Death in London: A Nightshade Crime Thriller (Emma & Nightshade Mystery Series Book 1)

by Peter Jay Black

  Emma sat back and shook her head. “Ridiculous.”

  “He wants the families reunited,” Jacob said. “But Maria found out.”

  Emma’s eyebrows pulled together. “If that’s even remotely true, why would Mum kill Sophie in her own warehouse and risk a war?” Emma folded her arms, and refused to believe a word of it.

  Jacob stood up and wobbled on his feet. “I’ve told you what I know. I’m sorry.”

  Emma helped him into the hallway, where Neil and Mac took over.

  As they made their way to the front door, Nightshade called after Jacob. “Don’t leave your house; we may need to ask you more questions.” She grinned at Emma. “After he’s had a nap.”

  “I’m just trying to do the right thing,” Jacob said over his shoulder.

  “And it’s appreciated,” Nightshade replied. “You have been immensely helpful.”

  Emma frowned at her.

  Once the front door closed, Emma huffed and stormed back to the sitting room. “It’s ridiculous.” She slumped in the chair. “I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. There’s no way Mum would have killed Sophie. That’s dumb.”

  Nightshade pursed her lips.

  Emma glared at her. “You believe him? Seriously?”

  Nightshade held up her hands. “I’m not ruling anything out at this stage, darling. But no, I don’t think it’s true—well, not all of it. However, there is smoke, meaning we have a chance of locating the fire.”

  “What about the clues?” Emma asked, incredulous. “The watch and the secret Shakespeare code? You think my mother’s responsible for those, too? She killed Uncle Martin?” Emma stabbed a finger at the birthday box. “I say we smash that open.”

  “Hold up, She-Hulk.” Nightshade rolled her eyes. “Before you go all smash smash, boom boom, we don’t want to damage whatever’s inside. We need the combination to open it in a grown-up and safe manner.”

  “I can’t believe anyone thinks Mum’s a murderer,” Emma grumbled under her breath.

  “My darling, everybody’s a suspect until proven otherwise.”

  Emma shot her a look.

  Nightshade shrugged. “Maybe Ruby is our killer. Did you think of that? Martin is dead and she’s still missing.”

  “Let’s see Mum right now.” Emma leapt to her feet. “I’ll tell her about Uncle Martin and what we’ve found so far.” She was about to march into the hallway when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that,” Neil called.

  A minute later, a girl with red hair, fair skin, and dark green eyes appeared at the sitting-room door. “What’s up?”

  Emma peered over the top of her sunglasses at her friend.

  Olivia had swapped last night’s clothes for jeans, a white shirt, trainers, and her brother’s old leather jacket, which was several sizes too big for her, but she pulled it off well. However, Olivia carried herself oddly, holding her right arm close to her side.

  “Have you hurt yourself?” Emma asked.

  Olivia offered her an embarrassed smile. “Tripped over that thing last night.” She gestured at the three-foot bronze Statue of Liberty at the bottom of the stairs.

  Emma giggled.

  “Not funny, Em, I could’ve broken my bloody neck.” Olivia looked about the room. “You didn’t sound right on the phone, and I wanted to check up on you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Em, how long have I known you?”

  Emma glanced over at Nightshade and hesitated. Nightshade gave a small shake of her head. But Olivia was Emma’s friend, and somebody she could trust.

  Emma lifted her chin. “Someone murdered Sophie this morning.”

  Olivia’s face drained of colour. “What?”

  “I know. She’s dead.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill her?” Olivia said, breathless. “Sophie was lovely.” She gasped. “The baby?”

  Emma shook her head and Olivia clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Emma led her friend to a chair, and once they were both sitting down, Emma brought Olivia up to speed. She explained about the Nightshade pact between the families and the investigation so far, though she left out the gory details, including the fact that her uncle Martin was also dead. Emma also skipped over the water tank and ended the narrative at the point where they found the present at the Café in the Crypt.

