Blood Royal (11 page)

The killer didn’t dress up the body, body parts, whatever they were, and leave it in the Abbey as a matter of caprice. The stuff had been frozen and transported into a national shrine.

There was a message involved, maybe a series of information that added up to a single statement. He had to find out what it was before a loose-cannon cop and an avaricious tabloid editor got him hanged.

He telephoned the number Howler’s mother had been using to call the police.

“Royal Protection Service,” a male voice answered.

Now, that was mind-blowing. The RPS unit was composed of top officers recruited from other police branches to provide protection for the Royals. They had essentially the same function as the Secret Service officers who protected the U.S. President and Vice President. That they could have business with Howler made as much sense as Howler rubbing shoulders with the prince.

He turned on the telly to see what the evening news had to say about the break-in at the Abbey. And caught Archer grinning for the camera.

“Is this tabloid reporter, the man you have identified as Tony Dutton, suspected of being the killer?” a TV reporter asked Archer.

“Dutton is a very dangerous character, a man who broke into a national shrine and was caught red-handed with bodies—actually, they were body parts.”

“Bastard. Hanging me with rumor and innuendo,” Dutton told the television set.

But not even the sensational break-in at Westminster could push the royal murder case off as the top story. Still thinking about Howler and the prince, he watched the arrival of the American lawyer whom the princess had hired and saw Smithers ambush her in the terminal. Smithers was the worse kind of creep, a tabloid reporter who would make up a story if he couldn’t find one. Dutton himself refused to completely make up a story. Someone had to tell him that he or she had actually seen Elvis or had been raped by an alien.

Of course, after the basics were established, it was up to him to give the rest of the story.

What Smithers pulled on the lawyer was a shabby trick, but Dutton had to admit that it was effective. The TV news carried the lawyer’s look of surprise at the ambush. Dutton would bet that the woman’s gaping mouth would highlight the front page of
Burn
tomorrow.

As Dutton watched Marlowe James on the tube, it occurred to him that he might have something in common with the American lawyer. It would be in the interest of her client if there was any dirt out there on the Prince of Wales that could help the princess. And Dutton needed information about Howler and his “invitation” to the royal ball. Not to mention a copy of the letter, if one existed.

He wondered if the princess’s defense team knew about the letter. Wouldn’t it be something she would tell them? They would have to have the letter; it only made sense. It would be part of her defense, probably her main defense. Though killing the crown prince because she thought he was going to have her killed might be a little premature.

“Is it legal if you kill someone because you thought they were going to kill you?” he asked the bird.

“Freakkkk!”

—BARBARA CARTLAND,

THE PROUD PRINCESS

—DIANA,

PRINCESS OF WALES

Tower of London

“It was originally a fortress, dating back to Roman times,” Hall told Marlowe as the Rolls arrived at the infamous tower. “It’s housed the nation’s gold and the crown jewels, it’s survived attacks by terrorists, revolutionaries, and Nazi bombs, but the Tower of London is probably most famous as a prison and for its escapes.”

“Didn’t Mary, Queen of Scots, lose her head here?”

“Actually, she was held prisoner here, I believe, but her head was removed at Fotheringhay Castle near Peterborough. But many other famous heads and souls were severed here, Anne Boleyn, one of Henry the VIII’s doomed wives, Sir Walter Raleigh, the conspirator Guy Fawkes, Sir Thomas More, who refused to recognize old Henry as head of the Church of England and whom the Pope later canonized. I’m sure there’s a list posted somewhere for tourists. Also, there are the ghosts.”

“Of course, there is always one in a haunted castle.”

“This one has several dozen, I’m afraid. The most notorious is Catherine Howard, the fifth wife of Henry VIII. Catherine was only about twenty when she married the king. After just over a year, he found out she had had premarital relations with other men. He had her and two of her former lovers beheaded.”

“He had her executed for having lovers
before
marriage?”

“He probably got tired of her and having her head chopped off was an easy way out. There is a tradition that she haunts both Hampton Court, a palace where she tried to escape her captors, and the Tower of London, where she was executed.” He pointed at one of the twelve towers of the castle. “That one is known as the Bloody Tower. It’s said that the boy-king Edward V and his brother, Richard, the Duke of York, were murdered there.”

“Why?”

“Edward was twelve or thirteen and had inherited the throne. No one knows for sure who had him and his brother killed, probably Richard III or Henry VII, who defeated Richard and grabbed the throne. Anyway, the boy-king is occasionally seen wandering around, looking for his murderer. He probably bumps into Anne Boleyn, another of Henry’s wives who lost her head here. And Lady Jane Grey, who at sixteen years old was to be queen for all of nine days before Henry VIII’s daughter, Mary Tudor, had her head whacked.”

“Charming family history, isn’t it? Anyone ever escape from the Tower?”

“Quite a number, actually. Two or three men in female clothes smuggled in by their wives slipped passed the guards, who thought they were visitors leaving.”

Hall pointed at an imposing building. “The princess is being held in Queen’s House on Tower Green. It’s usually the residence of the governor who administers the yeoman warders we call beefeaters, much to their chagrin. It’s been furnished and guarded for her stay,” Hall said. “You can imagine the quandary of the police and the Royals in regard to holding her for trial. They couldn’t just stick her in the regular jail. The security problems would have been overwhelming. And despite any ill feeling the queen has for her, she wouldn’t want to set a precedent of having a Royal locked up like the rest of us.”

“Us unwashed masses.”

“Exactly.”

They passed guards wearing the colorful traditional uniform of beefeaters, but Marlowe noticed there were numerous armed uniformed guards and men hanging around whom she took to be plainclothes officers.

