Ten Lords A-Leaping (27 page)

‘Of course, it was the old passport,’ said the baroness. ‘That nasty new red plastic thing that we’ve been dished out since we joined the wretched European Union wouldn’t deflect a missile from a pea-shooter – another powerful argument against that frightful institution.’

‘I’ll say for you Jack,’ said Amiss, ‘that there is nothing, but nothing, that doesn’t fuel your prejudices.’

She beamed.

‘But why was he carrying it?’

‘I didn’t like to ask that,’ said Pooley. ‘It wasn’t our business.’

‘I did,’ said the baroness.

‘Naturally. And?’

‘He’s going to get married to his beloved Georgiana… Now, this is a big secret and nobody’s to tell because he doesn’t want the press to know so I’ll personally strangle both of you if it comes out.’

‘Yes, yes, get on with it,’ said Amiss.

‘The day after we finish our fox-hunting business they are going to fly straight to Thailand for a honeymoon. So he was bringing his passport down to London so he could pop into the Thai Embassy, fill in the forms and leave it with them. He certainly has the luck of the Stormerods – they were always known for it. Didn’t look like it when Amelia died, but it’s obviously picked up again.’

‘Unless,’ said Pooley, ‘it’s him who’s been behind the murders all the time which was why he was out of harm’s way at the right times.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea, Ellis,’ said the baroness. ‘Presumably he arranged for his own shooting as well in the full confidence the sniper would hit him exactly on target and the passport wouldn’t fail?’

Pooley looked slightly crestfallen. ‘Sorry. I didn’t quite think that one through.’

Stormerod appeared and walked slowly across the saloon. He sat down wearing the impassive expression so well known to his colleagues at party meetings.

‘Well?’ asked the baroness impatiently.

He spoke slowly. ‘It appears that the object of your suspicions is not at present available for a reconciliatory chat since he and his mother are on a lengthy world tour.’

‘How lengthy?’

‘He’s been gone for five months.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘Somewhere in south-east Asia.’

‘Any proof?’

‘Just that they rang a couple of weeks ago and said they were in Singapore.’

‘With modern communications that means nothing. They could be in Dakota or they could be in London. What else?’

‘Fred doesn’t have much to do with Will.’

‘Because?’

‘Because – the term he used was “redneck”. He said he was sorry to say his brother was one of those redneck Republicans always bragging about his gun collection. He didn’t want him to get close to the children.’

‘Another bottle of champagne,’ said the baroness.

‘Easy on, Jack,’ said Stormerod. ‘It’s much too early to celebrate. Wait until we see if there’s any more to your hunch than this coincidence.’

‘Of course there is. It’s plain as the nose on your face.’

Stormerod grinned. ‘Only you would be tactless enough to say that to me.’

Pooley had jumped up and was impatiently moving from foot to foot. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Hold on, hold on. What are you planning to do?’

‘Well, start checking him out. Wire for photographs. Check passport controls. All that sort of thing.’

‘OK. Get cracking. Bertie, will you stay and have dinner here with me and Robert? We’ve got to work out how they got access to the Lords and who helped them. Now before you go, Ellis, have you forgotten Brother Francis’s research assistant?’

Pooley made a face. ‘I had. And I shouldn’t have.’ He turned and ran.

Chapter 27

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‘He came to Britain. And unless he left illegally he’s still here. But she didn’t.’

‘Odd,’ said Milton.

‘Maybe she’s providing cover by sending postcards from around the world.’

‘But his brother told me when I talked to him just now that they didn’t send any postcards. His mother said they preferred to talk to their dear ones in person on the phone and that they’d share photographs with them later.’ There was silence for a moment as they both thought intently. Then simultaneously Milton said, ‘Maiden name,’ and Pooley said, ‘British citizen.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. The duke said she was Scots. Maybe she never changed her citizenship.’

‘Wait.’ Milton pressed the redial button. ‘Chief Superintendent Milton again, I’m afraid. I’m very sorry, Mr Sholto, to have to trouble you once more and I know I must be causing you distress, but I have to clear up all loose ends.’

‘You’ve got your job to do, sir. Just ask and I’ll try to help.’

‘May I have your mother’s maiden name, please?’

‘Hartley. Mary Agnes Hartley.’

