On Trial

by Zanna Mackenzie

“Do you know anything about him?” she asks. “I have no idea if he’s involved with anyone or what. We haven’t really talked, other than about this assignment. I don’t know if we ever will, you know, once the case is sorted. He doesn’t strike me as being in a relationship. I haven’t heard him making any calls or mentioning any likely names of girlfriends. Have you?”

  “I don’t know anything at all about his relationship status, sorry.”

  “Would Charlie know?” she asks, shifting awkwardly on her wooden dining chair. “Or would he be able to find out? Oh, I can’t believe I’m even saying this to you. The priority is this last assignment and trying to get a job offer from the agency. What on earth am I doing trying to figure if there’s a chance of a date with Mitch? I must be mad! He drives me insane but at the same time…those eyes and…”

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” I interrupt before she starts saying things I really do not want to hear about Mitch, who still gives me the creeps a little. I rub her arm and beam her a smile. “And I can totally understand the attraction. I mean, to an agent, not Mitch specifically. I remember when I met Charlie - the whole special agent thing is quite enticing. I mean, it’s much more than that with Charlie now obviously. I can see why you might develop feelings for Mitch though. You know, if you go for guys like him.”

  “Like him?” she frowns.

  How do I put this without offending her? “Well, the macho kind of guy,” I say tentatively.

  “Ah, you mean the chauvinist pig type of guy, but you’re too polite to say it,” she laughs with a cheeky smile. “Yeah, he is a bit of a challenge, but I do like that in a man. I think there might be an element of him putting it on as well, to make our task more difficult. Guess I share the same affliction as Poppy in that I’m drawn to the bad boys and the arrogant ones.”

  The door bursts open and Mitch strides back in. “OK, an update.”

  Esme leans forward, planting her elbows on the dining table, seeming eager to hear Mitch’s news.

  “David Smith definitely left the country days before the wedding but it’s not as straight forward as that.”

  “Why not?” I ask, curiosity bubbling inside of me. “Did he leave the UK officially and then slip back in unofficially?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Mitch says, grabbing the last of the chocolate chip cookies from the packet and siting down.

  “So why is it more complicated then?” Esme demands. “Are you going to tell us or just sit there stuffing your face with biscuits?”

  Mitch smirks and leans back in his chair, cramming the biscuit into his mouth whilst Esme fumes.

  “Right,” Mitch says at last, wiping crumbs from his face with the back of his hand. “David Smith has a twin brother. An identical twin brother.”

  “And it was his twin brother who left for Spain, creating a potential alibi for David. Meanwhile, David heads up to Cumbria and kidnaps Poppy, putting a stop to her marrying Taylor, because David wants her back and is still in love with her!” I say, my mind whirring and the words gushing out of me.

  “Or,” Esme adds, “David did actually leave for Spain, but he arranged for his twin brother…” she clicks her fingers at Mitch. “What’s his name? The brother?”

  “Arthur,” he helpfully supplies.

  Esme flicks him a look of surprise. “Arthur? Seriously? We’re in pursuit of a kidnapper called Arthur?”

  “Apparently he goes by the name of Artie,” Mitch says with a shrug.

  “OK, so David leaves the country and Artie kidnaps Poppy,” she finishes triumphantly.

  “Could be either option,” he says. “Or it could be neither of them.”

  “Meaning what?” I ask, feeling a little confused. I thought we’d got our list of suspects. Is Mitch now adding somebody else to the equation?

  “Well, I’ve been mulling over some of the stuff Ms. Randall said about the divorce. There is another possibility. The kidnapper could be Poppy’s father. Think about it - he’s annoyed his daughter cut him out of her life. He finds out she’s getting married via a family member or friend. He decides enough is enough. Angry he’s not the one walking her down the aisle, he races up here and kidnaps her.”

  “That’s a bit far-fetched,” Esme scoffs.

  Mitch smirks. “But, at the same time, entirely possible.”

