Murder investigations shouldn’t go like this. Pascal Hunter is possessing the lovely body of Simza Gray. She hopes to solve the case before the woman’s thoughts and feelings completely overwhelm her. Some of those feelings are towards her new fiance. The rest of the family, and their staff, resent her presence. She is hoping her partner, the eternal ten-year-old Brynn, has better luck than she has had.

PART FOUR

DARK TURNS

The pouring rain put paid to Pascal’s walk through the gardens. She walked around the inner courtyard instead so she could see the gardens without getting soaked. The afternoon walks were supposed to be part of her cover, a way to meet with Brynn. To her surprise, she found out she liked them.

At least the rains should keep the mosquitos down. She wasn’t sure if she’d gotten attacked in the stables or the gardens, but she needed to watch out. Her arms and chest itched and distracted her from thinking about what she’d learned. And she’d learned a lot by finally comparing notes with Brynn.

While they hadn’t yet met in the gardens, she finally did meet up with Brynn. He’d been busy and made excellent progress learning about the servants’ involvement in the murder. He’d found out more than she had about Yakim. It almost made up for his not-quite-as-subtle-as-he-thought leers.

Brynn did get her to laugh at her situation. “A dead mad engaged to a murderer. That’ll be a real killer wedding.”

Her partner could be annoying at times - all the time, really - but he never failed to find humor in his situation. She needed that.

Not that she could let him get in the last barb. She could see the fear in his eyes as they got closer to the kitchen and she took unjustified delight in it. When she heard the cook yelling for him, she needled, “You know, I think my glass had a spot on it this morning. Maybe I should have a word with her.”

Now on her own, she tried to work through the possibilities. The knew of three people out unusually late on the night of the murder. Of the three, Andrei was the least likely suspect. She was oddly cheered by that thought. He came back a bit too late to be the killer. It would also be surprising to hunt poachers right before a murder.

Yakim and Larisa had the timing, but going out on a date beforehand is a poor setup for a killing. By all accounts Larisa set up the outing, so Yakim was the less likely killer of the pair.

She’d pored over the information in her head again and again. Finally deciding she didn’t have enough to pin the crime on anyone, she turned to clearing Yakim. There was a piece of evidence she hadn’t seen yet. It was time.

Paz sought out the butler.

Feodor Illyitch, if you have a moment?” she asked.

“Of course, Miss Gray. I hope this does not concern the same matter as this morning,” he said gravely.

“Then you will be disappointed,” she answered with what she hoped was a disarming grin. A twitch of his eyebrow was her answer, but she’d take amusement over contempt any day.

“I would like to see the murder weapon,” she almost whispered. He had to lean over to hear her.

“What? There is no weapon.”

“The blanket. That’s the weapon in this case. The piece that was cut out too, if you have it.”

“Miss Gray, I do not know what has brought on this obsession between you and Lady Sofiya. I will not encourage it or–”

“It wasn’t Andrei,” she interrupted.

“Excuse me,” he huffed.

“He wasn’t in his room the night of the murders. But he wasn’t involved. He was hunting poachers on the grounds. Roman Ivanov can vouch for it. He went straight to his bed after stabling his horse. Too late to have done anything,” she continued speaking softly. It wasn’t strictly true. Andrei had just enough time, but misleading is not the same as lying. “That’s what you were worried about, wasn’t it?”

The butler looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole. He screwed up his face, finally relaxed and breathed out. “Of course not Miss Gray, of course not. There was never any question at all. I don’t understand what you hope to gain by seeing Lord Pankov’s blanket, but we have kept it, of course. Our gendarmes are fully satisfied, but the authorities in Katerinaburg will want to review their findings.”

Pascal took note of that, she had the name of a city where they went. The Carrabach’s request had proven simple since everyone treated her as a native. They attached to another shard when they left Fall of Night. Since she hadn’t seen any equipment to harvest or dry tobacco, she assumed they bought it there. They kept their secret through isolation. Everyone was motivated to hide it through fear of an attack. Coming to Brodjach through Battlefield was almost poetic.

Without another word, the butler led her up the stairs to one of the towers. They were dark and cold with bare stone along the walls. The stairs were clean and dust free but largely undecorated. The towers may never have been used for defense, but they found another function. The large open areas intended to store weaponry and food for the tower watch were now storing seasonal furniture for the rest of the house.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the quilt and she could not hide her excitement. Mr. Menschikov watched her with worry, not fully aware of what he’d gotten into. He’d expected the girl to shrink back from the sight of the death cloth or to be disappointed with its very ordinariness. Instead he got a misplaced eagerness.