‘And was she a British citizen?’

‘She was, sir. That is, she is. She always said she saw no reason to change.’

‘Thank you, Mr Sholto. Goodbye. OK, Ellis. Mary Agnes Hartley or Mary Agnes Sholto. British citizen.’

It was midnight. Amiss was sitting in an armchair in his flat trying to read, but hopelessly distracted by a hundred speculations and by the rasping purr of Plutarch who was happily ensconced on the rising and falling stomach of the snoring baroness. Not for the first time he found himself resenting his friend’s ability to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself. The bell rang at last and he rushed to the door.

‘I thought you’d never come.’

‘It’s a miracle we did.’

Both policemen collapsed on the sofa and Amiss kicked the baroness awake. With a final loud snort she jerked into full consciousness.

She sat up bolt upright, dislodging Plutarch, who growled menacingly but then grudgingly resettled herself on the baroness’s lap. ‘Good evening, gentlemen. I was right, wasn’t I?’

‘Get me a Scotch for God’s sake,’ said Milton.

‘And me,’ said Pooley.

‘And me,’ said the baroness.

‘Plutarch?’ asked Amiss politely.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Plutarch will pass. She’s had quite enough already.’

While Amiss busied himself about his duties, Milton looked at the baroness. ‘Possibly.’

‘Oh, sir, I mean Jim. Probably.’

‘Well, to tell the truth,’ said Milton. ‘I’d be astounded if you’re not.’

Her joyful beam so transfigured her whole face that the others followed suit. The baroness’s moods were contagious.

‘OK, spill the beans.’

‘The airlines and passport control yielded the information that they left Miami on the fifth of August. She was travelling with a British passport under her maiden name. They landed in London and there’s no record of them having left.’ Milton observed Pooley wriggling impatiently. ‘All right, Ellis. You continue.’

‘She got a job in the House of Lords as a waitress.’

‘How? She’s pretty old, isn’t she?’

‘Very well-preserved, lied about her age, they’re not very well-paid jobs and she had excellent references.’

‘Didn’t they check them?’

‘They checked the most recent, which was from a William Sholto, who described himself as manager of a highly regarded Cotswolds hotel. They wrote to him there and asked for confirmation. He was a guest there at the time, the letter went to him and he duly confirmed the reference.’

‘Supposing they’d telephoned?’

‘Still might have gone to him or the deception might have been found out, in which case they’d have had to think of some other method of infiltration.’

‘They’re quite smart, these people,’ said the baroness.

‘You haven’t heard the half of it,’ said Milton. ‘Next thing we know is that about four or five weeks after Mary Agnes Hartley – or Agnes as she’s known at work

‘Agnes!’ said Amiss and the baroness simultaneously.

‘Of course, you’d know her. I hope you didn’t like her.’

‘You’ve nothing to worry about there,’ said Amiss.

‘So Brother Francis finds himself visited by an American in his late forties called William Heston who claims to be doing research on the British constitution and asks if he can be his research assistant. He doesn’t want any money, he’s prepared to type and help a bit on clerical jobs, he produces references from some mid-West university of which no one’s ever heard saying he’s a good egg, a worthy mature student who’ll be no trouble. Why not? thinks Brother Francis, especially since the guy declares himself to be a great fan and someone who – though coming from a hunting background – has been converted by Brother Francis’s eloquence to the cause of animal rights.’

‘And of course there’s nothing as attractive as a convert,’ said Amiss.

‘Precisely,’ said Milton. ‘So Heston/Sholto gets his pass, but rarely turns up in the Lords. He’s studying hard, he explains, and prefers to work from home – a service flat in Kensington. But as well as proving obliging and useful, he also begins to take religious instruction from Brother Francis, which involves attending the Masses he says in his home and occasionally his office.’

‘So,’ said Pooley, ‘of course Brother Francis invites him down to his Sanctuary, where he has a chance to observe Dolamore’s great meeting.’

Amiss frowned. ‘But wasn’t he laying himself open to being too easily identified?’

‘Egomaniacs and lunatics rarely notice those around them,’ said Milton. ‘And besides, he was disguised. But we’ll come to that later.’

