Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) (24 page)

She reached for the glass again, downed the rest of it, put it back down with a
smack.

Parker rose and removed his clothes while he pondered that. Then he slid into bed beside her wearing only his underwear. If only they could just make love and forget this day, this night. If only they could
crack this case.

He took her in his arms and lay back on the pillows. “We’ve been assuming the dagger was taken for gain.”

She shrugged, her head against his shoulder. “It’s worth over five million pounds.”

He took a strand of her hair, entwined it
between his fingers. “Yes, that had to be part of it.”

The light went on in her head. “
But maybe not the only part.”

“
Exactly. Perhaps not the main part.”

“S
omeone jealous of Sir Neville?”

“He’
s been very successful in his field.”

And Eames, not so much. He’d been living in Sir Neville’s shadow all these years.
Had to go to him for a job. She let out a long sigh. “Maybe we haven’t looked at George Eames hard enough.”

Trouble riddled
Parker’s expression. “We may have made a few erroneous assumptions in this case.” Because of Parker’s attachment to Sir Neville. Because his old friend was so fond of Eames.

She tried to think back over the past two days, this time with more objectivity. Something Parker had pounded in her head when she first started at the Agency.

Suddenly she remembered the photo in Eames’ room. “The old picture of the cricket players.”

Parker had a faraway look in his eyes. “
I was just thinking of that.”

“
It had four friends. Sir Neville, Eames, Jewell...and somebody else.”

“Cedric Swift.”

She sat up and turned over to face him, hope rising inside her. “That’s right. Didn’t Sir Neville say Swift was still at Cambridge?”

Parker nodded again. “He’s a professor. Computers.”

Must be a bright guy. “Maybe the professor could tell us more about what George Eames is really like.”

He broke from his thoughts and
turned his head to look at her, a smile on his lips. “I did train you well, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “Guess you did.”

“Are you up for a road trip tomorrow?”

“Am I ever.” She had to smile as she said
the words she’d never have believed would come out of her lips. “Parker, take me to Cambridge.”

He took her in his arms and gave her a long, slow kiss. “I will.”

The next morning they had a hearty sausage and egg breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then Parker petroled up the rental and they headed off to the university town.

The ride to Cambridge took over an hour and was mostly through acres and acres of
English farmland. But at last they hit the town.

Parker eased
the car over the narrow cobblestone streets past pedestrians and cyclists, taking in the sights. “The university was founded in 1209 when a group of students left Oxford and came here,” he told her with a tour guide’s flourish.

“Hmm.”
Miranda gawked at the castle-like structures, each bursting with lofty spires, never-ending columns and arches, and elegant statuary. The place had a definite thirteenth century feel. Along with an iron-sized academic feel that was making Miranda a little antsy.

“Many famous people have studied here,” Parker
continued as they rode past another one of the colleges. “Scientists, poets, prime ministers, Nobel Prize winners.”

She stared at
the gray stone statues of two lions perched in front of a building like little sphinxes. Was that a library or a dormitory? “You trying to intimidate me, Parker?”

“Hardly,” he chuckled and turned down another road
.

Could have fooled her.
But she shook off the discomfort and focus on the reason for their journey into the past.

Since it was Sunday Dr. Swift was at home, so they
followed the River Cam over a winding path to a cozy, fenced-in house made of stucco and red brick with lots of cheery windows and a many-gabled roof.

Miranda got out of the car and
marched alongside Parker up the quaint, flower-lined walkway.

He used the lion’s head knocker and after a moment a small woman
with dark shoulder-length hair dressed in black slacks, top and sweater appeared.

She seemed confused to see two strangers at her door. “May I help you?”

“Mrs. Swift?” Parker asked.

“Yes.”

He extended a hand. “I’m Wade Parker of the Parker Investigative Agency in Atlanta, Georgia. We spoke on the phone?”

“Oh, yes. The American
detective. I didn’t expect you so soon.” She took Parker’s hand and shook.

“This is my partner Miranda Steele.”
Miranda shook the woman’s hand as well.

“Good morning, Ms. Steele. Come in, both of you, won’t you?” She opened the door and stepped aside.
“I suppose you’d like to see Cedric straight away?”

Parker nodded. “I
f it’s not inconvenient.”

“
Oh, no,” she sang out. “He’s back here in his study, as usual.” She led them through an airy hallway lined with family photos to a back room with the door closed.

She knocked on it
softly. “Ceddy? The American detectives are here.”

A half-muffled voice came from inside.
“Yes, yes. Show them in.”

She opened the door and Miranda and Parker stepped into a large, high-ceiling office painted in light creamy tones and lined with the requisite bookshelves of a scholar.
But these weren’t the ancient history books of George Eames’ rooms or Sir Neville’s office at the museum. These were sleek technical books about advanced calculus and algorithms and computer languages.

The space smelled of tea and technology.

On the opposite side of the room near the window, hung a whiteboard covered with strange marks. Boxes and lines and angle brackets and words Miranda couldn’t understand. A large mug sat on a modern style desk with a big screen computer monitor. Behind the desk was a thin man with a face that, though he was Sir Neville’s age, glowed with youthful enthusiasm as he studied the screen. The only hair on his head grew around the edges in a distinguished light gray.