The quilt was thick and soft. The stitching was superb, the stuffing even and airy. It was done in blues and grays, alternating stripes that got darker on one side.

“The cut is down–” the butler started.

“One moment,” she interrupted, stepping back. “This is larger than the bed by quite a bit. How much of the quilt was tucked under the foot?”

Mr. Menschikov was openly surprised. For the first time, he was also impressed. “The top of the blanket is kept one foot from the headboard,” he responded evenly, and Paz was sure that he meant that to the inch. “With this blanket, the last two feet fold under the mattress.”

“This is straight and unwrinkled. Did you have it aired out after Lord Pankov died?”

The butler was impressed again. “No. We left it alone until the gendarmes arrived. They told us to store it until we get back home. We will, of course, destroy it after that unless the authorities decide to keep it for themselves. It will not be used again.”

She continued peering at the blanket but her gaze dropped to the bottom, where a piece had been cut.

“So, this corner would normally be folded under the foot of the bed?”

“Not as such, no,” he answered gruffly. “This would be at the side, hanging down. It was visible when Yakim brought me to the room in the morning. I’m embarrassed to admit I did not notice until the inspector pointed it out.”

She turned her head to look at the butler, “Did Yakim bring in anyone else before you?”

He shook his head. Of course not. I did not, at the time, suspect him of any harm.”

“Nor should you have,” she responded. “Did you look closely at the cut?”

He drew closer, almost touching her as he leaned over her shoulder to look at the roughly square piece cut from the cloth. “It looks just like it did earlier.”

Paz smiled, “How was it cut? Look at the hanging threads, pulled here at the edge. Look at the corner of the cut, rounded.”

“Yes?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

“This was cut with a knife, a hunting knife probably. From the corner, I’d say at least a six inch blade.”

The butler scrunched his eyes quizzically. “I see. Yes. But what does that–”

“Yakim was a valet, no? When Gennady was helping Boris this morning, he had a kit with him. It’s a leather pouch, about this big. I’ve never seen him without it. Now, I assume that Yakim had a similar kit on him. He wouldn’t have a big knife in his kit. But he would have a good, sharp pair of scissors. Wouldn’t that be true for Yakim as well?”

His eyes widened in revelation. “It would. He would have made a much cleaner cut.” He paused. “Unless he were trying to disguise who did it.”

Paz waved her hand dismissively, “True. This doesn’t prove he’s not the killer. It is evidence in his favor. It is, I would hope, reason to report to the police– the gendarmes.”

“Yes. Yes.” Growing in strength, “Yes it is. Miss Gray, thank you. I will inform Lord Boris and Lady Pankov this evening. I am certain they will write on his behalf, and perhaps he might be released from holding at least.” After a slightly awkward pause, he added, “If I might ask a favor, may I keep this a secret from the rest of staff? I do not wish to raise hopes prematurely; Yakim had many friends.”

“If you think that best, of course.”

“I hope we will be able to bring them better news soon, Miss Gray.” He looked her in the eyes, which involved looking down quite far, but this time it was friendly, “Lord Andrei was, I think, most fortunate to find you.”

- ♇ -

Pascal didn’t like fishing. She considered it the most mind-numbing sport she’d ever come across. Its only redeeming feature was that it was a good excuse to drink, but that’s not an issue when you own a bar. She developed her dislike of fishing before she’d encountered needlework. It had all the tedium without the side benefit. No drinking. Unless you count tea.

She didn’t.

Sofiya overheard Feodor Illyitch telling Boris that he had new evidence to present to the gendarmes, and she wanted to know what was going on. She gently but firmly suggested they find some time to get together. As a result, Pascal found herself in the sewing room trying to make her stitches resemble flowers more than colorful blotches. The only consolation she could take was that she largely avoided sticking herself with the needle.

“Boris refuses to write to the gendarmes,” Sofiya complained. “Fedya is convinced we could get Yakim out of prison, at least, but my brother won’t have any part of it. Mother backs him up– Ha, she probably told Boris his opinion. I told them it wasn’t Yakim from the beginning, and now Boris will let him rot in prison just to spite me.” The woman was bitter.

