Wiped Out in Wimbledon Read online

  Before Violet had a chance to respond, the sound of footsteps on the stairs leading to the bar reached our ears, and we turned to see two detectives arrive, followed by a couple of uniformed officers.

  The detectives were both men. One appeared to be in his late twenties. He was tall and lanky with close-cut blond hair and a curious air about him. The other was older, in his forties at least, with a bit of a beer belly. He strutted around like a man who knew he could go anywhere. His brown hair was flattened to his forehead with too much gel, and he had over two spots where he’d obviously nicked himself shaving that morning.

  “Violet Despuis,” the older one said, obviously displeased to see her here. “I should have known.”

  “And what exactly do you mean by that, DCI Fletcher?”

  “I mean that whenever bodies pop up, you always seem to be involved somehow.”

  “That is a strange way of thanking me, for I tend to solve your cases for you, but I will take it.”

  “You do not solve the cases for me. You take advantage of an overworked and underpaid police force, and you build your own celebrity based off our hard work. Now, what happened here tonight?”

  “We were attending a party held by Jeremy Flagstaff, formerly a private client of mine. It is to celebrate Wimbledon. Twenty-seven minutes ago, Jeremy collapsed and was dead nearly instantly. Of course, the pathology report will determine exactly what happened, but given the symptoms and the smell of almonds, I suspect cyanide poisoning.”

  DCI Fletcher approached the body and sniffed. “I don’t smell almonds.”

  “Well, the ability to smell the bitter almond residue of hydrogen cyanide is genetic,” Violet said. “You may not be able to detect it, but that does not mean it isn’t there.”

  DCI Fletcher scowled. “Are you saying I’m genetically inferior?”

  “Perhaps you do not want me to answer that question directly. It is not a matter of superiority or inferiority but simple fact.”

  “It was a single mutation, wasn’t it?” the other detective asked. “That turned off the production of the toxin in wild almonds and allowed humans to cultivate and enjoy sweet almonds without immediately suffering an incredibly painful death?”

  “That is correct,” Violet said approvingly. “What is your name?”

  “Er, DCI Emmett Johnson,” the man replied nervously, glancing over at DCI Fletcher, who was obviously annoyed.

  “Who cares about all that stupid science stuff anyway? We’re here to solve a murder.”

  “And you might be more successful if you bothered to pay attention to any of that ‘stupid science stuff,’ as you call it,” Violet replied.

  “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

  “Yes. You are obviously incapable of seeing the importance of science in crime solving yourself.”

  “Okay, then get out of here. I let you stay as a courtesy, but I need the officers to secure the area until the crime scene unit arrives. You can wait downstairs along with everyone else.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Violet, who just smiled and stood up.

  “Yes, we wouldn’t want you to use the most valuable asset you have here. Not a smart officer like you.”

  DCI Fletcher scowled at Violet, but as we walked past DCI Johnson, he offered us a nervous smile.

  The two of us went downstairs to the restaurant area, which had been closed for the night due to the party. Immediately, the manager strode over to us. He was a heavyset man in his forties, dressed in a suit, his brow lined with a thin layer of sweat.

  “The police are here?” he asked her. “I thought I saw them go up.”

  “Yes,” Violet replied.

  “Good. Good. That poor man. I can’t believe it. What happened?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Violet replied. “Can you recount to us the logistics of this night? I am Violet Despuis, the famous detective, and I will be taking it upon myself to solve this case.”

  “Of course. Jeremy Flagstaff rented this entire place himself, and he brought in everything: his own staff, his own drinks, his own food. I’m the only person here tonight who actually works here, because I wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly and that his staff had someone to go to if they had any questions. I believe he owns the company that provided the catering. Flagstaff Catering.”

  I resisted the urge to snort. Yes, that was a pretty safe assumption.

  “Did you see Flagstaff?”

  “Not in the last hour or so. I spoke to him early in the evening. Nice bloke. But I was working predominantly behind the scenes. This wasn’t my night. I appreciate that. Every time I saw him, he was surrounded by people. Obviously, he was popular. So no, I didn’t see him recently. But my head of security is getting contact information from everyone who’s in here now. Would you like a copy of that list?”

  “That would be excellent, thank you,” Violet said. “Do you have security footage?”

  “We do. Would you like to see it? Normally, we’d require a warrant, but given the exceptional situation…” The manager trailed off. “I just can’t allow you to remove the footage from the premises.”

  “We understand completely,” Violet replied.

  The manager motioned for us to follow him. As we did so, I looked over the crowd of party attendees. The happy, optimistic vibe of the party from only a few minutes earlier was now very subdued. Most people were sitting at the empty restaurant tables. Emily was in a corner by herself, on her phone. The man I’d seen clap Jeremy on the shoulder earlier was in another corner, also on his phone, his thumb and index finger pressed into the bridge of his nose.

  One of the tennis players was meditating, and a couple of others were obviously doing their best to relax as much as possible. I couldn’t blame them; the tournament started tomorrow. Some of them were likely playing.

  “You should let the tennis players go back to their hotels,” Violet said, echoing my thoughts. “They will be tired. It is not as though we are incapable of contacting them at a later date.”

