Chapter 40 #2
Clark took a moment to get to his feet, more warily this time. “She’s not going to hang. Clearly, the boy died of a stomach flux. Happens all the time to people in foreign parts.”
“He was poisoned,” Alexander said. “And the poison came from someone staying at the hotel.”
“Then”—Clark wet his lips—“when they find the actual poisoner—”
“Saffron Everleigh is a poisons expert, Mr. Clark,” Nick said, bored again. “And according to what the rumor you crafted, she had an affair to hide. Who else would have killed Martin Neill but the woman who knew exactly how to do it and had the motive you supplied?”
Clark looked for a long moment at Nick, his face draining of contempt as realization dawned.
Nick cocked his head and took another drag from his cigarette. “Ah. You didn’t expect that your evidence would send her to the gallows.”
He didn’t reply. Alexander ground his teeth together. Selfish bastard.
“Very well,” said Nick, now business-like. “This is easily remedied, Mr. Clark. You’ll tell us what really happened. It’ll all get sorted out at the police station.”
Clark shook his head. “I’m not going to the police station.”
Alexander took a step toward him. “Why not?”
The answering sneer had Alexander’s fists curling at his sides, itching to hit it off Clark’s face. “I’ve wasted enough time on talking to the police about your wife.” He spat the last word.
“Ashton,” Nick said quietly, “I don’t think Mr. Clark quite understands the severity of his actions.”
“I think you’re right.” Alexander discarded his jacket. Nick took it from him and folded it over an arm.
Clark looked between them with increasing alarm. “What, are you really going to act like—”
“Like you’ve doomed the woman he loves?” Nick asked. “Like your actions put her life at risk? No, we are certainly going to act like that.”
“As if I was the only one incriminating her! You said it yourself, she is a so-called poisons expert. Besides, all I did was say out loud what everyone else was already thinking. I did see her going into Neill’s room. And those two were together all the time, probably rutting in the ruins—”
The rage that curtailed the rest of Clark’s words overcame any notion of self-control Alexander had planned on maintaining.
His fists slammed into Clark’s body indiscriminately.
Blood pounded in his temples and began to show on Clark’s face, his mouth and nose shining red.
The sight of it did nothing to temper him.
But before his rage was spent, Nick pulled him off Clark, saying roughly, “Enough! Enough, he has to be able to talk when we’re done with him.”
Alexander jerked himself away. He got unsteadily to his feet, unable to take his eyes from Clark’s battered and bloody face.
Sickly unease churned violently in his stomach, and he fled the ruin.
The haunting chant of a male voice reverberated through the empty street and hollowed out buildings.
Alexander forced himself to focus on the smooth invocation rather than the shame burning in his gut. He lost track of how many times he paced the short walk from the ruined house to the street.
His fists were beginning to throb. He looked at them; they were red and bloodied. They’d no doubt be purple in the morning.
He’d agreed Saffron should come on this expedition when he knew it would expose her to ridicule.
He’d insisted Martin Neill stay close to her and thus gave Clark fuel for his stupid rumor.
He hadn’t done anything meaningful when he knew Clark was bothering her beyond normal expedition hijinks.
He should have beat Clark senseless the moment he trapped her in the stall in the agora.
A memory floated up from the turbulence of his mind.
A dark room and the sharp scent of arnica, nearly a year ago.
He and Saffron had taken turns dabbing it on each other’s wounds.
They’d exchanged the words just hours before, the words he’d held close to his chest like a winning hand of cards for months, only to realize keeping his love for her a secret would make him lose her.
But she’d felt the same, or so she’d said.
The arnica had been an affectionate gesture at first, something to show his love for her when he couldn’t fully express it, because the simple words “I love you” hadn’t been enough.
But his guilt had been at least partially allayed when he treated her wounds, guilt for not removing her from harm’s way, for not being there to protect her when the villains had come for her.
It was the same guilt he felt now, momentarily relieved by thrashing Clark. And he was guilty.
He’d only barely received the blessing of her family, on her grandfather’s condition that he’d keep her safe. And he hadn’t done that. He hadn’t even done most of the work of this investigation. He was reliant on Nick, whose motives he still didn’t understand.
Shame and anger were a mire he couldn’t get caught in. Control, logic, and skill were what would save Saffron.
After a long moment of staring up at indigo sky, the call to prayer still wavering in the warm air, he stepped back through the gap in the wall.
Nick had lit a tiny lamp and stood smoking over a groaning Clark, who was sprawled against one of the more stable walls. When Alexander caught his eye, Nick understood his unspoken question.
“He’ll hold up long enough to answer a few more questions,” he said, and flicked his cigarette to the ground to light another.
“I find it strange, Mr. Clark, that you’re willing to insult a man’s wife to his face—after grievously wronging her—but a little trip to the police station seems to frighten you. Why is that?”
Clark spat blood on the floor beside him before looking warily up at them. “Can’t I just be a cad?”
“It’s the antiquities,” Alexander said flatly. “Clark has been smuggling them out of the dig site and selling them to Bey.”
“Ah,” Nick said, a little smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Answers at last.”
Alexander got the feeling he wasn’t referring to Clark’s motives.
“He doesn’t want to be in contact with the police any more than necessary.
That’s why he sent Dr. Henry with the pottery Martin Neill discovered at the agora to convince the inspector that it was Neill doing the smuggling.
” He stared hard at Clark, realizing the contradiction.
“Why did you try to convince Dr. Henry to blame Martin Neill for the smuggling after spreading those rumors about him and Saffron? You’d already pushed the blame onto her.
Why try to change the story a week later? ”
“Turks were still asking questions, weren’t they?” Clark grumbled, shifting uncomfortably against the wall. “Stupid Hayrettin still wants to shut down the dig. We need to tie it all up for them.”
Alexander smiled thinly. “Considering I’ve seen you at Bey’s han after receiving a message insisting on a meeting with the person buying your stolen goods, I’d say that’d tie things up neatly for you.”
“Now, that’s interesting.” Nick’s hazel eyes gleamed from behind a twisting cloud of smoke. “I wonder if all this might be the inspiration for his campaign against your wife, Ashton. She is rather known for solving mysteries.”
Alexander stared at Nick, then at Clark, who now refused to meet his eye.
“You targeted Saffron because you thought she would catch you.” A harsh laugh worked its way out of his throat.
“You bastard—you tortured her for weeks, trying to get her to cry off the expedition because you were worried she would figure out it was you when things started going missing.” He went to where Clark slumped.
He kneeled so they were face to bloody face.
“I will relish telling her how highly you esteem her skills. But I hope you see the flaw in your plan now, Clark. When Saffron figured it out, as I have no doubt she would have, she would have at least left you with your dignity. Unfortunately for you, I figured it out first. And I have every intention of ruining you in every way possible.”