Garden of Lies(85)

“We are assuming that Cobb will make a wrong move and manage to implicate himself,” Ursula said.

“He will make one more mistake,” Slater said.

Otford and Ursula looked at him.

“How can you be so certain of that?” Otford demanded, fascinated.

Slater shrugged. “He is responsible for the murder of a number of people, including a high-ranking gentleman, and at this point he thinks that no one suspects him because his ship does not dock until today. He will very soon be sailing to New York with a beautiful woman who sees him as a knight in shining armor. He’s a crime lord and he’s in the process of building an empire. Trust me, at this moment, he believes he is invincible. That is why he will make his last mistake.”

“If you say so.” Otford slipped his notebook back into his pocket. “I’ll take your word for it. You haven’t been wrong so far. Now I must be off. The police have promised that they will have an announcement for the press at one o’clock at the Yard. There’ll be the usual idle chatter about how much progress they’re making in the search for Fulbrook’s killer, et cetera, et cetera. Nonsense, of course, but my editor will want it for the paper.”

Otford hurried away and disappeared down the hall. Ursula waited until she heard Webster usher him out of the house.

She rose, crossed the room and very quietly shut the door. Turning, she looked at Slater.

“You knew what was going to happen to Fulbrook, even though you warned him,” she said.

Slater got to his feet and went to look out the window at the rain-dampened garden. “It was not a certainty that Fulbrook would end up dead but there was a very high probability that would be the outcome. The pattern was almost entirely clear.”

“Almost?”

“The pattern of the labyrinth is never completely clear until one reaches the center and sees the answer. It’s impossible to factor in every single element of an equation. Logic can be warped or deflected by unpredictable emotions.”

“But in this instance, your logic held.”

Slater turned around to face her. “Because I assumed that Fulbrook would not behave rationally. I knew he would probably panic. I was almost positive that he would go straight home to grab the money that I told him I had left inside the safe.”

“And you knew that Cobb would be watching from the shadows.”

“Cobb does not know his way around London and he is on his own now that his assassin is dead. I very much doubt that he could follow Fulbrook through our busy, occasionally dangerous streets. But he was certain to have Fulbrook’s address. All he had to do was hire a cab to take him to Mapstone Square and wait for Fulbrook to appear.”

Ursula walked across the room and stopped directly in front of him. She raised her hands to his shoulders, stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth across his.

“Fulbrook does not deserve our pity,” she said. “But I am very sorry that you had to walk the labyrinth so far into the darkness to deal with him.”

Slater framed her face with his hands. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For understanding.”

He folded his arms around her and held her close for a long time.





FIFTY-ONE




I’ll wait for ye here, sir.” The driver looked down from the box. “My boy, Tom, will give ye a hand with the crate. I’ll stay with the carriage. This neighborhood looks to be on the shady side.”

Cobb glanced around uneasily. It was nearly midnight. The darkened warehouse loomed in the foggy moonlight. There was no one else in sight and no reason to suspect that anyone had gotten to the drugs. His business in London had been successful, he reminded himself. There had been only the one problem with Hubbard but in the end that had proven manageable. Everything else had gone according to plan.

“We’ll need a lantern,” Cobb said.

“Got one right ’ere, sir,” Tom said.

He grabbed the lantern and vaulted down from the box. A wiry lad of about thirteen or fourteen, he looked strong enough to handle one end of the crate. He was eager to claim the extra tip that Cobb had promised to pay.

“This won’t take long,” Cobb said.

With Tom beside him, he started toward the warehouse entrance. Logic told him that everything was under control but he could not escape the uneasy sensation that had gripped him all day. But it would all be over soon. The Atlantic sailed for New York tomorrow. He and Valerie and the crates of drugs would be on board. One thing was certain, he was never going to pay another visit to London. He detested the damned place.

Tom stopped at the door. “All locked up nice and tight, I see. Reckon whatever you’ve got stored inside must be valuable.”

The curiosity in the boy’s voice sent another shiver of unease through Cobb. What if the boy and his father conspired to murder him and steal the drugs? It was something he would certainly consider if he were in their shoes.

He reminded himself that he had chosen the carriage at random from the long row of cabs waiting in front of the hotel. There was no possibility that Tom and his father knew who he was or what he intended.

“The crates we’re picking up tonight contain some fabric samples that I’m taking back to New York,” he said.

“Fabric, eh?” Tom’s enthusiasm faded. “Probably just as well ye locked up the goods. There’s people who’ll steal anything, even fabric samples. My pa says the world is a dangerous place for an honest man.”