On Trial

by Zanna Mackenzie

  “Yes, several times. Poppy and David were in a relationship for about two years prior to her meeting Taylor. David was a gentleman. He was from a wealthy family and really looked after Poppy, always treating her to trips and gifts. They spent pretty much all of their time together, when they weren’t at work. You don’t seriously think David could have kidnapped her, do you?”

  “It’s a possibility,” I reply cautiously. “Did David know about the wedding? Did he know when and where it was going to take place?”

  “I don’t know,” Dorothea replies with a shrug of frustration. “I suppose Poppy could have told him, but there’s no way David could be involved with all of this.”

  “I think this note could have something to do with Poppy and one of her bad guy ex boyfriends,” Mitch says, scooting back so we can all see the now complete note on the bathroom floor. “Could she have been in contact with one of them about the wedding?”

  Taylor, my sweet, I’ve been waiting for this day since we first met. As soon as I saw you I knew you were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The man I wanted to marry and raise a family with, but now everything is such a mess. We’ve both made mistakes. I know, in my heart, you and I could work things out given a chance but I fear it might be too late and now our wedding day is ruined. The future we had planned out is torn to pieces. Just like this note you’ll never read. I’m so sorry. Poppy. xxx

  Dorothea nods, tears falling from her perfectly made-up eyes, as she plays her role in this faux case to the hilt. “I think she might have. Like I mentioned, she can be vulnerable sometimes. I thought she’d given up on her ex-boyfriends and had finally learned her lesson. Maybe she did get back in touch with one or two of them, but it could have just been because she wanted to share her good news about the wedding.”

  “Or it could have been because she still had a thing for one of them, and wanted him to swoop in here like some kind of mistaken hero and declare undying love to her,” Mitch retorts.

  Esme shoots him a look of incredulity. “And what would you know about undying love? You don’t strike me as a relationship kind of guy. You’ve got this whole frosty exterior thing going on.”

  WHAT?! Esme seems to want to pick arguments with Mitch but now really isn’t an appropriate time to do so. “Dorothea, can you think of any particular ex-boyfriend Poppy might still have feelings for?” I ask, keen to steer the topic of conversation back to the investigation.

  “Well, I think she might still be fond of a guy called Leon, she has mentioned him a few times. And then there’s David, of course. Of all her relationships, she was with him for the longest time.”

  “Can you remember anything about this Leon?” Esme asks, her mind now thankfully back on the job.

  Dorothea frowns in concentration for a few moments. “Black. I think his surname is Black. He used to work for another public relations company in London. Poppy met him at some conference. I think they dated for about six months or so.”

  “And why did they break up?” I ask, scribbling the details down in my notebook as fast as I can. My memory isn’t the best, so I want to take notes to ensure I don’t forget anything critical.

  “He had a drink problem and could be volatile when he’d had a few too many,” Dorothea answers.

  “Volatile as in violent?” Mitch checks.

  Dorothea nods.

  “That could be our guy. Leon Black’s an unusual name, he shouldn’t be too difficult to track down,” Mitch says, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “Whilst I request a background check on him, can you tell us everything you know about the other guy, David?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Time now: 18:30

  Time to deadline: 23 hours and 30 minutes

  I shove some clothes out of the way and sit down on the bed next to Dorothea. “Was Poppy maybe still seeing David behind Taylor’s back? Is that a possibility? Even if it was just as friends.”

  “I don’t know,” Dorothea says, sniffing back tears.

  “Has she mentioned him to you recently?” Mitch asks. Having completed his text message regarding the background check, he’s now standing in front of us, arms crossed and a frown on his aristocratic features.

  “No, not really. If Poppy is involved with David again then it can’t be as more than friends. She’s so crazy about Taylor that I can’t bring myself to accept it was anything more than that.”

  “Tell us everything you know about this David,” Mitch instructs, pulling a notepad from his jacket pocket. “What’s his surname? Where does he live? What’s his job?”

