The Explosionist (11 page)

T
HE POLICE CAR WAITED
outside, a massive black Wolseley. Sophie and Miss Chatterjee were put in the backseat behind a metal grille. When Sophie tested the handle, the door wouldn’t open from the inside.

After they passed the Balmoral Hotel, Sophie knew they couldn’t be headed to the central police station in Conan Doyle Close. It would be the Castle, and that meant they really were serious about this national security business. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, and she was afraid for a minute that she might actually be sick.

They drove in silence across North Bridge into the Old Town. Just before Castlehill, the car pulled off the road into a secure lot, and the woman constable let Sophie and Miss
Chatterjee out of the car. They walked together across the esplanade and right up to the main gate, where four soldiers with machine guns stood at attention.

After passing through a series of gates and checkpoints, they came to Crown Square, the most secure section of the entire complex, where another team of armed guards searched them for hidden weapons. Even Miss Chatterjee seemed to quail a little as they followed the circuitous path from the Great Hall to the Vaults, which had housed prisoners of war since the eighteenth century and had been lately modernized at great expense as a high-security facility for holding terrorists.

They passed through a warren of empty graffiti-covered cells and then a long underground tunnel.

Passing through an austere waiting room, they were ushered into a spacious room decorated disconcertingly like something out of a luxury ocean liner, including a chrome drinks cabinet, a set of angular couches covered in red leather substitute, and a white fur rug.

The man whose office it was saw Sophie scanning the interior and laughed.

“Yes, it’s a distinctly peculiar style, isn’t it?” he said, grinning at her. Sophie sensed him turning on his charm to warm her up; it made her bristle with irritation and inward resistance. “Particularly in a Gothic hulk like the Castle!”

Though his manner annoyed Sophie, the officer was extremely handsome, with dark hair and a toothbrush mustache exactly like the one worn by the current European chancellor. Unlike the chancellor, who was never photographed except in military uniform, he wore a casual dark lounge suit and shiny leather shoes. He missed being drop-dead gorgeous only because of legs too short in proportion to his top half.

If war were to be declared, Sophie thought, he would definitely have to shave the mustache.

“I’m Commander Brown, by the way,” the man added, in the annoying English drawl lots of Scottish officers still used as a matter of course. Great-aunt Tabitha said that Scottish people who spoke with an English accent should be repatriated south of the border and see how they liked it.

The commander reached his hand out, and Sophie shook it.

“You’re Sophie Hunter, of course, and the lady with you—”

“Mira Chatterjee,” the teacher said.

He held out his hand again, but Miss Chatterjee did not reciprocate, and after a moment he pulled his arm back.

“Sophie—do you mind if I call you that?—you’re here this evening because we need your help. Your friend Mikael was found this afternoon at the Balmoral Hotel standing
over the dead body of a Mrs. Euphemia Tansy, whom I believe to have been a medium of your acquaintance. I hasten to say that after a brief initial misunderstanding, we quickly abandoned any idea of Mikael’s being an active suspect in the medium’s murder. But we’ve got a strong feeling he hasn’t told us everything, out of some mistaken motive of chivalry.”

“Mikael’s not chivalrous,” Sophie said, too giddy with relief to be polite. The constables must have lied about Mikael’s being a suspect in order to make her more afraid. “Mikael wouldn’t want to get a friend in trouble, it’s true, but he gave you my name, didn’t he? He’s not completely lacking in common sense!”

“Yes, and we’re grateful for it,” the commander said. His barely concealed impatience made Sophie feel suddenly rather frightened. “But all the boy would say was that you’d had some kind of a run-in with the woman, and that he’d promised to find out whether someone had put her up to it.”

“But that’s just right,” Sophie said. She didn’t understand what else he wanted to know. “It’s exactly what happened. Mikael wants to be a private investigator when he grows up, and since he’s here on holiday with nothing much to do, he said he’d look into it for me.”

The commander exhaled loudly, then pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Sophie felt an intense surge of dis
like for the man. Surely he did not need to show quite so clearly that he thought her a troublesome encumbrance to his inquiry!

