“We could.” Nightshade sighed. “The watch.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “The fake Rolex? What about it?”
“The hands were on twelve,” Nightshade said in a quiet voice. “Midday. The parchment gave us the location, and the watch showed us what time to be here.” She threw her hands up. “If I’d only paid attention, we would have got here before the tank filled.”
Emma blinked at her. “You’re saying we could’ve saved Uncle Martin?”
“You don’t know that,” Mac said. “Someone is playing a sick game.” He glanced at the tap and hose. “The killer’s only given the illusion that you could’ve saved him.”
“I’m not so sure,” Nightshade murmured.
Emma’s head pounded as she dragged her mind back to the reality of the here and now. “If Mum finds out about this, she’ll think Dad had Martin killed in retaliation.”
“Show her the clues,” Mac said. “Explain how we got here. Maria will know it’s got nothing to do with the Greco family.”
“She won’t believe us,” Emma said. “Dad had plenty of time after finding out about Sophie to organise this.” Her legs trembled. “The tank? It’s his construction company.” She leaned against the wall and gasped for breath.
Mac exhaled. “Then we don’t tell her.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Martin’s her brother. We have to tell Mum.” She pictured her uncle’s body floating in the icy darkness, alone . . . The room spun and Emma slid to the floor again.
Nightshade knelt in front of her.
Emma took deep breaths.
“This is not your fault,” Nightshade said in a soft voice. “We need to figure out who’s done this. What Sophie and Martin have in common.”
Emma buried her head in her hands and tried to push the image of her drowning uncle out of her mind. They’d wasted time talking to Jacob instead of solving the cypher. “Why kill him here?’ she murmured. “In that way?” Sophie’s death had been so quick, whereas this was torture.
“I’m not sure,” Nightshade said. “Killing Sophie at your mother’s warehouse, and your uncle in a tank owned by your father, suggests someone is attempting to play both families. My assumption is that they’ve made them overly dramatic to have the highest impact possible.”
“They wanted us here first.” Emma lowered her hands. “That’s why they created the cypher—so we’d leave the warehouse and find the body before the police.”
Nightshade gave a solemn nod.
Mac looked at the door. “We should go.”
Emma got to her feet and bent over. She pulled in big lungfuls of air, then clenched her teeth and straightened up. “We should search for clues.” She then steeled herself, lowered her hood, and removed her sunglasses.
As though in a nightmare, Emma turned on the spot. She scanned the walls, floor, and ceiling, but nothing stood out. Then she circled the water tank, avoiding looking inside again, but there were no clues there either. “Shall we get the fingerprint kit from the car?”
“I suspect it would be a waste of time,” Nightshade said. “Martin is underwater. Any remaining traces of evidence will be gone by now or difficult to extract.”
“What about outside the tank?” Mac asked.
“Leaving and coming back would draw suspicion,” Nightshade said. “I hate to work on an assumption, and not hard evidence, but the killer likely wore gloves. They seem to be a step ahead of us.”
Emma pulled up her hoodie and slipped on her sunglasses, relieved the killing was at least over. No more cryptic messages meant no more murders. Then an image popped into her mind and her stomach squirmed. “Wait. There is something else.” She rushed over to the tank, held her breath, and peered through the open hatch.
Nightshade and Mac stood on either side of her.
Emma pointed at her uncle’s right forearm. “Look. The Hernandez family tattoo. It has an extra mark, like Sophie’s.”
“Only different this time.” Nightshade tilted her head. “Blue ink, added recently, judging by the redness—a circle with a line running from the middle, aimed to the right.”
“We’re getting out of here.” Mac drew his gun and walked to the door. “Now.”
“We can’t leave Uncle Martin like this,” Emma said, incredulous.
“What do you suggest?” Nightshade asked. “Even if we open the tank, how would we move the body? Where would we put it?”
“We’re going,” Mac said in a firm tone.
