“The casket theft links the three murders,” Nightshade said. “We know why they died, now we must find out who’s responsible.”
Olivia joined them, looked down at Ruby, and rested a hand on Emma’s shoulder.
“We have to continue,” Nightshade said. “I know it’s hard, but we must investigate.”
Emma stared at the floor, and murmured, “We don’t have your crime-scene kit with us.”
“Back in a minute.” Olivia hurried from the stage and out through the hall’s main doors.
Emma bowed her head. “They died and nothing we did stopped it from happening.” Guilt and frustration washed over her in equal measure.
“We’ll catch up with the killer,” Nightshade said. “Sooner or later, we will get them.”
Emma frowned at her. “How can you possibly know that?” Nightshade’s eternal optimism was getting on her nerves.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nightshade gestured around them. “Even though they have kept one step ahead of us, the killer wants to be caught. They’re taunting us. The birthday present? The cryptic clues? It’s a game.” She looked at Ruby and her brow furrowed. “I’m just not sure where the killer is leading us. What’s the goal?”
“If I hadn’t delayed opening the box we could have got here in time, and . . .” A shiver ran down Emma’s spine and she looked about. “The killer hung around at the crypt,” she whispered. “Maybe they're still here?” Emma stood and made to go after Olivia, but Nightshade held up a hand.
Their attention moved to the black curtains obscuring the wings. As anger surged within her, part of Emma hoped the killer was hiding behind one of them. The way she felt, she’d take them on without Mac or Olivia to back her up.
She crept over to the curtains with Nightshade, but after a quick check to make sure no one was hiding there, they returned to Ruby.
Then, as fast as the anger had come, the emotion drained from Emma, replaced by a numbness.
“As before, darling,” Nightshade said, in her most sombre undertaker voice. “You’ll be the eyes.”
Emma turned her attention to Ruby’s lifeless form and then the glass. “Poison?”
“Without having it tested, we won’t know.” Nightshade bent forward and peered into the liquid, her nose almost touching the glass. She let out a huff and straightened up. “Smell it.”
Emma did and detected an acidic aroma. “Lemonade?”
“What else?” Nightshade asked. “What are the lemons masking?”
Emma breathed in a hint of— “Chlorine,” she said. “Mixed with a musty smell, I don’t know, and nuts? Maybe almonds?” She looked at Nightshade. “What do you think it is?”
“Best guess? Cyanide.”
Emma tensed, and hoped merely breathing in the toxic vapours wouldn’t harm her.
Nightshade circled the body, then stood on the side of the plinth opposite Emma. She flexed her gloved fingers. “What are we missing? What’s next?”
Emma stiffened. “Wait. Next? You think there’s going to be another victim?”
“I can’t rule it out,” Nightshade said. “If they murdered Ruby and Martin for the basement codes, and Sophie because she was in the way, that still leaves us with how they got into your mother’s vault. Someone else knows something. They could be the killer’s next target. Tie up all the loose ends.”
Emma looked about for a gift from the killer—a clock or a watch, a box of clues—and caught herself praying that the next victim wouldn’t be her mother or father, which made guilt take over again.
Footfalls echoed across the stage, and Emma’s head snapped round. She breathed a sigh of relief as Olivia returned with a bucket.
“I found a cleaning closet. Wasn’t sure what you needed.” Olivia set the bucket at Emma’s feet.
Inside was a bottle of rubbing alcohol, wipes and hand gel, several cloths and sponges, a pair of tongs, rubber gloves, scissors and a large torch.
Emma pulled on the gloves. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath and removed her sunglasses.
Despite the dim light of the candles, the horrifying scene was all too clear. The light flickered across Ruby’s waxy complexion, amplified the pores of her skin, and darkened her lipstick to blood red.
Fists balled, fingernails digging into her palms, Emma forced herself onward with the examination.
Ruby wore a black T-shirt. Above the collar, on either side of her neck, were faint bruise marks. Ligature marks circled her wrists and ankles.
Emma detected remnants of glue around Ruby’s mouth and cringed at the image of her bound and gagged. Bile rose in Emma’s throat. “The killer tied Ruby up.” Moving down Ruby’s arms, Emma then found the tell-tale pinprick of an injection mark on the inside of her left forearm. She waved Nightshade over.
Nightshade leaned down and pursed her lips. “That’s how she died.”
“What is?” Olivia asked.
Emma pointed to the mark but addressed Nightshade. “When it’s so obvious that the killer injected her with something, why did they bother with the poison?” She indicated the glass. “Clearly it isn’t suicide.”
Nightshade took a step back. “I’m not so sure.”
Olivia frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
“Without access to a toxicology test we have no way to be certain, but I would say that Ruby drank the cyanide.”
“How is that possible?” Olivia blinked. “How could someone force her to do that?”
Emma turned over Ruby’s other arm to reveal a tribal tattoo of a sun: the Hernandez family’s mark. “Look at this.” As with Sophie and Martin, someone had also modified Ruby’s tattoo. In this case, a number six was inked over the existing symbol. And, like the others, done in a blue ink. Given the redness of the surrounding skin, it also looked fresh.
