CHAPTER THREE
As the high-pitch scream echoed throughout the penthouse apartment, the grandfather clock in the foyer stuck one. All at once, Bambi’s guests—ever the fans of the dramatic—flew towards the source.
Ross and Larcombe waded through the group of curious spectators and emerged to a chaotic scene. Two of the waitstaff held back a squirming bearded man. He was kicking out with his feet, almost connecting with the kitchen island bench in his frenzy. A teary-eyed Pudgy Vanessa, Bambi’s housekeeper, was leaning against Chef Murray as he fanned her flushed face.
‘That’s the stalker!’ Bambi’s friend Trepheena Plum cried at Ross and Larcombe, pointing at the outsider.
‘The name’s Pound, toots,’ the bearded man replied, shoving the two men holding him with his shoulders. ‘Let go of me!’
By now, Police Commissioner Loeman, Officer Faversham and Officer Gillies had made their way to stand next to the PIs.
‘What in God’s name is happening now?’ the Police Commissioner asked.
‘I opened the butler’s pantry,’ Pudgy explained, ‘and found him hiding in the shadows behind the spices.’
Murmurs flickered through the crowd. The Police Commissioner nodded at the two officers, who then took the intruder off the hands of the waitstaff.
Bambi pushed a few people out of the way to get to the front. Despite being incredibly frazzled, Bambi looked a million dollars.
‘Mickey? Seriously?’ she said, shaking her head as the officers cuffed him. ‘I told you, you are not welcome here.’
‘All right everyone, that’s enough,’ the Police Commissioner called out to the crowd. ‘Everyone, please head back to the living room.’
‘When can we leave?’ someone called out as the guests dispersed out of the kitchen doorway.
‘Soon,’ the Police Commissioner said, eyeing off Pound. ‘Soon.’
‘Let’s get him to the guest bedroom,’ Ross said.
‘I’ll go anywhere with you, sugar,’ Pound said, wriggling his thick eyebrows.
***
Bambi and her husband Henri High waited by the door as the two officers cuffed Pound to the rocking chair. He swung back and forth a bit, before settling. Ross, Larcombe and Loeman stood in front of him. The room was eerily silent until the Police Commissioner spoke.
‘Any reason you’re stalking Ms Bomb?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Pound said. He looked at Bambi. ‘She’s the one obsessed with me.’
‘Says the stalker,’ Larcombe muttered. Ross smirked.
‘Let me rephrase,’ Loeman said, looking over at Larcombe with a face that screamed you’re not helping. ‘There’s been multiple reports that you are turning up uninvited to see and follow Ms Bomb.’
Pound shrugged as best he could with his hands cuffed to a rocking chair. He swayed slightly.
‘And?’
‘And that’s illegal,’ Larcombe said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Pound replied, ‘but you’re talking to me like I’m going to change my behaviour.’
‘I don’t see us getting anywhere with this guy,’ Ross said. ‘I say remove him.’
‘Wait,’ Pound called out, his hands straining against the cold cuffs. ‘What if I had some bargaining information of interest?’
‘What information would that be?’ Loeman asked, clearly uninterested.
Pound huffed, ‘I’m not just gonna give it up for free.’
Police Commissioner Loeman took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his temple. He was clearly having a bad evening.
‘What do you want?’
Pound smiled, his yellow teeth blending in with his strawberry blonde beard. ‘Drop all the charges.’
‘You haven’t been charged with anything yet, Mr Pound,’ Ross said.
Pound’s thick brows furrowed. ‘Well, then why am I cuffed?’
Bambi piped up, ‘For starters, hiding in my pantry!’
‘And trying to attack the waitstaff tells me you’ve got a violent streak,’ Loeman added.
‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Pound replied.
‘And we’ve got a missing painting on our hands. I don’t believe in coincidences—’
‘I do!’ Officer Faversham interrupted. Everyone turned to him, and he immediately blushed. ‘Sorry.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ Loeman started again, ‘so something tells me that you know a little more then you’re letting on.’
