False Impression Read online

  Leapman took another pace backward, hesitated, then left without another word.

  When the door closed, Tina was shaking so much she had to grip the armrests of her chair.

  41

  WHEN THE POLICE car arrived at the station, Jack was bundled out. Once he’d been checked in by the desk sergeant, the two detectives accompanied him downstairs to an interview room. Detective Sergeant Frankham asked him to take a seat on the other side of the table. Something else Jack hadn’t experienced before. Detective Constable Ross stood quietly in one corner.

  Jack could only wonder which one of them was going to play the good cop.

  Detective Sergeant Frankham sat down, placed a file on the table, and extracted a long form.

  “Name?” began Frankham.

  “Jack Fitzgerald Delaney,” Jack replied.

  “Date of birth?”

  “Twenty-second November, “sixty-three.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Senior investigating officer with the FBI, attached to the New York field office.”

  The detective sergeant dropped his pen, looked up, and said, “Do you have some ID?”

  Jack produced his FBI badge and identity card.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Frankham after he’d checked them. “Can you wait here for a moment?” He stood and turned to his colleague. “Would you see that Agent Delaney is offered a coffee? This may take some time.” When he reached the door he added, “And make sure he gets his tie, belt, and laces back.”

  DS Frankham turned out to be right, because it was another hour before the heavy door was opened again and an older man with a weathered, lined face entered the room. He was dressed in a well-tailored uniform, with silver braid on his sleeve, epaulette, and the peak of his cap, which he removed to reveal a head of gray hair. He took the seat opposite Jack.

  “Good evening, Mr. Delaney. My name is Renton, Chief Superintendent Renton, and now that we have been able to confirm your identity, perhaps you’d be kind enough to answer a few questions.”

  “If I can,” said Jack.

  “I feel sure you can,” said Renton. “What interests me is whether you will.”

  Jack didn’t respond.

  “We received a complaint from a usually reliable source that you have, for the past week, been following a lady without her prior knowledge. This is an offence in England under the 1997 Protection from Harassment Act, as you are no doubt aware. However, I feel sure you have a simple explanation.”

  “Dr. Petrescu is part of an ongoing investigation, which my department has been involved in for some time.”

  “Would that investigation have anything to do with the death of Lady Victoria Wentworth?”

  “Yes,” replied Jack.

  “And is Dr. Petrescu a suspect in that murder?”

  “No,” replied Jack firmly. “Quite the opposite. In fact, we had thought she might be the next victim.”

  “Had thought?” repeated the chief superintendent.

  “Yes,” replied Jack. “Fortunately the murderer has been apprehended in Bucharest.”

  “And you didn’t feel able to share this information with us?” said Renton. “Despite the fact that you must have been aware that we were conducting a murder inquiry.”

  “I apologize, sir,” said Jack. “I only found out myself a few hours ago. But I’m sure our London office planned to keep you informed.”

  “Mr. Tom Crasanti has briefed me, but I suspect only because his colleague was under lock and key.” Jack didn’t comment. “But he did go on to assure me,” continued Renton, “that you will keep us fully informed of any developments that might arise in the future.” Once again, Jack didn’t respond. The chief superintendent rose from his place. “Good night, Mr. Delaney. I have authorized your immediate release and can only hope you have a pleasant flight home.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Jack, as Renton replaced his cap and left the room.

  Jack had some sympathy with the chief superintendent. After all, the NYPD, not to mention the CIA, rarely bothered to let the FBI know what they were up to. A few moments later, DS Frankham returned.

  “If you’ll accompany me, sir,” he said, “we have a car waiting to take you back to your hotel.”

  “Thank you,” said Jack, as he followed the detective sergeant out of the room and up the stairs into reception.

  The desk sergeant lowered his head as Jack left the building. Jack shook hands with an embarrassed DS Frankham before climbing into a police car that was parked outside the front door. Tom was waiting for him in the back.

  “Just another case study for Quantico to add to its curriculum,” suggested Tom. “This time on how to cause a major diplomatic incident while visiting one’s oldest ally.”

  “I must have brought a new meaning to the words special relationship,” commented Jack.

  “However, the condemned man is to be given a chance to redeem himself,” said Tom.

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Jack.

  “We’ve both been invited to join Lady Arabella and Dr. Petrescu for breakfast at Wentworth Hall tomorrow morning—and by the way, Jack, I see what you mean about Anna.”

  9/22

  42

  JACK EMERGED FROM the Wentworth Arms just after seven thirty to find a Rolls-Royce parked by the entrance. A chauffeur opened the back door the moment he saw him.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said. “Lady Arabella asked me to say how much she is looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Me too,” said Jack, as he climbed into the back.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” the chauffeur assured him, as he drove out of the hotel entrance.

  Half of the journey seemed to Jack to be from the wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the estate along the long drive that led up to the hall. Once the chauffeur had brought the car to a halt, he jumped out and walked around to open the back door. Jack stepped out onto the gravel drive and looked up to see a butler standing on the top step, obviously expecting him.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said, “welcome to Wentworth Hall. If you would be good enough to follow me, Lady Arabella is expecting you.’

  “ ‘A usually reliable source,’ ” muttered Jack, but if the butler did overhear him, he made no comment as he led the guest through to the drawing room.

  “Mr. Delaney, m’lady,” announced the butler, as two dogs, tails wagging, padded forward to greet him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Delaney,” said Arabella. “I think we owe you an apology. You are so obviously not a stalker.”

  Jack stared at Anna, who also looked suitably embarrassed, and then turned toward Tom, who couldn’t remove the grin from his face.

  Andrews reappeared at the door. “Breakfast is ready, m’lady.”

  When she woke a second time, a young doctor was changing the dressing on her shoulder.

  “How long before I’m fully recovered?” was her first question.

  The doctor looked startled when he heard her voice for the first time—such a shrill, piping note didn’t quite fit her legend. He remained silent until he’d finished cutting a length of bandage with his scissors.

  “Three, four days at most,” he replied, looking down at her. “But I wouldn’t be in a hurry to get myself discharged, if I were you, because the moment I sign your release papers, your next stop is Jilava, which I think you’re only too familiar with from your days serving the past regime.”

  Krantz could never forget the barren, stone-walled, rat-infested building that she had visited every night in order to question the latest prisoners before being driven back to the warmth of her well-furnished dacha on the outskirts of the city.

  “I’m told that the inmates are looking forward to seeing you again after such a prolonged absence,” added the doctor. He bent over, peeled an edge from the large dressing on her shoulder, and paused. “This is going to hurt,” he promised, and then in one movement, ripped it off. Krantz didn’t flinch. She wasn’t going to allow him