The Detective and the Woman (9 page)

Chapter 15: Irene

Someone stole my gun during the theatre interval. I don’t know how it happened, but one moment I was trying to keep Tootie from succumbing to claustrophobia, and the next I found my bag empty of its only important item. I forced myself to silence my self-flagellating brain and instead reason through the theft and whether it was more likely that my weapon was now in the hands of someone significant or a random pickpocket who had chosen to target theatregoers that night.

I wondered how Holmes would rate the likelihood of a coincidence. The idea that a woman who was involved in a criminal case would also be involved in a petty theft, randomly chosen out of a group of hundreds, hardly seemed creditable. I didn’t appear noticeably richer or more opulently dressed than others in the crowd. Why choose me?

The other alternative was much more horrifying, but I forced myself to consider it. I ruled out Ambrose McGregor immediately because I had seen his whereabouts the whole time, and then I began to scan the crowd systematically, looking for anyone familiar. I found no one unexpected and finally had to take my seat again for the third act.

I remained outwardly calm throughout the rest of the play, but I felt as if a weight were pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. In some grotesque sense, Hedda Gabler’s elaborately staged desperation seemed to mirror the growing desperation I felt. I now realised that it had been a mistake to come to the theatre. In public, I felt like a clay pigeon on display in a shooting gallery.

When the curtain finally closed, I wanted to escape the auditorium as soon as possible, but the crowd and Tootie’s friendliness caused us to be one of the last groups to leave. Ambrose sent for our carriage, and I waited nervously, trying to answer Tootie’s banal chatter but feeling as if I would like to run away.

Finally, the carriage arrived, and Ambrose glanced at the driver and commented that ‘Bryce has sent someone else.’ The McGregors rented a carriage for their use in Florida, and they hired drivers when they needed them. I thought nothing of the comment. Nothing, that is, until Ambrose had helped me inside and I saw Tootie’s pale face, her words silenced by the cocked pistol at her temple. I looked over into the cold eyes of my solicitor. ‘If you so much as call out, I’ll pull the trigger,’ he said matter-of-factly as Ambrose took his place beside me. I believed him.

At that moment, I understood why my handgun was gone and why the theft had been so expertly carried out. Excellent foresight on Barnett’s part. The terror on Ambrose McGregor’s face struck me as vastly ironic, a combination of genuine fear for his wife and horror at a friend’s betrayal. His innocence was apparent, and in the midst of my fear, I felt the letdown of having been wrong, of having fallen for a classic red herring. Oh, how Dr Watson would enjoy the story if he ever had a chance to hear it, I thought wryly.

We rode in silence for some time until Barnett finally rested his hand on his knee with his gun pointed firmly at Ambrose. ‘Why are you doing this?’ the poor man finally asked, a question that even I had no real answer to as of yet, in spite of my part in the investigation.

Barnett, as Sanchez, smiled and addressed me instead. ‘Do you know me, Miss Adler the Divine?’

I nodded, projecting as much calm as I could manage. ‘I knew you from the moment the wife of the tobacco supplier laid eyes on you.’

He looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. ‘I didn’t envy her husband that day. Now I see that I was mistaken. But no matter. It’s all worked out in the end.’

He finally turned to Ambrose, shaking his head. ‘You’re a good man, Mr McGregor. You and your wife have no reason to be afraid if you do as you’re told. This operation (he looked at me) is about Miss Adler, myself, and Mr Holmes. Both Mr Holmes, if you like, but I only ever had the younger in mind as part of this particular plan.’

‘I wouldn’t do that, Miss Adler.’ The gun was trained on me in a split second, and Barnett shook his head. ‘It’s no use inching your hand toward the door latch; at this speed, you’d fall out and injure your skull, not to mention that we’re currently in the middle of nowhere.’

I wondered what Holmes would have done in this situation—in a closed carriage with a gunman and two innocent people. He’d have had a solution, I was sure, but I was at a loss, and it infuriated me.