“No,” Pascal responded. “That’s not fair to Boris. We’ve gotten a reason to question Yakim’s guilt, not enough to clear him. He probably would have cut the blanket with his scissors rather than a knife, but that’s just not proof. Oh, I’m sure the gendarmes would release him if your brother asked them to, but I can’t fault him for not doing it. I’m not entirely sold either.”

Her bug bites had gotten worse overnight and she had to hold herself back from scratching in front of Sofiya. She had to stop reviewing the case to ask, “I’m sorry, do you know if Simza is allergic to anything? I’ve been developing a terrible rash.”

While she was not happy with the change of subject, Sofiya had enough concern to answer “We have a doctor on staff, Dr. Rogov. You should see him. Andrei never mentioned it if you have any allergies, but he might know.” With a slight grin, she said, “You’ll need to watch out the day after tomorrow. We serve my father’s favorite dinner for the last time. It’s snake,” she grimaced. “If you’re allergic to anything, it’ll be that.”

Paz had eaten far worse, but still frowned in sympathy with Sofiya’s clear dislike. “I’ll watch out, thanks.”

“So you’re still not sure that Yakim is innocent,” Sofiya insisted, bringing things back to the case.

“No, I’m pretty sure. I think you were right, but I can’t prove it,” she said. “The timing is wrong. Yakim left the house that evening without knowing when he would be back. If it were a crime of passion I could still buy it, but this was too cold-blooded to leave it to chance.”

“What was Yakim doing outside the house?” Sofiya asked with genuine curiosity. This was the first she’d heard about it.

“I can’t tell you. I promised to keep that information secret,” she responded. Brynn had made the promise to Larisa, but Pascal regarded that as binding on her too. Of course, if Larisa was the killer, she’d throw those promises out in a second.

“I am paying you, Mr. Hunter,” Sofiya countered with anger. “I do not expect you to keep secrets from me.”

Putting her hand up firmly, Pascal answered, “First, Sonya, please remember my name even in private.” Sofiya’s face softened and she looked down. Pascal knew that was all the apology she’d get.

I am Pascal Hunter. Even if no one calls me that.

“Second, I got this information by promising to keep it quiet. I couldn’t bring it to the authorities because my source would deny it. Since Boris won’t write to them, there’s little point in pressuring my source to help free Yakim. Our best course of action is still to find the real killer.”

“And who might that be?”

“Right now, my best leads–” she said with some reluctance, but then stopped when one of the maids came in with more tea. Paz gave quick thanks for the lack of privacy in the house. There wasn’t much to tell. Even her best suspect, Larisa, was a weak case with far too many holes. In the end, she didn’t want to even admit she was checking up on Andrei. She could try to write it off as moral qualms, that she didn’t want to hurt Simza, but she felt the same reluctance herself.

“I’m afraid it will take quite a bit more practice before I can do this properly, Sonya,” she said while holding up her needlework for the maid’s benefit.

“Nonsense, you’re doing fine,” Sofiya answered and then laughed, “Well, you’ll get there.” The maid smiled gently but refrained from actually laughing at Pascal.

“Oh, is that Andrei over there?” Paz saw him through the door the maid opened.

“Yes, Miss Gray. He and Lord Boris had to go into town to refile some papers at the last minute with that Mr. Goldstein. It’s a terrible shame about Mr. Chernov, he’d have known what to do with all the legal papers.”

Pascal excused herself and went to talk to Andrei. Ever since he acted guilty when she mentioned Lord Pankov’s office, she had become fixated on her dream vision of Andrei leaving it. If it was real, she was afraid of what it might mean.

Andrei greeted her with a kiss. She was still uncomfortable kissing him, but she was getting better at accepting small endearments. He could tell something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was.

“Sonya and I were just talking about Yakim, Andrei,” she announced. “Do you think you could convince your brother to write to the gendarmes on his behalf?”

“I do not wish to talk about this, Simza.” Andrei scuffed his feet on the walkway and turned away from her. She didn’t like upsetting him, but it did keep him from getting suspicious when she failed to return his kisses.

“How long have you known your father’s valet?” she asked indignantly. “Now we have evidence he didn’t kill your father. You can’t just leave him to rot in jail. The best way to get him out is to find out who did it. I can’t believe you would let an innocent man take the blame.”

He turned to her with eyes and lips narrowed to dangerous slits. “This is not a fit subject for women.” With an effort he calmed himself, relaxing his face while she watched. “Forgive me, Simcha, that was rude of me. You did well to take what you found to Fedya, but you should not exert yourself further on this matter.” With a slight smile, he added, “I do not want you to turn my mother against you.”

