Page 145 of A Death in Cornwall

“You want to know what I’m doing with Trevor Robinson’s phone?”

Lucinda’s eyes were vacant. “I’m sorry, but I’m not familiar with anyone by that name.”

“That makes two of us,” replied Gabriel, and went out.

***

The Bentley was parked in a loading zone at the southern end of Old Burlington Street. Gabriel slid into the back seat next to Ingrid, and the car rolled away from the curb. The team on Radio 4 was at a loss for words, surely a first in the history of British broadcasting.

“I assume you had something to do with this,” said Christopher.

“It was Lucinda’s idea. I just helped her reach the best decision for the sake of the country.”

“How?”

“By promising her that she would face no charges in the murder of Charlotte Blake.”

Christopher looked at Peel. “Do you think you can manage that, Timothy?”

“That depends on whether or not I still have a job.”

“Not to worry. I’ll explain everything to your chief constable.”

“Everything?”

“Maybe five percent of everything.” Christopher turned into Piccadilly and glanced at Gabriel in the rearview. “Are you quite finished?”

“I certainly hope so. I’m exhausted.”

“What are your plans?”

“The two o’clock British Airways flight to Venice. If it departs on schedule, I’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“I’ll drop you at Heathrow on the way to Exeter. But what about your partner in crime?”

“She’s coming with me.”

Ingrid looked at Gabriel with surprise. “I am?”

“When those documents from Harris Weber are made public, several hundred very rich people are going to be extremely angry, including a few Russians. I think it would be a good idea for you to stay in Venice until the storm blows over. If you can behave yourself, that is.”

Frowning, Ingrid drew her phone. “I’ve always been fond of the Cipriani.”

Gabriel laughed. “Perhaps you should stay with us instead.”

Part Four

The Cottage

59

London

The 1922 Committee of Tory backbenchers convened in Room 14 of the Palace of Westminster at two o’clock that afternoon and in a unanimous voice vote elected former prime minister Jonathan Lancaster the new Conservative Party leader. He met with the King at Buckingham Palace an hour later and at 4:00 p.m. addressed a shell-shocked Britain from the doorstep of 10 Downing Street. He promised competence, stability, and a return to decency. The Whitehall press corps, having just witnessed the most turbulent day in modern British political history, was justifiably dubious.

Inside, Lancaster met for the first time with his hastily assembled Cabinet. Stephen Frasier stayed on at the Foreign Office, but Nigel Cunningham, a brilliant lawyer before entering politics, became the new home secretary. Cunningham’s successor as chancellor of the Exchequer was none other than Hillary Edwards. Her family’s personal possessions, having been extracted from Number Ten earlier that very morning, were carted into her new official residence next door.

The press declared the move a masterstroke on Lancaster’s part, and one prominent columnist from the Telegraph went so far as to predict that a return to normalcy was possible, after all. He was forced to backtrack a few hours later, though, when his colleague Samantha Cooke published another explosive article, this one detailing the size and scope of the plot against Hillary Edwards. The epicenter of the conspiracy was Harris Weber & Company, a little-known law firm that specialized in offshore financial services. But executives from Britain’s largest banks and investment houses, including Lambeth Wealth Management, were also involved. They were motivated by a desire to keep the so-called London Laundromat open for business. So, too, was Valentin Federov. According to the Telegraph, the Russian oligarch had taken part in the scheme at the behest of his president, who had used the London Laundromat to bury tens of billions of dollars in the West.

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