Ten Lords A-Leaping (26 page)

‘Why are you disinfecting it?’

‘Hygiene.’

No amount of coaxing could move him from this explanation.

‘I’ll have to ask you to let me take it for testing, Brother.’

‘You can’t do that. It’s consecrated.’

‘If consecration doesn’t stop it being disinfected, I’m sure it won’t stop it undergoing laboratory tests. But if you wish, you may deconsecrate it and then reconsecrate it once we have finished. On a murder enquiry, inconvenience is, I’m afraid, inevitable. Now, we’ll wait for you in your living room while you do whatever is necessary and I’ll write you a receipt.’

‘That was,’ said Milton, as Pooley put the tabernacle in the boot, ‘one of the oddest things I’ve ever committed to paper. “I acknowledge receipt of one tabernacle, silver and gold.” What made you think of the kitchen? Just being thorough?’

‘No. But I remembered Robert had said it was metal. The one in his chapel was mainly marble.’

‘Back to the Yard, please, Donoghue. Well done, Ellis. I’m glad you’re thinking so clearly. I have come to feel very addled, with so many lunatics coming at me from all directions. I don’t even know why I confiscated the tabernacle, except that I couldn’t think what else to do. So what do you think he might have been transporting in it, if anything? Drugs?’

‘Or explosives. I think it’s big enough to be able to store twenty anti-personnel mines.’

‘Good God, what an interesting thought. We’ll get the lab to do a rush job and send a team of explosives people and fingerprint experts around to Brother Francis’s flat and to his room at the Lords immediately.’

‘Nothing, sir.’ Pooley was dejected. ‘There are no traces of anything in the tabernacle. But the lab said that since the mines were coated in plastic, they wouldn’t leave any traces anyway.’

‘Fingerprints?’

‘Well, there were quite a few but they were probably bona fide visitors. What I was really hoping for was a breakthrough like Jerry Dolamore’s prints on the tabernacle.’

‘Unlike Brother Francis, I don’t believe in miracles. But it was worth a try. Now send it back to him.’

‘Yes, Jim. What?’

‘Wake up, Robert. Something’s happened and you’d better let Jack know.’

‘What?’

‘Stormerod’s been shot.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘No. The first report is highly encouraging. He’s said to be slightly injured and a bit shocked but otherwise fine.’

‘Where was he shot?’

‘The doctors haven’t said.’

‘I mean geographically.’

‘He was riding from his Buttermere estate to Carlisle station to catch the six-thirty train, with his chauffeur and horsebox following behind, when he suddenly fell off his horse. By the time the chauffeur had established he was alive, though stunned, and learned that he thought he’d been shot, his priority was to rush to the house and ring for an ambulance. By the time the police came there was no sign of a sniper. Not that one would be easy to find in an estate that size. Whoever it was could have been over the hills and far away.’

‘Wasn’t he guarded?’

‘No. Didn’t you know? All the protection teams were withdrawn a few days ago. There just weren’t the resources. I’ll press for putting at least a few back now to look after Stormerod, Deptford and Jack.’

‘So you think it was activists?’

‘I don’t think anything. It could have been a poacher for all I know. I’ll be back to you when I do.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said the baroness. ‘In fact, this is, if I’m not mistaken, Bertie’s third life. He seems as resilient as one of our feline friends, I’m happy to say. Now, I’ll just ring his house and see when he’s going to turn up here. I think it’s time we had a chat.’

‘There’ll be quite a lot of people in the queue, you know.’

‘We’ll just jump it,’ she said airily.

She was back on the phone within five minutes. ‘He’s catching the next train. Say’s he’s feeling fine. It was a bullet all right. Deflected, would you believe, by his passport, which was in his left breast pocket. So instead of going through his heart, the bullet bounced off and his only injuries were slight grazes and a few bruises that he got from falling off the horse. He says he’s in the pink, so I’ve fixed a meeting at my club for six. He should be out of the clutches of the constabulary by then and we can get the lowdown. In the meantime, contemplate the evidence. It’s time we put an end to all this.’

‘Club? Which one? The University Women’s?’

‘Certainly not. Too respectable for me. It’s the one where you worked – ffeatherstonehaughs.’

‘I didn’t know you were a member of that.’

‘They made me an honorary member recently. Now I must be off. See you at six.’

