Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (6 page)

“There.”

Parker stopped. “Where?”

“Right there.” She pointed. He was at a different angle and hadn’t seen it. She crouched down, got on her knees and peered under the two inches beneath the lowest shelf. “There’s something down there.”

“Indeed there is.” Parker was right beside her. He switched his light to the other hand, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and reached underneath.

“You should let us handle the evidence, Mr. Parker.” The inspector really sounded annoyed.

Ignoring him, Parker rose again with the treasure in his hand. He held it out for examination.

“What is it?” Ives wanted to know.

“Looks like a button,” Miranda said. It was a round, silver bead, engraved with a cross and rose.

Sir Neville came over to study it. “Why, that’s from the staff uniform. Someone must have lost it.”

Wample reached out and took the handkerchief right out of Parker’s hand. “We’ll take that now. It’ll go into evidence.” Parker could have stopped him, of course, but he was going to turn it over anyway.

“Evidence?” Sir Neville said, his blue eyes round. “Just because someone lost a button? What are you going to do, Inspector? Arrest my entire staff?”

“Now, calm down, sir. It’s been a long day. This is just routine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Wample shot Parker a nasty glance. “All right, Mr. Parker, Ms. Steele. I’m calling a halt to your ‘investigation’ here. It’s time for us to get back to the station.”

“Excellent,” Parker grinned. “We’re finished here. And next we’d like to speak to your suspect, so that’s just where we’ll be heading.”

Sir Neville offer
ed his car for transportation, complete with chauffeur, and they all piled into the nicely upholstered back seat.

Parker eyed
Miranda carefully as they took off. Since her injuries last fall, he’d vowed he would ensure his wife was well taken care of and here she was going on little sleep after a long flight. And she hadn’t eaten.

“Would you prefer to go back to the hotel? You must be exhausted.” He spoke softly, knowing it was a sensitive point she wouldn’t want shared with strangers. But Sir Neville was staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

Slowly she turned her head to him. Her lip started to curl in her tigress snarl that amused, aroused, and irritated him all at the same time. Then she thought better of it and simply shook her head. She stared past the driver and through the windshield.

It wasn’t as if he had expected her to say yes. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Her head snapped back, her eyes flashing a “lay off, buster” warning.

“Never mind,” he
murmured and stared out his own window. Apparently he was still having trouble finding the delicate balance between business partner and husband, he thought with irritation. Perhaps he never would.

Gritting her teeth, Miranda focused on the sound of the second set of windshield wipers she’d watched today as they swept away the rain that had started up again. How could Parker even think of dropping her off at the hotel while he went on to question the first suspect? How could he cut her out like that?

She drew in a breath, fighting with her temper. Okay, he had a point. She was tired. And hungry. And irritable. But so was he, although he didn’t show it. She could see the weariness in his eyes. Yet he was determined to help his friend. She respected that. Why couldn’t he respect the same determination in her?

Well, he did. He’d told her often enough how much he thought of her talents, her dedication. He was just looking out for her the way he had ever since she’d met him. She guessed she should be glad she had a man who cared if she ate or not. Leon wouldn’t have cared if she’d had to eat dog food off the floor.

Okay, maybe she was being a bitch. She reached over and squeezed Parker’s hand. “Maybe we can find a vending machine or something at the station.”

He turned and studied her, both surprise and suspicion in his expression. At last, all he said was, “Good idea.”

They zigzagged through the traffic, went through a roundabout, then onto a street called Whitehall, until they reached a tall glass building with a revolving sign labeled New Scotland Yard.

The driver dropped them off at the front and they hurried through the glass doors
into a labyrinth of halls and offices and reception desks.

Currier and Ives, or rather Wample and Ives, were nowhere to be found. They managed to find a vending machine
, and Miranda wolfed down some peanut butter chocolate thing that was supposed to be a candy bar but tasted like bland mud.

Then they moved on to the next reception desk. And the next. And the next.

After turning up the charm full blast and jumping though more hoops than a circus tiger, Parker finally got them in to see George Eames.

A constable led them down a set of elevators, which they called “lifts,”
descending into the lower bowels of the building where you could almost feel the weight of the massive structure pressing down on you, about to cut off your air.

They were ushered into a dank little room and had to wait almost half an hour before
the suspect was brought in.

Miranda instantly recognized the figure in the photo she’d seen in his rooms, though he had aged several decades.

George Eames was a large man. Taller than Sir Neville and huskier, older looking, too, with a belly that was round and somehow gave him a friendly but distinguished air. Miranda thought of the photo in his rooms. He might have been athletic once. Might have been a football player in his day. Or maybe rugby over here. But today, like Sir Neville, he looked broken and beaten and was still in the suit he must have put on yesterday. It was as rumpled as his worn face.

And yet he broke out in a smile as soon as he caught sight of his friend. “Neville. You came at last.”

“Of course, I did.”

The two men embraced each other in a hug that seemed to light up the
dreary room with the warmth of their longtime friendship. And then Sir Neville introduced Miranda and Parker and there was more handshaking.

“How have they been treating you?” Sir Neville wanted to know as
soon as everyone was settled around the tiny table and perched on rickety wooden chairs.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose, given they think I stole the dagger.”

Miranda was silent, studying the man’s pear-shaped face with its heavy jowls sagging with sorrow. The emotion seemed genuine but maybe he was just sorry he got caught.

