Snifter of Death Page 11

  “I go by Jolly, but my given name is Kang.”

  “Where are you from?

  “Hong Kong.”

  “Sit down.” Ruddy went over to where Darling sat. If looks could kill, she’d do what the Zulus had tried to do to him in battle and failed.

  Ruddy had his leverage. “Now, we don’t care about what you and the lads are getting up to here. We aren’t interested in violations of the decency laws, but some people are. One word from us and we can have them here. So you have a decision, Mrs. Darling.”

  “Cross’s favorite is Violet. I’ll take you to her.”

  Darling rose. As she passed, she slapped Kang who yelped and fell onto the ottoman. Darling led Ruddy and Archie down a corridor with red and gold flocked wallpaper. Flocked wallpaper from France had become the rage the last couple years. Mrs. Goodge had said she’d love to redo her parlor in a bright flocked paper. Wait until he told her he saw it in a brothel. That’ll put an end to her wanting to line the parlor walls with the garish stuff, Ruddy thought.

  They stopped at a room at the end of the hall. Darling didn’t bother to knock. “Violet, these are detectives. They want to talk to you about Mr. Cross. Apparently, he’s been murdered. Just tell them what they need to know.” Darling turned to Ruddy. “Pull the bell cord when you’re ready to leave and someone will escort you out.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Archie said.

  She snorted and left, closing the door behind her.

  Violet sat on a bed with a peach-colored silky coverlet and several pillows trimmed in lace the same shade. She wore a pink corset with a frilly robe she left untied. The corset pushed her breasts to the brink of falling out. She had flesh-colored stockings held up with pink garters and sat cross-legged brushing her hair. What she didn’t wear was bloomers.

  A beet-faced Archie bent to set a pillow over her private bits. “Cover yourself up. Have some decency.”

  Violet smirked and gave him a peck on the cheek as he leaned down to place the pillow.

  Archie jerked away and wiped at his cheek.

  “You’re just offended because you don’t know where my lips have been,” Violet said still smirking.

  “Enough of your shenanigans, I’m going to be blunt,” Ruddy said, turning his attention to her. “All we really need to know is if Mr. Cross had any unusual preferences sexually. His murder is a puzzle. We’re trying to put the pieces of his life together to see why someone would want to kill him.”

  “Well, I didn’t kill him.”

  “Not saying you did.”

  “Did you work outside of here? Do you have a gentleman friend who might be jealous of Mr. Cross?”

  “No. Mrs. Darling takes care of all our needs. I don’t have to work elsewhere. There’s no man.”

  “What did Cross want when he was with you?”

  “Rape mostly.”

  Both Archie and Ruddy exchanged a baffled look. Ruddy thought he’d heard wrong. “Sorry. Did you say, rape?”

  She nodded. “He...you know...couldn’t keep it going unless I was tied up and pretended to resist.” She shrugged off the oddity. “To each their own. As long as they pay, I do what they ask. You want to pretend to rape me. Fine.”

  Ruddy had to admit he’d seen and heard a lot during his years in the military and the police, but pretend rape struck him as pretty damned strange.

  “That it?”

  “No. He liked Master and Slave.”

  “Who is who in that scenario?” Ruddy could guess but best to clarify.

  “I wear the collar.” She pointed to a thick black leather collar with a silver ring hanging on the wall. “He has me either on a leash on all fours and commands me or on the bed tied to the posts. Then he flogs me at will. There’s a selection of whips. See.” She pointed to a table Ruddy hadn’t noticed when they entered with several whips of different lengths and styles.

  She might’ve been talking about the weather, her tone was so easy and matter of fact. He searched her face for any telltale sign of fear or anger or revulsion at what Cross did. Nothing. She blinked and stared back at him.

  Archie snatched the brush from her. “How old are you?”

  Startled, she recoiled but recovered fast and tried to grab her brush from him. “Don’t know. What’s it to you anyway? Gimme my brush.”

  Archie paced between the bed and the table of whips.