‘You might like to know,’ Barnett continued, ‘that my office in London received Irene Norton’s new will today, leaving the bulk of her property to her faithful solicitor, who will transfer it to his good friend Alberto Sanchez as soon as Mrs Norton is dead.’

‘But don’t worry. I won’t kill you if you sign over everything instead. The detective is the only one who has to die, and that’s not my job.’

Tootie hadn’t uttered a word since the beginning of the ordeal, and she still sat with her hands clenched, pale and terrified. I had never seen her silent for so long, and there was something grotesquely humourous about it. I hated myself for thinking so.

‘Holmes isn’t here,’ I said. I considered saying something about his death, but I could see no use in doing so since Barnett knew very well that he was alive.

‘No,’ said Barnett, ‘but he will be. You’re excellent bait.’

At the word
bait
, something connected in my mind, and I understood. That was my role in the case. Holmes had been using me to attract Barnett the way the solicitor was now trying to use me to attract the detective. That was the reason for the lack of caution and insistence that I play a role so near my own character. Unwitting bait, that’s what I’d been. And now that the bait had been taken, Holmes was nowhere to be found.

I wasn’t angry with Holmes, but I was disappointed. For a short space of time, I had believed in him fully, trusting that he would complete his plan, whatever it might be. I had also trusted his promise of safety.
Bait is never safe
I thought bitterly. Whatever Holmes had expected to happen, the current situation was obviously far from it, I knew, or I wouldn’t have found myself stranded in a carriage with a criminal and no recourse. The man I had fooled once had made another mistake, and this time it was to my extreme detriment.

‘I have no idea,’ Barnett continued after a few moments, ‘if you and Holmes are working together, and I don’t care. Either way, he’ll follow you.’

‘How do you know he’s in Florida?’ I asked, thinking quickly. If Barnett didn’t know for sure that I’d been working with Holmes, then I had the upper hand of information, at least.

‘I saw him two weeks ago,’ he said. ‘He’s tracked you, I’m sure, whether you know it or not. Also, thank you for the calling cards, my dear. It would have taken me much longer to realise you were here and might be in society tonight without them. I don’t have the slightest idea what you hoped to accomplish, but I’m glad I circumvented it.’ He smiled nastily.

I also had no idea what I’d hoped to accomplish or, indeed, what he was talking about, so I kept my thoughts to myself and tried to look upset at being thwarted, which wasn’t difficult, since I was frightened and angry.

Finally, our miserable journey ended with an abrupt stop, and Barnett herded the three of us outside into the dark night. I realised immediately where we were when I smelt the sharp aroma of citrus in the air and turned and saw the shack in front of us, the ramshackle building that contained Alberto Sanchez’s field office.

The driver hopped down and took off his hat, revealing himself to be Bill, the surly foreman Holmes and I had met during our previous visit. He took out a handgun and pointed it in our direction, helping his boss force us inside.

The shed was dark, but Sanchez lit a lantern and pushed us into his office. Ambrose gave the two chairs to Tootie and I, and he stood, his face dark. Bill stood watch in the front of the building, and Sanchez sat behind his desk, staring at his captives with gun in hand.

‘What do you intend to do?’ I asked, hoping to hear something I might be able to use.

‘I intend to wait until Sherlock Holmes arrives, release our friends, get a signed statement from you giving me your assets, and take the detective to the lighthouse,’ he said, with a chilling lack of hesitation.

‘Why do you want Holmes?’

‘I don’t want him, but Sebastian Moran does. He’s meant to be dead—Holmes, I mean. I have no idea why he isn’t, but Moran knew right away. It’s a good deal for me, Miss A. You’ve always been a good client, and I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I’m going to leave you enough money to go wherever you like.’

‘What’s the benefit to you? I know very well you don’t do anything without getting something back.’

He laughed. ‘You know me well, Miss Adler. The convenient part of this plan is that the bait is also the prize. In return for Holmes, I get to keep your fortune.’

