Blood, Wine and Chocolate

by Julie Thomas

  Anna went to the desk and swung the laptop around. It was a close-up of Vinnie and Merlot beside a vine, with Vinnie’s face clearly visible. The headline of the post was ‘The Secret of Rocky Bay’.

  ‘It’s a bloody good article,’ he said as he ran his hand through his curls. ‘Says Gabby McLean and Dominic Darcy make a sensational team and the wine is world class. Anyway, he’s removing the picture as we speak.’

  She glanced up at him, and the strain evident on his face made her heart surge. ‘He’d better, or he’ll have me to deal with.’

  Vinnie gave a gentle laugh. ‘Danger averted. It wasn’t up for long, and it is the middle of the night in the UK. Odds are –’

  ‘Only one man matters. But your old customers are wine buffs, and you’re supposed to be dead!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  RUMBLED

  Norman Lane was asleep. The enormous master bedroom contained two king-sized four-poster beds. Moonlight shone through a gap in the heavy brocade drapes and threw a shadow on to the carpet. Lane snored loudly in his bed, and his spread-eagled body barely moved. Melissa slept lightly and tossed frequently in hers.

  Lane’s cell phone rested on the nightstand beside him. When it started to ring and move around on the wood, the noise woke Melissa first. She rolled over and lifted her head from the pillow.

  ‘Norman!’

  There was no response from the other bed.

  ‘Norman. For God’s sake, your phone’s ringing!’

  He grunted. One hand came out from under the covers and groped around the table until it landed on the phone. He opened it and pulled it to his ear.

  ‘This better be bloody life-threatening,’ he snarled.

  ‘It’s Tom. You told me to call you the minute I had any news.’

  Lane sat bolt upright. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on wine blogs. And I’ve just read one called Fruit of the –’

  ‘Herman Granger. A Yank. I know him.’

  ‘Well, he’s just written about a vineyard in New Zealand called Rocky Bay. The first version featured a candid photo of the owner, an Englishman called Dominic Darcy. Taken from a distance with a zoom, I’ll bet my life on it. He has a chocolate Lab with him. Second version, minutes later, that photo’s gone. The whole blog is about how the winemaker takes all the credit, while the relatively new owner stays out of sight.’

  A slow smiled spread over Lane’s tired face. ‘Well done, Tom.’

  He clicked the phone shut and sat for a moment, deep in thought.

  ‘Who was that?’ Melissa asked. She was resting on her elbow, watching him. Lane turned to her.

  ‘Tom, with a get-out-of-jail card for Marcus.’

  He swung his feet over the side of the bed and thrust them into slippers, pulled himself upright and reached for his robe.

  ‘I’ve got some calls to make, loose ends. I’ll go to the study. You go back to sleep.’

  Rain lashed Mary’s Welsh cottage, wind tore at the plants in the garden, and huge drops splashed into the puddles. She watched out of her front window as a car came up the drive towards the house. Her suitcase stood by the door, and her handbag was over her arm. This was the beginning; this was what she had been waiting for.

  The early morning mist rose off the Thames and the river reflected the steel grey cloud above. Peter Harper walked briskly down some dirty concrete steps and out onto the bank at the edge of the water. A group of men was standing around something lying on the mud, and one was crouched down beside it. Harper’s stride checked momentarily when the man moved and he caught a glimpse of the object.

  Then he walked over to them and stared down at the body of DS Crawford. There were rope marks on her wrists and ankles, her shoes were missing and her clothes were water-logged and caked in mud. There was a single bullet hole through the centre of her forehead.

  ‘Who found her?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Kids. About thirty minutes ago, sir.’

  He followed the officer’s gaze to two young boys talking to a uniformed policeman about twenty metres away. The pathologist stood up and removed his rubber gloves.

  ‘Not dead long – sometime early this morning. Before she entered the water, by the look of the bullet hole, but the postmortem will tell us. Body was weighted down, judging by those marks.’

  Harper leaned over and examined the face. ‘Looks like a hit. Report on my desk, quick as you can on this one.’