  Dorothea looks flustered and I bristle at Mitch’s sharp tone. It seems to me as though he’s not very hot on people skills in general - whether it’s with co-workers or with a pretend distraught mother of the bride.

  “Take your time,” I say to her, handing over a box of tissues I’ve just spotted on the floor. They must have fallen there when Mitch and Esme searched the room.

  She takes a handful of tissues and flashes me a grateful look. “His name is David Smith. He’s some kind of financial whiz kid. Works in London, in the City.”

  “Which bank?” Mitch asks, as he scribbles all this down.

  “I don’t think he works for a bank. His family have an investment brokering business or something along those lines. That’s who he works for. Well, works probably gives the wrong impression. He’s being groomed to run the company when his father retires.”

  “What’s the company name?” Esme asks Dorothea with an encouraging smile.

  Esme might come over as determined and ambitious and she might look a tad scary with her Goth image but she clearly has people skills. Unlike Mitch.

  “Hammond and Astor, I think,” Dorothea replies uncertainly. “Something like that anyway.”

  “Where’s Poppy’s mobile phone?” Esme asks her gently. “Any idea, Dorothea? I’m thinking that if Poppy has been in touch with David, then surely his number will be in the memory on her phone.”

  I look at Esme and telepathically try to beam her a good thinking message. She winks. I think I’m growing to like this feisty wannabe support officer.

  “I don’t know,” Dorothea shrugs, looking as though she’s beginning to wilt under the pressure of all the questions we’re firing at her. “Didn’t any of you find it when you searched her room?”

  We all shake our heads.

  “You haven’t already tried to ring her? You know, when you first discovered she was missing?” I check.

  “Yes, of course I did, but there was no answer, it went straight to voicemail,” she replies.

  “Call the number again. Now,” Mitch instructs. “If it’s anywhere around here, then we’ll hear the ringtone.”

  Dorothea ferrets around in her bag and pulls out her own phone. We wait as she calls Poppy’s number. Holding our breath we listen for any sounds – ringing, beeps, bursts of the 1812 Overture. Anything that might be a modern version of a ringtone. There’s nothing.

  “Hello?” Dorothea says cautiously into her mobile phone, startling me.

  Someone answered Poppy’s phone?

  “Who is this?” she asks, as we all crowd close to her, trying to eavesdrop. “What have you done with my Poppy?”

  Mitch gestures for Dorothea to hand him the phone but she backs away, shaking her head.

  “Put it on speaker phone,” Mitch hisses at her. As she does so, a robotic voice echoes eerily around the bedroom. The kidnapper is obviously using one of those software gadgets which disguises a voice to the extent where you can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman speaking.

  “I wondered how long it would take for one of you to call Poppy’s phone. I assume all of your little friends are listening in too?” the distorted voice says as we hold our breath. “Your twenty-four hour deadline is fast approaching and the victim is most anxious to be rescued. Especially as she’s still wearing her fancy dress which, I have to say, is not very practical
or comfortable for being kidnapped in! You’re not going to let her down, now are you?”

  “What do you want in exchange for her freedom?” Mitch demands of the kidnapper. “Is this about money?”

  The voice laughs. “No, nothing like that. Personally, I find money rather distasteful. I’m sure you’ll all beaver away and figure this out before too long. I look forward to seeing you all soon.” The line goes dead.

  “Don’t you just wish it was about money and then we could just turn up at the designated spot and time with a briefcase of fake Monopoly money and get the runaway bride back?” Esme says, flopping into a chair. “Nothing’s ever that simple though, is it?”

  “I thought I heard a sound in the background on that call,” Mitch says, ignoring Esme’s griping. “Did anyone else pick it up too?”

  “You mean that faint clinking sound?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yeah. Anybody know what the noise is? I thought it sounded a bit metallic.”

  “I recognise it from somewhere,” Esme says. “It reminds me of holidays for some reason.”

  A picture flashes through my mind. When we arrived, I was taking in the view and across the hotel grounds there was a lake and a small marina. Boats. “The noise is like the one you get when the rigging on boats rattles and clinks in the wind. There’s a marina at the hotel. The kidnapper could be holding Poppy on one of the boats.”

