Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (18 page)

Sir Neville got to his feet and hurried to Toby’s side. Parker was afraid his friend would tell the boy not to say anything more. But he didn’t.

“Toby,” Sir Neville said softly. “This must be so hard for you, lad. But you must help Mr. Eames if you can.”

The boy nodded. Slowly he raised his head. His eyes were red a
nd his face smeared with tears.

Parker reached into a pocket and gave him a handkerchief.

The boy snatched it and dabbed it under his cheek as he began to babble. “There’s this bloke I used to know. Name’s Malcomb. Malcomb Shrivel. Tough guy. We went to school together. Up until level ten. ’e dropped out after that. I heard ’e joined a gang in the area. Tottenham, where I grew up. My sister still lives there.”

He was rambling.
“What about this Malcomb?”

“Well, I hadn’t seen ’
im for years. Forgot about ’im, really. I wanted to get out of that area. Better myself, you know?”

“Of course, you did, Toby,
” Sir Neville soothed.

“About three weeks ago,
I went round to Tottenham and popped into The Winkin’ Owl for a pint with some of me old mates.”

“
The Winking Owl?” Parker asked.

“It’s a pub off
Broadwater Road. Me sister Winnie’s a barmaid there. She’d called me and told me they’d be there and she really wanted me to come. Said she ’ad something to tell me.”

“I see.
What happened?”

“
Well, Winnie was busy so I took a table with me mates. After a pint or two and a bit of catching up, everyone decided to go ’ome. Most of ’em ’ad to be up for work the next day. Meself included. That was when Malcomb walked in. ’e’s a tall one. Muscular. ’e’d been working out. ’e was all in chains and black, with ’is ’air dyed and all spiked up. You know, tough guy look.” Toby took a few quick hyperventilating breaths as if the very thought of this Malcomb was too much for him.

Parker waited for him to settle.

“So’s I go over to Winnie and ask ’er what did she want to tell me. She says it’s Malcomb who wanted to talk to me. And ’e wants to talk in the back room.” He stopped, face white, breathing like a diver running out of air in his tank.

“Steady, Toby,” Sir Neville purred, his hand still on the lad’s shoulder.

Toby gave a quick nod. “I shouldn’t ’ave gone but I didn’t ’ave much choice. I stepped back there with ’im. This tiny little place with no windows. ’e got me up against the wall and told me ’e was dating Winnie and what a…what a fine lay she were.” He closed his eyes and took more breaths. “’e said it would be a shame if anything were to ’appen to ’er. Like if she were to get beat up really bad and couldn’t work. ’E said that wouldn’t ’appen if I cooperated and gave ’im what ’e needed.”

Parker’s narrowed his eyes with anger.
“What did he need?”

Toby rubbed his hands over his slacks again and shook his bowed head from side to side. “I shouldn’t
’ave done it. I shouldn’t ’ave.”

Sir Neville nearly shook him.
“Toby, what did you do?”

The lad lifted his head with a boyish pout, his freckled cheeks wet with tears.
“I gave him a keycard to the outside door and the access code to the storeroom.”

Sir Neville was aghast. “How did you get the code?”

“Mr. Eames was always complaining about learning a new one every month. ’E mentioned ’e ’ad to write it down. I—I snuck into ’is rooms. ’E doesn’t lock the door during the day. I found it on a slip of paper on ’is desk. Labeled and everything. I would never ’ave done it if it weren’t for Winnie.”

“
And the keycard?” Parker asked.

“I gave Malcomb mine and told Mr. Eames I’d lost mine.
’e got me a new one.”

And Eames hadn’t even mentioned it. Yeats didn’t either, because he thought Eames to be innocent. But the police might know.
And that would be the nail in the coffin of the case against him. No wonder they hadn’t released him.

Parker leaned over and picked up the hem of the lad’s coat. “Does this
missing button mean anything?”

The boy’s face went red and he closed his eyes in pain. “That night at the pub, Malcomb tore it off me coat. I’d worn it to show off in front of me mates. Stupid.
That morning. The morning the dagger was to be presented, I saw the button on the floor right next to the cart ’olding the crate. I thought it was some sort of message from Malcomb. A warning I ’ad better keep quiet about all this. I kicked it under one the shelving units before anyone could see it.”

And
now the police had the button, too.

All at o
nce the boy lunged forward, head in hands panicking. “Oh, God. What’s going to ’appen to me, Sir Neville? What’s going to ’appen to Winnie? I’m so ashamed of meself after all you’ve done for me. I swear I’d never ’ave done such a thing if it weren’t for Winnie.”

“We know, lad. We know.” Sir Neville looked up at Parker with glassy blue eyes. “What are we going to do, Russell?”

There was only one thing to do. “Toby,” Parker said with as much kindness in his tone as he could muster. Despite the chaos the boy had caused, his heart went out to him. “I’m afraid we have to ask you to tell your story to Inspector Wample.”

Slowly the lad raised his head and stared helplessly at Parker. Then after a long moment, he nodded.

Miranda watched Lady Davinia’s lips go tight with annoyance as she studied her watch
before glancing anxiously around the restaurant. “Thirty-five minutes. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into Gabrielle.”

The waiter came by with the teapot and she shook her head.

He nodded but looked annoyed.

Davinia speed dialed her phone for about the fifth time and held it to her ear. After a few moments she shook her head. “Still going to voice mail.”

Miranda tapped her foot and eyed the emptying café. Someone was going to kick them out of here pretty soon.

She took a deep breath. “Why don’t we try to go look for her?”

Davinia considered that a moment. “Do you think we can find her?”

Miranda shrugged. “She said she was going around the corner. Can’t be far.”
She hoped.

“Very well.” Davinia paid the bill, leaving Gabrielle’s uneaten cake and the two of them headed back out to the street.

