Black & Blue (Lord & Lady Hetheridge Book 4) (14 page)

"The black dog," Bhar breathed.

"This is madness. Don't you dare resign. We can fight this!" Kate was on her feet.

"The black dog. The bloody black bollocking—"

"Shut it about the dog!" Kate screamed at him. "This isn't one of your harebrained psychodramas. This is real. It's serious." To Tony, she said, "They can't do this. You're a legend. You're the liaison to the rich and famous, and God knows those bleeding lunatics murder each other once a year. More than that, if Sir Duncan's in town."

"Ordinarily I would discourage such a show of emotion," Tony said. "But as I'm no longer your guv, I find I rather enjoy it. Warms the… what's the word? This region." He tapped the left side of his chest. "You know, where the knife goes in."

In spite of himself, Bhar laughed. Kate made a strangled, horrified sound and burst into tears.

Tony rose. "And that," he said, "concludes our last conference as a team. I've enjoyed working with you, Paul. Bite your tongue twice as much as you speak, and I feel certain you'll have a distinguished career."

He gestured for Bhar to stand up. Like a man trapped in a nightmare, Bhar obeyed. Then Tony took his hand, shaking it with warmth, good humor, and finality.

"This can't be happening," Bhar said.

"Why don't you go down to the canteen? Have a good hot breakfast," Tony said. "I believe the finer points are still being worked out, but the powers that be won't keep you at loose ends for long. Soon, someone will ring you with your next assignment."

"I just… it's only… I don't think I could eat."

"A cup of tea, then. Oh, and do stop on your way out and thank Mrs. Snell for everything she's done. She's just given the assistant commissioner her resignation, in solidarity with me, I fear. After so many years in the Met's service, she's taking the end rather badly."

Bhar tried to agree, but nothing came out. Kate was still weeping, hard and ugly. Putting his arms around her, Tony nodded toward the door.

"Go on, Paul. Give me a moment with my wife."

Chapter Nine

Crying made Kate feel guilty. And feeling guilty made her angry. So the more miserable and uncontrollable the tears, the more profound her guilt and anger. For years she'd combatted her emotions, always too close to the surface, by telling herself tears were for frightened children, or manipulative women, or broken men. Successful career detectives did not bawl uncontrollably at Scotland Yard. To do so reflected disastrously, not only on the woman in question, but on her superior officer. And that thought was too painful to be borne.

"You knew!" she accused Tony. "You knew all along this would happen if I married you!"

He said nothing, only held her.

"I didn't care about a piece of paper," she said through her tears. "We could just have been together, kept separate homes, different surnames. It would have been enough for me."

"But not for me. I wanted you as my wife more than I wanted this."

"This." Pulling out of his embrace, she wiped her eyes and stared at him, astonished. "
This
is your career. This is your reason for living."

"No. I have a new reason for living now." His gaze was steady, honest, true. "I lost a job, Kate. A job I held for more years than I care to enumerate. And I had a good run. But times are changing, and you must admit, it's a touch ridiculous being married to a man who can pull rank on you at any moment.

"Still, if you're determined to view this as a Senecan tragedy, by all means, go to Mrs. Snell and attempt to cheer her up. I'm quite all right, Kate, I assure you. I happen to have many personal interests, most sadly neglected. I have Henry's fencing lessons. I promised to personally escort the boys to Legoland next month, to view Ritchie's work in the exhibition. I have my family estate in the country. Briarshaw ought to be managed properly, not left to rot. I have books to read, perhaps even a memoir to write…."

"That sounds bloody awful!" Kate cried. "Things need to stay as they were."

"But they couldn't," Tony said, cupping her face with both hands. "I suppose if the Met was famed for incorruptible leadership, if sexism and nepotism no longer existed…." He broke off, chuckling. "But alas, Scotland Yard is staffed by humans, run by humans, and judged from afar by still more humans. Nothing in that equation could permit us to continue working together in this fashion. By sacrificing me, a man who might reasonably be expected to retire in a few years, the top brass can assure Parliament and Downing Street that this institution moves with the times. Another privileged dinosaur sent packing."

Kate tried to absorb his words, his enviable calm, but once again her genetic predisposition for loyalty rebelled. Those same instincts that had urged her to defend Bhar, right or wrong, now cried out for her to burn down anything and anyone who harmed her husband.

"That letter," she sniffed, seizing the document and rereading it. "What a piece of work. Deaver's a right sod."

"He was my staunchest advocate. If it had been up to him," Tony said, "none of this would have happened. He fought them at every turn. He never thought he'd win outright, but given employment rights and protections, he thought he could hold them at bay for months, perhaps years."

"But
how
can this happen? How can they just send you packing,
boom
, without discipline first or a downgrade in rank? Vic Jackson's been busted down to DI a few times, but he always claws his way up again, no matter what he does."

"Vic's uncle is highly placed in the Ministry of Justice. He'll never be fired outright, not unless he commits murder. On camera. With something less than a sympathetic explanation when asked why."

Kate blinked at Tony. "You never told me that."

"As your commanding officer, it would have been highly inappropriate if I had. And truth be told, Vic takes no pleasure in the association. He's forever being given additional chances, when for years, I suspect all he wanted was to fail with finality. It's true, there are laws and procedures, and once a case is tried in the media, those procedures must be followed to the letter. But when the dispute is kept in-house, other remedies may apply."

She pondered that. An awful suspicion was dawning. One that probably would have come immediately to another detective, one without an emotional attachment.

"When you stopped Vic from sacking me. Made him look a fool. That's how you made an enemy of Vic's sodding uncle, isn't it?" she asked, referring to the day they'd met. "Then there's the time you took the Hotel Nonpareil case out Vic's grubby little paws. Another black mark. I'm right, aren't I?"