  “I’m going down there to take a look,” Mitch says, already striding from the room.

  “But it’s dark!” Esme shouts after him.

  Dorothea follows us into the corridor and I turn and rest a hand on her arm. “I think it would be best if you stay here. I’ll keep you informed about what’s going on.”

  Dorothea gives me a small nod. “Wherever she is, I hope and pray that she’s safe. Being forced to miss her wedding is bad enough, but knowing her disappearance is causing so much distress to Taylor and to her family and friends will be tearing her apart.”

  I rub Dorothea’s shoulders to try and console her a little. “I know, but try not to worry too much. We’ll find her. I promise.”

  Sniffing into a tissue she turns away, walking back into Poppy’s bedroom and closing the door.

  This is all so weird. I don’t feel as though this is fake, with actors, pretend emotions and a set up situation. I feel as though I’m genuinely trying to help solve a crime and catch a kidnapper. Everything seems real - the people, the tension, the ticking clock and looming deadline. Dashing along the hotel hallway, with its thick carpet and dark wood doors, I hope I haven’t just made a promise to Dorothea that I can’t keep.

  Mitch doesn’t wait for us as he sprints through the floodlit grounds in the direction of the marina. Come to think of it, I’m sure he’d rather Esme and I weren’t planning on accompanying him down to investigate the boats tied up on the lake. He did say, ‘I’m going’ not ‘let’s go’. It seems Mitch prefers to work alone. Well, tough. This is an assignment for all three of us and Esme and I are going to play our part in this investigation whether he likes it or not. We have to if we want to be in with any chance of being offered a job by the agency at the end of all of this.

  By the time Esme and I have reached the first of the three wooden docks the boats are tied up to, Mitch is already climbing aboard the nearest yacht. Aren’t you supposed to knock or ask permission to come aboard or something first? I have no experience of boats whatsoever but I’m pretty sure just leaping aboard is frowned upon, rather like bursting uninvited into someone’s home.

  A man appears from below decks on the boat, closely followed by a woman. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands of Mitch, who ignores him, pushing past and down the stairs into the cabin. “Hey! You can’t do that!”

  “I’m so sorry,” Esme gasps, as we reach the boat. “My husband is a bit upset and forgot his manners. He’s looking for our son. He wandered off from the hotel terrace earlier. Have you seen a little boy? Dark hair. Five years old. He’s dressed in jeans and a red jumper.”

  Quick thinking, Esme.

  She’s instantly come up with a cover story for Mitch’s behaviour, calmed the yacht’s owners (who I assume are more actors and all part of the pretend case) and at the same time she’s distracted them from Mitch, who is still down in the cabin of their boat searching for Poppy.

  The woman lifts her hand to her mouth. “Oh, how dreadful!” she exclaims. “We moored here about an hour ago but we haven’t seen anyone, let alone a young boy. What can we do to help you find him?”

  Mitch appears back on the deck of the boat. He walks past the boat owners, ignoring them and us. Leaping across to the wooden dock he runs off towards two more boats tied up a little further away.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d better go and help my husband with the search,” Esme says as she races off in the same direction as Mitch.

  “This one is locked up,” Mitch announces as we reach the edge of the next dock. “Looks as though it’s about to sink anyway.” He’s right, the pale blue boat looks decidedly worse for wear and, to be honest, I’m surprised to see something like this moored at the dock of a posh hotel like the Roseby.

  “And what about this one?” Esme asks as she walks towards a pristine yacht which is a complete contrast to its neighbour. “Hello! Is anybody home?”

  There’s no reply.

  The other two docks are empty so these three boats are the only possibilities if we suspect Poppy is being held hostage on a boat in the hotel’s marina.

  “Leave it for now,” Mitch instructs, heading back in the direction of the hotel.

  “What? We’re just giving up?” I ask, rushing to keep up with him.

  He nods. “For now.”

