Death in London: A Nightshade Crime Thriller (Emma & Nightshade Mystery Series Book 1)

by Peter Jay Black

  Emma followed her into the workshop, with Nightshade close behind.

  Maria faced the end shelving unit. “Close the door.”

  Bewildered, Emma did as she asked.

  Maria reached under the top shelf, pulled a lever, and then swung the entire unit forward, revealing a safe in the wall behind. She entered the combination, but instead of opening the safe, she pressed the dial inward.

  An electronic beep sounded, followed by a low rumble beneath their feet. A section of the wall slid away, and a set of steps led down.

  Nightshade grinned. “Love it.” She gave Emma a sidelong glance. “Why didn’t you spot that earlier? You’re supposed to be observant.”

  Emma was about to retort when her mother hurried down the steps and disappeared into a black abyss.

  “Well, that’s not at all creepy,” Nightshade murmured.

  “Mum?” Emma called.

  “Hurry up,” Maria shouted back. “I haven’t got all bloody day.”

  Emma used the light from her phone to descend the stairs, careful of her footing, and the air grew colder with every step.

  Nightshade followed, and on the way down she ran her hands over a carving of a three-headed dog in the stonework. “I think I have a new favourite place.”

  They joined Maria at the bottom of the stairs. She threw a switch on the wall. Lights flickered on and illuminated a brick passage that disappeared into the distance. A modern steel elevator sat in a recess to their right, while metal tracks a foot apart stretched the length of the tunnel’s floor.

  Maria grumbled under her breath as she marched off.

  “What are the tracks for?” Emma asked as she hurried to keep up.

  Maria didn’t break her stride.

  “Carts.” Nightshade clomped behind with Emma, her hiking boots thumping on the stone floor. “You know, for transporting things.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder at her. “Yeah, okay. What things?”

  Nightshade ran a hand through her tousled hair. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Their footsteps echoed in the tunnel as the three of them moved in single file. The wall-mounted lights pulsed in Emma’s peripheral vision like a heartbeat—light, dark, light, dark— hypnotic, menacing, and her anxiety grew. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” Maria did not slacken her pace.

  After a few minutes of walking, the tunnel and tracks ended at a square door. It stood six feet by six, with oversized rivets and hinges, but no lock or handle. Paint peeled in places, showing rusted steel beneath.

  Emma’s attention drifted to the stone ceiling. “We must be somewhere under the farmhouse.”

  Maria opened a metal box mounted to the left of the door. She typed a code into a glowing keypad, then moved to another box on the right and repeated the process. A heavy clunk sounded, motors whirred, and the door swung open.

  The room beyond measured forty feet by twenty, with brick pillars holding up the ceiling. Several rows of heavy-duty shelving ran the length of the space, all crammed with artifacts and antiquities, but unlike the warehouse, these were many orders of magnitude higher in value, most of them behind glass.

  Emma gaped as she followed her mother. “This is incredible.”

  Mounted in display cases and on velvet cushions were hundreds of diamond necklaces, rings, bracelets, brooches, and earrings, each one catalogued. According to the labels, the items ranged from modern to thousands of years old: jewellery spanning human civilisation.

  Loose gems sat on another shelf; rubies, emeralds and diamonds glistened under the lights. Next came silver, copper, bronze and gold coins in clear wallets.

  Emma stopped at the end of the shelves and peered into a cage filled with solid gold bars. She shook her head as she tried to comprehend the value, and then turned to face the room. “It’s like Tutankhamun’s tomb, packed with priceless treasure.” She looked at her mother. “Why do you keep it all here?” It seemed risky to have so much stuff in one location.

  Maria headed left and stopped at another steel door. Emma joined her, while Nightshade turned on the spot as though soaking in the atmosphere. Her eyes reflected a million points of light.

  “This is my and your Uncle Martin’s private collection,” Maria said. “An insurance policy should anything go wrong with the business. Liquid assets.” She looked at Emma. “You’ll inherit half of this one day.”

  Emma’s eyes widened at the future responsibility.

