by JL Simpson
The couple were too far away to be able to hear what they were saying. Linda closed the boot and then walked to the front of the vehicle and climbed inside. The man pulled the garage door down leaving Solomon and Daisy hidden inside. As soon as the car engine roared to life Daisy got to her feet, sucking in a breath of air. No doubt she'd forgotten about her ankle.
“We need to follow them.”
Solomon stood up and brushed some dust from the knees of his trousers. “We'll never catch them.”
“We won't if we just stand here.”
“Do you not think we'd do better to go over all of the documents we have?”
Daisy gesticulated wildly toward the door. “Do you know who that was? Well? Do you?”
She was magnificent when she was angry. The woman was starting to get up a head of steam. Solomon smiled. “Linda.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Yes. Linda. This whole thing has something to do with the museum.”
“I'm not going to disagree with you.”
“About the museum or about us needing to follow her?”
“We'll not be following her.”
“Then how do you plan to find out what she was doing and who the man was? It could be Cameron.”
“What she was doing was obvious.”
“It was?”
“She was stealing Cameron's computer.”
“Not stealing if the man was Cameron. Not that we'll ever know that now.”
“Did you get the car registration number?”
Daisy shook her head. “No because you had me pinned to the floor.”
Solomon chuckled. “If I had you pinned to the floor, you'd not be caring who'd broken in.”
Her face turned red. He stepped closer, taking a chance the heat in her face was a blush and not a fit of anger that could put his bollocks in danger.
“Stop.”
He reached out and tugged one of her loose curls. “Do you not want to know if I have the registration number?”
She batted his hand away from her hair. “Do you?”
“Indeed I do, Princess.”
“And what use is that to us?”
“The man was driving. Chances are the car belongs to him.”
“Can you find out?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
Chapter Thirty
Daisy waited less than patiently in the office. It was past lunchtime. Her ankle was aching, her stomach was empty and Solomon had dropped her off over an hour ago. He'd been mysterious about what he was going to do but had insisted it was best if he did it alone. She had reluctantly agreed when he said he would email the photos he'd taken of all the documents to her.
She'd been trawling through the information they'd retrieved. The picture was both a bit clearer and a lot more chaotic. In amongst the documents she'd downloaded were financial statements for the last two years for a trust called TomCam. She'd worked around accountants long enough to have a rough idea about what the numbers all meant, and she had no doubt these were the figures for the business Tomas and Cameron had been operating from Cameron's lockup. The bank account might be in Cameron's name but the income and expenses were clearly being recorded in the trust’s financial statements.
Despite the numbers on Cameron's bank statements and the spreadsheet she'd looked at earlier showing a loss, the financial statements showed a healthy profit that was being distributed to another trust called Lost Legions. A quick search of the other documents on the memory stick had come up empty, but one of the pictures Solomon had sent to her was of a bank statement for Lost Legions. It received monthly deposits that matched the amounts coming out of Cameron's account. At the end of the month the balance of this trust’s account was transferred. But where it had been transferred to was another mystery.
The flow of funds from entity to entity, and the fact they continued to trade at a loss according to their own spreadsheets but showed an inflated sales figure and a healthy profit on the year-end financial statements, reminded her of the sorts of things her ex-solicitor boss, Clive, used to be involved in. He'd never been averse to bending the rules, and what better way to hide funds earned from activities you'd rather the authorities didn't know about than setting up a complex structure that gave the appearance of being a legitimate business. The funds Tomas Jenks pumped into Cameron's account had to be dirty money that was being laundered through this make-believe nonsense business venture. How he earned that money was anyone's guess, but she had no doubt finding out would be the key to solving the case.
The printouts of the spreadsheets and the picture of the financial statements were pinned to the whiteboard. Daisy lifted the pen and scribbled some notes in the space down the left hand side. Questions, lots of questions. Where did Tomas Jenks get his money from? What did Linda have to do with it? How did he know Cameron? Did they serve in the army together? She tapped her cheek with the whiteboard marker. There was a question she might be able to answer.
She hobbled back to her desk and opened her web browser. With a few clicks, she was logged into the website that re-united old army buddies. Now all she needed to do was sign into the account she had set up for Paul and see if there was a Cameron McAlister signed up. An icon flashed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen. Someone had messaged her, or rather Paul. She sat on the edge of her seat and clicked to open the chat box. Short and not helpful. “Are you the Dunlop I served with in ’78?”
She checked the person's profile. Harry Alsop. Served in the Engineers. Paul was too young to be serving with anyone in ’78, and he'd been in the military police with Solomon, but Paul's dad had been in the Engineers around that time. Should she respond? Harry Alsop could be a nutter and he was going to be no help with her case. His avatar was a picture of him but it was too small to know what he looked like. She opened a new window and entered his name and Royal Engineers into a Google search. The first result was Facebook. Daisy clicked on the link and stared at the man's page.
