“Help yourselves,” Nightshade said to the group at large. “They’re not poisoned. We could all do with a sugar high to raise our spirits.”
A few people took a donut, but most did not. The Greco side squirmed under Richard’s glare as Emma moved among them.
She finished with his crew, then proffered the box of donuts to her father and braced herself for his response. Predictably, Richard scowled at her. Taking the hint, Emma dumped the box on the nearest workbench and folded her arms, waiting for Nightshade’s next move.
“Ne-i-i-l,” Nightshade sang out. “You’re up.”
Under Mac’s watchful gaze, Neil unzipped the duffle bag and handed out numbered mobile phones, asking for people’s names and jotting down their details.
“What’s this for?” Carlos asked as he took one.
“Some of you are aware of the pact,” Nightshade said. “Named after yours truly.” She bowed with a flourish. “But for those of you who are not familiar . . .” Nightshade looked around at the company. “Indulge me while I explain.”
“She’s crazy,” Carlos muttered.
Maria heard, and grabbed his arm. “You treat Nightshade as you would any of us. You speak to her directly, and with respect. You do everything she asks, when she asks. Understood?” Maria released him and raised her voice. “The same goes for all of you. Anything less than the utmost respect and cooperation, as I explained earlier, will be bad for your immediate future.”
Carlos slipped the phone into his pocket and glared at Emma.
She stared back at him. What’s his problem?
Once Maria had received several nods from her family, she motioned for Nightshade to continue.
Nightshade glided to the middle of the cargo bay. “The first part of the pact states that when an event happens that involves or implicates both families,” she indicated Sophie’s body, “then every one of those members must be here when the investigation starts.” She looked about her. “Do we have everyone?”
“No,” Richard said.
Emma’s gaze moved to the Hernandez side. “Where are Uncle Martin and Ruby? They’re still not here.”
Maria’s brother was also her underboss. Ruby ran the warehouse. It was odd that neither of them was there yet.
Once, when Emma was eight, her uncle had stood up to Richard and berated him for being an hour late picking her up from his house. As far as Emma could recall, it was the only time that her father hadn’t fired back at someone. He’d simply agreed, apologised, and promised Emma he would never be late again. And, true to his word, Richard was always on time.
The same went for Uncle Martin—if he said he was going to be at a certain place, at a certain time, he would be there. One hundred percent reliable. Without fail.
A shiver ran down Emma’s spine as her attention focussed on the exit door at the far end of the warehouse.
Something must be wrong.
Nightshade pushed out her bottom lip. “Well. Two people missing? That's a bloody disappointing start.”
“I haven’t spoken to Martin since yesterday afternoon,” Maria said. “He isn’t answering his phone.”
Emma pulled her own cell from her pocket and sent her uncle a text, ‘Where are you?’
“Ruby was here yesterday,” Maria said. “Working as usual. I left her a message, but I haven’t heard back from her either.”
“What?” Richard snapped. “You told me they were on their way.”
“It’s Sunday,” Maria replied. “Their day off. If I don’t hear from them soon, I’ll send someone to look for them.”
Emma considered giving her uncle a call instead but decided to leave it to her mother. Besides, if Uncle Martin was late, she told herself, he’d have a good reason. Like Emma, he was a night owl, so she hoped he’d just overslept.
She let that thought relax her slightly.
“We’ll have to get back to them.” Nightshade rolled her eyes at Emma. “Moving forward, the phones now in your possession have locator apps installed. We have their numbers and your associated names. That means we’ll know where you are and where you go from this moment on. You are not to let the phone out of your possession, under any circumstances. If you do, there will be unfortunate consequences. Clear?”
“Does that mean we can leave?” Carlos asked.
“Those of you who accepted a donut, stay where you are,” Nightshade said. “Everyone else may go to their vehicles, but do not leave the grounds until we say so. I suggest you run the engine, or you’ll freeze to death.” She clicked her fingers. “I would also like Maria Hernandez, Richard Greco, and Jacob to remain here for the time being. As for you donut-deniers, keep your phones switched on.” She winked. “We’ll be in touch.”
