her. “That’s what I wanted to tell you! It’s why we came, quite apart from Phoebe wanting to be a support, because I knew there was something funny going on when I saw the papers.” She paused dramatically. “His name wasn’t Fairfax!”

  Kim blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean, it might have been,” Maisie said, slightly less dramatically. “It wasn’t only Fairfax, is what I mean. He called himself Mr. Alderney.”

  Kim’s expression was a thing of beauty. Will said, “Called himself that when, Maise?”

  “To Florrie Jacobs. She was in the millinery department with me at Liberty’s. Awfully pretty. I never met him—nobody did, she never so much as mentioned a gentleman friend at work—but all the newspapers are using a studio photograph of him, and it’s the one Florrie had on her mantel at home. I came round to her lodgings once or twice when she had ’flu, you see, and she told me all about it in confidence when she was feeling very low. Poor girl, she wasn’t supposed to talk about him to anyone because he’d said he was going to divorce his wife for her, and if people found out about her, she might end up in court and he didn’t want that. So she had to keep quiet till he was ready, he said, and she did. She wasn’t very bright.”

  “Fairfax divorced in 1920, but there’s no record of a second marriage,” Kim said. “Where is this woman now?”

  “We lost touch when I left Liberty’s to go to Villette. I did hear she’d gone off to get married, though I don’t know if it’s true.”

  “An unofficial marriage, a second name...a second home?” Kim said. “One where he could keep his papers. A secret life—Maisie, you are a miracle. Can you find her?”

  Maisie blinked. “Me?”

  “You know her, you know who she mixed with. You’ll have contacts and friends who might talk. Use them.”

  “Oh, darling, we can, can’t we?” Phoebe said. “Surely.”

  “I suppose we can try.” Maisie’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Might it really be important?”

  “If we can steal a march on the police and the Bureau? I will shower you in diamonds and take you to the Italian Riviera.”

  “You will do no such thing, Kim Secretan,” Phoebe said. “Keep your hands where they belong. When shall we start?”

  “Now.” Kim was quivering with barely suppressed tension, a greyhound desperate for the traps to open. “Whatever you can find, whatever you need to put in motion. Find her.”

  “He meant to say please,” Will said.

  “We know,” Phoebe assured him. “Suppose we go and start looking, and meet you for dinner—”

  “Will here do? I can’t go out to eat with my brother arrested for murder.”

  “Nonsense, darling, we’ll have a private room at the Savoy. I shall order one for, shall we say eight? And then we can catch up properly.”

  The ladies departed in a flurry of expensive swishy material. Will looked at the shut door and said, “Bloody hell.”

  “What part?”

  “All of it. What do you think about this? Do you really reckon he was Virgo?”

  “I’ll be damned disappointed if he wasn’t.”

  “And does that make it any less likely Chingford killed him?”

  “Yes, well, that’s the question. It’s a plausible alternative, which is as good as it’s got for a while.” Kim tapped his fingers together. “The Symposium–Zodiac connection is becoming overwhelming. I need a great deal more information on that front.”

  Knowle and Mitra wouldn’t be helping with that after Will’s performance the other day. He felt a pang of guilt. “Do you think you can get it?”

  “By circuitous means, possibly.” Kim went over and pushed the bell. “Tell me again what Bill Merton was doing at the bookshop.”

  “Looking out for Yoxall. Wasn’t he?”

  “He also found out what we know, and gave you some useful information. I wonder which of those things was his main purpose. Ah, Peacock.” Kim turned as the manservant entered. “I’ve a job for you.”

  “What does your lordship require?”

  “Do you happen to know anyone at the Symposium?”

  “Not personally, I fear.”

  “Would you care to make some new friends?”

  Peacock looked less than thrilled. “Anyone in particular, my lord?”

  “Start with Quiller, the Chief Steward. He knows everyone and everything. Been there nearly fifty years, man and boy. He was with Knowle, the Secretary, while someone murdered Fairfax just around the corner.”

  “How exciting, Lord Arthur,” Peacock said without a flicker. “May I ask the purpose?”

  “Lord Waring and Johnnie Cheveley were both Symposium members. It now seems that Fairfax may have been Zodiac too. I want to find out more
.”

  Peacock raised one brow a fraction of an inch. “Mr. Fairfax?”

  “Possibly. It’s also possible there may be another Zodiac member still in there. We’re looking for someone who had private conversations with some or all of that lot. See what you can find out.”

  Peacock didn’t suck air through his teeth like a dismayed builder, but he managed to give that impression anyway. “The Chief Steward is obliged to be exceedingly discreet.”

  “You have an unlimited gin and bribery budget. Handle it however you choose, and see what you can do. Take your time. I’m dining out tonight.”

  Peacock bowed and withdrew. Will shook his head. “You reckon he’s going to charm Quiller into talking?”

  “Never underestimate a really good butler.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. You’ve got everyone doing your job today, haven’t you?”

  “Set a milliner to catch a milliner,” Kim said. “Anyway, they can’t do worse than me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Two days later, Will was in the bookshop, waiting for news.

  It had been a quiet day so far, with no journalists. Chingford had been released on bail into his father’s custody at the family home. Lord Flitby had applied his considerable weight to a lot of toes to achieve that.

  Kim hadn’t been permitted to speak to his brother. Peacock had struck up an acquaintance with Quiller but had nothing to report as yet. Maisie and Phoebe were looking for Florrie Jacobs. And Will was doing absolutely nothing except sitting around selling books. It was getting on his wick.

  At least they’d had that glorious night at the Savoy, the four of them in a private room talking and laughing as Maisie and Phoebe fell over one another to describe their Parisian adventures. Kim had booked a room in the hotel, so he and Will had retired upstairs at the end of the night and claimed themselves a brief bit of privacy before Will had had to slink off home.

  That had been wonderful. The hours since then had not. It was getting on for the evening of a second completely uneventful day and he was twitching for the lack of action.