by JL Simpson
Toby leaned with his back against the wall, shoved his hands in his pockets, and let his chin drop to his chest. “I meant every word. What a fucking mess.”
Solomon sighed. No point in arguing with the truth. “Any idea what time it is?”
“Sorry, never saw a clock or even daylight.”
“How long have they had you down here?”
“Two or three days.”
Solomon chuckled. “And yet so far no one has come looking for you. Are you sure you’re going to be saved by the cavalry?”
“I’ve got a meeting on Sunday, and when I don’t show they’ll start looking.”
“Sunday? I was nabbed Thursday night. By my reckoning today is Friday. We could be dead before they even notice you’re gone. It’s not like these thugs haven’t killed before. What are two more dead bodies added to the pile they’ve got so far?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Solomon. Private investigator hired by an insurance company to look into suspected life insurance fraud. However, instead of finding apparent dead guys still alive and well, I keep finding more dead bodies. Maybe if we swapped notes we could work out what we’ve stepped into and then come up with a way to get out of here.”
Toby slid down the wall and stared at him. “You could be a plant. I might have signed my death warrant by even admitting I had a meeting on Sunday.”
“Did they toss you in here because they suspect you’re undercover?”
Toby shook his head. “No, I told you, Jason suspects I’m involved with Maureen. He figures she’ll turn to him for comfort when it becomes apparent I’m a scumbag. He’ll use his position to persuade her to have an abortion and get back to her career and into his bed.”
“Jason knows I’m investigating insurance fraud, but I doubt he thinks I’ve found out anything useful. My guess is I was brought here because I was asking too many questions about you. My partner Daisy will be very disappointed to discover she had a drink with the infamous missing heir she’s been hunting all week. You know your brother has someone posing as you?”
“The whole reward thing was making life difficult. Daisy was the only one who got close, but I couldn’t risk being exposed. My superiors called Elliott and filled him in. Told him keeping me hidden was a matter of national security. He probably thinks I’m some kind of secret agent. When he discovers the truth he’ll be sadly disappointed.”
“Why was he looking for you?”
Toby scratched his stubbly chin. “Loves me, I guess. He never accepted the old man cutting me off. Now the old bastard’s dead he wanted me to come back into the family fold and retake my rightful position.”
“And you?”
“I thought I wanted to make a difference, which is how I ended up joining the police and becoming Zut.”
“But?”
“I’ve got responsibilities. I could do a lot of good with my inheritance. Help the homeless and the down-and-outs. There’s a lot of talent on the streets. Maybe I’ll start my own record label.”
Solomon sighed. “A veritable Simon Cowell.”
* * * *
Daisy couldn’t bring herself to move. Bum in the air, head in her hands, she considered what to do next. Solomon would know.
“Excuse me.”
She squealed and looked over her shoulder. A man in a tatty, stained overcoat and squashed fedora smiled, flashing more gum than teeth. “Are you all right, miss?”
Daisy climbed to her feet, swaying as blood rushed from her head. “Fine.”
The stranger grabbed her arm and steadied her. “Thought you might be hurt.”
“No, I was looking for something. I lost it the other day.”
“I might be able to help.”
Daisy sighed. “I’m not sure anyone can help but thanks anyway.”
He moved closer, his whiskey-scented breath filled her nose. “No one sees me, but I see a lot of things around here.”
“Really?” The poor old sod could be the man using the staircase as a urinal. He probably called the car park home. She hunted through her bag and pulled out her purse. “Why don’t I give you something for your kindness?”
“A cup of tea?”
“Sure.” She took a fiver out of her purse and offered it to him. He shoved her hand away.
“I’m not looking for a handout. I want you to have a cup of tea with me. Don’t get to talk to pretty girls very often anymore.”
“I would love to, but I really have to get going.”
“What were you looking for?”
“A phone. I guess I must have left it somewhere else.”
He smiled. “Cup a tea and I might be able to scare up your missing phone.”
He could be full of bullshit, but he was the only hope she had. Besides, she’d skipped breakfast and could murder a cup of tea and a sticky bun. She smiled back and nodded. “Sure, why not. I know a great café around the corner that does a great bacon sarnie.”
“Elvis.” He held out his dirty hand.
“Daisy.” She shook his hand and offered no objection when he linked arms with her and led the way to the stairs.
They walked to the cafe in silence and chose to sit at a table by the window. The waitress took their order without protest. Elvis must be a regular customer.
The waitress came back with two mugs of tea and an iced bun for Daisy.
“Sandwich won’t be long, Elvis.”
He smiled up at the skinny woman. “Thanks, Flora. Don’t suppose you’ve seen Harry today, have you?”
“No.” The waitress glanced at the wall clock. “Bit early yet. Give him ten minutes and he should be along. Regular as clockwork is our Harry.”
Daisy added milk to her tea and stirred it. “Who’s Harry? Does he have my phone?”
