ONCE BITTEN

SEVEN: JENNA TALIA

Inspector Bitten sat in his office swotting over the Times, when on July the 24th, when Constable Wilk entered his office to inform his boss that a somewhat wild-eyed young man wished to speak to him on a matter of the utmost urgency.

Setting on one side his newspaper, Bitten assented and, a moment later, an adult male in an usher's outfit burst into the room.

"Detective Inspector."

He began, voice tremulous.

"There has been some terrible incident at the Corn Exchange."

Bitten exclaimed.

The young man blinked.

Bitten continued.

"Some horrible crime been committed in the last thirty minutes or so, the theft of an impossibly precious bauble, and, yes, a murder. The perpetrator is unidentified, and the boss is terrified that the scandal could tarnish the reputation of the Corn Exchange beyond any salvation. You were dispatched to beg for my immediate assistance, and given use of a hansom do so, in which you hope to whisk me back forthwith. The manager will provide me with all salient information upon my arrival, but little else you can tell me. Did I neglect any important detail?"

The bellboy stared at him, eyes bulging, a little like those of an unfortunate cod.

Bitten pursed his lips.

"I have been reading about the display of the Star of Sharif, sir, recognize the essentials of your sash and kerchief. It is a small leap to attribute your horrified presence to is theft, and the colour of your skin upon entry made the mortal gravity of the situation clear. Your shoes are far too clean to have run here."

He paused, in vain, for the chap to say something.

"Yes, we will, of course return with you. Lead the way."

Wilk patted the young man on the shoulder.

"Come, sir. Your employer is waiting."

Visibly pulling himself together, the attendant nodded jerkily.

"Thank you, Detective Inspector, sir."

He looked around nervously.

"This way, sir."

They followed the character out-of-doors and into a lavishly upholstered carriage with the mark of the Corn Exchange embossed upon its door. Traffic stayed light, it being close to 9 p.m., and they made good time into the heart of the West End.

The Corn Exchange is a well-regarded establishment built in the Regency. The front attractively garnished with pillars, and the lines of the roof offset with a tasteful portico and pediment in a linear baroque style. The effect somewhat marred by a tall, thin man pacing anxiously back and forth just beyond the roped entranceway.

They alighted the carriage and the usher introduced them to Mr Morrison, the pale, unhappy manager of the Corn Exchange.

"Thank you so much for coming."

Morrison began.

"I'm hardly sure where to begin. We hosted a demonstration this evening of the Star of Sharif, arranged by Lady Jenna Talia, held the stone in our ballroom. She invited a selection of gusts and displayed the stone in our ballroom. After the event, she retired to the salon, where she shared drinks with a handful of particular friends. After they left, she remained in the salon for a light supper and was found dead when the food arrived to be served. The Star is gone and the murderer with it. The killer left behind the murder weapon, discarded by the side door. The room is sealed and everything untouched. It is my sincere hope you help us, Detective Inspector. This event could ruin the Corn Exchange if it is not resolved swiftly and sensitively."

"You found the weapon."

Bitten said thoughtfully.

"Yes, indeed. A thin dagger of a particularly nasty sort."

"Please show me."

Morrison accompanied them into the main access and forum region, and through a generous ballroom set up for viewing and light refreshments. A door at the back of the room led to a well-decorated hallway with a few other doors leading off it.

They walked along the length of this hallway to a heavy oak door furnished with massively thick hinges, a sturdy-pull handle, and a heavy security bar, which could be stretched out into the wall. The bar was fully retracted.

On the carpet, beneath the handle, a slim stiletto dagger, which appeared to be cast from a single piece of steel, the pommel thread-wrapped. Fresh blood glistened along the length of the blade.

"The killer fled out of the alley alongside the building from here."

Morrison said.

"This is the only exit from the Corn Exchange that is not continually manned."

Bitten frowned.

"Are the other suites in use tonight that are accessed from this corridor?"

"No. The restaurant and lounge are both in uses, but they are on the other side of the kitchens. Sir Charles's was the only salon occupied."

"And I trust you ensured that your staff are still in the building?"

Morrison nodded.

"Good."

Bitten nodded.

"Then the killer and the Star of Sharif are in, all probability, still within your establishment."

"I don't understand, Inspector."

