I coughed to clear my suddenly dry throat. “It’s a… a bookbinder’s hammer.”
He looked at it more closely. “Odd sort of shape.”
“Yes.” I took another breath. “Its shorter length and lighter weight allow for more accuracy and efficiency when pounding and rounding the spine of a book.”
Did my words sound as dully rote to him as they did to me?
“Thank you for the information.” He peered at the object, then pointed to something he saw near the edge. “There seems to be a design here on the end. Or are those initials? BW? Ach.”
Now he was just showing off. He knew they were mine. Spots began to circle and fade in and out of my field of vision. I took a huge gulp of air and let it go. I refused to further disgrace myself by fainting.
“Ms. Wainwright, have you ever seen this hammer before?”
“Yes, of course. It’s mine. It was a gift from my teacher. Part of a set.”
He nodded sagely. “I see.”
“What do you see?” I shook my head, still not believing any of it. “What are you saying? That Kyle was killed with my hammer? Who would do that? I wouldn’t do that! What am I, stupid? Do you think I had anything to do with it?”
“We’re still determining that,” he said calmly, and slipped the bloody hammer carefully back into the envelope.
Great, they were still determining how stupid I was. Watch me burst with pride.
“Did you loan your tools to someone recently?”
“No, absolutely not,” I said.
“They’ve been in your possession all along?”
“Yes, they’ve been in my hotel room since I arrived yesterday.” So I was the only one with access to my tools. Could somebody lend me a shovel so I could dig a deeper hole around me?
He started to make a note.
“Wait,” I said. “Sorry. I’ve got my days a little wrong. I just arrived this morning. Around noon.” I shook my head, a bit dazed. Had it been only ten hours since I’d checked into the hotel? It felt like I’d been here a month.
So in the space of a few short hours, someone had entered my room, stolen my hammer, then lured Kyle deep into that dark, bleak tenement and killed him in cold blood without anyone noticing?
And they’d used my hammer?
Why?
Was it in incredibly bad taste to feel almost as sorry for myself as I did for Kyle?
Obviously, I was being set up. Obvious to me, anyway. Detective Inspector MacLeod didn’t seem to be seeing it my way. No, he was eyeing me with barely concealed glee, as though he were picturing me inside my very own jail cell while he received the thanks of a grateful nation for saving them from a homicidal maniac who looked a lot like me.
Who would kill Kyle like that? And who would want to frame me? Of course, the first person who leaped to mind was Minka. She would love to see me framed. But Kyle would never have gone anyplace dark with that woman. He had taste, after all.
So who else was there?
I thought of Perry McDougall. Would he go to all that trouble to implicate me just because I’d waved his paper around earlier? Had I infuriated him so much that he broke into my room to steal my hammer? Was he that nutso?
And then there was Martin, who didn’t like me very much at all. Martin had the perfect motive for killing the man, but Helen had already filed for divorce, so it wasn’t like she’d go crawling back to Martin if Kyle were out of the picture. But for some men, it wasn’t enough that they couldn’t have a woman; they didn’t want anyone else to have her, either. Still, Helen had sworn that Martin didn’t know about her affair with Kyle. Of course, she wasn’t the best person to judge whether Martin knew or not.
But then, why would Martin frame me? He was basically a lazy rich boy. I couldn’t see him going to all that trouble to break into my room and steal my stuff.
Did Martin know about the Robert Burns book? He was a bookseller. Would Kyle have consulted him? I couldn’t imagine him going anywhere near the man whose wife he was pursuing. He wasn’t that foolish. Or was I being naive?
I had to figure out the other two people Kyle had confided in. It was more than likely that one of them, or Perry, had killed him.
I couldn’t believe it was possible that Kyle had been killed over Robert Burns’s illicit connection to the English throne. The story might be considered scandalous to some die-hard Anglophile, but would it really drive someone to murder?
Who in the world was so afraid of something that happened three hundred years ago that they’d actually kill another human being? And why had they taken the time and the risk involved to sneak into my hotel room and set me up to take the fall? Whose toes had I stepped on so badly that I’d earned the rage of a cold-blooded killer?
“Do you always travel with a hammer, Ms. Wainwright?”
I flinched as his voice brought me back to my present predicament. “Of course.”
“Really?”