Despite the dire situation, Emma couldn’t help smirking.
A few people muttered under their breath, unsure whether to take Nightshade seriously, but Richard nodded as he took a tracked phone from Neil, and some of his men filed out.
Emma also took a tracked phone and slipped it into her pocket.
Nightshade skipped across the cargo bay and slid to a halt in front of Veronica Pérez. “Before you go, my lovely, would you mind telling me what’s behind those?” She gestured to three doors.
Veronica glanced at them. “The first one is a water closet.”
“Right, a toilet. Excellent.” Nightshade inclined her head. “And behind door number two?”
Maria joined them. “My office.”
Nightshade lowered her voice. “What thrilling wonderland of entertainment lurks behind those impressive double doors at the end?”
“Workshop,” Veronica said.
“It’s where we carry out cleaning and repairs,” Maria added. “We also use it for building the crates to transport artifacts to our customers.”
Customers? That was an interesting way of putting it. Emma’s mother supplied black-market antiques to anyone who could afford them.
“Bright lights for working?” Nightshade asked.
Maria nodded.
“Excellent.” Nightshade rubbed her hands together and addressed the room. “Before the rest of the non-donut eaters leave, I would like two volunteers, starting with a girl from this side.” She bowed toward the remaining Greco family members.
Emma frowned. Her father only had one female on his team, Francesca Rossi. Francesca had worked for the Greco family for the past five years. Emma knew little about her, only that she owned a couple of cats. And she only knew that because of the black and ginger hairs frequently spotted on Francesca’s cardigans.
At a nod from Richard, Dalton hurried off to call her back.
Undeterred, Nightshade spun around. “And we require a boy from over here.” She bowed again. “The lovely Hernandez clan.”
Now Maria scowled at her. “Why?”
Emma braced herself for the answer.
Nightshade pointed at Sophie’s body. “I need them to take the princess into your workshop so that we can examine the corpse.”
Emma cringed. We? She hoped Nightshade didn’t expect her to get directly involved. As far as Emma was concerned, she was just a living door key used to access the families.
“Once finished,” Nightshade continued, “your people can dump Sophie’s body far away from here.”
“What?” Richard stepped toward her, fists balled. “Are you out of your damn mind? She’s my fiancée.”
Nightshade moved to him as though she were on skates. “I am so sorry, darling, please forgive me. Losing Sophie is devastating, I understand. Grief is the worst feeling on earth. We feel so helpless, don’t we? But while I apologise for appearing to be callous, I’m here to do a job.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “Sophie’s death affects me deeply. I can see she was a beautiful angel.” Nightshade sighed. “Please also understand that I need to do things in an organised way. That gives us the best chance of finding her killer and bringing them to justice.” Nightshade’s expression softened further. “Will you let me do that, M
r Greco? Will you allow me to track down the monster for you?”
Richard glanced at Maria, then back at Nightshade. “Why are you dumping her somewhere?”
Nightshade winced. “Awful choice of words. So sorry.”
Emma walked over to her father. “Dad, it’s not such a bad idea.” Before he could protest, she added, “We all want Sophie to have a dignified funeral.”
“Yes, of course,” Nightshade said. “A service where hundreds of mourners can come together to pay their final respects, filling the church with flowers, memories, music and love.”
Emma took her father’s hands. “The best way for that to happen is for the police to find Sophie’s body far from here.”
“Not to mention that when the time comes, you will have a plausible alibi.” Nightshade grinned.
“She’ll find the killer,” Emma said. “I promise.” Her gaze moved to Sophie’s body for a second and her stomach tightened. The sooner they allowed Nightshade to investigate, the quicker it would be over.
“I require a female volunteer from the Greco family because she will make sure everyone treats your fiancée with the utmost respect,” Nightshade said. “And we need a boy from the Hernandez side,” she flexed her biceps, and lowered her voice, “to carry the princess with ease and dignity. Thus, eliminating any chance of dropping her.” Nightshade offered Richard another sympathetic smile. “What say you?”
