City of Silence (City of Mystery) (28 page)

He
was on his second read through in the empty parlor of their rooms when his eye
fell upon an article about a series of rapes in rural Scotland.  He read it,
squinting at the small smeared print, and then sat back in his chair with a
frown.  The story was written, of course, for your average newspaper reader and
thus emphasized the more lurid details over the basic facts, but it had still
given him a sizable serving of the proverbial food for thought. 

“Do
you remember the last meeting we held of the Tuesday Night Murder Games?”
Trevor asked, looking up as Tom and Rayley shuffled into the room for their own
tea. “We discussed criminal profiling and what personality type was most likely
to commit certain crimes?”

“Barely,”
said Tom, speaking for them both.  “That evening seems months ago.”

“Something
reminded me of it today,” Trevor said. “If you recall, we began our study on
that evening with the subject of personality profiling, which raises the
question:  What sort of personality type is likely to be found in an assassin?”

“A
man who imagines he is putting the good of the many above the good of the few,”
Rayley said promptly.  “He likely believes he is chosen in some way, selected
by some higher power for a specific task. Called, if you will.”

“I
would argue that’s the prototype of a saint, not an assassin,” Tom said,
draping himself back into a chaise lounge with an exaggerated languor, his cup
sloshing into the saucer as he did so.  “Where are Davy and Emma, by the way?”

“Still
in the clutches of their various Russians,” Trevor said.  “And I quite
understand what Rayley means.  The type of psychology which might drive a man
to assassinate a political figure he has never met seems quite different that
the psychology of a typical murderer.   Most killings are prompted by jealousy,
rage, bloodlust and the like – the most primal and personal of emotions.  But
the urge to kill a stranger must be more akin to religious fervor.”

“Look
at it this way,” Rayley said.  “When people kill in service to a cause it
suggests that they have put the principles of that cause above the needs, or
perhaps even the very lives, of their friends and family, not to mention
themselves.  You might infer that they no longer are capable of personal
loyalty.  Which is why the rest of us call them extremists, because we find it
extreme that anyone would value an abstract ideal more than he values his
individual relationships.”

“Truly,
Abrams?” Trevor protested.  “Here our reasoning parts paths, for I find that an
extreme definition of extremism.  We all have things we exalt above ourselves
or perhaps even those we love.  Religion and country are the obvious examples,
or in my case, it would be the Yard.  Let’s say a man leaves his wife and
children to go to war to fight for an ideal.  By your estimation, that makes
him an extremist, even a type of assassin, where most people would argue that
it makes him a patriot.”

“Davy
reports the members of the Volya are all young,” Tom said idly.  “Perhaps
there’s some correlation between youth and one’s willingness to sacrifice all for
a cause.”

‘Which
makes sense, for it is easier to pursue ideals when one is young,” said
Trevor.  “Duty to a wife and children tend to come to a man later in life,
making him cautious, less likely to risk himself, and thus their future as
well, in pursuit of a vague idea.”

“And
Davy furthermore says this Vlad he’s befriended is certain beyond all
hesitation that the revolution is right,” Tom said.

“Again,
it is easier to be certain when you are young,” Trevor said.  “As we age, life
has a way of heaping examples on our heads, and in many ways, the more examples
we have, the harder it is to draw a conclusion.  One fact always manages to
contradict another.”  He looked about.  “But criminal profiling wasn’t all that
I hoped to discuss.  I was saving the real business of this meeting for the
moment when everyone arrived, but it appears Emma and Davy have both been
detained.  Unfortunate indeed.  I feel it’s been days since I’ve had a proper
conversation with either of them, especially her.”

“She
has been preoccupied, it would seem,” Rayley mumbled around the scone in his
mouth.

“Yes,
and solely by the fate of her dance master,” Tom said. “In this complicated
case, the future safety of Konstantin Antonovich is her overriding concern.”   For
once his voice carried not the slightest trace of sarcasm or flippery.  It was
the flat clear observation of a man stating a fact.

Trevor
looked at the other men with surprise.  Surprise that Emma might have changed
without him noticing and further surprise that Tom and Rayley must have seen
this before he did.

