Code Name: Aggie~Part 3 Chapter 13~ 🌅Fadeless Day/ Endless Night🌑

Within days after the news broke,  Styles Country Villa was awash in cards and telegrams of condolence.
Jim and Emily Japp arrived the day after, and much of the funeral arrangements were taken off Hastings' plate by Scotland Yard. "We take care of our own.  You two have always been a huge help to us."
"Whether or not you wanted to admit it?"   Hastings found a reason to laugh.
The next day,  Felicity and Edgar Bennett arrived ,  just in time for breakfast.   Later that day,  Poirot's sister, Adelise arrived, accompanied by the surviving brother.  Giles was almost a twin to Poirot,  except for the lack of a moustache and was a more casual dresser than his youngest brother had been, at least as an adult.
By breakfast the next day,  tenants, family and friends were chatting over the morning meal,  with Adelise and Giles sharing stories of their childhood days. 
    After breakfast,  Adelise brought a small photo album that genuinely tickled Japp.  Especially anything sports related, where Poirot was clearly out of his depth.
"Poor tyke!"  Emily Japp empathized with a brief giggle as the photo was passed around the group that sat at a long table in the corner of the dining room.
"You wouldn't have any negatives of these photographs?"  Hastings asked.  "I haven't dabbled with my photography hobby in a while but this would be a nice reason to start tinkering again."
   Flipping to the back of the photo album,   Adelise produced an envelope full of negatives from a hand made pouch she glued to the back cover of the book.  "I kept losing the things in drawers or heaven knew where else.  I finally did this! "
She slapped a hand on her functional bit of decorating.
                               ~~~~
The morning of the funeral, it was surprisingly easy to talk Aaron into staying home with Molly.  "We're gonna play golf and look through the picture book and talk about stuff we all did with Papa Payrow.  We don't even have to do any counting today!"  the boy declared over his breakfast.
"Papa liked to show you how to count,"  Isabel reminded her son.
"I liked the stories more."   Aaron replied with a shrug.  "Are you going to remember Papa  Payrow today?  Is that why you're all dressed in the sad color?"
Hastings only nodded.  "But you don't have to.  You can wear whatever you like.  Only, remember to  keep warm if you plan to go golfing."
                   ****
As promised,  Scotland Yard was represented.  A  contingent of  seven officers escorted the pal bearers  (Hastings, Japp,  Giles Poirot and Commissioner Spaulding )   into the full sanctuary.   In the second row, right,  Felicity Bennett held her husband's hand, closing her eyes as the casket passed by.   A row behind her,  Felicity could hear a woman sniffling and weeping, despite muffling her voice with a bunched-up handkerchief.
In offering a smile of comfort,  she noticed something vaguely familiar about the woman which, at the moment, at least,  Felicity didn't concern herself with.  It was enough that she kept herself together.
"We are gathered in this sanctuary this morning,"   Father Sean Brody began the service. "to remember the life of Hercule Poirot.  Thankfully,  I haven't needed Mr. Poirot's assistance in any professional capacity,  but I've heard much about him.  Serving God does not always necessitate a clerical collar.  Some serve Him by way of charitable organizations for the less fortunate in communities and countries around the world.  Others serve Him with the talents He gave them,  whatever those talents might be.
I believe Mr. Poirot  has shared his gifts on behalf of justice.
It can be no mistake that we live in a troubled world,  where humanity has turned on itself in the name of power and /or financial gain,  among other sins and transgressions against heaven and civil law.  To that end,  Mr Poirot contributed his skills for detail and passion for justice into the solving of crimes within his home country of Belgium, and then, when he emigrated to England during World War One.
Throughout this service,  we will hear from friends and colleagues,  who've come with stories to tell."
   The two eulogies were shared by Poirot's brother,  Giles,  who regaled the congregation of mourners with stories of their childhood in Belgium.

   "Hercule was the 'baby'  of the family and yet,  in some ways, he was the example we found ourselves being compared to.    Especially when it came to school work.  I don't mind telling you,  I'm glad he was the 'baby'  and not and older child.  I don't want to think of what it would have been like to try and follow that act.   My good fortune was that he was singularly bad in sports.  Brothers, eh?"

