“You’ll forgive me if I call your attention to the fact that she has very much to do with it, my lord,” Inspector Tovarth said mildly. “You said that Jane MacGuire is the image of Fiona MacDuff, the woman in the painting.” He nodded at the photograph pinned in the middle of the cross painted on the wall. “And her photo is hanging there instead of your painting. I’d argue that there had to be a reason why any killer would do that. It was only sensible to bring her into it.” He shook his head. “But may I remind you I also asked you to bring her here to be interrogated?”
“She’s in Wales with her younger brother. There’s no reason to involve her,” MacDuff said as he strode over to the wall where Fiona’s portrait had previously hung. “The bastard was fond of blood, wasn’t he?” he muttered as he gazed at the photograph. “Shock value?”
“Probably. But he definitely wanted you to make a connection between Jane MacGuire and the painting. What is she to you? A relation?”
“Friend. I’ve known Jane for years. She was only seventeen when I first set eyes on her.” His lips twisted. “Though I admit I’ve tried to claim her as a relative since that first meeting. I’d lived with that painting all my life, and after one look at Jane I knew that she was our kin. I even offered to send detectives to investigate and establish a claim for her.” He grimaced. “But Jane would have no part of it. She’d been adopted by people she loved when she was only ten and she said that she had no need of any other family.” He shrugged. “I was a bit insulted at the time. Not many people would turn down a connection to the MacDuffs.”
“Aye, very odd.” Tovarth nodded. “But people have a habit of changing as time goes on. There’s always the chance she might have later decided she wanted the portrait.”
“And killed my guard to get it?” MacDuff said impatiently as he whirled to face him. The inspector was a tall, well-groomed man in his thirties and had seemed to be both meticulously polite and efficient since he’d arrived here. But at the moment, even his politeness was annoying MacDuff. “Don’t be a fool. I would have given her that portrait if she’d asked. I owe her a hell of a lot more than that. I tell you she had nothing to do with this. I only agreed to make that call because I was afraid something might have happened to her. That photograph was obviously meant to send a message.”
“You might be right,” Tovarth said. “That blood on the photo does look to be a threat. But it’s my business to be suspicious of everyone until they’re eliminated.”
“As far as I’m concerned, Jane is eliminated. She was never a suspect.” MacDuff gave him a cool look. “Now drop it, Tovarth.”
“Certainly, sir,” the inspector said as he met MacDuff’s eyes. Then he abruptly shook his head. “Or perhaps not, my lord. I realize you’re very upset, and you’re a man who is accustomed to running everything and everyone around him.” He smiled. “Perfectly natural. You’re a very important man, or the Yard would never have sent me here even though you requested we become involved. Earl of MacDuff’s Run, former war hero, influential mover and shaker in the halls of Parliament. You deserve to have your opinions listened to with respect. I will gladly do so.” He paused. “As long as our investigation doesn’t bring up any information regarding Jane MacGuire that the Yard might find disturbing. Then I will not drop it. I feel obligated to do my best to give you all you need from us.”
MacDuff frowned. “I’ve just told you what I need you to do. Jane’s not to be—” He broke off, and suddenly a warm smile lit his face. “You’re right. I’m being an overbearing ass. You’re only doing your job. That guard was with me for years and I’m angry that he was butchered. Plus that painting meant a lot to me. So does my friend Jane. Shall we start over?”
“Starting over would be a waste of time, my lord.” Tovarth gestured at the forensics team, who were streaming into the gallery. “You’ve already helped enormously by identifying the photo and calling Jane. As I said, I respect your opinion. I just wanted to point out that you might consider I’m paid to have opinions of my own.” He went on quickly, “However, if we’re to assume Ms. MacGuire might be a possible target, we should act accordingly. Does she have adequate protection? Perhaps I could assign a man to—”
“I’ll take care of it,” MacDuff said. He took a step closer to look at the photo. It was a casual close-up of Jane, a warm smile on her face, the wind blowing her red hair. Vibrantly alive and every bit as beautiful as Fiona in the painting she’d replaced. She was wearing a white shirt, and there was a lake in the background. How often had MacDuff seen her like that during the time when they’d been hunting for Cira’s treasure? Perhaps it had even been taken there at Cira’s Loch Gaelkar. It might narrow the field to find the sons of bitches who had done this if he could trace the location. He turned back to Tovarth. “You just concentrate on finding who killed my guard Jack Binarth. He had a wife and family. You’re Scotland Yard; use all those DNA databases and Interpol connections you have at your disposal to get me a name.”
“I have every intention of doing that, sir.” Tovarth hesitated, his gaze following MacDuff’s to the photo. “But I’d prefer to also arrange protection for the lady. There’s a certain savagery connected to the way the killer used that blood. You’re sure that you have someone competent enough to handle it?”
“I said I did,” MacDuff said curtly. He drew a deep breath. Keep calm. You asked them for help, now use them. Tovarth was now impressing him as being sharp, determined, and only wanting to do his job. And he was right: The killer had made sure of situating Jane’s photo so it appeared to be almost drowning in blood. He had received a chill himself when he’d first seen it on his arrival this morning. “No problem, Tovarth.” He was reaching for his phone as he spoke. “I have a man in mind who is most certainly capable of handling any threat to Jane MacGuire.”
“Indeed? May I ask his name and qualifications?”
Firm, but polite, MacDuff thought. Tovarth wasn’t going to give up his input on the case if he could help it. “His name is Seth Caleb. He’s an old friend of Jane’s.” He smiled crookedly. “But I really wouldn’t delve into his qualifications if I were you. He doesn’t encourage curiosity.”
“Seth Caleb?” Tovarth stiffened as he repeated the name, his eyes suddenly intent. “The Hunter? You’re bringing him here?”
“You’ve heard of him?” MacDuff could see that he had. It shouldn’t have surprised him. He was aware Caleb was probably known by most of the leading police and intelligence agencies in the world. And despite his passion for privacy, Caleb was a figure who caught the imagination and held it. The excitement in Tovarth’s expression told its own story. “I take it Scotland Yard would consider him acceptable to watch over Jane?”
“I’ve heard of him. There are rumors that he sometimes works with MI6.” He made a face. “Or that MI6 sometimes works with him. He has the reputation of liking to be in total control.” He added, “And I don’t know if my superiors would consider him to be acceptable or not. His reputation is…questionable. We do know he has had amazing success hunting down and disposing of murderers, felons, and terrorists who have caused us a good deal of trouble over the years. But some MI6 in authority regard Caleb as more of a renegade ninja type. I think it best that I stay and meet him, if you don’t mind.”