Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 21
Dulac sat down, put his hand distractedly on her thigh, and patted it to comfort her.
She turned to him, placed her hand on top of his and pressed his hand upwards. She kissed him passionately, as she lifted the hem of her dress. With her other hand, she gently pressed his now aroused maleness. He set his free hand around her soft shoulder and freed her breast from its nearly inexistent support. She gasped, as his other hand found its mark.
The taxi arrived at the apartment. While Karen rearranged her coat, Dulac whispered to her, “I can’t go out like this, lend me your purse.”
She laughed, Dulac paid the cabbie, and they walked quickly up the stairs, Dulac holding Karen’s small black purse in front of him. While she fumbled with the key, he dropped the purse and grabbed her breasts from behind, and pressed his hungry penis against the split of her buttocks. The door opened, and they nearly tripped onto the carpet, as he relentlessly pressed himself against the taut lobes of her bottom.
She dropped her dress to the floor and turned, naked, to undo his shirt. As he tossed off his jacket, she grabbed the suspenders of his pants and ripped them downwards, grabbing his shorts in the motion. He ran his hands, those refined, deft hands, through her full hair, as she stroked his sex. He closed his eyes in abandon. She rose and mounted him, and entwined her legs around his waist, leaning her back against the door. She lowered herself onto him slowly, and gasped as he entered her.
They fell onto the lush carpet, her legs still entwined around him, as they pulsed to the rhythm of pure, unfettered joy.
They both lay on the bed, exhausted and replete. Karen turned to him, “You really didn’t have to plan all that just to have sex with me.”
“Who says Mozart and violence don’t make a great aphrodisiac?” he replied.
She laughed. “Were they after you, or me?”
“Me, I’m the threat now. They know that I know Pistis Sophia is a false flag. They have no interest in you any longer.”
“Do you?”
“That’s totally unfair.”
“Who did this?”
“I’d put my money on de Ségur. That was probably a warning shot.”
“Really?” said Karen, incredulous.
“The hit man knew I saw him coming. He knew we’d duck. If he’d wanted to kill us, he would’ve fired through the doors.”
* * *
Karen awoke first, got up, and started to prepare breakfast. Strange, she thought, that even with the chaos and scare of the previous night, she somehow felt content.
“What a night,” exclaimed Dulac, as he stretched in the comfortable bed.
“Ham and eggs, or croissants?”
“American please.”
“You know, when you said to answer my own question last night, I thought maybe the marchioness has the knowledge. She certainly has the library in which to get it.”
“Yes, Miss Marple,” he said teasingly.
“Do you want your juice in the glass, or on you?” She approached the bed, juice glass dangerously tilted towards it. Dulac grabbed a pillow and held it to his chest. Smiling, she returned to the kitchen.
Elbow propped onto the bed, Dulac turned onto his side and looked at Karen’s sinuous back as she bent over to search for an appropriate frying pan. He caught himself enjoying the domesticity of the scene. “It’s my fault for getting you into this. But sometimes I feel you like the challenge, right?” he said.
“The pay is poor, but the fringe benefits aren’t bad.” She turned and winked at him. “But seriously, isn’t Fiore your best suspect?” she said.
“How is that?”
“When I first met him, I remember him saying that he’d studied mythology as part of Greek history.”
“So does every student taking a classical course.”
“Perhaps, but couldn’t you find out if he’s got any special interest in the subject?”
“Yes, Miss…Sorry.”
After Dulac had showered and dressed, he noticed how ridiculous he looked in his black tie, shirt, and tuxedo at seven o’clock in the morning. Once out of the apartment, he would be telling the whole world of his sexual escapade. I might as well be naked. The taxi he’d called arrived. He kissed Karen. “One last favor. Not your purse, but can I borrow a coat?”
Karen laughed and handed him a brown raincoat. “Here, this should do it, but I want it back.”
Chapter 62
The TGV to Lyon fast-forwarded the pastoral green countryside into a soft blur. Dulac would catch himself now and then trying to read a town’s sign, as the speeding projectile whooshed past it at 270 km an hour.
Arriving mid-morning at Interpol’s headquarters, Dulac went through security, acknowledged the receptionist, and took the elevator to the third floor. Next to the elevator, he entered the General Secretary’s sparsely decorated office, its austere look matching perfectly the personality of the man who occupied it.