  “Right,” the manager said as if he’d only just realized the same thing. “That’s a good idea. I’ll show you to the security footage then run it past the police.”

  He led us into the back room of the kitchen and into a smaller office where the administrative tasks were obviously taken care of. The room was the size of a janitor’s closet, barely large enough for the three of us to stand side by side.

  The computer at the center of the plain wooden desk was surrounded by columns of documents, and it sat like a shrine encircled by a paper temple.

  “Here,” the manager said, clicking away at the computer for a minute. “This is the program. I trust you to figure it out for yourself.”

  “Thank you. We will be fine,” Violet said.

  The manager nodded and left.

  Violet squeezed into the little chair and began tapping away at the screen while I looked over her shoulder. “I guess it would be too much to ask to hope that we get video footage of someone slipping cyanide into his champagne, huh?”

  “It is always an avenue that must be explored. I have come across a number of exceptionally stupid criminals in my time. It is always possible that this is one of them.”

  “Fingers crossed,” I muttered as Violet began scanning through the available camera options.

  London was the land of CCTV. Sometimes, it felt as if there wasn’t an inch of this city that didn’t fall under video surveillance, but in this case, it was actually pretty useful. It didn’t take long before Violet found the camera that had had Jeremy Flagstaff in frame. He was in the center of the floor, facing the camera, speaking with someone I didn’t recognize.

  “Okay, so keep going forward until he collapses,” I said. “From there, we can rewind the tape and see who he spoke to after getting his last glass of champagne.”

  Violet nodded and tapped away with the mouse. The footage jumped forward until eventually, I saw myself bent over Jeremy’s dead body, trying to find a pulse.

  Violet then rewound the footage slowly until we saw what we wanted.

  Jeremy had been speaking with Ash Barty, and when they split up, he walked out of frame. Violet checked the other angles, and we found him at the bar. He said something to the bartender, who laughed, pulled out a glass, and dug under the counter for a bottle of champagne. The bartender uncorked the bottle then filled Jeremy’s glass. Jeremy took it, left a bill on the table, and walked off to chat with some more people.

  “Well, the bartender’s out,” I said. “We had a perfect view of him pouring that flute, and I didn’t see him slip anything into it. Did you?”

  “No,” Violet said. “I agree, it was not him. Now, we follow Jeremy’s glass of champagne after this.”

  Chapter 3

  Jeremy wandered off to the left and was quickly stopped by someone. I recognized the head even from the back. This was another famous tennis player, who just went by the name El. His birth name was Elton John, as his parents were huge fans of the singer and thought they would honor their son with his name. Unfortunately, when it turned out he was an incredible tennis player, it became a bit confusing, and Elton decided to shorten his name to El. Nicknamed Racketman, El had a wiry frame that towered over Jeremy. His body blocked out all view of the champagne, and whatever they were talking about, the conversation was heated.

  I couldn’t see El’s face, but I could make out Jeremy’s. He held a smile the entire time, but it was tight, forced. It was the kind of smile people go with when they don’t want to get into a fight in public, but they’re completely disagreeing with the person across from them.

  “I don’t think Racketman is happy about something,” I said to Violet.

  She nodded. “Oui. You are correct. I would like to know what it is that El is unhappy with. The Flagstaff group is one of his major sponsors. The two of them are linked in business. We will have to speak with him.”

  I watched the screen as El grabbed Jeremy by the arm. Jeremy pulled back slightly, his eyes widening in surprise. I watched his mouth as he spoke to El.

  “Can you read those lips?” I asked Violet, squinting at the screen.

  “Yes. Jeremy tells El that they can speak about this in the morning, that it is not what he thinks.”

  “Interesting. I wonder what’s going on there.”

  “We will find out when we speak with El. He would have been distracting enough that he could have poisoned the drink during that conversation.”

  “I agree.”

  El left, but before Jeremy had a chance to do anything else, another man walked up to him. I recognized this one; he was the man Jeremy had been speaking to before I was introduced to him.

  “Do you know who this is?” I asked Violet.

  “Flagstaff’s business partner, Sid Miller.”

  “Business partner? I didn’t realize he had someone else.”

  “I bet you didn’t realize Bernie Taupin wrote most of Elton John’s songs either,” Violet said to me with a wink.

  “What? Really? He didn’t write them all himself?”

  “No. Sometimes, when there is a genius with unparalleled charisma, it is better to have him be the face of the company and to have the other person work everything from the shadows. That is the relationship between Flagstaff and Miller. Everyone knows the name and face of Jeremy Flagstaff, but Sid Miller is an extraordinarily intelligent man, and many people in the know believe him to be the true brains behind the operation. I personally believe that to be rubbish. Having met Flagstaff, I know he is quite intelligent himself. But I can certainly believe that Miller does much of the work behind the scenes.”

  I looked at the screen. The two of them were deep in conversation. This time, Jeremy wasn’t as obviously upset as he had been while speaking with El, but the firm line of his mouth told me this wasn’t a pleasant conversation either. The two of them huddled together, heads close.

  “Can you make out anything they’re saying?” I asked Violet.

  She shook her head. “No. I haven’t got a clue.”