Morrison exclaimed.

"Ask yourself, Mr Morrison, precisely what the killer might have to gain by dropping his weapon here, inside the door, rather than leaving it in the corpse, or taking it for secure disposal somewhere distant, or even just dropping it out of sight in the alley. Only one feasible answer, to pick this out in your thoughts. But we need not rely on logic alone. The knife is directly below the handle, and the door opens inwards, as the hinges attest. If the knife had been dropped and the door then opened, the knife would end up in the middle of the floor, or even against the far wall. The only way to get the knife to say just below the handle like that is to place it on the floor and then not use the door at all."

ii

The salon in which Lady Jenna had been murdered turned out to behind one of the doors off the corridor they had been standing in. The door in question appeared to be a decorated teak affair with a polished bronze handle, and it bore an illustrated plaque, which declared it to be, 'THE EMPIRE ROOM'.

"How many salons like this one do you have?"

Bitten asked Morrison, as the man fiddled with a bunch of keys.

"Six."

"So, three are accessed form the other half of the building, via the restaurant and lounge."

Bitten said.

"One of the other rooms off this corridor is a store of some sort, probably cleaning merchandise, and the fifth is a lavatory, primarily for staff."

Morrison looked at Bitten curiously, but nodded.

"Yes, that's right."

"In that case, access to the corridor is either from the alley, the kitchens or the ballroom. Very well. When Lady Jenna retired to her salon with her chosen companion, the other guests departed."

"Over the next half an hour or so, yes. I had the staff begin putting the ballroom back in order, and Lady Jenna Talia's friends, four of them, all men, left shortly after eight o'clock. We make sure staff are available to escort visitors back out, to ensure they find their way without any disturbing incidents. After they departed, Lady Jenna Talia put in her dinner and asked for some time to reflect until that was prepared."

"How long was Lady Jenna alone?"

"She was discovered by one of the cooks a little before half past eight...so twenty-five minutes or so."

Bitten nodded.

"And the door has been locked in the hour since then?"

"Yes."

Morrison said.

"I have the key, and I also gathered the floor manager's key and the supervisor's key. A police constable asked to be shown the room, then commended me on sealing it and told me to close it back up until you arrived."

"Excellent work."

Bitten assured him.

"Your perspicacity will prove a boon, I am certain. May we see the room before Doctor Loup? You need not fear that we will cause any disturbance to the scene."

"Of course, of course."

Morrison said, and unlocked the door, pulled it open and stood aside. Bitten stepped inside the room and Wilk went up to the doorway.

The smell of blood and death was overpowering. Lady Jenna's throat was severed by two deep tears, one of which completely severed all the tissue down to the vertebrae. Her v****a had been slashed twice, and the lower part of her abdomen partly ripped open by a deep, jagged wound, causing her bowels to protrude. There were several other slashes inflicted to both sides of her abdomen; each of these wounds inflicted in a downward thrusting manner.

Death would have been swift and mostly silent. The body lay on the floor, in a large pool of blood that, by this time, would be extremely sticky.

Bitten forced his eyes away from the dead woman and looked around the rest of the room. It would have been a comfortable and pleasant environment. A pair of long, handsomely upholstered sofas of green leather sat at right angles towards one corner of the room, and a standard lamp behind them.

Teal cushions helped to soften them up a little.

An extensive coffee table made of a light wood placed to service Lady Jenna and her companion and held a full decanter of ruby port, reminiscent of a jug of the sort one might associate with Greeks or pirates but cut from crystal or fine glass.

Matching armchairs at the other two sides of the table gave the grouping an overall effect of intimacy and relaxation. A reading chair remained positioned across the room, between a bookcase on one side and a writing table with stood on the other.

A bouquet of cut flowers in a decorative vase dominating the writing table. Between the two area, a fire burned merrily, well fueled from its coal-scuttle, and a print of huntsmen and hounds hung above it. Matching port glasses were scattered across the coffee table, half a dozen or so, all showing signs of use.

One appeared to be still half full, the others less so. The writing desk held a set of small compartments for supplies but, otherwise, no cupboards, drawers or other nooks or crannies, Bitten could identify.

"Note the valise, Wilk."

Bitten said.

