Magic Lantern (Rogue Angel) (15 page)

“Yeah.”

“On your way, then.” Fiona gently pushed Copely into motion.

He stumbled, touched his ear and stared at the bright blood. Then he motioned to the other man who was still conscious and they started working on their two unconscious friends.

Fiona placed the pistol on the bar and sipped her tea.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there, Ms. Pioche?”

Annja tracked the man’s voice upward to the second story overlooking the first. He stood at the railing dressed in a double-breasted suit. He looked almost as wide as he was tall and wore a salt-and-pepper goatee. His dark hair was slicked back. He wore rimless glasses that made him look professorial.

Fiona smiled. “Hello, Paddy.”

“You’re a pip, my dear.” Paddy smiled for a moment, then his face hardened. “Mr. Copely.”

Copely stood with one of Haddock’s arms across his shoulders.

“You’re no longer welcome on these premises.”

“That would be a mistake.” Copely had some of his nerve back. “I throw you a percentage of everything I do.”

“I know that.” Paddy fixed the man with a harsh stare. “And I run an establishment that’s safe for everyone that comes through those doors, whether it’s for snooker or… You know that.”

Copely’s face darkened. “You can’t talk to me—”

“Eddie.” Paddy’s voice was sharp with rebuke. “If that imbecile insists on continuing to waste his breath and my time, blow him out of his shoes.”

The bartender reached under the bar and took out a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun. “Yes, sir.” He ratcheted back the hammers and the clicks sounded ominous in the silence that filled the big gaming room.

Without another word, Copely staggered out under the weight of the big man. His other two companions leaned on each other and followed.

“Now, Ms. Pioche, I am to assume you are here on business and not merely to harass my patrons?” Paddy peered down at Fiona.

“The only reason I have for ever coming here, my dear man, is to be enchanted by your charm and wit.”

“And my information, of course.” Paddy grinned.

“Merely part of your charm.”

“Well played, Ms. Pioche. Please come up.”

* * *

THE SPACIOUS UPSTAIRS OFFICE contained a great many books on built-in shelves. Most of the volumes looked as if they’d been read.

“Annja Creed, it is my pleasure to present Mr. Paddy McGurk.”

Paddy smiled and inclined his head. “Ms. Creed, this is indeed an honor. Judging from your articles and your books, we share similar interests.”

“We do?”

“Antiquities. Legends. Stories of long-lost things.”

“You’re a collector?”

“An appreciator of fine arts.” Paddy bowed and took Annja’s hand briefly before gesturing her to one of the plush sofas on either side of a glass-topped coffee table.

Fiona busied herself at a tea service on one side of the room while Paddy took a seat on the sofa across from Annja. “What he isn’t telling you is that he collects antiquities for other people who aren’t too picky about how he got his hands on them.”

Apparently embarrassed, Paddy waved Fiona’s words away. “Avarice is a mean thing. First cousin to jealousy. And I don’t hide away every antiquity that I set my sights on. Some of them end up in museums. I’m very careful to…give back.”

“You are.” Fiona brought the tea service over and put it on the coffee table. She poured the steaming liquid into cups.

“Thank you. You spoil me.” Paddy lifted the cup and blew on the tea.

“Another thing Paddy won’t mention, unless he knows you
very
well, is that he is a gifted forger.” Fiona settled onto the couch beside Paddy with her own cup of tea.

“I wouldn’t say gifted.”

“He has seven pieces hanging in various museums.”

“
Nine.
Nine pieces, actually.” Paddy grimaced.

“See? He does have an ego.”

“Only when you’re around, love.” Paddy shifted his attention back to Annja. “Since you’re in Ms. Pioche’s company, I assume she is helping you find something.”

“
Someone,
actually.”

“Mr. Hyde?” Paddy shook his head. “I’ve been following the media and I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I apologize, but crime like that isn’t especially my field.”

“What the old dear means is that he hasn’t yet found a way to make money from it.”

Paddy slapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me, woman.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Paddy nodded thoughtfully. “Who are you looking for, Ms. Creed?”

“Edmund Beswick.”

Cocking his head to one side, Paddy thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, either. I’m not acquainted with Edmund Beswick. Never heard of him.”

“He’s a friend. He was kidnapped last night by a man named Jean-Baptiste Laframboise.”

Sipping his tea, Paddy appeared troubled. “Now, that’s a name I am familiar with. Laframboise is a horrid man. No appreciation for the finer things in life. He’s a ruffian and a scoundrel. Why would your friend be kidnapped by the likes of Laframboise?”

“For a magic lantern that supposedly had its origins in China.”

“Why would anyone want a magic lantern from China? Perhaps Laframboise doesn’t know that he needs a Middle Eastern lamp if he’s looking for a genie and three wishes.” Paddy smiled at his own wit.

“Laframboise was supposed to turn over the lantern, if he found it, to a man named Puyi-Jin. Instead, Laframboise has double-crossed his employer.”

Paddy trailed his fingers through his goatee absently. “The name Puyi-Jin is known to me, as well, and he is as much an animal as Laframboise. The thing I keep stumbling over, though, is that neither of these two men are collectors. Why would they be interested in this magic lantern?”

“I don’t know. All I’ve managed to discover is that Edmund is being held on the Isle of Dogs.”

Paddy brightened at once. “So he would have to have a base of operations.”

Fiona nodded. “That is what we were thinking.”

“Then that is something I can help you with.” Paddy took out a cell phone. “Ever since the construction and rebuilding began in that area, there have been many hiding places criminals have used for all sorts of purposes. Let me see what I can find out.”