Sophie had an X, Uncle Martin a circle with a line, and now Ruby’s six. What do they mean? What are we supposed to do with them?
She checked the rest of Ruby’s body and clothes and found nothing else unusual except the corner of a white envelope peeking out of her front-right pocket. Emma removed the envelope and set it on the plinth.
Under Nightshade’s and Olivia’s watchful eyes, Emma tore the envelope open and extracted a square dark-green card. On one side were gold stencilled letters, and Emma was about to read it out loud when she caught sight of something that made her gasp.
Ruby’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
28
Emma pressed her fingers to Ruby’s wrist. “Got a pulse. It’s weak, but—” She leaned in. “Ruby? Can you hear me?”
No response.
Emma took hold of Ruby’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Ruby?”
A faint groan escaped Ruby’s lips. Emma mirrored it with a relieved sigh.
Olivia stepped toward her. “Should we call an ambulance?”
Ruby’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze wandered for a few seconds, then she focused on Emma and Olivia. She let out a strangled cry.
Olivia took Ruby’s hand. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”
Ruby yanked her hand free, eyes wide and fearful, and murmured something unintelligible.
Emma leaned in again.
Ruby pushed her away. “Kill. All.” Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a few agonising seconds and then she refocused on Emma. “Have to stop. Please.”
“I’ll get a glass of water.” Olivia hurried out through the hall’s double doors.
Ruby watched her go, then gripped Emma’s arm. “Have to . . . I-I don’t want . . . to die.”
“You’re going to be fine now,” Emma said, in as calm a voice as she could manage. “Who did this to you?”
Ruby’s eyes swam in and out of focus. “Revenge. Tried to warn him.” She shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Too late.”
Nightshade pulled the pill tin from her pocket, removed a red capsule, and held it up. “We could give her one of these.”
Emma glared at her. “N
o more drugging people.”
Nightshade shrugged and swallowed the capsule herself.
Emma froze for a few seconds, her attention diverted, and then she raised a shaking finger. Mounted to a bar twenty feet up the back wall was a wireless camera, aimed at them. “The killer is watching us again,” she whispered.
“Go up there and grab it.” Nightshade gestured to a wooden ladder nearby. “I’ll keep an eye on Ruby.”
Emma ground her teeth. “I can’t.”
“You must.”
Olivia sprinted back into the hall. “The police are outside.”
“What?” Emma said, aghast. “How do they know?”
Nightshade stared up at the camera, then swore. “They can’t find us at the scene of another crime.”
Emma cupped Ruby’s face in her hands. “Who did this to you?”
“Em,” Olivia shouted. “Hurry. They’re coming in.”
Ruby’s head lolled and drool slid down her chin as she continued to murmur.
“I don’t understand.” Emma put her ear to Ruby’s mouth and caught the word brother before she fell unconscious. Emma squeezed Ruby’s shoulder. “What about your brother? Ruby, wake up.”
“The police can’t find us here,” Nightshade said, her voice now urgent. “If we want a chance of catching—”
“I know. I know.” Emma upended the bucket of supplies into Olivia’s sports bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“Back way out.” Nightshade marched toward the right wing of the stage and stepped behind the side curtain.
Emma glanced back. Olivia wasn’t following. “What are you doing?”
“Go,” Olivia said. “I’ll distract the police so you can get away.”
Emma frowned at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t let you do that.”
“Get out of here or they’ll catch you.” Olivia waved frantically at the wings. “It’s your best chance.” She raced across the hall, slammed the doors, and braced herself against them. “Hurry.”
Emma mouthed, “Thank you,” turned, and ran.
Nightshade found an emergency exit and they jogged down a set of metal steps and across a loading bay, before passing through an iron gate and striding down Cable Street.
A quick glance over her shoulder told Emma the police weren’t following them, but the more distance they put between themselves and the crime scene, the more guilty she felt for leaving Olivia behind.
Nightshade looked at her askance as they marched along. “Don’t even think about it.”
Emma adjusted the bag strap. “What?”
“You’re thinking of going back there. I can see it in your eyes.” Nightshade gestured and they crossed the road.
“So, what if I was?” Emma snapped. “People are dying, and it’s my fault we can’t stop the killer. We should tell the police.”
“Hold up.” Nightshade stepped in front of her. “Can you get over yourself, please?”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
Nightshade glanced about and lowered her voice. “I think you’d agree that someone has a personal vendetta against the Hernandez and Greco families. We need to piece together what the hell is going on before another murder takes place. We can’t involve the police. The whole point of your parents calling us was—”
Emma waved a hand back down the road. “We tried following the clues just now and almost lost.”
“Right, but Ruby is alive. So that’s one point to us,” Nightshade said. “Anyway, like you, I’m frustrated. I thought it would be a simple gang hit, and I expected we’d solve this within the hour.” Her expression softened. “Let's continue to work together, focus on the task at hand, and catch the killer. Perhaps we can save another life in the process. Agreed?”
Emma stared at her for a full ten seconds and then her shoulders relaxed. Nightshade was right, and the thought of another possible victim weighed heavy on her conscience. If there was going to be another murder, and they could prevent it, they had to at least try.