Elvis slurped and gulped a mouthful of tea before looking at her. “No. Harry’s not one for the lost and found. Harry Belafonte’s too good to be dealing with other people’s rubbish.”
“I don’t begrudge you a free feed, Elvis, but if you can’t help with the phone I should get going.”
“Trouble with you youngsters, always in a rush to get to the next thing on your list. You need to learn to relax. Harry doesn’t deal with phones, but he’ll know someone who does.”
Elvis smiled and rubbed his hands with glee when his sandwich arrived. Daisy munched on her bun and sipped her tea as Elvis made short work of his breakfast. Her mug was empty by the time the door to the café opened again. A short, bald, white man carrying a cane stepped inside. His diminutive body was swamped by a pinstriped suit designed for a much taller man. A woman of Amazonian stature followed along. Daisy frowned as she looked at the odd couple.
The waitress smiled at her new customers. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
Elvis pushed to his feet and waved at the short man. “Harry, over here.”
The man crossed to their table and accepted Elvis’s invitation to take a seat. The woman he was with followed. Harry slipped into the booth next to Elvis, and Daisy shuffled closer to the window to give his companion room. She sat and smiled at Daisy.
Daisy smiled back. Now they were eyeball to eyeball she realized why the woman was so tall. She was a he. A beautifully dressed and made up he, but a he nonetheless.
“Harry, this is Daisy.”
Harry held out a hand, and she shook it. He nodded at her seat companion. “Daisy, this is Shirley, Shirley Temple.”
Elvis, a white Harry Belafonte, and a six-foot-plus man called Shirley Temple. Why not? “Nice to meet you.”
“Daisy’s lost her phone in the car park. I thought you might be able to help.”
Harry flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve of his pinstripe suit. “Cliff said he found a phone. Top of the line. As far as I know he hasn’t been able to find a buyer for it.”
Daisy’s heart raced. “Where can I find this Cliff?”
Elvis smiled. “Cliff sleeps in the Pleasure Gardens. Says he loves to commune with natu
re. I bet he’s down there now.”
“Can you show me where?”
Elvis nodded. “I know where to find him.”
Harry and Shirley moved to let Elvis and Daisy out. She said goodbye and left enough money with the waitress to pay for Harry and Shirley’s breakfasts.
Elvis held her hand as he guided her through the throng of people intent on getting on with their lives, apparently blind to the homeless man currently dragging her along behind him. For an old guy he set a cracking pace. They stopped at the edge of the road. A gap in the traffic appeared and he took off again, Daisy jogging to keep up. He dived into the gardens and strode with a sense of purpose.
“There’s Cliff.”
A dark-skinned man lay on his back on a park bench with a squirrel sitting in the middle of his chest. Daisy was starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland. As they approached the squirrel dropped the nut it was eating, leapt to the ground, and took off across the grass.
The man sat up and turned. “What the fuck, Elvis? You scared him.”
“Sorry, Cliff. Got a customer for you.”
The young man got to his feet, brushed his hands down the front of his ragged blue hoodie, and smiled. “Why didn’t you say so? Now what can I get for you?”
Daisy took a step toward him. “I lost a phone in the car park near the Triangle a couple of days ago. Harry says you might be able to help me.”
The man frowned. “So you’re not in the market to buy somet’ing?”
“There is a reward for its safe return.”
“In that case.” He vaulted the park bench he’d been lying on and disappeared into a clump of trees. When he reappeared he was holding a phone. He offered it to Daisy, and she took it. Her hands were shaking. The phone was the right model. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of this model in the world. It might not be Solomon’s, and even if it was it was probably flat. She hit the On switch, and it came to life. The battery was low, but it had some charge left. The background picture was of Molly.
She switched it off to save power and shoved it in her bag. “How much?”
Cliff shrugged. “Whatever you t’ink.”
She opened her purse and took out a twenty-pound note. “It’s all I’ve got. I can go and get some more from the bank.”
The young man took the money and shoved it in his jeans pocket. “No need. Twenty’s all good.”
Daisy smiled at him. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He smiled back, his teeth gleamed white in his dark face. “My pleasure.” He winked at her. “Just remember, you ever need anyt’ing you come and see me. Cliff, Cliff Richards. I’m your lost-and-found man.”
Daisy laughed. The day was getting weirder by the minute. Cherry had been right. Homeless people really were the secret eyes and ears of the world.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Solomon got to his feet and crossed the room to use the bucket. His stomach growled. He’d been taken from the previous night’s function before he had a chance to eat dinner. By his reckoning he’d also missed breakfast, and it was almost lunchtime.
He finished and zipped up his pants. “How often do we get fed?”
“A couple of times a day.”
“Lunch?”
He sauntered across the room and did some stretches to get the kinks out of his back.
“Usually.”
“Who brings the food?”
“Lunch is usually Adrian Maroni. Dinner is delivered by the cousin.”
“The kid?”
“Yes.”
“Dinner is our best chance, then.”
“Of what?”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“If we escape Jason says he’ll kill Maureen.”
