The Drowned Man Read Online Free

wanted to get to the point. “I understand you flew to Montreal about John Carpenter.”
    â€œYes. I made contact with an Inspector Deroche of the Quebec police. Spent most of a day with him. Very cooperative and quite eager.”
    â€œDid you view Carpenter’s body?”
    Frank recoiled; his face turned red. “Oh, no. But I reviewed the pathologist’s photographs. Face was bruised, scarred. Stomach-turning.”
    â€œThe photographs aren’t on Carpenter’s file. Why is that?” Peter said, trying not to be too confrontational.
    â€œI really don’t know.”
    Bartleben and Counter kept piling up the evasions, Peter thought. Counter was treating this case as a nuisance, but John Carpenter’s murder was too nasty to be glossed over like this. “Who’s the lead suspect?” he said, edgier this time.
    â€œThe book dealer, original owner of the mysterious letters. Name of Leander Greenwell. Deroche has put out a Canada-wide warrant for him.”
    Peter moved to the interesting part of the coroner’s ruling, the dual cause of death. “The report says Carpenter was struck by a hit-and-run driver, then somehow made it to the canal’s edge, fell in, and drowned. How did your inspector explain that?”
    â€œThe driver deliberately ran him down, then Carpenter crawled to the water.”
    â€œThere’s mention by the pathologist who authored the report that a local man, a Professor Renaud, tried to rescue Carpenter in the water. Any chance he took the money or the letters?”
    Counter frowned, as if Peter had posed a flippant question. “Jesus, Peter, you’re pushing a bit hard.”
    Peter continued, “I’ve read Madam Hilfgott’s report but I’m no clearer on why she contacted you in the first place.”
    This was a none too subtle way of asking why Counter had responded to Nicola’s request at all; it could easily have been handled without any Yard involvement. Peter’s instincts told him that Frank should be worried for his career.
    â€œI know, I know, too much skulduggery. But I confess, it seemed routine. It wasn’t all that much, only ten thousand Canadian dollars. Nicola told me it was a steal, that the three letters were worth much more than that. Archives agreed. That won me over. And the High Commission in Ottawa approved.”
    A pleading look came into his eyes.
    â€œYou realize, Frank, that volunteering our services as, what, couriers or bagmen, immediately shifted the accountability onto us?”
    Counter winced. Peter saw that he had gone too far.
    â€œDo you believe her?” Peter said. “Are the letters valuable?”
    Counter sipped the head on his beer, as if to fortify himself for the next disclosures. “I know what you’re really asking, Peter. Nicola argued, with some support from Archives, that the letters technically belong to us, since in 1864 Canada was still under British rule and all three letters either derived from, or were sent to, the head of Her Majesty’s Forces in the colony.”
    No wonder Sir Stephen appeared concerned, Peter thought. This was the thinnest legal argument for ownership he had heard in a long time. Sometimes the Mother Country forgot that its former colonies took pride in their heritage, too. At minimum, Peter estimated, Nicola was guilty of receiving stolen goods.
    Counter looked sheepish and quaffed more beer. “How the hell do you explain Nicola Hilfgott? Her older brother and I went to school together, Cambridge, and she kept in touch with me over the years. The call came out of the blue. She wasn’t apologizing for asking my help, she said. Typical Nicola. She said the High Commissioner needed reassurance and could I assist with an officer to make sure everything stayed above board.”
    â€œHundred-dollar bills in a brown envelope at midnight?” Peter said.
    Counter grimaced and Peter changed the subject.