“Royal Protection officers,” Hall said. “As you probably know, most London police officers are not armed. Special Branch and the officers assigned to protect the Royals are. There’s a unit of commandos stationed here, too. The killing of the prince has whipped emotions in the country to a frenzy. Some people say off with her head—and about every day the Yard discovers another plot by her admirers to break her out of the Tower.”

“I suspect she’s the most popular woman on earth. At least she was up to the shooting.”

They passed a man feeding a flock of large black birds. “The raven master. Ravens with clipped wings are kept on the Tower grounds. We have a traditional belief that if the ravens ever leave the Tower, the fortress would crumble and the nation fall.”

While they showed identification and waited to be processed, Marlowe brought up what she knew would create a riff with Hall.

“After introductions are made, I will need to speak to the princess alone.”

The young barrister was startled. “That can’t be done. Sir Fredic must be there. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Why does he have to be there?”

“He’s the instructing solicitor, the attorney who hired Trent. It’s not ethical for a barrister to meet with a client except in the presence of the instructing solicitor.”

“Who’s in charge of the case, Trent or Sir Fredic?”

“Trent is in charge of the trial, but you need to understand the relationship between a solicitor and a barrister.”

“You can fill me in later. Right now I have to see the princess and I’m going to see her alone.”

“I told you that it’s not—”

“Philip, I’m not a barrister, I’m an American trial lawyer, I was hired privately by the princess, I don’t answer to an instructing solicitor or a managing barrister or anyone else. I realize Mr. Trent doesn’t think my leash should extend beyond his reach, but I was hired by the princess and there are matters that have to be discussed privately with her. It’s not arguable, it’s simply how it will be handled. I will speak to her alone.”

“That’s your prerogative,” Hall said rather stiffly.

She grabbed his arm and squeezed it as a gesture to create a friendly connection through touch. “I’m sorry, the leash remark was uncalled-for, I forget how reserved and polite you British are. But you and I know that there was a reason the princess hired me directly rather than going through her own attorneys.”

“And that reason is?”

Marlowe smiled. “I don’t know, but I won’t find out if I can’t speak to her alone, can I? I’m not trying to cause trouble, but I have to insist.”

“No problem, I will excuse myself and wait outside for Sir Fredic, to advise him of your wishes.”

“Thanks. Again, I don’t mean to be ornery.”

“It’s no more than what I would expect from a pushy American lawyer.” He said it with a smile.

“But, of course, we Americans are pushy and loud and you British are all so reserved and polite,” she said, “but that’s nonsense, isn’t it? You people have ruled half of the world with an iron fist and you’ve had sex scandals that have rocked your whole nation. Not to mention the present matter.”

They were led into a sitting room by a woman who had identified herself as a secretary to the princess, but whom Marlowe took to be a jail matron.

“Her Royal Highness will be with you shortly.”

The Princess of Wales came in a moment later. She was blond, tall, about five-nine, slender, but rather large-boned. Attractive, not unlike an American’s concept of the prototype blond, clean-cut, ruby-cheeked Iowa farm girl, but the princess was not a great beauty, not a Princess Grace. As Marlowe had heard a British friend once say about herself, she was no oil painting.

She smiled at Hall. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hall.”

He gave her more of a polite nod than a bow. “Your Royal Highness. May I present Marlowe James.”

She held out her hand to Marlowe. “So kind of you to come.”

“It was, uh, kind of you to ask,” Marlowe fumbled. Was she supposed to curtsy or something?

They exchanged firm handshakes. Marlowe’s father had taught her to grip a person’s hand firmly when shaking it, and not offer the limp fish that so many people do. Someone had taught the Princess of Wales the same thing, she thought.

“May I offer tea or coffee?” the princess asked.

“Is it all right if I be pardoned?” Hall asked. “I have an urgent telephone call to make.”

Hall fled and Marlowe and the princess exchanged small talk about Marlowe’s flight and the weather as a servant brought in drinks and sweetcakes. The refreshment was served in fine china on exquisite linen. The princess drank coffee while Marlowe took tea with cream. Marlowe suppressed a grin at the irony of a prisoner and her attorney in a murder case being served tea and crumpets—she usually considered herself lucky when she could speak to her clients face-to-face across a steel table in a concrete room rather than with phones through a Plexiglas window.

“Yes, it is strange, isn’t it?” the princess said, reading her thoughts. “But they’re not really doing it for me. I suspect the queen would rather like to see my head chopped off, but she has to maintain protocol. That’s what royalty is all about, a set of rules, a code of behavior, what the queen would call our traditions. And that’s what people of my background are all about, too, people with noble titles and named estates who desire to maintain traditions.”

“By keeping the status quo you keep your privileges,” Marlowe said.

“That’s true, but don’t we all try to maintain our positions?”

“Not if you’re one of the have-nots. And I’m not trying to be facetious or argumentative, it’s something we have to consider in your defense. People are creatures of prejudice, all of us, we just hate or have contempt for different reasons. Lawyers who represent wealthy clients know that there will be someone on the jury who resents the rich. In your case, people can even have political bias.”

“People who want to get rid of the Royals and nobility.” It was a statement, not a question. Marlowe inferred from the princess’s tone that it was a subject the princess had mulled over.

“Yes, and people who believe you should be punished for attacking a Royal.”

“So that’s what a jury is? A group of people with prejudices?”

“That’s what people are like … and juries are made up of people. Fortunately, most people don’t have steel-trap minds, they can be persuaded to put aside minor bigotry, but some prejudices—religion, race, and resentment against the rich—are difficult for people to set aside. There are people who are blindly loyal to your husband because of his position, but that mind-set might be easier to set aside than the prejudice some jurors will have because you came from a privileged background.”

“I see. In their minds, are privileged and happy the same thing? Let me assure you, there have been many times in my life, including the present moment, when I would have given my titles and material possessions to be in a happy marriage with a man who loved me.”