No Stone Unturned, page 14
part #1 of Lucy Lawrence Series
The bell of the bookshop sounded and drew her attention to the ground floor. A tall man in a black coat and bowler hat emerged, then stood in the doorway, sizing her up. Stone was chatting to the cabbie, asking him about the locality. She wished he would hurry up. The bookseller glanced towards the wooden table to his left and back to her again. A variety of books were piled upon it and just above, “Libraries Purchased”, was written in white paint across the front window. Unhappily, this put her in mind of her father’s books. She turned away.
“Shall we? This way, I believe,” Stone said, linking her arm and pointing with his cane towards a door to the side of the shop she had failed to notice. As Stone pushed it open, she was relieved to hear the bookshop bell jangle once again. The shop owner must have gone back inside.
They entered a long and narrow hallway. An odour of boiled cabbage and mouldering timber hung in the air. Much to her alarm, a scurrying sound suggested they had disturbed the building’s four-legged inhabitants. When something cold touched her cheek, she brushed it away with a panicked swipe of her fingers. But it was only a cobweb. Nerves on edge, Lucy followed Stone to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up in to the gloom, she could make out broken spindles and bare wooden treads.
“Normally, I would insist on ladies first, however …” Stone regarded her with a serious expression.
“Please,” she answered. “Be my guest!”
Stone stopped halfway up and tilted his head as if listening for something. But even the mice were silent. She waited patiently for him to move on.
“Do you happen to know which floor, Mr Stone?” she whispered, when they reached the first landing. There were three doors, but no signage to indicate what lay behind.
Stone appeared lost in concentration, scrutinising the outside of each door in turn. “A process of elimination, I would imagine,” he said.
“Could it be the red door at the end? There is post on the floor and sticking out of the letter box.”
“Perhaps. Stay here. I’d like to check the floor above first,” he replied quietly, before disappearing up the next flight.
Lucy breathed out slowly in frustration. Minutes dragged by, and there was no sign of him returning. She couldn’t resist. After a quick glance up the stairs, Lucy stooped down and picked up a handful of letters. The second envelope was addressed to the Padar Mining Company. Her heart began to pound. Padar. That was the place in Kashmir Stone had spoken of, she was sure. This had to be Charlie’s office. It was so disappointing. A little part of her had hoped it had all been a mistake, but most of the letters were similarly addressed. She crossed over the landing and was about to call up to Stone when the red door was wrenched open. A stocky and rather ugly man with greasy hair and patched clothes halted in the doorway, a look of surprise on his face. Lucy froze too. A livid scar ran down the side of his cheek, but it was his eyes that scared her most. Lucy had never seen such a malevolent glare.
The man looked down to her hands and then back to her face. Before she knew what was happening, he had advanced upon her with a swiftness she could not fathom for such a bulky man. Snatching the letters from her, he pushed her against the wall before making for the stairs.
For a second, she was winded.
“Mr Stone!” she yelled as soon as she caught her breath. Almost without thinking, she pulled the pistol out of her purse. When she reached the top of the stairs, she pulled back the safety catch and managed to fire off one shot before the escaping man hurtled out the front door and on to the street. The bullet lodged in the door frame, splintering the wood.
Stone flew past her, careering down the stairs. She followed slowly, finding her limbs were suddenly trembling. What had possessed her? What if she had hit him? It would take some explaining to the police. When she reached the front door, Stone was already walking back up the street.
“He’s gone,” he said breathlessly as he reached her. “I couldn’t catch him. He jumped on to a tram.” Gasping, he braced his palm against the wall and tried to catch his breath. “Why did you shoot at him?”
“I wasn’t aiming to hit him, just stop him. I’m sorry,” she said, pointing to the damaged door frame. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“And you are unharmed?”
“Yes,” she assured him. “I don’t think he meant to injure me. He only pushed me out of the way to get to the stairs. Mind you, he grabbed the letters from me none too gently.”
Stone smiled and tapped his pocket. “He dropped them as he jumped on to the tram. Now, I should put you in a cab and send you home,” he said, straightening up fully. “You should not be involved in this. It is far too dangerous.”
“Nonsense! I’m perfectly fine, Mr Stone. Let’s finish what we came to do.” Lucy turned back inside and headed up the stairs before he could carry out his threat.
“Why did you let him close the door?” Stone asked her, after trying the handle. “Now I shall have to break in.”
“I didn’t—it closed over itself, and besides, I was too busy defending myself to be overly concerned about it,” she replied, thinking his irritation unreasonable. Then she realised it was probably a reaction to what had just happened. It would appear he didn’t like to lose control of a situation. She watched as he pulled out a set of metal prongs from his inside pocket.
“Mr Stone! Are those what I think they are?”
“You never know when these will come in useful,” he said with a wink.
Seconds later, there was a click and the door swung open. It was immediately obvious what the man with the scar had been up to. The office of Padar Mining had been thoroughly searched. Papers were strewn everywhere. Lucy groaned. Even if there was anything left to find, it was chaos and would take hours to comb through it.