Tony was silent.

"Even so, you could have hired a solicitor. Fought it in court. Unless… unless they used me to make you go quietly. Held my career over your head to ensure you'd resign."

His only answer was a pained smile.

"Right. So. Everyone you've ever offended," Kate said, feeling as if she might scream. "Everyone you've tripped up or outperformed. They all considered your intention to marry a subordinate the perfect chance to force you out. And you decided to tell me now? After the axe fell? After it was too late to have my say?"

He still didn't answer.

"When did you know for sure?"

"Last night."

"Oh, my God! Why didn't you tell me?"

"To what purpose?" He spoke gently, but he was turning to stone, withdrawing behind those ice blue eyes. "Transforming an unhappy day into a deplorable one? Eliminating any hope you had for a good night's sleep?"

"Tony. Our whole relationship can't be nothing but you taking bullets for me. I'm your wife. You should have said something before we were married. At the very least, you should have told me the instant you knew." Her next words tumbled out angrily, helplessly. "Who
do
you confide in? Anyone? Anyone at all?"

He looked away.

Kate blinked back tears.
He's always kept his own counsel. I can't expect that to change overnight, just because we're married. I know he loves me. But he can't possibly trust me….

She cut off that thought. She had to compose herself. Tony was mentally entrenched, that much was obvious. A typical Wakefield screaming match, complete with curses, ultimatums, and thrown objects, would get her nowhere.

I have to wait for an unguarded moment. That's the only time I'll get an unguarded answer.

Kate took a deep breath and managed a smile. "Okay. So what happens next? To the team? Me and Bhar?"

"Ah, well, a decision will made soon enough," Tony said, voice softening, visibly relieved. "An interim commander for a time, then a permanent assignment. I expect the Toff Squad, as it were, will ultimately be placed in the hands of someone younger and more in touch with the times."

"Hah! I'd like to see anyone else do what you've done. What a laugh it will be, watching the Powers That Be try and find someone younger and more politically correct who can do the job—who's proven at the job—
and
has a title."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You think it will be difficult?"

"It's impossible. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"I would. I'm looking at her."

Kate went cold. "No. Oh, no. They couldn't… I'm not really a baroness…."

"I assure you, our marriage vows are binding."

"Those rich bloody bints won't accept a title by marriage."

He laughed. "They will in time. Never fear, I don't foresee you being promoted to chief superintendent tomorrow. But make no mistake—as the Hardwick case is unraveled, those at the top will be watching. Perform well, and new doors will open."

Finding that promise too difficult to absorb, Kate ignored it, sinking into the chair she'd leapt out of—when? The last half hour was a blur. That realization brought an unexpected rush of sympathy for Buck Wainwright, he of the blackout temper and inconvenient (or perhaps all too convenient) memory loss. Rage had gone off inside him like a hand grenade, obliterating all recollection. For Kate, the unjust demolition of Tony' career left her feeling the same: bomb-blasted, nothing but scorched earth.

"I know I have to focus on the Hardwick case, and I'm trying, believe me. Do you still think Buck's innocent?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. I have no idea where to go with that. Maybe Mrs. Snell had the right of it." Kate picked up the loathsome letter again, scanning the words for a third time just to torture herself. "I should turn in my resignation, too."

"Nonsense." Plucking the letter out of her hand, Tony tucked it into his breast pocket and sat in the chair beside her. "I mentioned yesterday that you've never seen me angry. Another word about resignation and you just might. As for the Hardwick case… I've always said when in doubt, establish a timeline."

"Yes. Well. Since Mr. I-Hate-Mobiles has done everything possible to make that difficult, I suppose it really is the place to start. That last pub Buck visited, the Yellow Earl, is probably his best chance of an alibi. Didn't he mention talking to a bloke with a dog? Wouldn't it be interesting if the man outside Hardwick's house was one and the same? But no—seems like Buck mentioned a different breed."

"He called it a German Shepherd. Which is American for Alsatian."

His memory never failed to amaze her. Just as Kate started to say so, she realized he was sitting next to her. "Why aren't you behind your desk?"

"I detest long goodbyes. There's probably some expectation I'll linger, take days to pack up, draw the whole thing out. Therefore, my vanity won't allow me to do less than depart as soon as possible. I've sat behind that desk for the last time."

"I'm sorry I fell apart." She lifted her chin and forced a smile. "Whatever you need from me, now's the time to say."

"Well, now that you mention it, I'd like you to find Paul. Sit down with him in the canteen. Have breakfast. Show the world you're completely unaffected. The longer you two exhibit signs of distress, the longer you'll be tested by those who scent blood in the water. For my part, I should be the one to escort Mrs. Snell out. Preferably to a destination with a quiet corner and a spot of tea."

"Masala Express should be open soon."

"I was thinking of the Albion Neo Bankside." He referred to a café by the Tate Modern with a gourmet menu and stunning views, including the Shard and St. Paul's Cathedral. "She appreciates an exceptional kedgeree, not to mention duck eggs on toast."

"Of course. You're the best boss ever."

"I was, wasn't I?" He smiled. "One last thing. Social Services is likely still grappling with a woman called Miss Georgette Sevrin. She resided with Hardwick and hid in the upstairs wardrobe. Remember that smeared track in Hardwick's blood? The one Peter Garrett called a footprint someone took the time to rub out? Last night, I noted blood on Miss Sevrin's carpet slippers. She'll need a careful assessment. A young officer called Fannon will deliver a dossier of her public activities to you sometime today."

"Fannon, eh? Another of your hard luck cases?"

"Possibly. Poor soul believed me when I pretended not to know who Mr. Tumnus was. Still, he saw right through Miss Sevrin's mental act, and she's a rather shrewd malingerer. She may also be a cold-blooded killer."