by JL Simpson
The door to the detective’s office swung open, and Daisy gripped the edge of the desk, determined to appear nonchalant.
Solomon stepped into the room, and Daisy jumped from the desk and barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and sobbing into his chest. To give him his due he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. She hated the Irish git, but he made her feel safe. As much as she would rather be hugging Paul, a hug from Solomon was second-best, as long as he didn’t want to kiss her again. The detectives had been lovely once they realized she was as much an innocent victim as the owner of the arm, and the doughnuts were not offered as some kind of clichéd joke. But sometimes a girl needed to be in the arms of a big strong man and to cry her heart out.
Solomon led her across the room and settled her in an empty chair before giving her a cup of water that Hastings passed to him. Solomon squatted next to her so they were at eye level. He handed her his handkerchief and smiled. “As much as I love to be accosted by a pretty girl, do you want to tell me what it is that has you crying and in the company of these fine gentlemen?”
He was being nice. She wasn’t sure she wanted him nice. He was the beast, and she might find it hard to hold on to her dislike of him if he was going to be nice to her.
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Work with me on this one, Princess, and just tell me what happened.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a yes, he thought she was pretty, or no, he was just being a condescending jerk trying to take her mind off the situation.
“Someone threw blood all over the bonnet of my car. And there was an arm.” She sipped the water as the memory of that thing dangling from her steering wheel made her stomach churn.
Solomon glanced up at Dan Maloney. “Blood? An arm? What the feck is she talking about?”
“Daisy dialed 999 when she found her car vandalized in the multistory behind the shopping precinct. We were called in when the first responders discovered blood all over the bonnet, a severed human arm hanging from the steering wheel, and vomit all over the driver’s door.”
“The vomit was mine,” Daisy whispered.
Solomon smiled at her. “Of course it was, Princess.”
He was back to normal. Shithead. She smiled at him, relieved.
“Any idea who was involved or what’s going on?” Solomon’s question was directed at Dan.
“So far all we know is the blood isn’t human; it’s pig’s blood. The arm is more of a mystery. Definitely human but fingerprints came up blank. The doc’s doing more tests, and we’re working on tracing the signet ring and tattoos that were decorating it. Daisy’s car is being dusted for prints, and the forensics boys are looking at it for anything else that might help us work out who did this. If it was fresher’s week I’d have put it down to some stupid student prank. They’ve been known to steal body parts from cadavers before. However, as it is obviously not a prank, I’m guessing it’s a message. Whatever you two are doing, you’ve stirred up some trouble for yourselves. Daisy has given me a brief overview of the case she’s working on. It might not have been targeted at her, but we’ll work on that assumption.”
Solomon nodded. “Okay. Do you want to collaborate?”
“What. Share information?”
“Sure. I’m not hampered by the law.”
“And you’ll get arrested if you break it.”
Solomon chuckled. “Only if you find out. So how about it, then? You keep me in the loop, and I’ll update you with anything of interest I find out.”
Dan ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor for a moment before lifting his head and nodding his agreement.
“And on that basis would you mind if I use your resources? You know to find out a few details.”
“You mean you want me to check things on our database and pass you information?”
“Exactly.”
“That would come under the heading of illegal, and would set a bad example for young Hastings here.”
Solomon glanced at the young man currently devouring a doughnut. “You didn’t hear a thing, did you, lad?”
Hastings shook his head. “Been deaf for years.”
Solomon offered Dan his hand, and they shook on the deal. “Okay, Daisy, you’re free to go. Scoot before I change my mind.”
Daisy chewed her bottom lip. “Dan. We don’t need to tell Paul, do we?”
Dan glanced at Solomon. “Are you going to keep her safe?”
“As if my very life depended on it.”
“Then I won’t mention it to Paul. What you do is up to you.”
“Thanks.”
Dan squeezed her shoulder. “On you go.”
Solomon helped her to her feet, snagged her bag off Dan’s desk, and handed it to her, before putting an arm around her shoulder and walking her across the room.
Hastings called after them. “Come back any time, Daisy.”
Solomon shoved the door open and held it for Daisy before following her through and moving back into protective mode, arm around her shoulder holding her tight against him. The bump of his body against hers was comforting. The morning hadn’t gone the way she expected. She glanced up at Solomon. His jaw was set, and his gaze moved around the lobby as they crossed and exited into the cool, fresh air. He’d gone into stealth mode.
They turned left, and Solomon came to halt, almost tripping Daisy up.
“Bollocks.”
Chapter Seventeen
Daisy logged onto her computer and used her credit card to order Elliott’s birth certificate and his parents’ marriage certificate. While she was about it, she ordered Toby’s birth certificate.
She glanced at the open door to the corridor and then back at her screen. The drive to the office had been tense. Solomon’s vocabulary of swear words was large and varied.
The cursor blinked, and she gazed at it. Thanks to Paul she might have enough information to look up Solomon’s birth certificate. She could get it mailed to her home address. What would it tell her other than what she had already discovered? The more time she spent with Solomon, the more she realized she knew nothing about him. Her hand hovered over the mouse, but she resisted and instead moved the cursor to close the web browser and then shut the computer down.