  Maria pressed her hand against a glass panel by the door, and then leaned in to a camera. A light above blinked from red to green, and she swung the door open.

  Beyond stood a vault. The interior was ten feet square, and in the middle sat a wooden table with dragons hand-carved into its legs and apron. Apart from that, the vault was empty.

  “No. It’s impossible.” Maria rushed forward and clapped a hand over her mouth. She stared at the empty table, shaking her head, and then her eyes met Emma’s. “It’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?” Emma braced herself for the response, hoping whatever was missing had nothing to do with her father, or Sophie’s death.

  Maria scanned the interior of the vault again, as if unable to believe her eyes.

  Emma walked over to her. “Please, Mum, explain.”

  “The Droeshout casket.” Maria waved a hand at the empty table. “It was right here.” Her brow furrowed. “How could they get in?”

  Nightshade walked into the steel-lined room. Her eyes examined the plain interior, and stopped on an air vent in the top right-hand corner.

  Emma had spotted it too, but it was too small for someone to crawl through, and had thick bars welded across the opening. She focused on her mother again. “Who else has access to this vault?”

  Maria stared at the table. “I’m the only person who can unlock the door.”

  “With a palm print and retina scan.” Nightshade pursed her lips. “Fascinating.”

  “What about the code for the false safe back in your workshop?” Emma asked. “Who knows about the hidden door, and who has the combinations for the basement?”

  Maria’s gaze was unblinking. “Martin and Ruby have access.”

  “The two people who are missing,” Nightshade said. “And who else knew of the casket’s existence?”

  Maria glanced away. “Martin and Ruby.”

  Emma’s face fell.

  “They have a code each,” Maria clarified. “They have to be together to gain access to the basement. No one, apart from me, can come here alone.”

  “Martin and Ruby aren’t at the warehouse,” Emma said in a small voice. “They didn’t respond when you called.”

  Maria shook her head and looked up at the ceiling.

  Scenarios and what-ifs flashed through Emma’s thoughts. Were Ruby and Martin in the vault when someone snuck into the warehouse via the statue? Did the burglar kill Sophie and come down here? No, that couldn’t be right. As far as Emma understood it, Sophie had been murdered in the small hours of the morning, so that made no sense. The warehouse would’ve been empty.

  “We have our primary suspects,” Nightshade said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Emma understood what she was getting at. “There’s no way Uncle Martin would steal from Mum.”

  Maria sighed. “I agree, and even if he and Ruby somehow revealed the codes—”

  “The thief would still need your retina scan and handprint to get in here.” Emma gestured around the vault.

  Maria nodded. “Impossible.”

  Nightshade ran a hand through her messy hair. “Clearly not impossible.”

  “Even if someone did get hold of Martin and Ruby’s codes,” Emma said, “there’s plenty to steal from the basement. They wouldn’t bother with this vault, would they?”

  Nightshade pointed at the empty table. “That’s a flawed assumption. And I’m going to hazard a guess that the stolen item is more valuable than anything out there.”

  Emma glanced between Nightshade a
nd her mother. “What are you saying? That Sophie’s death was part of a robbery?”

  “We know someone was inside the terracotta warrior.” Nightshade paced back and forth, stroking her chin. “That’s how they got past Jacob and gained entry to the warehouse.”

  “Right,” Emma said. “Which means it’s not Martin or Ruby. They both work here, so there’s no reason for them to hide.”

  Nightshade held up a hand. “Unless they didn’t want to be seen.”

  “Only one of them could have fit inside the warrior,” Emma argued, really not understanding Nightshade’s point. “Plus, not coming here when called kinda makes them look guilty. Why would they do that?”

  Nightshade blew out a breath and gazed at the table. “Sophie was in the way,” she murmured. “An unforeseen obstacle to overcome.” Nightshade looked at Emma, who scowled at her. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain how the killer got in here,” Emma said, exasperated. “And why they didn’t steal anything from the basement.” She faced her mother. “What is the Droeshout casket? What’s so valuable and important that they ignored the millions of pounds’ worth of stuff out there?”