“I’ve been lied to, led down the garden path, shot at,” said Dulac as he paced vigorously to and fro in front of Harris’s desk. “My job has been threatened and my work is totally unappreciated. Plus, I have the distinct feeling I’m being set up.” Dulac reached for a Gitane. “What more can I ask for?”
“If you wanted a cushy job, you should have stuck to law,” said Harris. “As far as your job security, I will decide who stays or is removed from this case, no one else.”
Dulac bit his tongue. Somehow, he doubted it. “I’m sick and tired of politicians interfering with my work. It’s hard enough to get the evidence. Now that we have it, we can’t act on it.”
“I think the Minister has probably contacted his colleague at Justice and—”
“I have a better idea. I’m going to have the marchioness arrested in London,” said Dulac.
“On what charges?”
“For starters, money smuggling, accessory to murder. I can think of a few others.”
“That complicates the case against de Ségur. Besides, we’ll have jurisdiction problems.”
“Not if she agrees to testify against him.”
“How is that?” Harris leaned back in his swivel chair and tapped his fingers together in the shape of an arch.
“We charge her with accessory to murder, money-laundering and smuggling. In exchange for her testimony, we drop the first two and plea bargain on the third.”
“She won’t take the bait: too risky.”
“If I were her, I’d take it.”
“A high-profile person like her can’t afford the scandal. She risks being shunned by her peers, a fate worse than death. Plus, we haven’t been very efficient in providing protection to our star witnesses.”
“She’s got enough money to hire all the protection she needs.”
Harris leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk, an air of reproach on his oval face. “Dulac, be patient. Give the Minister a chance. He’ll have to make a decision one way or the other.”
“If he doesn’t, I will.”
Chapter 63
Fiore and Volpe had received de Ségur’s urgent message to meet him at his summer villa. Four hours later, the limousine, its tinted windows hiding the two prelates from curious eyes, wove silently up the hill along the narrow driveway, halting before the entrance of the cantilevered house overlooking Portofino Bay.
“Come in, Monsignors,” said de Ségur, answering the chauffeur’s polite knock. “Welcome to my little hideaway.”
“Yes, yes,” said Volpe, “it’s been a long drive, and we haven’t much time. I must be back in Rome by seven this evening.”
De Ségur showed them to the salon. “I’ve asked you to come here because Miranda’s offices have been raided and are probably wiretapped. Dulac seized the financial and corporate records. and raided my home in Paris. They haven’t searched here yet. I’m afraid there are serious developments. The French Minister of the Interior, Jean Gavroche, has agreed with the Minister of Justice to file an extradition request for Lady Sarah, for her to be tried in France.”
“What are the accusations?” asked Volpe.
“Money smuggling and accessory to the murders of Salvador and Conti. The link is Salvador’s French nationality. Gavroche hasn’t advised Interpol yet, but will do so tomorrow.”
“Go on,” said Volpe, his face somber.
“She’s worried me since our meeting at Isola Rossa,” said de Ségur. “Our last session at Miranda just confirmed my doubts. We can’t trust her anymore. If she goes to trial, she’ll crack and bring us down with her. She’s even told us she wouldn’t take the blame alone.”
“What if we get rid of Dulac?” asked Volpe.
De Ségur knew Volpe couldn’t have known, wasn’t referring to the failed assassination attempt. That was strictly personal business.
“You mean have the General Secretary take him off the case?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve tried. The GS won’t move. He doesn’t want to be seen as obstructing justice. Besides, it’s too late,” said de Ségur.
“Then, where does that leave us?” said Volpe.
“We must get rid of her.”
Volpe broke the silence. “Do what you must.” He rose, looking at Fiore, who hadn’t uttered a word. “Anything to add, Monsignor?”
“No,” whispered Fiore, timidly clearing his throat.
“Monsignor, this isn’t easy for any of us,” scolded Volpe, “but it’s an affair of state. We all know what’s at stake here.”
As de Ségur walked them to the door, Volpe turned and said: “If only Salvador and Conti hadn’t threatened to disclose, we wouldn’t be here.”
After they left, de Ségur made a phone call, a deadly one.
Chapter 64
John, Lady Sarah’s butler, had dutifully received the package from Harrods. She often had dresses and shoes delivered to her flat in London, but John hadn’t noticed that the van wasn’t from Harrods.
The blast had severed the butler’s head, and blown it across the hallway into the salon, like a bloodied bowling ball.
The window panes of the first level covered the floor with their dangerous glittering carpet, and the chandelier lay in the middle of the hallway, like a large tilted silver Christmas tree.