“You don’t seem to understand the difficulty, Sophie,” he said, speaking, Sophie thought, as though to a mentally deficient ten-year-old. “Mrs. Tansy was a distinctly suspicious character. She happened to be on the government payroll, like any number of other spiritualists, but we think she may also have been taking money from several other parties, including the Nobel Consortium and possibly even the Brothers of the Northern Liberties. We’ve had her under surveillance for some time, but she eluded our team several weeks ago in a department store in Princes Street, and by the time my man reached her home, she’d absconded—she must have planned it in advance. We saw neither hide nor hair of her until she turned up with her throat cut in a suite at the Balmoral. Help me out, Sophie. What on earth had an ordinary schoolgirl like yourself to do with that b—”

A look from Miss Chatterjee prevented him from using a word he would regret, and he ended simply by clearing his throat.

“Your friend Mikael,” he added, “doesn’t seem to have a very clear idea of how it came about that you met her.”

“It was at my great-aunt’s house,” Sophie said. “Didn’t Mikael tell you?”

“Sophie’s great-aunt,” interrupted Miss Chatterjee, “is Miss Tabitha Hunter.”

The commander’s head jerked around.

“Miss Tabitha Hunter,” he said slowly, failing to conceal his surprise, “president of the Scottish Society for Psychical Research?”

“Oh, I see,” said Sophie suddenly. “Mikael would only know her as Great-aunt Tabitha, not as Tabitha Hunter, and besides, he’s probably never heard of her, not being Scottish. I mean, she’s quite well known in Edinburgh—”

“Indeed,” the commander muttered under his breath.

“—but not in Denmark, where Mikael’s from.”

“A séance at Miss Tabitha Hunter’s, and Mrs. Tansy no doubt the distinguished medium,” the commander said meditatively.

Though it did not sound like a question, Sophie answered as if it had been.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “And she said some very odd things—I can’t really describe it, but there was something
off
about the whole business. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. So when Mikael offered to help me find out more about her, it seemed like the perfect solution. Was—was her throat really cut?”

Commander Brown made a graphic sweep with his hand across his throat, and Sophie thought she had never
disliked anyone so much in her life.

Miss Chatterjee frowned. During Sophie’s last words she had taken a small diary from her handbag and written a few notes with a silver pencil.

“That gesture was quite inappropriate, Commander,” she said. “Do you intend to hold the boy overnight, or have you finished with him? I think Sophie might like to see he’s all right before we go.”

“And who’s to say we’ve finished with Sophie, let alone with the boy?” said the commander in a menacing way. “It’s within my mandate to keep the girl here for seventy-two hours, so long as I notify her guardian and allow her to speak to an advocate.”

“An empty threat,” said Miss Chatterjee, rising and tipping her head at Sophie to let her know she should stand. “Sophie’s told you what she knows. You can find her during the week at school or at her aunt’s on the weekend. In either case, I suggest you telephone in advance.”

The commander raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“My other suggestion,” the teacher continued, “is that you release the boy at once. I believe that under the Hamburg Convention of 1919, you need a judge’s warrant to hold a Hanseatic national overnight without legal representation.”

The commander’s jaw dropped.

“Ah, I thought you might have forgotten about that
provision,” Miss Chatterjee said. “I can assure you, however, that the other states in the League take it very seriously, especially in the case of a minor. If necessary, of course, I will telephone my friend at the Danish embassy first thing tomorrow morning to tell him you are in breach of the agreement.”

The commander’s face suddenly relaxed. He laughed and stood up.

“Miss Chatterjee, anyone foolish enough to tangle with you will doubtless find a formidable adversary. Happily in this case we’re on the same side. All I want is to put a stop to the bombings, and occasionally this leads me to measures of which you doubtless disapprove. The boy is being held in a cell here in the Vaults, but one of the subalterns has already telephoned his aunt and asked her to come and get him. When she arrives, he will be released into her custody. You’re welcome to see him now, if you like.”

He picked up the telephone and spoke a few words to the aide, who appeared a minute later and took them back out into the waiting room, where he offered them tea or coffee. When they declined, he vanished.

