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

by Peter Jay Black

  “I shall enjoy finding these people,” Maria said, through her teeth.

  The shorter man returned, and with him leading the way, they left the house. Emma brought up the camera in the courtyard and matched the time stamp. The men strode down the path, opened another door at the end and went inside.

  Still following them, Emma switched to the last camera covering the road outside the garage door. She hit play and stiffened in her chair. Parked at the kerb was a red ex-postal van with the outline of old stickers sun-etched into the paintwork. “Jacob.”

  As the men left the building, Emma hit pause. Sure enough, in profile the shorter of the two men had a paunch, matching Jacob’s physique.

  Emma looked at Nightshade. “We had him, twice, and we let him go.”

  Maria leaned in. “How could he betray us? That snake. Richard was right.”

  Emma let out a slow breath as her mind raced through what Jacob had told them, the lies, and she cursed herself for not acting on her gut instinct. Maybe Ruby would have survived if she had. Emma hit play.

  The men loaded Uncle Martin into the back of the van and drove round the corner, out of sight.

  Emma looked away as she pieced it all together. Jacob had worked with someone, possibly Raul, to kidnap Uncle Martin. They’d taken him to the Café in the Crypt and drowned him in a water tank owned by one of Richard’s companies, to make it look like retaliation for Sophie’s death. A distraction.

  And what of Sophie? Did Jacob kill her, or had Raul done the deed? And who had murdered Ruby? Her brother?

  Perhaps Jacob, considering he’d gained Ruby’s trust and drugged her, to get access to the basement and the Droeshout casket. The men had tortured the other code out of Uncle Martin, but that still didn’t explain how Jacob and Raul had broken into the main vault. That was the biggest mystery of all.

  Emma sat back and shook her head. “This makes no sense. If their motive was to steal the casket, why did they leave clues and draw me into this?”

  “Why didn’t they know about the hidden cameras?” Nightshade muttered. “They clearly didn’t do their homework.”

  “Can you remove that, please?” Maria pointed at the CCTV recorder. “We don’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.”

  Emma disconnected the box and passed it to her.

  “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.” Maria marched out.

  “Wait.” Emma leapt to her feet, scooped up Maggie, bed and all, and ran after her mother.

  When they reached the ground floor, Maria turned to face Emma. “Go home and stay there until we catch up with Jacob and Raul. I’ll call you later.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you think? Grab them before they leave the country.” She gripped Emma’s shoulder. “Your work is done. You did great. Keep out of it now.” Maria stormed off, and slammed the front door behind her.

  Nightshade joined Emma. “She’s about to take her entire army round to Jacob and Raul’s houses, isn’t she?”

  “If they’re still there,” Emma said.

  Nightshade clicked her fingers. “Check the tracking app.”

  Emma set Maggie and the bed down on the floor, pulled the tracked phone from her pocket, and consulted the display. “Jacob’s at his house. Raul too. If they’ve got any sense, they’ve dumped those phones.”

  “Your mum will find them regardless,” Nightshade said. “I would not want to be in their shoes right now.”

  “Let’s go home.” Emma grabbed Maggie’s harness from a hook by the door, slipped her into it, and then, with the lead in hand, bed under one arm, Emma opened the front door and jogged down the steps.

  Mac stood by the car. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Neil got out and opened the rear door.

  Emma set Maggie and her bed on the back seat. “Stay.” She closed the door. “I just need to grab her food.” Emma spun on her heels and headed back into the house.

  Nightshade glided down the hallway after her. “We can’t go home, darling.”

  “Why not?” In the kitchen, Emma grabbed a large canvas shopping bag and loaded it with dog toys, plus Maggie’s bowls.

  Nightshade folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “The investigation is far from over.”

  “Looks pretty much over to me.” Emma opened a cupboard and continued to fill the bag with cans of dog food and biscuits. “Mum’s taking care of it.” Besides, every muscle ached, and she wanted to rest. When Emma made it home, she wouldn’t leave the house for a month, and she’d pig out on takeaways.