  Brilliant. Now we have another potential kidnapper and not much time left to investigate him.

  “But to add to the complication further,” Mitch continues. “I asked agency HQ to run a check on the registration number for that green BMW which appeared in the garage in the early hours of this morning. The car is registered to David Smith.”

  “What? So what do we do now?” I ask, getting to my feet, slamming a hand onto the table in frustration. “You’re saying he’s here? Not in Spain? Time is getting on, Mitch! We can’t sit here and chat about this endlessly. We need to take action.”

  “We have no idea where he is. He didn’t check into the hotel, I’ve already looked into that,” he says matter-of-factly.

  When did he have the chance and the time to do that?

  Should we admit about seeing the man with the BMW car last night? “Look,” I say, treading carefully. “I don’t mean to question your, er, investigating process, but are you sure he hasn’t checked into the hotel? Maybe under a different name or something?”

  Mitch narrows his eyes at me. “I think I know how to do my job.”

  Esme steps beside me, offering her support and revealing our news. “It’s just that last night we saw a guy making out with a member of the hotel’s staff against the side of the green BMW in the car park.”

  “And that same guy was at reception this morning demanding soft pillows for his room,” I finish.

  “So, you’re telling me that you think the guy is David Smith but he’s staying here under a different name.”

  This isn’t rocket science, people must register at hotel’s using fake names all the time, so why is Mitch acting like this is beyond his comprehension?

  Mitch crosses his arms, looking annoyed. “If Smith was here, we assume it’s to try and stop his former girlfriend getting married, right?”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “If he was so in love with the bride-to-be, why was he making out with a member of the hotel staff last night?” Mitch says, looking pleased with his reasoning.

  Well, he does have a point I suppose. Well, kind of… “What if the guy making out in the car park and complaining about the pillows was Artie, rather than David?” I say tentatively. “That would make sense.”

  “Yes, it would,” Esme chips in. “So let’s go and talk to him!”

  We head to reception and ask the harassed-looking receptionist if she knows where we can find the man who complained about his pillows.

  “He left. Checked out right before one of the bridesmaids. Sorry, I don’t know where he’s gone to,” she replies, looking as though she has a million and one real things to do and would rather not debate details of some fake investigation with us.

  “What?” Mitch demands. “One of the women has left as well? Why didn’t you tell us? Which one was it? Connie? Deedee? Lottie?”

  “Constance Merryweather,” she replies haughtily. “And I saw no reason to relate that particular piece of information to you.”

  Esme leans on the reception desk. “Forget about the bridesmaid. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “I’m afraid our hotel policy is not to give out personal details on guests,” she replies as though she’s reading from a rules and regulations manual.

  “A name is classed as personal information?” I check.

  The woman nods. “I’m afraid so.”

  “What do your rules say about giving out details to an officer of the law?” Mitch asks, flashing her his special agent badge.

  The woman frowns at the badge Mitch is holding. “Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency? I’ve never heard of you. You’re
not the police.”

  Mitch leans in intimidatingly. “No, we’re not the police, we’re better than the police. Tell me the guy’s name.”

  Clutching a large leather book I assume to be the hotel register to her chest, the woman slowly shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll end up getting fired.”

  “I want to speak to the manager!” Mitch demands. “Right now!”

  “He’s in an important meeting with the builders, the project manager and the planning people from the local council regarding a complication on the renovation of the spa,” the woman responds.

  “Then get him out of the meeting!” Mitch retorts.

  “He said he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. The work on the spa has to be completed before this weekend otherwise we’ll have to cancel bookings from real guests,” she says, getting to her feet and looking as though she’s squaring up for a war of words.

  “This is crazy! I don’t have time for this. I have a kidnapper to catch and a deadline fast approaching. Failure is not an option!” Mitch makes to grab the register but Esme pulls him back.

  “Leave it for now,” she says, a hand on his arm. “The guy is probably using a false name anyway.”