‘You have a loose tongue,’ Ambrose suddenly put in quietly, his face stormy.

I turned to the McGregors. ‘You deserve to know that this man is no more Alberto Sanchez than I am. He’s a crooked London solicitor named James Barnett.’ Tootie’s eyes widened.

‘How do you know him?’ Ambrose’s meaning was clear; he thought I was in league with Barnett.

‘I was stupid enough to let him handle my affairs,’ I said honestly.

‘Far too few affairs,’ said Barnett, with an ugly insinuation in his voice, ‘but plenty of money.’

‘Holmes won’t come,’ I said. ‘He has no idea I’m here, and if he did, he wouldn’t care.’

‘You’re wrong there, Miss A.’ Barnett sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, looking self-satisfied. ‘I’ve no doubt he’s on his way right now.’

‘If that’s true,’ I said, ‘how do you know he won’t bring the police?’ I stared him down.

‘Doesn’t matter if he does. They’ll let me go to save you three. I didn’t take the McGregors for no reason. Bill and I will be happy to fill any of them with lead, though, if they try anything.’ He turned to Ambrose. ‘You, at least, should know that Sherlock Holmes is on the way.’

Ambrose shook his head. ‘It appears I haven’t been very smart about all this. Whatever happens, please accept my apologies, Miss Adler.’

‘That’s all right,’ I said, trying to smile. ‘I did lie about my identity.’

‘I knew there was something more to you than a simple socialite,’ Tootie’s voice suddenly cut in. ‘I don’t know who you are, but I’m not surprised.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said without explanation, seeing no reason to give Barnett more information than he already had.

‘It’s all right,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘We’re all more than we seem.’

‘That’s certainly true,’ said Barnett, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘I should give this back to you, Miss A.’ I looked at the piece of cloth, a white background with blue letters. Mine. I took it without comment.

I was disappointed in myself. I’d always imagined that if I were in mortal danger, I’d be resourceful and fearless, able to think my way out of anything. But I was just Irene Adler, frozen in the face of danger the way I’d been powerless to stop my husband.

‘I suppose I should have you sign the papers before Holmes gets here,’ said Barnett after a while. ‘Things might get ugly, and I want to have everything in place.’ His calmness infuriated me.

The solicitor produced a stack of legal forms, the paper that represented my not-insignificant worldly property. ‘Sign these, or I’ll put a bullet in your head,’ he said calmly. I stared down at them, my eyes swimming.

Just then, Alberto Sanchez’s desk took on a life of its own and flew forward, crashing to the floor as I jumped backward to avoid its path.

Chapter 16: Holmes

Sherlock Holmes rushed to his feet and tackled James Barnett, his long-constricted muscles screaming from the sudden exercise. The altercation was over in seconds, the shocked Barnett clumsy and slow in his surprise. Holmes pushed his gun against the man’s head as Bill rushed into the office, astonished by the crash.

‘Nice to see you, Mr Holmes.’ He touched his forelock in respect to the detective.

Holmes laughed noiselessly. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Waverly. I’ll put in a good word with my brother.’ The detective noticed Irene’s pale, unreadable face watching him attentively.

‘Miss Adler, I have something that belongs to you.’ He took The Woman’s gun from his waistband and handed it to her, smiling. She took it with a blank expression.

‘Allow me to introduce myself, Sir and Madam. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective,’ said Holmes, turning to the McGregors, who looked dazed. ‘I believe, Sir, that there has been a misunderstanding, for which I apologise.’ His eyes took in Ambrose, who bowed his head slightly.

‘Not at all, Mr Holmes. I now comprehend that my wife and I have been mixed up in something far larger than we realised.’

‘I’m grateful to have two such reliable witnesses to this man’s intentions,’ the detective replied, indicating the furious Barnett, whose face under his makeup was a violent shade of red.

‘Will we have to testify in court?’ asked Tootie, suddenly finding her voice again.

