Death Shall Come Read online

  ‘How did you deal with them?’ I said.

  ‘Firmly,’ said Stuart. Still not looking at me. ‘Someone in the Army put in a word on my behalf and I was invited to join Black Heir. Which turned out to be very like the Army, if you stretch the definition of “bad guys” to its limits.’

  ‘They have a way of doing that,’ I said.

  ‘I met Chloe when we both worked for Black Heir. The Cardavans took me in once they realized I had no one else and made me part of the family. I’ve always been very grateful to them for that. Let me make myself clear to both of you. Whatever happens this weekend, whatever we discover … I want Chloe and her family protected.’

  ‘In that order?’ I said.

  He looked at me for the first time. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you end up in the Organization?’ said Penny.

  ‘The same way everyone does,’ said Stuart. ‘They decided they wanted me.’

  He increased his pace and left us behind. Penny and I looked at each other.

  ‘A lot about that man makes more sense now,’ said Penny.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He didn’t tell us anything I hadn’t already worked out for myself. Chloe is the only new thing.’

  ‘He opened up to us,’ said Penny. ‘Showed us his vulnerable side.’

  ‘Did he?’ I said. ‘To me, he seems more dangerous than ever. Because we now know he’s got someone he’ll fight for.’

  Stuart stopped before a closed door at the end of a particularly long corridor, and waited till we caught up with him.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I need to have a few words with the family before I introduce you.’

  ‘Why?’ I said. ‘We’re not that scary.’

  ‘They are,’ said Stuart.

  He opened the door and went in, closing the door firmly in our faces. And I had to wonder whether he was preparing the family to meet us or warning them about me.

  ‘If he’s so happy to be part of this family,’ said Penny, ‘why does he think they’re scary?’

  ‘Have you seen the house they live in?’ I said. ‘It’s enough to give the Addams family panic attacks and chronic bed wetting. And anyway, all families can be scary, depending on the secrets they keep from each other.’

  ‘You’ve never had a family,’ said Penny. ‘You’re an orphan, just like him.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m nothing like him.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ishmael. He’s not the enemy. He opened up to us! He didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ I said. ‘Which makes me wonder why he did.’

  ‘Maybe being here relaxes him.’

  ‘Among his scary family? Besides, I don’t think that man knows how to relax. Probably sleeps at attention. He brought us here to do something for him; something that needs doing, that he can’t do himself. And, possibly, something he can blame on me. Everything he just told us could be nothing more than part of the softening up process. Make us think we know him, so he can catch us off guard.’

  ‘You are undoubtedly the most cynical person I have ever known,’ said Penny. ‘And I’ve worked in publishing.’

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ I said. ‘Blame life.’

  ‘Your life, possibly.’

  The door swung open suddenly, and there was Stuart beckoning for us to enter. I strode past him as though he was just the butler, and nodded easily to one and all. Penny strode along with me, one arm firmly linked through mine, favouring everyone with her most dazzling smile. The room before us was laid out and decorated on the grand scale. It could have been a living room, a drawing room or even a small ballroom. It was big enough to host a major Olympic event and still have enough room left over for a dwarf-throwing contest. Bright lights from yet more chandeliers forced the shadows back into the corners, but couldn’t eliminate them completely.

  All four walls were lined with shelves, weighed down with even more Ancient Egyptian treasure trove. At least the room’s furniture was reassuringly modern. The Cardavans stood together, studying Penny and me thoughtfully. It only took me a moment to realize they were arranged in four separate couples, rather than one gathering. The gaps between the couples were small but significant, suggesting a family with deep emotional divisions. For me, body language is always an open book. Stuart closed the door and came forward to make the introductions.

  ‘Ishmael Jones, Penny Belcourt. May I present to you George Cardavan and his wife Marjorie?’

