The Tea Rose Part 65

"It's just not b.l.o.o.d.y enough! It happened ten years ago. It's too old. People want fresh murders. Like the wh.o.r.e with her throat cut. Now that's a good murder!"

Roddy played his trump card. "There were two," he said. Devlin stopped fiddling with the paperweight. "Two?"

Roddy nodded. "The body found in Fournier Street last night was the second prost.i.tute killed in a fortnight. Both had their t'roats cut."

"Jesus b.l.o.o.d.y Christ!"

"We didn't want a panic on our hands. We've tried to keep it quiet. Obviously, if you don't know, we've done a good job."

"But how did you~"

"We lied about the first victim's profession. Said she was a seamstress. It was half true. It's what she told everyone. We blamed her murder on a botched robbery."

"It's the Ripper all over again!" Devlin said excitedly. "Where was the first one found? Same area? How old was she? Same type of knife used on both of them? Any other wounds? Any bruising?"

Roddy answered by unb.u.t.toning his jacket, reaching inside, and pulling out a sheaf of paper.

"These are the coroner's reports on both women." Devlin reached for them, but he withheld them.

"They're yours ... if you put Sheehan and Burton on tonight's cover."

Devlin chewed his lip, deliberating. His curiosity finally got the better of him. As Roddy knew it would. "All right, all right," he said.

"And I need you to provide my colleague here, Mrs. Soames, with a hundred advance copies."

"Anything else you want? A picture of your kids on page two?"

"You'll do it?"

"Yes! Now give me the reports!"

Roddy handed them over. "I need these brought back to me in an hour, Bobby. One hour.

Send one of the new lads. Tell him to bring me a bacon sandwich. Fish and chips. Anyt'ing. Make it look like he's delivering me dinner. He can't look like a reporter. You got that? I'm taking a risk giving you these."

Devlin nodded, his eyes trained on the doc.u.ments. "Listen to this, O'Meara. Throat cut left to right trachea severed oesophagus, too ...knife marks on the vertebrae facial mutilation possible attempt at evisceration ... it's him!" he said gleefully.

Roddy stood. Fiona did, too. He noticed she looked pale. He wanted to get her out of there.

Given how her mother had died, he doubted she shared Devlin's enthusiasm for blood.

"You'll give your readers a straight story on the wh.o.r.es, right, Bobby?"

Roddy said. "You won't do anything irresponsible, like blaming the murders on the Ripper when we all know he's dead?"

"Not a chance," Devlin said, still reading.

"Good," Roddy said, relieved.

Devlin looked up and grinned. "We'll say it's the Ripper's ghost!"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS, RODDY," Joe said softly. "Paddy Finnegan was murdered? "

"Aye, lad. To keep the dockers from organizing."

Joe was silent for a few seconds, then said, "She needed me, Roddy. She needed me so badly.

And I abandoned 'er. I turned my back on 'er. I didn't 'elp 'er."

"Help her now. If you ever loved her, do what I'm asking."

"I will. And I'll see to it that 'Arrods and Sainbury's and a dozen others follow suit. 'E won't get away with this. Not if I 'ave anything to do with it."

"Thank you, lad. I knew I could count on you. I want to buy her a little insurance. From you and your fellow merchants. And from the union lads." He stood. He was in Joe's office, in Covent Garden, and he had a long ride ahead of him. 'I've got to go. I've still got to find Pete Miller, the head of the Wapping local."

"Roddy, wait."

"Aye?"

"Where is she?"

Roddy shook his head. "I can't tell you that." "Please, Roddy."

"I don't t'ink she wants to see you, lad."

"Let 'er tell me that. Let 'er tell me 'erself and I'll never bother 'er again."

"You can't just barge in on her, Joe!" Roddy said angrily. "Jaysus! Don't you t'ink she's got enough on her mind tonight without you turning up at her door?"

"I won't go tonight. I'll go tomorrow. When it's over. I want to go right now, I won't lie to you. But I won't. You 'ave my word."

Roddy stared at him. "The Savoy," he finally said. He was about to remind him of his promise, but Joe didn't give him the chance.

"Trudy!" he bellowed, running past him to his secretary's office. "Get me 'Arrods on the line.

Right away!"

LOWERING RAIN CLOUDS, dark and ominous, swept in upon London. A sharp wind whipped them along, scudding them inland from the Thames, over the riverside slums, westward over City counting houses, and farther inland still, over Westminster and St. James's-rarefied enclaves of privilege and power.

