The Lost Empress (29 page)

Tayte scoffed. ‘So this is about money? Why am I not surprised?’

‘It really is the root of all evil, isn’t it?’ Davina said. ‘Which brings us back to the un-deciphered code at the back of the notebook. That’s the important bit.’

‘So what is it?’

Davina laughed to herself, as if the idea of what the code represented excited her. ‘It couldn’t be cracked because it’s not code at all,’ she said. ‘They’re account numbers. The random words beside them are access codes.’

‘And they were hiding in plain view,’ Tayte said to himself as his eyes drifted back to the notebook. ‘Their meaning obscured by all the code around them.’ He turned back to Davina. ‘What are bank account numbers doing in a spy’s notebook?’

‘Among other things, I’m sure,’ Davina said, ‘Frank Saxby was also a fundraiser. The names and addresses at the front of the notebook are for those people who donated to the cause.’

‘To Germany?’ Tayte said, getting the picture.

Davina nodded. ‘If you did check the census, you’d find that they all lived in grand homes with numerous members of staff to wait on them. They were wealthy British families who supported the kaiser and who gave generously to help fund Germany in the arms race. But the money Saxby raised didn’t all find its way to Germany. He was skimming a large percentage off the top for himself, which he exchanged for gold that he tucked away in Switzerland.’

‘And you think it’s still there now?’

‘I don’t see why it shouldn’t be, and we had to find out, didn’t we? Saxby was arrested and executed soon after he recovered the notebook. He had little to no chance of doing anything with the contents of his Swiss bank accounts, and he would have had no reason to think he had to until it was too late.’

Tayte eyed Davina quizzically. ‘How do you know all this? It was a hundred years ago.’

‘Family stories,’ Davina said. ‘The telegram and the original photograph of Frank Saxby’s court martial document weren’t the only things passed down to Lionel. You see, Oscar Scanlon was Saxby’s accomplice—or so the story Lionel told me goes. Together they would identify wealthy families with reason to support Germany, offering them security and position under the kaiser’s rule when the inevitable war was won. But of course when Saxby was arrested, Oscar lost access to the notebook. Apparently, Saxby was paranoid about anyone else getting hold of the information, so he insisted on keeping the details on his person. Presumably, he didn’t trust Oscar enough to let him have his own copy.’

Davina’s handbag was beside her on the seat. She reached into it and produced an envelope, which she held up for Tayte to see. ‘Oscar also handed this down. I suppose he thought it was all part of the legacy that would convince subsequent generations of Scanlons that the story about the kaiser’s war-fund gold was true.’

Tayte squinted at the postmark. The letter was from Canada, dated 20 May 1914.

‘It’s a letter from Alice Stilwell to her father,’ Davina said, withdrawing it again. ‘Oscar must have intercepted it at Hamberley before it reached him. Oscar really was the devious type, wasn’t he?’

‘Can I see it?’ Tayte asked. From the date he knew that Alice must have sent it soon after she arrived in Quebec, and as it was addressed to Alice’s father, Tayte supposed it was an explanation about everything that had happened. As assignments went, it was a priceless record.

Davina seemed to think about it. Then she said, ‘No, I don’t think so.’

A wry smile spread across Tayte face. ‘You’re playing it very cool for someone who’s just admitted all this to me. Presumably you’re doing so because your scheming isn’t over yet?’

‘No, not quite,’ Davina said. ‘I have to fool Inspector Bishop a little longer, and you’re going to help me with that, too.’

Tayte laughed at the idea. He was about to ask how, when a sound from the boat’s bow drew his attention. It sounded like a door being opened and closed. He whirled around to see Raife Metcalfe coming towards him, his perennially sour expression fixed on Tayte every step of the way. Tayte thought he was imagining things at first. He certainly felt confused all of a sudden. When he realised he wasn’t hallucinating, he sprang to his feet—at least he tried to, but he found he had little control of his legs. He felt dizzy, as if he’d had too much to drink, and why were his eyelids beginning to feel so heavy?