“Ready?”
She spun around and stared at Solomon, blinking innocently. Even though she’d done nothing wrong she felt guilty. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for the parking ticket?”
He shook his head. “I told you already, it’s not the ticket, it’s the principle.”
“Well, at least let me pay to get your shirt dry-cleaned.”
“No need, Princess. My cleaning lady is a dab hand at removing makeup.”
He grinned at her, and she shook her head. “I bet she is. Although I’m guessing her talent won’t be needed much, now you’ve sworn off women.”
“True. You’re helping to keep her skills honed just in case I need them again in the future.”
“Glad to be of service.” Daisy sighed. “Maybe I should go home?”
Solomon tugged the cuffs of his crisp white shirt into place, the silver cufflinks catching the light. “And tell Paul what exactly, when he comes home and finds you playing dutiful housewife?”
“Dunno.” She shrugged. “I could tell him I quit.”
“And is that what you’re planning to do?”
“Isn’t that what you want me to do?”
Solomon crossed the room and dragged her to her feet. “What I want, Princess, is for you to pull on your big-girl panties. It’s too late to back out now.”
“You hate me? Why not take the chance to get rid of me?”
“Because if I do that who’s going to protect you?”
“But you do still hate me?”
“Your words, Princess, not mine. I believe I have a much wider vocabulary where you’re concerned.”
“I told Paul you kissed me.”
“And he told me you’re usi
ng up the world’s supply of toothpaste trying to scrub away the memory.”
“I didn’t enjoy it.”
Solomon rubbed his cheek. “I remember.”
“So it meant nothing to you, then?”
“I’m a professional. Sometimes you have to do unpleasant things if you want to get the job done. Don’t worry your pretty little head, Princess. I would never kiss you unless it was necessary.”
“Good.”
“However, just for the record, I’ve never had anyone complain about my technique before.”
“I wasn’t commenting on your ability to kiss, just your motivation.”
“Another satisfied customer?” He winked at her. “Now we’ve sorted that out, can we get back to work?
She glared at him. “Arsehole.”
Solomon laughed. “That’s the Daisy I know and love. Now, I believe we have a case to solve.”
Daisy grabbed her handbag and walked to the door, leaving him in her wake. “You can tell me you love me as often as you like, but I know the truth, bastard. Now which case? Mine or yours?”
“Good question.”
Once the office was locked up and Solomon had opened his SUV, she climbed into the passenger seat. Solomon got behind the wheel and fired up the engine.
“Where are we going?”
“We’ve an appointment with Maureen Beckitt.”
“Phat Kitty?”
“And her manager.”
“And what are we going to ask her?”
“We’re not going to ask her anything. I’ll be asking the questions. You can just be the pretty sidekick and keep your mouth shut. I think that’ll be the safest option for both of us.”
“Fuck off, Solomon.”
He chuckled. “Will I be reporting that to Paul?”
“I pay my debts. And it’s worth five pounds to tell you to fuck off. In fact if I ever win the lottery I might give all the money to Paul so that I can keep telling you to fuck off at will.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Where are we going?”
“Sandbanks.”
“Sandbanks—Poole Sandbanks? Hell, I can’t go all that way without tunes. You got any music in here?”
She hunted in the glove box but came up empty. “Where’s the CD I left for you?”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Oh, come on, Ronan. Don’t tell me you’re sensitive about your name?”
“To be sensitive I would have to have feelings.”
“True. I forgot you were an emotionless automaton. Guess that explains your lack of a penis. You would have no use for one.”
He glanced at her, and she grinned. Solomon shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. “I know what you’re doing.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re trying to hide the fact that you really like me.”
“You should seek medical help for these delusions you’re having.”
He chuckled. “Look under the seat.”
“Why? What’s under there?”
“Just do it.”
She rolled her eyes but reached under her seat. Her fingers brushed cool leather, and she tugged a laptop bag free.
“I want you to do some research. You don’t get travel sick, do you?”
“Nope. I only vomit when I’ve had too much vodka, see blood and gore, or get kissed by a frog.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Righto.”
“What am I looking for and how do I access the Internet in a moving car?”
*
Solomon concentrated on the road as they sped along the motorway in a haze of soak-through-to-your-underpants drizzle. He’d explained how to tether his mobile phone to the laptop so that Daisy could access the Internet. He could hear her breathing, and her sweet flowery perfume wafted on the warm air pumped out by the SUV’s heater, as she searched the net for information about her new friend Zut and his rock band.
She’d wanted to give up her dream of being an heir hunter. He’d promised Paul he would make her quit within a week. He could have achieved that aim with two days to spare, but instead he’d convinced her to stay. Why? She was safer with him, but that wasn’t the only reason. His life had been on autopilot ever since Lisa. He worked. He made money. He bought all he wanted. He drank. He ate. He slept. And he got laid whenever he felt the need. Predictable. Boring. Uneventful. All the things his life hadn’t been since first thing Monday when Daisy joined him in his business endeavors.