  Olivia sat in shocked silence the entire time, and once Emma had finished, her gaze drifted to the box on the table. “And you have no idea what’s in there or how to get into it?”

  “No.”

  Olivia took Emma’s hands. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t think so.” Emma forced a smile. “But thanks.”

  “We need to find Ruby and hear her side of the story,” Nightshade said in an impatient tone. “Now.”

  Emma got to her feet.

  Olivia stood up too. “Do you want me to speak—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Neil marched by the sitting room door. “Stay back. I’ll deal with them.”

  Mac followed him.

  “Them?” Olivia mouthed.

  Emma, Nightshade and Olivia darted across the hall and into the security office. CCTV monitors lined the wall, and a guard sat in front of them. He tapped a few buttons and the middle image enlarged—a view of the front door.

  Two people stood on the step: a man and a woman.

  The man held up a police badge to Mac and Neil. “Good afternoon. My name is Detective Sergeant Brennan.”

  22

  Emma, Nightshade and Olivia watched the CCTV screens in silence as DS Brennan and another officer—who introduced herself as Detective Constable Hill—stood facing Mac and Neil at the front door.

  Neil looked between them. “Is there a problem?”

  “We’d like to speak to Emma Greco, if you wouldn’t mind, sir?” Brennan peered over his shoulder. “Can we come in?”

  “She isn’t here.” Neil stepped into the detective’s line of sight. “What’s this about?”

  Mac folded his arms.

  Emma pointed at the top corner of the screen as a police van and two cars pulled up across the road.

  “They’ve found Sophie’s body,” Nightshade breathed.

  Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. “Already?”

  “This is a bit over the top, isn’t it?” Olivia said, as more officers climbed out. “What do they think you did? Blow up an orphanage?”

  Emma looked back at the screen. Her heart now pounded against her ribcage. “I think you’re right.”

  “Right about what?” Olivia asked.

  Emma put a finger to her lips and nodded at the display.

  “Can we speak inside?” Brennan took a step forward, but Neil held up a hand.

  “Have you got a warrant?”

  “We don’t need one, sir,” Brennan said. “Ms Greco is currently our primary suspect.”

  Neil moved forward slightly. “Suspect in what?”

  “There’s been an incident at St Martin-in-the-Fields church,” Hill said. “A murder.”

  Olivia gasped. “Who?”

  “She hasn’t been in any church.” Neil went to close the door, but Brennan stuck his foot in the way. “Do you mind?”

  “She has been there, sir,” Brennan said. “Not so long ago, in fact. That’s why we want a word. If a chat here isn’t suitable, then we suggest that you and Ms Greco accompany us to the station.”

  Several uniformed officers climbed the stairs behind the detectives and Mac took a step back into the vestibule.

  Emma exchanged glances with Nightshade and Olivia.

  “We weren’t there,” Neil insisted. “Can’t remember the last time we were over that way.”

  “Sir, we don’t have time for this.” When Neil still refused to budge, Brennan sighed. “Show him.”

  Hill removed a clear plastic bag from her coat pocket and held it up. Inside was a mobile phone. “A member of the public photographed
Ms Greco leaving the Café in the Crypt less than an hour ago.” Through the plastic, Hill selected an image.

  Emma leaned into the CCTV screen, trying to make out the detail. The security guard adjusted the controls and zoomed in for her. Sure enough, it was a photo of Emma stepping from the café entrance.

  Hill swiped, and a second picture appeared. This one showed Neil in the Rolls-Royce, passenger window down, watching.

  “There are others.” Hill returned the phone and bag to her pocket.

  Brennan signalled to the officers behind him and removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I am arresting you on suspicion of aiding and abetting. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you rely on in court. Anything you do say . . .”

  Olivia grabbed Emma’s arm. “You need to get out of here.”

  Emma stared as DS Brennan handcuffed Neil, torn between the urge to run and the urge to fight. They hadn’t killed Martin Hernandez. They’d had nothing to do with his death, and the police had no evidence to tell them otherwise.

  “Em.” Olivia shook her arm. “Move.”