  Mary Whitney-Ross stepped up to the check-in counter and handed her ticket wallet to the smiling girl in uniform.

  ‘Hello, dear.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Darcy. You have one stopover, in Madrid.’

  Detective Chief Inspector Ron Matthews glanced up as a sharp knock on his closed door broke his concentration.

  ‘Come.’

  Peter Harper was carrying a laptop. He put it on the desk, opened it and swung it around to face his boss. ‘Have a look at this, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s Donna Crawford’s. The last search she did was for this wine blog, out of the USA. And then look at this.’

  He hit a couple of buttons and a Word document filled the screen.

  ‘It’s a cut and paste she did of the same blog, an earlier version. Scroll down and look at the third photo.’

  Matthews did as his junior officer suggested and then sat up in his chair with a start.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Peter! That’s Vinnie Whitney-Ross and his bloody dog.’

  Harper nodded.

  ‘I’ve had a call from Vinnie’s mother, she’s about to board a flight to Chile. She’ll buy a return ticket to New Zealand in Santiago.’

  ‘Have you got Crawford’s cell?’ Matthews asked sharply.

  Harper shook his head as he closed the laptop and picked it up. ‘It wasn’t on her body or in her desk. Uniform is searching her home.’

  ‘Pull the call records. Why would she be searching a bloody wine blog? Can you find a link between Crawford and Norman Lane?’

  Harper’s body language mirrored his boss’s confusion. ‘No, not at all, sir. She asked a couple of questions about the case, but everyone does that.’

  Matthews nodded slowly. ‘The recommendation to move her to your unit came from top brass and they said she showed huge promise.’

  Harper hesitated. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary, but she was a good copper. Thorough, honest, inquisitive and ambitious. She didn’t even bloody drink, said her mum was in some sort of rehab for alcohol and gambling …’ His voice trailed off and he looked like he had seen a ghost. ‘Oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Harper murmured. ‘Donna, what have you done?’

  Matthews thumped his desk. ‘Are you saying …? Christ, Peter, why didn’t you see this?’

  Harper shrugged. It was clear from his expression that his nightmares were materialising in front of him. ‘Coppers have families, sir. Sometimes there’s a weakness that makes them vulnerable. People like Lane exploit that. But why kill her? Why risk alerting us?’

  ‘We weren’t supposed to find her. Her body slipped the weights – the current is very strong there. Lane had got what he wanted, and Crawford was always going to be a loose end.’

  ‘Why would Vinnie do an interview like that? And allow that photo to be taken?’

  Matthews shook his head in amazement. ‘That one makes no sense. I thought he understood the damn rules.’

  Harper came back to the desk and Matthews could see that the confusion was gone. ‘Lane will demand that Vinnie recant, sir, and apply whatever pressure he needs to. We’ve got to help, we owe him that.’

  Matthews thought for a moment, then came to a decision and nodded at his DI. ‘You go. You can get local back-up, but he trusts you. He’ll listen to you. Pull them out if you have to.’

  Marcus hesitated at the doorway to the visiting room. He knew the state of his face would shock his mother. He had cuts and bruises around his eyes from a fight.

  Melissa half-rose as he sat down. ‘What’s ha
ppened?’

  He touched her hand. ‘It’s okay. You should see the other guy.’

  ‘Marcus! What have –’

  ‘No really, you should. He’s in the infirmary. Nothing important, just a disagreement with one of the Clerkenwell Gang.’

  She took a piece of paper from her handbag and gave it to him. ‘This is Witness A.’

  The face in the photo had matured and aged, but the blue eyes were the same, and the curls. Memories danced across his brain, happy thoughts, long buried under the crap of his adult life.

  ‘Vinnie,’ he said softly.

  His mother nodded. ‘He recognised you and he betrayed you. No wonder the prosecution were so certain Witness A’s testimony was rock solid. He didn’t pick you out from a mug shot. He knew you.’