  “It’s a carved mahogany box of huge historical importance, fifteen inches long, ten wide, and six high.” Maria measured the dimensions with her hands. “I took it in exchange for the warrior statue.” She sighed. “That, and cash.”

  Emma stared at her. That hadn’t answered her question.

  Nightshade folded her arms. “But the statue is fake.”

  Maria nodded. “I didn’t know that at the time, obviously. And I can’t send it now.”

  “So, tell your client that you’ve changed your mind about sending them the warrior, and that you’ve lost the casket they gave in exchange.” Emma’s eyebrows knitted, unsure what the problem was. “Give them back their money, and refund them the value of the casket. You can afford it.”

  Maria’s hands shook, and for the first time in Emma’s life, she seemed frightened. “It’s not that simple.”

  “What’s not that simple?” a voice boomed, and the three of them spun around.

  Richard Greco stood by the vault door, his expression somewhere between confusion and rage.

  11

  Emma stood dumbstruck and stared at her father. “How did you get down here?” For a fleeting moment, she assumed there was another way. That would help solve the mystery of the missing casket.

  “I came to see what you and Nightshade were doing,” Richard said, his jaw tight. His eyes glazed over for a couple of seconds. Clearly, he’d seen Sophie’s body and the bullet hole in her forehead. Then Richard glowered at his ex-wife. “The secret door behind the shelves was open.”

  Emma winced. They’d forgotten to close it on their way down.

  “Well?” Richard said to Maria. “What’s going on?”

  She opened her mouth to answer him, hesitated, then lifted her chin. “Someone has robbed me. A casket. It’s missing.”

  He stared at her. “You? No.” He waved a hand at the vault. “Not with the security here. No one can outsmart you, not under your own roof.”

  Maria averted her gaze. “Twice in one day.”

  Richard’s face fell. “What has this got to do with Sophie’s murder?” He turned to Emma. “Why are you down here?” He raised his eyebrows. “You think something links the two events?”

  “That’s not all,” Maria said, before Emma or Nightshade could reply. “You need to know what I’ve done, and who I owe.” She gave Richard a hard look. “There’s no going back.”

  Richard’s brow furrowed. “Who do you owe?”

  Maria had to force the words out. “The Volinari.”

  “What?” Richard erupted.

  Emma jumped a second time.

  “Who are the Volinari?” Nightshade glanced between them with a curious expression. When neither Richard nor Maria responded, she added, “Let’s all pretend Emma and I are not in the slightest bit privy to your . . . business dealings.”

  Emma gave her a sidelong glance.

  Richard didn’t take his eyes off Maria.

  She sighed. “You don’t have to say it. I am aware of the trouble it will bring down on all of us. I’ll put it right.”

  “Why the hell did you deal with them in the first place?” Richard threw his hands up. “Are you out of your damn mind? There’s no compromise with the Volinari. You can’t reason with them, and there’s no room for error.” He folded his arms. “They haven’t forgiven us for the St. Paul’s incident, and you know they were searching for a way to gain leverage over us both.” Richard shook an angry fist. “Maria, if this has something to do with Sophie’s death, so help me, I’ll . . . Fix this mistake, or we’re all dead.” He extended a hand to Emma. “Come.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Your mother needs to find this thing she’s lost. On her own,” Richard said. “The Volinari debt is her priority. In the meantime, I’m taking you to a safe place. My men will question Jacob. As far as you’re concerned, it’s over.”

  Emma stepped back, confused as to what could be higher priority than the investigation into the murder of his fiancée. “I’m not going anywhere, Dad. We’ve got a job to do.”

  A vein pulsed at Richard’s temple. “You’ll do as I damn well tell you. This is vital, Emma. It’s not a game.”

  “I never said it was,” she shot back, annoyed by the way he was behaving. After all, she’d agreed to come so she could help, and she wasn’t about to give up now.

  Nightshade raised a hand. “Can I make a teensy-weensy suggestion?”