  “She’s right,” Nightshade whispered. “You failed to report a murder. They can hold you for a few days, by which time the killer could either strike again or be long gone. Either way, we’ll miss our chance of catching them.”

  Emma clenched her fists.

  “There’s nothing we can do to help,” Olivia said. “Please, Em.”

  “When we speak to your mother, we’ll ask her to send a lawyer,” Nightshade said. “We’re no use if we get arrested too.”

  The security guard rose from his chair. “I’ll buy you some time.” He marched into the hallway. “What the hell is going on?” he snapped, and slammed the inner vestibule door.

  Olivia dragged Emma out of the security office and past the stairs, but Emma shrugged free and darted into the lounge.

  “What are you doing?” Olivia said, in an agitated whisper.

  Emma returned a few seconds later, clutching the box to her chest.

  Nightshade gazed at the vestibule door as raised voices came from beyond it. “I respectfully suggest we get the hell out of here.”

  The three of them ran down the hallway, through the kitchen and pantry, and out to the courtyard.

  “My car’s parked around the corner,” Olivia said, as they raced down the path, between two other buildings, and stopped at a gate.

  Emma typed a code into the keypad, opened the gate, and peered into Bedford Avenue. Everything was quiet. Olivia pointed up the road and they hurried along.

  “Hey. You.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder.

  Two police officers jogged toward them. “Stop.”

  “Go.” Olivia broke into a run. Emma and Nightshade sprinted after her as she headed right into Adeline Place, darting between the cars. As Emma turned the corner, Olivia climbed into a silver Mini Cooper.

  Emma reached the Mini, threw open the passenger door, and pulled the front seat forward.

  “What are you doing?” Olivia said as the car roared to life. “Hurry.”

  Nightshade climbed into the back seat and Emma placed the box next to her. She jumped into the front seat and slammed the door closed.

  A police officer touched the door handle just as the Mini raced up the road. Emma looked in the side mirror and glimpsed him speaking into his radio. She faced forward and gripped the edge of the seat as Olivia yanked the wheel, tyres squealing around the corner and then speeding to the far end of Bedford Square.

  Emma strained to the right, trying to see her house through the dense foliage.

  Olivia turned right again, and headed down Bloomsbury Street.

  “What are you doing?” Emma asked.

  “Trust me.”

  As they shot past the end of Emma’s street, officers loaded Neil into the back of a police van. “Stop the car,” Emma said. “I can’t do this.”

  Nightshade leaned forward. “Neil and Mac will be fine.”

  Emma turned to Olivia. “Please, stop.”

  “No chance,” Olivia said. “You’re not thinking straight.”

  They pulled up at a set of traffic lights and Emma grabbed the door handle. Flashing blue reflected off the windows and walls of the nearby buildings.

  Olivia’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

  Emma looked behind them, as two police cars nosed their way through the traffic.

  Olivia swore. “No going back.” Ignoring the red light, she pressed her foot to the floor. The wheels screeched and the Mini lunged forward.

  Emma gripped her seat and prayed under her breath that they made it through the rest of the day.

  23

  Olivia kept her foot down as the Mini flew along New Oxford Street, straddling the lanes. They squeezed between two double-decker buses, scraping past with fractions of an inch on each side.

  Horns and sirens blared, and a quick glance over her shoulder told Emma the police cars were still in pursuit, unfazed by Olivia’s reckless driving.

  More car horns sounded as the Mini narrowly missed a central barrier, cut across several lanes of traffic, and plunged down Museum Street.

  Emma tensed and hugged her knees. “Wrong way. Wrong way, Olivia.” An oncoming van flashed its lights, and the driver waved a fist at them.

  Olivia wrenched the wheel over. The Mini popped onto the pavement with a spine-jarring bump. They darted across the entrance of a multistorey car park and dove between several trees planted in the concrete.

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Emma shouted.

  “Pretty much, yeah.” Olivia grinned. “Thanks for asking.”