He c
losed his large eyes and shook his head. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”

“
I know. This is dreadful, George. Simply dreadful,” Sir Neville crooned.

“But how are you holding up, old friend? How’s Davinia?”

Sir Neville patted his hand. “We’re doing just that, George. Holding up. But it’s you I’m concerned for.”

Miranda
popped out of her chair, its legs scratching against the concrete floor as she pushed it back. It was too crowded around the table and she preferred standing when she interrogated people.

She
decided to cut to the chase and save Parker the distress of starting the uncomfortable questions. “Mr. Eames, why do the police suspect you?”

He spread his large hands over the table
, the corners of his wide mouth turning down. “Because I was the last one in the storeroom, m’um. I checked in the crate when it arrived. I set the alarms. Guess it’s reasonable to think I could have done it. But why would I do such a thing? The museum is my life. And I’d never betray Neville.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Parker gave him a comforting smile, but Miranda knew he was faking it.
He wasn’t any more sure this man was innocent than she was. “Can you remember anything unusual you saw, Mr. Eames?” Parker asked. “Anything suspicious?”

The collections
manager’s thick, curly brown brows furrowed as he tried to think back. After a moment, he shook his head. “No. As I said, I had a late dinner in my rooms. The lorry came around ten o’clock. I received the package, set all the alarms—”

“Wait.” Parker held up a hand. “Did you check what
was in the crate?”

Eames gave a Sir Neville an unsure look.

“Go on, George. Tell them.”

The man nodded. “It’s routine, you see. The crate has
a metal brace on all four corners. They’re easy to loosen with a hammer or a crowbar, and then reuse.”

Miranda folded her arms and resisted the urge to tap her foot. “And so?”

“And so that’s what I did. I opened the crate to ensure what was delivered.”

“And what did you find?”

Eames swallowed and pulled at the neck of his shirt as if he wished he had a glass of water. “The dagger was there. It was encased in packing peanuts and bubble wrap. I saw it. I…touched it. With my own two hands.” He stared down at the table and the cramped little space became as quiet as a tomb.

Parker broke the silence. “Did you open the bubble wrap?” It was a trick question. Designed to see if the suspect had to think before replying.

But Eames answered without hesitation. “Oh, no, sir. I meant I could see it through the bubble wrap. That’s as far as I went.”

Miranda strolled to the corner. Might as well as
k the inevitable. “What happened then?”

“Then? Why
, I put the packing peanuts I had removed back, replaced the braces on the crate, and set the alarms as I said. I double-checked them, as I do every night, then went out for a walk.”

“A walk?” Miranda
kept her expression bland to hide her suspicion.

“It’s my
habit.” He closed his eyes wearily. “The inspector told me they have me on video leaving the building. Of course, they do. It’s one of our own cameras.”

“Where did you go?”

“Round to Princess Louise and back.”

“It’s a pub in the vicinity,” Sir Neville explained.

“It’s my exercise. My habit. There would be a video of me leaving the building about that time every night.”

But maybe this night he’d gone to meet a
black market fence for a stolen dagger. No wonder Wample was so sure he was right about this arrest.

“I was going to have a spot of pudding at Louise, but it was too crowded and I was all aflutter about the big day on the morrow. So I went home, had a draught of brandy and went to bed. The next morning I was as excited as a schoolboy. The press arrived, everything was ready. Neville arrived and we rolled in the cart with the
crate to unveil the dagger. And…it was gone. I have no idea what happened. I feel as if this is all my fault but I didn’t take it. I followed protocol.”

Parker leaned forward with a stern look in his eyes. “Mr. Eames. I need you to remember i
f there was anyone in the storeroom with you last night. Anyone who might have followed you in.”

Eames blinked at Parker as if he was speaking Dutch.
“No. Toby usually helps me receive, but he had a date and I told him it was all right, I’d take care of it myself. I wish I hadn’t. At least I’d have a witness.”

“Toby?”

“Toby Waverly,” Sir Neville supplied. “He’s an intern. He started at the museum two months ago.”

Parker’s brows furrowed.
“You let an intern help receive priceless artifacts?”

“Not all of them are so valuable. There are usually other
staff members there. Several. But it was a weeknight and we had an early day the next morning. I sent everyone home.”

“When the Marc Antony dagger was being delivered?”

With a groan Sir Neville put his palms against his temples. “This is all my fault. I should have been there. But the lorry service has always been impeccable. Our security system is first rate. We’ve never had a single incident before. I never thought—” His voice trailed off.

Parker reached
over and patted him on the arm. “We have to all stay calm, Sir Neville. We have to think. Mr. Eames, I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have enough to get you released yet. Tonight I want you to concentrate very hard and try to remember who on your staff has been acting strangely within the past week or so. Who might have been in the storeroom when he or she wasn’t supposed to be. Anything out of the ordinary you can recall.”

Looking worried, Eames shifted in his chair, making the old wooden slabs creak.
“I’m not sure what I can come up with, but I’ll try.”

“
We’ll get you counsel, of course.” Sir Neville said.

“No need. I already have someone.”

“Really?”

“Well, when the inspector started tossing accusations around, I thought I had better. I
spoke to Trenton Jewell.”

Sir Neville blinked several times as if confused.
“Trenton? We haven’t been close since Cambridge.”

“I see him now and then. Actually, he called me.
”