  Arthur Hastings'  eulogy was surprisingly upbeat;  reminiscing about the case of the dog who was accused of killing his owner,  "Until Poirot figured out that Bob was vindicating himself every time he retrieved his ball and returned it to his basket.   Neither one of us could figure out why someone would want to frame a dog for murder. 
   When all is said and done, I think perhaps CURIOSITY was Poirot's primary motivation for becoming a detective. He loved fitting together details the way someone who loves jigsaw puzzles can sit,  for hours,  looking for the pieces that connect to form the single picture.
While Japp and myself and...well,  most of Scotland Yard would scratch our heads over Poirot's  obsession with the most seemingly insignificant aspect of a case,  more often than not, it was that little piece that connected the other pieces of the mystery and helped him see the whole picture. "
  Hastings took a long, steadying breath and continued,  "IF this mess with the Manchester Brotherhood had ONE point to its credit,  and that was the opportunity for Poirot to learn how to relax.  To wake up without having to worry about the details of a case.   At first,  I thought he'd be crawling out of his skin, inside of a week,  wanting to get back to work , but then,  he began enjoying life at Styles and playing with his grandson.  It didn't bother either Poirot or Aaron that they weren't related by blood.  He referred to my son as his grandson and Aaron ..."   he stopped,  took another steadying breath, and finished.  "and Aaron called him 'Papa Payrow' ".

   The last speakers of the service were Felicity Lemon-Bennett and Poirot's sister, Adelise, who recited,  a verse at a time, the poem,   "The City Foursquare."
"Given Mr. Poirot's penchant with symmetry,  this seemed the most logical choice of the two potential titles."   Felicity explained before she began;

  In the land of fadeless day
Lies the city foursquare;
It shall never pass away,
And there is no night there.

All the gates of pearl are made,
In the city foursquare;
All the streets with gold are laid,
And there is no night there.

All the gates shall never close
To the city foursquare;
There life’s crystal river flows,
And there is no night there.

There they need no sunshine bright,
In that city foursquare;
For the Lamb is all the light,
And there is no night there.

God shall wipe away all tears,
There’s no death, no pain, nor fears,
And they count not time by years,
For there is no night there.

     By the time the women left the podium,  the sniffles and soft weeping could be heard again.
      Immediate family and close friends attended the graveside service before joining others at a gathering in the church's fellowhip hall in the lower level.  Almost immediately,  Japp bumped into Mr. Tysoe, who'd given him and Poirot a hard time over the whole Big Four business. He and his wife Florence (Flossy)  Monroe,  the actress whose rejection of obsessed actor Albert Whaley/  Claude Darrell unintentionally kicked off a wave of murders that became linked with a fictional organization known as The Big Four.

"That was a nice write-up of yours, this morning,  Mr. Tysoe,"  Japp nodded.   Hercule Poirot: 'Small Man,  HUGE Legacy."

  "Thank you."  Tysoe raised his coffee cup in salute.  "Funny thing,  on my way to the funeral today,  take a guess where I stopped?"
"Methuselah Theater?"  Japp figured.
"Got it in one."  Tysoe declared.  "Flossy even tried the door."
"I did.  Sadly, it's all locked up.  Truth to tell, I'm surprised it's still standing."
"We passed it on the way to the church."  Japp replied.  "If I'd been driving my own car, I might have done the same thing,  for the very same reason,  in spite of everything I saw."
"So there's no way Mr. Poirot could have pulled a fast one on the Manchester Brotherhood the way he did with the fictional Big Four?"   the intrepid journalist asked.
" 'Fraid not.  See. the Brotherhood had a trump card that Mr. Albert Whalley,  Dr. Quentin and aspiring actor Claude  Darrell all together couldn't produce."
"Which was?"
Japp smirked,  "Got your journalist's hat on again?"
"I never take it off.  Except in the shower."  Tysoe chuckled at his own lame joke.  "Can I assume that the disgraced author Ariadne Oliver is part of this twisted equation?"  he inquired.

  "She was their  trump card.  A desperate woman who needed a financial winfall to plug up the gaping hole made by her big mouth.  She makes a deal with Poirot to collaborate on a detective story,  using fictional accounts of his  cases. Now, whether that set-up was ever Kosher,  and let's assume, for half a second, that it was,  she apparently got a better offer  Or so she thought."