A storm's coming, Fiona thought, from the east. She could smell the river on the wind. Had that same wind which now swept about her gusted through the bleak streets of Whitechapel? she wondered. Had it blown through the thin walls of the crumbling houses there, through the ragged clothes of the people in them? Was it just her imagination, or did the wind carry the bitter stench of poverty?

Two men, well-dressed and well-fed, hurried by her and disappeared into White's, the exclusive gentleman's club outside of which she now stood. Her father-in-law, Lord Elgin, the Duke of Winchester, was inside, too. He dined there nightly. She knew this because Nick had told her the man spent more time at his club than he did in his home.

If all went well, in a matter of mere minutes she would come face-to-face with him. And then everything would depend upon her. Upon her ability to act, to posture, to feign a certainty about money and markets and the habits of English investors, to bluff a man who was the head of one of England's most powerful banks, a man more sophisticated in the ways of finance than she could ever hope to be. How on earth would she do it? She was terrified of failing when so much was at stake.

A sudden gust caught her skirts. She smoothed them. Her diamond, the one Nick had given her, flashed up at her as she did. Nick. How she wished he were here. She needed him now. From behind, a stronger gust blasted down upon her. It felt like a hand in the middle of her back, pushing her forward. She suddenly had a feeling-just as she'd had the day Teddy read her Nick's will-that he was with her. That he'd swooped in from Paris or wherever his soul resided now, to be with her, to bolster her. She could hear him saying, "Go on, old shoe, go knock the stuffing out of him!" It gave her the courage she needed to walk up the steps and into the club.

A steward met her in the foyer. ''I'm terribly sorry, madam," he said sharply, "but this is a private club. For gentlemen only."

Fiona regarded him as if he were some particularly repulsive form of insect life. "I am the Viscountess Elgin," she said haughtily, the t.i.tle tripping off her tongue as if she used it every day.

"The Duke of Winchester is my father-in-law. I must see him immediately. It's an emergency. A private family matter."

The steward nodded, suddenly accommodating. "One moment, please," he said, then disappeared up a flight of carpeted stairs, past wood-paneled walls hung with English landscapes.

Fiona took a deep breath. So far, so good. She had a.s.sumed her first role and played it well, but the next would be far more difficult. As she waited for the steward to return, Roddy's parting words echoed in her ears. "Be careful, la.s.s, be d.a.m.ned careful. I've seen people murdered over a pound, never mind a few hundred thousand of them." She promised him she would be. Roddy had done so much for her. Without him, she wouldn't be here now, only inches away from seeing her fragile plan succeed. He wanted this, too. She must not fail.

The steward reappeared. "The duke will see you. Follow me, please." He escorted her up the stairs and down a hallway into a private room. The door clicked shut behind her and she was left alone. Or so she thought until a man's voice, clipped and cold, said, "You have a great deal of nerve, Miss Finnegan."

Fiona's eyes fastened upon him. He was standing behind a desk at the far end of the room, a squat, fleshy toad of a man in a black dinner jacket. His face was exceedingly unattractive except for one feature-his remarkable turquoise eyes. Nick's eyes.

"Elgin. Mrs. Nicholas Elgin," she said. "At least that's what it says on my marriage certificate. 1 go by Soames, however. My late husband preferred it."

"May 1 ask why you have interrupted an extraordinarily good supper?" Fiona drew a copy of the Clarion from her briefcase and tossed it on the desk.

"1 am not familiar with this publication," the duke said, eyeing it distastefully.

"You may not be," she replied, "but the editors of every major newspaper in the city are. 1 believe it would be in your best interest to read the lead story."

He bent toward the desk. She saw his eyes move across the headline.

"Tea Merchant Accused of Union Leader's Murder." And under that, "William Burton Questioned by Police." He turned the page and read the story. For a fraction of a second she saw a ripple of alarm disturb his carefully composed expression. As quickly as it had come, it was gone again, but a spark of hope flared inside her, giving her confidence.

"What, exactly, has this to do with me?" he asked at length.

"Nicholas called you many things, sir, but he never called you a fool. You know as well as 1 do that murderers are not permitted to remain at large. William Burton will be arrested, convicted, and hanged. His business will be ruined. I've had copies of the Clarion delivered to every single editor of every London paper, large and small. The story will be all over the city by tomorrow.

Copies also went to Burton's other major shareholders. 1 should think they'd be appalled at the idea of investing in a company belonging to a killer. By morning, they'll be scrambling to unload their shares."

"Perhaps," the duke said. "What do you want from me?"