The marchioness had fared better. The French doors of the dining room had absorbed the impact, and she had been blown out of her chair onto the dining room wall, ten feet away. She was covered with minor lacerations from the glass, and suffered a broken arm.
“Marchioness of Dorset narrowly escapes death. Butler killed,” read the headlines of the Daily Telegraph, a copy of which Lescop had brought Dulac early that morning.
A bomb blast rocked the Marchioness of Dorset’s London flat yesterday afternoon, killing her butler. The marchioness has suffered multiple injuries and is in stable condition at a London hospital. Her injuries were classified as serious, but not life-threatening. Police say they have no suspect. No motive has been uncovered.
Dulac had been called by British Interpol, and had felt mixed emotions upon hearing the news. Gratuitous acts of barbarism repelled him, but he also knew that he now had an opportunity. He had to seize it. “The minute she is discharged, call me,” said Dulac to Harry Wade, the Interpol agent at the London office.
Dulac received the call from London the morning of the third day after the bombing.
“She looks terrible, but she’ll live,” said Wade.
“Thanks,” replied Dulac. He called Lescop. “Get two tickets to London.”
* * *
The flight to London was bumpy, and the Boeing 737 landed jerkily, buffeted by wind and rain squalls. Winding their way through Heathrow’s labyrinths, Dulac and Lescop finally emerged at the exit and took a cab to New Scotland Yard’s offices on Broadway Street. Dulac spent the morning in Chief Inspector James Innes’s office, briefing him on the charges against the marchioness and slowly breaking down his resistance. Innes had called the British Minister of Justice, and the latter had confirmed receiving the extradition request from his French counterpart.
“We usually don’t arrest someone who’s just been the victim of a bomb blast,” said Innes.
“I know,” replied Dulac. “I don’t want to seem insensitive, but she’s a prime suspect in a murder case, and also in a money smuggling and laundering scheme. Do you agree with my proposal?”
“Since you’ll have her extradited if we don’t, we haven’t much choice,” replied Innes.
“Fine. Let’s go,” said Dulac, eyeing Lescop.
* * *
“I’m Inspector James Innes, of Scotland Yard. Is Lady Sarah Litman in?” asked Innes, as the three inspectors and two constables stood dripping wet at the doorway.
“Why, yes,” answered the startled young woman. “Just a minute.”
A moment later, Lady Sarah appeared, heavily bandaged, her left arm in a sling. Dulac could see the blackened eyes behind the lightly tinted sunglasses.
“Gentlemen?” she said, with an air of surprise and annoyance.
“Lady Sarah, may we come in?” said Dulac.
“You again. What are you doing here?”
Dulac glanced at Innes. Before he could reply, she continued.
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit edgy these days. Gentlemen, do come in.”
The policemen took off their wet overcoats and entered a hallway still full of broken glass.
“Please excuse the mess. As you can see, I’m in the middle of redecorating.”
Dulac said calmly, “Lady Sarah, you might want to call your lawyer.”
“This isn’t about the bomb, is it?”
“Not really.”
* * *
Sarah’s mind grew numb. She felt her interior world starting to crumble. She walked into the living room and dialed Hawkins’ number. “It’s Lady Sarah. Could you come over immediately? I think I’m about to be arrested.” She reluctantly returned to the hallway.
Innes spoke, his tone dispassionate. “Lady Sarah, I’m arresting you on charges of conspiracy and accessory after the fact for the murders of Archbishops Salvador and Conti, smuggling and money laundering of five million US dollars. We retain the right to press other charges at a later date. You have the right to see a barrister or a solicitor. You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Sarah sat down on the small seat and, stunned, stared into space. The nightmare was continuing. It had to be real. “I’ve called him. He won’t be long.”
“He can join us at the Yard,” said Innes. “Please come with us.”
Some reporters had followed the policemen, and were outside taking pictures of the cordoned-off area.
“What’s this about, Chief Inspector?” said a photographer.
“No comment.”
“Who are you?” a journalist asked Dulac.
“Interpol.”
“This is big,” said the photographer.
The reporters took to their cars and followed the police to the Yard, hoping to get a shot of Lady Sarah as she was escorted into the Yard’s offices.
* * *
After the registration formalities, Innes led Lady Sarah into a large interrogation room and they sat down to wait for Hawkins. They didn’t have to wait long. Moments later, he walked in.