‘Indeed, Madam, I would expect so,’ Holmes answered with a smile. ‘I hope it won’t be overly distressing.’

‘Not at all,’ said the lady, looking almost pleased, her equilibrium apparently returning. She moved to her husband’s side, and he put an arm about her.

Holmes looked at The Woman, wondering about her thoughts. He had never seen her so pale, but otherwise, she looked perfectly composed. ‘Miss Adler,’ he said after a moment, ‘I believe our friends have arrived. Please be so kind as to usher them inside.’ His keen ears had detected the sound of more than wind approaching, and soon voices and boots could be heard. Irene went outside, and no one spoke until the door of the shed was forcefully pushed open and a stocky policeman entered, followed by Thomas Edison, who looked characteristically calm, and little Nelson Burroughs, who was attempting to look fierce. Irene followed last, still looking somewhat dazed.

‘Welcome, Gentlemen,’ said Holmes, standing up straight and nodding to the newcomers.

‘I’m Sheriff Samuel Morris,’ said the solid, middle-aged officer of the law. ‘I assume you’re Mr Sherlock Holmes, detective of London.’

‘I am indeed,’ said Holmes quietly.

‘And this is Miss Irene Adler, legally Mrs Norton, subject of a plot put forth by the gentleman here, Mr James Barnett, known locally as Alberto Sanchez.’

‘That is correct, Sir,’ answered the detective. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t time for conversation. This man’s associates, under the orders of a criminal named Sebastian Moran, are even now awaiting the delivery of my person. We have a chance of apprehending them if we move in haste.’

Thankfully, Holmes realised, the policeman wasn’t as slow as some of his counterparts across the Atlantic. He immediately produced handcuffs, which Holmes assisted him in placing on the surly suspect, then led the entire group outside. His quickly-uttered ‘What do you propose to do, Mr Holmes?’ endeared him eternally to the detective.

‘Mr and Mrs McGregor, Mr Thomas Edison will take you home in your carriage. You’ve been through plenty of surprises this evening,’ the detective began. ‘Miss Adler, you will accompany me and our friend Barnett in my cart, with Sheriff Morris and Mr Burroughs following behind. We’ve no time to lose.’

Holmes was relieved when everyone did exactly as they were told, moving rapidly, propelled by the force of his personality. He used his gun to push Barnett forward, and Irene followed to where his cart was hidden in the darkness, his horse tethered to a tree. Irene trained her gun on the solicitor while Holmes freed the horse and prepared to drive. As he had anticipated, Bill was nowhere to be found, as if he’d melted into the night. No doubt, Holmes knew, he’d resurface wherever he was assigned.

The detective watched The Woman force Barnett into the cart. Holmes wondered what the man was about. He was too quiescent, and Holmes had every belief that he was plotting something, but The Woman could handle him, at least until they reached the beach. The detective drove quickly, and his horse, rested from its long wait, was delighted to run. Holmes was optimistic, pleased with Irene’s perfect handling of her difficult role and with the outcome. Barnett had been entirely fooled, both by Bill, Mycroft’s agent, and by Miss A, who had been magnificent both intentionally and unintentionally. The night was far from over, but he knew now that he was in control.

The oppressive darkness, punctuated by moonlight, was almost like a living thing as the detective drove the cart to the coast, with the clop of the police horse behind, reminding him that the law and the young Burroughs were with him, ready to provide backup. Holmes didn’t know exactly what they would find at the drop-off point. He hardly hoped to nab Moran; unlikely the man would have made the journey himself. Instead, they would most likely capture a few of the mid-level operatives from Moriarty’s vast but splintering organization. At any rate, capturing any of them would be a positive outcome, especially if it could be accomplished without bloodshed. He was well aware that the situation was likely to be complicated.

‘If you move again, I’ll put a bullet in your leg.’ Holmes heard Irene’s voice, calm and deadly, break into his thoughts.

‘You’ve never shot anyone,’ rejoined the solicitor derisively.