  “Would it help if we check if the BMW is still in the garage? If it is, then he hasn’t gone very far. Can you do that for us?” I ask, turning to the receptionist and beaming her a smile of encouragement.

  She throws a look of daggers at Mitch but amazingly she picks up the phone. I hold my breath as Mitch seethes and paces up and down.

  “Billy? It’s Carla, can you look if a green BMW is still parked in the garage for me?” She eyes Mitch, annoyance etched on her face as she waits for Billy to check. “It is? Thanks, you’re a love.”

  “The car’s still there?” I check.

  “Yes, it is. So the man you’re looking for must have walked somewhere or he could have gone out on the lake.”

  “So, basically, he could still be anywhere. Somebody might have picked him up in their car, or anything. Let’s go and check through the missing bride’s room again for now,” Mitch says, still looking mad, and obviously trying to regain some degree of control over the investigation. “Time is not on our side.”

  Time now: 16:00

  Time to deadline: 2 hours

  Poppy’s room is exactly how we left it, with items strewn all over the place. “Let’s switch from how we searched yesterday,” Mitch says, walking towards the door of the ensuite. “I’ll check through the bathroom this time. Esme, you do the drawers and wardrobe. Amber, check the rest of the room - the stuff piled on the bed, underneath it, behind the curtains, the windowsills, even inside the lampshades. OK?”

  We both nod to acknowledge the instructions. Maybe Mitch was acting at being Mr. Grumpy Chauvinist as part of the assignment, or maybe he’s finally realised we’re serious about wanting to work for the agency and not two airheads out to make his life difficult.

  As Esme opens the wardrobe and starts sifting through the various items of clothing, Mitch disappears into the bathroom and I hear the sound of toiletries being swept from shelves. Right. Down to work. Systematically I sort through the jumble of clothing, paperback books and cards of congratulations about the upcoming wedding. I sit on the edge of the bed and open and read each card. There’s one from Lottie.

  I wish you every happiness in your new life as Taylor’s wife. I hope you enjoy my little present. I know it’s his favourite. X

  I put the card down and scan the area around me, even checking under the bed. What present? There’s no gift wrapped parcel in sight. I can’t even spot any cast aside ribbon or scrunched up paper to hint at an unwrapped present. What happened to the gift from Lottie? What did she give to Poppy? Dropping to my knees I check underneath the bed again. Nothing. Not even any dust bunnies. But then I suppose you wouldn’t expect to find any in a hotel of this standard. So, where else to look? My eyes are drawn to the window. It’s growing dark outside thanks to some heavy rainclouds having chased away the earlier sunshine. I squint at the view. Is that a pinprick of light I can see? Is that what caught my eye in the first place and drew me to the window? I walk across, resting my hands on the edge of the deep wooden windowsill. There’s nothing out here to create a light. No neighbours. No roads for car headlights to pierce the late afternoon dusk and drizzle. Holding my breath I wait. There. Again. I can see something. A dot of light in the middle of nothing.

  “Guys,” I say, not taking my eyes away from the spot where the light appeared moments earlier.

  “What?” Esme asks, materialising at my side.

  Mitch pushes into the room and stands at the window. “What is it? Did you find something?”

  “More like see something,” I say cautiously. What if I imagined the light? What if I get this wrong and send us off on a wild goose chase when we don’t have time for such things? I point into the gathering gloom. “Look, there, at that spot.”

  We fall into silence as we watch and wait. Then the light appears again, for slightly longer this time.

  “Where is that?” Esme asks, her voice high with excitement.

  “You see it too? The light?” I check.

  “It looks like it’s in the middle of the lake,” Mitch says, roughly pushing aside the plush curtains, looped back with a gold brocade rope, which frame the window. “There are islands out there. It could be from one of them or a boat.”

  I edge closer to the windowsill, trying to peer around Mitch who is now blocking some of my view. My hand brushes against something and I look down. Tucked behind the curtain is a half unwrapped gift. My heart thuds. This must be the present Lottie gave to Poppy.