  “Did he ever injure you badly?” Ruddy asked, wondering if Darling could’ve sent one of the enforcers over as retribution if Cross injured Violet.

  “Occasionally.”

  “What did Darling do?”

  “She made him pay extra for every day I missed work. He was good about tipping me extra too. Very generous he was.”

  Archie came back to the bed and stuck a cat o’ nine tails in her face. “And you’re all right with being beaten? What is wrong with you?”

  She watched him clearly not grasping why he cared, why he was so upset. “It’s not so bad. I heal fast enough. I won’t always have to do this. I’m not stupid like the others. I save my money. One day I’ll have my own place like Mrs. Darling. A few bruises and scars are worth it.”

  Archie opened his mouth to argue but Ruddy laid a hand on his arm. “It won’t help, Arch. You have to walk away from this.”

  Archie tossed the brush and cat o’ nine tails on the bed and stepped back.

  Ruddy turned to Violet. “One more question. Did Mrs. Darling ever get angry with what Cross did? Would she send one of her men to speak to him, to warn him to be more careful?”

  “No. It’s not as though Mr. Cross is the only member who favors whips and slave games. Jolly has a special member who likes her to wear a leather hood and put him on a rack.” Violet shrugged again. “Money is money.”

  “Thank you, Violet. We’ll be going now.” Ruddy rang the bell and the same man who answered the door led them out.

  Ruddy waited a minute to see if Archie would explain why he got so upset with Violet. When he didn’t Ruddy said, “You got your feathers ruffled in there with Violet. It’s not like you. She’s not the first whore we’ve dealt with.”

  “Her age bothered me. She’s several years older than my girls but when I looked at her young face, I couldn’t help thinking of my own sweet daughters. It’s easy for you to distance yourself. You don’t have children.”

  “My not having children has nothing to do with it. I distance myself from situations I can’t change.”

  “What a terrible life that girl leads,” Archie said as he and Ruddy walked down the street.

  “Who knows what kind of life she left. At The Pleasure Chest she has a full belly, a roof over her head and clothes on her back. Whatever she came from, she clearly feels the beatings are a fair trade off, however short-lived the lifestyle may be.”

  “Pathetic.”

  “That it is.” Ruddy saw a pub sign a block ahead. A drink and meal might help take Archie’s mind off Violet’s dark world. “I feel like a beer and a bite to eat. How about you?”

  “Sounds good.”

  After choosing a table with no one sitting nearby and ordering, Archie said, “I know the brothel is our best option for finding a suspect, but I didn’t see anyone who really stood out. The twin musclemen are possibilities but what’s the motive? Jealousy over Violet? She said she doesn’t see men other than customers.”

  “I agree. From what she said and what we saw, I don’t see anyone with a strong motive either.”

  “Speaking of the whores, how did you know about the Moroccan and the Asian?”

  Their beers came and Ruddy took a long pull before answering. “When I was deployed in Africa the brothels there had quite a few men like them from Morocco and Tangiers, men who passed for women. Asians too. All of them tend to be on the small side and can pass for women easier. Most have some masculine physicality that they can’t hide though, usually it’s thick wrists or an Adam’s Apple. The Moroccan had heavy wrists and the Asian had an Adam’s apple. I saw it
bob even with the choker. I had to be sure, which is why I tested with my finger.”

  Even with nobody close Archie lowered his voice and leaned across the table. “Did you mean what I think when you said nice tuck? The few times we’ve dealt with them I never gave any thought to their ways.”

  “The lads have to fool the folks somehow.”

  “Sounds bloody uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t care to speculate but prefer to focus on our problem. Who killed our banker?”

  “Who indeed?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Graciela’s next victim, Daniel Skinner, lived in Belgrave Square not far from where she lived with Mrs. Zachary. Which, she thought at first, was pretty convenient—no sneaking around alleys at night. She could get there, do what she needed and get back in a blink.