  Emma stepped back and her eyes glazed over.

  Friday, pizza.

  Chinese on Saturday, followed by copious amounts of wine. She’d invite Olivia round.

  Indian on Sunday, or maybe Thai.

  Nightshade stepped in front of her. “Emma?”

  Emma closed her eyes. “Monday?” she said under her breath. Emma had always wanted to try the new sushi bar around the corner, but that meant leaving the house. “Do they deliver?”

  “Stop ignoring me.”

  Either way, an evening dedicated to delicious sushi is worth the hassle and risk of venturing outside.

  So, Tuesday. She could either have—

  “Emma,” Nightshade shouted.

  She opened one eye. “What?”

  Nightshade folded her arms. “This. Isn’t. Over.”

  “Why not?” Emma clasped the bag. “As soon as Mum catches up with Jacob and Raul she’ll get the whole story out of them, including where they’ve hidden the casket. Job done.”

  Nightshade shook her head. “You really think that dopey Jacob and gentle giant Raul did everything we’ve seen? The Shakespearean clues?”

  Emma opened both eyes. “But you just said—”

  “I know what I said,” Nightshade snapped. She took a breath. “Sorry. Long day.”

  Emma stared at her. “What are you getting at?”

  “Let your mother catch up with Jacob and Raul while we continue following the clues, starting with Blackfriars.”

  Emma frowned. “If those two are working with someone else, Mum will find them.”

  “Think it through, darling,” Nightshade said. “The way the killer assassinated Sophie, the secret camera at the warehouse, the cryptic messages, the elaborate deaths. And don’t get me started about all those symbols tattooed on the victims.” She shook her head. “There’s a whole lot more to this.”

  “But Jacob—”

  “Jacob was in love with Sophie,” Nightshade said. “He wouldn’t hurt her. Or Ruby for that matter.”

  Emma sighed. “Okay, then it was Raul.”

  Nightshade shook her head again. “Those two dopes are caught up in something bigger than they can comprehend. They’re puppets.”

  “Then who do you think is responsible?” Emma asked, exasperated.

  “That’s what we need to find out.” Nightshade’s voice rose an octave. “We can take Mac. He’ll help keep us safe.” She waved a finger at Emma. “I’m telling you, this isn’t over, and if we don’t continue, someone else will die.”

  Emma stared at her for a few seconds, then huffed. “Fine.” All her dreams of takeaways faded into the ether.

  “Great.” Nightshade gestured down the hallway.

  Emma marched past her. “We should tell Mum what we’re doing though.” She was about to open the front door when she spotted movement through the frosted window.

  Dark figures gathered at the end of the path.

  Emma dropped the bag of Maggie’s belongings, sprinted into the sitting room, and pulled back the curtain. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The detectives who’d arrested Mac and Neil, Brennan and Hill, stood at the kerb, along with a police van and four other officers in body armour.

  Emma scanned the road. The Rolls-Royce had left, and Neil and Mac were nowhere to be seen. “Crap.”

  DS Brennan stepped aside, and a burly officer carried a bat
tering ram up the front steps.

  32

  Emma stared out her Uncle Martin’s sitting room window, dumbfounded. “They’re going to break down the door? Seriously? What’s wrong with these people? Haven’t they heard of knocking?”

  “Your uncle is dead, and he lived alone,” Nightshade said. “The police don’t know there’s anyone else here, and they’ll have a warrant to investigate the premises. How do you think the police will react when you answer the door?”

  Emma winced. “Good point.”

  “Move,” Nightshade breathed in her ear. “Now.”

  Emma and Nightshade ran through the house and down the stairs to the basement.

  “Where have Mac and Neil gone?” Emma glanced at the open laundry-room door.

  Nightshade kept up with her as they headed through the house. “You think they can afford to be at two crime scenes in one day? No matter how good your mum’s lawyer is, that would be way too much for the detectives to ignore.” She stopped at the back door.

