Nadia placed the half-empty 500-ml plastic bottle on the table in front of her. “Thank you.”
Matt nodded and sat back in his chair. In front of him was a closed file with several sheathes of paper in it and beside it was a ball-point pen. Bill had not yet joined him in the interrogation room. He watched her eyes scan the room until they finally settled on him. He heard what her eyes said to him; a tale he had often heard before. Namely, “I come with a very violent and very pricey price tag, so tread carefully or I’ll snuff you out like a troublesome and annoying fly.”
“Before we begin,” Matt said, “these proceedings will be fully recorded.” He directed her attention to the cameras mounted at the ceiling behind him. “You do not have to say anything when asked questions. However, it may harm your defence (should we go to court) if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“I need a verbal yes or no.”
“Yes.”
A soft tap at the door drew Matt’s attention. Bill poked his head through the ajar door and beckoned Matt to join him. After a short interlude, Matt returned to his position opposite Nadia.
“I’m sorry for the delay,” he said with a smile. When his mobile pinged, he opened the folder in front of him and picked up his pen. “My colleague will join us shortly. In the meantime, let’s begin.” He cleared his throat. “Are you a medical doctor, Ms Price?”
She scrutinized him like a cautious cat on the prowl. “No. I’m not a medical doctor.”
“Hmm…That’s interesting.”
“And why?” she asked.
“Have you had any kind of medical training?”
“No, again,” she replied, reaching for the water bottle, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig. “Strange questions to ask. You didn’t need to bring me here to ask questions that could have quite easily been asked and answered at my home.”
“You’re talking about the late property of Sir Reginald’s.”
“Yes, I guess I am. But there’s nothing criminal in that.”
“But there is when someone pretends to be a doctor…Doctor Irene Hollicott.”
A smirk formed and disappeared in a flash from the corner of her mouth.
“When you took that folded sheet of paper from the table in my hospital room, you must have known that I knew your name was on it. And you must have known that Maxim Abakumov gave it to me. But I think when you handed it over to Big Jake, your father, it more than likely had a different name on it.”
“Jake is not my father! And, honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about! Who is this Doctor Irene…what’s her name?”
“Hollicott…Doctor Irene Hollicott,” he replied. “No need for the charade. We know it was you.” He saw her jaw tighten as her attention focused on absently playing with the water bottle in her hands.
“Were you surprised that Sir Reginald’s Will left his estate to you?”
She stopped fidgeting with the water bottle and stared at him long and hard before she answered. “I must admit, I’ve never given it much thought.”
Matt wrote: “Not surprised that Sir Reginald’s property was left to her.”
“May I ask what you just wrote down?” she asked.
Matt ignored her request and continued. “Are you familiar with the plant known as Monkshood?”
“It depends on what you mean by familiar. I’ve heard the name. I know that some believe it to be an attractive purple plant, but I was indifferent to that description. To me it was more of a nuisance, a weed for a better word. I believe Sir Reginald referred to it as the—Oh yes!—the Devil’s Hamlet.”
“Are you aware that that plant was used in the murder of Sir Reginald?”
“No.” She broke eye contact with him. “This is the first time I have been made aware of it.” She returned eye contact.
The door behind Matt opened and Bill stepped into the room. Matt stood up and joined him. After several minutes of quiet discussion Bill gave Matt a legal-size folder and left. Matt hesitated at the closed door before he returned to the table and sat, placing the folder to his right. For a short time, he said nothing. He just gazed at Nadia until he finally opened the folder on his right and glanced through the documents contained in it. Closing it, he asked, “Who is Alan’s mother?”
Nadia took in a deep breath as if she was surprised by the question.
Matt discerned from her reaction that the question had rattled her. But why? The silence between them was deafening! He could see by the way she had bit down on her lower lip that she had no intention of answering him. So, he decided to move on with a different series of questions.
“What can you tell me about the relationship between Mister Stoffer and your late husband?”
“They seemed to get along okay. I’m not sure what you are getting at.”
“Your husband and Stoffer travelled together on several business trips for the Bahn-Kart Corporation.”
“I’m still not sure where you are going with this.”
“The dates of those trips and the locations coincided with the murder of six young girls over a ten-year period. Murders that were widely covered on the telly and newspapers at the time.”
Her eyes shifted slightly to the right. “I vaguely remember. So? “
“We were made aware of this information by someone who left a package at our front desk.” He patted the bulky file on his right. “It was left by a female.”
