The Bloodline Feud (Merchant Princes Omnibus 1) (60 page)

She returned to the office and had been busy for an hour – phoning her lawyer, then calling a commercial agent at what passed for a recruiting house – when there was a peremptory
knock on the side window. ‘Who’s there?’ she demanded, standing up to open it.

‘Police. Inspector Smith at your service.’ A bushy moustache and a suspicious, beefy face shoved an imposing warrant card with a crown and heraldic beasts cavorting atop it at her
through the open window. ‘Homeland Defense Bureau. Are you Mrs. Fletcher?’

‘Uh, yes.’ Flustered, Miriam tried to pull herself together. ‘How can I be of service?’

‘I’d like a word with you if I may.’

‘Come in, then.’ Miriam hurried to open the door.
Shit, what did I do wrong?
She wondered. There was a deep hollow icy feeling in her stomach as she hauled the door open and
smiled, ingratiatingly. ‘What can I do for you, officer?’ she asked, leaving the door and retreating behind the front desk.

‘Ah, well.’ He nodded, then remembered his manners and took his hat off.

Bizarre,
thought Miriam. To her surprise she realized that she wasn’t frightened for herself – only for her plans, which depended on continuity and legality for their
success.

‘Been in business long?’ asked the Inspector.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is a new venture.’

‘Ah
well
.’

He looked around slowly. Luckily she’d put the computer away before lunch, and everything was much as it should be in an office. He moved to shove the door closed. ‘Don’t do
that,’ Miriam said quickly.

‘All right.’ He found the one comfortable chair in the office – a wooden swivel chair too low to work at the writing desks – and looked her in the eyes. ‘How long
have you known Erasmus Burgeson?’

‘Huh?’ Miriam blinked. ‘Not long. A few weeks?’

‘I see.’ Smith nodded portentously. ‘How did you come to know him?’

‘Is this an official investigation?’

‘I’m asking the questions. How did you come to know him?’

‘Oh.’ Miriam considered her options.
Not official,
she decided. ‘If this isn’t an official investigation, why should I tell you?’

‘Because.’ He looked irritated. ‘Little lady, if you don’t want to cooperate while it’s unofficial, I can go away and waste my time
making
it official. And
then you’ll have to cooperate, and it will be the worse for you because I won’t have to knock on your door polite, like. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’ She didn’t smile. ‘I first met Erasmus Burgeson because one of your own officers directed me to him when I asked if he knew where I could find a pawnbroker.
Is that what you wanted to know?’

‘
Ah.
Well.’ Smith looked even more annoyed now, but not in her direction. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know which officer this would be?’

‘Hmm. He’d have been on duty in Highgate Close on, um, the afternoon of Saturday the sixteenth. I think he thought I might be lost. That might be enough for you to find his
notebook?’

‘Humph. So you asked for a pawnbroker and he gave you directions to Burgeson. Is that all? Why did you want a pawnbroker in the first place?’

The inspector’s blunt manner was beginning to annoy Miriam.
But that’s what he wants,
she realized suddenly:
He wants me to make a slip. Hmm.
‘I arrived on
the India Line ship
Vespasian
that morning, after a crossing from Ceylon,’ she told him, very deliberately keeping to her story – the
Vespasian
had indeed docked that
day, with some passengers aboard, but was conveniently halfway across the Atlantic by now. ‘I was so preoccupied with packing my possessions and getting ashore that I forgot to ask the purser
to convert my scrip to honest currency. In addition, clothing suitable for the climate of Ceylon is inadequate here. So I thought a sensible first step would be to find a pawnshop and exchange an
old pair of earrings and a small pearl necklace for a decent wool suit and the wherewithal to find a hotel room and cable my banker.’

All of which was, very remotely, true – and indeed Erasmus had arranged, for a fee and by way of a friend of a fellow traveler, for the purser of the
Vespasian
to find a passenger
of her name in the ship’s manifest should anyone ask – but it was only as Miriam spun it out in front of Smith’s skeptical gaze that she realized how thin a tale it sounded. If
she was in Smith’s shoes she could dig holes in it with very little effort. But Smith simply nodded. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Your husband left you adequately provided for,
didn’t he?’

‘Indeed.’
Keep it close. Make him dig.

‘And so you dabble in manufacturing.’ It wasn’t phrased as a question, so Miriam didn’t answer. She just sat tight, wearing a politely interested expression, wishing for
the phone to ring or something to disturb the silence that stretched out uncomfortably.