Realising Nightshade and Mac were probably right, Emma took one last look at her uncle, then closed the hatch, wiped off fingerprints with her sleeve, and then hurried out of the kitchen.
No sooner had she gone through the door than Mac stopped short, and Emma almost bumped into him.
On the floor in the middle of the crypt sat a box eight inches square. It was wrapped in colourful birthday paper printed with bright balloons and streamers, and tied with silver ribbon and a bow on top.
Emma stared at the present. “Someone’s been here while we were in the kitchen.” The hairs on her arms stood on end as she imagined the killer hiding behind a pillar, watching them.
They were right here.
A label attached to the top of the birthday present read:
For Emma.
A shudder rippled down her spine.
20
Mac held up an arm to keep Emma as far from the present as possible, checked the room was empty, and then motioned to the exit. “Let’s go.”
“But the box,” Emma said as he ushered her to the door.
“We need it,” Nightshade said. “It’s a clue. We can’t leave it behind.”
Emma ducked under Mac’s arm and ran back.
“Emma, get away from it.”
She dropped to her knees and slipped off her sunglasses. A sudden wave of vertigo washed over Emma as the colourful, hectic pattern of the wrapping paper overwhelmed her.
She shoved her sunglasses back on, took a deep breath, then scanned the area around the box. “No obvious tripwires.” She put an ear to it. “Not ticking either.” With trembling fingers, Emma lifted the present into the air. “It’s heavy.” She peered underneath. Though there was nothing there, Emma’s stomach twisted as she waited for it to explode, or for a knife to spring out and run her through. A few seconds later, she sighed and offered Mac a tremulous smile.
He shook his head. “How can I help keep you safe when you’re so reckless?” He looked hurt by her actions, as though it were a direct affront.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said, and meant it. “But we can’t leave the box here. It might be a clue that leads us to the killer.”
Nightshade gave a vehement nod of her head and Mac rolled his eyes.
Muffled voices came from outside.
The three of them rushed to the door. Mac peered around the corner, then gestured Emma and Nightshade through. A shop clerk laughed and chatted with a customer as she rang up their souvenirs.
Instead of taking the glass elevator this time, Emma, Nightshade and Mac hurried up the curved stairs and into the brisk London air.
Mac rounded on Emma. “Put the present down.” He thrust a finger at a set of stone steps at the church’s entrance. “Over there.”
Emma grumbled under her breath but did as he asked.
Mac waved her away.
Emma took a step back, and another. “Is this necessary?”
Mac glanced around the immediate vicinity. Once satisfied that only Emma and Nightshade were paying him any attention, he knelt and peered at the box. First he checked each face and edge, then Mac examined the ribbon, looking for a booby trap.
“I want to be the one who opens it,” Emma grumbled. “It’s got my name on it.”
Nightshade snorted. “How old are you?”
Mac scratched his chin and eyed a nearby rubbish bin.
Emma hurried back to him. “Don’t even think about it.” Before Mac could warn her off, Emma took one end of the ribbon and gave it a slow, gentle t
ug. “See? It’s fine.” She undid the bow. “I’m sure if someone wanted us dead, they would do it in a less dramatic way.”
“You mean like a bullet to the head or drowning in a water tank?” Nightshade called from a safe distance.
Emma winced, and felt awful for her misplaced determination. After all, Mac was only trying to do his job. Even so . . . “If it really was a bomb, we’d all be dead by now, wouldn’t we?”
“Blown to bits and scattered to the wind,” Nightshade said as she joined them. “She has a point, Mac.”
He let out a slow, laboured breath.
Emma unwrapped the paper, then frowned.
She’d uncovered a metal box, dark grey, with smooth edges. Recessed into the lid were six combination wheels.
“Looks bespoke,” Mac said. “Cash boxes like this normally use a key or only a few digits. It’s heavy duty too.”
Emma tried the release button. Nothing. She sat back. “You think it’s safe now?”