They picked their way over the cobblestones, past shoppers, bike riders, an iron barrier filled with flowers. At last, they reached the spot where Gabrielle had parked her white Mercedes. A red Peugeot sat in its place.

Lady Davinia uttered a dignified moan. “This was where we parked, wasn’t it?”

“If not exactly here, it was near here. I don’t see a white Mercedes anywhere.”

“She drove off somewhere.” Davinia sounded like a lost child.
A stately, well-mannered one, but still lost.

Miranda chewed her lip. This wasn’t good. It had all the earmarks of
foul play. But wasn’t she supposed to be the victim of some devious plot here? Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Anyway with someone as fickle as Gabrielle, for all they knew, she was back at Selfridges trying on more dresses.

She huffed out a breath. “Let’s keep looking.”

They plowed across the street and trudged down the next sidewalk. Miranda was glad this block had normal cement rather than the cobblestone. They marched under multicolored flags waving overhead, past quaint bistros with colorful awnings, through outdoor cafes where people sat, having their tea under umbrellas.

Miranda eyed the patrons, peered into the store windows, especially the dress store window. But she didn’t see Gabrielle Eaton’s red-gold curls anywhere.

The sky was clouding over and the temperature was dropping. Miranda wished for a coat and hoped it wouldn't rain. Especially now that she had Lady Davinia to take care of. The aristocrat might melt in a downpour.

They stepped off another curb to cross the next street.

Davinia looked up at the sky. “Our brollies are in the car, of course.” She sounded like she wanted to curse. When they reached the opposite corner she came to a halt and Miranda saw the strain on her face.

“Perhaps we should ring the police?” The woman was losing her nerve.

Miranda folded her arms and thought about it. She wasn’t eager to have Inspector Wamble or one of his ilk involved in this hunt. What if Gabrielle was off chatting with a friend somewhere like she’d said? It would be embarrassing.

But she knew Davinia was more worried tha
n she showed. “I’ll call Parker,” she said at last, hoping that would satisfy her.

Davinia nodded and Miranda stepped into a nearby
niche for some privacy, and dialed.

“Parker,” he answered being unnecessarily formal. It was still comforting to hear his voice.

“It’s me. Can Sir Neville hear what I’m saying?”

“No. What’s wrong?”

“Lady Gabrielle’s missing.”

“What do you mean?”
The stiffness in his voice turned to concern.

“We were having tea. She got a call and said she had to step out for a few minutes and would be right back. It’s been over half an hour and we haven’t seen her.”

“Where are you?”

“It’s probably nothing. She probably just forgot the time.”

“Where are you?” he repeated in his firmest take-charge voice.

“Soho.”
She looked up at the street signs and gave him the crossroads.

“I’ll be right there.”

“We’ll be in the area. We’re going to keep looking.”

“I’ll find you.” He clicked off.

She stepped out of the recess and gave Davinia a forced grin. “He’s coming to help look.”

The woman exhaled.
“That’s a relief. What should we do?”

It started to mist.
Miranda considered the options and pointed left. “Let’s try down that way.”

They made their way down another block and a half until they reached a Tudor style building that looked like it had stood there since the
Middle Ages. Between it and the next building a low tunnel had been wedged. It had a sinister air to it.

“Let’s try down here,” Miranda said, plowing forward.

“All right,” Davinia replied as if she had a choice and followed her down the sloping sidewalk.

The tunnel was undecorated
and damp smelling. Raw brick and bare pipes lined its close walls. It was short, maybe twenty feet long. Still a good place to get rid of an enemy in the middle of the night. But it was daylight now.

Maybe she was imagining things.

At the end of the tunnel, they turned a narrow corner and were hit by a mishmash of multi-cultural food scents flavoring the air. Hispanic, Asian, Lebanese. Once again Miranda peered into the eating establishments as they went along.

No Gabrielle.

They passed a movie theater, a storefront with a “We Buy Gold” sign in the window, an import and export wholesaler, a place with a gunmetal facade and Asian and English characters. The ones she could read spelled out “Bar Shu.”

Chinatown.

Could Gabrielle have gone this far? For all they knew, she could be back at the restaurant where they’d had tea, fussing at the waiters for letting them leave.

Miranda stopped. She looked up the road they were on,
then down it. The sky was getting darker, the mist heavier.

“What is it?” Davinia wanted to know.

“Try Gabrielle’s cell one more time.”

Davinia’s frown was skeptical
, but she took out her phone and dialed again.

They waited.

It rang. Once, twice. Softly, somewhere in the distance synthesized tones with a funky, syncopated beat played. Then stopped.

“Voice mail.” Davinia’s eyes went wide. “Where did that ringtone come from?”

“Dial her again.”

She did and the music played once more. Miranda followed it, a hound on a scent. The sound stopped. “Dial again,” she barked.

“Yes, yes.” Davinia trotted after her.

The music started again.
She hurried down the sidewalk to a narrow side street. The tone got louder. She rounded the corner—and let out a gasp.

There in front of a
n empty storefront with Asian characters over a window nobody had bothered to translate, sat the Mercedes.

Miranda hurried to it. The car
had been pulled up on the sidewalk. The passenger side had been rammed into the wall. The driver’s door hung open. The cell phone lay on the pavement.

She
ran up to the vehicle, peered inside.

Nobody there.

She rushed around the front fender. And stopped.

Damn.

Her whole body began to quake at the sight on the pavement, as if of its own accord the stones were cracking and breaking into pieces beneath her feet like in some end-of-the-world horror flick. Her lungs felt like they were suddenly flooded with the smothering mist in the air. The crab she’d had for lunch cracked through her stomach lining and clawed its way up her spine, scrapping her nerve endings as it went.