Nightshade indicated a low wall. “Let’s take a breath and think about our next move, rather than rushing from one thing to the next.”
Emma sat down and dropped the bag at her feet. “Brother.”
“What?”
“Brother,” she repeated. “It’s the last thing Ruby said.” Emma took a breath. “And Ruby’s brother is Raul.”
Nightshade’s brow furrowed. “The big guy who helped move Sophie’s body?”
Emma nodded.
“Interesting.” Nightshade scratched her head. “Then he’s our new line of enquiry.”
“Why would Raul try to kill his own sister though?” Emma asked. “It makes no sense. Unless by brother, Ruby meant Uncle Martin? She probably doesn’t know he’s dead.”
“Raul could make perfect sense,” Nightshade said. “With the right motive. Besides, killers are—”
“Usually close to their victims,” Emma said in a mocking tone. “Or Raul’s the killer’s next target?” She pulled the tracked phone from her pocket and checked the app. “He’s in an apartment block in Hammersmith.” Emma’s own phone chimed and she got it out. “It’s a text from Olivia.”
It read: Being arrested. Don’t come back. Ruby died.
Emma groaned and slumped forward. “No . . .” She showed Nightshade the screen.
“Keep moving forward,” Nightshade said in a low voice. “It’s all we can do.”
Emma took a breath, opened a new text message, and typed: Mum, can you please ask your lawyer to help Olivia too? Will explain later. Not sure what police station.
The reply came: I’m busy right now, but I’ll speak to her later. Here’s my lawyer’s number. Text her your location directly and she’ll work out where they’ve taken Olivia.
Emma typed: Thanks x
Then she sent a text to the lawyer with Olivia’s name and the music hall’s address in Whitechapel.
Once done, Emma pulled the green card from the bag.
The gold lettering read:
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels.
Shakespeare again—Romeo and Juliet—but a quick search on her phone revealed that the passage came from the first time Friar Lawrence appeared in the play.
Emma showed Nightshade the results and stared at the gold lettering against the green card. “Friar Lawrence,” she murmured. Her eyes widened. The gold on dark green was a clue in of itself, and the number at the top confirmed her thoughts. Astonished she’d solved it so quickly, Emma leapt to her feet and snatched up the bag. “Go after Raul or follow this clue?”
“We can see him on the app,” Nightshade said. “And if he’s dumped his phone, Raul could be anywhere in London. I say, clue.”
“In that case, I know where we need to go.” Emma marched down the road, determined to end the killer’s streak.
29
Emma and Nightshade stood at the kerb on Queen Victoria Street. To their left, on the south bank of the River Thames, the unmistakable silhouette of the London Eye dominated the skyline.
To their right, across the road, sat a wedge-shaped pub at the junction next to Blackfriars Bridge. A door faced them at the building’s narrowest point, with a statue of a friar above the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him. Above that was a golden clock, and below a sign made of a green mosaic overlaid with gold lettering.
Emma held up the card with its matching colour scheme—gold lettering on a deep-green background—and the same number as the building sign: 174. “Friar Lawrence. The Blackfriar pub.”
Nightshade raised her eyebrows. “How do you know about this place?”
“The killer is making it personal, remember?” Emma hesitated as memories she had buried rose to the surface. “My sister worked here for a while. I was too young, so I never went inside.” Emma look
ed about uneasily. “Whoever is doing this—”
“Knows a lot about you and your family.” Nightshade took a breath. “We need to proceed with extreme caution.”
“Rather than the carefully planned, safe pursuit it’s been until this moment?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Have you any idea who’s doing this?” Emma asked.
Nightshade stared at the pub. “We need more clues, darling. But the list of suspects grows shorter with every passing moment.”
“Good to know.” Emma sighed. “But I still don’t get why they are targeting me.” That unnerved her.
“You might not have been the original focus,” Nightshade said. “Perhaps the killer adapted once they realised you were helping me. Maybe they’re trying to scare you off. Who would have investigated if we’d refused the call?”
“Mum.” Emma’s attention moved back to the pub and an image flashed into her mind of Alice in her work clothes, with her black hair and wide, infectious smile. “Why my sister though? What’s she got to do with this? She died over a decade ago.”
Nightshade gestured at the pub. “Why don’t we go and find out?”
They were about to step from the kerb when the Rolls-Royce screeched to a halt in front of them.
Emma threw open the rear door and leapt into the back seat, grinning. “Mac. Neil. Thank goodness you’re all right.” She looked between them as Nightshade joined her. “How did you get out?”
“Your mother’s lawyer,” Neil said. “She’s amazing.”
“How did you find us?” Nightshade asked.
“The tracked phone.”
Emma nodded at the pub. “We were about to go in there.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Neil said. “Your mum wants to see you. She didn’t want to risk texting or calling.”
When Emma noticed Mac’s forlorn expression, her stomach sank. “What’s happened?”
“Your mother has found something,” Neil said before he could answer. “Would like you to take a look.”
Mac faced the front.
“What if we’re on a time limit again?” Emma asked Nightshade as they pulled from the kerb.
Death in London: A Nightshade Crime Thriller (Emma & Nightshade Mystery Series Book 1) Page 16