“I say, gentlemen, you might at least have the decency of letting the woman recover. This is most inhuman, most uncivilized,” said Hawkins, throwing his raincoat on a nearby table and sitting down next to the marchioness.
“Lord Hawkins, we’ve arrested your client as an accessory to crimes committed in France and Italy,” said Dulac.
“Show me the charges,” said Hawkins.
Innes handed him the warrant.
“Worthless. You have no right to arrest her. The main charges are unproven. And you’re out of your jurisdiction, Inspector,” said Hawkins turning to Dulac.
“Be advised that I’ve started extradition procedures in France,” said Dulac.
“On what evidence?” replied Hawkins.
“Enough to satisfy the extradition requirements,” said Dulac.
“I see,” said Hawkins.” Inspector Innes, is this correct?”
“There’s an extradition request from the French, sitting on the Minister of Justice’s desk. I’m told it looks valid.”
“Lord Hawkins,” said Dulac, “I have a proposal that may be satisfactory to your client and us. But we must resolve the issue quickly. You’ll see why.”
“Let’s hear it,” replied Hawkins.
“We are willing to drop the charges of accessory to the murders of the two archbishops, in exchange for a guilty plea by Lady Sarah on the charge of money smuggling and laundering. She must undertake to appear in Paris as a witness for the prosecution in the trials of Hugues de Ségur and Monsignor Paolo Fiore. If your client agrees, we will accept that your client remains under house arrest, and we will make no divulgation to the press until the trial for money smuggling and laundering. We can agree on a late trial date.”
“And if we don’t accept?” said Hawkins.
“We will charge her on all counts, keep her here, and oppose bail on the grounds of her high mobility,” said Innes. “We won’t withhold any information from the press.”
“And we will continue the extradition proceedings,” said Dulac.
There was a pause. Hawkins turned towards Lady Sarah.
“I’d like to confer with my client alone if you please, gentlemen,” said Hawkins.
“Obviously,” said Dulac. He signaled the others to leave the room.
“Somewhere else,” said Hawkins.
“Right,” said Innes. “Follow me, please.”
Hawkins took Lady Sarah by the arm and escorted her into the corridor. They sat down slowly on the hardwood bench. “Lady Sarah, if what Dulac says is true, I’m afraid he has us in a bit of a corner.”
She turned to him, placed her hand on top of his and pressed his hand upwards. She kissed him passionately, as she lifted the hem of her dress. With her other hand, she gently pressed his now aroused maleness. He set his free hand around her soft shoulder and freed her breast from its nearly inexistent support. She gasped, as his other hand found its mark.
The taxi arrived at the apartment. While Karen rearranged her coat, Dulac whispered to her, “I can’t go out like this, lend me your purse.”
She laughed, Dulac paid the cabbie, and they walked quickly up the stairs, Dulac holding Karen’s small black purse in front of him. While she fumbled with the key, he dropped the purse and grabbed her breasts from behind, and pressed his hungry penis against the split of her buttocks. The door opened, and they nearly tripped onto the carpet, as he relentlessly pressed himself against the taut lobes of her bottom.
She dropped her dress to the floor and turned, naked, to undo his shirt. As he tossed off his jacket, she grabbed the suspenders of his pants and ripped them downwards, grabbing his shorts in the motion. He ran his hands, those refined, deft hands, through her full hair, as she stroked his sex. He closed his eyes in abandon. She rose and mounted him, and entwined her legs around his waist, leaning her back against the door. She lowered herself onto him slowly, and gasped as he entered her.
They fell onto the lush carpet, her legs still entwined around him, as they pulsed to the rhythm of pure, unfettered joy.
They both lay on the bed, exhausted and replete. Karen turned to him, “You really didn’t have to plan all that just to have sex with me.”
“Who says Mozart and violence don’t make a great aphrodisiac?” he replied.
She laughed. “Were they after you, or me?”
“Me, I’m the threat now. They know that I know Pistis Sophia is a false flag. They have no interest in you any longer.”
“Do you?”
“That’s totally unfair.”
“Who did this?”
“I’d put my money on de Ségur. That was probably a warning shot.”
“Really?” said Karen, incredulous.
“The hit man knew I saw him coming. He knew we’d duck. If he’d wanted to kill us, he would’ve fired through the doors.”
* * *
Karen awoke first, got up, and started to prepare breakfast. Strange, she thought, that even with the chaos and scare of the previous night, she somehow felt content.
“What a night,” exclaimed Dulac, as he stretched in the comfortable bed.