‘I’m afraid I’ve been a naughty girl again,’ Davina said, pulling Tayte’s attention back to her. ‘Are you familiar with Rohypnol?’

Tayte tried to say that he’d heard of it, but his words were so slurred he could barely understand them himself.

‘I slipped some pills into your drink,’ Davina continued. ‘It’s commonly known as the date-rape drug for obvious reasons.’ She leaned towards Tayte then and caressed his cheek. ‘Don’t worry. You’re not really my type.’

Tayte tried to get up again, but all he managed to do was fall off his seat.

Raife caught him and sat him up again. ‘Mr Tayte,’ he grinned. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Aboard the
Osprey
, Tayte was aware that his left cheek was stinging. His eyes peeled slowly open to see Davina sitting across the table in front of him, right before she slapped his face again. Tayte’s eyes opened more fully. He felt disorientated and confused.

‘Davina. Where am I?’

‘You’re on my boat. Don’t you remember?’

Tayte drew a deep breath and thought about it. He looked around at the semi-familiar interior of the main cabin as he tried to recall when he’d been there before. Then snippets of information flashed back at him from somewhere deep within his subconscious, and he knew his life was in danger. His initial instinct was to get as far away from Davina and her boat as possible, but the drug Davina had slipped into his drink had fully incapacitated him. He literally felt as if he were glued to his seat.

‘I think I might have given you too much Rohypnol,’ Davina said. ‘I was beginning to think you were out for good.’

Tayte felt himself drifting out of consciousness again. Then the boat slapped a wave and gave him a jolt. He was aware of the engine noise then, and he wondered why it hadn’t registered before. They were moving at speed, or were they? Everything was so unclear.

‘Raife’s taken us out of the estuary. The sea’s a little choppy,’ Davina said, confirming his thoughts. ‘It won’t be long now, though.’

‘Where are we going?’ Tayte asked, but he figured Davina couldn’t have understood a single slurred word he’d said, because she didn’t answer.

A moment later, as though she’d been waiting for Tayte to regain consciousness all this time just so she could continue to gloat, she said, ‘Now then, what was I saying?’ She paused. ‘Oh yes, I remember. I was about to tell you how you’re going to help me fool the police. You can see now that you never really had a choice in the matter, can’t you?’

Tayte wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t get away with it, but by the time the words had formed, he’d forgotten them again.

‘I expect you’re still wondering who killed my husband and who ran you off the road,’ Davina continued, as though unable to stop the ego trip she was on, filling the time until they reached their destination by revelling in how clever she had been.

Tayte didn’t even try to answer. He’d heard enough.

‘Do you remember Luca?’ Davina said. ‘You met him the other day at the Marina restaurant. He would have done anything for me—for the promise of my affection and another night in my bed.’ She paused and opened Tayte’s eyelids more fully, as if to make sure he was still paying as much attention to her as he was able to. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she added. ‘The affair I told you about earlier wasn’t with Luca—I was just using him. I was having an affair with Raife. That’s why Lionel didn’t want to go to the restaurant with us the night he was murdered. He’d not long since found out about our affair, so you can see why I had to shut him up, can’t you? As soon as Raife found out that Lionel knew, he wanted to take care of the matter himself, but that wouldn’t have been very clever, would it?’

Davina leaned across the table and slapped Tayte’s face again. His eyes shot wide open, and he managed to shake his head, albeit slowly. He heard himself moaning something, but he couldn’t understand what it was.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t try it on with me,’ Davina continued. ‘I’m sure most men would have in your situation, and it’s not as if I didn’t give you enough opportunity.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Don’t you like women? Or perhaps there’s someone special in your life, is that it? Are you that rare, faithful type?’

Tayte didn’t try to answer her. Jean Summer was none of her business, and he planned to keep it that way.

