refined gentry to cold-blooded killers. Unfortunately, both Roux and Garin seemed more at home with the latter. And that made Ms. Pioche even more interesting.
Gaetano stood unsteadily at Annja’s side. He blinked repeatedly, trying to bring his vision into focus. Seeing her concern, he patted her on the shoulder, missing the first time before correcting his aim.
“I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I wish you’d let me take you to see a doctor. You could have a concussion.”
“It won’t be the first concussion I’ve had. We need to find Edmund.”
“If you’re not feeling any better when we finish up here, you’re going to see a doctor.”
“I fear the chief inspector will have you locked up and possibly deported if he gets his hands on you.”
Annja worried about that, too.
The door opened and a young man about Annja’s age stood there in an expensive suit. His black hair was neatly cropped and he wore a tailored Savile Row suit that emphasized his lean athleticism. “Ah, Ms. Creed, we’d been wondering when you would show up.”
He opened the door wider to reveal a large and expensive office filled with modern furniture.
“My name is Oliver Wemyss. You may call me Ollie, if you like.” He waved Annja and Gaetano to plush seats in front of the desk. “Would you care for a refreshment?” He crossed the room to a service bar. “We have tea and coffee, and a large selection of juices, liquors, beers, wines and soft drinks.”
Annja shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Gaetano declined, as well.
“Come, Mr. Carlini, you simply must have a spot of tea. I have some analgesics for that headache you’re obviously sporting, and you need something to wash them down.”
“You’re right. And thank you. Tea with milk, please.”
Ollie poured and brought a steaming cup and saucer over to Gaetano, who managed to take it in shaking hands.
Efficient and crisp, Ollie folded himself into the chair behind the big desk and studied the three monitors in front of him. He tapped the keyboard in rapid syncopation, then looked up at Annja. “Were you at the Cleburne storage unit this morning?”
Surprised, Annja nodded. “How did you know that?”
“It appears Detective Chief Inspector Westcox has interviewed men taken from there who named you as their attacker.”
“Preposterous.” Gaetano was so upset he almost lost his tea, but he recovered quickly. “Those men attacked us.”
Ollie typed more. “Oh, I’m certain their claims will fall apart once the inspector pulls their records. They each have long criminal histories. I’m quite convinced you’d be exonerated even without Ms. Pioche’s help.”
Watching Ollie work both impressed and irritated Annja. She shifted in the chair, wishing she could just take a quick nap, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to until Edmund was safe.
“We’ve got a friend out there who’s in trouble. If it’s going to be a while before Ms. Pioche can see us—”
“Ms. Pioche is already working on that. That is to say, I am already working on that. Your friend’s troubles—Professor Beswick’s kidnapping—is precisely the reason I have broken into the Metro Police Division’s files.” Ollie shot her a small smile. “If I am discovered, they will be properly vexed.”
“I’m sure they would.” And I’m going to be one step closer to deportation. Annja sat tensely. “But shouldn’t we have some kind of arrangement before she starts working?”
Ollie glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. “You should. Ms. Pioche assures me that we don’t need the usual contract agreement in your case. She considers you… special. ”
“Why?”
“She did not see her way clear to elucidate. Mystifying, actually.” Ollie shrugged. “I have been through your files and see nothing that connects you to Ms. Pioche.”
“Until this morning, I’d never heard of her.”
Ollie grimaced at that. “Oh, dear. She’s quite well-known. And getting her known—to the right
Gaetano stood unsteadily at Annja’s side. He blinked repeatedly, trying to bring his vision into focus. Seeing her concern, he patted her on the shoulder, missing the first time before correcting his aim.
“I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I wish you’d let me take you to see a doctor. You could have a concussion.”
“It won’t be the first concussion I’ve had. We need to find Edmund.”
“If you’re not feeling any better when we finish up here, you’re going to see a doctor.”
“I fear the chief inspector will have you locked up and possibly deported if he gets his hands on you.”
Annja worried about that, too.
The door opened and a young man about Annja’s age stood there in an expensive suit. His black hair was neatly cropped and he wore a tailored Savile Row suit that emphasized his lean athleticism. “Ah, Ms. Creed, we’d been wondering when you would show up.”
He opened the door wider to reveal a large and expensive office filled with modern furniture.
“My name is Oliver Wemyss. You may call me Ollie, if you like.” He waved Annja and Gaetano to plush seats in front of the desk. “Would you care for a refreshment?” He crossed the room to a service bar. “We have tea and coffee, and a large selection of juices, liquors, beers, wines and soft drinks.”
Annja shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Gaetano declined, as well.
“Come, Mr. Carlini, you simply must have a spot of tea. I have some analgesics for that headache you’re obviously sporting, and you need something to wash them down.”
“You’re right. And thank you. Tea with milk, please.”
Ollie poured and brought a steaming cup and saucer over to Gaetano, who managed to take it in shaking hands.
Efficient and crisp, Ollie folded himself into the chair behind the big desk and studied the three monitors in front of him. He tapped the keyboard in rapid syncopation, then looked up at Annja. “Were you at the Cleburne storage unit this morning?”
Surprised, Annja nodded. “How did you know that?”
“It appears Detective Chief Inspector Westcox has interviewed men taken from there who named you as their attacker.”
“Preposterous.” Gaetano was so upset he almost lost his tea, but he recovered quickly. “Those men attacked us.”
Ollie typed more. “Oh, I’m certain their claims will fall apart once the inspector pulls their records. They each have long criminal histories. I’m quite convinced you’d be exonerated even without Ms. Pioche’s help.”
Watching Ollie work both impressed and irritated Annja. She shifted in the chair, wishing she could just take a quick nap, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to until Edmund was safe.
“We’ve got a friend out there who’s in trouble. If it’s going to be a while before Ms. Pioche can see us—”
“Ms. Pioche is already working on that. That is to say, I am already working on that. Your friend’s troubles—Professor Beswick’s kidnapping—is precisely the reason I have broken into the Metro Police Division’s files.” Ollie shot her a small smile. “If I am discovered, they will be properly vexed.”
“I’m sure they would.” And I’m going to be one step closer to deportation. Annja sat tensely. “But shouldn’t we have some kind of arrangement before she starts working?”
Ollie glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. “You should. Ms. Pioche assures me that we don’t need the usual contract agreement in your case. She considers you… special. ”
“Why?”
“She did not see her way clear to elucidate. Mystifying, actually.” Ollie shrugged. “I have been through your files and see nothing that connects you to Ms. Pioche.”
“Until this morning, I’d never heard of her.”
Ollie grimaced at that. “Oh, dear. She’s quite well-known. And getting her known—to the right
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