He leaned forward, took a sip from
the mug, set it down again. He pointed at the screen with glee. “Now, there’s a bugger of a bug.”

His wife cleared her throat. “Ceddy?” she said in a gentle tone that
told Miranda she’d been handling her husband’s eccentricities for many a year.

The professor
looked up as if coming out of a pleasant dream. “Say what? Oh, yes. So sorry.” He laughed and gestured toward the screen. “I’m testing a video game one of my students turned in. It shows real promise. Still has some flaws though.” He turned back to the screen with a frown of concentration.

“Ceddy?” his wife said again. “These are the detectives? About Neville’s case?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He turned away from the screen, his face instantly somber, his receding hairline peppered with lines of concern. “Please. Have a seat. Both of you.” He gestured toward chairs.

The
y made the usual introductions and did another set of handshaking while the professor’s wife slipped quietly out, shutting the door behind her.

The professor frowned at Miranda. “Why do you look so familiar? Oh. The telly.”

“Really?” She gave Parker an awkward glance.

“The news yesterday about…” His voice went thin. “Dreadful business. Just dreadful. I can’t imagine…” Shaking his head, he stared out the window.
“Poor Neville.”

Miranda felt her neck turning red.
On the news? She’d been on the news? If she could find that reporter who’d buttonholed her yesterday, she’d put her shoe up her ass. No time for that now.

She sat forward.
“Dr. Swift,” she began, eager to get to the chase. “We understand you and Sir Neville Ravensdale went to school together here?”

A wistful smile layered over the anguish on his face. “Yes, we did. A long time ago.
We were—are—friends.”

“Are you still close?”

He tapped his fingertips together as if the answer took some thought. “Not really. Christmas cards, the occasional alumni function, that sort of thing. We spoke last night, of course. I rang Neville after we heard the news. Only briefly, though. He was inundated with calls…I suppose we’ll attend the funeral.”

He had that lost look she’d seen on Sir Neville’s face yesterday and her heart went out to him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and sat up. “Oh, would either of you care for anything to drink? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners.”

“No, thank you,” she said.

Parker sat back in his chair, crossed his legs and began a more leisurely approach. “Dr. Swift, tell us about your time as a student. Yours and Sir Neville’s.”

The professor
frowned as if he found the question odd. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Parker shrugged. “Was
Sir Neville a good student?”

“
Well, of course. He was an excellent student. Rose to the top in his field. But he came from humble beginnings. Did you know he attended here on a full scholarship?”

“
No. That’s very impressive.”

“
It is indeed.”

“And were the two of you close to anyone else? Any other students?”

He nodded. “Why, yes. There were four of us. Trenton Jewell and George Eames were the others. We were all in Emma—Emmanuel College—together. Used to play on the cricket team twice a week. Great fun.” He grew quiet for a long moment, indulging himself in his thoughts of days gone by. Then his mouth opened as if he’d just found a set of lost car keys. “I heard George was arrested for the incident at the museum. Is that correct?”

“He’s been released,
” Parker said.

The professor sank back in his chair. “That’s a relief to hear. George would never do such a thing. He was as honest as the day was long.”

Miranda slid Parker a sidelong glance. Maybe the four weren’t as close as the professor thought.

She picked up the next thread. “So you’re saying Sir
Neville and Mr. Eames got along well?”

“Better than well. “
Neville and Eames were fast friends.”

She let herself frown as if she was having a hard time understanding him. “
But Eames didn’t do as well as Sir Neville. Academically, I mean.”

“George was still an above average student. And everyone knows the
entrance requirements here are very arduous.”

“
Yes, but all friends have a falling out at some time or another. Did Mr. Eames ever say anything to you about Sir Neville? Something that indicated anger perhaps?”

His eyes grew round. “
What are you saying, Ms. Steele?”

“
Was there ever any tension between them? Did they argue? Stop speaking to each other?”

He looked at her as if she were
crazy. “No, never. Two peas in a pod, I always called them. Both of them mad for archaeology.”

She leaned in a little more.
“Mr. Eames never had a reason to be jealous of Sir Neville?”

He blinked at her, completely stunned.
“Jealous? No. I really don’t understand what this has to do with anything if George has been released.”

Miranda was silent, waiting for the impact to sink in.

Parker sat forward and studied the professor a long moment. At last he threw the punch. “I understand one of Sir Neville’s teachers gave him a coin once.”

Dr. Swift’s brows drew together. He stared down at his keyboard.
After a long moment the memory came to him. “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. Professor Kent gave it to him. It was an old Roman coin.”

The one Sir Neville still carried in his pocket. The one he’d showed them at the polo match.

He lifted a shoulder. “It didn’t mean anything to me but Neville was absolutely thrilled.”

“How did Eames feel about that?”

The professor frowned. “He was very happy for Neville. I think they went out and celebrated. I think Trenton went with them. I didn’t go for some reason. Can’t remember now.”

Miranda scooted forward in her chair. “And Mr. Eames wasn’t the least bit jealous?”

“No.”

“Didn’t he love
archaeology just as much as Sir Neville?”

“Of course, he did. But he wasn’t jealous.
He wasn’t the type.”

“Mr. Eames didn’t think
Professor Kent should have given the coin to him instead?”