“What are you waiting for? Come on, I want to introduce you properly.”
Now she really felt nervous. Her heart beat a little faster as she got out of the car and followed Ben through the open front door into the huge entrance space. In any other house, you’d walk into a hallway, but this was so much more than that. Black-and-white checked tiles gleamed and reflected the light from several uplighters and spotlights. A tall urn was filled with a massive display of cream flowers surrounded by dark green foliage. A low table held some carved incense stick holders, and the wisps of smoke dispersed a musky fragrance. The last time she’d been here, the entire ground floor had been crowded with people. Now it was quiet and still.
There was a murmur of voices from a room to the side of the hall. Ben knocked on the door and walked in, and she followed close behind. He placed the envelope with the papers on the desk that dominated the room.
“Ah, Ben, thanks for this.” Aidan Gillespie was sitting behind the desk, and he turned and handed the envelope to the man he had been talking to. “There you go, have a look and see what you think of the deal. We’ve got to get back to them by tomorrow. Ben’s already had a good look at it.” A brief scowl darkened the younger man’s face.
Ben gently clasped her hand and pulled Ana forward. “Aidan, this is Ana, Scott Hamlyn’s cousin. Ana, these are my cousins, Aidan and Danny.”
The easy smile slid from Aidan Gillespie’s face as he rose from behind the desk. “I remember meeting you at Philip Le Claire’s office. I am so very sorry that you had to find your cousin like that. It must have been a terrible shock.”
“Yes, it was. Thank you for the flowers.”
“It was the least I could do. I also sent some to your poor aunt. I was so shocked when Ben told me that Scott was your cousin. Life is indeed strange.”
Ana was shy but took Aidan Gillespie’s outstretched hand and shook it as she glanced at his brother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
Danny Gillespie took Ana’s hand from his brother. He was dark and handsome, and Ana figured he knew that only too well. “Hi, Ana. And what are you doing going out with Ben, huh? I’m sure we can find something better for you to do.” Ana smiled, unsure what to say, and gently disengaged her hand from Danny’s.
Ben draped his arm around Ana’s shoulder. “I’m sure you could, Danny, but, foolish girl that she is, Ana is coming to the movies with me. Come on.”
They said their good-byes and left. Ana could hear laughter, and she just knew it was coming from Danny Gillespie.
#
Irena Kobus sat in front of the brightly lit mirror. She loved this room, the long counter with various makeup stations, the retro dressing-table bulbs running along the top of the mirrored wall and the heavy smell of perfume and hairspray. She fluffed her hair, smacked her lips together to make sure her lipstick was in place and ran her hands over her breasts to make sure the scraps of leather held her secure and tight. She stood up and, twisting and turning, admired herself in the mirror on the back of the door. The tiny string bra top clung to her pert breasts; she was bare to the waist, her hips and groin barely covered by a floaty black chiffon skater skirt. She flicked up the back of the skirt to expose the high-cut triangular see-through panties and her tight ass and smiled in appreciation at what she saw. He would love it. If only he was here tonight. But he wasn’t. At least she wouldn’t have to wear the wig.
Irena was finally on the way up. She was done with looking after other people’s snotty, whining children, cooking their meals and cleaning their houses. She had a real man in her life, and he had shown her how to grab what was available. Her boyfriend had given her this opportunity, and she wasn’t going to waste it. She just wished he could be here more often.
The door crashed open, and the music and cacophony of voices came banging into the room. The door swung back on its hinges, and the music and noise receded.
Marianne strode in, naked as the day she was born, although her vertiginous heels were still on her feet. Her dark skin was oiled and glistened with a coating of sweat, her large breasts were surgically perfect and her shaven mound on full display. She threw herself into a low armchair and, groaning a little, pulled off her shoes and chucked them into a corner. “Tonight is – what you say – you know, so many people, a crowd.”