  "Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate under the circumstances, but would you be willing to meet for an interview?  Tomorrow,  before or after work?"
"Unfortunately,   I don't know enough to give you a proper lead,  and I'm on holiday for another week.  However,  I can put you in touch with the Commissioner.  No doubt he has more information.  BUT....only on the condition that you boil that WITCH in her own cauldron!  As the Americans say,  Dollars to Donuts,  Ariadne Oliver is going to hang for luring Poirot to his death.  By the time the press is through with her,  I want Mrs Oliver to prefer the noose against the very thought of looking at another newspaper."

  "In other words, beat the witch with her own broom?"  Flossy said.

Japp raised his coffee cup. "I like that.   Let me buy you two a sandwich."

  Even knowing that no one was 'buying'  anything,  the gesture suggested a partnership.

Felicity and Hastings met other friends and acquaintances by way past cases including Catherine Shayne (formerly Grey), who told Poirot's friends how he'd been protective of her during a harrowing ride on The Blue Train."

Heavens!"  Felicity cringed at the description of the dead woman, in addition to what nearly happened to Mrs. Grey-Shayne.  "He told me about what happened on the Orient Express and even that was scant. And to think, he didn't like ocean travel.  His experience with trains was becoming that much more harrowing."

"If  you think THAT is scary, "  a woman's voice contributed to the conversation. "try being stuck in a mountain chalet with a killer on the loose."
The woman, dressed totally in black,  down to the mourning veil, could only be recognized by the stark white hair that framed her obscured face.
"During the winter?"  Adelise asked.
"A rather chilly one at that."   the woman spoke and Felicity was more certain she had heard the voice before."
"Didn't Mr. Poirot assist you in a case?  You sound familiar."
The woman lifted her veil and Felicity and Hastings recognized Countess Vera Rosakoff.  She was older of course but still recognizable. As well, there was a deep sadness in her face and eyes that held more pain than just the death of a man she so deeply admired.
"You look rather pale. Would you like a drink of water?  A cup of tea?"  Isabel Hastings offered; pulling up a chair for the woman to sit in. 

  Almost in a blink  she was circled by a small cluster of chairs. Friends and family of the deceased and they sensed she had a story to tell.   The jewel  theft they were....somewhat aware of,   except for the revelation that Poirot got back the jewels that would have cost Japp his job, had they not been retrieved.

"That was not even the worst of it. My ...sin,"   Vera Rosakoff said upon thanking Isabel for the tea. "was that,  when I learned of the atrocities committed my daughter,  I turned my back on Hercule in favor of my daughter, who cared no more for me than for the people she killed under the moniker of  Maresko.  Lives Alice Cunningham/Maresko  so easily eliminated, as if  swatting a bug,  and I take her side over the ones she victimized."
"Of course you're going to,"  Adelise insisted. "I'm a mother.  Any good mother ....we deal with a LOT. Hopefully not to that degree you've had to endure, but you will take her side.  It's ....natural in a way."

  "Is your daughter in prison?"  Hastings inquired, immediately feeling guilty for asking such a cold question on such an occasion.
Vera Rosakoff sipped on her tea and then spoke up.   She was hanged within the year of that ordeal of the mansion on the mountain.  Hercule, he told of the horrors committed by this MONSTER named Maresko and yet,  I INSISTED he forgive those murders and just let my daughter go free."  Countess Rosakoff sniffed at her foolishness.  "Multiple murder and jewel theft are NOT the same thing." 
   The woman sighed and dabbed at a stray tear with a gloved hand.  "And to ask Hercule to free a killer as he would pardon comparatively petty crime of theft was wrong of me!
Alice was executed without a single letter received.  Not an apology for what she did. The lives that were taken so cruelly. Not an 'I love you, mum. ' Nothing.  I wanted to write to Hercule and apologize for asking that he do something against the law or his conscience.  But I never could work up the courage and I hated myself for being such a coward. When I read about his death,  I cried.  How I cried!  Then I also decided I was going to attend his funeral to pay my respects. Weak as the gesture is."

