Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (20 page)

It took another forty minutes to wind their way through traffic to
Victoria Street before they reached the New Scotland Yard building.

They
parked in the lot and went in the back way. Instead of using a dank little interrogation room in the bowels of the place, like they had to do when they talked to George Eames, Wample took everyone to his office on the seventeenth floor.

It was a tidy, open space. Fairly large, with just the bare essentials. Desk, chairs, com
puter screen and keyboard, corkboard on the wall where schedules and data from recent cases were neatly posted.

Wample took a seat behind the big desk, the row of tall windows overlooking the neighboring building at his back, and gestured to the guest chairs.

There were only two, so Ives offered one first to Miranda, then to Parker. They both refused it, preferring to stand.

With a nod Ives
sat Toby Waverly down in the other chair while Wample pulled out a recorder and switched it on.

“What do you know about the murder?”
Ives said.

The boy shook his head back and forth, a look of terror in his big eyes. “Murder? I don’t know about that, sir. I’m here about what ’appened at the museum.”

“Go on then.”

They
watched him fidget like he had a terminal case of hives while he told his story in an accent that betrayed his working class roots.

As she listened
Miranda felt every nerve in her body tense. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

A guy, a bloke, Toby had known in high school contacted him through his sister and got Toby to give him the codes to the museum.
The scum-wad douche-bag threatened his sister with physical harm.

So Parker’s hunch
about the intern had been right.

“But what does this creep have to do with Lady Gabrielle Eaton?” she wondered out loud.

Wample eyed her over his cup of coffee. “The two cases may be unrelated.”

That was true.
This Malcomb jerk took the real dagger and someone else killed Lady Gabrielle with a fake dagger because…She had no idea.

She scratched at her hair.
“Why would someone murder Sir Neville’s daughter-in-law with a fake dagger?”

“And where did they get it?” Parker wanted to know.

“According to my research,” Ives replied, “since the story of the dagger’s discovery broke, there have been hundreds of cheap counterfeits produced for souvenir, novelty shops.”

Miranda wanted to kick something.
“You mean anyone could get one?”

Ives lifted his hefty shoulders.
“Afraid so.”

That really narrowed it down.

Parker wasn’t convinced. “A souvenir sharp enough to kill with? Most souvenir daggers barely work as letter openers.” Miranda recalled seeing something like that on his desk at home though it wasn’t Egyptian.

Ives shrugged. “Apparently this one was better quality than average.”

Wample set down his cup and scowled at Ives. “Go access HOLMES and see if this Malcomb arsewipe has a rap sheet.”

“Yessir.” Ives popped up out of his chair and disappeared out the door.

Miranda turned to Wample. “Holmes?”

Wample smirked at her ignorance. “
Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. Our computer system.”

“Nice. Hope it’s got the answers we want.” They wouldn’t be so elementary.

Antsy, Miranda paced over to the window and stared out at the droplets forming on the glass. Her gaze focused on the modern-looking building across the street, then downward. The sky had turned dark and the rain was making umbrellas go up on the street below, as it turned the pavement a deeper gray.

She began to think out loud. “
Shrivel might have gotten the fake dagger and killed Lady Gabrielle to take the heat off the theft.”

Wample’s chair squeaked as he considered the thought.
“Targeting the museum director’s daughter-in-law? He’d know the dagger would be ID’d as a fake.”

“Most criminals aren’t that smart.” She turned to Toby. “Was this guy bright?”

“I dunno. ’E’s not stupid. ’E’s mostly scary.”

Yeah.
And why risk a murder rap?

Miranda let out a long breath. Who else would kill Lady Gabrielle? Sure
, she could be annoying, but she didn’t seem to have any real enemies. On the other hand, Miranda had only known the young countess a few days. They should ask Sir Neville or Lady Davinia. Maybe after they had a chance to settle in at home.

Home. Miranda thought of Lionel and wondered if he’d been told of his wife’s death yet and how he was taking it.

Gabrielle and Lionel Eaton seemed to have a less than ideal relationship. At dinner last night, he’d flirted with Miranda then stated openly he’d married his wife for her position. That must have gone over well. If they fought, if there was a deep-seated animosity between them? Enough to make a husband kill?

She was getting ahead of herself.

Before she could make another comment Ives was back.

He shoved a photo printout under Toby’s nose. “Is this the bloke?”

Toby looked down at it and winced. “Yessir. That’s Malcomb.”

Miranda stepped over and peered over the young man’s shoulder.

Malcomb Shrivel. Twenty-one. Five-nine. Dropped out of school at Level Ten.

Narrow face. Long, knobby nose.
Pale face. Sported a punk look. Black spiky hair. Tight black shirt. Silver spike through one earlobe. A sullen look in a pair of dark, sunken eyes.

The kind of guy that would turn someone like Toby into an even bigger quivering lump of jelly tha
n he was at the moment.

“And the rap sheet?” Wample asked.

“He’s got one all right. Been arrested a number of times on theft and drug charges. Did time on only one.”

Miranda
squinted down at the paper. “Says he’s purported to be a member of a street gang known as the Stingers.”

Toby’s eyes went round
as he sucked in a gasp. “Blimey. I’ve heard of those guys. They’re terrifying.”

“We know them, too.” Wample said.

“Their ringleader’s a bloke who goes by the name Scorpion. Ever hear of him?”

Toby shook his head.

Ives handed him another picture. “Have you seen this guy?”

Squirming in the chair, Toby studied it, shook his head.
“No, sir. Not that I recall. And I think I would recall someone like that.”

