Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

her nameplate, “Chickering.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing to worry about, really. Just hot on this case. Is Thatcher around?”

“Just one moment.” She stood and knocked on the door, then entered the other room. They heard mumbled chitchat before Juliet returned.

“He has a few minutes,” Juliet said. Byron nodded, and he and Mira entered the office.

“Well Constantine? I don’t have much time; we’ve got a lead on Whitechapel. Are you here to question the burglar? We caught her, you know. And she confessed to being at Pennington’s apartment.”

“Her? Well, yes now that you mention it, we would. However, I thought I would let you know the latest on the case.”

“And what is that?”

“Clement Pennington had a secret compartment in his piano. It was accessed either after his death, or shortly before it.”

“You have evidence of this?”

“Definite evidence.”

“Then our burglar must be lying. She stated that she didn’t find or steal anything when she came.”

“That’s the other thing. It is highly likely that Pennington was a thief of some kind. It is probable that he helped with a theft and took all the cash for himself. If that is the case, our burglar may have motive for murder.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about the evidence later.” Thatcher stood, picking up his coat. “I’m afraid I am late for an appointment with the superintendent about one of my other cases.”

Mira and Byron stood as well.

“Would you mind if we talked with our new suspect?”

“Not at all.” He picked up his hat and nodded to them both as he left the room. “Good day, Constantine, Miss Blayse.”

Byron left the office by a different door. He was heading to the interrogation rooms. Mira knew the way now. She followed next to him.

“Do you think we are dealing with a den of thieves here?”

“I believe we may be. Two potential burglars involved with one crime? It seems too good to be true,” he teased.

“But do you think that the burglar might have killed him? That Pennington was involved in the other burglaries?”

“Anything is possible, Mira.”

They reached the interrogation rooms and found Officer Wensley there.

“Constantine, old friend!”

“Hello, Fred.”

“Let me guess, you need something again. Or should I say, someone?”

“Did the chief inspector tell you we were coming?”

“Of course not! You think I wouldn’t know you’d be here in no time flat after hearing we caught the burglar?”

“That doesn’t take much deductive power, Fred.”

“I’ll take what I can get as a constable. You want me to get her for you?”

“Please do.”

Officer Wensley nodded and walked towards the holding cells. Byron leaned against the wall.

“I will never regret not going to police school.”

“Why did Fred go?”

“Well there is only a certain amount of leeway that a private detective has. If you move through the ranks of Scotland Yard, you’ll have access to more.”

“You don’t seem to have any problems with accessing things.”

“That’s just because I know how to play the game. If Wensley had wanted to, he could have gone in this direction. Something tells me he’ll still be bending the rules when he becomes a chief inspector.”

Officer Wensley came back down the hall. “They’re bringing her down now. You can go wait in interrogation room two if you want.”

“After you, Mira.” Byron took a step back, and she led the way.

“I’m interested to see who exactly we are working with here,” Byron said as they walked. “I’ve never heard of a female cat burglar before.” Byron paused a moment as they entered the interrogation room and situated themselves. “But I suppose that is part of the beauty of it. It’s no wonder that it has taken the police so long to find her. No one would suspect, and she could get away with all sorts of things.” He leaned back in his chair as the door opened and a woman stalked in.

Mira frowned. The burglar, that had supposedly been terrorizing North London for weeks, was indeed a woman. Two constables led her into the room, forced her into a chair, and then handcuffed her to the table. One constable handed a folder to Byron. The burglar quickly adjusted and sat comfortably, as if she posed for a portrait, without a care in the world. She had dark hair that probably was, at some point, pulled tight back into a bun. Wisps of hair had escaped during the time she had been incarcerated. Her eyes were dark, too. She was of a slim build, probably useful for slipping into tight places. She wore all black and sported tight-fitting trousers instead of a skirt—practical for staying hidden and climbing up buildings, if Mira had to guess. She took out her sketchbook to capture her.

“Selene Vermielle is it?” Byron looked at the case file. The cat lifted her head and examined him for the first time.

“Yes. And you are the detective they brought in to make me talk?” She had a slight French accent. When she pronounced the “r’s” it sounded like she was purring.

“That all depends. Can you think of anything worth talking about?”

Selene furrowed her brow. Mira adjusted her pencil, stretching her fingers.

“Not with you. No.”

“Very well. Then I’ll start the conversation. How do you do?”

“Terribly. I’m being held at Scotland Yard. How do you think I’d be doing?”

“Well, if you weren’t guilty, I’m sure you would have no trouble cooperating with the police. However, your lack of cooperation means you might be hiding something. The more you tell us, the more we can help you.”

Selene paused, pondering the situation. He continued. “Besides, we already know you were burglarizing a different abode. You were caught with the jewels in your paws so to speak. Conclusive evidence. You’ll be locked up for that alone, but why add a murder charge on top?”

“I didn’t murder him.”

“Well that’s a start. Why didn’t you murder him?”

“Because I don’t know who he is! Why would I murder someone without reason? I steal things for money. No one gets hurt, really.” She folded her arms and looked away, almost disgusted.

“The police seem to