Stepping over the mess on the floor, they advanced in to the room. The rear window was missing a pane of glass, allowing an icy breeze to whistle through. Lucy took in the hideous wallpaper, damp-stained cornice and threadbare carpet. It was a fitting place for a sordid little affair. With an effort, she pushed the awful image of Charlie and his mistress out of her mind.
Stone placed his hat and cane on the desk. He wore a bleak expression as he righted the only chair which partially blocked a large filing cabinet. Its drawers had been pulled out and the contents scattered.
“I don’t think much of Charlie’s filing system,” Lucy muttered. Stone threw her an impatient look. “What are we looking for?” she asked.
“Anything which might indicate where he hid the sapphires. It is highly unlikely your husband hid them here as his compatriots would have known about this place, but he may have left a clue.”
“I doubt it, Mr Stone. He wasn’t a great person for puzzles.”
Stone shrugged. “Look anyway, Mrs Lawrence. Something may strike you. It may be a reference to a place or a name you recognise.”
“But surely whoever has already searched here has taken anything of that nature away.”
Stone looked as though he was going to answer, then clamped his mouth shut with an impatient snap.
“And the man who was here,” she said. “He can’t have been one of Marsh’s men, could he? They would hardly have waited this long to come here. I imagine this was the first place they searched immediately after Charlie’s death.”
Mr Stone removed his gloves and placed them on top of his hat before picking up an envelope and blowing the dust off. “Yes, I would have to agree; most of this mess was created months ago.”
“Who could he be then, my friend Scarface?” she asked.
Stone began rifling through some of the papers on the desk. “His name is Coffin Mike.”
“Good Lord, you know him! What an extraordinary name. He was hardly christened so, Mr Stone.”
Stone smiled. “No one knows his real name, but I am sure you can guess how he picked up that particular moniker. Unfortunately, I believe he may be in the employ of another party who has an interest in all of this. Although, he has been involved with Marsh’s gang from time to time. He is not famous for his loyalty; like most of his ilk, he would happily sell his soul.”
“And who might he be working for, Mr Stone?” Lucy asked.
He looked up at her in surprise. “Why, the original owner of the sapphires, of course, and more importantly, his representative. Mr Khan paid me a visit only yesterday. The police informed him the case had been re-opened. He is under orders to stay in England until the sapphires are recovered. The other pieces of jewellery have now been completed, and he is anxious to return home. The maharajah’s reward for the return of his gems has been increased, he informed me, in the hopes I will ‘get to it with greater speed’.”
“How rude!” Lucy remarked. “Is the reward substantial?”
“Twenty thousand pounds.”
Lucy stared at him. It was a small fortune. “So that is why Mr Khan has sent Coffin Mike here. He hopes to find the sapphires himself and claim the reward.”
“No, that would be impossible as he is a servant in all but name. I’d surmise Khan wants to redeem himself in the eyes of his lord and master and save him having to pay out. He feels responsible for what has happened to the maharajah’s property.”
“Well, this is wonderful news. I almost feel honoured. I have a master criminal and a disgruntled Kashmiri maharajah to fend off. How exciting my life has become! When all of this is over, and I’m hopefully not six foot under, my existance will become frightfully dull. No doubt I shall go into a decline.”
“Are you feeling sorry for yourself?” Stone asked. “Best to keep busy.” He indicated the papers on the floor. He bent his head quickly, but she didn’t fail to notice his lips twitch with amusement.
“Your advice is duly noted,” Lucy retorted, before picking up the papers and sifting through them.
Suddenly, Stone’s head shot up. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Quickly, get behind me.”
Sure enough, Lucy could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. She moved behind the desk, half hiding behind Stone’s broad back, her fingers resting on her bag. She could feel the outline of the pistol inside.
The door swung open and the bookseller entered, brandishing a cricket bat. He took in the state of the room before glaring at them. “Who are you? What in heaven’s name is going on? I could have sworn I heard a gunshot.”
“You did, sir. The lady was assaulted and attempted to defend herself,” Stone said.
Lucy smarted. The “attempted” rankled a bit.
The bookseller waved the bat in agitation. “This is outrageous! I shall summon a constable. Explain what you are doing here this instant, sir!” His angry eyes flicked between them.
“And you are?” Stone asked, sounding very unperturbed, Lucy had to admit.
“John Russell, if it’s any of your business. I own this building. I demand to know, sir, what you are doing in this room without my permission.”
“My name is Phineas Stone, and I am investigating a crime.” Stone handed over his card to the bewildered bookseller. “If you have any concerns, I suggest you contact Chief Inspector McQuillan at Vine Street Station. He can vouch for me.”
“And the lady?” Russell asked. Lucy didn’t like the emphasis he put on lady and glared at him.
“The lady is none of your concern,” Stone answered before she had a chance to let fly.
Mr Russell placed the bat on the table, his eyes fixed firmly on Stone’s face. Then he glanced at the card and grunted. “I would be interested to know what kind of crime you are investigating”—he referred to the card again—“Mr Stone. I would be very interested indeed.”
“Why so?” Stone asked.
“The tenant who rented this room owes me rent. I would very much like to speak to him. I cannot let the room until all of this is disposed of and he settles his account. Do you know where I can find him?”
“I’m afraid he is beyond your reach now, Mr Russell. The gentleman is dead.”