Richard ground his teeth. “Fine.”
“Thank you,” Emma whispered, and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Nightshade spun round. “Now, let’s figure out what vile creature forced us all here under such cold and dreadful circumstances.”
8
Benches stretched the length of the workshop, and shelves filled the opposite wall, crammed full of packing and cleaning supplies. Emma wrinkled her nose, assaulted by the stench of bleach, alcohol, and vinegar. What artifacts need such strong chemicals?
She wheeled Nightshade’s orange suitcase to the far end of the room and clutched Sophie’s handbag as Raul Alverez entered the room with Sophie’s body cradled in his muscular arms.
He laid her on the nearest bench and backed away, head bowed. Emma couldn’t help but appreciate the level of respect he showed. Although Sophie had been a member of the Greco family for over a decade, and on the Hernandez side for only a short while prior to that, Raul would have likely only known her by reputation.
Under the harsh, bright, clinical lights, Sophie looked even more like a porcelain doll. Her makeup gave the sole illusion of vivacity to an otherwise lifeless form.
A brief flash of another face overlaid Sophie’s, grey and glassy-eyed. Emma shook her head and stepped back.
“Thank you, dear,” Nightshade said to Raul in a hushed voice, gloved hands clasped in front of her as though she were a sombre funeral director. “Would you mind waiting outside?”
Raul nodded and left the room.
As the door closed with a click, Nightshade let out a breath, then addressed Emma. “Ready, darling?”
Emma set Sophie’s handbag on the nearest bench. “Ready for what?”
Nightshade motioned toward the orange suitcase. “I think you’ll enjoy what I have for you in there. Keep it upright when you open it.”
Emma gave her a dubious look. She unfastened the clasps on the suitcase and wheeled the clam-like halves apart.
Her stomach lurched.
On the right, each in their own designated slot, were various sizes of tweezers, forceps, pliers, clamps, rasps, needles and spatulas. Strapped under those were several different shapes of scalpels, blades, box cutters, scissors, snips, and knives. The stainless steel glinted under the lights and sent a shiver down Emma’s spine.
With mounting unease, she unfastened a flap to reveal a set of drawers behind, each labelled: bandages, cloth, cotton swabs, envelopes, elastic bands, bulldog clips, paper bags, plastic sealable bags, suction tips, drills, pens, pencils . . . Emma swallowed and closed the flap.
The lower left-hand side of the suitcase held bottles, jars and sprays filled with various liquids, along with eye droppers, funnels, brushes, saws and even a fingerprint kit.
Above all that, held in place by several heavy straps and foam padding, was a microscope.
Nightshade nodded at a box of black latex gloves, then leaned in and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “I didn’t want to say anything while we were out there, but there’s a good chance the killer is among those people.” Nightshade grinned. “Exhilarating, wouldn’t you say?”
Emma wasn’t so sure.
Nightshade cleared her throat. “Before we start, can you think of any reason why someone would want Sophie dead? Any motive?”
Emma thought. Uncle Martin and Ruby were missing, and not being at the warehouse when called, especially for her uncle, was out of character, but she couldn’t imagine either of them having done this.
Sophie hadn’t been a part of the Hernandez family for over a decade, and as far as Emma knew, she’d steered clear of all Richard’s business dealings.
As far as the other people, Carlos had a chip on his shoulder. But murder? The thought of any of them being involved seemed far-fetched. Most had worked for Emma’s parents for a long time. They were all loyal. Or at least, they seemed to be.
Emma sighed. “No motive I can think of. Sophie got on with everyone.”
Nightshade stared at her, head tilted, waiting.
Emma glanced at Sophie’s body. “Whatever you want me to do, I can’t.”
Nightshade blinked. “Why not?”
“You know why not,” Emma said through tight lips. After a few seconds silence, while under Nightshade’s stare, she swore and pulled on a pair of gloves. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” But she wanted to help find Sophie’s killer, and then get back to her studio. Emma would have to paint nonstop for the next six months to get the trauma out of her mind.