The case in question appeared to be a sturdy-looking affair of brown leather, sitting on the floor next to an armchair. It was open, and quite empty. Wilk nodded to his mentor.

Bitten picked his way around the room peering at details.

"Mr Morrison, what can you tell me of the Star of Sharif?"

"It's a magnificent thing."

Morrison said unhappily.

"Valuable. It's a ruby of exceptional size and lustre, a deep red and glorious red, almost the same colour as, well, blood but with a purity that has to be seen to be believed. It is a big as a small child's clenched fist, and its surface is smoother than one would deem possible in a gem of such a size. I seemed to recall Lady Jenna saying that it had been discovered Gervase of Tilbury during the twelfth century. Apparently, he enjoyed the favour of Henry II of England and later of Henry's grandson, Emperor Otto IV who was later one of two rival kings of Germany."

"Gervase was an early source for belief in this ability or affliction, of transformations occurring on the night of a full moon."

Bitten whispered to Wilk.

"Giving a human the wherewithal to shape shift into a wolf."

Wilk nodded in understanding.

"It had come into her possession from the estate of a French museum that had fallen on hard times."

Morrison went on.

"Mainly because to the curator's lust for expensive prostitutes. She had been dreadfully proud of it. I suppose it will vanish now, perhaps to surface some time next century in the hands of a wealthy Russian or some such."

"On the contrary."

Bitten said.

"The Star of Sharif is in this room."

"What?"

"How many port glasses do you count?"

"Five."

Morrison said.

"Exactly. All have been used, clearly. And yet the decanter is quite full. Is that because it was replaced after a few drinks with another entire one, despite Lady Jenna asking for some quiet? Not at all. Because the Star is within it, pushing the level up, functionally invisible inside the liquid, due to its smoothness and clarity."

iiI

They retreated from the salon and Bitten encouraged the thunderstruck manager of the Corn Exchange to lock the door behind them.

"But..."

Morrison said weakly.

"Permit the police to do the actual physical verification and take the stone into their custody."

Bitten said.

"You wouldn't want to be struck down by the murderer now would you. I give you my word that it is in that decanter"

Morrison nodded, looking a little queasy, and locked the door.

"I recommend that you get a pair of staff from the restaurant or lounge bar, ones who you can be comfortable have had no business with this side of the building tonight, to wait together outside this door until my team turn up. Tell that only the constable asked you to be certain the room remained undisturbed."

"Yes."

Morrison said.

"I shall do this now. Will you wait here?"

"Of course."

Bitten assured him.

He bustled off, and Bitten and Wilk waited in thoughtful silence, at most, before the manager returned with a pair of men in tow, by their look a sommelier and a bartender. He instructed them as Bitten had directed, then gave them a long stare, before moving Bitten and Wilk off down the corridor.

"They're excellent men."

Morrison said.

"And everyone thinks that the Star and the killer are long gone."

"Capital."

Bitten replied.

"Tell me, how closely observed are your staff during their execution of their duties?"

"I keep an eye on things, of course. But we don't watch everybody for every instant. Even if it were practicable, that would be intrusive and lead to bad feelings."

"I assume, some staff are in one location for extended periods of time."

"Of course. The entrance hall has a pair of receptionists and a doorman, who are there throughout opening hours. The kitchen staff numbers half a dozen besides the chef, and they are for a similar time. Some of them may occasionally go to a pantry or ice room, but only briefly. Plus, there's the poor chap who found the body, but he'd been the kitchen until then."

"What about the ballroom?"

"The waiters and assistants are on call in the restaurant and ballroom when those locations are in use, and the lounge bar's bartenders stay in place. Floor managers are used for those three locations, who also stay in their assigned area unless trouble arises, but they barely have leisure to observe the comings and goings of the staff."

Over the next ten minutes, Bitten and Wilk spoke to all three of the entrance staff, the chef and four of the junior cooks. All were confident that no strangers had sneaked past them, and that none of the staff from the public side of the Corn Exchange, had crossed over to the ballroom side during the night.

The suggestion from several of them, to Morrison's evident dismay, was that there had been a certain rivalry between public and private sides, which would make such a thing at least mildly noteworthy.

The floor manager of the ballroom, Richard, who had been in the room since 4 p.m., and there still, confirmed wearily that only Lady Jenna's salon, the Empire Room, had been open that evening, and that her small group of friends had been the last of the guests to leave.