  George was clearly the alpha male of the family. I could tell from the way he held himself – ready and eager to fight off any threat or competition. A large, blocky middle-aged man, he dominated the room through practised belligerence and wore his expensive tweed suit as though he felt it was expected of him. He had one of those square bullish faces, that I just knew would flush angrily if anyone dared contradict him. His handshake was brief, but crushing. When I didn’t wince he nodded approvingly, as though I’d passed some kind of test. He smiled briefly at Penny, but didn’t offer her his hand.

  Alpha male. Go-getter. Probably a bit of a bully, too. I gave him my best meaningless smile.

  The young woman at his side had all the trappings of a second wife. Barely half her husband’s age, Marjorie had a frankly magnificent body, lots of blonde hair, and clothes that shrieked of money if not style. She was pretty in a characterless way, as though it was something she’d copied from a magazine, and wore the kind of make-up designed to be seen clearly across a crowded room. She dripped jewellery at every conceivable point, as if to say ‘Look how much my man loves me! He gave me all this!’ Her wide smile didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes, and she didn’t offer to shake hands. She clung possessively to George’s arm, as if to say ‘Look what I caught!’ and ‘He belongs to me now’.

  Trophy wife. All the determination of a bulldog, and almost as much charm.

  ‘Welcome to my home, Ishmael,’ said George. ‘So, you’re Stuart’s pet expert. He speaks very highly of you. Can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my mummy.’ He let out a brief bark of laughter. ‘My mummy, my show, my way. Remember that and we’ll get along fine.’

  ‘You and your silly collection,’ Marjorie said artlessly. ‘At least offer the man a drink before you start to pressure him.’

  ‘I’d like one too,’ said Penny.

  ‘What will you have?’ said George, rubbing his hands together in that way people do when they like to think they know how to make cocktails. ‘If you can pour it and mix it, I’ve got it here somewhere.’

  I asked for a brandy, Penny for a gin and tonic. George bustled over to the old-fashioned bar to do manly things with bottles and glasses. Booze doesn’t actually do anything for me, but I find people relax around me more if they see me drinking. Marjorie went with her husband, rather than be left alone with Penny and me.

  Stuart presented us to his wife, Chloe. His usual clipped tones softened perceptibly as he introduced her, and she smiled fondly at him before turning her smile on me. Her handshake was brief but firm, and felt a lot more like the real thing. A tall striking brunette in her thirties, she wore a silk cocktail dress. And very high heels, to make her the same height as her husband. She accentuated her thin lips with scarlet lipstick, but otherwise didn’t bother with make-up. Her eyes were dark and sparkling, and she stood very close to Stuart.

  ‘You probably need a good rest after such a long drive,’ Chloe said pleasantly. ‘But you can bet Daddy will make you look at his precious mummy first. It’s all he thinks about these days. Just smile and nod and get it over with, and then you can go up to your room for a nice lie down before dinner.’

  ‘Ishmael knows his business,’ said Stuart. ‘I’m sure he’s just dying to see the mummy.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I said. ‘I’ve brought a special stick to poke it with.’

  Chloe gave me an uncertain look, and then she and Stuart stepped back so we could meet George’s son, Nicholas. He didn’t seem too interested in meeting us, but his wife urg
ed him forward. Broad and stocky like his father, Nicholas was in his late twenties, but a certain childish sulkiness undermined any impression he might have made. He slumped inside his expensive suit, as though he couldn’t be bothered to live up to it. A weak chin, a petulant mouth, and a constant scowl seemed to make up his entire character. He couldn’t be bothered to shake hands, just growled in my general direction and brooded over the large drink in his hand.

  Youngest child. No longer indulged. Only here under protest.

  Nicholas’s wife, Caroline, had enough character for both of them. A hard-faced blonde with a direct gaze and an overbearing voice, she was almost aggressively cheerful. She’d dressed to impress, and taste be damned. She insisted on shaking my hand, with a lingering touch, and then kissed the air somewhere near Penny’s cheeks before quickly turning back to give me her full attention.

