820. Chapter 820

After To Love and Die in LA

Episode 3.22

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: I neither live in, nor own Castle in, LA, or anyplace else. Rating: K Time: See above.

Author's note: These are the continuing adventures of Sir Richard Castle and his wife, Lady Castle, better known as Inspector Beckett of Scotland Yard in the 1920s. Previous stories include chapters 656, 678 and 703 among others.

Kate came into the flat that Sir Richard had bought for them just off Belgrave Square, looking upset. Sir Richard immediately stopped typing on his brand new Remington typewriter and strode quickly to her.

"Are you all right, love? Bad day at the Yard? Should I make you a cocktail?"

Kate nodded. "Yes, it was a dreadful day. I just discovered that my former training officer Michael Royce was killed in Paris yesterday. And I would love a scotch and soda."

Rickard quickly mixed drinks for the two of them and sat with his wife in the lounge. "Why was he in Paris? Didn't his career with the Metropolitan Police end….badly?"

Kate took a drink and nodded. "I fear so. Michael was off duty but saw a young hooligan accosting a young lady. The hooligan resisted and Michael thrashed him soundly. However, the hooligan turned out to be the son of Lord Dunesberry, the Whig whip in the House of Lords. I tried to help, but Michael was dismissed from the force. He relocated to the Continent in hopes of bettering his station." Lady Kate sat up straight. "Richard, I've taken some of my holiday time. I'm going to Paris to look into Royce's death."

"I shall go with you, of course."

Kate smiled. "But don't you have to work on your latest Detective Inspector Nicole Cold book?"

Castle shrugged. "It's nothing that can't wait. I shall accompany you."

And so Sir Richard and Lady Kate took the train to Dover, then across the Channel and hence onto Paris. Once settled into the Hotel George Cinq, they took a taxi to Royce's flat on the Left Bank. The cab driver, a former Russian Count, advised them that this was a bad neighborhood. "I should be very careful, my English friends."

Sir Richard smiled and pulled out the large bore automatic pistol from its shoulder holster while Lady Kate pulled a sawed off shotgun from her purse. "We've been to France before. Rude waiters should beware of this English couple." She said.

They looked at Royce's hotel. "Le Inn des Goddams?" Kate read over the door.

"A slang expression the French use to describe us, my dear. Allegedly, during the Hundred Years War, that's all the French ever heard us say."

Once inside they were greeted by a rather disheveled looking blonde. "Allo, you wish a room? We rent by the hour, you know."

"We're friends of Michael Royce. We'd like to see his room."

The blonde held out her hand. "Perhaps the woman would like to go upstairs while you remain here with me, monsieur? It is well known that English women are as cold as a Swedish winter."

Kate reached over the counter and grabbed a key marked M. Royce. "If you want to see just how hot an Englishwoman can get, just keep talking." Kate went up the stairs, swinging her hips more than she usually did. Rick followed closely behind.

Once inside Royce's small room, they found very little. Kate was sure that the blonde had ransacked the room and taken any valuables.

"Ah, look. "Said Sir Richard. "Royce was a true Englishman. He not only had a tea kettle on the hotplate, but he kept a spare way up on this shelf. Richard pulled the tea kettle down and found it made an odd noise, as if something were inside it. "That's odd. There are about a dozen shell casings here and a pile of oddly shaped steel…somethings here. The shells are 7.92 mm Mausers, German, of course. I have no idea what these other things are."

"May I ask what you are doing in Mr. Royce's room?" A cultured voice asked, in English.

"We're friends of Mr. Royce's. I'm Sir Richard and this is my wife, Lady Kate Castle. We're you a friend of Royce's?"

"No, I live down the hall, but I only saw him a few times. I am Si Malal, a student from Morocco."

"Do you have any idea who might have killed him?" Kate asked.

"None at all." Then the Moroccan bowed and left.

"There's something else in the bottom of the kettle." Sir Richard fished out a slip of paper. "An address. 14 Rue Victor Hugo."

"We can visit that later, now we need to see the Surete Nationale."

The local office of the police was commanded by a grumpy, surly and overweight Commissaire de Police who was not at all happy to see a foreigner, and a female foreigner, at that, looking onto a case in his jurisdiction.

The man glared at them. "Your friend was stabbed in the back by an Arab knife. Doubtlessly an Arab wielded it. We've asked our informers to keep an eye out. Doubtlessly we'll find the killer."