"Nick's Burton Tea shares."

"And if 1 refuse?"

"Then 1 will do everything 1 can to ruin Burton Tea. 1 own twenty-two percent of the company-that's without Nick's shares-and 1 promise you, I'll dump it faster than you can blink. By noon, the market will be awash in Burton Tea. The stock won't be worth the paper it's printed on.

The company will be ruined. And Albion Bank will lose the three hundred thousand pounds it invested."

The duke took a cigarette from a silver box on the desk, tapped it, and lit it. He took a long drag, blew it out again, then said, "I don't think so. The police will question William. He will, of course, deny any involvement and within a few days the whole thing will blow over. No outraged investors, no panicked selling."

''I'll start the panic. The second the market opens."

"To what end? The fact that you own twenty-two percent, plus your rabid determination to get your hands on my late son's shares, tells me one thing-you want to take over Burton Tea. How will you accomplish that if you release all your holdings?"

"I won't. But 1 will have bankrupted the company. 1 will at least have that satisfaction. "

Elgin mulled this. "Very possibly, but there are no guarantees. Someone could buy a large chunk of your shares, stabilize the stock, and save the company. I've seen it happen."

Fiona swallowed. She was losing her advantage. She dealt her trump card. "This is a banker's draft for three hundred thousand pounds," she said, pulling a piece of paper out of her briefcase and placing it on the desk. "The sum total of Albion's loans to Burton Tea. The minute you give me Nick's shares, it's yours."

Elgin raised an eyebrow. "You're willing to repay the entire loan?"

"All of it. I'll be at Albion at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. We can do the trade then-the Burton Tea shares for my money. He had other shares in the account. They're worth a good deal.

Keep them. All of them. 1 only want the Burton Tea stock." She paused to let her offer sink in.

"What if you're wrong? And I'm right? What if Burton Tea does go under? There are people in this world who value morality and justice above profit."

"Are there? I'm sure 1 don't know any of them. A very pretty speech, my dear, but believe you me, investors care more for their purses than for some long-dead dock worker." He stubbed out his cigarette. "I have rather enjoyed our little interview-my evenings don't usually afford me such dramatic interludes - but 1 must return to my supper companions now."

The walls of the room seemed to close in upon Fiona. She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

The duke walked over to her. He stood close to her, so close that she could smell the wine he'd drunk and the lamb he'd eaten. He gazed at her intently, then said, "Tell me something, Miss Finnegan. Are you a virgin?"

It took a few seconds for her shocked mind to register the question.

"How dare you -" she began, but he cut her off.

"Did my son ever f.u.c.k you? Tell me the truth and we'll put an end to all this nonsense. Did he take you like a man, or did he jam his p.r.i.c.k up your shapely a.s.s? That was his preferred method, I'm told. At least that's what his roommate from Eton said. To my counsel. Just yesterday, in fact." He smiled as her face went white. "What? Cat got your tongue? Not to worry, I have other ways of finding out. That laundress you fired three years ago Margaret Gallagher-she's a very talkative sort.

And if all else fails, we can always get an independent medical authority to make an a.s.sessment.

Some randy old codger who's only too eager to part those slender legs and get a look at what's between them."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" she cried, raising her hand to slap him. But he, surprisingly nimble for a heavy man, grabbed her wrist and jerked her to him. She struggled, but he held her fast.

"When you bluff someone, you silly b.i.t.c.h, you need to make him afraid. Make him feel he's got something to lose. I have nothing to lose. There may be a flap in the papers tomorrow, but it will pa.s.s. Burton Tea will survive. William will continue to repay his loan. I will retain the sum I spent on his stock, and you, Miss Finnegan" -he tightened his grip until she thought he would snap her arm~ "will withdraw your foolish claim."

He released her and strode out of the room. Fiona's legs went weak. She slumped against the desk. It was over. She had failed. Utterly and completely.

Chapter 77.

Asleep in a chair in her bedroom, in front of a fire long since dead, Fiona twitched, then moaned piteously, "No ... please ... help me ... somebody help me ... "

The dark man had come for her and this time he had caught her. He'd followed her down winding streets, in and out of abandoned buildings, until she'd run into a warehouse with no way out.

He held her fast now, despite her violent struggles. She screamed again, hoping that someone would hear her. But no one came. She felt his breath on her neck and saw the glint of the knife blade as he raised it above her. And then she heard it, a battering, loud and insistent. Someone was out there.

Someone would help her. "Mrs. Soames!" the voice cried. "Are you there?"