‘Jack!’

‘What?’

‘Please take care. If they’ve taken to attacking pro-hunters singly, you’re a pretty tempting target.’

‘Not to say large.’ She laughed. ‘Oh yes, yes, yes. I’ll keep an eye out.’

Chapter 26

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‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘How you can think in the middle of this bizarre building is more than I can imagine,’ said Stormerod. ‘I’ve read about it but I’ve never seen it.’ His eyes were fixed on the mosaic floor where nymphs and shepherds intertwined passionately.

‘Pull yourself together, my boy. This is no time to be indulging in erotic fantasies. I’ll take you round another time, or rather Robert can. He used to be a servant here.’

‘You seem to have packed in a great deal for one so young, Robert.’

‘He certainly has. Ask him to tell you his life story someday. It’s a gas. The boy’s had more jobs than you’ve got titles. Now to our muttons. What I’ve been thinking is that I just don’t believe these people have been knocked off for some vague reasons of principle. When in doubt
cherchez la femme ou cherchez l’argent
.’

Her listeners looked at her in bewilderment. ‘Come again, Jack?’

‘Really, Bertie. What’s happened to your French? Look for the woman or look for the money.’

Stormerod’s face cleared. ‘Oh, I’m with you.
Cherchez la femme ou cherchez l’argent
. I’ve haven’t heard such awful French pronunciation since Winston Churchill.’

‘What was good enough for Winston is good enough for me. Now, the point I’m trying to make is that you coppers’ – she looked sternly at Pooley – ‘have allowed yourselves to be given the old runaround. Everything’s become overcomplicated. It’s obvious all these murders are a smoke screen.’

‘I’ve heard of mixed metaphors,’ said Amiss. ‘But describing nineteen bodies as a smoke screen is new in my experience.’

‘Shut up and listen. My great virtue is that I have a simple mind. Now, this is England and the English don’t go round murdering each other in vast numbers to make a political point. The Irish, yes; the Welsh and Scots are capable of it, I grant you, and all sorts of other loonies like the American far right, or Islamic Fundamentalists. But it is not the English way.’

As Pooley opened his mouth to interrupt, she continued, ‘And if you start talking to me about global villages and the pooling of cultures I shall become irascible.’

He subsided.

‘I walked all the way round St James’s Park twice this afternoon and had a serious think and I’m ready to bet a thousand quid that all this was an attempt to murder Bertie. There were only two reasons why they should have gone for him this morning – anti-hunting or anti-Bertie.’

‘Hold on,’ said Amiss. ‘Who were the suspects you were hinting darkly to me about the other week, Bertie, when you routed me out of the library for a drink.’

Stormerod looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, Robert. That turned out to be a bit of misinformation from a source I’d rather not mention who thought that old fool Gordon had a small militia that might be blowing up our side to discredit the bill. Turned out there was nothing in it. Should have told you.’

‘As I was saying,’ said the baroness impatiently, ‘anti-hunting is now out of the question unless they’ve totally lost their marbles, since to rub Bertie out at this juncture would set up such a wave of public sympathy that hunting would probably become compulsory. Am I right?’

‘Not if they’re mad,’ said Pooley.

‘We know they’re mad, but they’d have to be stupid. Keep it simple, young Ellis. Your trouble is that you’re a complicator. Focus for the moment on Bertie, and only on Bertie.’

She gazed straight at Stormerod. ‘We’ve established, have we not, Bertie, that there are no wronged women in your life who would wish to secure a terrible vengeance. You’ve ravished no virgins. You are not noted in either Inverness or Buttermere for a propensity to exercise your right to droit du seigneur. And you haven’t cast any mistresses off like soiled gloves.

‘And since additionally for a politician you’re extraordinarily enemy-free, it must be down to loot – in which you are rolling. So we’ve got to look again at the likely-to-be-disinherited cousin.’ She waved at a passing waiter and commanded more champagne. ‘Nonsense,’ she said when Stormerod protested. ‘We have much to celebrate. We’re all alive.’

She hushed him with a gesture. ‘Now, I accept that the cousin simply can’t have done it. His alibi’s solid and he’s not the type. But what about his son the engineer? He mightn’t be such a moral giant as his father. He might feel pretty bad about missing out on the chance to inherit such an extraordinary basket of goodies.’