“Dead! Confound it!” The bookseller’s face flooded with angry colour. “I beg your pardon, madam, but as I explained, he owed me rent.”
Lucy was sorry for the man as he stood in the middle of the room, almost rigid with impotent anger. She considered how empty her own purse was and smothered the impulse to offer him the money Charlie owed. Mr Faulkner the solicitor would have to deal with it.
“And now who will clean up this mess, I’d like to know,” Mr Russell demanded, “if Mr Somerville is deceased?”
Lucy’s bag slid unheeded from her hands and landed with a thump on the floor.
CHAPTER 18
As Stone closed the door after Mr Russell, Lucy sank down on the chair, trying to process what the man had said. Stunned by his revelation, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. How on earth could Richard have become involved? It didn’t make any sense. She examined Stone’s face as he turned towards her, certain he must be as shocked at the disclosure as she. However, he appeared to be his usual composed self.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked, stepping closer.
“You heard what he said,” Lucy exclaimed. “My brother must have been tangled up in this whole sorry affair as well.”
“I very much doubt it, Mrs Lawrence. Your husband would hardly have used his own name to secure this place. Most likely, your maiden name popped into his head. Spite against your brother may also have featured in his choice for I doubt he ever intended paying the rent.”
“I never considered that possibility. Of course, that makes sense,” Lucy said slowly.
Stone drew out his watch. “It will be dark in half an hour. It’s time we left. I will have Chief Inspector McQuillan send someone here to remove all of this. It needs to be properly examined.”
“An excellent idea. I only wish you’d come up with it earlier. I’ve lost the feeling in my fingers. Look, they are quite blue with cold.”
“You would insist on coming,” Stone replied, with a quirked brow. Lucy gave him a withering look. He spread his hands in supplication, but a smile lurked behind his eyes. “Forgive me, I could not resist.”
She sniffed. “What about Mr Russell?”
“Once McQuillan is involved, it will become a crime scene and there will be little he can do about it.”
“I must admit, I’m sorry about his being out of pocket,” Lucy said, as she gathered up her things. “He looks like he needs the money. I will ask my solicitor to contact him.”
Stone chuckled. “You are far too soft.” He opened the door and bowed as she passed through.
As soon as Mary closed the front door behind her, Lucy wriggled out of her coat and pulled off her hat.
“Don’t just stand there, Mary, come up and help me get ready. I’m going out to dinner.” Lucy raced up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary said, sounding surprised, but she bounded up after her.
“Pull out the black velvet and see if it’s fit to wear,” Lucy called over her shoulder. “I don’t have much time. Mr Stone is calling for me at seven.”
While she stripped off her day dress, she could hear Mary rummaging in the wardrobe.
“Sure it’s grand, ma’am. All the creases have come out. I’ll lay it on the bed for you. Can you manage while I fetch some hot water?”
“Yes, yes. Do be quick!” Lucy said.
Lucy sat down at her dressing table and unpinned her hair. Then halted, shocked by the image that confronted her in the mirror. My God, I’ve aged a hundred years today, she thought, taking in the pallor of her cheeks and the lines of fatigue around her eyes. A peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach had been growing all day, ever since she had learned of Charlie’s affair. Was it some kind of grief? The realisation her marriage had been a farce? Part of the reason she had accompanied Stone was so she wouldn’t have to think about it. But she couldn’t help herself now. Florence Bannon’s face hovered in her mind. It almost made her ill to visualise them lying together. Had there been others before Florence? She rubbed her temples and was shocked to discover she wanted to cry. No, not just cry—howl.
She sifted through her memories, trying to recall occasions when they had socialised with the Bannons. But no suspicion had ever entered her mind. How that horrible little trollop must have been laughing at her. And Charlie too. He had betrayed her in every possible way and with such a woman.
Lucy groaned and dropped her head into her hands. It was as if trouble was stalking her and she was too stupid to avoid it. And now she had accepted Stone’s dinner invitation. What had possessed her? Halfway back from Lambeth, he had turned to her. It was New Year’s Eve after all, he had said, his voice coaxing. The city would be celebrating, and he hated to dine alone. The words were hardly out of his mouth when she accepted. Of course, she shouldn’t have, only a few months into her mourning. Widows were not supposed to enjoy themselves. But then a little voice had whispered, Oh to hell with it! It wouldn’t have stopped Charlie. Why should I shut myself away for a husband who played foul in every way? Unfortunately, this little escapade, if she went through with it, could destroy any vestige of reputation she had left.
And Phineas Stone. Would he think ill of her for accepting? Of course, he must have felt sorry for her. Why else would he have asked? She groaned again. He felt bad because he was the one who had told her about Florence. Surely he must be regretting the impulse now and hoping she would send her regrets? Although … he had looked genuinely pleased when she accepted, and his gaze had held more than warmth that afternoon. She could have sworn he was on the point of embracing her when she had been upset. The heat rose in her face at the thought. What would it feel like? Quickly, she banished the thought: that was an even more dangerous path to venture down.
“You are in luck. I’d boiled the kettle for a cuppa just before you arrived,” Mary said, carrying in a jug of steaming water.