Irena knew what the other girls said, that Marianne’s accent was often more of a turn-on than her perfect body; put together it was an unbeatable package. She was the only French girl in the place; the others were mainly, like Irena, Eastern European.
“So it is busy; that is good for tips.”
Marianne’s smile was sly. “You are shaking your ass good on the pole, but there are easier ways to earn good money than that.”
Irena was shaking her head before the words had finished. “No, I am okay with the dancing; it’s no different than what girls do in nightclubs all the time, just with fewer clothes. I am not doing the private booth dances though…”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“And I am not comfortable with what you do mean. I am not going to open my legs for some stranger.”
“How do you think I paid for these?” Marianne lay back in the armchair, spread her legs wide and, licking her fingers, ran them around her nipples. Her eyes challenged Irena.
Irena tried to hide her disgust. She had to work alongside these girls and did not want to alienate them. “It is not for me. I am content with – what did you say? Shaking my ass.” Irena bent from the waist and ground her backside in a slow circular tease. As she made to leave the room, she turned back and blew Marianne a kiss before she went to, literally, face the music.
Chapter Seventeen
Ana was working in the town office today. Philip Le Claire had been a successful lawyer and Jersey politician and was now investing in a number of different businesses. She was disappearing under a pile of paperwork from her ever-increasing workload.
A call from the reception desk advised her that Mr Le Claire’s noon appointment had arrived. He must have booked the meeting himself, for she didn’t have it in the diary. She rose, smoothed her dress and knocked on Philip’s door before entering. Ana had rarely seen her boss and his son in the same room, but when she did she marvelled at their similarities. The same height, similar builds, although Philip was slightly thickening around the middle and his dark hair was starting to sport a little grey. So much in common and so little. She’d often overheard Philip and his wife as they bemoaned their only child’s choice of career, as if being a policeman was something to be ashamed of.
“Your appointment will be up in a moment. Do you want tea and coffee?”
“No, thank you. We’re just having a quick meeting, and then they’ve invited me for lunch.”
She smiled and headed to the elevator doors, and when they opened, she was surprised to see Aidan Gillespie walk out, followed by another man.
“Mr Gillespie, this is a surprise. Are you here to see Philip?”
“Yes. Hope you and Ben had a good time last night, and please call me Aidan.”
“Thank you.” She turned to the man behind him, a smile of welcome on her face, which turned to surprise. “Oh, Mr Adamson. How are you?”
David Adamson was handsome in crumpled chinos, a pale blue shirt and a checked jacket. “Ana, all good with me. Look, could we have a quick word?” He looked apologetically at Aidan Gillespie, who pulled out his phone. “I’ve got a quick call to make before we meet Philip, so go ahead.”
“Ana, I am so sorry. I heard that you were Scott’s cousin and you found him. That must have been shocking.”
“You knew Scott?”
“Yes, we were old friends. I remember him saying his cousin had turned up. It is such terrible news, and I am so sorry.”
She bit back the tears that threatened to fall, took a deep, shuddering breath and kept a smile on her face. “Thank you so much. Now if you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you through.”<
br />
It was only later, when the three men had left for lunch, that Ana realised she hadn’t asked if David Adamson or his wife had heard from Irena. Maybe it was time to forget her friend. The only problem was she didn’t think she could do that.
#
They were getting nowhere fast. Le Claire was about to call Dewar and ask where the hell she was when his phone rang. What did he want?
“Hello, sir.”
The chief’s voice was rasped with tiredness. A murder investigation took its toll on everyone. “I need to see you. Come up now.”
Le Claire knew there was no point saying he was busy, that he had a murder to solve and was getting nowhere. If the chief called, you ran.
As Le Claire got the nod from the watchdog that sat outside the chief’s office, he was momentarily taken aback. Did Margaret just smile at him? The chief might be fierce, but his PA ran a close second.
As he entered the room, he realised that someone else was already there. He was surprised to see that it was Will Blair, one of the undercover drugs guys, and he wasn’t looking too sharp.