  Patting Vera Rosakoff's free hand,  Felicity Bennett smiled,   "He would have forgiven you."
Vera Rosakoff shrugged.  "I will take your word for it."
                                  ****
That evening,  after dinner,  Aaron showed the photo album to his adopted uncles and aunts. Photos he didn't remember taking.  The picture of Papa Payrow with spaghetti in his hair and year old Aaron tossing spaghetti up in the air was the highlight;  getting everyone in the lounge laughing.
"How in the world did you get this photograph taken?"   Felicity laughed.
"Thankfully, he was too busy laughing with Aaron to notice I took the picture. That, and I never showed him."
  Before Aaron's bedtime,   Hastings read the second story in Poirot's collection not just to Aaron but to the everyone in the lounge  once he knew they wanted to hear it.  Many of the tenants of the Villa had been to Poirot's service and the story seemed a bittersweet way to end a sad day.   For Hastings,  it was a fond recollection, albeit a tad lopsided.
A few days later,  he had some of the pictures enlarged and framed where they graced the hall  and mantlepiece in the living room.  The spaghetti photo got a second frame, and became part of the tapestry of photos that marked the life of Aaron Hastings. One day,  this little boy's room would become a teenager's room, and the photos that graced the wall and dresser top would end up in a keepsake box that now held his toys.  For now,  Arthur Hastings was content to let his five year old son stay a five year old.
 
                         ****
A week to the day after  Poirot's funeral,   Hastings,  Felicity and Japp,  on his last day of 'holidays'  before returning to work, sat in the office of Poirot's solicitor.   The reading was brief and yet a pleasant surprise.
"I will skip the part about siblings.  Their bequests have been mailed.  Only two siblings are still living and they were well seen to. "   Ross Ewing said, almost in passing.  "I wish I had a brother like this."    He flipped the page over and got to the point.
"To James Japp (Assistant Commissioner)  I have asked the Commissioner if you could receive any gifts in a will that would not adversely affect your pension.  I was told that you need not worry.   And so,  I hope two thousand pounds will assist your retirement fund.  I am glad we were finally able to work together without the competition.  You have the talent for physically following up  the leads that would wear me out. Well, now you deserve to relax with Emily and maybe take a trip. Work on your garden.  Enjoy the retirement you worked so hard for." 
    "To Felicity Bennett, (formerly Lemon)   You have been the very definition of PATIENCE over the years, chere ami.  When the Manchester Brotherhood nearly succeeded in robbing from me a dear friend,  I would not stop until they were brought down!   If you are hearing this will being read,  I obviously failed at some point.  But if you are hearing this,  know that your work has not be taken entirely for granted.   Please accept Two Thousand Pounds towards your relaxation fund.   If you want to work for another five years, that make sure the fund earns interest that will allow you to enjoy your leisure years worry-free. 
  Arthur Hastings and family ;  Mes Amis  I write this with much gratitude and respect for what you and have done to build the place from where it was, so long ago.   Any sort of business venture, it has its highs and lows, so please accept four thousand pounds.  Two thousand of which I ask you to add to Aaron's college fund.  I have no idea how much a good school will cost when he needs it,  but every little bit, it counts.   It will also give to his parents much needed peace of mind.  The other two thousand is your to do with as you wish.  You work hard and so I hope you can take some time to relax.   
    However,  if putting this money into a rainy day fund to offset any future concerns, then I praise your good judgement and wish for you all the best.   You have shared with me your home and that dear boy has given to me a new outlook.  That life , it  does not always have to be tidy.  And the time I have spent playing golf or coloring and listening to stories,  and even playing at having to eat the potatoes so Aaron, he would finish his vegetables,  it has been far more enjoyable than all the perfectly organized counters or the bed that is made on time.  I will treasure this time for the rest of my life."
  Finally,  I have done some research and discovered that St. Martin's Hospital has a research facility for cancer and other diseases.  Please donate the remainder of my estate to St. Martin's Cancer Research.  No one else should suffer through the dreaded disease.  I would not want to be diagnosed with it, but even worse, I do not believe I could live through losing another loved one as I lost my Virginie.   Since you're reading this,  she and I are together again.  Even still, I would not wish on my worst enemy what that disease does to the one afflicted and those who suffer with the losing. 
     Oh,  lest I forget! My things.  Clothes.  If you can find a charity that needs clothes for men my size.  Please donate them.
For other things,  (books,  etc)  do what you wish.  Hopefully, nothing will go to waste.
      When all, it is said and done,  I hope I have been able to do some good with my life.  For all my over-done self-confidence, I do have regrets.  Alas,  mistakes, they are a part of life. And those we cannot undo we can learn from.
Fondest regards always!
Hercule Poirot

