by Elise Noble
“You believe him?”
“Not in the slightest. He’s shifty as hell. But his lawyer’s got wind of the letter from Ronnie, and he’s trying to pin everything on him.”
Bloody lawyers. Always trying to twist the facts to suit them and their guilty-as-hell clients.
“I take it you’ve compared the prints on the knife to Ronnie’s? He’s in the system already.”
“That was the second thing we did. No match.”
Nye kicked at his desk leg. “This is crazy. Why’d Fenton bury the body if he just walked in and found her like that? That alone says he’s guilty.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.”
“Any chance the prints could belong to the wife?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but checking will be difficult. She’s been dead for years, and you saw the condition the body was in.”
Yeah, Nye did, and he could still smell it. Time hadn’t been kind.
“Try anyway.”
“We will. I’ll keep in touch.”
Nye began pacing. It helped him to think, except when the rubbish bin got in his way. He gave it a kick. What he needed was a bigger office.
Fenton Palmer had to be responsible. Had to be. The man radiated guilt, and the police had found leather gloves in his hall closet next to a pair of muddy boots with rosemary sprigs stuck in the treads. His gardener confirmed a can of petrol had gone missing from the shed, and his internet history showed a search for Molotov cocktails. Plus, he had no alibi for any of Olivia’s night-time visits.
There was only one explanation, and not a palatable one: Fenton Palmer wasn’t working alone.
The phone rang again, the display flashing with Test-tube’s name. Nye snatched it up.
“What?”
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“Sorry. No time for pleasantries.”
“Well, the good news is we’ve identified the prints.”
Thank goodness. Nye sagged with relief. Maybe now they could put this nightmare to rest once and for all. “Interpol?”
“Our own database, actually.”
“Ours?” Blackwood had a tendency to skirt the rules that bound the police on occasion. They kept prints that might be useful on file, even if a person hadn’t been convicted. “Who the fuck do they belong to?”
“One Tate Palmer. He was part of the sweep we did for the Lower Foxford kidnapping case a couple of years ago.”
The details clicked into place. Fuck. Carol had said Tate was at university when his mother disappeared, but he must have come back for a visit. If Fenton Palmer was going to cover for anyone, it would be his son. A son who’d been involved with Olivia before Nye came onto the scene. Was that why he’d been sniffing around? So he could get into Lilac Cottage and find the missing evidence?
He needed to let her know what was going on, and that would be better done in the privacy of his apartment. They could go out another night. Nye wanted their first date to be perfect, not overshadowed by the asshole who’d tried to ruin her life.
Was she back in town yet? He checked his phone, but she hadn’t replied to his earlier message. Busy gabbing with Maddie, no doubt. He dialled her number, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Babe, there’ve been a few developments here. Can you call me? I want to know you’re safe.”
Nye’s next call went to Inspector Carling to give him the good news.
“We’ll pick the Palmer boy up as soon as we can, but we’ll have to be careful with the paperwork seeing as you’re not supposed to have those prints.”
Damn the law and its finicky rules. “Whatever you do, don’t let him walk on a technicality.”
“We won’t. Don’t you worry about that.”
“And try not to leave it too long. Tate must be feeling the heat by now, and we don’t want him to do anything stupid.”
“Understood. Can you send Blackwood’s report over?”
Nye did so right away then tried Liv again, but she still didn’t answer. Where was she? He called his apartment just in case she’d gone back there already. Nothing. Now what? He needed to get hold of Maddie, but he didn’t know her surname, only where she lived. Time for the research department to earn their money.
Jannie buzzed through. “Madonna’s on the line for you.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No joke. She says she’s a friend of Olivia’s.”
Madonna… Maddie? Suddenly, Nye felt sick. His gut ached worse than after he’d eaten her liver mousse. “Put her through.”
“Nye?” came Maddie’s voice.
“It’s me. Is Liv okay?”
“I don’t know. I can’t get hold of her. Tate stopped by and said he needed to talk, so they went for a drive. She said she’d only be thirty minutes, but that was over an hour ago, and she’s not answering her phone.”
Fuck! That bastard had the only woman he’d ever truly wanted.
“Where are you?”
“At Daisy’s café in Upper Foxford.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER 40
“WHERE ARE YOU going?”
Emmy’s voice came from Nye’s left. He looked over his shoulder and saw her squashed down the side of her Aston Martin, sitting on the concrete floor of the parking garage with a pizza box balanced on her knees. She put a finger to her lips.
“Olivia’s in danger.”
“Olivia? That’s the girl you’ve been shagging?”
“No, that’s the woman I’m in love with.” He’d thought those words so many times, but he’d never spoken them aloud before.
“Wow. Never thought I’d see the day. What kind of danger?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
He carried on jogging towards his motorbike, parked near the exit, but Emmy abandoned her contraband meal and followed.
“I know that look,” she said. “You’re about to do something crazy.”
“Don’t try to stop me.”
She caught up as he fished the key out of his pocket.
“Hell no, I want in. It’s been a boring week so far. Meetings, meetings, more meetings. But I will postpone your fun if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
And she would, he knew that much. She might look like a pin-up girl, but she fought like a demon with the devil in her corner. Nye stopped to give her a sixty-second rundown, cursing every wasted second in his head.