Pound paused, visibly weighing up his options. Suspenseful seconds passed before he replied, ‘I might know something about the painting …’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I’d feel safer if Bambi wasn’t in the room.’
Bambi started laughing. When only Larcombe joined in, she stopped.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ she said.
‘The information is about her,’ Pound said to the Police Commissioner.
‘But … you were hiding in her kitchen and …’ Larcombe started saying, confused. Ross placed a hand on Larcombe’s shoulder, and he stopped speaking.
‘Well, that’s only technically true,’ Pound responded.
The Police Commissioner sighed, giving in. ‘Bambi, do you mind excusing us?’
Everyone in the room turned to Bambi and Henri, still lingering in the hallway.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Bambi muttered and stormed off.
‘You too, Mr High.’
Henri had stayed back for most of this exchange, appearing almost bored. He came to at the mention of his name.
‘Very well. We’ll be in the parlour,’ he said, closing the door behind him.
‘So, you’ve got a captivated audience now,’ Loeman said. ‘What’s your so-called bargaining information?’
‘Bambi,’ Pound said. ‘As you can imagine, I know her quite well.’
‘Sure,’ Larcombe said.
‘I can’t deny that she’s been robbed. But there’s a little more to it.’
‘About the painting?’ Larcombe asked.
‘Oh yeah,’ Pound said. ‘A painting has been stolen but think about the why.’
‘You’ve got my attention,’ the Police Commissioner said.
Pound smiled. ‘Strap yourselves in.’
***
The PIs and the Police Commissioner stood in the hallway, thinking. Ross puffed on a cigarette. Pound remained guarded by Faversham and Gillies.
‘Well. Do we believe him?’ Larcombe asked.
‘That’s a hell of an accusation if we do,’ said the Police Commissioner.
‘I don’t trust him,’ Ross said, shaking her head. ‘I feel like he’s the type to say anything to stay out of jail.’
‘We all agree Lofty is eccentric,’ Larcombe said, ‘but is he …’
‘Insane?’ Loeman asked.
‘A murderer?’ Ross said, blowing out cigarette smoke.
‘He’s both,’ replied a voice out of the darkness. Henri High wandered out of the shadows, a martini in hand despite the party being more than over. ‘It’s time we had a talk,’ he said. He took a sip of his drink and looked at the three investigators. ‘I think we can all agree that Lofty Robinson, the painter, likes to take things a little too far.’
‘We’ve gathered,’ Larcombe said.
‘And, as Mickey Pound has no doubt told you … there’s a reason his paintings are so sought after.’
‘If you know something, Mr High, now is the time to speak,’ Ross said.
He nodded. ‘Have you heard of the Clandestine Council?’
‘Only rumours,’ Ross replied. She looked at Larcombe and Loeman. ‘It’s a meeting of the city’s elite. They sell black market goods to those who are willing to pay the price. Anything from jewels to body parts to stolen paintings.’
‘It’s true, not a rumour,’ said Henri, ‘and I know your next question: how would I know about these illegal dealings? Well, you don’t get to be part of high society in these streets without a little bit of wheeling and dealing. But, before I go on, I want you all to promise me something.’
‘What’s that?’ Loeman asked.
‘Immunity and I’ll tell you everything I know.’
Ross and Larcombe didn’t speak—this was out of their territory. The Police Commissioner finally nodded.
‘This night couldn’t get any weirder,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Deal.’
‘Excellent,’ Henri said.
‘Pound made some relatively outlandish accusations about the paintings,’ Ross interjected.
‘That they’re made of human flesh? Ground bone, fresh organs, thick blooded paste?’ Henri asked, unfazed by the ghastly accusations. ‘It’s unfortunate, but it’s true.’
A moment passed as the information hung in the corridor air. Unspoken, Ross and Larcombe let the Police Commissioner take charge of the scene. Loeman knocked on the closed bedroom door and Officer Gillies stuck his head out.
‘I need you to discreetly stand guard in the living room,’ he said. ‘Don’t let Mr Robinson out of your sight.’
Officer Gillies nodded and wordlessly headed down the hallway.