  She conducted her first few reconnoiter sessions in daylight, dressed normally (another convenience.) She walked by numerous times at various hours. No one noticed a woman strolling past. At the corner of Skinner’s street sat a teashop where she took tea several times and watched his home. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she’d believed the next murder would be as easy to execute as Cross’s. She drained the last of her bergamot-scented Earl Grey, leaned back in her chair and said with a sigh, “Graciela, you’re a fool.”

  Cross was a bachelor, but Skinner had a wife and a daughter in her teens. Besides the family, he had a much larger staff than Cross. Skinner had a butler, two footmen, a carriage driver, and a cook. She could assume they had a least one house maid if not more. Mrs. Skinner no doubt had a lady’s maid. The daughter probably had one as well. No proper aristocratic Englishwoman went without a lady’s maid. A young man in his twenties came and went as well, often bringing along a friend. Graciela’s rape occurred sixteen years prior. Skinner and the others were still at Oxford. He wasn’t old enough to be the young man’s father. She guessed the man might be a nephew or other relative.

  “This is a nightmare,” Graciela said to herself, watching one of the footmen carrying boxes from the carriage following a mother-daughter shopping trip.

  There was no possible way for her to sneak in and locate the library, assuming he had a library. Every townhome she’d been in with Mrs. Zachary did. On the outside chance she managed to break in undiscovered she had to hope he drank. Most men did and even if he didn’t, he probably still kept brandy and port handy for visitors. If he did have brandy or drink on hand, how could she keep the young man or one of his friends from drinking the poison? She couldn’t. Plain and simple.

  “What to do? What to do?” Discouraged, she left the teashop and returned home.

  At home in her chamber, she read through the information in Cross’s ledger again. Nobody is ever truly safe. If you really want to kill someone, you can find a way—eventually. She glanced at the other two names but it was a momentary distraction. Skinner had to be the next. The others had bigger logistical problems. Harlan Lloyd-Birch lived in Surrey. He’d be last. She’d have to go on holiday to kill him. Nesbit Finch no longer lived at the address listed in the ledger. She had to research where he moved or worked.

  Me-Too hopped onto the bed demanding her attention, walking over the ledger, he pawed at the book.

  “Stop, you’ll tear the pages.” The cat hissed and went into boneless mode when she tried to lift her off. “How do you do that, go as if you’ve no skeleton at all?” Graciela’s pulling up didn’t budge the feline. The cat stretched like soft taffy as she lifted. Finally, Graciela won by scooping her hand under the cat’s bottom and moving her off the book.

  She closed the book and hid it away in the back of a dresser drawer. The only alternative she could think of was to stake out Skinner’s law office.

  The cat lay on her side with her head and front paws on Graciela’s thigh as she sat on the bed, legs straight, back propped against the headboard. Me-Too batted at her leg but stopped when Graciela began to stroke the length of her.

  “I need some answers, Me-Too. So no playing for a bit, pay attention. Move your tail back and forth if your answer is no. Flip it up and down for yes. Understand?”

  The cat flipped her tail once.

  “Skinner is a solicitor. His office is on Chancery Lane and my only choice for the poisoning. Of course, I will scout the location.”

  Me-Too clamped her front paws around the tip of Graciela’s finger and nibbled.

  “Chancery is a busy street. I can see the layout of his office and not worry about being noticed. The thing is—what if he has a partner? I’m not a murderer-murderer. You know that. I am not in the business of killing people willy-nilly.”

  Me-Too stopped nibbling her finger, rolled onto her belly and stared up at Graciela, as though the mention of killing people willy-nilly had her interest.

  “Yes, I realize some would classify what I did to Cross as murder. But I’m not that type of murderer. I did not kill him for the usual low-brow reasons people kill. I did it to get the justice that I didn’t receive years ago. I couldn’t even report what they did. Cross laughed afterward and said no one would believe me and he was right. They were rich young men and I was a simple village girl. And justice always favors the rich.”

  “I hope he works alone. If Skinner doesn’t...Me-Too, it distresses me to my core, but I might wind up accidentally taking an innocent life. It’s morally reprehensible I know.”