He remained certain that no other guest or outsider had been through the room since.

Once they had gathered these testimonials, Bitten took Morrison and Wilk aside.

"The only people in a position to have accessed to Lady Jenna and the salon would be those waiters and other staff who were working in this side of the building but were not restricted to the ballroom."

"I'll see if Richard can specify who definitely stayed in the room this evening."

Morrison said stiffly. He went to speak with the man and came back a minute or so later.

"He is able to rule out two staff for certain. That leaves five people. But surely you don't think that..."

"Would you have those five assemble in here, sir?"

Bitten said.

"I will speak with each in turn."

Looking uncomfortable, the manager left. Bitten claimed an empty table that had yet to be put away and arranged the chairs so that he and Wilk could sit on one side, facing the third party.

"Do you think our killer is amongst these men, sir?"

Wilk asked Bitten.

"I'm not sure Constable. We have been outwitted at every turn. This all seems too easy."

Once the men were assembled on the other side of the ballroom, Wilk went to bring them over.

The first, a chunky man in his thirties, dressed much like the usher who had first roused us from Scotland Yard that evening.

My name is Ian Weaver."

He told them.

"I'm a porter and a dog's body really. From seven to nine, I dealt with coats and cases in the cloakroom...No, on my own... Yes, I did leave my post for one period... A lad came from the local florists, with a dozen red roses for Lady Jenna, to be delivered to the Empire Room... At seven twenty-five, maybe? I sent him down the alley and went round the side to collect it, and popped it in there. I'm not sure what time... Yes, of course, I bolted the side door afterwards...I'm certain...No, I don't suppose anyone could verify it. I didn't see anyone else."

The second fellow happened to be another porter, younger than slimmer than the last, with quite a pleasant expression.

"Tim Rankin."

He introduced himself.

"Between half seven and half eight? I remained out for the whole time, actually. Not been near the Empire Room all night. I went to Covent Garden to pick up a case of brandies because we'd run out... Hermitages, I went...I suppose they will tell you I left at seven forty-five. It took a while for me to haul it back... Yes, about an hour to do a mile. What of it. A case of good liquor is heavy, you know."

After the porters, they moved on to waiters. The first of these Gareth Moore, an elegant man in his late twenties with a carefully maintained moustache.

"I worked the ballroom tonight. I didn't have any contact with Empire Room this evening; that would be Peter...I seemed to be in out of the ballroom constantly until seven forty-five or so, circulating with trays of assorted canapés and drinks from the kitchen. After that, I tidied up in here, taking dishes and glasses back to the kitchen, clearing the tables and so on."

The second waiter introduce himself as Daniel Simmons, slender man his mid-twenties, with fashionable hair.

"I've been in the ballroom non-stop since six or so, when the reception kicked off. Peter dealt with the Empire Room, so I haven't been back there all evening. Good thing too, roses make me sneeze something awful...I helped Gareth with circulating the trays. He likes getting his moment of peace to go and fetch stuff from the kitchen, so leave that side of it to him. I get enough walking just looking after the guests."

The final waiter on the list turned out to be the youngest, just out of his teenage years, a slow-talking chap by the name of Peter Fleming.

"Here in the ballroom, just a little before half seven, just looking after the guests. Then I went up the Empire Room, laid on the port Lady Jenna wanted and escorted him and his friends in there. One wanted a brand of cigar, and then another needed something from his coat, so they kept me running around for a bit. I showed them back out a little after eight, took a dinner order for Lady Jenna and left her to it. I dropped off the order, fetched some bits and pieces from the vegetable cellar for the cooks and had a cuppa."

Once they had dismissed the last fellow, Bitten looked at me expectantly.

"I've got no idea, sir."

Wilk confessed.

"None of them seem to have a decent alibi, sir. It could be any of them."

"Wilk, you haven't been paying attention."

Bitten said, eyes twinkling.

"Our suspect is perfectly obvious."

"Not to me, it isn't sir?"

Bitten smiled.

"Mr Weaver took the bouquet from the side door to salon at seven fifteen. If Mr Simmons had not been into the Empire Room all evening, not even left the ballroom, how did he know of the presence of the roses. Arrest Mr Simmons at once for further questioning."