Chapter Twenty
The cab pulled up in front of William’s home just as Ryan was ending his call. He slipped his phone into his pocket and stepped out onto the sidewalk in time to watch the front door open. The maid he remembered from his last visit stepped out with a suitcase. That was when he noticed the Rolls-Royce idling a few yards up.
“Is William available?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. He’s resting. He just took his medicine. I’m afraid he’s not doing well.”
Ryan glanced at the suitcase, a sense of urgency building inside him. “You’re going away?”
“Yes. The family is going to the country. Mrs. Atkinson hopes the fresh air will be better for Mr. William.”
“And Mrs. Atkinson. Is she available?”
“No, sir. She’s packing.”
“Not a problem. I’ll wait in the front hall. It’s important.”
She gaped at him, but he turned toward the house and continued on. As Ryan knew well, acting like you had authority was often as good as actually having it.
When he reached the doorway, he turned back, pleased to see that the maid was not behind him, but had continued toward the waiting Rolls.
Good.
He entered, then went through the front hall to the library. He had no intention of waiting for Carolyn Atkinson. He needed to talk to William, and he desperately hoped the old man was still coherent.
He wanted to kick himself for not realizing it before, but until he knew about the one-year survivor clause, the bell hadn’t rung. Now, though, he understood.
Carolyn Atkinson had a plan. Keep her husband alive long enough to fully inherit the estate. But keep him doped up so that he didn’t spoil anything by revealing the existence of Gabby. Or, God forbid, trying to contact her.
Considering the crossword clue, William had been reasonably sharp when Ryan had been here last, but he feared that the maid had reported his visit—and that the meds had been increased. With luck, once he was off the drug, whatever it was, his faculties would return.
He assumed that as his wife, Carolyn was William’s beneficiary, which meant that once the estate was vested in William, his life would be in jeopardy, too. Carolyn would simply wait a reasonable time, then increase the dose or smother him in his sleep or send him “sleepwalking” in front of a train.
And as far as Ryan was concerned, now that he’d figured that out, if he didn’t prevent it, the death of Gabby’s uncle—the uncle who had loved Felicia—would be on him.
Hopefully William would be coherent and able enough to leave with Ryan voluntarily. But either way, Ryan was getting the man out.
He reached the library only to have his hopes shattered. The old man sat in the same recliner, but even though barely any time had passed since Ryan’s last visit, he appeared shrunken under the blanket. He smacked his lips and a stream of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth.
He looked asleep, but his eyes were wide open, staring somewhere over Ryan’s head.
“William?” His voice was a whisper.
There was no response.
“William?”
Ryan stepped closer and saw the little paper cup on the floor beside him. Apparently, he’d just been dosed. And probably higher than usual in preparation for the car ride.
“Come on, sir,” he said, moving forward to ease the man’s dead weight out of the chair. “We’re just going to get some fresh air.”
William’s eyes widened, and in a low, craggy voice, he murmured, “Go.”
“Yes. Yes, sir. We’re going to go. Come on.” Since there was no wheelchair, he assumed the man could walk. He bent to get an arm around him, but as he did, William grabbed his hair and shoved him down.
Not expecting the move, Ryan struggled to get his balance, only to see William snatch the heavy walking stick, and with more strength than he expected from a man in William’s condition, he slashed it around in front of him, missing Ryan’s head by only three or four inches.
Ryan heard a thud, and he turned around in time to see Carolyn Atkinson fall to the ground. In the chair, William chuckled, then looked at Ryan, his eyes still foggy, but his word surprisingly clear. “Bitch.”
“Sir…how?”
William grinned, then shoved his hand into the crevice between the cushion and the arm of the chair. When he pulled it up again, his palm was full of pills. “Hid as many as I could. Would have said something that first day, but I’ve never been sure of Jennifer—that’s the maid. And today? Well, Carolyn’s been lurking. Ah, ah, ah.” He lifted the stick and pointed it again at the woman now struggling to get up.
“Allow me,” Ryan said, taking the walking stick and pressing the capped end on her chest to hold her down.
“Mrs. Atkinson!” Jennifer called, rushing in. “There’s a constable here, and—”
“Jennifer,” Ryan said as the constable followed her in, “why don’t you take a seat? I’m sure Constable Higgins is going to have plenty of questions for you. Constable, your timing couldn’t be more perfect. I’d like to introduce you to Mr. William Atkinson. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to say.”
“I’m sure I will, sir,” Higgins said as another constable and a sergeant arrived while Carolyn Atkinson went white with fury.
“The chief inspector’s outside, sir,” Higgins said.
“I’ll go see him,” Ryan said, then patted William’s shoulder. “You’re in good hands. I’ll be back soon. And then there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He left William with the constable, then headed out, thankful that he’d been right, that William was now safe, and that the hunch behind his call to Higgins—who he knew well since the constable’s beat included the London Stark Tower—hadn’t turned out to be completely wrong.
He waved to Chief Inspector Gregson, then held up a finger as his phone rang, showing Baxter’s caller ID.
“He’s here,” Baxter said, his voice strong with victory. “The son-of-a-bitch is right here in the goddamn building.”
Ryan met Gregson’s eyes, and the two men headed for the chief inspector’s car. “Hold him,” Ryan ordered. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“He’s here,” Baxter says into the phone, his voice strong with victory and his eyes wide with the thrill of the chase. “The son-of-a-bitch is right here in the goddamn building.” He listens, then nods. “Will do.” A beat, then he looks at me and nods. “Ryan’s on his way.”
“Thank goodness,” I say, sitting down at the polished table, my coffee mug warm in my hands.
“Who’s here?” Gabby asks. She’s leaning in the doorway, freshly showered and now in shorts and a tank top. I notice that Baxter is working very hard not to look in her direction. “Sorry I took forever. I needed a long, hot shower.”
I glance toward Baxter and lift my brows. “Some kinks to work out?”
Her mouth twitches. “A few,” she says, then breaks into a wide grin.
Baxter, who now has his back to me, turns. “What?” he asks, but I can only wave the question away as Gabby repeats, “Who’s here?”