‘Sorry, Jack.’ Pooley was smug. ‘I thought of that. I checked out his and even his sister’s alibis. They’ve been going to work every day throughout this carry-on.’

‘Hitmen,’ said the baroness, causing the approaching waiter to start. ‘No, no, I’m not talking about you, Walter. Yes, please. Top us up.’

‘No, for two reasons,’ said Pooley firmly. ‘He would need an enormous amount of money – which he hasn’t got – and he would put himself in a position to be blackmailed for the rest of his life.’

‘You’ve left something out.’ She sounded equally smug. ‘The brother.’

‘But Will wouldn’t inherit unless he knocked off both his own brother and his nephew in addition to Bertie.’

‘But think what he stood to gain indirectly from a generous brother, guilty about being the elder twin. And – if he was doing it in collusion with his nephew the heir – he would do even better.’

‘Jolly good, Jack,’ said Amiss. ‘This is a fine foray into Ellis’s usual territory.’

She ignored him. ‘What do you know about the brother, Bertie?’

Stormerod was looking uneasy. ‘Nothing much, to tell the truth. I’ve never had any reason to meet him and I didn’t want to because he’s always been very thick with his mother and I’ve never been able to stick her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Bit of a tartar.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘And greedy. It was after they married that Cousin George started writing for money and it was all too obvious whose was the guiding hand.’

‘Do you actually know her?’

‘Only met her once – at her wedding to George when I was a kid. We all thought her the worst kind of stereotypical unpleasant Scot – hard, hatchet-faced, acquisitive. So I always avoided any invitations.’

‘And they never came to see you?’

‘My old father wouldn’t have them. Said it was bad enough having to disgorge money but he was damned if he was going to put up with their company as well. When I took over and realized Amelia couldn’t have children, George was dead and I felt I should get to know my heir, so I established this relationship with nice Fred. He came over a few times but I never saw the other two.’

‘So what does the brother do?’

‘No idea.’

‘And the son. What do you know of him?’

‘Very little. Seemed pleasant enough – ambitious, hardworking. Can’t read murder into that, Jack.’

Pooley looked serious. ‘I should check them out. But when we discover all these people are sitting safely in America, tending to their families, will you be satisfied?’

‘Probably not. I’ll think of something else. But this must be checked out. Now.’

‘I’ll have to have a word with Jim first.’

‘Nonsense. It’s Bertie I want to check it out. Bertie. Off you go and ring your cousin.’

‘How do you suggest I approach it? “Excuse me, Fred, but do you think Will might be trying to murder me?” ’

She shook her head testily. ‘My God, to think you’re supposed to be the most subtle brain in the Conservative Party. That fall must have addled your wits.’ She adopted a tone and pace suitable for a nervous and slow learner. ‘Ring up and say you want to be the first to tell him about this new murder attempt but that you think everything’s over now and the police have it all in hand. Still, a brush with death leaves one anxious to bond with one’s nearest and dearest, which is why you’re having a chat with him. And you’d like the phone numbers of his mother and brother whom you feel remorseful for having neglected over the years. Have you got that?’

‘I’ll feel ridiculous doing that. But, yes, if I must. I’ll ring him from home. His number’s there.’

‘Do it now. Ellis, scamper off and extract the number from directory enquiries.’

‘I’ve got it here in my Filofax.’

‘Excellent. Right, Bertie. Go for it. And remember, in the guise of solicitude, to extract the maximum amount of information from your cousin about his brother.’

‘Such as,’ said Amiss helpfully, ‘if he’s a well-known serial killer.’

‘Exactly. Poor old Bertie,’ she said, as Pooley shepherded him away to find a discreet telephone. ‘This’ll be real agony for him. It goes right against a gentleman’s grain to spy on his family. But needs must when the bullets fly and he should take care of himself for the sake of that attractive piece of aristocratic crumpet he’s taking off with.’

Pooley came back. ‘He’s got through. It’s a bit of luck it’s a holiday in the States, so Fred’s at home.’

‘It seems impolite to ask,’ said Amiss, ‘but while he’s out of the room, is it true the shot was deflected by his passport? And, if so, why was he carrying it?’

‘Quite true about the passport,’ said Pooley. ‘It’s not the first time that’s happened.’