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

by Peter Jay Black

  Emma closed her eyes again and looked down at Sophie’s body under the bright lights of the workshop. She fought back a wave of grief as she relived the moment, and she described the way Sophie’s hair lay across her face, the baby bump pushing against the fabric of her ball gown.

  “What else do you see?” Nightshade asked in a whisper.

  Emma moved down the table. “That X symbol tattooed on her arm.” She frowned. “We haven’t figured those out yet.” Emma peered at Nightshade.

  Nightshade waved her on again.

  Emma returned to the workshop and finished her examination. “I’m not seeing anything we’ve missed.” She watched herself empty Sophie’s bag onto the table, and stared for a minute more, but found no other details.

  Emma moved back to the warehouse’s loading bay and looked at the remaining people on both sides: the Hernandez and Greco families. Then something pulled her back to the workshop. She looked at the contents of Sophie’s bag again.

  “Emma?”

  “I’m back at Sophie’s handbag.” She screwed up her face. “But I don’t know why. I’m not seeing anything out of—” She took a sharp breath.

  “What is it?”

  “Something’s missing.” Emma’s eyes flew open and she jumped up. “Asher Hayes.” Her stomach roiled.

  Nightshade frowned. “Richard’s second-in-command? What about him?”

  “Keys,” Emma said. “How did Asher have the keys?” The sudden realisation almost bowled her over as she watched, in her mind’s eye, Asher hold up the keys to the Lamborghini. “He offered to take Dad’s car back to his house, remember?” Emma’s expression darkened. “How the hell did Asher Hayes have the car keys, unless—”

  “He went through Sophie’s bag.”

  Emma paced. “Asher could have planted the note and the Rolex when he took them, right?”

  Nightshade shrugged. “Sophie might have dropped the keys when she fell. Perhaps they slipped out of her bag, and Asher picked them up.”

  Emma shook her head. “I think they were in the front pocket of her bag. Do you remember how it was only partly zipped?”

  “Hmm.” Nightshade scratched her chin. “You might be on to something. Sophie probably kept the keys in that front pocket for fear of losing them.”

  “Which means someone went into her bag to get them.” Emma stopped pacing and shook her head.

  “The same person is also the most likely to have planted the parchment and watch,” Nightshade added. “It’s plausible.”

  “And if that's true," Emma said, excitement now coursing through her, “then how did Asher do it? People would have been watching him the entire time."

  “Either Jacob helped him,” Nightshade said, “or, more likely, Asher was already at the warehouse.”

  Emma gasped. “Inside the statue.”

  Nightshade nodded. “He’s definitely short enough.”

  Emma resumed her pacing. “I bet once Asher had killed Sophie, planted the clues, and stolen the casket, he left the warehouse and hid in Jacob’s hut. When most people had then arrived, he turned up like everyone else. Blended in.” She pictured Asher’s fake shock at seeing Sophie’s body. “Then he volunteered to wait for us in Dad’s mobile office.”

  “Slow down,” Nightshade said. “That’s a lot of guesswork. We need evidence.”

  Emma’s brow furrowed. “Why lead us on a chase, though? If it is Asher, why all the clues? He could have killed any of those people and gotten away with it. He’s well-connected; he could have paid someone else to do it for him.”

  “I keep telling you that he’s not trying to get away with anything,” Nightshade said in a low voice. “That’s never been his ultimate plan.”

  “Then what is his plan? What is Asher’s motive?” Emma thought of her sister, Alice, and Alice’s boyfriend, Liam, Asher's son, and then— “Olivia. Oh no. She’s going to be devastated when she finds out what her dad has done.” Emma looked at Nightshade. “Should I call—”

  The cell door opened, and a police custody officer stood in the doorway. “You’re free to go.”

  38

  Dumbfounded, Emma grabbed her trainers from outside the cell and traipsed after the police officer, with Nightshade behind her.

  In the booking area, a woman wearing a dark-blue suit and carrying a briefcase stood up. “I’m Eliza Russel, your mother’s lawyer.” She didn’t offer her hand to shake.