  Whatever happens from here on out, Emma thought, Nightshade and I don’t have much time to finish the investigation. The police were catching up with them.

  Emma opened the back door and they slipped out.

  Ten-foot-high walls flanked the courtyard on both sides, and a set of cast-iron stairs led to a veranda with a glass roof. Most of the courtyard was paved with flagstones, apart from a small square of grass surrounded by a trellis.

  Emma marched to the far end of the enclosed space and up a short flight of steps to the door that led to the garage and the street behind. She grabbed the handle, but it wouldn’t open.

  Her heart leapt into her throat.

  Emma tried again, but the door still wouldn’t budge. She looked at Nightshade, wide-eyed. “It’s locked.”

  A loud double bang came from the house. Emma pictured the front door bursting open and slamming into the wall as the police battered their way inside.

  She remained at the top of the steps, paralysed, her mind numb. She glanced around the courtyard, but the walls were too high to scale. “Any ideas?” she whispered.

  “Plenty, but none pertinent to our current situation.” Nightshade stared at the sitting-room window as movement and voices came from inside the house. “We can’t stay here.”

  Emma hesitated. Their only chance was to sneak back into the house and out the front way, so she hurried down the steps and across the forecourt.

  No sooner had Emma grabbed the back door handle than a shadow moved past the stairs. She jumped and pulled back.

  “This way.” Nightshade scaled the iron stairs to the ground floor and Emma followed. When they reached the top she tried the other doors, but they were also locked.

  The door below opened and they ducked behind the potted plants. Emma nudged a branch aside and peered down as a uniformed police officer stepped into the courtyard.

  With painful slowness, the officer checked the area, then meandered up the stone steps and found the garage door locked. He went back down and continued his lazy mooch.

  Emma drew back and held her breath. She expected the police officer to come up the steps and find them, but the back door clicked shut. Emma let out a breath, and mouthed to Nightshade, “Close one.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth than movement through the French doors on their right made her freeze.

  Another police officer walked around the sitting room. He checked corners and behind furniture. It was only a matter of seconds before he spotted Emma and Nightshade crouched there like a couple of idiots. Despite this, they made themselves as small as possible, trying to blend in with the potted plants.

  The officer approached the French doors when a voice made him turn.

  Detective Hill appeared, said something to him, and pointed up.

  He nodded, clasped his hands behind his back, and stood guard as she left the room.

  Emma seized the opportunity. She unfurled herself and tiptoed to the metal stairs. Careful not to make any noise, they descended, every creak and groan from the wrought iron making them flinch.

  When they reached the bottom and stepped back onto firm ground, Emma let out a breath. She stood still for a few seconds and closed her eyes while she pictured the house in her mind’s eye.

  Emma moved from room to room. She checked for windows and potential escape routes. “We can’t make it back to the front door,” she murmured. “Too risky.”

  “Can you see any keys?” Nightshade whispered back. “Something to unlock the garage door?”

  With her eyes still closed, Emma kept moving through the house. “No keys.” She imagined opening windows at the front of the house, but each came with a problem: they were either too high up or there was no way to sneak past the police.

  Emma returned to the lower floor, looked about for a minute, then smiled. “Of course.”

  She opened her eyes and returned to the back door, opened it, and looked through the gap. The officer from the courtyard had left to join his colleagues on one of the other floors.

  Emma signalled all clear to Nightshade and slipped inside. They tiptoed along the hallway and kept close to the wall. Instead of going upstairs, they crept into the laundry room and closed the door behind them. Above the sink was a large sash window.

  Emma pulled back the curtains, released the catch, and grabbed the bottom of the frame. She inched the window open, every movement creating a loud squeak, groan, or grinding.

  Once she’d lifted the sash by a foot, Emma climbed onto the worktop. “Stay close,” she whispered to Nightshade, and slipped through.

  Once safely on the other side, Emma ascended the steps until her head was just above street level, and peered through the wrought iron railings. All the police officers were inside the house. The vans and cars looked empty, too, so Emma motioned for Nightshade to follow, and hurried up the steps.