‘Anyway, here’s how you’re going to help me one last time,’ Davina said. ‘I’ve made up a little story for the police. It tells how you came here with the notebook and that Luca must have been watching the boat, having seen me come aboard earlier. When we went below deck, Luca must have crept aboard and listened to our conversation until he was satisfied we had the notebook. At that point he burst in, wearing the same grey ski mask caught on the marina’s CCTV cameras after I had him break into my apartment. He was brandishing a knife exactly like the one that was found at the scene of Lionel’s murder. Can you see where this is going yet?’

Tayte didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep.

‘So at knife point,’ Davina continued, ‘Luca made you take the boat out to sea. I’ll say that when he ordered you to stop the boat, you managed to run back inside and grab the notebook, using it to distract Luca long enough to gain the upper hand. You flung the notebook into the sea and charged at Luca.’ Davina paused for thought. ‘Yes, that should work fine,’ she added, as though she were narrating her story to Tayte just to make sure there were no holes in it.

Tayte wondered where Luca was. He figured he already had to be aboard the boat. He managed to ask the question, and his words were heavily slurred as before, but he knew Davina understood him this time.

‘Where’s Luca?’

Davina looked over Tayte’s shoulder towards the
Osprey
’s bow, from where Raife had earlier appeared. ‘Luca had already played his last part for me before you came aboard,’ she said. ‘The promise of another small sexual favour was all it took to get him down here, and Raife was only too happy to take care of him. Poor Raife needs the money, you see. He’s afraid he’ll be broke when his grandfather dies and leaves everything to his wife and her son.’

Davina cast her eyes around the cabin. ‘The rest of the story goes that you fought one another from bow to stern while I sat huddled in a corner out on deck, too scared to move. I see you both come out from the main cabin again, and now Luca has been stabbed with his own knife. I say you must have turned it on him, being the stronger man, and now you appear to have the advantage. But in the last moments of the fight you go overboard, while Luca bleeds out on the deck and dies. You and the notebook are lost to the sea, where you drown. The police have their killer, and the case is closed.’

Through Tayte’s blurred vision, he saw Davina smile and clap her hands together, as if she had never been more pleased with herself.

‘So, what do you think?’ she asked.

Tayte thought her story sounded as watertight as the
Osprey
’s hull. He also thought that if he went into the sea in his present state he would sink helplessly to the bottom and drown in seconds. The boat slowed suddenly then, and he found himself falling forward, causing Davina to put her hands out to prevent him from face-planting the table.

‘We’re stopping,’ she said. ‘Ready to play your last part?’

Seconds later, the boat was still and silent, pitching and rolling with the waves. Then Raife came below. Somehow Tayte didn’t seem to care what was going to happen to him now—another effect of the Rohypnol. He felt Raife pull him from his seat and lock his burly arms around his chest. Then Tayte was half on the floor and Davina was at his feet. She lifted them and Tayte was suddenly floating, up through the cabin door and out onto the deck where rain lashed at his face in the fading grey of the late afternoon.

‘Ready?’ Raife said to Davina.

A moment later, Tayte heard Raife groan, and then Tayte was hauled up onto the side of the boat, where Raife’s strong hands held him steady as the boat rose and fell.

‘You’ll make a fine meal for the fishes before your body’s found,’ Raife said to him.

Tayte opened his eyes and saw Davina again. Her face held no expression as she spoke to him for the last time.

‘I wasn’t going to play the hypocrite and tell you how sorry I am that it had to end this way, JT. But I came to like you more than I wanted to, so a part of me really is sorry—for what it’s worth.’

With that she stepped closer, and as Raife loosened his grip, Davina shoved Tayte’s chest, sending him overboard into the sea.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

St Lawrence River. Friday, 29 May 1914.

