The Deadly Embrace (6 page)

Seeing her staring down at them, Colonel Gaines said, “Mosaic tiles—there are more than three million of them here in the natatorium. They are a thousand years old and once graced the Mesopotamian palace of Genghis Khan.”

Taggart didn’t ask how they had gotten there, but was fairly sure a lot of Mongols had died in the process. He imagined all the sweating British soldiers it must have taken to pry them out of the looted palace. Across the room, two men in gray coveralls were standing by the far edge of the pool.

“The natatorium has served the royal family for over two hundred years,” said Colonel Gaines as they walked toward the pool. “The King enjoys these waters on a regular basis, along with the Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. Queen Victoria swam here as well.”

“These waters?” asked Liza.

“New shipments are brought down to London every few months in railroad tanker cars from Loch Lomond,” he said. “Loch Lomond is the King’s favorite.”

“He never swam in the East River,” said Taggart.

The water no longer had the blackness of a deep Scottish lake. It was tinged a pinkish red. The men in coveralls were draining the pool, and the water level was down to four feet at the deepest end. The shallow end already lay exposed. Halfway between the shallow end and the deepest part, Taggart could see something solid emerging from beneath the surface of the pink water.

“Where is the rest of your investigative team?” whispered Taggart to Inspector Drummond as they began walking toward the pool.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he responded, “So far … Colonel Gaines is conducting it personally.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Taggart as his eyes were drawn to several objects sitting on the foot-wide marble apron that bordered the edge of the pool. They appeared to be lying almost directly above the dark solid mass below the surface. The objects were surrounded by a large red puddle. As he walked toward them, his nose took in the familiar metallic odor he had encountered at dozens of violent-crime scenes over the years.

Stepping across the blood pool, he crouched beside the objects. The first one was a carved pewter goblet, six inches high and embedded with brightly colored gemstones. A dried brownish crust stained the pewter handle. An inch of amber liquid still lay inside. Taggart smelled the aroma of good brandy.

Sitting next to it on the marble apron was an unlabeled brown glass apothecary bottle. It was empty. One yellow pill lay a few inches away from it, next to a cork stopper. Taggart picked up the loose pill and touched the edge with his tongue. It was a strong barbiturate.

The final object was an ivory-and-silver-handled straight razor, its polished grip coated with more of the brownish crust. The razor lay spread open next to the edge of the blood pool.

“I would think it is obvious, even to you, Major,” said Colonel Gaines with condescension in his voice.

“That this is a suicide?” asked Taggart.

“Of course,” he said.

Taggart grinned.

Inspector Drummond said, “While we’re waiting, you’ll want to see what we found in the changing rooms.”

He led Sam and Liza across the vast chamber through two more swinging pebbled-glass doors. It was no ordinary locker room. There were eight individual rooms in it, all of them facing onto a circular marble courtyard. Each one was the size of a railway compartment and furnished with a gold-inlaid dressing table, matching ballroom mirror, and carved walnut armoire. The dressing tables were adorned with vases of fresh flowers, combs, hairbrushes, and vials of various perfumes and ointments. Privacy in each room could be achieved by closing a matched set of painted Chinese screens.

Only one of the rooms appeared to have been in recent use. A British Wren officer’s uniform lay on the floor inside it. A matching navy greatcoat was draped over the dressing-table chair. Liza could see the two embroidered gold rings of a Royal Navy lieutenant sewn into the cuffs of the uniform coat on the floor. A gold brassard signifying staff rank was attached to the right shoulder.

The uniform skirt lay in a circular heap next to the dressing table, as if the owner had simply stepped out of it. A black lace bra, matching black panties, and two nylon stockings were strewn in a broken line toward the swinging doors that led to the pool.

“No one has moved anything?” asked Taggart.

“Just this,” said Inspector Drummond, handing him a thin leather wallet. “Colonel Gaines found it lying on the dressing table. It is Lady Jocelyn Dunbar’s.”

Liza’s eyes widened as she heard the familiar name.

“Lady Jocelyn Dunbar?” she repeated, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Of course,” replied Colonel Gaines with irritation. “She is a Windsor on her maternal side … a second cousin to the Prince of Wales. Otherwise, she would not have received privileges from the King to bathe here.”

