The Kill Fee Read online

  Poppy passed her the card. “I need to know who, if anyone’s, fingerprints are on this card.”

  Marjorie reached into her inner jacket pocket and took out a pair of spectacles, and perched them on her nose.

  “To Princess Selena Romanova Yusopova, the Old Vic Theatre. From a repentant fool.”

  She read the card and then looked at Poppy with unbridled surprise. “Have you been withholding evidence from the police, Poppy?”

  Poppy flushed. Yes she had, was the truthful answer. And she would hand it over if her suspicions about who had written the card attached to the poisoned chocolates proved to be false. But if they weren’t… A shiver ran down her spine. Well, she would decide what to do then. For now though, she needed some information from Marjorie. And Marjorie needed her help to protect her son. It was an arrangement they both knew they would agree to. And they did.

  Marjorie wrapped the card in a handkerchief and put it back with her spectacles into her pocket. Then she picked up her briefcase and readied to leave.

  Poppy reached out her hand and took the older woman’s arm. “But Mrs Reynolds, you haven’t told me what all of this has to do with Andrei Nogovski.”

  Marjorie again looked to right and left, then motioned for Poppy to walk with her. They headed out of the graveyard and through the gate of the church. Marjorie stopped and again looked around her. Poppy was beginning to get annoyed. Why couldn’t she just spit it out?

  “Well, Mrs Reynolds?”

  “You need to be careful, Poppy; you really do. He seems to be taking an interest in you, and I’m not entirely sure it’s all professional.”

  “I –” interrupted Poppy.

  Marjorie raised her hand. “Andrei Nogovski is a dangerous man. We believe he might have been responsible for the murder of the Andreiovich family. And the Romanovs – although their deaths have not been confirmed.”

  Poppy felt the hairs rise at the back of her neck. “And Selena,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” said Marjorie, reaching out and taking Poppy’s hand. “We think he might have done that too.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Adam Lane stretched out his long limbs on the king-sized bed in his Kensington penthouse apartment, then curled them back around the soft body of the delectable Delilah Marconi. Delilah stirred and snuffled like a warm, sleepy puppy, then wriggled herself deeper into his arms – but she did not awake. Adam pressed his face against her tousled black hair and inhaled her scent. She smelled of orange blossom – hmmm, he loved that shampoo.

  He looked across at the clock on his dressing table and saw that it was half past nine. He should be getting up soon if he still wanted to shower and breakfast before leaving for the theatre – and perhaps drop by Oscar’s on the way. He should probably wake Delilah up too, but if he did he would have to face the questions he had managed to quench the night before with his kisses. Questions such as: why was he holding a sword to answer his door? And wasn’t that the same kind of sword that had killed Princess Selena? She had also noticed his new sheepskin coat on the hatstand and had playfully asked if he was now a bear in sheep’s clothing. And then she had tried to put on the coat, and he had snatched it from her, knowing he had not yet removed the Fabergé egg from the inside pocket. His brusqueness was completely out of character from what Delilah knew of him, and the girl was concerned by his change of demeanour. He had put it all down to having had a fright at the theatre and the fact that he was still recovering from seeing a dead body.

  Delilah had tutted in sympathy and said she completely understood and now that she thought about it, she was glad he had a sword with a murderer still on the loose. Which was why she was here in the first place. She absolutely could not stay alone until the killer was caught! Could she stay with him? He thought of the complications this might cause until he’d managed to pass on the egg, but could think of no plausible reason to turn her down. And now, after the night they’d had, he was glad he hadn’t. But it would still be tricky. He’d have to play this very carefully indeed…

  Adam Lane was used to playing things carefully. Lane was not his real surname. He didn’t know his real surname, having been abandoned as a baby in a provincial theatre. His mother, a vaudeville dancer, had left him behind when she moved to her next job, and the wardrobe mistress, a spinster who couldn’t resist his googly charms, had taken him in. She took him to work with her every day for four years, but then she died of consumption. The theatre manager had declared he should be taken to the Sisters of Mercy, but neither the manager nor any of the staff had got around to it. Little Adam was a scamp, and knew every nook and cranny of the theatre. Whenever there was talk of “getting rid of the lad” he would hide until the person tasked with looking for him gave up. Eventually they gave up completely, and Adam took on the same role as the theatre cat. He knew how to find food and make himself useful folding programmes or helping to sweep up after a show. He knew how to make himself scarce too.