‘No, but I’m the sort of person who could.’

After that, silence reigned, but Holmes glanced behind him to ascertain that all was well. The Woman looked oddly peaceful, her gun resting on her lap, pointed squarely at Barnett, who sat still with his hands cuffed. Holmes smiled to himself. Irene was all right. She wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

* * *

The coastline was eerily beautiful in the moonlight. Holmes had heard a local rumour that pirates had once patrolled these waters, quartering captives on an island nearby. He could well believe it. What was idyllic in daylight had a savage edge in the nighttime.

Holmes drove until he saw a lighthouse in the distance, giving off a faint glow. He stopped his horse at the edge of the sand and jumped down as the policeman halted his own cart. Catching glimpses of Irene’s face, Holmes saw that she was relieved that the long ride spent staring at the solicitor was complete. He trained his gun on the man as Morris and Burroughs joined them.

‘You see the lighthouse,’ the detective said quickly. ‘No doubt they have a boat waiting to carry them out to sea as soon as the drop has been made. I gather that’s how Mr Barnett was to get out of the country as well.’ He looked at the solicitor, ‘If you’d like to confirm that, it wouldn’t go amiss.’ Angry eyes stared back at him.

‘Here is what must happen now. One of you will impersonate Mr Sanchez and follow me to the lighthouse, after which the others will wait until we start for the boat and converge with us there, in order to capture not only those on land, but also those who may be waiting on the water.’

‘Needless to say,’ he continued, ‘this is a risk, but not as much as it would be if our solicitor friend were involved. Sheriff Morris, I must ask you to remove the man’s jacket.’ Morris stared at Holmes briefly before taking off the solicitor’s handcuffs. For a moment, Barnett looked as if he might make some sort of attempt to fight, but the joint effect of Irene’s and Holmes’s guns on him, as well as the beefy arms of the policeman, kept him subdued. Burroughs’s eyes were enormous with confusion.

‘Irene,’ said Holmes, once he held the jacket in his hand, ‘I believe you’re the only one who will suffice. Mr Burroughs is too short and Sheriff Morris too robust.’ The Woman looked surprised, but she comprehended his meaning and took Barnett’s evening jacket from the policeman, putting it on and using it to cover her figure. ‘Now, Mr Burroughs, your hat.’ Burroughs was frozen for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard, then removed his highly fashionable hat and handed it to Holmes, who placed it on Irene’s head, hiding her hair. The Woman looked up at him with a roguish smile that passed in a second. ‘The darkness will hide your dress long enough for my purposes,’ the detective added, noting that Irene looked relieved. She appeared to have wondered if he intended her to exchange clothes completely with the solicitor.

Holmes handed his gun to Burroughs, who stared at it as if it were some kind of ferocious animal in his hand. ‘Sheriff Morris and Mr Burroughs,’ the detective continued, ‘I trust you will take care of our friend while Miss Adler and I begin the operation. A gag might be in order to keep him from making noise. Once we’re ready to rendezvous, Mr Burroughs can keep his gun on the prisoner while Sheriff Morris helps us subdue the others.’ He helped the policeman re-cuff the solicitor, who spit in his face. Holmes merely wiped his cheek and didn’t deign to reply.

‘Now, Irene,’ he said, turning his back to her, ‘please be so good as to jam the barrel of your pistol into the small of my back, and we will proceed.’ Irene did as he asked, none too gently, and he began the walk across the sand to the blur in the distance that was the lighthouse. Behind him, he heard muffled curses and the calm voice of the policeman, noises indicating that he had taken Holmes’s advice and decided to gag the prisoner to prevent him somehow giving them away by shouting.
Not entirely stupid
, thought Holmes, gratified.

‘Are you all right?’ the detective finally asked in a low voice as he and Irene made their way across the wide expanse of sand.

‘Tolerably,’ she answered.

‘You won’t have to speak. I’ll make sure of that.’

‘Very well.’