“Did you check the wallet for fingerprints before picking it up?” asked Taggart.

“Why would I?” said Gaines. “It’s clearly a case of suicide.”

“Brilliant,” said Taggart. “I guess that’s how you got to be head of the King’s security staff.”

Colonel Gaines’s face colored as Taggart opened the billfold. Inside was Joss Dunbar’s Royal Navy identity card, along with an unused ration book, an expired driver’s license, two five-pound banknotes, and a roughly cropped photograph of a young blonde girl in riding clothes on a chestnut horse. After putting on his glasses to examine the ragged edge, Taggart handed the picture to Liza.

“It’s Joss,” she said, her voice cracking as she handed it back to him. “She was probably no more than fourteen at the time.”

“The other half of the picture is missing,” said Taggart, holding it out to Gaines. “You can see that it was recently torn in half.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t do it,” declared Gaines heatedly.

One of the men in coveralls came through the swinging doors that led back to the pool.

“We’re almost done in there, Colonel,” he said.

Liza fought to control her emotions as she followed the others back into the pool area. The water level had dropped much farther, and she could now see the outline of a dark form just under the surface near the sidewall, about ten feet from the deepest end.

“Aside from the damage from the bombing raid, were there any indications of forced entry?” asked Taggart. “Damaged locks on the doors?”

“Not that we have determined,” said Drummond, glancing warily at Colonel Gaines.

Sam and Liza stood on the white marble apron, staring down at the surface of the pool as the blonde girl emerged from the pink water.

“Sweet Jesus,” called out one of the men in coveralls, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

“Quiet there,” barked Colonel Gaines.

Naked, she was actually sitting up, her back resting against the wall of the pool, arms at her sides, her lovely mouth drawn downward in seeming resignation, blue eyes wide open, staring blindly forward into the distance. Her body was pure white.

“Exsanguinated,” said Inspector Drummond.

“Bled white,” agreed Taggart.

But that wasn’t what had caused the man in the coveralls to cry out. It was a stark image that had nothing to do with her naked body. Coiled around the dead woman’s stomach like a black snake, was six feet of heavy-duty electrical cable. It was attached to a macabre-looking machine that was resting on its back farther down the pool.

“It’s the tile clopper, sir,” called out the second workman. “We was replacing the tiles along the back wall there with it just yesterday morning.”

Liza walked over to a cabinet at the end of the pool and removed a clean towel from the stack on top of it. Without asking for permission, she took off her shoes and socks and rolled up her uniform skirt before dropping down into the ankle-deep water at the far end of the pool. Taggart and Drummond stood looking at her from the marble pool apron as Colonel Gaines craned out over the edge and said, “What do you think you’re doing, young woman?”

“She is conducting a preliminary investigation under my authority,” said Taggart.

Gaines said nothing further as Liza slowly made her way toward the body through the pink water. By the time she reached it, the area around it was almost dry.

In death, Joss looked to Liza like the young girl in the photograph rather than the grown woman she had become. There was very little muscular definition in her arms and shoulders. Her breasts were barely developed. Aside from the long blond mane, the body was absolutely hairless, including the pubic area, which had obviously been shaved.

“How old was she?” asked Taggart.

“Twenty-two, I believe,” said Colonel Gaines.

Gently pulling her body away from the wall, Liza removed the electrical cord from around her waist, and then grasped Joss’s shoulders to lay her down on her back. Picking up her left wrist, Liza took in the three separate slashing wounds about two inches from the base of the palm. Two appeared superficial. One of them had gone deep to the bone.

The right wrist was unmarked, as well as the rest of her upper body. Turning her to the side, Liza briefly examined her back. It was unblemished. When she spread Joss’s hair away from the nape of the neck, Liza saw a small bruise close to the hairline.

“You’re still treating this as a suicide?” said Sam Taggart to Gaines.

“That’s exactly what it was,” Colonel Gaines said, as if daring him to object.

“I want a complete autopsy done at the SHAEF hospital on Curzon Street,” said Taggart. “If you have any objections, take it up with General Manigault at command headquarters.”