His withering sarcasm made me mad, and I had to wrestle with myself to keep my anger from gushing forth like a geyser. I seriously needed a good night’s sleep.
But of course I traveled with hammers and other tools of my trade. What if I found a book in need of repair? It was my job to fix it. Was I supposed to feel guilty about it? Just because some evil creep had stolen one of my tools?
But I did feel horribly guilty. And I wasn’t even Catholic, so it wasn’t like I’d be going to hell or anything. I wasn’t Jewish either. From what I’d heard, they had to deal with a lot of guilt. No, I’d been raised in the guilt-free environment of a new-age spiritual commune where we were free to worship any number of gods and goddesses, take your pick. And none of them spouted eternal damnation, so there was never any reason to feel guilty, right? But here I was, riddled with guilt over way too many things. Abraham’s death. Kyle’s death. Helen’s pain. My tools.
Maybe I needed to see an exorcist or something.
“Ms. Wainwright?”
“What? Sorry.” Jet lag was turning me into a zombie. “Yes, when I travel on business, I bring my tools with me.”
“Including a hammer?”
“Yes. I usually teach a workshop on bookbinding, so I always need my entire set of tools with me.”
Didn’t everyone? I was willing to bet Detective Inspector MacLeod didn’t go anywhere without his claymore or his.45 Magnum or whatever his weapon of choice was.
“And by the entire set, you mean…”
I pictured my portable tool set and named off the contents. “I’ve got my hammer, files, knives, a couple of awls, nippers, brushes, bone folders, some polishing irons, needles and thread, of course, and glue, linen tape, binder clips, rubber bands. Oh, and more tools and supplies for the students.”
“Rubber bands?”
“Sometimes the best way to hold a book together is the simplest.”
“Ah. And all these tools are in your hotel room?”
I frowned at the incriminating manila envelope still lying conspicuously between us on the desktop. “I thought they were.”
He followed my gaze. “Perhaps we should check your room.”
“Absolutely. Let’s go.”
“Please stay seated, Ms. Wainwright. I’ll send two of my men to your room to take a look around.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Great.” Yeah, just great. They’d be looking for more bloody evidence, I supposed. And what if there was some? If someone had sneaked in before, they could probably do it again to plant more evidence and set me up even further. This was so unfair.
There was another knock on the door and I groaned inwardly. Bad things seemed to happen whenever someone knocked at that door.
Derek Stone stuck his head inside the doorway. “You haven’t arrested this lady yet, have you, Angus?”
“No, no, just asking a few questions,” Angus said, then added reluctantly, “Come in, Commander. We still have some details to hash out.”
Derek walked in and closed the door. He looked around at the small space, then leaned his hip against the two-drawer filing cabinet and smirked. “She makes a damn fine suspect, doesn’t she?”
“Aye, she does, if you must know,” Angus said in a more serious tone than I was comfortable with.
“I was afraid you might think so,” Derek said, eyeing MacLeod. “That’s why I’m here to spring her.”
“Is that so?” Angus sat back in his chair. “We’re not quite finished.”
“Can’t it be wrapped up tomorrow?”
MacLeod folded his muscular arms across his barrel chest. “Questioning can continue tomorrow, but I’ll still need to accompany her back to her hotel room tonight.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “For God’s sake, why?”
Was he playing dumb? MacLeod seemed to be thinking the same thing but didn’t want to say so. I took pity on the cop and said, “My bookbinder’s hammer is the murder weapon.”
“Oh, brilliant,” Derek said, then noticed the envelope on the desk. He glanced at MacLeod as he reached for it. “May I?”
“You might as well, Commander,” MacLeod said resignedly, as though he were used to Derek Stone interfering in his cases on a regular basis.
Derek unhooked the envelope’s brass fastener and peeked inside, then shook his head at me as he resealed it and put it back on the desk. “You are impossible.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I insisted.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve sufficiently antagonized someone to the point that they’re setting you up to take the fall for murder.”
“I’ve never antagonized anyone.”
“If you only knew.” He shook his head again.
“This is so unfair.”
“Yes, it is.” Derek extended his hand to me. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to vouch for her innocence, Angus.”
I grabbed hold of his hand and he pulled me up from the chair. Once I was on my feet, I whacked his arm. “You’re afraid?”