  The props master took a particular liking to him and in his spare time would let Adam play with the stage weapons. He even taught him how to sword fight. And to steal. The props master moonlighted as a jewel thief, hiding the stolen merchandise among the paste and tat of the theatre collection until the heat had died down. Many a time a leading lady would be wearing a real diamond pendant without even realizing it – sometimes with the owner sitting in the audience. Adam was the Oliver to his Fagan, with some key differences: Adam liked the life and the props master was never cruel.

  Adam learned to act by watching the cast rehearse. As he got older he began to audition for minor roles; by the time he was eighteen he was getting leads. He could turn his voice to any accent and mimic the style and demeanour of any class. When the props master retired and the replacement was not as kindly disposed to him, Adam decided to continue his education elsewhere. He joined a travelling theatre company and moved from city to city, then country to country. Wherever he went he plied his dual trade of acting and thieving, first using his mentor’s network, then developing one of his own. Now at thirty-two his act was so refined that no one suspected he was anything else than the only son of a minor aristocrat. Alas, his parents had died on the Titanic, and no, he didn’t have any other family. Adam easily won people over, and whatever he lacked in bloodline he made up for in charm and talent.

  He had met Delilah in the summer, when he was playing Demetrius, and she a fairy, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. They had both then auditioned for Stanislavski’s version of Chekhov’s Cherry Orchard and were cast as the young lovers. Soon life began to imitate art.

  Adam felt Delilah stir against him. He pulled her closer. He had not meant to fall in love with this girl. She had been a summer dalliance. But now that summer had turned to autumn his feelings for her had grown. It was too dangerous for them to continue, however. For him and for her. Delilah had no idea about his alternative life. As far as she was concerned he was a young travelling actor. And he knew Delilah was no innocent wallflower; she had had lovers before and that was one of the reasons he had chosen her. She was not quite as likely to have a broken heart when he left. But what about him? He felt his own heart pounding against her back, her body absorbing and amplifying the sound. And with his hands pressed against her chest, he could feel hers beating too: they were in rhythm.

  Adam hoped that all of this bother with the eggs would not force him to leave before he had fulfilled his contract to Stanislavski. Assuming, of course, the director did not succumb to the poison that had not been meant for him – or at least Adam hoped it hadn’t been. No, how could it be? Surely it had been meant for Selena. A back-up plan in case the killer failed. Or had the chocolates been Plan A? Adam didn’t know. He also didn’t know why Selena had been killed. But he could guess. She had been the one to fire the gun at the exhibition – he was sure of that now. Why she had done it, he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t put it past the woman to be trying to steal the egg for herself. What a coincidence that it was on the same night he h
ad been paid to do the same. Or was it a coincidence? Perhaps his employer – whom he had never met and with whom he mainly communicated through his fence at Oscar’s – had hired her too. In case he failed. Or perhaps to ensure that he didn’t… Was he working for a murderer? It was time he had a talk with his fence. This was getting far too dangerous. The guard, Selena and now Stanislavski…

  The last he’d heard, the world famous director was stable and the doctors were confident of a full recovery. But what if they were wrong? Adam’s stomach tightened. What if he died? Adam admired Stanislavski immensely, and not since the wardrobe mistress in the theatre where he was first abandoned had anyone seen value in him – Adam Lane, or whatever his real surname was. Stanislavski – the leading acting teacher of his generation – had seen that Adam had talent. Stanislavski had not given him the part because he was the best of a bad bunch, or because he was the best looking boy in the ensemble. No, dozens of hopefuls had auditioned, and Adam was the chosen one. Stanislavski had faith in Adam that he could make it as an actor on the world stage. That he was worthy. Stanislavski believed in him. Delilah believed in him. And for the first time in his life, Adam was truly beginning to believe in himself.

