A Monstrous Regiment of Women - Laurie R. King [79]
“Inspector Lestrade, I’m not a solicitor looking for evidence of slander. The man was, or is, I assume, importing drugs. He’s killed three people who threatened to expose him, and he may have killed Iris Fitzwarren as well, for the same reason he killed the nosey cousin. What is his name?”
“Where is Miles Fitzwarren?”
“Safe. Unwell, but as safe as Holmes and several responsible doctors can make him. If you wish, Holmes can arrange that you or your colleague be taken to him. Now, the name?”
“Tommy Buchanan is the name he’s going by at the moment. Heard of him?”
“No. Why do you connect Iris with him, other than the circumstances of her death? Oh come now, Inspector, I have to know before I can give you my information.”
“Don’t want much, do you?” He stood up and looked at my half-empty glass. “Another drink?”
“Thank you. The same.” I lifted the glass as if to drain it, and when his back was turned, I took it from my lips and exchanged it for an empty glass from the next table. Its previous owner was deep in conversation with a young lady, and neither of them noticed, even when he absently picked up my lipstick-stained remnants and tossed down the strange contents. Lestrade came back.
“All right. But for Holmes’ sake, it better be good. There was a note in her handbag, written on a corner of newspaper, that said, ‘Tommy, the Poseidon, midnight.’ The Poseidon being Buchanan’s club,” he added. “She got there about eleven-thirty, but Buchanan wasn’t there that night; in fact, he wasn’t even in town. He was having dinner with some friends in Surrey, spent the night there.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes, but verified.”
“So he personally is off the hook.”
“Exactly.”
“Colleagues, employees, and henchmen?”
“Half a dozen of them. Nothing specific on any of them yet, but two of them have a history of knives.”
“What else was in her handbag?”
He hesitated at the abrupt change of direction but could find nothing objectionable in it.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Money purse, powder compact, lipstick, small mother-of-pearl penknife, handkerchiefs, key ring with the keys to her flat, to her parents’ place, and one to each of her free clinics. A fifth one hasn’t yet been identified, some sort of house key. She hadn’t been robbed, there was money in the purse, and she had a gold bracelet and a small pearl ring on.”
“Inspector, I should very much like to see a detailed list of what she had with her.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Russell, that’s going too far.”
“I could possibly tell you where the fifth key goes.”
He snorted. “You’d better tell me a lot more than that. How about starting with what your interest is. Was she a friend of yours?”
“Not at all. I did meet her, the night she died, in fact.”
“Where? Not at the nightclub?”
“Unfortunately, no. At the Temple.”
“You? Went there?” A curious melange of incredulity, amusement, and scorn swept across his tight little face. I ignored them all.
“Yes, I went there. Your fifth key almost certainly opens a door in there—if not an outside door, then to one of the offices.”
“Fine, I’ll tell—I’ll let the investigator in charge know. Why were you there?”
“Business.” I exaggerated.
“What kind of business? Last I heard, you were in your studies at Oxford.”
“A client asked that I go there.”
“A client? Oh, blimey, not you, too. Who’s your ‘client’?”
“I’m sorry, Inspector, there’s a certain confidentiality involved that I’m not prepared to breach just now. There are other things, however, that I think might interest you.” I looked around us. The smoke-filled room had become crowded and very noisy, and we had to raise our voices. “Not here, though. I want to go back to your office.” Lestrade looked exasperated. “I know, but you wouldn’t have let me come up if I’d just sent my name up, would you?”
“Why the—why on earth should I let you come up now?”
I leant forward to meet his eyes directly, then said clearly, “Fraud. Three women dead, probably murdered. Preventing a