  Marcus sucked in his bottom lip and chewed it. ‘His mother blamed us for his father’s death. I remember wanting to tell him it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, darling. Your dad knows where he is and he’ll get Vinnie to recant his evidence. He’ll come back, and then you’ll be free.’

  ‘I wonder if he remembers the warehouse.’

  ‘What warehouse?’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘He was a petty hustler, back in the day, on the markets. He stumbled across one of our Colombian shipments, and Tom was going to put a bullet in his kneecap. I stopped him. It was obvious he had nothing to do with the theft …’ His voice trailed off.

  Melissa reached across and took his hand in hers. The guard by the door took a step forward, and she let go and pulled her arm back.

  ‘Don’t fret. Have you ever known your dad to fail at anything important? He’s tracked Vinnie down, and now he’ll fix it. Just you wait and see.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  REUNION

  It was late summer 2013, and all the grapes had been harvested and most of the vines were still covered in nets. A tractor drove slowly down the middle of a bay of five rows. Two men walked down the outsides of the bay and fed the net back towards the machine. A woman stood in the box mounted on the back of the tractor and pushed the net down with her feet as it came swirling off the vines. The four winery dogs, including Merlot, raced up and down, tails wagging and noses to the earth.

  In the fermentation hall all the tanks were empty apart from one. Gabby stood on the gantry and carefully plunged the caps back into the dark red must. Over to one side, a woman used a high-pressure hose to clean the chute down into the pressing machine.

  On the other side of the hill, others were preparing the garden for the end-of-harvest party. Long trestle tables were covered in white tablecloths and piled with plates and cutlery rolled in napkins. At another table a woman was arranging wine glasses. A colourful banner along the brick wall read: ‘I survived the vintage at Rocky Bay!’

  Vinnie was up a stepladder hanging a string of fairy lights from a tree to a wooden pergola. As he worked he sang a loud, happy song about wine and women.

  Anna came down the steps from the kitchen carrying a box of decorations. ‘Do you know the words to “I Married an Angel”?’ she asked.

  He stopped, looked down at her and frowned. ‘No, I don’t think so. Should I?’

  She put the box on the ground and exchanged a smile with the women working at the tables. ‘Good, sing that.’

  He gestured towards the women. ‘Very funny. Meet my wife, the stand-up comic.’

  Anna tickled Vinnie’s leg. ‘Want another one? I spent time at my husband’s grave this morning. He isn’t dead – he thinks I’m digging a pond.’

  Vinnie and the women couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘It’ll be the best harvest party this vineyard’s ever seen,’ Anna exclaimed happily as she climbed the steps again. ‘But you’d better get a move on. There are more decorations to come.’

  He shook a fistful of lights at her disappearing back. ‘What did your last slave die of?’

  She didn’t look back as she reached the door. ‘You know that, husband: insubordination.’

  Louisa stood beside her minivan and waited for the ferry from Auckland. She had a wine tour client, booked by phone this morning. The woman said she was looking for something very specific, and would say more when she arrived. Louisa’s curiosity was piqued, but then you never knew what tourists were going to want. Some even came to Waiheke looking for world-class Sauvignon Blanc, and she had to explain that they were in the wrong part of the country.

  The ferry docked and people started to disembark; tall, short, thin, fat, young, old, visitors and locals.

  Louisa watched until she was sure the elderly woman was looking out for someone to meet her. She strolled over. ‘Are you looking for me? I’m Louisa Logan from Waiheke Wonderful Wine Tours.’

  A smile of relief reached the tired grey eyes. ‘Yes, I am. How do you do, Louisa? Thank you so much for meeting me.’

  Louisa shook the extended hand. ‘No problem, but it’s a bit late in the day to do an extensive tour. Are you staying over? Can I take you somewhere and we’ll tour the wineries tomorrow?’

  The woman looked past Louisa at the van.

  ‘I know exactly where I want you to take me, my dear, if you don’t mind. It’s a winery run by an English couple. I believe their name is Darcy.’

  Louisa was surprised and intrigued. The woman’s accent was English – was it a surprise reunion

  ‘Dominic and Ava? I’m going there myself. They’re having an end-of-harvest party tonight.’