  I meet Esme’s gaze. She’s not buying it either. Mitch is up to something. “There must be other marinas on this lake. We could get a local map to check.”

  “Yeah, we’ll do that,” he replies. “Maybe there’s a map back in the staff quarters. But before that I think we should go and interview the three bridesmaids and see if they’ve got any clues to share with us.”

  We find Lottie, Connie and Deedee still loitering in the marquee. They’re standing around, wine glasses in hand, close to the table with the giant wedding cake I’d eyed up earlier. As we walk past to join the women I pause for a second and lean in, sniffing at the delicate white icing. Does it smell like a real cake? Can I detect the aroma of jam, almonds and that distinct royal icing sickliness?

  “What on earth are you doing?” Esme asks, giving me a strange look.

  “I was just trying to figure out if it’s real or one of those polystyrene ones,” I reply, blushing slightly at having been caught sniffing a wedding cake. “Curiosity got the better of me.”

  “Just pick off a bit of the icing, then you’ll know!” she giggles, reaching a hand towards one of the swirls on the bottom tier of the cake.

  I grab her hand just in time. “NO! That won’t help matters, and we’ll get in trouble for trashing the cake. I bet the agency is going to return it when all of this is over, it’s probably just on loan to save on costs.”

  Esme frowns. “And why won’t it help if we know that the icing is real?”

  “Because, with fake cakes, it’s often the inside of the cake that’s pretend and the icing is real. Come on, our lord and master is waiting.” I grab her arm and lead her towards a scowling Mitch who has already started interrogating the three bridesmaids.

  “I’ve known Poppy since university,” the tall blonde I’d been told earlier was Lottie is saying to Mitch as he takes notes. “She’s one of my best friends. If there’s anything I can do to help, you only have to say the word and I’ll do it.”

  As I take a seat next to Esme I look Lottie over, mentally working through my agency visual checklist. Her hair is the kind of blonde which came courtesy of an expensive salon treatment and is flecked with coppery tones. Her makeup is perfect. Her skin, ditto. No scars, blemishes or
distinguishing marks. The third finger of a left hand is bare of rings.

  “I take it you’re close then,” Mitch says to her.

  She nods and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye before it can ruin her makeup. Come to think of it, I bet Lottie is the kind of woman who doesn’t suffer from panda eyes when she cries. Unlike me.

  “We met up at least once a week for a chat back in London,” she replies, and then hiccups a little. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve probably had a bit too much champagne but it helps to calm my nerves.”

  “Do you know anything about Poppy’s ex-boyfriends?” I ask her.

  She nods, turning to face me. “I met a few of them. William. Leon. David.”

  “And what did you think of them?” Mitch asks, hijacking the questioning with a sideways glance at me.

  “William was a complete waste of space. Leon was a brooding bad guy but very yummy with it. David was…nice.”

  “Nice?” Esme chips in. “You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”

  “Well, it kind of was as far as Poppy was concerned,” Lottie replies with a look of regret. “Poor Poppy didn’t have much luck with the guys. She always chose the losers. She wanted to be the one to help them turn their lives around. I was always there for her though, no matter how many scumbags broke her heart. I was her shoulder to cry on.”

  “So, you must have been surprised when she got involved with a famous rock star,” Esme edges. “It looked as though her luck had changed at last.”

  Lottie sighs. “I hoped that was the case but, I have to confess, I didn’t see things lasting with Taylor.” She leans forward and lowers her voice, though I’m not sure who she’s doing it for. The marquee is empty except for the six of us and we’re all sat close together. “Let’s be honest, he’s waaaay out of her league. When she told me she was seeing him I thought she was making it up.”

  “And why would she do that?” Mitch quizzes, leaning back in his chair.

  “Well, I tend to do pretty well with the men,” she says, flicking a wave of hair back over her shoulder. “And I thought she might be jealous of me. I’d been seeing a few guys at the same time, nothing serious. They were all wealthy, handsome and successful. I wondered if she’d got fed up of being in my shadows as far as dating was concerned so she’d gone and invented a famous boyfriend.”