“And if we don’t, they’ll kill us.”
“You don’t know that for sure. You’ve got no idea what you’ve walked into.”
Solomon took off his jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the floor before sitting on it. “Have I not. Well, then, why don’t you tell me what you know?”
Toby shoved his hands into his hair. “Do you know about Anthony the Abbot?”
“I do. It’s a charity.”
“It’s nothing of the sort. It’s a money-laundering operation that has moved into fleecing those dumb enough to believe they do some good for homeless people.”
“Why did you and Jason meet with John Nesbitt?”
“Life insurance. Jason said I needed some.”
“Why? Are you planning to die?”
Toby looked up and shook his head. “No.”
Solomon took a deep breath and leaned his head back. “Tell me what the scam is. What the feck don’t I know?”
Before Toby could say anything the door opened; lunch had arrived. One lunch for Solomon. Apparently Toby was required elsewhere.
* * * *
Daisy sat in the SUV and switched on Solomon’s phone. The git had it password protected. She thought about it. Something he would never forget but that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else. After rejecting Molly, Etain, and Solomon’s date of birth she settled on Dunlop. She keyed it in and the display changed. There were a number of missed calls. She scrolled through the list. Most of them were from her. Another was from a number she didn’t recognize. She’d come back to that. A message icon also displayed. She hit the button to retrieve the message. Her stomach churned as she read the short text. Aston Martin wanted to know if his car had been stolen. Shit. It must have an inbuilt tracking system.
Would they have stopped with a text if he didn’t respond? She went back to the missed calls and hit the green Dial button when she got to the number she didn’t recognize. After a couple of rings a male answered. The car was proving to be more valuable than she expected.
She begged and pleaded with the Aston Martin man but got nowhere. “Why can’t you just tell me where his car is?”
“Sorry, madam, but that’s not the way things work.”
“So who will you tell, other than Mr. Liffey?”
“If you’re genuinely concerned for his safety, and the safety of his vehicle, then I suggest you speak to the police.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She hung up and gunned the engine to life. If they wanted the police, she’d find the police.
She put her foot down as she raced to Southampton. After exiting the motorway she drove straight to the police station and parked the SUV right out front on double yellow lines.
She jogged up the steps and barreled through the door, across the foyer, and was halfway up the stairs to Dan Maloney’s office before the desk sergeant even realized she had entered the building. His yells for her to come back faded as she burst through the office door and came to a halt in the nearly empty squad room. Hastings looked up from his computer.
“Daisy?”
“Where’s Dan?”
“They’re all out on a job.”
“When will they be back?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Why?”
Daisy slumped into the chair at the desk next to Hastings. “Solomon’s missing, along with his Aston Martin.”
“He’s got an Aston Martin?”
“He did, or should that be, he had? Anyway, he didn’t come back from a charity benefit last night, and now his car’s gone. Aston Martin thinks it’s been stolen, and I reckon whoever has his car is holding him hostage.”
“Any ransom demands for either of them?”
“No. That’s not the point.” She shuffled her chair closer to the young policeman. “How about you call the Aston Martin people and ask them where it is?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no proof of a crime having been committed.”
“What if he’s been captured? How will it look when the world finds out the police did nothing to help?”
He shook his head.
She leaned closer and attempted her best sexy face. “Please, for me, gorgeous.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“You know what.”
“Is it working?”
He shook his head and placed her hand on the desk.
“What about doughnuts. A bag of doughnuts, any flavor you like, every day for a week.”
“A month.”
“Okay, a month.”
He held out his hand. “Got the number?”
She pulled out Solomon’s phone and gave him the number and the license plate for the missing car. While he made the call, she used the bathroom. When she got back the room was full of cops.
She frowned at Hastings. “Any luck?”
He pushed a piece of paper at her.
Dan Maloney slammed his desk drawer shut. “Daisy?”
She shoved the paper in her bag. “Hi, Dan.”
“Can we help you with something?”
She glanced at Hastings, and he shook his head.
“No.”
“So why are you here?”
“I wanted to invite you, Bridget, and Ben to a barbecue at our house on Sunday.”
“I’m working. How about next weekend?”
“Next weekend will be great. I’ll see you then.”
She crossed the room and made her escape. Hastings had taken a risk getting the information for her, but now she couldn’t tell the cops anything without dropping him in it.
The time was ticking away. Over half the day was gone. It was three already. She jumped into the SUV, ignoring the parking ticket stuck under the windscreen wiper. Her hands shook as she turned the key in the ignition. Once she was safely away from the police station she pulled over and took the piece of paper from her bag.
Apparently Solomon’s Aston Martin was parked in the backstreet behind Langdon College. Hastings had asked for it to be immobilized. If Solomon was the one driving he would be pissed off with her, but it served him right for not telling her where he was going, and what he was up to.
She pulled back into the traffic and headed to Langdon College. If he was somewhere inside she needed a plan. They were unlikely to let her walk in after the last time she was there.