“Ham and eggs, or croissants?”
“American please.”
“You know, when you said to answer my own question last night, I thought maybe the marchioness has the knowledge. She certainly has the library in which to get it.”
“Yes, Miss Marple,” he said teasingly.
“Do you want your juice in the glass, or on you?” She approached the bed, juice glass dangerously tilted towards it. Dulac grabbed a pillow and held it to his chest. Smiling, she returned to the kitchen.
Elbow propped onto the bed, Dulac turned onto his side and looked at Karen’s sinuous back as she bent over to search for an appropriate frying pan. He caught himself enjoying the domesticity of the scene. “It’s my fault for getting you into this. But sometimes I feel you like the challenge, right?” he said.
“The pay is poor, but the fringe benefits aren’t bad.” She turned and winked at him. “But seriously, isn’t Fiore your best suspect?” she said.
“How is that?”
“When I first met him, I remember him saying that he’d studied mythology as part of Greek history.”
“So does every student taking a classical course.”
“Perhaps, but couldn’t you find out if he’s got any special interest in the subject?”
“Yes, Miss…Sorry.”
After Dulac had showered and dressed, he noticed how ridiculous he looked in his black tie, shirt, and tuxedo at seven o’clock in the morning. Once out of the apartment, he would be telling the whole world of his sexual escapade. I might as well be naked. The taxi he’d called arrived. He kissed Karen. “One last favor. Not your purse, but can I borrow a coat?”
Karen laughed and handed him a brown raincoat. “Here, this should do it, but I want it back.”
Chapter 62
The TGV to Lyon fast-forwarded the pastoral green countryside into a soft blur. Dulac would catch himself now and then trying to read a town’s sign, as the speeding projectile whooshed past it at 270 km an hour.
Arriving mid-morning at Interpol’s headquarters, Dulac went through security, acknowledged the receptionist, and took the elevator to the third floor. Next to the elevator, he entered the General Secretary’s sparsely decorated office, its austere look matching perfectly the personality of the man who occupied it.
“I’ve been lied to, led down the garden path, shot at,” said Dulac as he paced vigorously to and fro in front of Harris’s desk. “My job has been threatened and my work is totally unappreciated. Plus, I have the distinct feeling I’m being set up.” Dulac reached for a Gitane. “What more can I ask for?”
“If you wanted a cushy job, you should have stuck to law,” said Harris. “As far as your job security, I will decide who stays or is removed from this case, no one else.”
Dulac bit his tongue. Somehow, he doubted it. “I’m sick and tired of politicians interfering with my work. It’s hard enough to get the evidence. Now that we have it, we can’t act on it.”
“I think the Minister has probably contacted his colleague at Justice and—”
“I have a better idea. I’m going to have the marchioness arrested in London,” said Dulac.
“On what charges?”
“For starters, money smuggling, accessory to murder. I can think of a few others.”
“That complicates the case against de Ségur. Besides, we’ll have jurisdiction problems.”
“Not if she agrees to testify against him.”
“How is that?” Harris leaned back in his swivel chair and tapped his fingers together in the shape of an arch.
“We charge her with accessory to murder, money-laundering and smuggling. In exchange for her testimony, we drop the first two and plea bargain on the third.”
“She won’t take the bait: too risky.”
“If I were her, I’d take it.”
“A high-profile person like her can’t afford the scandal. She risks being shunned by her peers, a fate worse than death. Plus, we haven’t been very efficient in providing protection to our star witnesses.”
“She’s got enough money to hire all the protection she needs.”
Harris leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk, an air of reproach on his oval face. “Dulac, be patient. Give the Minister a chance. He’ll have to make a decision one way or the other.”
“If he doesn’t, I will.”
Chapter 63
Fiore and Volpe had received de Ségur’s urgent message to meet him at his summer villa. Four hours later, the limousine, its tinted windows hiding the two prelates from curious eyes, wove silently up the hill along the narrow driveway, halting before the entrance of the cantilevered house overlooking Portofino Bay.
“Come in, Monsignors,” said de Ségur, answering the chauffeur’s polite knock. “Welcome to my little hideaway.”
“Yes, yes,” said Volpe, “it’s been a long drive, and we haven’t much time. I must be back in Rome by seven this evening.”