‘Remain in the shadows and stay behind me, and I’ll keep you from being detected until the men emerge and we make for the boat. Morris will join us then.’

Holmes continued, ‘Just keep your head down and don’t be afraid to use your weapon if things don’t go to plan. We’re taking a risk, but I don’t wish to lose any of the perpetrators.’

‘No more do I,’ Irene answered. ‘At least Morris doesn’t seem a complete fool. He’ll come to our aid if he sees or hears anything amiss. Have you any idea how many are in the lighthouse?’

‘A few at the most. More would have attracted local attention, and Moran has to allocate his resources carefully these days. The Yard have been on him heavily since Moriarty’s death. His outsized faith in Barnett results from the man’s previous service to the organization, I gather.’

‘What previous service?’

‘That I do not know. Even Mycroft’s people hadn’t uncovered it at the time of his last letter.’

It was odd, Holmes thought, to be conversing with The Woman in an almost enjoyable way under the present circumstances. Watson was nearly silent at these times. With his back to Irene, the detective couldn’t see her face, but their words flowed back and forth as usual, and she sounded strangely normal. He wondered how the evening’s events were affecting her, how long it would be before her adrenaline gave way to weariness. He hoped she would be able to stay with him, to keep her senses keen, until after it was all over. He needed her mind to be clear.

Both fell silent for several moments. As they drew closer to their destination, Holmes heard Irene’s breathing quicken. ‘Steady on,’ he whispered.

The structure itself had the usual appearance of a coastal lighthouse, tall and sturdy with a large door in its side. He hoped the men had a reliable lookout and were not waiting for some prearranged signal from Sanchez. That would, he thought, be inconvenient. The detective raised his arms and gesticulated as they came close, giving the appearance of a man under great duress.

Holmes’s wish was granted a few feet from the lighthouse, when he heard a male voice shout and saw a man appear at the door, brandishing a rifle. ‘There’s no need to be dramatic,’ the detective said loudly but icily, ‘Mr Sanchez’s gun in my spine speaks loudly enough.’ Two men came out the door and faced Holmes, who kept his thin body squarely in front of Irene in order to shield her from view as much as possible in the moonlight.

‘A gentleman might think it unsporting to capture a man by dressing as a lady,’ said Holmes in an indignant tone, hoping to buy a few more moments by selling Irene’s unexpected attire.

One of the men, who was tall and young, let out a hearty laugh. ‘Didn’t expect such creativity from you, Mr Barnett. Moran told us you were a by-the-book man.’

Excellent
, thought Holmes, they hadn’t met Barnett. Irene stayed silent, as he’d instructed. ‘Oh, he’s plenty creative,’ he said, sounding angry.

‘Be quiet,’ said the other man, who was of middle age and seemed jumpy. ‘Let’s get to the boat before Sammy falls asleep.’

Holmes saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly Barnett came rushing toward them, yelling against his gag. The detective was forced to move, revealing Irene. The young man from the lighthouse immediately grabbed her gun. At the same time, Holmes pinned the hysterical Barnett on the ground while the older man trained his gun on the detective’s temple.

At that moment, Morris and Burroughs burst toward the group, and confusion reigned. Morris tackled the older man, and Burroughs stood at the edge, looking bewildered. Finally, the voice of the younger lookout cut through the madness. ‘This is all well and good, Mr Holmes, but if you don’t come with us, I’ll shoot the head off the la—’ A deafening, close-range shot rang out, and he lurched forward, blood beginning to spurt from his mouth; he was dead almost instantly. Immediately, Irene jerked the gun from his hand and pointed it at Barnett, while Morris dragged the older accomplice to his feet. Burroughs stood behind Irene, his face deathly white, with a painfully hot gun in his shaking hand.

His pistol firmly trained on his prisoner, Morris looked gratefully at the bewildered Burroughs. ‘Well done, Sir,’ he said. ‘I hope you still intend to make this town your home one day.’ The small man didn’t answer, but his colour slowly returned.