“It’s just a manner of speech. Do you want to come with me or not?”
“I do.” I looked at MacLeod. “Am I free to go?”
“No, you’re not.”
“I didn’t think so,” I said, forlorn.
Derek raised an eyebrow. “What’s the holdup?”
“I’ve told you, her room must be searched.”
“Tonight? Is that necessary?”
“Of course it’s necessary,” MacLeod said, exasperated. “You know very well I can’t let her go back to her room and possibly destroy evidence.”
“I don’t have any evidence to destroy,” I said.
“She didn’t do it, Angus,” Derek said.
MacLeod was unwavering. “I follow the evidence.”
“It won’t do you any good in her case,” Derek said in mock resignation. “She’s just not capable of killing anyone. It’s too bad, because she’s rather a chary sort, don’t you think?”
I elbowed him. “Shush.”
“Hey.” He grabbed his side. “I’m just trying to help.”
“You’re making it worse,” I whispered.
“Me?”
“Just let the man do his job.”
Angus eyed us both warily. “Have you thought to take this show on the road?”
“I tell you what, Angus,” Derek said companionably. “We’ll wait in the hotel bar while your men do their searching. If you find something incriminating, she’s all yours. In fact, I’ll help you lock her up.”
“Help me, will you?” MacLeod said. “You’re a fine friend, Derek, but you’re a pain in my rear nonetheless.”
“You’re welcome,” Derek said.
As MacLeod opened the door to the hallway, he sighed. “I’m truly not getting rid of you, am I?”
“You know me better than that,” Derek said, his amiable grin belying his resolve.
“Come along, then, both of you.”
I hustled my butt out the door to freedom.
My hotel room was absent any bloodstained rags or additional bloody weapons or whatever smoking gun MacLeod had hoped to find. He’d called me in the bar where Derek had been sipping Scotch while I’d nursed a cup of tea, trying to stay awake. Derek and I arrived in time to see a rubber-gloved investigator carefully lifting my heavy cloth tool carrier from my open suitcase.
I immediately wondered if they’d gone through my underwear. I couldn’t help worrying. Maybe it was a girl thing, but those rubber gloves gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Derek and I squeezed our way farther into the room where Detective Inspector MacLeod, two crime scene guys and the police photographer were working. The first thing I was asked to do was sit down at the desk in the corner and submit to fingerprinting by one of the technicians.
“You may find black residue on some of the surfaces of your furniture,” MacLeod explained after I’d washed my hands. “We tried to wipe it off but we might’ve missed some spots.”
“That’s okay,” I said, knowing that as soon as they left, I’d get out my travel wipes and scrub down everything.
I didn’t know what to do with five men cramped inside my little hotel room. It was like a party, only not much fun.
“We assumed this was the bag that holds your tools, Ms. Wainwright,” MacLeod said, waving a hand at the investigator who was holding the navy blue cloth bag.
“Yes.” Whenever I traveled, I wrapped everything up in the bag I’d made myself out of sailcloth and white grosgrain ribbon. Each tool had its own snug pocket, and the whole thing folded up and tied and fit inside my suitcase.
The investigator placed the tool bag on the queen-size bed.
“Someone has fiddled with it,” I said. “The ribbon is tied in a knot and I always tie it in a bow.”
“Open it up, Richie,” MacLeod said.
Richie carefully spread the cloth out on the green brocade bedspread. Fully opened, the tool bag was two feet long by one foot wide.
“Crap,” I muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Derek said.
“Three tools are missing,” I said, poking my fingers in the empty pockets.
“That’s unfortunate,” Derek murmured, glancing at MacLeod.
“Yes, isn’t it?” MacLeod said. “Can you tell which ones are missing?”
“I can’t remember what was in this pocket. One of my knives, I think. Or maybe the polishing iron I brought. No, that’s still here.”
He reached out and stopped me from pulling the polishing iron out of its compartment.
“Don’t touch anything, please,” he said. “We’ll need to dust the remaining tools for fingerprints.”
“Sorry.” I grimaced at the thought that I might’ve destroyed evidence and backed away from the bed. The photographer moved in and snapped a bunch of pictures, then stepped out of the way so that rubber-gloved Richie could move in and fold up the tools. He put them inside another large envelope, then left the room with the photographer and my tools.