"That's all you're doing?" Kate asked, outraged. Had it been a case of a foreigner murdered in London, a lot more would have been done. Inspector Kate Beckett would have seen to that.

"That is all. And may I remind you that you have no authority here. Now, you must excuse me, I have work to do." He then went back to reading a newspaper.

Kate left angrily and Richard made every effort to get her quickly to a cab and head for the Rue Victor Hugo. "Don't worry, Kate, darling. We'll find something."

14 Rue Victor Hugo was in an upscale area of the city. They dismissed their cab and walked around the area, but saw nothing that might indicate why Royce would go to an address in this area. They finally stood across the street from number 14 and stared at it.

"May I be of service to you?" Asked a voice with an Oxford accent.

"Perhaps. I'm Sir Richard Castle and this is my wife, Lady Kate. Are you English?"

"Oh, not at all, dear boy. I'm Rudi von Starnberg, German, of course. But I was educated at Eton and Oxford. As was my father before me and his father before him."

"A friend of ours was murdered and among his possessions was a scrap of paper with the address 14 Rue Victor Hugo on it." Kate pulled out a photograph of Royce that she had. "This is the victim. Have you seen him?"

Von Starnberg nodded. "Yes, several times. He seemed to be watching the place."

"Any idea why?"

Von Starnberg blushed. "I'm afraid that's a bit delicate with a lady present."

Kate nodded. "I'm Inspector Beckett, Scotland Yard when I'm not using my title. Whatever it is you're going to say, I've seen worse."

"The building houses a very expensive brothel."

"You mean Royce was using a…."

"No!" von Starnberg said quickly. "I never saw him enter and, to be frank, they'd never have let him in. I understand it's very expensive. But I understand that the girls are from North Africa, sold by their tribal leaders for use in….places like that. I fear they don't value their women too highly."

The two returned to their hotel. "Perhaps Royce was trying to help a girl escape from that life. Or all of them. It would be so like him."

As they sat there. Kate played with the shell casings and pieces of steel they'd found. Suddenly, she realized she'd put them together. "Richard, look at these. The metal strips go around the shells and form belt of ammunition. How odd."

Richard smiled. "Not odd, dearest, brilliant. What do you know about machine guns?"

"A bit, why?"

"Most machine guns, the Vickers, the Browning, the Maxim and others, use a woven cloth belt to hold the bullets. I know from the Great War that when the belts get wet, they're not only heavy, but cause the weapon to jam. And try to move with a gun dragging twenty feet of used belt behind you. But a metal belt that holds the shells until they're fired and then drops away as each round is fired, overcomes that problem." Sir Richard stroked his jaw. "There seem to be a lot of things leading to French North Africa here. What do you know of the situation in French Morocco?"

"The Rif War? The local Rif tribes have been fighting the French for years. Do you think there's a connection?"

Richard grinned. "I think there might be a German connection. How about this? The Germans, who still hate the French after losing the World War, are supplying top of the line weaponry to the Riffians. They use the brothel as….what? The weaponry would be too bulky to ship through that place. People would notice. But men could come in, make arrangements for the weapons shipments, arrange payments, pay bribes, and perhaps have some fun. We should go by there tomorrow."

Kate nodded. "I think we should."

They hired a car and parked near to 14 Rue Victor Hugo. However, brothels were usually quite silent in the morning with everyone sleeping in after a long night. The one at 14 Rue Victor Hugo was no exception.

"This could take a while." Richard said.

The rear door opened and a man got in behind them. "Sorry, old boy, but as soon as you told me that your lady was a policewoman, I knew I'd have to act if you came back." Von Starnberg said, pointing his Luger at them.

"Look, von Starnberg…"Before Richard could say anything more, a car pulled up beside them and a burst of submachine gun fired ripped through the back, killing von Starnberg. As the other car roared away, Rick thought he saw the face of Si Malal.

The French police arrived, took them into custody, interrogated them and then released them. They went back to their hotel.

"Any theories?" Kate asked.

"Royce might have been trying to help a girl, or maybe he was onto the gunrunning. Anyway, von Starnberg decided to have him killed. Si Malal? Probably some sort of French intelligence type. Utterly ruthless and cold blooded."

"Who killed Royce? Von Starnberg? One of his people? Who?"

Richard shook his head. "I have no idea." He waited for his wife's reply. Getting none, he asked, "What do you want to do?"

"Let's go home, Richard."