  The cat jumped off the bed and onto the window sill.

  The more she thought about the possibility, the more she doubted she’d go through with poisoning Skinner. There was no way to justify killing someone who hadn’t done anything to her. But, she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe he worked solo.

  ****

  The tram stopped at the corner of Chancery Lane and Fleet Street, steps from the New Law Courts. Graciela had read they’d relocated there. She’d never seen a courthouse and on the ride envisioned a dreary, dirty brick government building, not the fine one before her. She took time to admire the structure with its façade of Portland stone and diverse towers.

  She wondered if the interior was as nice. For her, the question would go unanswered since she wasn’t a lawyer, a judge, a witness, or a police officer. Females in the spectator section were frowned upon. The only other way to see the inside was as a prisoner. If by some quirk of fate it looked like she might become a suspect for the Cross and other killings, she’d do whatever necessary to avoid arrest. Whatever necessary. Not a worrisome problem though. The odds were slim to none of her ever becoming suspect. There was simply nothing to connect Cross and the others to her.

  While she stood in front, several dozen bewigged and black-robed court officials entered, along with numerous citizens. The citizens might’ve been witnesses, victims, or spectators. The infamous crimes drew large crowds. It occurred to Graciela that Skinner was one of the wigged and robed officials who hurried by her and she missed seeing him. She headed toward his office, which was close to the courthouse, on the off chance he left it open.

  “May I help you?”

  Graciela jumped and turned at the sound of the voice. She’d been standing in front of Skinner’s door studying the lock system. His seemingly impossible lock system. The door had thick glass panes inset with a medieval looking metal drop bar across it. A bar she hadn’t the strength to lift without help.

  She’d seen Skinner coming and going from his home. This might be his partner, although Skinner’s was the only name on a plaque by the door.

  “Are you Mr. Skinner?” Graciela asked, pretending she didn’t know what he looked like. “I may be in need of a solicitor. What sort of legal work does Mr. Skinner do?”

  “No, I’m his clerk. Mr. Skinner is a probate and general family law solicitor. He’s not in at the moment. If you’d like to come in and give me your information, I can have him contact you.”

  What to do? Her panicked mind raced. Going in and seeing the layout of the place would give her a great advantage. But what could she tell the clerk? She’d have
to give him false information that was obvious. But when Skinner tried to contact her and discovered the deception, his suspicions would be raised. She didn’t need that. It’d be so much better if he were a criminal defense attorney. Their clients and client’s families must lie to them all the time. He’d think nothing of another deception.

  “Miss?”

  “Thank you. I’d love to leave my information.” She’d rather take a chance and see the inside. The false details wouldn’t lead back to her.

  He unlocked the door and needed to set his briefcase down to raise the bar, which took both hands. He held the door for her and she went inside.

  The clerk gestured to a chair. “Please have a seat.” He set his Gladstone Bag on the one desk in the outer room and removed a bundle of papers from inside.

  From what Graciela could tell there were only two rooms to the office but Skinner might share the back office. “Does Mr. Skinner have a partner or associate?”

  The clerk shook his head. “No.”

  At least she had that worry off her plate. Risk of the clerk having a nip shouldn’t be a problem. Mrs. Zachary’s solicitor was a stickler for propriety. He wasn’t the sort to sit around sharing a brandy with an employee. Graciela didn’t think a Belgrave Square toff like Skinner was the type either. Conversely, an employee who wanted to keep his job didn’t nip into the boss’s drink.

  “What sort of legal work do you need done?”

  “My elderly auntie has a small amount of property and requires a will,” Graciela said, resisting the temptation to embellish. She found through personal experience that the more she added to a lie, the harder it was for her to remember every flourish.

  “Mr. Skinner will need to meet with your aunt in person, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  The clerk went to a file cabinet and pulled out several forms. “Please fill these out with your aunt’s information and yours. Mr. Skinner will make arrangements for a meeting. Would you like some tea while you’re filling those out?”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.”