                                  *****
The three friends left the lawyer's office and the office building in better spirits than when they arrived. So much so that it took a minute or so to realize they'd been called after. Well,  at least Japp.
"Japp?  I think you're being paged."
Japp turned around and just about ran into the man.
"Hello?"
The slightly rumpled man with the attache case extended a hand.  "Eric Cortland. I represent Ariadne Oliver."
"Bully for you,"  Japp sneered,  ready to walk away.
"You represent that..... that....woman?!  Do you know what she did?!"    Felicity did not even attempt to lower the volume of her voice.
"I'm quite well aware of what she did, ma'am.  The good news is,  so did she."
"So  what's she done?  Throw herself on the mercy of the court?"  Hastings was ill at the thought that Poirot's killer could escape the gallows by turning on the water works and telling the judge she was dealing with some woman's issue.
"Not quite."   the rumpled lawyer explained.  "Uh, look, is there somewhere we can go to discuss this?   How about my office? There's a boardroom. I can set up some coffee."
"Just give us the upshot."   Hastings insisted.  "Is Ariadne Oliver going to walk out of court a free woman?"
Eric Cortland huffed.  "In her dreams maybe.  Simply stated,  I put the kibosh on her plea-bargaining by squealing on the Brotherhood.   In her own statement she said that they gave her an out."
"An out?"   Felicity puzzled.
"I'd really like to go into this sitting down.  I've been back and forth all morning. I promise to tell you everything I know."
"Well,"  Japp decided. "I'm feeling a bit flush at the moment.  How about we go out for lunch.  There's a seafood place a five minute walk away.  I'll treat you to lunch."  Japp leaned forward. "Tell us EVERY thing you know, or as surely as God made little green apples, you'll be paying for your own lunch."
****
At the seafood Restaurant,  everyone but Felicity had some sort of Shrimp based meal.  She enjoyed Filet de Sole Normand.  To which Japp said with a smile,  "I said I was a bit flush. Didn't say anything about winning the Irish Sweepstakes."
"You'd be paying a lot more if I did order the Shrimp.  I'm allergic."
Over lunch,  Eric Cortland discussed preparations for the preliminary hearing, which would take place that very Friday.   "There isn't going to be a trial.   I recommended she plead guilty and throw herself on the court's mercy.   The problem is, her official statement is a meal for any prosecuting attorney.  Under cross examination,  Mrs. Oliver could crack and incriminate the very people who WOULD HAVE put her up, financially.  Perhaps even made her one of them.  Squealing on them is suicide."
"How about Suchet?   He's not going to try to weasel out of it with some two hundred pound an hour lawyer?"  Japp  asked.