“First, we investigate the cause of death.” Nightshade pointed to a magnifying glass, scalpel and metal ruler inside the suitcase. “You’ll need those.”
“She was shot.” Emma stared at the objects, then at Nightshade. “And why exactly do you want me to do this?”
Nightshade glanced at the body and tugged at her leather gloves. “You will be my lovely assistant. A privilege offered to few.”
Emma raised her eyebrows.
“No? How about trainee?” Nightshade said. “Ooh . . . Apprentice.” She smiled.
“Ask someone else.” Emma went to remove the latex gloves.
Nightshade folded her arms. “Who can we trust? Other than your mother and father?”
“Mac or Neil.”
Nightshade waved the suggestion aside. “Those two are designed to serve and protect; they’re all thumbs and bullets. Nope, it’s got to be you.”
Emma backed away as a grey face with empty eyes flashed into her mind again. Then came an image of an open door with a darkened interior beyond.
She turned to face the wall, hugged herself, and squeezed her eyes closed. But despite her best efforts, the memory of that night filled Emma’s mind.
Maria, sat in the driver’s seat of a sedan, turned to face Emma in the back. Emma, five years old, strapped into her own child’s car seat, clutched a dishevelled toy rabbit. She swung her legs back and forth and looked about. “Where are we?”
“I need you to stay here for five minutes,” Maria said. “Just five minutes. Can you do that?”
“Have we got love sweets?” Emma asked.
Maria glanced at the clock on the dash, then reached into a paper bag next to the gearstick. She pulled out a mini pack of Love Hearts and handed them to her.
Emma beamed. “Thank you.”
“Five minutes,” Maria repeated, and then climbed from the car.
Emma popped the first Love heart into her mouth and watched her mother head up the side path of a house, and then disappear around the corner.
Several minutes later, four Love Hearts down
, and four to go, Emma wished she’d asked Mummy to turn on the music. It was quiet. Too quiet. She eyed the stereo but there were no lights on, so she decided not to mess with it. She hummed to herself instead.
More time went by, and as Emma popped the last Love Heart into her mouth, she stared out of the side window. Where’s Mummy? It had to be five minutes by now. It felt like a hundred.
An eternity later, Emma frowned at the spot where her mother had vanished. There was nothing else for it. She was out of Love Hearts. She had to go and find her.
Emma unbuckled her seatbelt, and with a lot of effort, she climbed from the car.
Mummy had parked on a country road in a place Emma didn’t recognise. Tree branches hung over the car like witches’ fingers. They moved in the breeze, as if trying to claw at its roof.
Emma ran up the path and around the side of the house. A kitchen door stood open. “Mummy?” No answer. Tensed, clutching her toy rabbit to her chest, Emma crept inside, “Mummy?” Emma wrinkled her nose at an awful smell she didn’t recognise, but instinctively knew it was bad, very bad, and then she froze.
Lying on the kitchen floor was a woman wearing jeans and a white shirt stained with dark blood. Her grey, mottled skin looked like nothing Emma had seen before, and the woman’s lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, her mouth open in shock.
Emma’s toy rabbit tumbled from her grasp, and then hands slipped under her arms and lifted her into the air.
She screamed.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” Maria breathed into her ear as she whisked Emma away.
Then the darkness came, and Emma remembered no more.
Back in the warehouse workshop, she opened her eyes and considered arguing with Nightshade some more, or going home, curling up under her duvet, and wishing the world away. But running would make a terrible situation even worse. Plus, the thought of someone getting away with Sophie’s murder made her sick to her stomach, and the more Emma could help now, the quicker everything would go back to normal. Even so, the hairs on Emma’s arms stood on end. “I don’t think I can. I’m sorry. I really want to help, but I can’t.”
Death in London: A Nightshade Crime Thriller (Emma & Nightshade Mystery Series Book 1) Page 5