“I want her arrested for assault and battery,” Bearded-man said while holding his nose.
“Shut up,” the man in the blazer said while staring at Pia. “Detective Inspector Benton. You must be Ms. Sabel.”
“I am.” She extended a hand. She figured him for a swimmer based on his thick shoulders and thin waist.
Benton shook lightly, then thumbed at Bearded-man’s bloody nose. “You do that?”
“Hard to tell.” She pointed at her swelling cheek. “He whipped the crowd into a frenzy and sent them after me. Lots of people were taking swings at me. I defended myself.”
“Corruption and lies!” Bearded-man yelled. “She yanked my shoulder and punched me in the face! You can’t let her game the system—”
“Shut up,” Pia and Benton said in unison.
Benton looked at Bearded-man, then back at Pia. He nodded at her swelling cheek. “You’ll want ice for that.”
He headed for the big door, waving for her to follow.
Bearded-man shouted, “Blatant corruption! You offer the rich girl an ice pack and I get nothing.”
“We’ll put you up on charges for inciting a riot,” Benton said over his shoulder. He gave a nod to a PC, who marched straight for Pia’s victim.
Pia watched three uniformed officers herd Bearded-man away. She couldn’t help but notice there was some truth in his complaint. Although she had little compassion. A broken nose was hardly worth whining about. Or whinging, as the Brits said.
“Thanks for the rescue,” she said as he held the door for her.
“I don’t hold with his way of thinking,” Benton said, “but I’ve a lot more sympathy for him than the rich.”
Inside, Pia unstrapped her holster and laid it on the belt with her purse before entering the metal-detector. A PC did a double take at the pistol.
Benton stared at it with his mouth open. “Firearms are banned in the UK. Unlike you Yanks, we don’t fancy mass-shootings here.”
Pia and Jacob pulled their special permit cards and handed them to the officer working the metal detector. Benton snatched the cards from his man.
“MI5 lets your lot carry weapons?” Benton stared at them in disbelief before handing the cards back. “Bloody hell, that tosser was right about you and your privileges.”
“Does that mean you can’t spare an ice pack?” Pia asked. She stepped through the metal detector and scooped up her things.
Benton shook his head in disbelief and gestured for them to follow him. “What is it you’re after?”
“I came to offer my assistance in the search for Chloe’s killer.”
He marched them to an infirmary, where he pulled an ice pack out of a fridge and unceremoniously lobbed it to Pia. He offered one to Jacob, who shook his head. He shoved it back and slammed the door.
“Someone killed one of our own.” Benton crossed his arms and leaned his back against the fridge. “We’ll handle this, thank you.”
“Chloe was one of our own,” Pia said. “One of a few women on Earth to play World Cup football.”
“You bring too much of a spotlight with you, Ms. Sabel. You’re a lightning rod of controversy. You couldn’t manage the door without a brawl.”
She considered pointing out they were protesting before she arrived, but he knew that.
“You don’t have anything, do you.” She delivered her question as a statement.
“If you have anything new to offer, I’m all ears.”
“Had I not sent you the message, you wouldn’t have that much.”
“We have plenty. My team is sorting CCTV footage as we speak.”
Pia wanted to see that video. Somewhere on it would be Chloe’s killer. She said, “My team has some early analysis.”
“As do we.”
Pia didn’t believe him. Nor did she understand his reticence to accept her help. She said, “I know a couple notorious Russians who might shed light on Anton Petrova.”
“Will the Russians talk to you? Everyone knows you killed Viktor Popov in cold blood and got away with it.” Benton thumbed at the plaza outside. “That muppet was right about your kind. You can cover up anything you want.”
She considered arguing the point, but it was one of those cases where the rumors were true—she had actually covered up the killing of the murderous Russian. “Fine, I’ll track down Petrova myself. Maybe the press will take an interest.”
In the hallway outside, an officer called out for DI Benton. He opened the door and shouted, “I’m in here.”
“I’ll find Chloe’s killer, I promise you that,” Benton said.
Someone trotted toward them, their footsteps clicking in the hall.
Benton continued, “I’ve got more important things to worry about than the list of twelve, for the record. On the off-chance it should prove useful, tell me everything you know.”
“It’s a two-way street, Detective Inspector Benton.” She adjusted the ice pack on her face. “Where are you on the investigation?”
An out-of-breath PC stepped to the door. “Video’s been chopped to the relevant bits and queued in Room 115. Ready when you are, sir.”
“Right, I’ll be along in a minute.” Benton sent the man off and held the door open. “We’ll have to take this up another time. Where are you staying?”
“A place called Padley House.”
“Dame Millie?” He stepped back, his face betraying his surprise. “You’re her guest? Is she waiting for you now?”
Pia nodded.
“Damn,” Benton said and rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose she used to be one of your World Cup footballers back in the day. Should’ve known. Alright then. If we have a bit of an exchange, you’ll leave us to our jobs?”
Pia shrugged.
“Here it is,” Benton said. “We don’t know more than Chloe stated on the voicemail about the twelve. The names are common enough around the world. Even ‘Sabel’ brings up fifty families in five countries once we skimmed off your ten thousand Google entries.”
“What about Eden-Sonnet? We found—”
“You’re not to go near Lord Eden-Sonnet, do you hear me?” Benton’s face reddened. “We can’t mither him about any of this until we know what we’re dealing with. Right?”
“And the Morpheus Institute?”
“Another well-connected brick wall. We need more information before we have a chat with them.”
Pia saw the truth in the Manifest Morals leader’s complaint. After mentioning two important families and an institution, the air in the room had changed. She said, “Dame Millie’s arranging a tour for me.”
Benton stroked his chin. “Now that might be interesting. You can get something on Petrova as well?”
“Two-way street,” Pia said. She pushed forward. “Let’s check out the video.”
Benton frowned and blocked the doorway. His face scrunched as if he were going to say no. He hesitated, then unfolded his arms. “Alright, this once—but this is police business. You can attend as an observer. I’ll not have you interfering with the discussions.”
He led them down the hall.
Jacob’s phone buzzed. He checked it and held the caller-ID where Pia could see it. It read: Daniel Shikowitz. The long-serving FBI Director had been like a second father to her growing up. She couldn’t imagine why he was calling Jacob.
Jacob answered the call and stayed outside when Benton led Pia into a dark room.