  Emma rubbed her eyes. “How come they’re—”

  “Keep your mouth shut, and we’ll get you out of here.” Eliza eyed a bored-looking desk sergeant, and whispered to Emma, “The police are letting you go for now. On condition you remain in London.”

  Emma stared at her. “Really? How did you pull that off?”

  Eliza consulted her phone. “From here on, don’t say a word to anyone without my say-so.”

  Emma lowered her voice. “What about Olivia?”

  “I’m working on it.” Eliza waved her off.

  The desk sergeant returned Emma’s belongings and had her sign several documents.

  She slipped on her hoodie and sunglasses and felt an instant wave of relief as the intensity of the artificial lights dropped to bearable levels.

  Then, with Nightshade following, they simply walked from the building, as though nothing had happened.

  Eliza marched across the car park.

  Emma called after her, “Wait. What are we—”

  Eliza jabbed a finger at the Rolls-Royce parked next to the car park’s entrance. “Go home.” She jumped into a waiting taxi and left.

  Nightshade watched her go with a bemused expression. “Well, isn’t she a hoot? I wonder if she does stand-up?”

  Emma and Nightshade climbed into the Rolls.

  Maggie looked up from her bed, tail wagging.

  Neil looked back. “Sorry. When the police came, I tried to tell them I was there alone, but they didn’t believe me. They were on the lookout for this car and called in those detectives. Your lawyer called me to say she’d spring you imminently.”

  “It’s okay.” Emma stroked Maggie. “Not your fault.” As they pulled from the kerb, she said, “Hold on. Where’s Mac?”

  Neil glanced in the rearview mirror, frowned, and kept driving.

  Emma groaned.

  “What is it, darling?” Nightshade pulled her pill tin from her pocket and gave it a shake.

  “Do you think Mac is taking the blame?” Emma asked. “Is that how come we’re walking free so easily?”

  Nightshade opened the tin and popped a red pill. “The blame for what?”

  “For the murders, of course.” A wave of vertigo washed over Emma. She closed her eyes as her head swam. “I bet he’s taken full responsibility to get the police off our backs.” She swallowed and looked at Nightshade again. “The cops are now focused on Mac and not us.”

  Nightshade’s eyebrows pulled together. “Darling, that’s utterly ridiculous.”

  “Where is he then?” Emma shot back, and winced at a stab of fresh pain.

  Nightshade eyed her. “You’re tired. No longer thinking rationally.”

  Emma massaged her temples. “I’m fine.”

  Nightshade held out the tin. “Do yourself a favour.”

  Emma shook her head.

  “Suit yourself.” Nightshade pocketed it and stared out of the window. “Our best line of enquiry right now is Asher Hayes. We focus on him and nothing else. Let’s pay him a visit. See what he has to say for himself.”

  According to Emma’s tracked phone, Asher Hayes’s dot travelled alongside her father’s as they followed the M25: a motorway that looped around London.

  “He’s on Dad’s bus.” Emma tried calling her dad, but there was no answer. She leaned forward. “Neil, we need to get to my dad as quickly as possible.” She pointed at his tracked phone in its holder. “Asher’s with him.”

  “No problem. They’re heading past Heathrow now. It should take us about thirty minutes to catch up with them.”


  “Thanks.” Emma sat back and tried her father again. “Still no answer.” She pocketed her phone and Maggie climbed onto her lap.

  Nightshade eyed Emma. “Can you contact the bus driver?”

  Emma massaged Maggie’s ears. “I don’t have his number.”

  “Then our only choice is to catch up to them.”

  “Right.” Emma huffed out a breath. “You said earlier that Asher’s plan is not to get away with the murders. So, what is he doing, then?” For a brief moment, she wondered if Asher was confessing to her father right at that very moment.

  “We still don’t have a clear motive.” Nightshade looked thoughtful for several seconds, and then asked, “Can you think of any reason why Asher would do this?”

  Emma stared out of the window. “Asher hasn't been right since his son died, but that was a long time ago.”