‘I said, you dabble in manufacturing.’

‘I do not “dabble” in anything, Mr. Smith,’ Miriam finally stated in her iciest tone. ‘You’re a police officer. You can go ask the patent office questions
– I’m sure Mr. Sagetree will be able to tell you whether there is any merit in the applications I filed last week. The first
three,
Inspector, of the many I have in
mind.’

‘Ah. I stand corrected.’ Smith leaned back in his chair. ‘Well then, may I rephrase? Do you have any opinion of Burgeson’s business? Does he strike you as in any way at
all being odd?’

Miriam shook her head and allowed an irritated expression to cross her face. ‘He’s a pawnbroker. He’s a very
literate
pawnbroker with a good line in conversation, but
I imagine sitting in the back of a shop gives him a lot of time to read, don’t you?’

‘A literate pawnbroker. So this would explain why you have visited his establishment on three occasions?’

Shit, shit, shit
– ‘The first time, as I’ve told you, I needed money and suitable attire. The second time – let me see, on my first visit I had noticed a hat
that was not then out of hock. I went back to see if it was available, and also to redeem my earrings and necklace. On the
third
occasion – well, he’d shown me some of the
antiquarian books various of his customers pawned when they fell upon hard times. I confess I was quite partial to a couple of them. Is that a crime?’

‘No.’ Inspector Smith stood, unfolding smoothly to a good six feet. He was a huge, imposing man, overweight but built like a football player, and now she noticed that his nose had
been broken, although it had set well. ‘But you should be careful who you associate with, Mrs. Fletcher. Some people question Mr. Burgeson’s patriotism and devotion to the Crown. He
keeps strange company, and you would not want to be taken for one among them.’

‘Strange company?’ She looked up at Smith.

‘Strangers.’ He wore a peculiar tight, smug expression. ‘Frenchies, some of ’em. And papists. Uppity women suffragists, too.’ Miriam glanced past his shoulder then
looked away hastily. Roger was leaning in the laboratory doorway, one hand behind his back.
I don’t need this,
she thought to herself.

‘He hasn’t done anything to hang himself yet,’ Smith continued, ‘but there’s always a first time. I see
my
job as ensuring there isn’t a second, if
you catch my drift. And that the first ’appens as soon as possible.’

Miriam looked past him. ‘Roger, go back to your workbench,’ she called sharply.

Roger turned and shuffled away, bashfully. Inspector Smith shook himself, the spell broken, and glanced over his shoulder.

‘Huh. Another bad ’un, I shouldn’t be surprised.’ Smith smirked at Miriam. ‘Wouldn’t want anything to ’appen to him, would you? I really don’t
know what the world’s coming to, a single woman running a business full of strapping young men. Huh. So, let’s see. The question is, are you a good citizen?’

‘Of course I’m a good citizen,’ said Miriam, crossing her arms. ‘I really don’t see what your point is.’

‘If you’re a good citizen, and you were to learn something about the personal habits of a certain pawnbroker – ’ The inspector paused, brow wrinkled as if he’d just
caught himself in an internal contradiction: ‘casting no aspersions on your reputation, if you follow me, ma’am.’ Another pause. ‘But if you happened to know anything that
would be of
interest,
I’m sure you’d share it with the police . . .’

‘I’ve got a business to run, inspector,’ Miriam pointed out coldly. ‘This business pays taxes which ultimately go to pay your wages. You are getting in the way. I’m
a law-abiding woman, and if I find out anything you need to know you will be the first to hear about it. Do I make myself understood?’

‘Ah, well.’ Smith cast her a sly little glance. ‘You will, as well, won’t you? Huh.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘If you don’t you’ll be bleeding
sorry
,’ he hissed, and was gone like a bad smell.

‘Oh shit,’ Miriam whispered, and sat down heavily in the swivel chair he’d vacated. Now the immediate threat was past, she felt weary, drained beyond belief.

‘Uh, ma’am?’

‘Yes, Roger.’ She nodded. ‘Listen, I know you meant well, but, next time – if there is a next time – stay out of it. Leave the talking to me.’

‘Uh, yes.’ He ducked his head uncertainly. ‘I meant to say – ’

‘And leave the
fucking
crowbar behind. Have you any
idea
what they’ll do to you for attacking a police inspector?’