  ‘Welcome to Cardavan House! Dreadful old dump, isn’t it? Ugly as sin, but not nearly as much fun. Nicholas can’t stand the place. But here we are again, to spend a long weekend in a draughty room with a toilet at the far end of the corridor. Still, needs must when the master calls. Especially when he’s got a new wife.’ She leaned in close. ‘Nicholas’s mother died very suddenly. It was a blow to all of us. Only one in the family I had any time for. George was so upset he got married again just a few months later. We were all shocked, if not particularly surprised. Are you really an expert on this Egyptian nonsense? You don’t look old enough to be an expert. But then it all looks like junk to me. Still, as long as it’s worth serious money, I am prepared to appear suitably interested. Have to keep an eye on Nicky’s inheritance! That’s what I always say. Don’t I, Nicky?’

  She stopped talking just long enough to give him a sharp look, perhaps to make sure he was paying attention. He just grunted. Caroline turned back to resume her charm offensive, but I had already steered Penny away. It’s not running away if it’s self-defence. I got the feeling Caroline was best appreciated in small doses.

  The final couple consisted of George’s father, Bernard, and his wife, Susan. Bernard had to be in his late seventies, and looked older. His face was heavily lined, his hair had disappeared, he stooped, and his hands trembled. There was an odd vagueness to his gaze and his attention seemed to drift even as I introduced myself, before snapping suddenly back again. He was still a large and blocky man, like his son, but his clothes hung loosely about him, as though made for a somewhat larger man. He nodded brusquely, and made no attempt to shake hands.

  It’s always sad when the leader of the pack is replaced by a younger alpha male.

  Bernard’s wife, Susan, clung to his arm at all times, partly in support and partly to make sure he stayed where he was supposed to be. A pleasant enough sort, with a kind if worn face and tightly permed grey hair. She tried to look cheerful, but was too tired to be convincing. She rarely took her eyes off Bernard, as though she felt the need to constantly reassure herself that everything was all right with him.

  I know a carer when I see one.

  George came back with our drinks, and thrust them into my hand and Penny’s. Big glasses, big drinks. Not because he was generous, but because he always needed to impress. He talked straight at me, because anything he had to say was always going to be more important than anything I might come up with.

  ‘Cardavan House used to belong to my father,’ he said bluntly. ‘Now it’s mine. I took control, for the good of the family. Bit of a shame, but it had to be done. Father let the family fortune go to pot. I took care of that. And now I run the house, the family, and the family collection.’ He paused, to fix me with a steely gaze. ‘Stuart tells me you used to work for Black Heir. Chloe did too. She told me all about it. That’s how I came up with the idea for my business.’

  ‘Even though she wasn’t supposed to,’ murmured Stuart. He’d drifted casually back to join us, with Chloe still sticking close. George just talked right over his son-in-law.

  ‘I spotted a gap in the market, saw where I could make myself useful, and Black Heir was happy to have me do it. For the right price, of course. I put this family back on its feet in under three years.’

  I glanced across at Bernard. He didn’t look particularly impressed, or grateful.

  ‘So,’ I said to George, ‘the collection is yours now?’

  ‘Someone has to look after it,’ said George.

  ‘How did you and Marjorie meet?’ said Penny.

  ‘I was George’s secretary,’ said Marjorie, moving in beside her husband. Determined not to be left out of anything.

  I spotted some significant glances between various members of the family, but no one said anything.

  ‘I moved back into the house when I took control of the family,’ said George, not even glancing at Bernard. ‘Mother and father still live here, of course.’

  Bernard didn’t look too happy about that, either. His hands were shaking more now, possibly with suppressed rage. Susan made him sit down in a comfortable chair, and put a fresh drink in his hand. He held it loosely, as though he wasn’t sure what it was for. Susan came forward to join us, lowering her voice confidentially.

  ‘He isn’t supposed to drink, not with all the medication he takes, but it helps calm him down.’

  ‘He’s not well, is he?’ I said.