‘We should go somewhere more private,’ Ross suggested.
Together, the group headed to the library. Larcombe made sure that the door was securely shut; he glanced up at where the painting once sat on the wall and shivered.
Henri had interpreted this as his moment and wouldn’t stop talking.
‘I mean, I’ve been to my fair share of Clandestine Council meetings,’ he said. Ross offered him a cigarette, which he took. ‘But everything changed when I took my bride one summer’s evening. Of course, having such an eye for the outrageous, she spots one of Lofty’s paintings immediately and she’—cue Henri’s jazz hands—‘must have it. In hindsight, I didn’t realise introducing those two would have been the end of our own love affair.’
‘Lofty and Bambi?’ Larcombe asked, his eyes wide. ‘Together?’
‘They fooled you, didn’t they? I’ve known for a while now. All those late nights roused suspicion, so I had Pound to do a little investigating for me. Turns out, he’s not worth the money he advertises for so-called secrecy. Bambi noticed him and got in her head he was stalking her.’ Henri blew out cigarette smoke and downed the rest of his drink. ‘Narcissists,’ he sighed, ‘what can you do?’
‘I’ll let that one slide,’ Larcombe muttered. A little louder, he continued, ‘We were under the impression that you bought the painting for Bambi, that she never even wanted it.’
‘A lie. She is an actress, you know.’ Henri ate the final olive from his martini.
Ross turned her back on the three men and walked over to where the painting had hung. She ran a finger along the mantle.
‘When did you find out about the origins of the paintings?’ Ross asked, back still turned.
‘A letter. From Lofty to Bambi. A love letter.’
‘May we see it?’
‘Of course. I keep it on my person.’ Henri conveniently reached into his jacket pocket and removed a neatly folded piece of paper. Larcombe took the note and handed it straight to Ross. The contents of the letter detailed expressions of love and escapades. At the bottom, a tacked-on paragraph meticulously graphed a series of gruesome murders, seemingly committed by Lofty.
Ross gave the letter to the Police Commissioner.
‘The theatrical Lofty Robinson murdered underprivileged people,’ she said.
‘Those who were down and out, yes,’ Henri replied. ‘Claimed no one would miss them and they haven’t, even now. Nothing says nobility more than having a painting of the poor.’ He laughed. ‘Literally. And, of course, only a select few would know your secret. Is that not what drives us all deep down?’
Larcombe looked visibly disturbed.
‘So, who stole the painting?’ Ross asked.
‘That I don’t know,’ Henri replied, picking his teeth with his martini’s toothpick. ‘Maybe Bambi wanted to get rid of the evidence. Maybe it was Lofty. He does love attention.’
As this exchange played out between the PIs and Henri High, Police Commissioner Loeman was quietly shaking, balling his fists tightly, sweat gathering on his brow. After all, this had been happening under his watch.
‘Well, what do you want to do, Police Commissioner?’ Larcombe finally asked.
Loeman’s voice was stern when he finally spoke. ‘First things first. I think we need to remove Pound from this situation. For now, he’s going to be charged with stalking and breaking and entering. Regardless of whether those charges stick, I want him down at the station to ask a few more follow-up questions. You two,’ Loeman pointed at Ross and Larcombe, and then at Henri High. ‘Watch him.’
The Police Commissioner opened the library door and left.
Henri cringed, ‘Bit of a mess, hey?’ He tried to hand Larcombe his empty glass, but Larcombe wouldn’t take it.
Ross filled the silence that followed. ‘You said you hired Mickey Pound. Is he a Private Investigator?’
Henri shrugged, ‘Yeah.’
‘That’s funny,’ she said, looking out the open library door to watch Officer Faversham and Loeman walk Mickey Pound down the hallway, still in cuffs. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’
Private Eyes: Flesh and Bone is written by Olivia Hides and will be published serially throughout the year. Flesh and Bone is a prequel to the Private Eyes novel series. Olivia has previously published Orbitus and Clouds Behind the Moon on the Antithesis Journal Blog.