Colonel Gaines glared at him in pursed-lip silence as Liza made a quick examination of Joss’s vaginal and anal cavities, then her ears and hands. Several of her fingernails had been bitten to the quick. None were painted or polished.

“You don’t see anything odd about this scene?” Taggart said.

“Odd? Not at all,” said Colonel Gaines.

“So it’s your view that she came here alone to take her life … that she then drank a pint of brandy, consumed a bottle of barbiturates, tied the machine cord around herself, slashed her wrist three times, and shoved the tile machine into the pool?”

“As I said, it’s obvious,” persisted Gaines.

Liza climbed out from the shallow end of the pool, dried her feet with the towel, and put her socks and shoes back on.

“Did anyone see her arrive?” asked Taggart.

“No,” replied Colonel Gaines. “The staff leaves at nine each evening.”

“Then how did she get in here?”

“With her key,” he said. “Each person chosen by the King to have natatorium privileges receives a silver key.”

“How many are there?” asked Taggart.

“I don’t keep a list,” he said.

“Fewer than a thousand?” asked the American.

Gaines laughed harshly.

“Fewer than fifty,” he said imperiously.

“Well, that shortens the list,” Taggart said.

“What list?” demanded Gaines as two men wearing the white coats of laboratory technicians appeared at the doorway by the dead penguins. They stopped in their tracks, apparently waiting for further instructions.

Taggart led Liza back to the locker room. Gaines and Drummond followed them.

“Do you see her clothing?” asked Taggart, pointing at the garments and underwear spread across the floor. “It’s flung in every direction.”

“Perhaps she was in a hurry to get into the pool,” offered Gaines. He frowned as Liza began going through the drawers of the dressing table. “You have no right to do that, you know,” he said to her admonishingly.

“She was in a hurry, but it wasn’t to get in the pool, Colonel. It’s obvious that she came here to meet someone,” said Taggart, starting to go through her uniform jacket and greatcoat.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Major.”

“She was obviously here to engage in some privileged fucking,” said Taggart, removing two foil-wrapped condoms from the side pocket of her greatcoat.

“Fucking?” said Gaines, as if he had never heard the word before.

“A tryst, then,” said Taggart. “In your parlance, a rendezvous … an assignation.”

The colonel’s beaklike nose seemed to curdle.

“Lady Dunbar would never have chosen the natatorium for something like that,” he proclaimed.

“You don’t think there’s been some good fucking in the natatorium over the last two hundred years?” said Taggart.

“You are crude and insolent,” declared Colonel Gaines. “If you didn’t have General Manigault’s misplaced confidence, I would demand...”

“Anything else in her clothes?” asked Liza.

Taggart shook his head.

Colonel Gaines’s cheeks had become as red as hot coals.

Taggart turned to Inspector Drummond.

“Isn’t the Yard investigating the murders of several other young women in this city over the last few weeks?”

The old man looked at Gaines, as if waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, Drummond said, “Very different circumstances, I assure you.”

“I would like to see those crime-scene reports,” said Taggart.

“We’ll take your request under advisement,” said Colonel Gaines.

“Anglo-American cooperation,” said Taggart. Turning to Liza, he asked, “Anything else?”

She nodded. “I would like to participate in the autopsy when Joss is moved to the morgue.”

“So ordered,” said Taggart.

Colonel Gaines glared at the two of them with a contemptuous sneer and said, “Many of us rightly believe that an occupation by the German Wehrmacht would have been preferable to having you Americans here.”

“You wouldn’t have liked their cigarettes,” said Taggart. “Or their coffee.”

He picked up an empty, silver-capped glass vial from the dressing table and headed back into the natatorium. Stooping next to the marble apron, he dipped the vial into the inch-deep pool of Joss’s blood and covered it.

As they were going out the door past Captain Scott’s penguins, he said, “Get this on ice and take it to the military hospital on Curzon Street for analysis.”

“She was pregnant,” whispered Liza as Taggart continued hobbling up the first marble staircase on his bad ankle.

“You deduced that from your three-minute examination?”