“We don’t know what’s inside,” Mac said.
Emma stared at the box. “It might tell us who killed Uncle Martin and Sophie.” She swore and scooped the box into her arms, paper and all, and then marched toward the car. How long will it be before someone else discovers my uncle’s body?
Emma admitted to herself that she felt relieved as she stepped across the threshold of her home, with Nightshade, Mac and Neil behind her.
The sitting room was filled with cupboards and shelving, with barely enough room to walk between them. One set of shelves housed old second-hand laptops and phones, along with an assortment of other household electrical devices. All were in various states of being dismantled, each piece then meticulously labelled and numbered.
Well-organised stacks of textbooks, printed schematics, blueprints and user manuals took up some of the limited space between, with subjects ranging from electronics, networking, and computer design, to fabrication, engineering, and manufacturing techniques.
Emma set the box down on a table.
Nightshade ran a hand through her messy hair, eyes narrowed, and muttered under her breath as she examined it.
Emma folded her arms. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m like a hamster in a wheel,” Nightshade said. “Forever running, but getting nowhere.” She pulled the pill tin from her pocket and popped a red capsule.
Emma frowned at her. “I meant, what do you think about the box?”
“It needs a six-digit code.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Emma said, exasperated. “But what could the code be?”
“Were there any numbers on the water tank?” Nightshade asked. “Anything on the label? A serial number?”
Emma visualised the tank, trying to avoid the memory of her uncle and failing miserably. “No serial numbers,” she murmured.
Nightshade considered her for several seconds. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
Nightshade inclined her head. “Are you sure? You’ve lost two family members in one day.”
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m fine,” she repeated, but her voice cracked, and tears welled up. “I want to tell Mum about Uncle Martin.”
“You will,” Nightshade said. “But can you wait a little while? Please? A war between the families would hinder our investigation.”
Emma lifted her sunglasses and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “We have to catch the person who’s doing this, and soon.”
“And so we shall, my darling.” Nightshade scratched her head. “Martin went from being a possible suspect to a victim. It’s imperative we find Ruby.”
Emma sent a quick message to her mother, asking if she’d managed to get hold of Ruby yet. As she hit send a tug of guilt about not calling and speaking to her directly twisted Emma’s insides. But she knew that if she did, Emma would have to tell her mother about Uncle Martin’s gruesome fate.
A powerful surge of rage then balled her fists, clenched her stomach, and curled Emma’s toes. She was about to ask Nightshade if they should abandon the box and look for Ruby themselves when her phone beeped with a reply from her mother:
Don’t worry. Dealing with it now.
Will pass on what I find.
Emma showed Nightshade the message.
“In that case, we should focus our attention on the box.” Nightshade rubbed her chin as she stared at the combination wheels. “I wonder if it could be as simple as—”
Mac entered the room with Neil.
“You have a visitor,” Neil said.
They moved aside.
Emma’s and Nightshade’s eyebrows lifted in unison.
21
An exhausted-looking Jacob leaned against the sitting-room doorframe: shirt untucked, shoulders sagged, eyelids drooped.
“How many pills did you give him?” Emma murmured to Nightshade.
“Would you like a chair, Jacob?” Nightshade asked.
Emma glared at her.
“I asked the driver to bring me here,” Jacob said. “He told me he knew where you lived. I hope you don’t mind.”
“How did you know we were here though?” Emma asked, uncomfortable that one of her mother’s employees was in her home. This was a first, and hopefully the last time it would happen.
“Tracker app.” Jacob looked around at the shelves and cabinets. “What is all this stuff?”
“My therapy room,” Emma said, and then winced at her own words. “I mean, if my brain obsesses with a particular thing, I find a similar broken one and take it apart, learn how it works.” Understanding how gadgets ticked allowed Emma some control over her thoughts. Her mind would then let go of the questions. Just another way to help turn the volume down to a background rumble rather than a foreground roar.