  I pull it from its hiding place and peel back the remainder of the shiny silver paper.

  “What’s that?” Mitch asks, spotting the package in my hands.

  “A gift,” I say, as bits of various clues start to fall into place in my head. “I think it’s from Lottie for Poppy. A pre-wedding present. I found the card for it amongst the stuff on the bed.”

  “It’s perfume,” Esme says, peering over my shoulder as I finish unwrapping it. “What does it say on the box?”

  I trace my fingers across the gold lettering embossed in the purple box. “La Isla Del Mar,” I say. “The perfume is called La Isla Del Mar.”

  “Isn’t that the perfume the bride said she hated?” Mitch checks, and I can see he’s got all the pieces of the jigsaw now too.

  I nod. “Yes, she did. So why did Lottie buy it for her?”

  “Perhaps out of spite or because it has greater significance than just being a gift. It’s also a clue, isn’t it?” Esme says. “Right?”

  Mitch replies, “Yeah, could well be.”

  “In Spanish it means island of the sea, remember?” Esme says, frowning. “But there’s no sea around here. We’re surrounded by lakes and mountains. The nearest coast is about thirty miles away.”

  My mind whirs as we all turn back to the window and the pinprick of light shoots through the gloom once more. “This is all something to do with the island in the lake though, isn’t it? That’s where the kidnapper could be keeping Poppy? It’s got to be. David is one of the culprits and he might or might not be in Spain. The bride has a perfume she hates with a Spanish name which points to islands. We see a light out there, where there shouldn’t be one. It’s all coming together, isn’t it? Are we right about the islands?”

  “Why would the connection be via a perfume name which refers to islands in the sea though?” Esme muses. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Do we know what the lake is called?” Mitch asks, already halfway to the bedroom door, off to investigate further. “Perhaps that has something to do with it.”

  “Hang on!” Esme calls after him. “We had a bit of a search round in the staff quarters yesterday when we were looking for flashlights and amongst the stuff we found was a map of the area. It’s on the shelf in the kitchen. We could check na
mes for the water and also find out if there are any structures or properties of any kind on the islands. That might help us.”

  “OK, first we’ll check the map, then we’ll go and steal a boat to get out on the lake.” Mitch disappears out of the room and we can hear him running down the corridor. We sprint after him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Time now: 16:15

  Time to deadline: 1 hour and 45 minutes

  “There!” Mitch says, pointing with a finger to one of the smaller islands on the map we’ve got spread out on the kitchen table in the staff quarters. “According to the map the long, thin stretch of water between the group of islands that sits across from the hotel is bizarrely called Green Island Sea. It must be one of those weird names that go back centuries and nobody can remember how they originated. The map also shows that there’s a boathouse on one of the islands in that group.”

  “That’s got to be the place,” I say, peering in for a closer look at the map. “Let’s go and check it out.”

  Outside the growing darkness closes in around us as we dash towards the lake, the rain heavier now and drenching us in seconds. “How are we going to get out to the islands?” I ask, managing to speak as I run, and silently thanking James for putting me through all those fitness improving exercise regimes these past few months. Though, at the time, I seem to recall that my thoughts about him weren’t quite so kind…

  Behind us the sound of a transit van being revved full throttle causes Esme to come to a screeching halt in front of me, meaning I cannon into the back of her. “Oommph!”

  “Sorry,” she says, grabbing my arm as we both fight to stay upright. “I just thought how we can get out on the lake! That noise must have been one of the builders leaving for the day. If Lee is still working on the renovations in the spa then I can get him to take us out in his boat!”

  “I think I’d rather swim to the island,” Mitch retorts. “By the state that boat of his is in, we’ll probably all end up dumped in the water when it sinks anyway!”

  “It’s got to be worth a try,” I say, nodding at Esme and throwing a questioning glance at Mitch. “Right?”