‘Ma’am!’ His eyes bulged – at her language, not the message.

She blinked. ‘Roger, you’re going to have to get used to hearing me curse like a soldier if you work for me for any length of time. At least, you’ll hear it when the bastards
are attacking.’ She caught his eye. ‘I’m not a lady. If I was, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’ she added.
And that’s for sure, more than you’ll ever
know.

‘Ma’am.’ He cleared his throat, then carefully pretended not to have heard a single word. ‘It’s about the furnace. I’ve got the first epoxide mixture curing
right now, is that what you wanted?’

‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s what I wanted.’ She began to calm down. A thought occurred to her. ‘Roger, when you go home tonight, I’d like you to post
a letter for me. Not through the pillar box outside, but actually into the letter box of the recipient. Will you do that?’

‘Um.’ He blinked. ‘Would it be something to do with the King’s man as called, just now?’

‘It might be. Then again it might not. Will you?’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘I don’t like those folks. Not at all.’

After he retreated to his workbench Miriam sat down in front of the manual typewriter and threaded some paper into it – then paused.
They can identify typewriters by their typeface,
can’t they?
she remembered.
Sort of like a fingerprint. And they lift messages off used ribbons, too.
She pulled out the notebook computer and briefly tapped out a note, then
printed it on the battery-powered inkjet printer she’d brought over with her. Let them try and identify that.

She took care to pull on her gloves before feeding the paper in, and before folding it and putting it in the envelope, leaving no fingerprints to incriminate. Then she addressed it and sealed
it. If they were tailing Roger or had staked out Burgeson’s shop it was just too bad – nothing she could do would help – but if they were still looking for information she doubted
things would have gone that far. Besides which, Erasmus had agreed to make inquiries on her behalf: If the inspector nailed him for sedition, she’d lose her most fruitful line of inquiry
after the hidden enemies who’d murdered her birth mother and tried to kill her.

It was only on her way home, having given the anonymous tip to Roger, that she realized she’d stepped over the line into active collusion with the Leveler quartermaster.

SNARK HUNTING

One week and two new employees later (not to mention a signed, formal offer for the house), Miriam practiced her breaking-and-entering skills on the vacant garden for the last
time. After spending two uncomfortable hours in the hunting hide, she felt well enough to risk an early crossing.

Paulette was in the back office doing something with the fax machine when Miriam came in through the door. ‘What on earth – ’ She looked her up and down. ‘Jesus,
what’s that you’re wearing?’

‘Everyday office outfit in Boston, on the other side.’ Miriam dropped her shoulder bag, took her hat and topcoat off, then pulled a face. ‘Any word on my mother?’ she
asked.

‘Nothing I’ve heard,’ said Paulie. ‘I put out a wire search, like you said. Nothing’s turned up.’ She looked worried. ‘She may be all right,’ she
said.

‘Maybe.’ Black depression clamped down on Miriam. She’d been able to keep it at bay while she was on the far side, with a whole different set of worries, but now she was home
she couldn’t hide it anymore. ‘I’m going to the bathroom. I may be some time. Taking this stuff off is a major engineering undertaking.’

‘Want me to make you some coffee?’ Paulette called around the door.

‘Yes! Thanks!’

‘So you have to play dress-up all the time?’ Paulie asked around the door.

‘It’s only dress-up if you can stop after a couple of hours,’ Miriam said as she came back out, wearing her bathrobe. She accepted a coffee mug from Paulette. ‘What
you’re wearing now would get you arrested for indecent exposure over there.’ Paulette was in jeans and a plaid shirt unbuttoned over a black T-shirt.

‘I think I get the picture. Sounds like a real bundle of laughs.’ Paulette eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Two thoughts strike me. One, you’ve got a hell of a dry cleaning bill
coming up. Secondly, have you thought about putting artificial fibers on your to-do list?’

‘Yeah.’ Miriam nodded. ‘Starting with rayon, that came first, I think. Then the overlocking sewing machine, nylon, and sneakers.’ She yawned, winced at her headache, then
stirred the coffee. ‘So tell me, how have things been while I’ve been away?’

‘Well.’ Paulie perched on the desktop beside the fax. ‘I’ve got the next gold shipment waiting for you. Brill is doing fine, and those, uh, feelers – ’ She
looked furtive. ‘Let’s just say she’s going to be from Canada. Right?’