“That would be lovely, Paddy.” Fiona stood.

“Leaving?” Paddy looked disappointed.

“Yes. Ms. Creed and I have things to do. Policemen to upset. While you’re ferreting out Professor Beswick, we need to pursue what we can of the magic lantern. As much as I love to watch you work, you’ll be calling people I’d rather not know about. Until I have to.”

“Right you are.” Paddy got to his feet and accepted the peck on his cheek that Fiona offered. “I have your mobile number. I’ll give you a ring as soon as I have anything to report.”

Annja shook Paddy’s big hand. “Thank you.”

“Before you leave London, I’d love to take you and Ms. Pioche to dinner. If you will allow me the privilege.”

“When things are settled and Edmund is safe again, I’d like that.”

“Then I shall endeavor to work harder and swifter.”

Although she didn’t say it, Annja felt certain that news of Edmund wouldn’t come swiftly enough.

14

“Professor Beswick.”

Edmund struggled against the heaviness that kept his eyelids closed. He wanted to see, but he just couldn’t open his eyes. In the distance, he heard boat motors and machinery that weren’t the normal morning noises around his flat.

“Professor Beswick.”

He tried to open his eyes again. This time he also moved his head slightly, but it felt as if someone had filled his skull to bursting with wet cement.

The man cursed in French and it was so fast that Edmund couldn’t follow all of it.

“Why isn’t he waking?”

“The chloroform takes a while to wear off.” This second voice was cold and impersonal.

Hearing that sent a charge of adrenaline through Edmund’s body. Frantic, he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. The last thing he remembered was working in his flat.

No, that wasn’t right. The last thing he remembered was
walking
into his flat. He’d been looking forward to working, and he’d especially been looking forward to seeing Annja Creed again.

Except he hadn’t been alone in the flat. He vaguely remembered a shadow stepping away from his office area. Before he’d been able to react, someone had hit him. The left side of his jaw felt tender.

“Then chloroform wasn’t the best idea, no?”

“No, sir. At the time, we wanted to control him without having to hurt him.” The impersonal voice held a note of resentment.

Edmund succeeded in lifting his head a little. A rough hand touched his face. A thumb pried open one of his eyelids. Someone shined a bright light into his eye. He tried to protest, but he couldn’t get his voice to work.

The eyelid was released and the hand drew back. Edmund’s head dropped heavily to his chest. Then something slammed into the side of his face, he felt a searing blast of pain and everything went dark.

* * *

WAKING THIS TIME WAS EASIER. Edmund even managed to crack his eyes as he raised his head. His mouth was dry as a sock and he tasted salt, which he assumed was blood. His mouth was swollen and felt crooked. Harsh chemicals stung his nose.

A quick glance revealed that he was sitting in a dilapidated warehouse. Piles of debris sat in corners of the big, wide-open space. The place had been gutted. Black and gray and white utility cables hung from the ceiling like dead snakes.

“Professor Beswick.”

The hard-voiced Frenchman lounged in an office chair in front of a battered desk that had only three legs and listed heavily to one side. The Frenchman had his boots on the desk.

“I am Jean-Baptiste Laframboise.” The man obviously had a lot of ego. Self-satisfaction resonated in his voice and he smiled. He was lean and muscular, probably nearing forty, and had short black hair and a short matching beard that crowded his cheeks and eyes. The overall effect of all the hair made him look like an eight ball on a human body.

He dropped his boots to the floor and faced Edmund. The man wore what looked like designer jeans and shirt—gray. With a dark pin-striped vest. A coat hung on the back of a nearby straight-backed chair. He held a very large stainless-steel revolver in his right hand.

“Do you know me?”

Not trusting his voice, Edmund shook his head. He instantly regretted the motion. Pain speared his skull and his stomach twisted.

Laframboise’s mouth screwed up in irritation. He lifted the revolver and laid the long barrel over his shoulder. “You will come to know me. Have no fear of that.”

Edmund didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t speak. He glimpsed two armed thugs standing slightly behind where he was sitting.

“I have Anton Dutilleaux’s lantern.” Laframboise gestured with the revolver and pointed at the magic lantern sitting in a box beside the desk.

“How did you find my storage locker?” Talking made Edmund’s left jaw ache and he knew it was swollen.

Laframboise paced. “You told us where it was.”

Edmund couldn’t remember doing that, but there was a lot he didn’t remember. Despite the plywood sheets that covered the warehouse windows, enough light leaked in that he could tell it was daylight outside. He wondered how long he’d slept.

“Unfortunately, you haven’t told us much else.” Laframboise sat on the corner of the listing desk and laid the revolver across his thigh. “You’re going to—” he hesitated over his word choice “—amend that now,
non?
”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Edmund shifted slightly and discovered he was bound to a steel folding chair. For the first time, he realized how much his body hurt from being restrained. Wide bands of green tape wrapped his ankles. His hands must’ve been trapped behind him with the same tape.

“I want to know about the lantern.”

Edmund sucked in a deep breath and felt blood clots inside his mouth shift. Sickened, he spat them out onto the cement floor. Bright red blood mixed with older stains. “It…reportedly belonged to a man named Anton Dutilleaux.”

A few of his teeth felt loosened, but they all seemed to be there. The inside of his cheek was swollen and torn. In all his life, he’d never been hurt so badly. He just wanted to go home. Better yet, he wanted to go to the emergency room, then home.