“Christ, Blair, you’re in a bit of a state. What happened?”
Blair’s right leg stretched out in front of him as he perched awkwardly on a chair in front of the chief’s desk. The leg was completely encased in plaster, and he sported a vivid bruise along one cheek.
“I fell down the stairs.”
“Very droll. What happened? Did you get rumbled?”
Le Claire knew that Blair walked a fine line. His identity was only known to a few senior officers, and he rarely worked from the station. His workplace was the bars and clubs and more private places.
Blair tensed and grimaced. “No. My five-year-old left his Thomas the Tank Engine at the top of the stairs. I tripped over it and went arse over tit to the bottom. Pardon my French, sir.”
“Don’t worry about that, Blair. This is just such bad timing.” The chief turned to Le Claire. “Blair has a solid lead. He’s been on this case for six months and is getting ever closer to the real power behind the drugs that are coming into the island. There is a private house party tonight. The word is that drugs are being supplied by the heavyweights who’ve been taking over some of the smaller suppliers. They’ll have a bloody monopoly if they carry on.”
Le Claire could hear the frustration in the chief’s voice. The island was awash with drugs, not that the majority of the population had a clue. Most people lived in their bubble of security, rarely noticing the darker elements that thrived in an island that, for some, was overflowing with disposable cash. In the world’s cities, you’d see down-and-outs, their lives ravaged by drugs; here the problem was trust fund kids who used their ridiculously generous pocket money to get legal and increasingly illegal highs. Some of them even had their own bank accounts and cashline cards. At fourteen, that was a joke, and a dangerous one at that. Those kids became adults, adults with nasty habits and the money and connections to feed their addictions.
“You don’t know who they are yet? Do you know who owns the house? Surely, that is the first place to start?”
“No, it’s all a bit cloak-and-dagger. The invitation says that I’ll be met on the road past St Mary’s pub.”
The chief interjected. “And that brings us to a key point. No one at the party has met Blair before; even if they had a rough idea of what his face looked like, it wouldn’t make any difference.”
Le Claire was puzzled. “Why not?”
It was Blair who answered. “Invites for these parties are tightly controlled and very sought after. I’m told they can get a bit wild, and anything goes. Everyone has to wear a mask and a coloured wristband, which are delivered with the invitation. I’m not sure what the significance is, but the attached note asks for a confidentiality agreement to be signed and handed in at the door.”
Le Claire was starting to feel suspicious. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“The wife had to wheelchair me in here today. There’s no way I can get there tonight. My part in this investigation may be over. I simply can’t walk. You need to go to the party, be me.”
“I thought no one who knows you is going to be there. Couldn’t someone else take your place?” He was thinking of Masters. About time he did some real detective work, and his egotistical colleague would love the idea of being undercover. He’d probably like wearing a mask as well.
The chief’s voice cut across them. “The build and hair colouring isn’t quite right. We can’t guarantee that there won’t be someone who even vaguely knows Blair, and we can’t run the risk. Tell him the plan.”
“I was just going to keep a low profile, find out all I could and try and get some clues as to who the suppliers are. Apparently, these party invites get issued to low-level guys like me as a bit of a reward.”
“Reward for what?”
“I believe it’s for keeping my mouth shut.”
Blair’s eyes were blank, and Le Claire felt for him. Undercover work wasn’t easy, it was stressful and you had to play a long game. Blair, trained to uphold the law, would need to know when to keep quiet, letting certain crimes go unpunished.
“After tonight, I’ll say I got drunk and fell down and busted my leg. If I don’t show this evening, if my invitation isn’t handed in, then it’s going to look suspicious. That was made clear. I’ve waited too long to let this opportunity pass.”
“I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. I can’t take my eye off the ball.”
“You have a perfectly good team around you. It will be fine.”
Le Claire took the words as the chief intended, as an order.
“Okay, tell me what I need to know.”
