Jayne Krentz - Late For The Wedding

That was all the evidence that existed to connect him to this night’s botched business. He would leave them here. Even if someone found the items, they could not be linked to him.

Nevertheless, he dared not take any more chances. March had friends in high places.

He moved cautiously out of the alley. When he was sure that there was no one about, he broke into a run again. He had a good head start. It would take those two some time to deal with the fire and make their report to March. He needed only a few minutes, he reminded himself. He had been well-trained in his craft. He was prepared for any contingency, even failure.

He would vanish for a while, he promised himself. Perhaps he would go to Paris for a year or two. Or may hap Italy. When he returned the next time, he would come back as a gentleman. No one would recognize him, let alone connect him to the murders he had committed this summer.

The thought steadied his nerves as he fled through the moonlit night.

A short time later Anthony stood beside Dominic and peered glumly into the darkness of the back stairs. He slammed the palm of his hand against the wall.

“Damnation. We almost had him.”

“He set that fire to distract us when he realized we were about to awaken the household with the fireworks.” Dominic shoved his fingers through his hair. “He gave himself plenty of time to get away.”

“Well, one thing is for certain. He knows now that he’s been found out. He’ll no doubt have disappeared into the stews or bolted for some safe place where he thinks he can hide.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point going back to his lodgings,”

Anthony muttered. “He won’t be fool enough to hang around now.”

“I do not look forward to informing March that we flushed out our quarry and then lost him.”

“Neither do I.” Anthony closed his fist around the ring he had discovered on the bedside table. “But it is not as though we had a great deal of choice in the matter. That damned hairdresser was willing to burn down this entire house and everyone inside in order to make good his escape.”

“Come.” Dominic turned away from the staircase. We’ve got to find March. I hope he has returned from his latest visit to the stews.”

Anthony swung around and followed him swiftly down the hall.

The killer entered his lodgings through the back door, the same way he had left a short while ago. He stood there in the deep shadows, breathing so hard that the air rasped in his lungs. The rage and fear were still pouring through him. He wanted to smash something.

“Damn him, damn him, damn him,” he chanted into the darkness.

He could not dawdle, he reminded himself. He had to move swiftly. There would be time enough for vengeance against March later. Time enough to prove that the man could be beaten.

He went into the bed chamber and shifted aside the picture on the wall. Placing the flat of his hand on a section of the wood, he pressed gently. The panel slid open on a soundless whisper of well-oiled hinges.

He opened the safe and took out the pistol, the letter, the remaining memento-mori rings, and the jewelry and money that his clients had given him in exchange for his services.

His next stop was the wardrobe. He would take only one change of clothing. He hated to leave the rest of his fine garments behind, but he could not afford to be encumbered with luggage. The tenets of his training were strict on that point. When flight was necessary, one fled with as little as possible.

He opened the door of the wardrobe and found himself looking into the face of his killer.

Before he could even react to the shock, the murderer put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Tobias held the lantern up so that the glare illuminated the back door of the hairdresser’s lodgings. Anthony and Dominic stood slightly behind him, watching tensely as he tried the knob.

“Unlocked.” Tobias handed the lantern to Dominic and took out his pistol. “I doubt if he is still here, but I do not want either of you to take chances. Stay behind me.”

“He will be miles away by now,” Anthony grumbled. “We almost had him, Tobias.”

“If he had not had the wit to set that fire, we would have caught him,” Dominic agreed.

“You did the right thing,” Tobias said. You had no choice but to deal with the blaze. Do not blame yourselves for Pierce’s escape. If you had not interfered, Sir Rupert would be dead by now. The old cook as well, I suspect.”

He opened the door so suddenly that it banged against the wall.

The lantern light slanted across the empty kitchen.

He moved warily through the small room. Anthony and Dominic followed.

“Give me the lantern,” Tobias said quietly.

Anthony handed it to him. He set it on the floor and used the toe of his boot to push it out into the narrow hall. No shadows flickered on the wall. There was no movement in the small parlor.

