A Three Dog Problem
- Автор: Беннет Си Джей
- Серия: Her Majesty the Queen Investigates #2
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Zaffre - Bonnier Publishing Fiction
- ISBN: 978-1-83877-485-1
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «A Three Dog Problem». Краткое содержание книги:
When a body is found in the Palace swimming pool, she finds herself once again in the middle of an investigation which has more twists and turns than she could ever have suspected. With her trusted secretary Rozie by her side, the Queen is determined to solve the case. But will she be able to do it before the murderer strikes again?
‘The Master had some interesting thoughts on who was behind that poison pen campaign.’
Philip looked at her hard. ‘I know you. You think his thoughts were bollocks. Did you tell him?’
‘Not yet. He might be right. He has a confession.’
‘Don’t tell me. Sandy Robertson.’
This was the Queen’s loyal page, who had recently been suspected of spying by MI5.
‘No. A housemaid called Lorna Lobb.’ She explained about Arabella Moore and the theory of revenge.
‘What? Mrs Moore, from the Lady Clerks department? She used to be a secretary in my private office. Damned efficient, always polite, honest to a fault.’ He looked scornful. ‘All I can say is, if it’s her, she’s a bloody Jekyll and Hyde. She’s a lot less useless than your average desk johnnie.’ From Philip, this was praise indeed.
‘I can’t quite see her as a criminal mastermind,’ the Queen agreed.
‘Still, a confession’s a confession,’ he acknowledged. ‘She owned up, did she?’
‘No. She denies everything. It’s Mrs Lobb who’s confessed. She said your Mrs Moore put her up to it.’
He looked at her with frank incredulity. ‘And Crabmeat believes her? Christ. He flew jet fighters, didn’t he? All those G-forces must have addled his brain.’
The Queen wasn’t so sure about the G-forces, but she agreed on the essentials. She also knew something he and the Master did not: Mrs Lobb had not been working directly for the poison pen letter-writer, as the Master so readily assumed.
It was quite clear to her now. This must have been the subject of the conversation she overheard from inside the wardrobe last summer. The voice getting instructions had belonged to the Goonishly-named Spike Milligan. That had become obvious enough after the incident with the bats in the bedroom at Balmoral and she was still sure of it, despite his denials to the chief inspector. He was acting as an intermediary. The voice giving him instructions could have been male or female. She thought more likely male, but it was definitely not that of Arabella Moore, whom the Queen had spoken to many times about guest invitations.
Back at her desk, she picked up the phone and asked Rozie to talk to Mr Milligan.
‘Can you assure him he was overheard, and say it has come to Her Majesty’s attention that he was involved? That ought to do it.’
Rozie promised she would.
At six thirty she managed to sneak in a quick gin and Dubonnet before Chief Inspector Strong made his appearance in her sitting room, to give her the latest progress update. She admired the man for not sending panicked messages after the Master had made his grand announcement about Arabella Moore. Strong seemed to trust that she would wait to hear from him before coming to any conclusions. She liked calm, confident people who expected others to do their jobs properly until proved otherwise. After all, she was one of them herself.
Her equerry showed him in and left them to it. Strong sat down in his usual place, at her invitation.
‘What do you think of this Lobb confession?’ she began.
Strong paused for a moment, while his gentle face turned from pale to puce and gradually back again. ‘Not strictly the way I’d have done it, Your Majesty.’ His voice was tight.
‘I imagine not. I do apologise. The Master’s very enthusiastic.’
‘Isn’t he, ma’am?’
‘But the girl was caught red-handed, I gather.’
‘She was,’ Strong admitted. ‘And it turns out she was in most of the right places at the right times to have done it. My sergeant’s been doing some cross-checking.’
‘Thank you for that.’
‘Just doing our job, ma’am,’ he said pointedly. ‘Mrs Lobb came back to London ahead of some of the staff from Balmoral and wouldn’t have been around to cut up Mrs Harris’s clothes, however. Which I understand she fiercely denies, and which doesn’t form part of her confession.’
‘Yes, I saw that. The Master didn’t mention it.’
Strong’s silence spoke volumes.
‘Tricky,’ the Queen observed.
‘Quite. The Master has a theory that the clothes thing was done by another servant with a grudge. I increasingly tend to lean towards your theory, ma’am, that Mrs Harris was targeting herself.’
‘My lady-in-waiting’s theory,’ she was quick to correct him.
‘Right. It does seem that Mrs Lobb was delivering the notes to Rozie, though, and she could have done it to Mrs Baxter, and possibly Mary van Renen. But once you take Mrs Harris out of the equation – if she’s lying about that – it’s hard to see why Mrs Moore would have tasked her to do any of it.’
‘Oh, I see,’ the Queen said, trying very hard to make it look as if this hadn’t been her first thought.
‘My sergeant’s still researching Mrs Harris, ma’am, to see if we can get to the bottom of that side of it. Meanwhile, he’s spoken to Mary van Renen up in Shropshire. That’s of greater concern right now, assuming the notes weren’t sent by Mrs Moore. The messages to her were full of menace. We’ve followed up with Mary’s Tinder dates and, like her, we don’t think it was them. There’s usually some sort of pattern with a man like that. These men all have good ratings with their other dates, and we questioned several of them. They were willing to give up their devices if required to prove it. We’ve talked to her friends in London, but found nothing suspicious. I believe we come back to the Palace, ma’am, and someone she knew from here.’
‘How unsettling. To think he’s here, I mean. Or she.’
‘I’m sure it must be. And as for your assistant, I haven’t made much progress yet. I’m not convinced by the racist tone of the notes – nasty as it is. If it was, there are other members of your staff who might be targeted. I sense it’s more personal. But I don’t know what’s behind it. Rozie’s popular among the staff that know her.’
‘So I gather.’
Strong’s eyes narrowed. He rubbed his chin. ‘In some ways, she’s the one that most concerns me.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Someone doesn’t want her around. Mary van Renen’s home safe with her family, so that’s OK. But Rozie Oshodi – she is around. I’m going to tell her to be careful.’
It wouldn’t be the first time, the Queen thought. She wondered about Rozie in the tunnels. With luck, the girl would be in and out in ten minutes, happy to report on a bolted door and nothing else to see. But if she hadn’t managed to go tonight, it might be better to call the whole thing off and come up with a safer plan.
‘Absolutely,’ she agreed. ‘I will too.’
Chapter 31
Rozie always felt that the Palace changed character as day turned to night. Sometimes, it upped its sparkle for a reception or a banquet. Sleek Mercedes and Bentleys, and sometimes even old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages, arrived to disgorge guests in designer dresses and ‘decorations’ – which meant medals for the men, usually, but could just as well describe the diamonds on their wives. Golden light glowed in the quadrangle and, for those in the know, this was the most sought-after address of the night in London.
At other times, the change was more downbeat. The majority of staff went home, the flood of tradesmen, craftsmen and daily visitors slowed to a trickle, and the place was reclaimed by those who lived there or habitually worked late. The buildings stopped trying to impress and their occupants got on with the task of working as efficiently as they could in a rabbit warren of corridors that ceased to make sense two hundred years ago.