She sucked in a breath. With her heart pounding she moved closer to the screen. She'd seen those piercing blue eyes before. Bloody hell. Should she reply? The man had a right to know he had a son. Although if he'd wanted to know, he'd have given his real name to Solomon’s mam when he seduced her back in the seventies instead of pretending to be Paul’s dad. The man’s regiment had finished their tour of duty in Northern Ireland and he’d walked away without ever knowing that Solomon had been conceived. Solomon had grown up thinking he was a Dunlop. He’d tracked Paul down and they’d become firm friends without Solomon ever revealing that he thought they were brothers until recently. It was only then Solomon discovered that all he had believed about his dad had been a lie. How would things have worked out if Harry Alsop had given his real name to Solomon’s mother?
Solomon would never have tracked Paul down. If he hadn't been traveling with Solomon, would Paul have been in Manchester the weekend she first met him? And even if Paul had met her, she would definitely never have met Solomon. Without Solomon, she wouldn't have spent the last few months being shot at, kidnapped and almost blown up, and she wouldn't at this very moment be stuck solving the most frustrating case of all time. Harry Alsop had a lot to answer for.
Daisy reopened the chat box and typed, I think you're talking about my father. Now I have a question for you. Do you remember meeting an Etainn Liffey in Northern Ireland?
*
Solomon was feeling very pleased with himself. Not only had he found out the name of the mystery man who had been at the lockup with Linda, assuming the car they were driving belonged to him, but he'd also bought lunch, done a spot of shopping and got some vital information. Having contacts in the police force was priceless. He jogged down the stairs to the office and pushed the door open. Daisy looked up, her eyes wide, guilt written all over her face.
“What's wrong?”
She grabbed her mouse as he approached her desk and clicked away like a mad thing.
Solomon smiled. “If you were watchi
ng porn, there was no need to stop on my account.”
Daisy shook her head, sending her curls into a bouncing frenzy. “Not porn.”
“Then what has you looking so guilty?”
She smiled, but it never made it to her eyes. “Nothing.”
Solomon frowned, but decided not to pursue it. He knew her password and could search her history later. Maybe she'd cleared her history. That would just make finding out what she was up to more fun. His IT guy had set up a program on her office computer that recorded all of her activity. It would take a little more detective work but before he hit the mattress tonight, he'd have something juicy to blackmail her with. He'd bet his left bollock on it.
Daisy stepped around her desk. “I thought you were helping to solve the case, not shopping.”
“I was doing both.” Solomon strode down the hall and Daisy followed. Once he arrived in the kitchen, he placed the bag from the Chinese takeaway on the side. Daisy got busy finding cutlery and plates while he served out the food. He'd thought about going with the vegetarian options, but knew Daisy would prefer chicken, so chicken it was. Once the food was ready, she placed the plates on the table and took a seat. Solomon opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay, noting that he needed to shop for more wine. Daisy was an expensive business associate. She waited until he'd filled two glasses and taken his seat before she tucked into her food.
Between mouthfuls, she waved her fork at him. “So, you said you were doing both.”
“I was. I've a name for the man with Linda.”
“And?”
Solomon chewed his food and swallowed. “Graham Harrison.”
Daisy hesitated, fork halfway to her mouth. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“If you'd a mind to Google him, you might be surprised to learn he's the resident Roman expert at the museum.”
“Damn.” Daisy's fork clattered to her half-empty plate. “I knew we should have stuck with the museum.”
Solomon smiled. “You knew no such thing.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
“That I did.”
“Well?”
Solomon took a sip of wine. “What were you looking at on the computer when I came in?”
“Nothing important.”
Daisy would never win at poker. Her body was stiff, she wasn't making eye contact and the smile she flashed him was far too brittle. She was hiding something, and whatever it was she didn't want to tell him. He'd been curious before, now he was dying to find out. “Was the stuff we found at the lockup of any use?”
Daisy shrugged. “It might be. What else did you find out?”
“The body in Tomas Jenks' roof died with a knife buried between his ribs. They also found arsenic in his system.”
“Poisoned and stabbed?”
“The murderer must have got fed up waiting for the poison to work.”
“Unless he was killed by two people. Poison is usually a woman's murder weapon of choice. Had he been in the roof long?”
“They estimate that he died about a year ago.”
“Do they know who he was?”
“He was Cameron and Maura's brother, Stuart.”
Daisy stared at him. “Stuart McAlister was poisoned then stabbed and hidden in Tomas Jenks' roof?”
“Aye. That would be right.”
“Who killed him? Why did they kill him?”
Solomon shrugged. “That I don't know.”
Daisy scooped up the last of her food and hesitated. “I wonder if Maura is still missing.”
“Apparently not. A call was made to the police the day after she disappeared. She's alive and well and living at home.”
