In Absinthia Page 7

“Men like you are never retired, St. John. And I want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “All right, Detective Inspector. If this is how you want to play it.” Cage leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m here on a secret mission.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Definitely. You see, all of this Jack the Ripper business is a front. A show.”

  “Why would they do that?” Tuggingham asked. “These women were brutally murdered.”

  “No, they weren’t,” Cage explained, starting to enjoy himself. “All that blood and everything you found in the street, it’s really…” He paused, looking around and leaning in. “It’s not really there. I was sent here to spray the whole area with hallucinogenic gas that made you lot think there was a dead woman in the street decorated with her own intestines.”

  “Really?” Tuggingham asked, his eyes so wide that he looked like a particularly bloated frog.

  “No.”

  It slowly began to dawn on Tuggingham that Cage had been pulling his leg. “That’s very funny, St. John. Sometimes, a guilty man will try to deflect.”

  “Guilty?” Cage chuckled. “You think I’m the killer? That’s your big theory?”

  “You were in the area. And you certainly have the expertise.”

  “Other than the fact that I was here all night with my wife under the watchful eye of several people, according to the newspapers, this killer has been at large for the last two months. I arrived on the colony yesterday. Feel free to check my passport. The travelogues. They’ll reveal that before yesterday I had never set foot on Absinthia.”

  With the dawn of space travel, the IU had created a massive database to track its citizens’ interplanetary travel. The travelogues allowed the government to be able to find off-world travelers with the touch of a few buttons. Of course, knowing how to dodge the checkpoints was like Spy Class 101.

  “Mr. St. John, your whole profession has been a lie. It wouldn’t be difficult for a man like you to slip in unnoticed, now would it?”

  “Without my wife noticing?”

  “She’s an agent too. Am I right?”

  Cage sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair. His frustration was about to get the better of him. While Tuggingham knew he was MI6, that dossier was old. It wouldn’t do for him to shift right here in the study and string the pompous windbag from the rafters. “Are you even interested in finding this killer?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then perhaps you should try examining the evidence instead of destroying it.”

  Tuggingham flushed red once more as he sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your men were cleaning up the crime scene while the blood was still warm. The woman was missing one hand and an eye. Why? What possible reason could the killer have for taking one eye? Or one hand?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “They’re trophies. And they’re the main prize.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know these things?”

  “The woman’s innards were strewn about her head in what appeared to be a halo and her heart was arranged carefully on her chest.”

  “Obviously a ritual,” Tuggingham said.

  “No, an imitation. The person wants us to think it’s ritual. Like a Jack the Ripper sort of thing, but the eye and the hand are the key.”

  “Or it could be an Other. Perhaps a vampire coven?”

  “Try again.” Cage was out of patience. “A vampire would never have left that much blood. The person you’re looking for is male and middle-aged, judging by the care he’s taken with the bodies. And he’s educated. He studied the Ripper murders closely.” He could hear Phoe’s voice in his head, scolding him for being so arrogant, but this idiot had no business questioning him. Or being the lead investigator on a crime of this magnitude. “Perhaps, Detective Inspector, you’d be better suited to work on shoplifting cases. Or maybe lost pets?”

  “Now listen here, Mr. St. John.”

  Cage stood up. He was done defending himself and doing this idiot’s job for him. “In case you’re interested in an actual murder investigation, it might interest you to know that there was a man at the crime scene that seemed upset at your officers for destroying evidence. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but had obviously been nosing around. You might want to question your officers.”

  “You think this man could be the killer?”

  “No, but I think he might be able to offer some insight. At the very least you should know who he is and how he got in.”

  Tuggingham jotted some notes in his tiny notebook and shoved it back into his lapel. “And how did you get in, Mr. St. John?”

  Cage started to say something but thought better of it. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  When Cage emerged from the study, the excitement of the morning seemed to have died down. People were speaking in hushed whispers, no doubt relating their experiences with the Detective Inspector. More cops had shown up to take photographs and collect evidence from the area around the murder scene. Cage rolled his eyes. There was really no point now. The blood left behind had no doubt been washed away by the sprinkling of rain from the night before.

  “Well, Mr. St. John. I see you survived the third degree,” Professor Pankenthorpe commented from behind his newspaper.

  “I’d have been more worried about D.I. Tuggingham.”

  Pankenthorpe chuckled. “He is an infuriating old sod.”

  “You know him?”

  The professor shrugged and poured himself another cup of tea. “I wouldn’t say I knew him, but he’s known in Absinthia for being less than accommodating.”

  “Oh really?”

  Pankenthorpe nodded. “Eleanor and I have been coming here to Absinthia for research on that damned novel over the course of the last year. I guess you could say that we’re regulars at the Alice & Ludwig. At any rate, Miss Abecrombie had a break-in on our trip last spring and Tuggingham came to investigate.”

  Cage was intrigued. It seemed like an odd coincidence that the Alice & Ludwig would be at the center of two crimes in the last six months. “Did they ever catch the burglar?”

  Pankenthorpe shook his head, turning the pages of his paper. “I don’t think so. If you ask me, the police weren’t too keen to investigate, given that nothing was taken.”