Finishing a  garlic butter shrimp,  Cortland chased it with a glass of ice water and then dabbed his mouth.  "No way.  Matter of fact,  he boxed himself in pretty tight.   See,  in order to ensure that Ariadne didn't try to pin the blame on the Brotherhood,  Mr. Suchet ADMITTED that he approached Mrs Oliver about helping them to trap Mr Poirot.   He talked about financial compensation and told Ariadne that she was free to turn down the offer, JUST SO LONG as she didn't contact the police.  In her own written  statement,  Mrs. Oliver made the same point.
"And so, while Damien Suchet WILL hang as an accessory in Poirot's death,  he's also got a few more skeletons in his rather fancy closet.  The suspicious deaths of their lawyer judge after the pharmacy deal. In addition to the killing of the pharmacist who would not sell his business to them."
"I could have died because of that ...that FARCE!"  Felicity insisted in a low but fierce whisper. "Had it not been for Captain Hastings and Mr. Poirot getting me to the hospital as fast as they did!  And God alone knows how many people were harmed in the meantime! I didn't shed a tear for the two who were hanged, and I won't  shed a tear for that WOMAN who betrayed a friend in the name of MONEY!"
"That's the name of the game, though,  Felicity."  Hastings spoke up.  "Though I'm equally certain that the fellas in the Brotherhood didn't get too choked up over two of their men going for the drop.  They just wanted revenge on those who made it happen. Call it, for want of a better word, a 'principal' "
Felicity Bennett huffed but Eric Cortland concurred with Hastings'  position.
"Sad but true.  David Christie and Michael  Prichard  could have been gold fish as far as their human worth was concerned.  But the Manchester Brotherhood would not be seen as weak.  Damien Suchet can say he didn't kill the lawyer or the judge,  and he MIGHT be telling the truth.  On the other hand,  if he says a PEEP to incriminate another member of the organization,   he could walk out of the court room a free man and only to be riddled with bullets on the courthouse steps."
"He's stuck either way?"   Felicity asked before putting a forkful of sole to her lips.
"Boxed in.   Both of them.   Though Ariadne will come out of it all the worse.  Like I said, she had an OUT.   Total freedom from consequences provided she said NO and then walked away."
"But the Brotherhood could still mow her down."  Japp replied.
"Definitely.  The clause about keeping the police out was protection for THEM.  However, I am inclined to believe they wouldn't have done anything if she just, as I said,  said NO and made herself invisible.   She could have refused to take  part in the murder plot and YET..... she CHOSE to take the offer."  Cortland took a drink from his glass of water.  " As it stands,  Mrs. Oliver would do well to  HOPE she hangs because her name isn't worth dog droppings  on a city sidewalk.  If her on-air rant lost her fans,  then  murdering a celebrated personality, in order to bail herself out of a self-inflicted bind,  isn't going to win those fans back. 
   Supposing she did, miraculously, walk out of court alive. So what?   She couldn't get a job writing soup commercials. Not in this country anyway. "
"Any chance I can see them tomorrow?"  Japp asked. "I'm back in the office first thing,  and I have a few questions for Mrs Ariadne Oliver at least"
"And Suchet? I mean, you did say 'them'. "
James Japp shrugged,  "Curious.  I mean, it was the Brotherhood who wanted Poirot. So why give the 'catch'  to Mrs. Oliver?"
"You're getting rusty, Japp,"  Hastings replied.  "Ariadne Oliver was the reason they finally succeeded.  "And it wouldn't have mattered to that lot if Poirot had be run over by a bus!   Just so long...."
"That's where you're wrong, Captain Hastings."  Eric Cortland responded.  "While Poirot's .....removal might have,  to a point, been some satisfaction to them,  they wanted to be PERSONALLY responsible for carrying it out.  That said,  I doubt that your presence will have any affect on Suchet,  Assistant Commissioner."

  "I'm not looking for fear,"  Japp said ; dipping the last shrimp in the garlic butter and then biting it up to the tail.  "Okay,  maybe a little.   For the most part, though,  I just want to find out if his success was worth facing the noose."

   Eric Cortland thanked Japp for the lunch.  "I can't make any promises but I'll try.  By Friday,  we'll know just what sort of leniency (if any)  the judge will give them."
"The last judge who refused leniency to a member of the Manchester Brotherhood got himself and his office blown to smithereens."    Felicity reminded all that the table before cutting another slice of her fillet.   "If he stands firm on his judgement;  capital punishment for a capital crime,  he may not live long enough to see the judgement carried out.  On the other hand,  if he goes easy on Ariadne Oliver,  and, more importantly, Mr. Suchet ,  he might as well hang out a sign,  "This court gives Free Rides to Murders."