De Ségur showed them to the salon. “I’ve asked you to come here because Miranda’s offices have been raided and are probably wiretapped. Dulac seized the financial and corporate records. and raided my home in Paris. They haven’t searched here yet. I’m afraid there are serious developments. The French Minister of the Interior, Jean Gavroche, has agreed with the Minister of Justice to file an extradition request for Lady Sarah, for her to be tried in France.”
“What are the accusations?” asked Volpe.
“Money smuggling and accessory to the murders of Salvador and Conti. The link is Salvador’s French nationality. Gavroche hasn’t advised Interpol yet, but will do so tomorrow.”
“Go on,” said Volpe, his face somber.
“She’s worried me since our meeting at Isola Rossa,” said de Ségur. “Our last session at Miranda just confirmed my doubts. We can’t trust her anymore. If she goes to trial, she’ll crack and bring us down with her. She’s even told us she wouldn’t take the blame alone.”
“What if we get rid of Dulac?” asked Volpe.
De Ségur knew Volpe couldn’t have known, wasn’t referring to the failed assassination attempt. That was strictly personal business.
“You mean have the General Secretary take him off the case?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve tried. The GS won’t move. He doesn’t want to be seen as obstructing justice. Besides, it’s too late,” said de Ségur.
“Then, where does that leave us?” said Volpe.
“We must get rid of her.”
Volpe broke the silence. “Do what you must.” He rose, looking at Fiore, who hadn’t uttered a word. “Anything to add, Monsignor?”
“No,” whispered Fiore, timidly clearing his throat.
“Monsignor, this isn’t easy for any of us,” scolded Volpe, “but it’s an affair of state. We all know what’s at stake here.”
As de Ségur walked them to the door, Volpe turned and said: “If only Salvador and Conti hadn’t threatened to disclose, we wouldn’t be here.”
After they left, de Ségur made a phone call, a deadly one.
Chapter 64
John, Lady Sarah’s butler, had dutifully received the package from Harrods. She often had dresses and shoes delivered to her flat in London, but John hadn’t noticed that the van wasn’t from Harrods.
The blast had severed the butler’s head, and blown it across the hallway into the salon, like a bloodied bowling ball.
The window panes of the first level covered the floor with their dangerous glittering carpet, and the chandelier lay in the middle of the hallway, like a large tilted silver Christmas tree.
The marchioness had fared better. The French doors of the dining room had absorbed the impact, and she had been blown out of her chair onto the dining room wall, ten feet away. She was covered with minor lacerations from the glass, and suffered a broken arm.
“Marchioness of Dorset narrowly escapes death. Butler killed,” read the headlines of the Daily Telegraph, a copy of which Lescop had brought Dulac early that morning.
A bomb blast rocked the Marchioness of Dorset’s London flat yesterday afternoon, killing her butler. The marchioness has suffered multiple injuries and is in stable condition at a London hospital. Her injuries were classified as serious, but not life-threatening. Police say they have no suspect. No motive has been uncovered.
Dulac had been called by British Interpol, and had felt mixed emotions upon hearing the news. Gratuitous acts of barbarism repelled him, but he also knew that he now had an opportunity. He had to seize it. “The minute she is discharged, call me,” said Dulac to Harry Wade, the Interpol agent at the London office.
Dulac received the call from London the morning of the third day after the bombing.
“She looks terrible, but she’ll live,” said Wade.
“Thanks,” replied Dulac. He called Lescop. “Get two tickets to London.”
* * *
The flight to London was bumpy, and the Boeing 737 landed jerkily, buffeted by wind and rain squalls. Winding their way through Heathrow’s labyrinths, Dulac and Lescop finally emerged at the exit and took a cab to New Scotland Yard’s offices on Broadway Street. Dulac spent the morning in Chief Inspector James Innes’s office, briefing him on the charges against the marchioness and slowly breaking down his resistance. Innes had called the British Minister of Justice, and the latter had confirmed receiving the extradition request from his French counterpart.
“We usually don’t arrest someone who’s just been the victim of a bomb blast,” said Innes.
“I know,” replied Dulac. “I don’t want to seem insensitive, but she’s a prime suspect in a murder case, and also in a money smuggling and laundering scheme. Do you agree with my proposal?”
“Since you’ll have her extradited if we don’t, we haven’t much choice,” replied Innes.
“Fine. Let’s go,” said Dulac, eyeing Lescop.
* * *
“I’m Inspector James Innes, of Scotland Yard. Is Lady Sarah Litman in?” asked Innes, as the three inspectors and two constables stood dripping wet at the doorway.
