Murder in Reproach by Anne Cleeland

Author:Anne Cleeland [Cleeland, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

On the way home, Acton seemed disinclined to discuss whatever-it-was that he was thinking about, and so Doyle tried to hazard a guess; it did seem that he was turning up the heat on the fake-artwork scheme, and the players were feeling the need to meet-up with Sir Vikili for a wargaming-session under the cover of this memorial service. Acton, of course, was one step ahead of them and had made a surprise appearance, hoping to get a reaction—perhaps to see who would now contact whom.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Did you gain any insights, Kathleen?”

Readily she informed him, “Everyone was unhappy that you showed up, like the beggar at the feast, but I suppose you already know this. Denisovich was mighty pulled about—you’d think a Russian mafia-man wouldn’t get the willies the way he does. And Sir Vikili didn’t much like it when you mentioned the fair Javid.”

He glanced her way. “He is reluctant to allow me to interview her.”

“Small surprise—knock me over with a feather. Tell me about the City Quay buildin’, if you would.”

“It is a luxury mixed-use residential development, located in St. Katharine’s Marina.”

Doyle immediately made a face. “Fah—can’t say I have fond memories of St. Katharine’s Marina. And—speakin’ of Javid—neither does she.”

“Indeed.”

This, because it was where the artist had come within a hair’s breadth of being a preemption-murder. When Acton had begun closing-in on the previous artwork-rig, the panicking villains had decided to kill Javid—she was slated to die by being bound and thrown overboard after the participants had escaped into the channel. Fortunately, Acton had rescued her moments before they’d cast off.

Her husband seemed reluctant to elaborate, and so Doyle made a sound of impatience. “Why were you leanin’ on Denisovich, and makin’ veiled threats about our Rolph? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were givin’ the man warnings to back down, rather than rollin’ him up for a few righteous felonies.”

Her husband’s chest rose and fell. “It is something of a delicate situation.”

In all confusion, she knit her brow. “Never say you feel sorry for Rolph—or Denisovich, for that matter; neither one of ’em’s worth a moment’s pity.” Thoughtfully, she added, “You should feel sorry for Mr. Elliott, though; I’ve the feelin’ he’s not long for this world.”

This caught his interest, and he glanced over at her. “Why is that?”

She shook her head, slightly. “I don’t know, Michael; it just seems to me that he’s marked for doom.”

He returned his gaze to the road ahead. “That is of interest.”

“Spill, please,” she scolded with some impatience. “And keep in mind that we’ve two victims, cryin’ out for justice—mayhap more, since no one’s been payin’ attention to the peacock-feather tally.”

Slowly, he offered, “I would not be surprised if this new waterfront development is being used to house the artwork before it is loaded onto yachts.”

“Faith; they’re still at it?” she exclaimed in surprise. “You’d think the blacklegs would try to come up with somethin’ new and different.”

“It is an excellent rig, because it is very difficult to prosecute.

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