“Surely you don’t believe it was me!” she replied indignantly.
“Would you please put both your hands on the table, palms down.”
Nadia stared at him with one of those ‘How dare you attitudes!’ before finally doing what he asked.
Not unexpectedly, Matt’s curiosity was satisfied. There was no scar on her right hand. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I noticed your ring. Is that a pentagram engraved on it?” He asked feigning ignorance.
“Yes…it is.,” she replied, shooting him an askance look while she slid her ring hand from the table to join the other hand on her lap. “Don’t tell me that that has now become illegal.”
“On the contrary,” he replied with a smile. “It is only a point of interest on my part.” For several minutes he perused the documents in the folder on his right until the door opened and Bill entered.
Matt joined him at the door and the two talked in whispers for several minutes before both returned to sit opposite Nadia. After a brief silence, Bill continued with the questioning.
“Were you Sir Reginald’s scarlet woman?” asked Bill.
“I don’t even know what that means!”
“Let me explain,” Bill continued. “A scarlet woman is notorious for having many casual sexual partners. She deceives many by her appearance. Although beautiful…”
“Thank you for the complement,” interrupted Nadia.
Without missing a beat, Bill continued. “She has the trappings of wealth, luxury, and authority. Her actions are false, self-serving and, in my opinion, narcissism at its worse!”
Matt opened his mobile and searched the pictures sent to him by Corporal Burbank. Finally, he stopped at the beginning of one set and slid his cell across the table to her.
“Flip the photos to the left. There are ten in all.”
When she was finished, she sheepishly glanced up at him and without saying a word slid the mobile back to him.
“You’ll note,” continued Matt, “that the first seven photos are more recent. As you saw it depicts you and others performing—as we have come to understand—a secret sexual ritual that is part of the Ordo Templis Orientalis. In the last three photos you are younger and in Sir Reginald’s bed. What interests me is this photo.” He held up his mobile to show her. “In the preceding two photos there was no tat; it only appears in this one. Now, you might ask ‘Why is this of interest?’ Because Sir Reginald had the same tattoo located in the same region as yours. And I don’t think that’s coincidence. We know that Sir Reginald was the Baphomet of the Ordo Templis Orientalis. And we know that those hidden passages snaking through the mansion were much more that just a voyeur’s delight but for gathering information. We haven’t yet found where the cache of audio and video tapes are but it won’t be long until we do. So, it begs the question. Are you now the Baphomet? Is there a new Order of the Ordo Templis Orientalis with women leaders instead of men at the helm as it has been for one-hundred-and-fifty years?”
Nadia crossed her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair and remained silent.
Bill leaned closer to Matt and showed him a list of names on his mobile and sat back.
“Miss Price. All the men and women that we could identify in those first seven photos I just showed you sit on the Governing Board of the Bahn-Kart Corporation of which Sir Reginald was President and CEO. I think more passed to you other than Sir Reginald’s estate after his--should I say—untimely demise. I’m willing to bet that you have thick dossiers on all the head honchos who run the B-K Corporation. Now that brings me to my next question. What is your association with Maxim Abakumov?”
The frisson of watching Audrey walking towards him, dressed up for a recent special occasion, flashed through Matt’s mind. He couldn’t remember the occasion, but he didn’t care. To dwell on that special moment no matter how brief provided succor to him. And waiting for that call from Sergeant Gupta to tell him she was safe and out of harm’s way was the most gut-wrenching experience he had ever experienced as a police officer. He had seen it all. And at the time he would have described some crime scenes as gut wrenching. But this feeling was different! It was personal! His unborn child and wife were in peril. Their imperilment clawed raw within him. Suddenly, the tortured surrealism exploded like a bubble, and he was sucked back into the reality of the moment.
“Nadia thrusted forward, lower arms solidly slammed upon the table, clinched jaw projected outwardly and stared at Matt, cold and hard. Her eyes were deep, dark and bottomless. Whatever might have remained of the candle that once flickered upon her soul had been snuffed out long ago.
“I will say nothing more without my lawyer present” she slowly articulated.
Bill’s mobile vibrated. He had barely retrieved it from his pocket and noted the text “The jig is up!!!” from Corporal Liz Tubman when the door behind them swung open with such force that it struck and ricocheted off the wall.
“How dare you!” bellowed Judge Jenkins.