Once more Miranda
peered over the boy’s shoulder.

No wonder
Toby was squirming.

This guy was older. Early thirties. He’d been around.
Stocky, closely cropped dark hair, thick black brows. Almost good-looking. Head tilted in a cocky, what-are-you-lookin’-at-me-for? attitude that said he was as arrogant as he was sure of his power.

“Arrested on
suspicion of drug dealing,” Ives said. “The hard stuff. ’Eroin and crack-cocaine. We think ’e’s an importer. No proof, though. Charges were dropped. Trenton Jewell defended ’im.”

Really?
Was this Scorpion the mastermind behind the museum theft and Lady Gabrielle’s murder? The thought sent an icy chill down Miranda’s spine.

Wample got to his feet and gesture
d to Ives. “Let’s go pick up this Shrivel character and bring him in for questioning.”

Toby jumped up, both hands
stretched, pleading. “Oh, you can’t do that. Please, sir. Please.”

“Why not?”

“’E’ll know I shopped him. ’E’ll hurt my sister.”

Wample and Ives looked at each other. The police usually didn’t have the means for taking care of assaults before they happened.

With a casual gait Parker strolled across the room to Ives from where he’d been standing observing the scene. He took the papers from him, studied them a long moment then turned to Wample. “Why don’t you let us look into this?”

Wample’s face went dark.
“It’s an official police matter, Mr. Parker.”

“I realize that. But we have methods the police aren’t at liberty to use.”

Wample smirked. “I imagine you do. And evidence from those methods usually isn’t admissible in court.”

Parker’s
slow grin was as casual as his shrug. “Inspector, I haven’t stayed in business for over fifteen years by delivering inadmissible evidence.”

Touché
, Miranda thought.

The Inspector
’s mouth went back and forth as he considered it. He tapped his fingers on his desk, turned to stare out his window and sighed. “Very well, Mr. Parker. You have twenty-four hours.”

Parker put a hand on Miranda’s elbow to lead her out of the office. “Then my partner and I had better get busy.” At the door, he stopped and turned back. “And I assume, Inspector, you’ll be releasing George Eames now?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wample gave him a curt nod.

They caught a cab to the hotel. In terms of fancy, the suite turned out to be a step down from their rooms at Eaton House, with deep purple brocade curtains on the windows, standard classic furniture and an even more standard-looking bed.

It had a shower, thank God, which pushed it up in the competition in her
opinion. But Miranda barely noticed the décor.

She
tried out the shower while Parker ordered room service and a rental car. She changed while he took his turn.

“How are we going to find this guy?”

“I’ve got his address from the rap sheet,” Parker called through the open bathroom door. He’d memorized it. “We’ll start there.”

“
What about that pub where Toby met Shrivel?”

“
The Winking Owl? If he’s not at home, we’ll try there.” He stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. His salt-and-pepper hair was tussled and sexy, his muscled body tempting and delicious. If only they could stop a moment and indulge themselves a little.

But there was no time.

“He might have skipped town.”

“Perhaps. But I’ll wager he feels safe under Scorpion’s protection.”

She thought about the evidence. “When the police finish processing Gabrielle’s phone, I’ll bet the last call she got will be from that creep.”

“If he was sloppy.”

“Right.” They could hope, anyway. But if the guy was smart, if the murder was planned, the only evidence to convict would be what they could get out of him.

She pulled on a pair of black jeans and her toughest-looking top and wished for her spiked belt and leather boots. Her dark running shoes would have to do.

Her mind was going a mile a minute. “How did Shrivel know there was a code to the storeroom? How did he know he’d need a keycard to get in?”

“And that there wouldn’t be a security camera at that door?” Parker echoed.

She looked over at him.

He’d
chosen dark jeans and a tight black top that showed off his muscles almost as clearly as when he’d stood before her half naked a moment ago. He looked tough and mouthwatering at the same time.

“What are the
police doing with Toby Waverly?” she wondered as she stepped into her shoes.

“Charging him with accessory to the theft, I would think.”

“Too bad. He seemed like a good kid. He was just trying to protect his sister.”

“Let’s hope a lawyer can get the charges dropped once the real thief is behind bars.”

“Yeah.” She sank down on the end of the bed, the impact of the last few hours sinking in.

It
had been a rotten day all around. If they could do just a little tonight to help find the thief, especially if he was also Gabrielle’s killer, it would make things a tad better. But it wouldn’t bring the young woman back to life.

Parker strolled over to the dresser and slipped his keys into his pocket. As he reached for his cell phone, it went off. He picked it up. “Yes?”

He listened a moment, his face grave. “I’m so sorry. Let me put you on speaker, Neville. I’m in the hotel with Miranda.” He hit a button and sat down next to her on the bed.

“How’s Lady Davinia holding up?” she asked.

His deep sigh came over the speaker. “As well as can be expected. She took a sedative. She’s sleeping now.”

Best thing for her,
Miranda supposed.

“The thing I wanted to tell you both—”
He paused, as if ashamed. “Oh, Russell. What a fool I’ve been.”

Parker frowned with concern.
“What do you mean?”

“I’d forgotten about it
. It must have been a fortnight ago. Not more than two weeks before the dagger was scheduled to arrive…”

“What?”

“Gabby showed a sudden interest in the dagger. She asked me where it had been found, what it looked like, how it would be delivered. I thought she was maturing. I told her everything. If only I’d thought to ask her why she wanted to know.”