Tobias leaned around the corner. From here he had a clear view of the sitting room. Satisfied that it was empty, he stepped out into the hall, picked up the lantern, and, hugging the wall, went swiftly toward the door of the darkened bed chamber.

The scent of fresh death hit him before he saw the body on the floor.

“The hairdresser is still here,” he said flatly.

Dominic and Anthony came to stand beside him. They stared at the horrific scene.

“His head.” Dominic sounded odd. “His head. There’s so much blood and… and other stuff.”

“God have mercy,” Anthony whispered.

It occurred to Tobias that this was the first time either of the younger men had encountered violent death.

“Stay here, both of you,” he ordered.

He went cautiously into the room so as to avoid damaging any useful evidence. But there were no bloody footprints, no bits of fabric torn in a scuffle. No signs at all that anyone other than Pierce had been here tonight.

The hairdresser lay sprawled facedown in a dark pool of congealing liquid, lifeless fingers loosely wrapped around the handle of the pistol.

“He must have known that it was over.” Anthony swallowed audibly. “He realized that we were hard on his heels and that it was only a matter of time before we saw him hang. So he elected to cheat the gallows.”

“He took his own life.” Dominic wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “The gentleman’s way out.”

Tobias looked down at the dead man. “Just like his brother.”

Shortly before daybreak, Lavinia went with Tobias to give the news to Aspasia. She came downstairs at once when her sleepy housekeeper informed her that she had callers. She had obviously still been in bed, but Lavinia noted that she somehow managed to appear very fashionable in a dark satin dressing gown, soft kid slippers, and a little lace cap.

“Pierce shot himself?” Aspasia sank down onto the sofa. “Dear heaven. Just like Zachary.”

“After Anthony and Dominic nearly caught him in the act of committing murder tonight, he must have realized that it was finished,” Tobias said.

Lavinia watched him move to stand in front of the darkened hearth. She sensed the tension in him. He had been like this, restless and brooding, when she opened the door to him a short while ago. She had given him a large glass of the brandy he had provided for himself, but it did nothing to soothe his spirits. He told her the tale of the night’s events. She had elected to accompany him when he said that he was going to take the news to Aspasia.

“I don’t understand,” Aspasia said, clutching the edges of the dressing gown at her throat. She looked bewildered. “From what you tell me, he had a head start. Why would he not simply flee the country?”

“I cannot pretend to know his mind,” Tobias said. “But from the beginning, this entire affair has been about imitating his brother.

“Perhaps when he realized that he had been found out, he decided to leave this world the same way Zachary did.”

“By his own hand.” Aspasia closed her eyes briefly. “It is all so dreadful.”

“Tobias talked to an old woman in the stews tonight who once sold babes and children,” Lavinia said gently. “Several years ago she provided two young boys to a man who told her that he had no sons of his own and wanted apprentices to take over his business.”

“I think her client was the original Memento-Mori Man,” Tobias said, never taking his eyes off the cold hearth. “It appears that his apprentices did, indeed, try to carry on in his footsteps.”

“And now both are dead,” Lavinia said quietly.

The battered hackney carriage that had conveyed them to Aspasia’s address was waiting for them in the street when they left a short time later. Tobias handed Lavinia up into the cab and then got in and took the seat across from her. In the weak glow of the interior lamp, his face was stark and grim.

“I know how this case has plagued you.” She grasped the handhold to steady herself as the aging vehicle jerked into motion. “But it is over now.”

“Yes.” He looked out the window into the night.

She sensed the darkness in him and knew that he was in danger of sinking down into his own private little corner of hell.

“You will no doubt feel more yourself in the morning,” she assured him.

“No doubt.”

She searched her brain for some other means of breaking through the ice in which he had encased himself. When she came up with nothing helpful, she decided to take the forthright approach.

“Very well, sir, out with it. You are in a very odd mood for a man who has just concluded a successful inquiry into a case of murder.