“You left your location services on,” Vance said, his voice scathing. “As soon as Martin traced your phone to Benscombe, I had a team en route to secure the others.”
The car braked to a stop. The driver stayed inside, but Vance, Martin, and I piled out with the other four. A guard was standing at the front door of the house and he stepped up to brief Vance.
“The property is secure. Three subjects in the kitchen.”
Three. I let out a breath in relief. Mary Alice, Natalie, and Helen. That meant Akiko and Minka were safe with Taverner. Whatever Vance had managed to do, he hadn’t gotten his hands on them.
I was herded into the house ahead of the others, and Martin was somewhere in the middle. I didn’t know what they planned to do with him, but I was sure it wouldn’t be pretty.
We moved down the hall and into the kitchen. Mary Alice, Helen, and Natalie were seated at the table, the surface covered with a piece of flowered oilcloth. Two guards stood against the wall, weapons unholstered. Clean dishes were stacked in the drainer, but baking goods were arranged on the worktops, and somebody had left a candle burning on a saucer in the middle of the table. And coffee had been made at some point and not cleared away. A pot stood next to a sugar bowl and a few bottles of powdered creamer, but the mugs were empty.
I sniffed the air. “Bath and Body Works?”
“Marks and Spencer,” Mary Alice said. “They were having a sale.”
“It’s nice,” I told her. Somebody nudged my back with a gun and I joined them at the table. Vance took a chair also and we looked around at each other.
“So, shall I fill them in?” I turned to the others. “Correct me if I leave something out. Martin,” I said, pointing to where he stood, sniveling a little in his sweater vest, “started it all. He decided to take over the Museum. So he faked evidence that we’d been working against the board, which he presented to them, causing them to issue a termination order against us.” I looked up at him. “I guess you were thinking that once Vance was dead, you could just slip into his office and nobody would care?”
“There is an interim director clause,” Martin said quietly. “When I first came to work at the Museum, my job was digitizing the founding documents. I came across the section dealing with what would happen in the event of a succession crisis and I thought that was kind of useful information to keep handy.”
“A succession crisis?” Mary Alice raised her brows. “That sounds so official.”
Martin went on. “When a board member’s seat is unexpectedly vacated, their immediate subordinate is automatically advanced to interim board member in their place.”
Helen pursed her lips. “So if the whole board were terminated, then you and Naomi would take over? Only Naomi is out on sick leave, so that means you would have the entire control.”
“And it wouldn’t be too difficult to push out a pregnant woman working remotely,” Natalie finished. “Pretty misogynistic, if you ask me.”
“But instead,” I went on, “Vance clocked what he was up to and let him use us to take out Carapaz and Paar, leaving Vance free to revamp the Museum however he wanted.”
I leaned forward. “What was it, Vance? The money? Director’s salary not stretch as far these days?”
He shook his head. “I don’t usually hold grudges, Billie. I make an exception for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you still pissed about Zanzibar?”
He leaned close and I realized the Fisherman’s Friend smell was long gone. He smelled like old man. “You took my Nazi, Billie. That was my assignment, my mission. You were there as backup only. You were supposed to handle the art and fill in our cover story. That’s all. But you couldn’t help yourself. You rushed in and took her.”
“I saved your life,” I said quietly.
He slammed a hand to the table, causing the mugs to jump and the candle flame to flicker. “You really think I couldn’t handle one old woman? She got off one lucky shot and she wouldn’t have gotten another. I had everything under control. And you ruined it. The very last Nazi ever taken by the Museum. And you got the credit.”
“Vance, she’s dead. That was the mission. What does it matter who made the kill?”
“It mattered.”
“Enough for you to decide to plot my death four decades later?”
He grinned. “No. But enough to make your death completely acceptable as part of what happens now.”