                      *****
   Japp  got the answer to his question by lunchtime the next day.  He was offered the opportunity to bring Ariadne's lunch into her cell in Scotland Yard Lock up.  A temporary holding block  for those waiting for their court hearing and to find out how much their bail would be.   In the case of Ariadne Oliver,  there would be no bail.  She committed murder with intent to do the same.   Had she been granted bail,  the odds were excellent that Poirot's killer would jump higher than a Kangaroo on a hotplate.  That much agreed upon,  Mrs. Oliver was held in custody until the pre-trial hearing.
In the couple of weeks she was in custody,  Mrs Oliver's celebrity of sorts earned her a couple of perks,  including a radio and books.  Of that collection, many were her own.
   When Japp arrived with her lunch,   she was at the small wooden table,   scribbling away in a notebook.   "Put it on the bed,"    she said,  not even looking up.
Japp put the tray on her bed but didn't leave.   Finally,  she looked up and saw not a prison guard but a plain clothed man in a long, dark brown coat.  His ever-present beige coat,  returned to him by the ambulance attendant,  was dry cleaned,  and then hung at one end of the hall closet,  still in the plastic, dry-cleaning covering.  Ironically,  there was no blood on it.  There never had been.   All the same,  Japp couldn't bring himself to wear it again.   Emily was happy enough to buy her husband a new rain coat. Closer to a chocolate brown.  The new coat was a stark reminder of why he wasn't wearing his old one. That reminder kept Japp standing in place;  staring, almost curiously at the woman Poirot considered a friend.
"You're still here,  and you're not a guard."   Ariadne Oliver put her pen down.
"You're bright.  No wonder you used to write detective novels."   Japp's tone dripped with sarcasm.
"Why don't you sit down?"  Ariadne took her tray from the bed and brought it to the table.   Salsbury steak,  mashed potatoes,  green beans.  Dessert was a slice of apple pie,  looking rather naked minus ice cream.  Japp simply stood at the door and stared.
Cutting into her gravy laden hamburger patty,  Ariadne stopped,  heaved a loud sigh and glared at the man staring at her.  "WHO are you and what do you want?!   It's very unnerving, trying to eat while someone glares holes through me."

"Japp.  Assistant Commissioner James Japp of Scotland Yard.  I requested the opportunity to deliver your lunch so I could ask you a question."

"So ask!"

  "How IS your lunch,  Mrs. Oliver?"

Ariadne Oliver glared at the man like he just asked her to strip naked before she ate anymore..    "How is my lunch?  That's the question you came to ask?  Interesting training you Scotland Yard boys get."

"I'm just curious, as I said.   Around this time, two weeks ago, give or take,  you could make your own meals.  Better than what you're eating now, I'm sure.  Afterward, you were free to meander about your Mayfair apartment at your leisure.  Go out whenever you liked.  How does your current situation stack up next  to those former freedoms?  Is all of THIS,"   Japp extended his arms as wide as they would go. "worth killing someone who considered you a friend?"

"He considered me a friend,"  Ariadne Oliver sipped on her tea after preparing it with cream from a tiny metal pitcher and three teaspoons of sugar from a matching tiny metal sugar bowl. "That ....consideration didn't necessarily go both ways."

   "Well then,  Mrs. Oliver, you are to be ...congratulated,  for lack of a more accurate term.  You managed to outsmart a man who turned the tables on some pretty cunning underworld characters.  None the LEAST of which were your collaborators.   And for that success,  you. WILL. SWING!"    Japp was in her face in an instant;   his arms on either side of the table.

Ariadne only smirked.    "You think so, do you,  Mr. Japp?   You forget so soon that a ...favor such as what I did is worth every penny of the defense I will receive."

"You're going to plead not guilty?"  Japp asked,  as if he hadn't been told,  by Mrs. Oliver's lawyer,  what was already decided.  Letting Ariadne know that Eric Cortland had spoken to him would guarantee the man's sudden and possibly agonizing demise.  The Manchester Brotherhood did not take kindly to being undermined,  especially by those they were paying.

"I am going to admit what I did and play the Mea Culpa card.  Shame on me.  I got weak-kneed at the thought of so much money when I was a bit down on my luck.   Boo-hoo.  I'll regret it for the rest of my life."   She made her confession  with all the emotion of someone making out a grocery list.  In fact,  she nearly giggled.
Japp, in turn,  wanted to knock her teeth down her throat.  Instead,  he went and knocked on the door. "Incidentally,  Mrs. Oliver, prison grey does nothing for you."    He said with the triumphant smile of someone who got one over on one who believed she got in the last word.   It was some small consolation to see Ariadne Oliver's face look like a rainy long-weekend as he closed the door on the way out of Mrs. Oliver's cell.