  But it was becoming too dangerous to stay. Too many people were looking for the egg and the person who had stolen it. Would it be possible to simply pass it on to his fence like he normally did and then resume his life as if nothing had happened? He doubted it. Adam felt a lump in his throat. He did not want to leave. Not when this potential new life had just begun. Perhaps he should confide in Stanislavski. He was a man of the world; he knew how things worked and was not likely to turn him in to the police. Like most Russians of his generation, Stanislavski had an intrinsic mistrust of the police, no matter which country they were from. No, Adam did not think he would turn him in. Poppy Denby, on the other hand, was not as easy to predict. What would she do if she found out? And the longer Adam spent with Delilah, her best friend, the greater the chance he would come on to Poppy’s radar during her investigation.

  Adam eased himself away from Delilah and lay on his back, his forearm draped across his forehead. No, it would not be as simple as confiding in Stanislavski. And besides, it was no longer just about some stolen jewels: people were dying… or nearly dying. The guard, Stanislavski, Selena, the family in Moscow…

  Adam wondered for the umpteenth time since that horrific night whether or not the little girl and the old woman had got away. He hoped they had, but there was no way of finding out. He had briefly met the child when he had been to a dinner party at the family home back in 1915 on his first Moscow tour – which was when he had first met Stanislavski too. Adam had been invited to the Andreiovich home by Stanislavski, who was a friend of the family. On a whim he had bought a puppy at a pet shop on the way to the party and given it to the little girl. Were they still alive? The child and the dog? He prayed that they were.

  Adam and his creator had a complicated relationship. Adam believed in God and, despite being a thief, tried to live as good a life as possible. He graded sins according to the harm they caused to others and in his mind relieving a wealthy woman of jewellery did not rank at all. It was – how did the Marxists term it? – merely a redistribution of wealth. He had a suspicion that God did not quite agree with him. Ah well, they’d just have to agree to disagree on that one.

  And on this… he thought as he contemplated waking Delilah and making them both late for rehearsal. It was tempting, very tempting. “Oh Delilah, darling…”

  An hour later, Adam and Delilah were both showered and heading towards Adam’s motor car, parked down a side alley near his apartment building. They were due for rehearsal at eleven and it was now a quarter to. They knew they’d be late, but calculated that as Stanislavski was still in hospital, and the theatre was a crime scene, no one would be too fussed.

  Delilah suddenly pulled up. “Oh drat!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve left my ciggies in your flat. Can I have the key, please?”

  “I’ll get them.”

  “No,” said Delilah, her hand outstretched. “We don’t have time. You get the motor cranked while I get the ciggies. We need to multi-task, darling!” She flashed her beautiful smile and cocked her head to the side.

  He chuckled. “All right, but make sure you lock the door properly on the way out.”

  “Of course!” she declared, took the keys, and scampered off.

  He continued towards the motor car. As he did, someone stepped out of the shadows, blocking the path to the vehicle. It was a man dressed in a black overcoat and homburg hat, carrying a cane. The hat was pulled low over his face.

  “Good morning, Mr Lane,” he said in Russian. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.” The man’s fist tightened over the cane handle.

  Adam’s tightened over his own. “I have no idea what you are talking about, sir,” said Adam in English.

  “No?” said the man, and raised his head, allowing Adam to see his face.

  Adam gasped inwardly, but did not allow it to show. It was the man he had noticed at the exhibition. The man he had first seen on the balcony of the Andreiovich house as he was escaping over the lawn.