With a look of impatience, Nightshade folded her arms. “What’s so urgent, Jacob?”
“I . . . I wasn’t truthful earlier.” He looked at Emma. “When you asked me if I knew of anyone that might want to hurt Sophie. I lied. And I feel terrible.”
“You were right,” Nightshade whispered in Emma’s ear. “He was fibbing.” She backed away, hands clasped together.
Emma ignored her. “Who wanted to hurt Sophie?”
Jacob opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze drifted to Mac and Neil. Mac glared back at him.
“It’s okay,” Emma said to them as she pulled out a chair and waved Jacob to it. “If there’s any problem, I’ll shout for you.” Mac and Neil left the room. Emma found another chair, placed it opposite, and sat down. “Please.”
Jacob dropped into the seat with a heavy sigh.
Emma decided not to tell him there had been another murder in case he keeled over from stress. “So, who do you think killed Sophie?”
Jacob focused on her and took a juddering breath. “Your mum.”
Emma blinked. “What?”
“Maria Hernandez murdered Sophie,” Jacob said slowly, pronouncing each syllable. “Maria uncovered a plot against her.”
Nightshade moved next to Emma. “Interesting turn of events. Please explain, Jacob.”
“Ruby told me that Martin is mounting a coup.”
Emma stiffened in her chair. “No way.”
“It’s true,” Jacob said. “Martin is going to take over the Hernandez family by force. He’s worked on the plan for years. He has everything set up, ready.”
Emma shook her head. “I can’t believe that.” She glanced at Nightshade. It couldn’t be true. The idea was crazy.
Martin was loyal to his twin, Maria. As kids, they had been inseparable, and as adults, Emma couldn’t remember a time when they’d raised their voices to one another, let alone argued. Maria and Martin agreed on everything. He spent every Christmas with them. Even the thought that Uncle Martin would consider betraying Emma’s mother was beyond laughable.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” Jacob got to his feet, then stumbled and grabbed the back of the chair.
“No. Please.” Emma leaned forward, wan
ting to figure out how this horrible rumour had started. “Don’t go yet. I have to understand what’s happened.”
Jacob stared at the door, as if longing to go home and sleep.
“I promise there will be no repercussions,” Nightshade said. “All anybody wants is the truth.”
Jacob hesitated a moment longer, then dropped back into the chair. “Ruby told me that Martin’s plan is to remove your mother from the head of the business. He wants to hire Sophie as his warehouse manager. Back in her old job. The way it was.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Sophie’s been in Dad’s family for years. There's no way she’d go back across.”
“Sophie had already agreed,” Jacob said. “Once Martin had taken over, she would’ve been the leverage he needed to convince your father to merge the businesses back together and form a new partnership. Stronger this time.” Jacob took a breath. “Ruby said that Martin kept banging on about everything going to crap since the divorce, and how he would put it right.”
“That makes no sense.” Emma balled her fists. “Martin was— is my uncle. My mum’s brother. Why would he do that?”
“It’s the truth.” Jacob shrugged. “Your mum found out about the plan and flipped.”
“I suppose it would give your mother a motive,” Nightshade said in a low voice. Before Emma could argue, she added, “But if Martin planned to replace Ruby with Sophie as warehouse manager, then why did he tell Ruby at all? She’d be out of a job.”
Jacob blinked. “I need to go home.”
“I’ll ask Neil to take you in a minute.” Anger twisted Emma’s stomach—not only at Jacob’s accusations, but at the fact that Nightshade was taking him seriously.
“Ruby was going to see Maria,” Jacob said, with a sigh. “To tell her what Martin’s up to. I haven’t heard from her since.” He looked at the floor. “She isn’t answering calls.”
“What about my question?” Nightshade asked. “Why did Martin tell Ruby about his plans if he intended to replace her with Sophie?”
“He’s going to promote Ruby to underboss,” Jacob said.
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