“Why, yes,” answered the startled young woman. “Just a minute.”
A moment later, Lady Sarah appeared, heavily bandaged, her left arm in a sling. Dulac could see the blackened eyes behind the lightly tinted sunglasses.
“Gentlemen?” she said, with an air of surprise and annoyance.
“Lady Sarah, may we come in?” said Dulac.
“You again. What are you doing here?”
Dulac glanced at Innes. Before he could reply, she continued.
“I’m sorry. I’m a bit edgy these days. Gentlemen, do come in.”
The policemen took off their wet overcoats and entered a hallway still full of broken glass.
“Please excuse the mess. As you can see, I’m in the middle of redecorating.”
Dulac said calmly, “Lady Sarah, you might want to call your lawyer.”
“This isn’t about the bomb, is it?”
“Not really.”
* * *
Sarah’s mind grew numb. She felt her interior world starting to crumble. She walked into the living room and dialed Hawkins’ number. “It’s Lady Sarah. Could you come over immediately? I think I’m about to be arrested.” She reluctantly returned to the hallway.
Innes spoke, his tone dispassionate. “Lady Sarah, I’m arresting you on charges of conspiracy and accessory after the fact for the murders of Archbishops Salvador and Conti, smuggling and money laundering of five million US dollars. We retain the right to press other charges at a later date. You have the right to see a barrister or a solicitor. You do not have to say anything. However, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Sarah sat down on the small seat and, stunned, stared into space. The nightmare was continuing. It had to be real. “I’ve called him. He won’t be long.”
“He can join us at the Yard,” said Innes. “Please come with us.”
Some reporters had followed the policemen, and were outside taking pictures of the cordoned-off area.
“What’s this about, Chief Inspector?” said a photographer.
“No comment.”
“Who are you?” a journalist asked Dulac.
“Interpol.”
“This is big,” said the photographer.
The reporters took to their cars and followed the police to the Yard, hoping to get a shot of Lady Sarah as she was escorted into the Yard’s offices.
* * *
After the registration formalities, Innes led Lady Sarah into a large interrogation room and they sat down to wait for Hawkins. They didn’t have to wait long. Moments later, he walked in.
“I say, gentlemen, you might at least have the decency of letting the woman recover. This is most inhuman, most uncivilized,” said Hawkins, throwing his raincoat on a nearby table and sitting down next to the marchioness.
“Lord Hawkins, we’ve arrested your client as an accessory to crimes committed in France and Italy,” said Dulac.
“Show me the charges,” said Hawkins.
Innes handed him the warrant.
“Worthless. You have no right to arrest her. The main charges are unproven. And you’re out of your jurisdiction, Inspector,” said Hawkins turning to Dulac.
“Be advised that I’ve started extradition procedures in France,” said Dulac.
“On what evidence?” replied Hawkins.
“Enough to satisfy the extradition requirements,” said Dulac.
“I see,” said Hawkins.” Inspector Innes, is this correct?”
“There’s an extradition request from the French, sitting on the Minister of Justice’s desk. I’m told it looks valid.”
“Lord Hawkins,” said Dulac, “I have a proposal that may be satisfactory to your client and us. But we must resolve the issue quickly. You’ll see why.”
“Let’s hear it,” replied Hawkins.
“We are willing to drop the charges of accessory to the murders of the two archbishops, in exchange for a guilty plea by Lady Sarah on the charge of money smuggling and laundering. She must undertake to appear in Paris as a witness for the prosecution in the trials of Hugues de Ségur and Monsignor Paolo Fiore. If your client agrees, we will accept that your client remains under house arrest, and we will make no divulgation to the press until the trial for money smuggling and laundering. We can agree on a late trial date.”
“And if we don’t accept?” said Hawkins.
“We will charge her on all counts, keep her here, and oppose bail on the grounds of her high mobility,” said Innes. “We won’t withhold any information from the press.”
“And we will continue the extradition proceedings,” said Dulac.
There was a pause. Hawkins turned towards Lady Sarah.
“I’d like to confer with my client alone if you please, gentlemen,” said Hawkins.
“Obviously,” said Dulac. He signaled the others to leave the room.
“Somewhere else,” said Hawkins.
“Right,” said Innes. “Follow me, please.”
Hawkins took Lady Sarah by the arm and escorted her into the corridor. They sat down slowly on the hardwood bench. “Lady Sarah, if what Dulac says is true, I’m afraid he has us in a bit of a corner.”