  But Adam was not going to let on that he recognized him. He drew on his years of acting experience and asked nonchalantly, “Have we met?”

  “Not formally,” said the man in English. “But we have a number of acquaintances in common.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  “The Andreiovich family, Princess Selena Romanova Yusopova… oh, and Poppy Denby.” The man smiled coldly. “And I am also on first-name terms with your fence.”

  Adam took a step back; the man took a step forward. Adam’s thumb rested on the catch to his rapier.

  “Give me the egg, Lane, and no one else will get hurt. Your lovely little Delilah, for instance…”

  Adam saw red. He flicked the catch and unleashed his weapon. The Russian man did the same: a rapier of the same design as Adam’s. For a split second, Adam thought of Selena and the rapier wound to her heart, then he thought of Delilah. He’d be damned if the same was going to happen to her! He thrust forward, the Russian parried, he stepped to the left, then thrust again. The Russian matched him move for move. The two men circled around the alleyway in an intricate, deadly dance.

  “Got them,” Delilah’s voice trilled down the alley. “Adam! What’s going on?”

  Adam, distracted for a moment, let his guard down. The Russian took the gap. Adam felt the rapier slice into his forearm. But he held on to his weapon and blocked the next thrust.

  “Get out of here!” he yelled over his shoulder.

  “Help! Help!” screamed Delilah, running out onto the street. “Officer! Over here!”

  “We’ll finish this later,” the Russian man said. Then he ran back down the alley, away from where Delilah and a uniformed Bobby were coming to Adam’s aid.

  Adam quickly sheathed his rapier and dropped it to the ground. No one but an expert would know that it was anything but a cane. He clutched his forearm as blood seeped through his fingers.

  Delilah ran up to him and took hold of his arm. She pulled up his sheepskin sleeve, took a silk scarf from her neck and wrapped it around the wound, encouraging Adam to sit down.

  The Bobby, breathless, returned from giving chase to the Russian. “He’s gone, sir. What happened? Are you all right?”

  Adam steadied his breathing and got into character. He was a mugging victim. Some scoundrel had jumped him, no doubt hoping to steal his motor car. The man had a long knife. No, not a sword. It must have just looked like that from a distance. Adam defended himself with a cane. Yes, that’s the one. Of course he was sure there were no swords. His lady-friend must have been mistaken.

  His “lady-friend’s” eyes narrowed as she listened to his statement, but she didn’t contradict him.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital then, sir.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound; my c
oat took the worst of it. The lady here can drive. I’m sure you’ve got more than enough to do, officer.”

  “Well, I was on the way to checking out reports of a break-in at the greengrocer’s… the two might be related.”

  “Well, there you go,” said Adam. “I’ll pop in to the station later and make a full statement, shall I?”

  Assured that an official route would eventually be followed, the policeman agreed. He stayed long enough to help Adam get the motor cranked and then waved the young couple off as they headed to hospital.

  After Adam had been stitched up, he and Delilah sat together in the hospital canteen having a cup of tea. Delilah looked at him, her cat-eyes shrewd and knowing.

  “What’s going on, Adam? Who was that man? And why did you tell the policeman you didn’t have swords? I’m not blind. Don’t pretend I am.”

  Adam sighed. He should never have let things go this far. “I know you’re not, darling. And I promise I will explain everything, truly. But for now you need to trust me. The less you know, the safer you will be.”

  “Safer? Are you in… am I… and Selena? Has this got something to do with Selena? Did that man…” Delilah’s voice was rising in panic.

  Adam took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Shhh. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But I need to do something first. You go ahead to the theatre; I’ll meet you there later.”

  “But what if that man –”

  “Take a cab. Go directly there. There’ll still be police all over the place. You’ll be safe.”

  “And what about you?” Delilah was near to tears.

  “I can look after myself, sweetheart.”

  “But –”

  He put his finger on her lips. “Shhhh. Please. Just do as I say.”

  CHAPTER 22