  Mary nodded firmly. ‘Very good. Shall we be on our way?’

  Louisa tried a couple of subtle questions during the journey, but Mary batted them away with vague answers and seemed intent on taking in the scenery. Eventually, they turned into the gate and drove along the rim of the basin to the turning circle in front of the house. Louisa leapt from the driver’s seat and opened the sliding door of the van. Mary stepped out and went to the edge to look down into the valley.

  ‘Oh my, it is so beautiful!’

  Louisa joined her. ‘It’s a gorgeous place, and they’ve done so much with it.’

  Merlot came bounding around the corner of the house barking, and ran straight to the woman, his tail wagging. She dropped her handbag and rubbed his ears.

  ‘Hello, my pretty boy. Look at how you’ve grown!’

  Before Louisa could ask her another question, she picked up her suitcase and walked up the steps to the open door, Merlot running after her. Louisa followed, but Mary turned around with her hand on the doorknob.

  ‘Thank you, my dear, I’m fine from here.’ She stepped inside and closed the door.

  Anna was making a salad at the kitchen bench when she looked up and saw her mother-in-law standing in the doorframe, watching her. She dropped the knife in shock, opened her mouth and shut it again. Mary extended her arms and Anna ran to her. Their embrace was tight, long and silent. When they pulled back, they were both crying softly.

  ‘Oh, we’ve missed you so much,’ Anna said as she brushed the tears from her face.

  ‘Where is he?’ Mary asked in a small voice.

  ‘In the garden.’

  Anna gestured to her. ‘Come with me. He’ll be beyond thrilled.’

  Mary took her hand, and they walked across the kitchen together and out the door to the path.

  ‘Let me check, first. He was up a ladder before, and I don’t want him to fall.’

  Mary nodded and stepped inside the doorway. Anna walked slowly and steadily down the path. Vinnie was still perched on the ladder hanging red paper lanterns. She stopped beside him and touched his leg.

  ‘Vinnie.’

  He looked down at her, saw the tear streaks and frowned. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to come down. I have a surprise, and I think you’d better be on the ground.’

  He smiled suspiciously. ‘Is this one of your pranks?’

  She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘I promise you you’ll like it, just climb down.’

  ‘Okay,
boss.’

  He came down the ladder and took her in his arms. ‘What’s my surprise?’

  She pointed towards the steps where Mary was coming down. Vinnie dropped the lantern. He started to say something, then swallowed it and ran towards his mother. She reached the bottom and looked up just in time to raise her arms as he arrived.

  ‘My boy!’

  They hugged tightly for nearly a minute. Anna joined them as Vinnie let his mother go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SHOWDOWN

  Three hours after Mary’s flight from Santiago, another two planes landed at Auckland International Airport within fifteen minutes of each other. The first was a Singapore Airlines A380 Airbus from London via Singapore. Norman Lane was a first-class passenger with a small, but very comfortable, suite. He had been trying to distract himself with a magazine, but as the plane taxied to the terminal, he let it drop to the floor and watched the view outside one of the three windows of his suite.

  The second plane was also an airbus, but this one was an Emirates plane from Dubai. Peter Harper had flown economy and enjoyed the flight – the service had been excellent, and he had watched several movies.

  Inside the terminal he retrieved his bag from the luggage carousel and wheeled it towards the baggage x-ray queue. He was a patient man and had a healthy respect for people in uniform doing their job.

  Lane was further through the arrival process. He walked past the immigration queues and into a priority area.

  A female immigration officer was waiting to receive his documents. ‘Morning, sir. What’s the nature of your visit?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Holiday and some wine tasting.’

  She glanced at the photo and put the passport into a scanner. ‘And how long do you plan on staying, Mr Carter?’

  ‘Not long enough, I’m afraid. Work calls me back. Ten days.’

  She read his forms, glanced up at him again, stamped the passport, marked the forms and handed them all back to him.

  ‘Thank you, sir. Enjoy your wine.’