  “Nothing was taken?”

  “Not a thing. The only reason Miss Abecrombie knew anything was amiss was a single broken window in the kitchen.”

  Something about Pankenthorpe’s story didn’t add up. Cage couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had the feeling that the Ripper murders were connected to the Alice & Ludwig somehow. It was purely instinctual, but there was a definite tickle in the back of Cage’s mind and he wouldn’t be able to rest until it was resolved.

  “There you are.”

  Cage looked up to see Phoe coming through the foyer and into the parlor. She was a vision in her rustling brown skirt and high-necked blouse. And something about the Gibson girl hairdo and the little round glasses perched on her nose was so damn sexy. “Here I am,” he agreed, sweeping her into a scandalous embrace.

  “Not in the foyer,” she admonished, pushing his arms away.

  “Come on, Phoe. Let’s not go too far with this historical playacting.”

  She smiled and started up the stairs, pulling him along behind her. “Come on. I need to talk to you.”

  Cage was really hoping that “talk to you” was code, but the way Phoe had her lips pursed made it obvious that she wasn’t in the mood for love.

  “You know, you didn’t have to drag me up here this way, Mrs. St. John. I’d have come freely.”

  Phoe ignored his joke and led him to sit on the end of the bed. “Cage, I think we have to leave.”

  “What? Absinthia? You can’t be scared that you’re going to be murdered by the Ripper.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Besides, you were the one that wanted to come here. In case you’ve f
orgotten, I said we should go to an island.”

  Phoe sighed. “I don’t want to leave Absinthia, but maybe this hotel. There are hundreds of other places to stay that might be…I don’t know…quieter.”

  “What in the world are you talking about, Phoe?” Cage took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles softly. “You have nothing to be afraid of. That woman was walking on her own at night, and I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight. Not to mention that I wouldn’t hesitate to filet anyone that even thought about touching you.”

  Phoe giggled and kissed his cheek. “You’re such a brute. I love it.”

  “I know.”

  “But no, I’m not worried about being attacked. Or the fact that the idiot police department seems to be hung up on this idea that you’re involved in these murders.” Cage snorted, holding back hearty laughter. “I wanted this to be our vacation and you’re…you know…”

  “No, I have no idea.”

  “You know how you get, Cage. You’re involved.”

  “Phoe, I am not involved,” he said, dropping her hands and rising from the bed.

  “Oh really? Did you or did you not change yourself into a tomcat to go snooping around that crime scene last night?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And was that you that I heard giving Horace Tuggingham a run-down of the facts of the case along with your own insights?”

  “Well, he was accusing me.”

  “And further, was that not your voice I heard giving a description of a possible suspect?”

  Cage sighed, crossing his arms and staring down at her with disdain. “Phoe, the man is a moron, and if people really are dying, then it’s our duty to tell the police the truth.”

  She rolled her eyes and began to pace, mumbling to herself. “I knew this would happen. I knew it. I tried to tell myself that this would be different, but no. People never change.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Phoe whipped around, her concerned face having now turned to one click away from blind rage. “You do this every time,” she accused through gritted teeth.

  “Do what?”

  “You are so concerned with being the smartest, most adept person in the room that you can’t let things go. Every time we do anything together, you find some way to carry us off on some goofy adventure.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yes, you do,” she shouted, then realized that everyone in the pension could probably hear them. “Yes, you do,” she repeated, quieter. “Need I remind you of the weekend after we took Ben to school?”

  “What about it? We had a lovely weekend in the country.”

  “We ended up chasing a jewel thief all the way to Tuscany.”

  “So, one time.”

  “Okay, how about the last time we went to St. Francisville?”

  “That was not my fault.”

  Phoe harrumphed. “You managed to uncover a drug ring at Miss Ava’s book club.”

  “That doesn’t count since I didn’t turn them in. I mean, what’s a few hash brownies among friends?”

  “And then, let us not forget the charity Santa picking pockets and using the money to buy presents for those orphans.”

  “A-ha. That was not a goofy adventure. The old man tried to pick my pocket.”

  Phoe had begun to pull at her hair in frustration. “My point is,” she growled, “that every time we’re supposed to be having a lovely, relaxing time together, you can’t just…be. You’re a workaholic.”

  Cage could feel himself starting to get angry. He didn’t want to fight, but he’d had quite enough of being accused today. “Phoe, I can’t stop being who and what I am to keep you company. And I don’t particularly relish the idea of lying around here for two weeks like an old rug.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you lie here like an old rug. I thought you might enjoy spending time with me.” She turned away from him and gazed out the window. He could hear her sniffling. Once again, he’d managed to hurt her feelings.

  Damn it. He went over and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the nape of her neck. “I do want to spend time with you, love. And you’re right. I’ve been an agent for so long, I guess I don’t know how to turn it off.”

  “I—” she spluttered. “I had hoped that this time we’d be able to have some time together, just us. No distractions. When I was captive on Sugoi, I guess I realized how much I loved you, and how precious our time together is. I don’t want to find out one day that I never really knew you.”

