Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)

 

It wasn’t until we were safely ascending that I asked, “Was it wise to tell him so much? Won’t he spill the beans to DCI Pelham?”

 

“You heard him. The Cockney’s inbred distrust of the police. And we are old friends. I’ve always tipped him generously.”

 

“You amaze me sometimes,” I said.

 

“That’s good.” He smiled at me. “Amazement and adoration seem like a good basis for a happy marriage.”

 

“You mean my amazement and your adoration?” I quipped back, making him laugh.

 

 

 

THE LIFT DOORS opened and we crossed a deserted landing to Bobo’s flat. It smelled even more musty and unpleasant than last time with the rotting food items looking quite disgusting. Darcy recoiled at the state of the place. “Well, one thing is clear,” he said as he crossed the room to hastily draw the curtains. “She’d been living here and intended to come back shortly. She wouldn’t have left the place like this for more than an hour or so.” He looked around. “I wonder if she asked William to hail her a taxicab that evening. Or whether anyone came to call for her. We can ask on the way down.” He went through into the bedroom and pulled the heavy curtains across those floor-to-ceiling windows. “Oh, there’s my dressing gown,” he said, turning back again.

 

“You can’t take it,” I said hurriedly. “The police will know you’ve been here.”

 

“Quite right. I wonder whether I have left anything else here? No time for that now. Well, where’s this safe?”

 

I went over to the wall and removed the painting. Darcy examined the safe and grunted. “Very modern. I don’t think I’ve seen one just like this. So what would Bobo use as a combination? Her birthday? I know the date but not the year.” He tried several with no success. He tried other combinations, then shook his head. He put his ear to the safe and turned the dial slowly. Then he said, “Let’s think. She’s sneaky in some ways. Inventive. But lazy. Wait a minute.” He turned the dial left then right and to my amazement the safe swung open.

 

“How did you do that?” I asked.

 

He grinned. “Luck,” he said. “I retraced my steps to where we began and figured she might only have moved the dial once after she closed the safe. Lazy, you see.”

 

It was a small safe, stuffed quite full. I had expected maybe jewels but I was surprised to pull out mainly photographs and letters. Darcy whistled as he removed a large bundle of five-pound notes. “A little emergency cash,” he said. “And here is where the rest goes.” He held up what seemed to be a bankbook. “Swiss bank account. She plays the helpless female very well but she’s as sharp as they come.”

 

“Played,” I said. “She’s dead. She wasn’t sharp enough to spot danger coming.”

 

We both stood in silence for a moment. Then Darcy said, “So what about these photos and letters?”

 

I picked up one. “‘My darling Gerald, how I’ve pined for you. Are you staying away deliberately, you wicked boy? I’ve been at the Black Cat numerous times and you’ve never shown up.’” I looked up at Darcy.

 

“A love letter,” I said, then I read down to the signature. “It’s signed, ‘Your heartbroken Hugo.’

 

“It’s from another man,” I said. “What was Bobo doing with it?”

 

I picked up one of the photographs. It was of a group of men in bathing costumes, standing with arms draped around each other’s shoulders. I thought some of them looked familiar. It was a small snapshot and I peered harder. “That one looks quite like Major Beauchamp-Chough,” I said. “Only younger and minus the mustache.”

 

“Probably a younger brother,” Darcy said. “Although most army types tend to look the same. Eton and Sandhurst, you know.” He peered at the photograph. “I don’t know why she’d want snapshots of men on a beach. But look at this.” He held out a picture of a woman standing with a pretty little girl of six or seven by a country cottage. On the back of the snapshot someone had written, She looks just like you, Toby.

 

“Toby?” I asked. “As in Sir Toby Blenchley? But that’s not his wife?”

 

“Definitely not,” he said. “I get the feeling we know now how Bobo made her money. I thought it might be selling drugs, but look at all this. Incriminating evidence. I’d bet the farm that Bobo was a blackmailer.”

 

“Golly,” I said. “There are a lot of items here. So any one of these people would have wanted her dead.”

 

“I must take this lot to Sir Jeremy,” he said. “I think I’d be playing with fire if I started probing too closely into Sir Toby’s life without proper authority.”

 

“But she was reputed to be his mistress,” I said. “How could she be blackmailing him?”

 

“That may be how she worked. She became friendly with powerful men. They gave away too many secrets in the heat of passion and she threatened to expose them. Men with too much to lose.”