Several hours later and Le Claire was versed in the rudiments of Blair’s undercover persona, what he was about and who he knew. Now he just had to get on with it.
Chapter Eighteen
Le Claire was driving Blair’s car and, as previously directed by his colleague, parked up a narrow dirt track that was a few minutes’ walk from the pickup point detailed in the instructions for the party. He navigated his way through the unlit lanes. The invitation had said black tie for the men and long dresses for the ladies. It didn’t sound like some drug den, but he’d have to reserve judgment until he got there.
He felt trussed up in his winged-collar shirt and carefully arranged bow tie. He carried a black silk half mask in one hand and wore the silver-coloured plastic wristband that had accompanied the invitation. He didn’t know what all this was about, but he’d put up with it for the sake of Blair’s investigation.
He saw the dark-coloured BMW parked in a lane along from the pub. Following instructions, he quickly placed the mask over his face and tied the tapes in a tight bow at the back of his head and then headed for his ride.
A burly man waited by the vehicle’s open doors, his head covered by a wide-brimmed hat, and he wore dark glasses. It certainly disguised the man’s features, but it was dark, and they were in the middle of St Mary, so it did make him look a little conspicuous. Le Claire was the sole passenger, and he settled himself in the backseat. Without a word, the man placed a thick black scarf over the mask, blocking his vision. He hadn’t been expecting that, and, caught unawares, it took him a moment to recover. The car turned left and left again. They were going deeper into the lanes, more twists and turns. The car slowed, and he heard the familiar click and whirr of electronic gates opening and closing. The car door opened, and a hand touched his arm, the accompanying voice, female and light, was soothing. “Good evening, sir. Apologies for the inconvenience. However, I understand that this is your first time here, so we can’t be too careful. Let’s get this off and come inside.” He felt a tug, and the scarf covering his eyes was removed, leaving his half mask firmly in place.
The owner of the voice was a slim girl in a tight cocktail dress. She too wore a mask, but her wristband was red. As he exited the car, Le Claire took a moment to stand and fuss w
ith his clothing, straightening cuffs and brushing away imaginary lint, which allowed him to take in his surroundings. A tall wooden fence surrounded the property. He noticed video cameras on top of several posts; the blinking lights showed they were continuously recording. Heavy security for what he assumed was a private home.
“May I have your invitation and confidentiality agreement, please?”
Le Claire handed over the papers, and she scanned them as they walked up the shallow, wide steps that led to the front door. Once they were inside, Le Claire was handed over to a waiting man, again wearing a mask. They were very security conscious.
The woman spoke. “Here is the invitation and agreement. Everything checks out; would you please complete the induction?”
Induction? What the hell was going on here? He found out all too quickly. He was handed a piece of paper filled with instructions, and Le Claire concealed his jolt of shock. Now he knew exactly what kind of party this was.
The list contained dos and don’ts and more information. The silver wristbands were worn by guests, some repeat guests had been upgraded to gold, and apparently the latter had access to certain areas that weren’t available to anyone else. The “entertainment” wore green, the serving staff red. It was made clear that the last were out of bounds and were not allowed in the private areas. He wasn’t sure of the specifics, but the comment that condoms were compulsory and that anything was okay as long as both, or all, participating parties consented gave him a good idea of what tonight was all about.
A long hallway with a number of closed doors running off it led to a huge modernistic lounge/diner. The room was filled with masked people, the men in sharp dinner suits, and the women in provocative evening wear. Most of the men wore silver or gold on their wrists, and nearly all the women wore green, clearly delineating between guests and the so-called entertainment. All the masks were made of heavy material and left the eyes and lower face exposed. The waiting staff wore black, and each wrist was enclosed by a red wristband. Le Claire supposed that he could at least be thankful that the organisers took pains to protect their staff from the worst excesses of their guests.
Blood Ties: Obsession, secrets, desire and murder (A Jack Le Claire Mystery) Page 12
