JACK OF DIAMONDS

ii

Charlie greeted Nigel with a slow smile, and then shifting in his chair uneasily, grimaced, and offered up an apologetic shrug. Nigel didn’t know if Charlie was embarrassed to see him, grateful, or just plain uncomfortable because his haemorrhoid was acting up again—I guess that’s still, he thought with a touch of a smile. One could never tell with Charlie. He sometimes grimaced, and sometimes squinted, and there were times Nigel would see him looking at his seat cushion, as if he were checking for stains.

He hoped he wasn’t.

“Still hurting, are you Charlie?"

“Not as much as your pecker, I trust.”

“My what? And what’s that supposed to mean, anyway? Did you hear something? Is someone spreading rumours about”

“I’m not saying I did, but I’m not saying I didn’t either.”

“Again. What’s that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to know what the fuck that means?” He said it slowly, stopping and looming over top of Charlie’s desk.

“Is that your big boy stance, Nigel? Is that supposed to frighten me? Are you thinking you can frighten me, Nigel? Is that it? Because you’re not. I’d get up off of this chair and squish you like a bug—snap you in half like a twig—so don’t go thinking you can push your weight around here because you fucked Sonia.”

“I what? Is that what you think? Rose? What about you? Are you thinking the same thing?”

The man has no shame.

Rose said nothing. She grunted hello, her ever-present cigarette hanging out of her mouth, typing at her desk under a blue haze that was somewhat muted in the soft light of the bulb above her. She was wearing her glasses on top of her head, even though they were tied around her neck with a length of string. She was always looking for them, her glasses, forgetting they were sitting on top of her head. The haze of smoke hanging over the room was subliminally pervasive, because Nigel stuffed his pipe into his mouth, lighting it as he sat down behind his desk and turned to look at them.

“Well?”

“Well, what? Are you?” Charlie asked.

“Am I fucking Sonia? Rose did you hear him? Again? A more crass and vulgar bastard—”

“Are you?” she asked.

“What’s this? You too, Rose? Why you would even think something like that is beyond me—beyond words.”

“Why wouldn’t we think it?” Rose asked, pausing with her typing long enough to level a steady gaze at him. Nigel didn’t know if she was upset at the thought that he may have had an intimate interlude with Sonia, or disappointed that he hadn’t. She was a difficult woman to read at the best of times.

“You can’t be serious? Why would either of you think such a thing was even possible? I just met her, for Christ’s sake.”

“Why?” Charlie laughed. “You’ve both been away for, what? Well over a week? Nine days! That’s what it was—not that we’ve been counting—but you’ve both been gone for a total of nine days. And then three days later, Biles up and dies. Dies! Right fuckin’ there!” He pointed to a spot in front of his desk. “You ever see someone die right in front of you?”

“Once or twice,” Nigel nodded.

“Of course you did. That was a stupid question.”

“Rhetorical.”

“Rhetorical?”

“Hot air. It means you’re blowing hot air up my ass,” he said, standing up and looking for his shoes. They were under his desk. He took his dirty riding boots off and slipped on his shoes.

“Yeah, well, whatever. But you weren’t at your place, were you? I checked. A neighbour said you left with a blonde woman, a real looker, she said. Sonia, I’m assuming. I can’t think of there being another blonde looker—except maybe Jenny Ashcroft. But she’s a little out of your league, isn’t she?”

“And you think we ran away and made passionate love for a week? Is that it?” Nigel asked, briefly lifting his head up as he tied one of his shoelaces.

“One would hope you did,” Rose said.

“Would hope you did what?” Sonia asked, striding into the room.

The light in the hallway behind her seemed to surround her like an aura, and she paused in the entryway. It was almost as if she knew, Nigel thought, pausing to lift his head up over the desktop. He could see she was wearing a heavy coat over her uniform jacket, and watched as she took it off, hanging it on the coat tree in the corner. He watched as she took her hat off and checked to see that her hair was still in place. Her cheeks were red, and Nigel hoped it was the weather more than it was rouge. Her lips were a dark ruby red—definitely against regulations—

“They think you took me away for a week and seduced me,” Nigel grinned, sitting up straight behind his desk and looking at her.

“As nice as that sounds, it’s a far cry from reality,” she smiled.

“Which is what?” Rose asked.

“I’m sorry? Why does it matter?” Sonia asked in return, looking at the woman and wondering why it was so important she know.

“Because I think it does.”

“Why?”

“What if you did seduce him?”

“Oh, Rose, please!” Nigel said, standing up and sounding exasperated.

“Think of me as you wish; there’s nothing I can say to dissuade you, anyway. Is there? Where I’d normally say something like, believing it doesn’t make it so, it’s even worse than that, isn’t it, Rose? Because this is something the two of you dreamed up, for the simple reason that you want to believe it. You want to think of me as an evil seductress. Why? Maybe it’s the fact that I’m older than him? After all, I’m a widow; therefore, ergo—for that reason—I must be eager to find a man to warm my bed. Is that what it is, Rose? You think of me as a wanton slut?”