“So, let me get this straight—you’re going to ride to Upper Foxford and strangle Tate Palmer.”
“That’s pretty much it, yeah. You have a better idea?”
“As it happens, I do.”
A smile crossed her devious face as she explained, and Nye couldn’t help returning it. Emmy may be a world-class bitch, but when she was on his team, he loved that side of her.
“Good plan. Ready to go?”
She grinned. “Four miles, and whatever you do, don’t get caught.”
Nye knew there was a reason he’d bought this bike.
Emmy clung to his waist, blonde hair streaming out behind her as he blasted the Ducati 1098S out of the garage. He hit the first red signal ten seconds later and dodged a van coming across the junction as he ignored the light. Emmy had ripped off his registration plate before they left, but he’d still be lucky if he had a licence after this.
“Left,” she yelled.
“That’s a one-way street.”
“Left!”
Oh, what the hell. If anything happened to Olivia, life wouldn’t be worth living, anyway. Drivers laid on their horns as he swerved around them, focused only on covering the distance to Belgravia as fast as possible. Brake lights glowed ahead, and he bumped the bike up onto the pavement to avoid the traffic jam. Pedestrians scattered as he twisted the throttle. Shit. He was either going to hell or jail.
The first sirens sounded as they shot down the street Emmy lived on, and she reached past him with the gate opener in her hand. The huge iron gates opened slowly, oh so
slowly. He revved the engine and squeezed through the gap, hurtling past the corner of Albany House just as a police car flew past with its blue lights flashing. The gates closed silently, hiding them, and Emmy’s underground garage filled with the smell of burned rubber as he parked up next to the stairs in the far corner.
“Well, that was fun,” she said, hopping off the back. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Are you insane?”
“Certifiably.” She patted him on the ass as he climbed up to the ground floor next to her, two steps at a time. “Get what we need from the weapons locker, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”
CHAPTER 41
TATE LOOKED LIKE a broken man, just as anyone would if they’d found out their father killed their mother. Had Tate ever suspected she hadn’t run off with another man? Surely not—nobody would have kept quiet about something so serious, even a teenager. How old was he when it happened? Seventeen? Eighteen?
Beside me, he gripped the wheel, his gaze fixed on the tarmac as he sped along the winding lanes of Middleton Foxford.
“Where are we going?”
No answer.
“Tate, where are we going?”
He glanced over at me, and his eyes had an odd glint. Grief did funny things to people, I knew that, but he didn’t look as if he was all there.
“The house. We’re going to the house.”
“The house? Do you mean your cottage?”
Again, silence. I started to get a bad feeling about the whole plan.
“On second thoughts, it might be best if we met up another day. Maddie and Mickey are waiting to go back to London.”
“You said we could talk.”
“Yes, but I didn’t realise how late it’s got. Can you drop me back at the café? Please?”
“We’re going to talk.”
His mouth set in a thin line, and he gripped the wheel harder. We were travelling at almost seventy along narrow lanes. Did he have a death wish? A branch whacked the wing mirror, and I jumped, but Tate didn’t seem to notice.
“Please stop. I’ll get out here and make my own way back. It’s no problem.”
But he didn’t even slow. I considered making a grab for the wheel, but at the speed we were going, that would end in disaster. Whatever Tate had planned, I had no choice but to go along for the ride.
Ten minutes later, the car skidded sideways in a hail of gravel as we arrived at Prestwold Manor. Almost before we stopped, Tate leapt out. He pulled my door open, and not in his usual gentlemanly manner.
“Get out.”
“I think I’d rather stay here.”
I clung on to the sides of the seat, but he grabbed my arm and hauled me out. Blood blossomed on the knee of my jeans as I tripped over the doorsill and landed heavily on the ground.
Tate’s fingers bit into my wrist as he pulled me to my feet and across the drive, and I stumbled again. Thoughts jumbled together in my head as if I’d drunk one too many glasses of wine. Why was he being like this?
The stone facade of the old manor loomed in front of us. “Why are we here? This isn’t your home.”
“No, it’s my father’s. And it would have been mine one day if you’d managed to do what you were told.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Such a simple request. All you had to do was get out of Eleanor’s house.” He gave his head a little shake. “I even offered you somewhere else to stay. Why did you find it so difficult?”
Realisation hit me like a blow to the stomach, and I regretted eating all those cupcakes earlier. “You knew? You knew your father was trying to scare me away from Lilac Cottage?”
“Knew? It was my idea. The problem was that I only had an incompetent fool to help me. He managed to screw things up, just like he screwed up disposing of my mother’s body all those years ago.”
Tate had been in on it? What sort of man could live with that secret?
He unlocked the door, shoved me inside, and slammed it behind us, looking more unhinged by the second. When I didn’t move fast enough, he pushed me, and I tripped over the edge of a rug. Pain shot through my wrist as I caught it on the edge of a table, but he didn’t care, just twisted it behind my back and propelled me forwards.
“Come on, Olivia. Pick your feet up.”