“But Andrei,” she pleaded, “don’t you see? If it wasn’t Yakim it was someone else. He might be after your family. You and Boris may be in danger next. We should look through your father’s papers to see who might have a grudge against him. Did he keep them in his office?”

“How would I know? That was his private room. Why do you keep going on about his office?” Andrei was upset with her, but not so much that he overlooked her question. The whole argument over Yakim was just to put him off his guard for this question. It didn’t entirely work.

“Who has the keys?” she continued while deliberately ignoring his piercing looks. “Your mother, or Boris? Can you get us in?”

“No,” he snapped. “We are still in mourning until tomorrow and will not break the lock on his room. And before you get any more ideas, it will be Boris’s room after the ceremony, and neither of us will go in there.”

A private eye gets used to seeing liars, and Paz had seen more than her share. She’d had to deal with professionals, Andrei was an amateur in comparison. He thought outrage would cover him. Passion could cover deception but it was easy to see through if you knew what to look for. Getting so worked up let a lot of subtle cues slip. Andrei’s regular glances towards the office might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying “I did it.”

“Forgive me,” she said with contrition that was every bit as real as Andrei’s outrage. “I got too excited.”

She was sorry she’d asked. Andrei had to stay on the list of suspects. But he couldn’t be on that list for Simza’s sake. She was not sure what to do.

“Just stop, Simcha. This is not your problem. It is not our problem. You don’t know how much I had to go through with Father– We cannot turn my mother against us. After we are married, you could– No, my brother will lead the house, we will find our own home. Let it go.” Bitterness, anger, and regret mingled in his voice.

Andrei left and Pascal watched him go. For a moment she had been sure the break-in was important, but now she was not. Andrei’s anger wasn’t at her, but she didn’t know what it was about. She debated checking further. If he was involved, did she want to reveal it? It could damage Simza’s plans, but wouldn’t she be better off knowing if Andrei was a criminal?

She really didn’t like possessing people.

- ♇ -

Pascal was getting tired of wearing black. It was a definite warning sign that the possession was getting to her. Nonetheless it was true. She was dreadfully tired of black. Nothing but black.

On the other hand, there were times when that was an advantage. For instance, if you are going to break in to a locked office at night, black is definitely in fashion. Since she was still in mourning for one more day, she’d draw no attention if she was spotted.

It bothered her that she needed a reason. Simza was bleeding through her personality. Her strong desire to wear bright colors again was not her own, it came from the brain she had been using for the last week.

I am Pascal Hunter. I wear what’s useful.

Shadows deepened in the setting sun. The house lamps were not lit, though they soon would be. She’d chosen her time for just that reason. Feodor Illyitch would be seeing to the lights as she broke in. She could avoid the other servants but the butler had proved to be a better observer. If she thought he would leave Brodjach she’d consider hiring him on as a partner. Even if mostly to annoy Brynn.

But that would come later.

The butler had treated her more kindly since she tried to help Yakim. He’d smiled when she arrived for breakfast. It was just barely a smile but it was there. When the blond footman whispered something to his partner, the butler broke it right up. For all that, she knew he would not go so far as to actually disobey orders for her.

She shut the door behind her as quietly as she could, but the click was louder than she liked. Almost alone in the family quarters, Old Man Pankov’s office did not have a rug on the wood floor. She removed her shoes so she could move silently across the smooth floor. Her black stockings practically slid on the highly polished surface.

A thin coat of dust on the furnishings testified that this room had not been touched for two months. Boris would soon take over and claim the office for his own. This was Pascal’s last chance to see it as it was. She was not entirely sure whether she was looking for evidence of Andrei’s guilt or seeking a way to cover it up.

A large picture window gave her a magnificent view of the gardens. Being on the third floor provided some protection against being seen from outside but she could not take that for granted. She would have to be even more careful once the lights came on.

A dark desk with a fine ivory inlay on the surface depicting a three masted sailing ship dominated the room. There were only two chairs; a desk chair and a fine sitting chair with a foot rest. A three legged smoking table sat near the footstool. This was not a place to receive visitors, but a room for work.

Shelves on the wall held a small collection of books along with mother of pearl cutlery and a crossed pair of kukri knives. A small table beneath the shelves displayed an intricate bronze clock. The clock was stopped, which made sense if it had not been wound for two months.

There weren’t any mirrors. Lord Pankov didn’t expect to summon servants while he was in here, and did not want anyone watching him. One less thing for her to worry about.