“We’ll get everything back to you presently,” MacLeod said.
“I have a workshop in two days,” I said. “Do you think I could have them back by then?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, then dug in his pocket for a business card and handed it to me. “I’ll be around to see you tomorrow, but please call me in the meantime if you think of anything else to tell me.”
I slipped the card in my purse. “I can tell you right now that Kyle received a phone call on his cell while we were at the pub. He told the caller he would meet them in five minutes and he took off. And no, he didn’t tell me who the caller was.”
MacLeod made a note in his pad. “We’ll follow up on that. Thank you.” He nodded at Derek. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
I had a sneaking feeling whom the subject of their conversation would be. Lucky me.
MacLeod reached the door, then turned and pierced me with a look. “I must warn you not to leave the city without informing me.”
I licked my very dry lips. “I won’t.”
“G’night, then,” he said, and took off.
“That was pleasant,” Derek said, tugging on his jacket. “How about a nightcap?”
I should’ve said no, but how could I pass up such a charming offer? Besides, I knew that despite the jet lag, I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. “Maybe just one.”
We went downstairs to the pub and found it packed with book people commiserating over Kyle’s murder. At one table, two women talked quietly while dabbing their eyes with tissues. Over at the bar, several groups were toasting his memory.
I scouted out a small table at the far side of the room while Derek went to the bar. He came back with two healthy shots of Scotch and a small pitcher of water.
He held up his glass and I clinked mine against it. I took a sip and let the heat trickle down my throat, warming my insides all the way to my stomach.
“Better?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I said, and took another sip, and felt the warmth slide down my throat. I put my glass down on the table and sat back. “Getting there.”
Derek poured several drops of water into my glass. I took another sip and savored the subtle change in flavor.
“Even better,” I admitted. “Thanks.”
“Good.” He sat back in his chair and studied me as he sipped his Scotch.
“Oh, crap,” I said, smacking my hand on the table and squeezing my eyes shut.
“Now what?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I completely forgot to tell him about Perry.”
“Perry?”
I glanced around the room, then related an abbreviated version of the Robert Burns story. I told him that Kyle had shown the book to three people. The only one I knew for sure was Perry.
“This man Perry is a prime suspect,” he said. “How could you forget to mention it?”
I rubbed my forehead. “I started to but we were interrupted. Then I dropped the ball. Maybe the sight of that bloody hammer caused my brain to empty.”
He shook his head. “Only you.”
“I know.”
I pulled MacLeod’s business card out of my pocket. “It’s late. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.”
Derek checked his wristwatch. “Call him now.”
I sighed and dialed the number. When MacLeod answered, I told him everything Kyle had said about Perry. I also remembered to mention the poison-pen letters Kyle had told me about. Unfortunately, he’d thrown them away, but you never knew what might help the investigation. He thanked me and promised we’d talk again tomorrow.
I disconnected the call, then noticed Derek staring at me so intently, I began to squirm. “What is it?”
He smiled. “It occurs to me that you owe me a boon for your freedom.”
“I don’t owe you a boon.”
“Of course you do.”
“Hey, what’s a boon, anyway?”
“That’s for me to decide.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, then blurted, “Maybe you should just go home to your little family.”
“My what?”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Now that I’d opened the can of worms, far be it from me to shut up about it. “I saw you outside Heathrow this morning, getting into a Jaguar with a very pretty woman and her small child who looked just like you, Dad.”
He looked puzzled, then thoughtful. Then he chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich.”
He laughed a little more.
“It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s hilarious,” he said, and barked out another laugh.
“Oh, stop it,” I said grumpily.
He grinned at me. “Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you say hello?”
“Oh, and when would I have done that? When you were hugging your wife? Or maybe when you were laying a big fat wet one on her lips? Or maybe when you were cooing at your little baby who, I repeat, looks remarkably like you, God help him?”
“He is the handsome lad, isn’t he?” he said with a chuckle.
“Oh, whatever.”
He laughed again. “A big fat wet one?”
“I should go now.” I took one last sip, then pushed my chair back.
He grabbed my hand to keep me seated. “You silly git, that wasn’t my wife and baby.”
“I’m a silly git now?” I said, my voice rising. “Git. What does that mean, anyway? Some kind of feeble-brained nutball or something? That’s real nice.”