At two o’clock on the morning the
Empress of Ireland
sank, Canada’s St Lawrence River was barely above one degree Celsius. At such a low temperature, those who are able to survive the cold shock response following their initial plunge into such frigid waters are faced with hypothermia, the debilitating effects of which can take hold of a person in less than ten minutes, rendering that person incapable of survival unaided. Alice Stilwell was a young and healthy woman. She was unconscious when she hit the water. Within seconds she was gasping for air, drawing deep, uncontrollable breaths—hyperventilating.

Her eyes quickly found a thick section of wooden beam floating nearby—perhaps the very beam that had struck her. All around her, she could hear people splashing and crying out for help. The fog limited her view, but as it rolled and shifted, she could make them out now and then: some people clinging to debris as she was, others treading water as they looked for something to hold on to. A greater number than she cared to think about were just floating lifeless, their ghostly faces as ashen as the fog. She could see no trace of the
Empress of Ireland
, and she sensed the ship was already on the riverbed. For the second time that night, she wondered how many lifeboats had been launched before it became too late to do so.

A minute passed, maybe two or three, Alice couldn’t be sure. She was surprised she no longer felt cold. She had imagined the sensation would be akin to a thousand daggers constantly stabbing at her skin, but she could feel little now beyond a slight tingling on the soles of her feet. A few minutes more and her breathing slowed, and she found it a challenge to move her legs. All around her the night gradually became quieter, and it seemed somehow peaceful to her in its way. Her grip on the beam that was helping to keep her afloat was rapidly weakening. Where were the lifeboats? Why wasn’t she calling for help?

As the beam began to drift away from her, Alice knew why she did not call out. It was because she had already come to terms with her death, knowing that it would be better for everyone if Alice Stilwell died right there in the St Lawrence River. Even if she survived the night and returned to England, she would return to her immediate arrest. Since marrying Henry, she had held dual citizenship. As a British citizen under the protection of the Crown, as Archie had pointed out, she would be tried and executed for high treason for all she had done. With Henry dead there was no one left to corroborate her story. She would tell it, but who would believe such a fanciful account from a woman who would surely say anything to avoid the hangman’s noose or the firing squad’s bullets? With Henry dead, her own fate had been sealed, and if she were going to die anyway, then she would do this one last honourable thing for her family.

Without Alice Stilwell there could be no trial. Her father would receive the letter she had sent to him, explaining everything, but would he believe her? It pained Alice to think that he would not—that he would go to his grave believing his daughter was a traitor. But at least she would bring no public disgrace upon him or the family name. No ruinous scandal would ensue.

As Alice took one last breath and began to drift beneath the water, she thought about her children and smiled. Above all, she would gladly embrace death for Chester and Charlotte. They would not grow up in the shadow of having a traitor for a mother, and neither would they see her executed as one. Even if by some miracle she managed to stay the executioner’s hand, she understood now that all the while she lived, she would be a threat to her children. Frank Saxby would never let the matter rest; he had shown her as much when he sent Raskin and then Herr Albrecht to kill her. He would not hesitate to threaten her children again to get what he wanted from her, and if not him, then it would fall to another of his many associates to do so.

Frank Saxby . . .

As Alice sank lower and began to fade from the world, she knew her death was close at hand, and in those last moments she was consumed with hatred for the man who had taken everything from her. Wherever she looked in that black abyss, she saw his likeness, laughing and mocking her in his triumph. He had taken everything. She began to convulse as her lungs cried out for oxygen. She started thrashing and kicking as she fought the urge to open her mouth and put an end to her torment. Then a white light appeared above her, and instinctively Alice tried to kick her legs—to reach out for it, believing that if she could reach it in time, she would be reborn. Saxby had not yet taken everything, and she would be damned if she would let him. She would have the world believe that Alice Stilwell died when the
Empress of Ireland
sank. But she would live on to spite him. The water splashed above her, and she saw a hand reach down through the light. She grabbed it, accepting that in doing so she would have to endure the pain of giving up those she loved, knowing that she would never be able to return to her old life again.