The God of the Hive - Laurie R. King [92]
It was confirmation of what I had feared: The lack of police interest at the Stones that night was because there was no body. Which meant that, unless someone had retrieved his dead body almost instantaneously, Brothers remained an active threat. Perhaps more than active: Having his intentions for Transformation crushed would surely add a thirst for revenge to his murderous plans.
I did not answer directly. Instead I asked, “Do you still think Damian Adler murdered his wife?”
“What is the interest you two have in that young man?” he demanded.
I was glad to hear the question, since it meant he did not know who Damian was. “As you are aware, Chief Inspector, Holmes attracts a wide variety of clients, including bohemian artists. Do you—”
“I need to question Adler. You need to tell him he’s not helping himself any by avoiding us.”
“I swear to you, Chief Inspector, that Damian Adler is not the man you are looking for in his wife’s death.”
“Well, he’s certainly not the only one I’m looking for.” He picked up the tea-pot to refill his cup. “I don’t suppose you know where I might find this Brothers maniac either?”
“So you are looking for Brothers now?”
He slammed the tea-pot onto the table so hard liquid spurted from its spout, and snarled, “He’s connected with two people dead of knife wounds and a third from gunshot, so yes, you might say I’m looking for him.”
I protested, “Chief Inspector, we tried to tell you about Brothers and his church weeks ago. Don’t—”
“Yes, and now everywhere I go, I’m tripping over you two. You’re in Brothers’ church; your finger-prints are all over his house, including a knife left stabbed through the desk blotter; you have the police in York ring me up to ask if I might shed some light on one of their deaths; and you bundle a villain like Marcus Gunderson into a carpet and have me come pick him up.”
“A villain whom you then let go.”
“What did I have to hold Gunderson on? He was the victim of assault in that house.”
“Do you know anything about the man?”
“He’s a thug. Spent some time in the Scrubs for robbery—bashed his upstairs neighbour and stole his cash retirement fund. Gunderson was lucky the old man had an iron skull, or it would’ve been a murder charge—but since then, he’s been clean, as far as I can see.”
“Do you know if he’s familiar with guns? Not just revolvers, but rifles?”
“He wasn’t in the Army. And hunting? Not likely for a city boy. Why?”
“Someone took a shot at me, a few days ago. Someone either very lucky or well trained with a rifle.”
“And you think it was Gunderson? What, at the orders of Brothers?”
“Brothers looks to be behind everything else we’ve faced since we returned to the country.” Precisely twenty-seven days ago—had I ever had a more hectic four weeks?
“Yes, and you keep saying that Adler has nothing to do with it, but then I find that he’s done artwork for Brothers’ book, and his wife was a devout follower of Brothers’ crank religion—” (So he did not know that Yolanda had actually been married to the man.) “—and I’ve seen at least three paintings he did of Brothers—one that his wife had on her wall, another in Brothers’ house, and a third in the gallery that’s selling his paintings. So you can’t tell me there isn’t some kind of link between Adler and Brothers.”
“Of course there’s a link—Brothers is trying to kill him!”
“So help me stop it.”
“Chief Inspector, I do not know where Damian Adler is, and the last I saw of Brothers was in Orkney last Friday, when he tried to murder Damian and was injured in the attempt.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I kicked myself for giving away more than I absolutely had to. Lestrade leant slowly back in his chair, eyes narrowing; his expression had me reviewing the exits, for when he made a grab for my wrist.
“You want to tell me how you know that?”
“You want to tell me why you took Mycroft in for questioning?”
His expression shifted, from a hunter with his prey in sight to a guilty schoolboy. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with it, Chief Inspector. You’re Scotland