  Cage turned her to face him, cupping her cheek. “You know me. Better than anyone ever could.” He leaned in and kissed her softly, savoring that strawberries-and-sunshine flavor. “I promise I’ll try. We’ll go out tonight like a regular couple. No chasing criminals.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. And if you want to move lodging…”

  Phoe shook her head. “No. No I want to stay here. I love it. But I want you here to enjoy it with me.”

  He kissed her again, wiping a tear from under her eye with his thumb. “I’m here, Phoe.”

  Nine

  La Comédie d’Opéra was all that Phoe had hoped for and then some. The entire city block on which it stood was an explosion of light and color. Men and women in all their burlesque finery stood out front, enticing people though the golden doors. Phoe could hear bawdy music playing inside and smell the heady scent of opium that hung in the air.

  “This place is fantastic,” Phoe near-swooned as the carriage pulled to a stop, its mechanical horses huffing in the chilly air.

  “It’s obscene,” Cage disparaged. He nodded to the driver as he stepped out. She grasped his gloved hand and stumbled from her seat. She would have fallen from the step if Cage hadn’t been there to catch her. She wasn’t quite used to the heavy skirts and bustles required for Victorian-era fashion. Not to mention that tonight’s corset, while giving her the figure she’d always wanted, was making it nearly impossible to move, let alone breathe.

  “Don’t be such a sourpuss.”

  “Obscenity isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” he said, kissing her cheek. He held her at arms’ length and looked her over. “I must say, Mrs. St. John, you look positively radiant tonight.”

  Phoe blushed and gave a curtsey. Well, as much of a curtsey as the unforgiving red satin would allow. “You’re not so bad yourself.” And he wasn’t. While Absinthia advertised itself as a trip back in time, the clothing was a futuristic vision of the Victorian ideal.

  Cage’s suit was cut close, highlighting the length of his body and the breadth of his shoulders. The coat was deep scarlet velvet that stood out stylishly against the rest of the suit that was so black that he’d blend with the shadows. Perched on his head was a top hat, shading vampire eyes that shifted from amber to blue in the firelight. Tonight, Cage was the dark hero of her childish dreams.

  “Babbage’s is a bit overdramatic for my taste, but I suppose it will do.” He offered his arm and led Phoe into the lavish vestibule of the theater.

  The inside of the La Comédie d’Opéra was a gilded paradise. Everywhere you looked there was an intricate carving of cherubs or figures from mythology. The plush carpet beneath their feet was woven with gold fleur de lis. Sleek cyborgs dressed in black ushered patrons to their boxes and handed out programs. Tonight’s performance was a parody of Don Giovanni written specifically for Absinthia.

  “I’m so excited. I’ve never been to the opera before,” Phoe said.

  “I’ve only been a couple of times. Once on a job and another time with Corinne. This will be a different experience, though.”

  “How so? Are all the actors cyborgs?”

  “I don’t think so, but this is a burlesque opera.”

  “You mean they’ll be naked?”

  Cage laughed. “No, silly. It’s a bawdy, raunchy parody of the original opera. Probably with English translations of some of the arias that are meant to be funny.”

  Phoe blushed. “Sorry. We didn’t have much in th
e way of opera in St. Francisville.”

  Cage paused and bowed, dramatically tipping his hat to Phoe. “Pardon me for saying, Mrs. St. John, but your country-girl sensibility has once more swept me off my feet.”

  She giggled and smacked his arm. “Get up, idiot. People are staring.”

  “Let them stare,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly. “I want everyone to see how hopelessly in love with you I am.” He kissed her again and this time she fell into his embrace unabashedly.

  “Oh, having a snog in public. How scandalous.”

  Phoe and Cage started, stepping away from one another and turning to see the Pankenthorpes flagging them down from across the vestibule. Phoe smiled and waved, dragging Cage along behind. He squeezed her hand tightly. She could tell that he wasn’t ecstatic about them being tracked down by their lodging mates. While he was always kind, Cage had confided to Phoe earlier that the professor seemed a bit odd and that Eleanor made him tired with her constant chattering.

  “Eleanor,” Phoe greeted, embracing her new friend. “I’m so glad to see you and Professor Pankenthorpe here this evening.”

  “I love happy coincidences. Don’t you?”

  “Good to see you, Professor.” Cage offered Pankenthorpe his hand and the man looked down at it as if Cage’s hand might be a dangerous insect. “We didn’t expect to see you at the opera tonight.”

  “Ellie insisted,” Pankenthorpe said. His tone was sharp and stilted, as if he were nervous.

  Eleanor smiled and slid her arm around her husband. “You’ll have to excuse Alfie tonight. He hasn’t quite gotten used to the bump and rattle of the carriage rides.”

  Phoe nodded. “They can be a lot to get used to.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, Professor?” Cage asked.

  “Of course,” Pankenthorpe replied, finally smiling. “I promised Ellie, after all.”

  “I love the opera,” Eleanor chirped. “And I’ve heard this one is really something spectacular. The prima donna, Arabella Postlethwaite, has gained quite a bit of acclaim for her performances. I hear that her voice is quite extraordinary.”

  “Is she a cyborg?” Phoe asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Eleanor replied. “Strangely enough, she seems to have raw human talent.”