‘I don’t think I’d have the patience to be that kind of murderer,’ said the baroness reflectively. ‘I would have been inclined simply to take a pot shot at Bertie. The more you complicate, the more you’re likely to fuck up.’

‘Yes, but taking a pot shot at Bertie would have led to an absolute focus on the family. Anyway, this was Sholto’s view of things, so what he intended was to muddy the waters to the degree that the Loch Ness Monster could be buried for all time undetected. So, so far he had motive and means, but he was looking for the right opportunity.’

‘Why is Agnes still in her job? I don’t quite see her role in all of this.’

‘Nor do we quite yet, but presumably she was some kind of intelligence gatherer. Probably marked Brother Francis out in the first place as a likely stooge and got Sholto to do what he later did.’

The baroness wrinkled her forehead. ‘Come again?’

‘Keep listening,’ said Pooley. ‘So then Sholto did his worst with the stun-gun, but the quarry escaped.’

‘Is this fact or hypothesis?’ asked Amiss.

‘A mixture,’ said Milton. ‘We know from Fred that he had told his mother about Bertie’s pacemaker operation. Otherwise, so far our main source is Brother Francis, who of course never suspected that his spiritually minded helper might have anything to do with this frightful happening until said helper tells him he wishes him to swap tabernacles.’

‘Aha,’ said the baroness. ‘The empty one goes out and the full one comes in.’

‘ “Why?” asks Brother Francis. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” says Sholto. “Just something I want done.” Even Brother Francis smelled a rat at this juncture and said he didn’t like the sound of it and was having no part of it. “Oh, I think you will,” says Sholto, “or I’ll tell them about Friday and all the other days.” ’

‘What did the poor old sod do on Fridays that he shouldn’t?’ asked the baroness sadly. ‘Pass the bottle over here, Robert.’

‘Leather-clad lady with whip, male slaves running round her house in pinnies doing her housework, licking her kitchen floor with their tongues and being beaten at regular intervals.’

‘God, I’m so glad I didn’t go to public school,’ said Amiss.

‘We didn’t all end up like that,’ said Pooley stiffly.

Milton continued: ‘The poor devil said he used to flog himself a bit in the monastery for penitential reasons. When he came out into the world the urge to find someone to do it for him became too great so he phoned up one of those people whose ads are plastered all over telephone kiosks: Madam Dominatrix this one was called. Dom for short.’

‘And rather than have this revealed he was prepared to allow murder to happen?’

‘You do see things in such a black-and-white way, Jack,’ said Amiss. ‘We’re talking about a holy fool, for God’s sake. I bet he just chose not to know what was happening.’

‘Of course,’ said Milton. ‘He said what really worried him was the possibility of sacrilege, but he convinced himself that if he deconsecrated and reconsecrated the tabernacles all would be well and that maybe what was being transported – as Sholto claimed – was a bit of harmless contraband.’

‘Like what?’ asked the baroness.

‘Brother Francis barely knew what contraband meant. He certainly wasn’t thinking about anti-personnel mines.’

‘So the notion of Sholto being a murderer never crossed his mind?’

‘He says not until the bombs went off and he read about how small they were.’

‘Are you telling me he’d never looked at the contents of the tabernacle he brought into the Lords?’

‘Sholto had the key.’

‘And nobody tried to search it?’

‘It’s not the sort of thing people search, especially when it’s being carried by a priest.’

‘Why didn’t the bombs show up when it went through the security screen? Oh, sorry.’ The baroness snapped her fingers. ‘I’d forgotten. The bombs were encased in plastic, so of course they wouldn’t show up.’

Amiss interrupted. ‘Now let me get this right. When Plutarch and I ran into him, he had realized a) that the contraband had disappeared, b) that so had his research assistant and c) that this holy of holies had been used to transport instruments of death? So what he was doing was taking it home to disinfect it in case it had traces of explosives and then reconsecrate it.’

‘It didn’t occur to him to report all this to the police?’ The baroness sounded impatient.

Milton shook his head. ‘No, because before he left, Sholto told him if he told anyone he’d make him such a laughing stock that his movement and his order would be forever discredited and that anyway he was going out of his life and there was nothing more to worry about and no further harm would be done. That was the straw at which the petrified rabbit grasped.’

‘And the stun-gun? How did that get into the Lords in the first place?’ asked Amiss.