As annoying as she was, he was surprised to discover he had no desire to return to his former existence. However, Paul wanted him to convince Daisy her heir hunting idea was madness. Solomon had also hoped she would lighten up a little and get over the pub thing so that he could, once again, be included in Paul’s life. None of his plans had included having a long-term professional relationship with the man’s wife. The whole venture was fraught with danger.
“Got him.”
He glanced at Daisy, and she smiled in triumph. “What is that you’ve found?”
“His real name is Suetonius Smith.”
“Unusual name. And?”
“According to the band’s website he comes from Reading, attended the local comprehensive school before going to Art College.”
“Is that it?”
She shook her head. “Nope. That’s his official bio.”
“Well?”
“I found a Suetonius Ackroyd-Smyth in an article about Langdon College Old Scholars. It says he went up to Cambridge to study law. How many Suetonius Smiths or Smyths can there be in the world?”
“Not many. Keep digging.”
“For what?”
“Check if you can find any connection to Elliott or Tobias Wareham. You might also like to see if he has any connection to the men with the life insurance policies. File’s on the back seat if you want to check the names.”
“Why would he be connected to your case?”
“If I knew that, Princess, I wouldn’t be asking you to find out, now would I?”
Daisy turned her attention to the laptop, and Solomon reached over and switched on the radio. Ronan Keating’s “When you Say Nothing At All” blared from the speakers. Daisy giggled, and Solomon growled and switched it off.
They continued on, the only sound the swish of the windscreen wipers.
“He was four years ahead of Toby, which makes it unlikely they were in the same social group. Elliott went to Eton, and both of the Wareham boys went to Oxford; Zut went to Cambridge.”
“Doesn’t mean they never met.”
“True. They like to hang with their own. Maybe their daddies knew each other or they played polo together on weekends? Or banged the same debutante? If there is a connection I can’t find it on the net.”
“What about my hapless dead men?”
“Zut’s not a member of the Somerset Club. There is an Ackroyd-Smyth who is. Could be his father or maybe an uncle? Other than that, nothing.”
“Bollocks. I was hoping I’d found a key.”
“Why are we looking at Zut? I know he scared me, but that’s hardly damning evidence.”
“How many people know you’re looking for Tobias Wareham?”
“Only Belinda, and my friend Cherry. Oh, and Paul, and the cops, of course.”
“What about Zut?”
“As far as he knows I was looking for a white Stratocaster once owned by Jimi Hendrix and signed by Keith Richards. I never mentioned Toby. Why?”
“Someone obviously wants you to stop looking for him, Princess.”
“And you think it’s Zut?”
“I followed him to a pub where he was performing.”
“And?”
Solomon slowed to a stop at the curb. “And I think this is the place.”
“Oh, come on. What do you know?”
Solomon turned off the engine and undid his seatbelt. “I know that he’s acquainted with John.”
“John? John Nesbitt? Insuranc
e man John?”
“The very same. Now I believe we’re expected.”
Chapter Eighteen
Daisy followed Solomon up the front drive. The steel gate they’d been buzzed through slammed shut behind them. Phat Kitty took her security very seriously. A price obviously had to be paid when you drove men to the edge of sexual insanity.
The front door of the art deco mansion swung open as they approached, and a tall dark-haired man, in a charcoal gray pinstriped designer suit and black shoes Daisy could only ever dream of buying for Paul, stepped out to greet them. Solomon turned his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. Not yet familiar with stealth-mode-Solomon’s body speak she had no idea what it meant.
“Mr. Solomon. And this is?” The gaze that swept Daisy, and the sneer that curled the man’s lips, were filled with disdain. Had he learned to appear the hard man to compensate for the effeminate voice? Or did he really have a burning hatred for cheap high-street fashion, and the women who wore it? Which would be odd considering who he worked for. You could use a lot of adjectives to describe Phat Kitty, but classy wouldn’t be the one Daisy would choose.
Solomon let the man’s hand go and nudged Daisy forward. “It’s just Solomon, and this is my associate, Daisy Dunlop. I assume you’re Mr. Tyler, Ms. Beckitt’s manager?”
“Indeed. Come in, she’s expecting you.”
Daisy followed behind the men as they wandered down a long hallway passing open doors showing glimpses of rooms decorated and furnished in a manner that echoed the home’s age and style. Phat Kitty must have used an interior designer.
At the end of the corridor they reached a light-filled room. Mr. Tyler stepped to one side and indicated they should enter the vast, bright, airy lounge that took up the width of the back of the house. “If you’ll take a seat I’ll let Ms. Beckitt know you’re here.”
Solomon undid the buttons on his jacket and sank onto a plump pale-green sofa. Daisy wasn’t ready to sit. Her butt was still numb from the drive. Instead she wandered around, taking in the view of the small garden and the foam-topped ocean beyond, before stopping in front of a roaring open fire. The woman must have an army of staff to maintain the place. She couldn’t imagine the pop star running the Hoover around, or flicking between the ornaments with a feather duster, never mind scrubbing the numerous bathrooms a house this size must have.