  “The drowning accident?” Nightshade asked. “The son was your sister’s boyfriend, wasn't he?”

  Emma nodded. The last time she had seen Alice, she’d been leaving for New York: overnight bag in one hand, cruise ticket in the other, dark hair in a ponytail, and sadness in her eyes.

  That seemed like a million years ago

  Ten minutes later, the Rolls-Royce barrelled along the outer lane of the M25 motorway, the other cars on the road a blur as they shot past. They only slowed for the occasional speed camera.

  Emma checked her tracked phone again. Asher’s GPS dot was up ahead. She leaned forward and pointed. “There.”

  Sure enough, the giant bus cruised between a lorry and a black van in the inside lane.

  As they accelerated toward the front of the bus, Emma peered up at the darkened windows, silently praying that her father would spot her.

  Neil drew parallel with the driver’s window and beeped his horn several times, but the driver did not react. Neil tried again, but the bus driver gave no sign of having noticed them.

  Emma balled her fists. “What’s his problem?”

  “Either he can’t hear us, or he’s been told not to stop on any account,” Nightshade said.

  Neil pressed the accelerator to the floor, and they drew alongside the black van. The driver and passenger, dressed in dark suits, glared at Neil, but when they spotted Emma in the back seat, their eyes widened.

  She rolled down her window and they did the same.

  “Stop,” she shouted.

  The driver shouted something back about orders.

  Emma shook her head. “Do it,” she demanded. “Now. I’ll take the blame.”

  The driver and passenger glanced at each other, then the passenger lifted a radio to his mouth. After a few seconds, he nodded and indicated a junction ahead.

  Neil pulled in behind them, squeezed between the van and the bus, and the convoy pulled into a lay-by.

  Emma set Maggie in her bed, threw open her door, and jumped out.

  “Careful,” Nightshade called after her. “It could be dangerous.”

  Emma glanced back as the occupants of the black van jogged after her.

  The bus’s door opened, and Emma raced up the steps.

  “What’s going on?” the driver asked.

  Emma held up a hand and marched through the sitting room and along the hallway. Once she was at the office door, she stopped and turned an ear to it.

  Her father’s two goons caught up with her.

  Emma pressed a finger to her lips, then opened the door a few inches and peered inside. “Dad?” The office was empty, save for a body on the floor. “Dad.” Emma rushed in to find that it was not Richard, but Marco, his bodyguard.

  Marco lay on the floor, eyes closed, an angry welt across the side of his head.

  Emma checked he was still breathing, then looked at the goons as Nightshade slipped into the room with them. “Dad and Asher aren’t here.”

  They gave her confused looks. “We know,” one of them said. “Mr Greco and Mr Hayes left a couple of hours ago.” He looked at Marco. “What happened?”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Back up. What do you mean, they left? Left to go where?”

  Nightshade pointed to the desk. On it were Asher’s and Richard’s tracked phones.

  Marco moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

  Emma crouched beside him. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll call an ambulance.” As she dialled, Emma looked up at the men. “Where have Dad and Asher gone?”

  39

  Emma propped Marco’s head up with a pillow, opened a window to let in fresh air, and gave their location to the emergency services. Then she scanned the office for clues. Finding nothing obvious, she then focused on the bus driver as he stepped inside. “You must have some idea where Dad and Asher went.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. No.”

  Nightshade’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you stopped to let them off, right? They didn’t just jump from a moving vehicle.”

  The driver looked at the two guards.

  Nightshade walked toward him. “Do you know who we are? You’ve heard of Emma Greco, I assume? Seen her before?”

  The driver nodded.

  “Then may I suggest you unstick your tongue and tell us what the hell happened. Where are they?”

  He folded his arms.

  Nightshade threw up her hands in frustration. “Why are you driving around the M25, then?”

  Panic gripped Emma. Asher Hayes was about to murder her father. She pulled out her phone and rang her mother, but it went to voicemail. “Mum, phone me as soon as you can. Dad’s in trouble.” She ended the call and began to pace. “Where have they gone?”