“But
the question is, why should he have such a hold on her thoughts?” Rayley asked
with a swallow.  “She has known him scarcely a week.”

“He
has no hold on her,” Trevor said quickly.  “We’re all in agreement that Konstantin
is most likely innocent but that, unless someone intervenes on his behalf, he
may still be arrested.  So why is it odd that she might rally to the man’s
defense?”

“It’s
not that her desire to protect an innocent man is odd, it’s that she’s changed
her behavior,” Tom said.  “She hasn’t ventured an opinion on anything since she
started waltzing with the man.  And Trevor, don’t tell me that you haven’t
noticed  that she has become rather misty and distant.  Like a heroine in one
of those novels for ladies, you know the sort, where the hero starts out
looking to be the villain but in the end is revealed to be a lord of the manor
in disguise.  Soon she shall be announcing to us all that the Siberian has
touched some previously unexplored part of her soul.”

“I
haven’t noticed such a change because there isn’t one,” Trevor said, with more
confidence than he felt.  “Or at least no more of one than could be expected
after such a long journey to such a strange place.  We are all of us changed by
every case and I daresay also changed by the people we find along the way.”

“Well,
I have something a bit more definite to report,” said Tom, pulling to a full
sitting position to reach for a sweet roll and abruptly changing the subject as
he did so.  “The Grand Duchess Ella is expecting a child.”

“Good
heavens,” said Rayley.  “This is news.  But how would you know?”

“She
has been led to think I am a bona fide doctor, don’t forget,” Tom said.  “Oh,
and don’t look at me like that, Abrams.  I certainly didn’t examine her imperial
person.  But this morning she summoned me for a sort of consultation.”

“This
means Mrs. Kirby was wrong about her marriage being unconsummated,” Trevor
said.

“Not
necessarily,” Tom said.  “The child Ella is expecting, and is planning to pass
off as her own, will be the actual offspring of Tatiana Orlov and Konstantin Antonovich.” 
As he shared the details of his visit to Tatana’s apartment, Trevor and Rayley
sat with expressions of growing incredulity on their faces and finally, as Tom
finished his story and his sweet roll in the precise same second, Trevor sat
back in his chair and exhaled.

“It’s
madness,” he said.  “Such a deception will never work.”

Tom
shrugged.  “It’s a risk, but men are deluded in this manner every day, I dare
say.  And if the Grand Duchess and Mrs. Orlov do indeed remain at the coast
until time for the child to be born, their story may pass unchallenged.  The
women involved are possessed of beauty, power, and money, don’t forget, and
this combination may be enough to allow them to rewrite history in any manner
they please.  If there are enough advantages all around the table, no one may
feel inclined to question the origins of the single dark-eyed Romanov in the
family portrait.”

“There
are other moral questions to consider,” Rayley said.  “For a start, is it
proper to let the Antonovich fellow escape?”

“Escape
is hardly the word,” Tom said, “considering he has been charged with no crime
and in all probability committed no greater offense than seducing another man’s
wife.  If a Russian dancer decides to immigrate to Paris, I can’t see why it’s
any concern of ours.”

“For
the record, I agree,” said Rayley.  “But here is the real poser:  Do we tell
the Queen?”

The
question was directed at Trevor, who was leaning back in a precarious angle in
his chair, staring at the ceiling, where a dozen naked cherubs sat perched on
clouds, gazing back.  He didn’t answer.

“I
promised Ella that she should be the one to give her grandmother the happy news,”
Tom said.

“But
you didn’t take the Fabrege egg,” Rayley said.