“The asylum,” Nigel said quickly. “She took me to the asylum in Stoke.”

“Stoke? Outside of Plymouth?” Charlie asked.

“Do you know another?” Nigel snapped, and sat back down.

“All right then,” Rose nodded at Nigel. “I’ll accept that.”

“You’ll accept that?” Sonia laughed; it was complete disbelief.

“That’s what I said.”

“Maybe I won’t accept it?”

“It’s good enough for him, so it should be good enough for you.”

“That’s more than most get out of her,” Nigel said with a slow shake of his head as he put his feet up on the desk. He picked up his sketchbook and began drawing.

“You won’t apologize? Not to me, the person you need to apologize to in the first place, but you’ll accept that whatever he says, must be true?” Sonia railed. She reached into her bag, looking for her cigarettes, found none, and took one off Rose’s desk.

“You’re an old cunt, aren’t you Rose?” Sonia said, flippantly tossing Rose’s heavy lighter back on the desk. It bounced twice before coming to a stop. “Always about with your games, are you Rose? All fun and games as long as no one gets hurt. Is that it?” she asked, bending down and levelling her eyes at the old lady. “Well, guess what? It hurts, Rose. It breaks your fuckin’ heart. I was raised by a good man, Rose. A doctor,” she said, “Do you know what he used to say? ‘Do what you can to help someone and right away people will make things up about you.’ That’s what he used to say. I guess he was right, wasn’t he? He did say that people who like you, ‘only have one motive, and that’s to hurt, with as much malice and intent, whoever the recipient of their wrath might be.’ And what did I do to deserve this, Rose?”

“Did you hear of that warehouse in Plymouth?” Rose said, ignoring Sonia and only pausing long enough to butt her ashes in the overstuffed ashtray on her desk. She looked around Sonis and caught Nigel’s eye.

“What about it?” Nigel asked, still sitting behind his desk with his feet up.

“Well, it’s tied to here now then, isn’t it?” Rose grinned.

“And how’s that?”

“One of the dead men was from here,” she pointed out and began typing again.

“Here? What does that mean, ‘He’s from here’?” Nigel yelled across the room.

“I suppose it means he’s from Devon,” Charlie offered.

“So? Who? Is? He?” Nigel asked, his frustration boiling over.

“I believe they said his name was O’Dowd—”

“Reggie O’Dowd?” Nigel asked.


“Yes. Do you know him?” Rose stopped typing long enough to level a look at him.

“Where do I know that name from?” he asked, looking at Sonia.

“Claire Hansen?” Sonia offered. “She and Reggie were living outside the Grove on a farm. Remember? They sells pies: I mean, she makes them, and he delivers them.”

“I remember. But we never saw him. He wasn’t there.”

“No. But we talked to her.”

“Because that’s where Artemus Spencer was staying! Yes!”

“And now he’s dead. O’Dowd.”

“But not in London, where she said he intended to go, but Plymouth,” Nigel pointed out. “And in a warehouse fire, no less—”

“Loaded with stolen guns they think belonged to the Brotherhood,” Rose added.

“The Brotherhood?” Charlie echoed. “What would the Brotherhood be doing in Plymouth?”

“No! What was he doing there? O’Dowd,” Sonia asked.

“Why would the man be in Plymouth, after he’s told his woman he’s off to London to get a loan? Remember? They wanted to open a shop right here in town. She said he went to London to get the money.”

“What else did they find?” Sonia asked Rose.

She sat behind her desk and thought maybe she could begin taking notes as Rose shuffled through the files on her desk. Nigel leaned over and watched as Sonia bent down to remove her walking shoes and put on her more sensible, police issue shoes. She looked over and rolled her eyes at him.

“Some were known criminals,” Rose related.

“Criminals? What sort of criminals? Do you mean The Dockman Gang?” Nigel asked.

She shook her head. “There were only two of them. They were both from London.”

“London? What else?”

“They worked for a man name Sabini.”

“And who’s he?” Sonia asked.

“Never mind that. Who else was there, Rose? You’re holding something back. I can feel it.”

“Because I am,” Rose cackled.

“Then just tell us!” Nigel said.

“It’s the Russians.”

“Communists? I thought you said the guns belonged to the Brotherhood?”

“Not Communists,” she said.

“Who else is there?”

“They’re known associates of Dimitri Chernetsov.”

“Chernetsov?”

“And you think the Russians were trying to broker a deal with the Brotherhood, either buying the guns, or maybe selling them, and this Sabini stepped between them?”

“There’s one way to find out.”

“And what way is that?”

“Phone Chernetsov and make an appointment. Tell him we have some questions.”