  The Mini leaned as they took a hard right then dropped back onto the main road with another heavy bump.

  Emma gripped her seat as they continued their breakneck flight down Shaftesbury Avenue. “Please pull over. You’re getting us into more trouble.”

  “Can’t get much worse than being the prime suspect in a double murder.” Olivia yanked the wheel left and right, weaving in and out of cars, vans and buses. “By the way, who was the second victim? You haven’t told me.” Olivia ignored a set of traffic lights, and narrowly missed commuters, taxis and pedestrians.

  “Uncle Martin,” Emma said.

  Olivia glanced at her. “Oh, Em. I’m so sorry.” A moped pulled across the road in front of them and she swerved around it. “Don't worry,” Olivia said. “The cops can’t know for sure it’s you they’re chasing, and I bet they didn’t get a clear description. You’ll be fine.”

  “As long as they don’t catch us,” Nightshade said.

  Tyres screeched as the Mini barrelled across an intersection.

  Emma pointed through the windscreen. “Take Charing Cross Road.” They shot down it, and she looked back to see a police car behind them.

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “How did they find us again?”

  Emma peered up at the sky. “Can’t see any helicopters or drones.”

  “ANPR,” Nightshade said.

  Emma looked back at her. “What?”

  Nightshade gestured at a set of traffic lights as they whizzed through them. “The cameras on the lights. Automatic number-plate recognition. That’s how they’re tracking us. No real way to avoid them.”

  They continued their reckless Cannonball Run past the Hippodrome and Leicester Square, and through another pedestrian crossing. People jumped clear and shouted as they passed, and still the police car kept up.

  Olivia frowned into the rearview mirror. “We need to lose this idiot.”

  They hurtled past the National Portrait Gallery and St Martin-in-the-Fields. Two police vans were parked nose to nose. Blue-and-white tape cordoned off the Café in the Crypt, and an officer stood guard.

  Emma’s stomach churned. Have they pulled Uncle Martin out of that tank yet?

  “Hold on,” Olivia shouted.

  Emma faced the front as yet another set of red ligh
ts loomed before them, along with a line of cars.

  Olivia drove onto the pavement, then across the road between a bus and a delivery van and onto the opposite side, scattering more pedestrians.

  Emma looked over her shoulder as the Mini bumped back onto Northumberland Avenue. “I don’t think we’ve lost them. Craven. Quick.”

  Olivia slammed on the brakes and reversed into Craven Street, another one-way road.

  “There.” Emma pointed.

  “Got it.” Olivia took the car down an access ramp and under the shade of a building.

  Emma held her breath. Blood pounded in her ears.

  The police car shot down Northumberland Avenue, lights flashing and siren blaring.

  Olivia turned to Emma, a big smile on her face. “Am I amazing or what? We should do this professionally.” She patted the steering wheel. “I’m so glad you invited me round, Em.”

  “I didn’t.” Emma let out her breath. “We’re all good until the police trace the number-plate back to you.”

  Olivia shrugged. “The car is in Dad’s name; I’ll send him a text to say someone stole it. The cops can’t do anything. It’s their word against ours.”

  “Mmm.” Nightshade smoothed the creases in her skirt. She looked as if she might throw up. “A lot of those ANPR cameras are front-facing. The police might have been lucky and captured an image of the driver and front-seat passenger.”

  Emma cringed. They must have passed a million traffic cameras and tourists with mobile phones.

  “Should’ve worn balaclavas,” Nightshade added.

  “Oh, you should have said.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “The glove box is full of ski masks and old pairs of tights.”

  After waiting a few minutes to make sure there were no more police cars chasing them, Olivia pulled out and joined the traffic. “We need to dump this car.” She turned left into Victoria Embankment, drove under the Golden Jubilee Bridges, and parked the Mini on the pavement. Pedestrians swore and waved their fists at her. Olivia held up a hand in apology, mouthed “broken down,” and flipped on the hazard lights.

  Emma eyed the entrance to the Embankment underground station. “I can’t ask you to keep helping.”