  Nightshade addressed the bus driver. “I understand your reticence.” She looked at the guards. “Your loyalty is commendable, but now is not the time. Richard’s life depends on us acting swiftly.” She advanced on the driver. “Where exactly did you stop to let them off?”

  Marco groaned again. “The boss wasn’t well,” he croaked.

  Emma’s blood ran cold, and she knelt next to him. “What do you mean?”

  “He was sick.” Marco shifted his weight and winced. “Real pale. Mr Hayes wanted to get him to a private hospital. Said he’d take Mr Greco himself.”

  Emma stared at him. “Poisoned.”

  “Next thing I know, I wake up here.” Marco squinted around the room.

  Emma looked at the gathered men, wanting nothing more than to bang their heads together. “Why didn’t you go with Dad? It’s your job to protect him.”

  “Asher ordered us to stay with the bus,” the driver said. “He told us it was a matter of life or death.”

  Nightshade rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

  Emma glared at the men, and her anger built with every wasted second. “And none of that seemed at all suspicious to you?”

  All she got in reply were three dumbfounded expressions.

  “Which private hospital?” Nightshade asked the bus driver.

  “I don’t know.”

  Nightshade stepped to him, their noses almost touching. “I’m going to ask you one last time or so help me . . . Where. Did. You. Stop?”

  The bus driver’s shoulders slumped. “Leatherhead.” He let out a breath. “Junction nine.”

  Emma’s eyebrows rose. “You stopped at the Leatherhead depot?”

  He nodded and Nightshade stepped away from him.

  “Dad has a garage there,” Emma said to her. “He’s got cars in storage all around the M25.”

  “Did you see what vehicle they left in or which way they headed?” Nightshade asked the men.

  All three of them shook their heads.

  So did Emma. “This is ridiculous.”

  Nightshade turned her back on them. “Can you think where they went? Taking your father to a hospital is a load of crap. Asher went somewhere else.”

  Emma brought up a map on her phone, found junction nine of the motorway, and zoomed out. “They could be anywhere.”

  “Put yourself in Asher’s shoes,” Nightshade said in a level tone. “Think it through.
You know him. You are him. Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “I’m not a psychotic serial killer.”

  “One would hope you’re not, darling, but we have to puzzle it out. If you were Asher, and had gone to the trouble of murdering four people while the daughter of two crime bosses was hunting you down, where would you go?”

  Emma shook her head as she fought back the panic. She looked at her phone, but her mother still hadn’t called or sent a text. Is she now on her way back home?

  The sound of a siren drifted through the open window.

  “The ambulance is almost here,” Nightshade said.

  Emma held up a hand as sudden realisation struck her. “Home.” She jumped to her feet and stared at Nightshade. “That quote on the wall by Jacob’s body mentioned home.” An image of the parchment then rushed forward. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea. Of course. Asher’s home.”

  Nightshade’s eyes widened. “Where does he live?”

  “I’ve only been there a couple of times with Olivia, right after they moved. Then she got her own flat.” Emma scrolled to the right of the map on her phone and pointed to the screen. “Here.”

  “Let’s go.” Nightshade squeezed past the men and marched down the hallway.

  Emma hurried after her, through the lounge, and they stepped off the bus. As they raced back to the Rolls-Royce, Emma tried calling her mother again. There was still no answer, and her insides twisted.

  No sooner had Emma and Nightshade climbed into the car, than the ambulance pulled up, but the Rolls-Royce was already in motion.

  “Where to?” Neil asked. By his expression, he sensed trouble.

  Emma stroked Maggie, and checked she was okay. “St Katharine Docks Marina.”

  During the never-ending drive into the heart of London, caught at every red traffic light with endless streams of cars, Emma repeatedly, obsessively called her mother, but now each result was the same: straight to voicemail.

  Questions and images swirled around Emma’s brain. Perhaps Maria had found something at Jacob’s or Raul’s houses. Maybe she’d figured out it was Asher Hayes too, and was on her way there now.