  Richard turned his back on her and spoke in a low tone to Maria. “Enough. We tried it this way and it’s failed. We don’t need her any more.”

  “I disagree.” Nightshade said. “There seems to be a link between the two events.” She nodded at Richard. “Sophie’s murder.” Then at Maria. “And your stolen casket.”

  A frown flickered across Richard’s features.

  “Right now, we need to continue with our investigation.” Nightshade glanced up at the air vent, then at the door.

  Emma nodded her agreement. “Mac will protect us,” she said to her father. “Neil too. We’ll be fine.”

  “No one can protect you from the Volinari.”

  “But Nightshade and I haven’t done anything to them,” Emma said. “We will find out who killed Sophie. Then we’ll track down the casket and these Volinari people will be repaid.” She edged toward her father. “I promise that the moment something dangerous happens, we’ll back off. Please, Dad. Let us find Sophie’s killer.”

  Richard hesitated for a few seconds, then his shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. For him, that was as good as relenting.

  “No stupid stuff,” he warned her. “Stay focused.” Richard waved a finger at Maria again. “If anything bad happens to her, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Maria glared back at him. “You could try.”

  “It’s settled, then.” Nightshade clapped her hands together. “We find the killer, we find the thief, we find the casket. Everyone happy, happy, happy. Including our new friends, the Volinari.”

  Richard stormed off.

  Emma let out a slow breath.

  “Come on, darling.” Nightshade marched from the vault as well. “We’ll continue with our examination of Sophie’s body,” she called over her shoulder.

  Emma shuddered and followed her out. “Does it still have to be me?”

  Back in the workshop, Maria sealed the entrance to the tunnel and left the room.

  Nightshade peered down at Sophie and reached out to touch her cheek, but pulled back at the last moment. She adjusted her gloves. “Shall we continue?”

  Emma crossed her arms and looked away.

  “You know I can’t do this without you.” Nightshade stepped into her line of sight. “You’re the best person for the job, darling. I’ve told you that I wouldn’t ask if I could think of someone
better suited.” She tugged at her gloves again, yanking them tight on her fingers. “I’ll talk you through it. You won’t be alone.”

  “I’m never alone.” Emma took several deep breaths and pictured them catching the killer. She drew strength from the thought. Plus, once they’d solved the mystery she could move to America and put this horror behind her. Emma lowered her hood and removed her sunglasses. “I’m never doing this again, by the way.”

  “Understood.” Nightshade gestured at the open crime-scene case. “Grab a magnifying glass.”

  Emma pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves, then slipped a large magnifying glass from its holder. “Where do I start?”

  “The gunshot wound. Let’s get the worst part over with.” Nightshade clasped her hands and the leather creaked between her fingers. “Everything will get easier from there, I promise.”

  “Easier for you.” Emma edged toward Sophie’s head. The magnifying glass trembled in her hand as she tried to avoid looking into the dead eyes. She held her breath, leaned in, and examined the wound to Sophie’s forehead. “What am I checking for?”

  Nightshade paced back and forth. “Size?”

  Emma snatched a metal ruler from the case and measured the hole. “This is terrible.” Her stomach twisted. “Around nine or ten millimetres. Inward bevelling to the skull bone. Off-centre.” She fought a desperate urge to retch.

  “Back of the head?”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “It’s important.”

  Emma shuddered as she placed her hands on either side of Sophie’s cold, symmetrical face, the skin taut beneath her fingertips, and she turned Sophie’s head to the side.

  Blood matted Sophie’s hair at the back of her skull, but there wasn’t an obvious exit wound, which was a relief.

  Emma relayed her findings to Nightshade.

  “Well, I’m no ballistics expert.” Nightshade stopped pacing and scratched her head. “But I would hazard a guess at a small-calibre handgun.” She leaned down and checked the back of Sophie’s head too. Her eyes narrowed. “With any luck, the bullet is still inside the brain cavity.”

  “Awesome,” Emma murmured. As long as Nightshade didn’t expect her to fish around for it.