Sophie turned to Miss Chatterjee as soon as they were alone, and opened her mouth to speak. Miss Chatterjee pressed a finger to her lips and rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

“You mean—listening devices?” Sophie said stupidly.

Miss Chatterjee nodded and Sophie fell silent.

Fifteen minutes later, the aide reappeared at the head of a retinue that included Mikael and four armed guards.

“Sophie!” Mikael said. “I had to give them your name, there was no way around it. I hope you’re not in too much trouble—I know you’re not much used to it.”

Sophie ignored Miss Chatterjee’s grim amusement. “Don’t worry about that,” she said, tormented by the idea of what Mikael had just gone through on her account.

She was afraid to go closer while the guards’ semiautomatic machine guns remained on him. Now, as if reading her mind, one of the guards used the ring of keys at his waist to free the boy’s hands from their shackles.

“You’re free to go, sir,” said the aide, “as soon as your aunt gets here, but the commander thought you might like a word first with Miss Hunter.”

There was nowhere, really, to have a private conversation, but after looking at Miss Chatterjee for permission, Sophie led Mikael to one end of the bench.

Mikael looked pale and exhausted and somehow younger than the last time she’d seen him. His skin had a whitish green pallor under the lights of the Vaults, and he looked as diminished as a newly shorn sheep.

“Was it awful?” Sophie whispered, not sure if she was asking about the cells or the dead body.

“Oh, Sophie, I’m so glad you didn’t have to see her,” said
Mikael, burying his face in his hands. “She was just lying there in a pool of blood with her throat gaping open….”

Sophie felt sick. She remembered the shadow like a wound on Mrs. Tansy’s neck the night of the séance. Great-aunt Tabitha would have called it a premonition.

“I don’t blame the first officers on the scene for thinking I’d done it,” Mikael said, uncovering his face, though he still wouldn’t catch Sophie’s eye. “It looked awfully bad, but of course as soon as they saw there wasn’t any blood on me, they knew I couldn’t have done it.”

“How did it happen that you were there?” Sophie asked.

“Well, I did quite a bit of footwork, and after talking to what must have been twenty different cabdrivers and visiting a dozen or more hotels, I finally tracked her down at the Balmoral. I wangled an appointment—she may have been staying there under another name, but everyone knew she was a medium, and she was certainly still receiving clients. That’s when I sent you the note. I thought I’d be able to tell you all about the meeting by the time I saw you; I was going to surprise you. You did get my note, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and there I was, cursing you for forgetting about our appointment! Oh, Mikael, I’m so sorry,” Sophie said, pounding his arm with one fist and wiping the tears from her eyes with her other hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she went on when he didn’t say anything. “You look awful!”

“I think I had a very near miss,” said Mikael slowly. “I went up to her room at one o’clock, as we’d arranged, and she actually let me in herself and called room service to order lunch for the two of us.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sophie. “Wasn’t she dead when you got there?”

“No,” said Mikael, “it was much worse than that. While she was on the telephone, a knock came at the door. She looked rather frightened and motioned at me to hide. I threw myself into the wardrobe, feeling pretty silly. Once I’d got in, she actually locked the door from the outside!”

“You were locked in?” Sophie said. “But—”

“I can’t tell you exactly what happened next,” he said. “I heard her open the door to the room. Before she’d said more than a few words, though, I heard all sorts of noises: a thud as she fell to the ground, I expect, and some cries and blows and then a horrible gurgling sound. I think the intruder must have cut her throat. Naturally I started pounding on the door of the wardrobe and calling for someone to let me out, but the murderer had vanished by the time I kicked open the door.”

“You could have been killed!”

“But I wasn’t,” Mikael said somberly. “It was she who was killed. It was completely vile, Sophie! And then the room service waiter got there, and he telephoned for the police, and it took a lot of time to clear things up.”

“We did right by you, though, didn’t we, sir?” said one of the guards.

Sophie had forgotten they must be listening in. She looked up now at the guard, who smiled. Miss Chatterjee was standing in the corner and attending closely to everything that passed between Sophie and Mikael.

“Yes, certainly, Sergeant Fettes,” said Mikael, standing up and shaking hands with each guard in turn. “Can I have my things back again?” he added.