I could barely walk at all, I was shaking so much. How could I have been so stupid? I’d considered dating this man, for crying out loud. Was my judgement really that bad?
We arrived in a lounge, a huge, high-ceilinged room filled with stuffy-looking furniture, and he flung me onto a leather couch. As I rolled against the back, he yanked my wrists in front of me. Rope dug into my skin as he knotted it tight.
“Sit up.”
I didn’t get the chance to comply before he dragged me into the position he wanted and went to tie my feet as well. I tried to kick him, but he trapped my legs with his and slapped me.
“Save the fight for later, my darling. It’ll make what I have planned for us more fun.”
My vision went fuzzy as it hit me what he meant. Once, I’d found Tate attractive, but now? He repulsed me. The thought of him forcing himself on me made lunch rise up my throat. How could I get out of this? My phone was in my pocket, but I couldn’t reach it, not with Tate watching me like freaking Larry. Tate began muttering while he paced, but he still didn’t take his eyes off me.
He’d gone insane. That was the only explanation.
“How could you live with your father, knowing that he killed your mother? Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Olivia.” He crouched in front of me, hands on his knees. “Poor, stupid little Olivia. So naïve. My father didn’t kill my mother. I did.”
That was it. Spots floated before my eyes as I heaved up Daisy’s offerings onto Tate’s shoes. Pastel icing and rainbow sprinkles covered the handmade Italian leather, and there was even a bit of glitter in there. The measure of satisfaction I felt was tempered by the punch to the gut he gave me.
“Oof!”
“Shut up!”
He’d lost it. He’d totally lost it. He strode up and down the hideous rug, talking to himself again as the last of his sanity leached out from between his ears. I needed to stall him, and I needed to find a way to contact Nye.
“W-w-why? Why did you k-k-kill her?”
He paused in front of me, staring down. “My mother had this ridiculous idea in her head that I should learn to live as a pauper. She wanted my father to cut off my allowance until I turned thirty so I’d have to get a proper job.”
What, like a normal person?
“Thirty years old! Can you believe that?”
“No, Tate. It’s absurd.”
He didn’t pick up on my sarcasm as he continued his tirade.
“Why would I want to do that? Rent a house and save up for a shitty car? We had money coming out of our ears, and Father had promised me the cottage. My godfather was only too happy to give me a position in his firm where I could take as much time off to play golf as I wanted. The bitch tried to ruin that.” He stepped closer, eyes wide and unfocused. “Someone needed to put her in her place.”
His hot breath washed over my face as he stroked my cheek with his fingertips. I jerked away, but he yanked me back again.
“That’s no way to be polite, Olivia. I’ll need to teach you some manners as well.”
He pinched my cheeks between the thumb and fingers of one hand, making it difficult to nod, but I managed it.
“I-I-I’m sorry.”
Tate sighed. “This is a difficult time for all of us. I wish things could have been different, really I do.”
When he headed for the drinks cabinet on the far side of the room, I leaned to one side, trying to wiggle my phone out of my pocket, but it snagged on the lining. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it free. Tate poured himself a generous measure of Scotch, and it sloshed over the sides of the glass as he resumed pacing.
A tear trickled down my cheek, followed by another and
another. Right now, I should have been on my way to a restaurant with Nye. What would he think when I didn’t arrive home? Would he think I’d stood him up? That I didn’t love him? Because I did, and I’d never got the chance to say it. This should have been the best day of my life, and instead, it had turned into the worst.
Tate stalked back to me, red-faced. The glass only had a few dregs and an ice cube left in it.
“Why, Olivia? Why? Why did you have to be like that? We could have been so happy together. Once I show you what you’ve been missing, you’ll understand that.”
He grabbed my legs and pulled me flat on the sofa. I writhed like a demented caterpillar and tried to throw myself onto the floor, but he caught me and flipped my legs back onto the seat.
“Get off me!” I screamed.
“Shut up, Olivia, or I’ll have to gag you. And I have plans for your pretty mouth.”
So did I. I was going to bite the fucking thing off if it got that far.
“I hate you.”
He pressed a hand over my mouth, and in the moment of silence, I heard the sweetest sound in the world—a knock at the front door.
CHAPTER 42
TATE NARROWED HIS eyes at me. “Who’s at the door?”
“How should I know? It’s not my house.”
He bit his lip as he glanced towards the door. Go on, answer it. I just needed one more minute to get to my phone and call for help.
Another knock, louder this time, startled both of us, and Tate came to a decision.
“Don’t you move.”
“I’m tied up, Tate. I can’t go anywhere.”
He got halfway to the door before he stopped in his tracks, reaching out to tug a tasselled tie-back off one of the curtains.
“No, I just can’t trust you.”
He knotted one end of it around my ankle and tied the other to the leg of the couch, but that wasn’t the worst part. As he straightened, he spotted the bulge in my pocket.
“What’s this?” He pushed me sideways and delved in. “A phone? Tsk tsk tsk, Olivia. You weren’t thinking of calling the police, were you?”
“No. I honestly wasn’t.”
Tate threw my smartphone against the wall by the fireplace, and it smashed into smithereens. Dammit. I should have stuck with my old Nokia. That would have survived Armageddon.