  ‘Not really, no,’ said Susan. ‘I do my best to keep the peace between him and George because, well …’

  ‘Because it’s either that or a nursing home,’ said George, not bothering to lower his voice. ‘He’s got Alzheimer’s. Don’t look at me like that, mother, it’s hardly a secret. He had it for some time, but wouldn’t admit it. Which is why I had to come in and restore the family fortunes, after he pissed them away.’

  ‘George!’ said Susan. She didn’t get an apology, and didn’t look like she expected one. She smiled wearily at me. ‘Bernard is more himself in familiar surroundings.’

  She excused herself and went back to her husband to murmur soothing words he didn’t seem to hear.

  ‘She’s devoted to him,’ said Chloe. ‘Though I sometimes wonder why. He can be … a bit much.’

  ‘Because that’s how wives are supposed to be!’ said George. He looked to Marjorie to agree with him, and scowled when he found she’d wandered away to freshen her drink. He went after her, to make sure she didn’t do anything he wouldn’t approve of. I looked at Stuart, but he didn’t say anything. Penny smiled brightly at Chloe.

  ‘Stuart hasn’t told us much about you. Even though we’ve been working together for some time. What’s he really like, when he isn’t working?’

  ‘Oh, Stuart’s a sweetie,’ said Chloe, taking her husband’s hand in hers as though it belonged there. ‘Can’t do enough for me.’

  ‘And vice versa, of course,’ said Stuart.

  I barely recognized the look on his face. I wasn’t used to seeing the Colonel appear so … at ease.

  Chloe smiled at me. An oddly challenging smile. ‘Stuart hasn’t told me much about your background, Ishmael. You were with Black Heir?’

  ‘For a time,’ I said. ‘These days, my expertise is called upon by many groups of a confidential nature.’

  ‘Oh, one of those,’ said Chloe. ‘Hush-hush. Don’t ask, don’t tell. And don’t even bother to remember your name because officially you were never here.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe you can answer a question for me,’ Penny said to Chloe. ‘Since neither Ishmael nor Stuart seem able to. Black Heir exists to clean up after starship crashes, of which there never seems to be any shortage. Now these ships must be marvels of advanced technology to be able to cross untold light years of space to get here, but the moment they enter our atmosphere everything goes to pot and they end up falling out of the sky like Autumn leaves. Why?’

  ‘People have been asking that question for a long time,’ said Chloe. ‘Our best guess is there’s a war going on out there.’

  ‘You mean they came all this way just to shoot at each other?’

/>   ‘Presumably they have their reasons,’ said Chloe. ‘We’re learning more and more about their tech, but we still don’t know much about them.’

  ‘Which them?’ said Penny.

  ‘Any of them,’ said Stuart.

  The door behind us opened suddenly, and everyone turned to stare at the new arrival. A quiet, scholarly gentleman in his forties, he had a great shock of prematurely grey hair, a thin face and a beaked nose. The suit he was wearing didn’t even try to be the equal of everyone else’s. The jacket had leather patches on the elbows. The newcomer smiled diffidently about him.

  ‘I heard voices, so I assumed the new expert had arrived. Mister Jones? How nice to meet you.’ He inclined his head slightly, but that was all. ‘Ishmael Jones … What an interesting name. Not one I know, and I thought I had heard of everyone in my field. Everyone of note, at least.’

  No one butts heads like scholars defending their territory.

  ‘My work is nearly always confidential,’ I said. ‘People only know about me if they need to.’

  ‘Professor Samuel Rose,’ George said loudly, ‘is my very own personal expert. More qualifications than you can shake a mortar board at, and more experience with Ancient Egyptian relics than anyone else. I know. I checked. If there had been anyone better, I’d have hired them. The professor is here to catalogue my collection. Because it hasn’t been properly looked at and assessed in far too long. I want to know everything there is to know about everything I’ve got. And its worth, down to the very last penny.’

  ‘For the insurance?’ Penny said sweetly.

  ‘Hardly,’ said George. ‘Can’t have outsiders in here, asking officious questions about what I’ve got and where it came from. No, I don’t ever intend to sell any of it. I just want to know.’