“No,
I most certainly wasn’t bribed,” Tom said tersely, “but I did give my word.  Initially
I had all the same doubts you’ve mentioned, but I’ve had the afternoon to mull
it over and my opinion has changed a bit.  Consider this.   Ella may be a
virginal wife and may be a carrier of hemophilia to boot.  Under these
circumstances if she wishes to pass off an adopted child as her own, it’s a rather
understandable sort of lie.  And as she herself said to me, it isn’t as if the
child won’t be given every advantage.  The big loser in this game is poor
Tatiana, but in an odd way she seems the most at peace with her decision.  So here
is the true question before us:   As a unit of Scotland Yard, we are sworn to
uphold the law.  Or at least you and Trevor and Davy are and I suppose when
Emma and Aunt Gerry and I came into the group as volunteers, we agreed to these
rules as well.  But what we are talking of here aren’t matters of law, they’re
matters of personal morality.  The relations between husbands and wives, love
affairs, pregnancies, and the most everyday sort of deceptions.  Deplorable
perhaps, but are these matters really under our jurisdiction?”

The
door opened and Emma entered, a little breathless, as if she had run the length
of the long halls leading to the guest quarters.  Without greeting the men, she
dropped the bag containing her dancing slippers to the deep red carpet and went
to the table to pour her tea.  “What have I missed?” she asked.

“Very
little,” Trevor said crisply.  “I was asking Tom and Rayley if they remembered
the last case we discussed at the Tuesday Night Murder Games Club.  You know,
the Scottish rapes?”

So
that is that, Tom thought.  If Trevor has decided not to tell Emma about the
Grand Duchess and her baby, he certainly doesn’t intend to tell the Queen.

Emma
came back to her seat, frowning in thought.  “There was some question about how
the man used the train system to come and leave the crime scene, was there
not?  And then of course the business with the blindfold.  I remember that
seemed quite exotic at the time.”

“The
Edinburg police have proclaimed the case to be solved,” Trevor said, gesturing
toward the stack of papers on the desk in the corner.  “It seemed a detail came
to light that opened up a new line of reasoning.  The women, you see, reported
that the assaults were…multiple.”

“Multiple?”
Tom said wryly.  “Do you mean what I think you do?”

Trevor
sighed.  “Begging your pardon, Emma…”

“Oh
Trevor, we’ve been through this a thousand times.  Do speak plainly,” Emma
said, pulling her chair into the circle.  “I assume you mean each woman was
raped more than once?”

“Precisely,”
said Trevor, slightly flushed.  “They reported this to the bobbies of course,
but the men investigating were mere youngsters and didn’t think anything of
it.  But as the case remained unsolved and thus bumped its way up the chain of
command…”

“I
quite see where you’re going,” Rayley said.  “As the case moved under the
jurisdiction of older men they found the vigor of the assailant more noteworthy.”

“Proving
what?” Tom said.  “That the rapist was a young enough man to be able to
initiate sexual congress twice in rapid sequence?   From a medical standpoint, I
scarcely find that a persuasive line of reasoning.   Assaulting a person, no
matter who or why, is bound to raise levels of adrenalin, as does the act of
sex itself.   So I would imagine that rape, which combines intercourse and
violence, creates enough of a surge to make even an older man capable of
exceeding his normal limits.”

“Maybe
so,” said Trevor, still flushed.  “But apparently in speculating on the dual
nature of the assaults, one of the supervising officers made a joke about how
it must have been two men.  And you know how it is, sometimes a remark made in
jest can introduce an entirely new line of thought.  Someone began to think
what if it truly were two men working together in tandem.  It seemed an
unlikely notion, for while everyone accepts that crimes such as robbery are
most efficiently carried out with a whole contingent of criminals, rapists
usually act alone.  At least in these planned, methodical sort of rapes.  But
once the idea of two men had been raised, the investigation took a different
turn.”

“It
explains the blindfold at least,” Emma said. “The woman would have no idea, I
presume, that she was being attacked by two different men.”

“Indeed,”
said Trevor.  “And as the story unfolded it seems that the fact it was two men had
worked to confuse the time line.  While one was busy with the victim, the other
made it a point to be seen on the street and vice versa, thus giving each of
them an alibi for the time of the crime.  For they were local lads, you see. 
Would have been recognizable to their victims.  But they were able to use their
proximity to the village station, the coming and going of the trains, and the
blindfold to convince everyone from the women to the local coppers that the
assailant must have been from out of town.  We immediately jumped to the same
faulty assumption, as you might recall.”