  Japp's next stop was the men's ward, one floor down.   In a section of isolated cells,  five guards  milled about;  looking and acting almost casual.  They did everything shy of kicking back with a cigarette and a drink.   However, for the prisoners,  the side-arms the guards wore were enough to make them think twice before attempting an escape.

  As per routine in this section of Scotland Yard Lock-up , Japp showed his official identification prior to one of the guards knocking on the cell door.   "Suchet!  You got company!   The guard  called through open barred window before he opened the door and let Japp in.     The Assistant Commissioner was faced with a man who lay  on his bed,  reading Sherlock Holmes.
Again,  Japp leaned against the cell door,  staring at the man with the novel that shielded him from the Assistant Commissioner's intense stare.  Within minutes,  though,  Suchet dog eared his page in the book,  slammed it shut and dropped it onto the bed as he sat up.    "Is that going to be my capital punishment?  You, staring me to death?"

   "If I could kill you, Suchet,  believe me,  you'd know it.  You might already be dead."

  The man's smile more resembled a sneer.  "And you'd be dead a minute later. There are five armed guards outside that door." said  the man,  formerly a very snappy dresser, now in prison grey.
   James Japp shook his head.  "No way.  You're going to hang,  Suchet and I want to be here to see it."
Unlike Ariadne Oliver,  Damien Suchet only shrugged.  "I doubt that.   But if you're right, so what?  The Manchester Brotherhood brought down the almighty Hercule Poirot.   All we had to do is figure out his weakness.  The man trusted his friends."
"Unfortunately,  not everyone CALLED a friend deserves the title.   Then again, at least Poirot had friends.  Do you?  Who's going to cry at your funeral?"
"I belong to a very powerful organization,  Mr..... What's your name?"
"James Japp.  Assistant Commissioner."
"Well,  Assistant Commissioner James Japp,   I may be behind bars,  but Scotland Yard is out one valuable resource.  Whether I hang or spend the rest of my life in prison,  we got Poirot."
"And that was worth not being able to spend your own money on the foods you like,   and go where you want?  Poirot didn't care for so-called  'recreational drugs' ,  Mr. Suchet. In fact, he HATED them.   Had he found out  any other way,  about that drug ring,  he would have been tenacious in bringing the operation and its organizers to justice.   HOWEVER,  you nearly ended up killing a good friend of ours, when a cold medication turned out to be pure Cocaine.  Accident or not,  you got him very angry.   I'm over a head taller than Poirot was and I don't believe I was ever so foolish to make him as...IRATE as you lot did.
   Well, Mr. Suchet,  your organization,  Mrs. Ariadne Oliver and you, personally  deprived Scotland Yard of a valuable resource and robbed me and some mutual friends and family of a good friend.   The Manchester Brotherhood aren't the only ones who know how to do revenge, sir.   Legally,  you and Mrs. Oliver will hang for murder.  Morally,   I'm going to see what I can do to get permission to pull the lever when you're standing on that square piece of flooring."

   "And you are SO sure I'm going to hang?"  Damien Suchet smirked.

  James Japp shrugged,  "If you don't, and you end up spending the rest of your life in prison,  I'll call it a serious waste of tax payers'  money.   On the other hand,  if it makes you miserable,  I might consider it a piece of justice.  At the end of the day, Suchet,  however it happens;  whether you're dead by next Monday,   or you spend the rest of your life in prison,  it's a win for the good guys.   See, we caught you before you could get away.  I got what I want .  AND,"  Japp added,  "supposing you manage to escape,  you would be on the run til you died;  forever wondering and looking over your shoulder.  Then, one day, you Finally die.  THAT,  Damien suchet, is when another judge will get a crack at you. And you can't blow up HIS office."

    There was a knocking at the cell door from the outside.
   Glancing at his watch, Japp announced,   "Meeting's over."
   Going to the cell door, the Assistant Commissioner knocked, glanced behind him to see Damien Suchet sitting on his cot ; a far cry from the previous opulence he was used to,  and walked out of the cell,  watching as the guard closed and locked it.