I tried to stand but he clutched my arm tightly to hold me down.
“It means you’re wrong, love.”
“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t matter. It’s been a long day. I should-”
“No.”
“Yes, really, I’ve hit my quota of humiliating moments for the day.” I managed to stand. “Thanks for vouching for me earlier. I appreciate not having to spend the night in a cold jail cell. Good night. Sweet dreams. Ciao.”
He stood, too, and blocked my escape. “You’re jealous.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I’m delighted.”
“And I live to delight you.” I turned and walked out of the pub.
He caught up and took hold of my arm. “Listen to me, those people are not my-”
“ Brooklyn, is that you?”
I turned at the sound of my name. “What? Oh. Hi, Helen.”
Ignoring Derek, she threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad the police let you go.”
“Well, of course they let me go,” I said with a nervous laugh as I pulled away. “What did you think?”
“But I saw you leave with that detective,” she said, wringing her hands. “Nobody’s seen you for hours. I was so afraid they’d arrested you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if-”
“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing her arm consolingly. The woman was turning into a basket case. “Helen, this is Derek Stone. Commander Stone, this is my friend, Helen Chin.”
He frowned at me, then turned to Helen and smiled politely. “How do you do?”
“Oh. H-hello, er, nice to meet you, Commander,” she said, her eyes wide, clearly intimidated by Derek. She looked back at me. “Please say you’re free for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“I can meet you at the concierge desk at eight or eight thirty.”
“Can we make it nine?” I asked, desperate for all the sleep I could get.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll meet you at the concierge desk at nine.”
She cast one last anxious look at Derek, then said good night.
Derek turned to me. “What was that all about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Commander Stone? You’ve never called me that.”
“That is your title, isn’t it? And it was kind of weird how she reacted, don’t you think?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
He pulled me to a quiet corner so nobody could overhear us. “Don’t tell me you suspect that tiny woman is capable of bludgeoning a man of Kyle McVee’s height and weight.”
“Of course I don’t suspect Helen, but I’m no more capable of bludgeoning Kyle than she is. So why am I number one on the suspect list?”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
“I would appreciate your putting a little more enthusiasm into that.”
“I’ll talk to Angus.”
“Thank you.”
“And just to be clear, your friend Helen is not on your imaginary list of murder suspects. Correct?”
“Absolutely.” I folded my arms across my chest. “There’s no way I would suspect her of murder.”
“Honestly?”
I fudged. “Well, I guess anyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances.”
“Here we go,” he said.
“Okay, no,” I whispered. “Of course not. I would never suspect Helen of killing a fly, let alone another human being.”
“Then why’d you pull the ‘commander’ nonsense?”
“I don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely true, so I started over. “I wanted to see her reaction. I’m tired of being the first one accused of murder once again. I know I didn’t do it, but that doesn’t mean MacLeod will listen to me. So it’s in my best interests to figure out who might’ve done it before the police toss me in the dungeon and throw away the key.”
“That won’t happen,” he said firmly.
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Look, Helen thought Kyle was going to marry her. What if she brought up the subject and he laughed in her face? Maybe he’d just broken up with her. Maybe she saw him with me and it pushed her to the edge of insanity and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she broke into my room and stole my tools. Or maybe she… are you listening to me?”
He was gazing upward, toward heaven, I supposed, as though praying for divine intervention.
“Fine,” I said. “I know it’s not Helen, but it’s somebody out there besides me.”
“Yes, but you’re grasping at straws, darling.”
“It’s all I have.” I was close to tears, but I refused to lose it in front of him and everyone else in the hotel lobby.
He wrapped his arms around me. “I realize you’re upset, love, but don’t start looking for murder suspects behind every potted plant. It could get you into trouble, in case you’ve forgotten what happened last time you tried it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I checked my wristwatch. “My goodness, look at the time. It’s after midnight. I’m dead on my feet.”
“You scare me to death with this dangerous game you’re playing.”
“Game?” I repeated. “If this is a game, I should be having more fun.”
He shook his head, then linked my arm firmly through his. “I’m walking you to your room.”
“Not necessary,” I demurred, though I was secretly pleased that he’d offered. “I’ll be fine.”
He tightened his grip on me. “Believe me, it’s not you I’m worried about.”