The lights came on and she froze in place. She would have to be careful not to be silhouetted against the window. She still itched but had to restrain herself from scratching. Her rash had not gotten any better. She resolved to see the family doctor before Boris’s Assumption tomorrow.

The items on the desk were perfectly arranged just like they were in the old man’s bedroom. That was probably his doing, then, and not servants managing things for him. Two inkwells were lined up with each other, pens arranged neatly beneath them. Three piles of letters sat neatly stacked in the opposite corner. One pile was unopened, the second was opened, the third had responses. That last pile had been disturbed. The envelopes didn’t line up. Alone on the desk, it looked messy.

She looked but didn’t touch. Not yet.

A key hanger was mounted on the wall near the desk but it did not hold any keys. Four pegs, all empty.

Three of the desk drawers were locked. The main drawer was not locked so she checked it first. He kept writing paper there, neatly arranged as always. There was a straight razor with a scrimshaw handle depicting a whaling ship. She wondered briefly about the nautical theme between the razer and desk. Next to the razor were three pencils and a gum eraser. A steel letter opener with a jeweled handle was near the back of the drawer. She’d first thought he used the razor as his letter opener, but that made less sense now.

The locked drawers were next. She glanced at the clock and laughed very quietly. Clever, she thought. Lord Pankov must have had a reason to hide his keys. He knew or suspected someone would try to break in to his desk. He would still want the keys nearby for his own use. The clock was complex and intricate, just the place to hide small pieces of metal. If he knew what he was doing, he could hide them so anyone trying to get them would break the clock, thus leaving traces. It had that touch of artistry that she thought would appeal to him.

She’d never met Lord Pankov but was starting to like him. He was organized to a fault and more than a little bit anal. He loved art and tried to do it himself but never as more than an amateur. And he used that love of art to set up intricate puzzles with just a touch of whimsy. She suspected anyone who knew him well would see more good than bad. Simza had known him, but Pascal didn’t have any sense that she liked the old man. A pity, really.

With his cleverness and ingenuity, he would make a puzzle that would be fun to solve. Paz was tempted, truly tempted. In the end, she decided against it. She got into the office by picking the lock, and she was more than skilled enough to get into the desk drawers without keys. No need.

The locks gave up their secrets in no time at all to her skilled hands. She had a good lockpick back in Fall of Night, but she could do these with a simple pin. Her knowledge worked in concert with her body’s reflexes. This was not the first time Simza had picked a lock.

The first drawer contained a cash box. It had its own lock but it had been broken open. Scratches near the lock showed that someone had tried to pick it first, someone who didn’t know what he was doing. It had been forced open afterwords. She could see a fold in the box near the lock where it had been pried open. Though it was tempting to look inside, she suspected Lord Pankov set up a warning. All he’d need was a small linked mirror inside the case. She decided to leave it alone for now.

The next drawer had six stacks of finished correspondence. As expected, each stack was neatly arranged and alphabetized. Someone had been here before her. One stack was shorter than the others and the letters didn’t line up evenly. Whoever did this was sloppy, but it was clear something was missing.

The last drawer held the old man’s ledger. A single book, lying flat in the exact center of the drawer. She felt bad picking it up. His penmanship was excellent, florid strokes written precisely. She looked through the book. He’d detailed every letter received and every response delivered. The first entry was two years back.

“Returned to Fall of Night, 0.3” rainfall. Rec’d lettr V Radkovna, drafted and answered. Rec’d ordr Viceroy, drafted deferred answer, final at Chernov.”

She crept under the desk to read the volume without exposing herself to the window. Being shorter than normal, she didn’t have to fold up as much as she would have in her old body. Every entry was like the first. He noted the weather, any correspondence, and all his tobacco trades with merchants in Fall of Night. She looked, there was nothing else. No personal accounts, no family notes, nothing. If he kept notes like that, he didn’t do it in his office.

She felt surprisingly disappointed. Curious, she thought about it for a moment. She wanted to know how he reacted when Andrei brought her home. No, when he brought Simza home.

I am Pascal Hunter.

Victor Chernov, the family solicitor. His letters were missing. She compared the missing letters to the journal entries. There were a lot of missing letters. She checked the unfiled letters on top of the desk. The missing ones there were also to Chernov.

Interesting, she thought. Money and letters to the family lawyer gone. What did it mean?

She put everything back and sneaked back to her room. With a little luck, her activities would be entirely unnoticed.