“And her jewelry?”
“Apparently she had decided to move it and hadn’t told Nancy.”
“So where did she go?”
“Only way to find that out is to ask her.”
Daisy shoved the last forkful in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, washed the food down with a generous gulp of wine then pushed to her feet. “Eat up.”
“Why?”
“We need to get going.”
“Where to?”
“Maura's, of course. Or the museum. Or both?”
Solomon pushed his empty plate away. “Before we do anything, I've a gift for you.”
“Will I like it?”
“You'll be ecstatic.”
Daisy grabbed Solomon's hand and dragged him to his feet. He fought against her. “What about the dishes?”
“No one is going to die if we do them later.”
“No one is going to die if we do them now.”
“They might.”
“Who?”
“You. Come on.”
Solomon gave in and let her lead him back into the office. She let his hand go and he crossed to his desk. He opened one of his shopping bags and pulled out a shoe box. Daisy grabbed it off him. He was barely settled on the edge of the desk by the time she had the lid off. The joy in her face morphed to curiosity and then disappointment. She tugged out one of the pink shoes and dangled it from her fingers by the laces. “What do you call these?”
“I think we call them trainers, or maybe jogging shoes. Depends where you come from.”
“Do I look like I jog?”
“No. Not at all. But do you not think they're far more practical than shoes that all but break your ankles?”
“I twisted my ankle once.”
“And you'll not be twisting it again when you've got those on.”
Daisy shoved the shoe back in the box. “I'll think about it.”
“Are you not wanting to wear them now?”
She shook her head. “They won't go with my skirt. Besides my boots are fine.”
The boots were a little lower than the shoes she usually chose to wear. He wasn't offended. He knew it would be a while before he could persuade her that they were the sane choice. They'd been an impulse buy. The real reason he'd been in the shoe shop was out in his SUV. “So where are we going first?”
Daisy grabbed her bag. “Maura's is on the way.” She frowned. “You don't have Molly this weekend, do you?”
“No. Lisa's taken her to Brighton to visit her grandmother for the weekend.”
“Good. I spoke to Liam earlier. I told him I'd call him on Monday and tell him where he could find Tomas Jenks' sister.”
Solomon glanced at his watch. It was gone two already. They were going to need a bleedin' miracle to solve the case by Monday.
Chapter Thirty-One
Daisy moved a shoe box off the passenger seat and climbed into Solomon's SUV. She'd wanted to go in her own car so that they could split up if needs be, but he refused to let her drive by herself, and was even more adamant about not being a passenger when she was behind the wheel. The jury was still out on whether his refusal had anything to do with his opinion of her driving, concern over her ankle or something scarier. He'd reminded her twice already that her case was now about more than tracing Tomas Jenks' sister. Whether she wanted to find a murderer or not was beside the point. The police still had no motive for the killing of Marcus Matthews, and no clue as to who had been wielding the knife Daisy had found lodged between his ribs.
Solomon slid in behind the steering wheel. “Are you not going to check what's in the shoe box?”
“Why? Did you buy me a pair of trainers in a different color?”
Solomon chuckled. “No. The pink ones were the only ones I liked.”
“Pink?”
“Why not? If I was a girl, I'd wear pink all the time. In fact, I've a pink shirt hanging in my wardrobe.”
“If you wear the pink shirt, I might wear the pink trainers.”
“If I wear the pink shirt, you'll definitely be wearing the pink trainers.” He turned the key and the engine roared to life. “Open the box, Daisy.”
With a reluctant sigh, she reached over and lifted the box into her lap. She pulled the lid off and tossed it onto the back seat. The shoes were wrapped in so
ft white tissue paper. She pulled it aside and gasped. With a squeal, she pulled the shoes out.
Solomon smiled as he eased the SUV into the afternoon traffic and stopped at a red light. “Are they the right ones?”
She stared at the fire-engine-red shoes Solomon had given her. They were the exact match to the ones she'd left at Tomas Jenks' house. Except these were the real deal and hers had been fake knock-offs, not that she would ever admit that to Solomon. “They’re perfect. I could kiss you.”
“Could or would?”
“What do you want?”
He frowned. “Did I miss something?”
“Men don't buy shoes unless they want something.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“What makes you think I’m not? Have you been talking to Paul?”
“I talk to Paul all the time, that’s what friends do.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Was there a topic you’d like me to be discussing with him?”
“No.”
Solomon glanced at her. “Are you sure?”
Paul had probably told him about their lack of sex life. And no doubt Solomon had given him some crappy advice. She could ask Solomon what he'd said, or she could make Paul tell her and then work out which one of them deserved to be tortured.
Solomon slowed as they approached a roundabout on the edge of the city. “Where to first?”
“The museum. Otherwise, it'll be closed before we get there.”
“The museum it is.”
