The Detective and the Spy by Angela Misri

Author:Angela Misri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BISAC: FIC022040 Fiction/ Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths FIC022000 Fiction/ Mystery & Detective / General FIC022060 Fiction/ Mystery & Detective / Historical
Publisher: Cormorant Books Inc.
Published: 2020-10-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

“I THINK WE NEED to focus on the bombs,” I said, taking a bite of the sandwich we were sharing before handing it back to Lancaster.

We were taking a circuitous route back to London, stopping in small villages along the way for breaks and for food. I had dashed into the village on foot and still in disguise to secure lunch and as many newspapers as I could carry. Now we were eating in an obliging field, the motorcycle hidden behind bales of hay. It would take us a full day to get back to the city, but we were less likely to be identified and recaptured this way.

Lancaster took a bite as well before answering, he not having had the benefit of a delicious but delay-filled meal with my grandmother and therefore ravenous. I pushed the sandwich back his way upon remembering that, eating the chips beside it instead.

“We don’t have it anymore,” he said. “But Kell identified it as Russian-made and I see no reason why he would lie to us about that. How does that help us?”

“Whoever is deploying the bombs is not an expert in bomb-craft, they simply have access to these old bombs,” I said, getting up to pace as I often did when my mind was whirring. “Who would have access to Russian-made bombs from the Great War? Other than Box 850, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a pained grin. “Former gunnery sergeants, possibly. Anyone in the military who had access to British and European military arsenals. A long list in other words.”

“But the lack of expertise,” I repeated. “Those mines that were strung up in the basement of The Trifle were very inexpertly done. The fact that we could disarm them by unhooking wires is laughable. There should have been trick wires and back-up systems that would be triggered by our interference.”

He shrugged. “They did manage to kill someone, Portia, so they weren’t entirely amateur.”

“Unless they never meant to kill anyone,” I said, still pacing as he finished the sandwich and reached for his beer. “If Ilsa was involved, how would she have gotten her hands on military-grade bombs?”

“A military man?” Lancaster answered after a moment’s thought.

“A man she was sleeping with perhaps,” I agreed. “Someone who would let down their guard enough to allow her to gain access to an arsenal.”

“But why would she … Portia, we’re round back to the same problem,” Lancaster said. “She has no motive. Blowing up her father in his train is an extreme way to get rid of someone who you think left you at an orphanage. Surely there were easier ways to be rid of Digby. A gun for example. Like the one that killed Ilsa.”

I nodded. “We keep getting caught up in the motive and I think the problem is that there might be two motives, which is confusing our suspect pool.”

“What?”

“What if someone is using the bombs to kill and someone else is using them to terrify the population — taking advantage of the bombs that have gone off to create more of a panic about them?” I said.

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