  She grabbed the handle of the gate. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Locked.

  Emma grumbled under her breath as she hauled herself over the gate, and stood guard while Nightshade did the same. No sooner had Nightshade dropped to the pavement than the front door opened.

  33

  Emma sprinted along the pavement, arms pumping the air, Nightshade hard on her heels, as the police officer gave chase. “Stop.” Emma and Nightshade followed the curve of the avenue, then headed left into Wilton Place.

  A car pulled alongside them, and Emma slowed. It was useless to keep running. “Damn.”

  “Get in.”

  Shocked, she looked over to see Neil and Mac.

  “Get in,” Neil repeated, as the police officer dashed around the corner.

  Emma threw open the door and climbed into the back seat with Nightshade. A second later, they sped away.

  Mac looked over his shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Didn’t want to risk calling you in case it drew attention.” Neil pointed at his tracked phone in the cradle.

  “Hoped you’d find a way out.” Mac winked.

  A wave of guilt washed over Emma. She was sorry for doubting them. “Thank you.”

  “Where to?” Neil asked.

  “Blackfriars.” Emma put Maggie on her lap and scratched her ears. Nightshade was right; if there was even the slightest chance that someone else’s life might be in danger, they had to continue. “We need to go back to the pub you picked us up from earlier.”

  “No problem.”

  Emma slumped in her seat, and her thoughts moved to the strange symbols added to each of the victims’ tattoos—the x on Sophie’s arm, the circle with a line, which she thought resembled a clock face overlaying Uncle Martin’s tattoo, and the number six inked over Ruby’s.

  Emma turned to Nightshade to ask her opinion, but her head was tipped back, her eyes closed. Nightshade’s chest rose and fell in slow breaths. Emma stared at her. She hoped that they could figure out the killer’s identity before the police caught up with them.

  The Rolls-Royce parke
d at Blackfriars Court, and Mac turned in his seat. “Want me to come in with you?”

  “No, thanks. Stay here.” Emma checked Maggie was asleep in her bed. “I promise we won’t be long. I’ll call if I need you.”

  Nightshade’s eyes flew open. “What? Where are we?” She looked out of the window. “Oh. So soon?” She flipped open her pill tin and popped a red capsule into her mouth, then tipped her head back and shuddered. “Much better.” She grinned at Emma. “Ready, darling?”

  Emma glared at her, then climbed out of the car.

  “You’ve never been inside this pub?” Nightshade asked as she joined her.

  Emma shook her head. “Nope.”

  Once inside, Emma realised why, and she paused to take stock of their surroundings. She gripped the doorframe as her brain tried to make sense of the sudden rush of information.

  She didn’t need to remove her sunglasses for her mind to flood with hundreds of details in overwhelming clarity: copper, brass, wood grain, marble patterns, flickering lights, sculptures, mosaics, metal reliefs and chaos.

  “Too much?” Nightshade whispered in her ear.

  Emma gave a weak nod as she tried to compose herself.

  Dark oak beams bearing low-hanging cast-iron chandeliers, wood-panelled walls, leaded stained glass windows, circular tables surrounded by chairs and stools, ornate metal capitals topped square pillars. People everywhere: drinking, talking, laughing.

  Emma balled her fists.

  Two curved bars dominated the main room. The one in front of the door, constructed of marble-topped wood, had above it a copper relief which depicted friars with large plates lining up for food.

  A similar panorama hung above the three open doorways leading to the dining area. This one showed working friars: carrying baskets, gathering fruit, loading a wheelbarrow. One friar held a watering can, another dug with a spade.

  A large fireplace enclosed in green marble and wood, surmounted by yet more reliefs of friars playing musical instruments, sat opposite the bar.

  Emma took deep breaths, tried to relax, and let her mind organise the torrent of new information. She squinted and massaged her temples, pushing back against the tingling onset of a migraine.