  It soon became evident that we weren’t going to get anything from this. However, there had been ample opportunity to poison Jeremy.

  Eventually, Sid left, scowling slightly, and I had to wonder what had been going on between the two businessmen that led to such acrimony. Of course, it could have been a million different things. But was one of those things important enough to kill Flagstaff over?

  The two men did business deals worth millions. It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit.

  Next, a woman I didn’t recognize came by to say hello. “Do you know who she is?” I asked Violet.

  “One of the tennis players, from France. Claire Saint-Etienne. She’s not ranked very highly and will likely see an exit in the first or second round.”

  The conversation she had with Jeremy was quick, and this time, his smile seemed genuine.

  “He is thanking her for the kind words,” Violet said. “He is wishing her luck in the tournament. It does not appear that there is any bad blood between them. In fact, I would not be surprised if they had never met before this.”

  “Okay, so there’s probably no motive there. Still, it’s good to know.”

  Violet nodded. “And this man, on the other hand, does not appear to know what politeness means.”

  I scowled as I watched the screen. One of the most famous tennis players in the world, Kristof Mayer, pushed through the crowd and practically shoved Claire Saint-Etienne out of the way in his effort to get to Jeremy.

  “Well, it’s good to see that the reality fits his reputation,” I said dryly, shaking my head.

  Claire looked surprised when she saw Kristof then hurried out of the way.

  Kristof Mayer was the current bad boy of men’s tennis. Ranked number two in the world, he was the best tennis player to ever come out of Austria, but he was as well known for his temper and his antics on the court as he was for his play. He regularly broke tennis rackets when he made a bad play, yelled at the umpires, and had once even thrown a ball at a ball boy he thought wasn’t doing his job properly.

  Basically, the guy was a piece of work that people put up with because he was so good at tennis. I hated that sort of person. Being the best in the world at something didn’t mean they had the right to be horrible to everyone else they came into contact with.

  Kristof was yelling at Jeremy about something, no question.

  “He was not subtle, Kristof,” Violet said. “I was standing about twenty meters away, and even I could hear that he was yelling at Jeremy. He told Jeremy that he was being screwed over by his company and that he wasn’t going to let this stand. Jeremy would pay. Of course, at the time, I did not think much of this. Kristof has a certain reputation, and it did not surprise me in the least to hear him say such things. However, in hindsight, given that Jeremy ended up dead, it will be worth investigating further.”

  “No kidding. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Kristof killed him.”

  “Wouldn’t it?”

  “No. Kristof has always had a temper. He’s the kind of guy who yells at people and doesn’t care about the consequences. You watch tennis. You’ve seen him break rackets. One time, he even tried to rip the net apart, remember? It was turned into a meme and plastered all over the internet.”

  “Ah, but that is precisely why I do not believe Kristof is the killer.”

  “What? That makes no sense. He’s shown a propensity for violence.”

  “Violence, yes. But not all violence is created equal. Every instance you have recounted of Kristof Mayer committing violence involves him snapping in the moment. However, think of how Jeremy was killed.”

  “With poison slipped into his drink.”

  “Yes. Whoever wanted him dead planned this ahead of time. They brought the poison to the party. They took their time before approaching him, and they slipped the poison into his drink without his noticing it. It requires a subtle touch that Kristof does not have. No, if he had done this, I would have expected it to be public, violent, and bloody. He would have taken a knife and stabbed the man or something like that. Not this. This is the work of someone more deliberate.”

  “Okay, I see what you mean. You’re right. This crime does require a bit of forethought and subtlety that he doesn’t have. He wouldn’t have done it. That’s too bad though. I was kind of hoping it was him. It’s never the awful people that you really want to have be guilty and go to jail.”

  Violet smiled. “Personally, I would rather the person who actually murdered another human being be the one who goes to jail.”

  “Sure. I don’t disagree. But I’d rather the killer just happen to be the person I didn’t like in the first place.”

  “Well, you cannot always get what you want.”

  “Thanks, Mick Jagger.”

  “I do not know who that is.”

  “Really? You don’t know the Rolling Stones, but you know the name of the guy who wrote all of the songs for Elton John?”

  Violet shrugged. “I have my interests.”

  Violet’s knowledge base was always so incredibly random.

  “Okay,” I said. “So, we don’t think it was Kristof, as disappointing as that is.”

  Violet played the tape further. Kristof and Jeremy were arguing. Then Kristof shoved Jeremy, who took a step back, and a couple of security people immediately came over. Kristof was led away, and Jeremy took a sip of his champagne. He looked relaxed for a moment, and then his eyes widened. His features contorted into a look of terror, and then he collapsed. Immediately, Jeremy was surrounded by people and fell out of view of the camera. I knew what happened next.

  “It had to be one of them then,” I said. “One of the people he spoke to. El, Sid, Claire, or Kristof.”

  Violet nodded. “It certainly does appear that way. It could also have been Emily Connors. She passed behind Jeremy at one point while he was arguing with Kristof. She could have slipped it into his drink without anyone realizing.”

  I didn’t like to think about the nice young Canadian being a murderer, but I knew it was possible. Sometimes, the killer was the last person we expected.