Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1) Page 23

  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 nature. 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.”

  She patted his knee, and then walked her fingers up his thigh. “What’s that?”

  “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.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Daisy sat in the pub, waiting. She’d found Solomon’s car parked between a BMW and a Lexus. There was no damage, and no sign of Solomon. Laughter filled the room as the door opened, and a group of youngsters tumbled into the bar. The Wishbone was close to the college. She’d heard via Sherman that the pub had no issue with serving underage people. He’d never revealed how he knew, but he swore he’d never been.

  The door opened again, and she turned to see who was coming in. Showtime. A familiar young lad sauntered to the bar and ordered half a pint. She waited until he’d taken his first sip, and then she slid along the bar to stand next to him.

  “Hi. Bolton, isn’t it?”

  The boy glanced at her. His eyes widened, and he swallowed loudly. “What do you want?”

  “Remember me?”

  He nodded. “I don’t want any trouble. I heard you were mad.”

  She laughed. “I’m as sane as you are.”

  “I was just going.” He put his half-empty glass on the bar and glanced at the door.

  “Is your little friend coming to join us?

  “Gilbertson?” He shook his head. “Been expelled.”

  “Really.” Daisy smiled. “Well, Bolton. Where are you off to?”

  “I’ve got homework to do.”

  “Good.” She slipped her hand into her bag, leaned closer, and whispered. “I think I’ll come with you, and before you say I can’t, I should tell you I’ve got a loaded gun in my bag, and I’m not afraid to pull the trigger.”

  Bolton stared at her. She raised an eyebrow. “Time for study. Let’s go.”

  She linked arms with him. He glanced at her bag. Without a word he crossed the bar and opened the door. They walked back toward the college in silence. Bolton slowed as they approached the front gate. “How am I supposed to get you inside?”

  “You’re a smart boy.”

  He blew out a breath and stepped up the pace. The porter at the gate frowned. “Mr. Bolton?”

  “You’ve met my French tutor haven’t you? Dad reckons I need to brush up if I’m going to work for the foreign office.”

  The porter dipped his head and let fly with a stream of gibberish. Probably French gibberish. Why couldn’t Bolton have said she was his maths tutor? She didn’t speak a word of bloody French. She stuck her elbow in Bolton’s side.

  “She’s deaf. Can’t hear a word.”

  The porter stared at her. “Really? How does that work?”

  Bolton’s laugh was high-pitched and sounded nervous. “Sign language. Latest thing, French sign language.”

  They walked through the gates and away from the porter as quickly as she could drag the boy.

  “What did you tell him that for? You’re an idiot.”

  “No, I’m not. And I don’t think you’ve really got a gun. You’re a nutter.”

  “Want me to shoot you and prove it?”

  He shook his head. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Nothing, if you help me.”

  “What with?”

  “If you wanted to hide someone in the school, where would you put them?”

  “Underground cellars. Loads of rooms and tunnels. No one ever goes down there. The younger kids think they’re haunted.”

  “Show me the way, and then I want you to call the cops. Make sure to tell them a crazy woman is running around the school with a gun, last seen heading into the cellars.”

  Bolton took her inside and down a corridor. He opened a door, and she glanced down a narrow flight of steps.

  She turned to Bolton. “Now go and make the call and not a word to anyone else.”

  He nodded before fleeing back the way they’d just come.”

  Daisy was soon making her way down a set of stone steps. There was almost no light, and she had to feel her way, being careful not to miss her footing. She pulled the gun from her bag and took a deep breath. Her hands shook. She’d seen Paul clean his gun dozens of times when he was in the army, but she’d never held a loaded weapon with the intention of using it before. There was no point in carrying it as a deterrent if she couldn’t fire it. She took the safety off and concentrated on keeping her finger away from the trigger. She didn’t want it to go off and kill someone by accident. Heir hunting wasn’t meant to involve shooting people. Hopefully she was way wrong and the basement was empty. She took another half a dozen steps and stopped. She could hear faint sounds in the distance, including a door opening and closing.

  She edged along, feeling for the end of the step with her toes. When she only felt solid floor, she pressed against the wall and crept toward the sounds. Using the wall as her guide she moved deeper into the tunnels. Her hand brushed timber and then a doorknob. She pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Nothing. With no idea where Solomon was being held, she’d have to search every room she came across. She turned the handle and the door swung open. If she’d known she’d be searching beneath ground she’d have brought a torch.

  Her eyes adjusted to the gloom. As far as she could tell the room was empty. “Solomon?” Even though she whispered her voice sounded much too loud. She stepped back into the corridor and continued her search. The sounds became recognizable as voices. The further she went, the louder they
got. There were at least three men.

  By the time she got to door number five her heart was pounding and her knees felt weak. The college covered acres of ground, and if the cellars went underneath all of the buildings she could search for days and still find nothing. She turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  “Hello?” she whispered.

  A moan and scuffle made her clutch her chest and swallow a scream. She crossed the room with her hand out in front of her. Her foot hitting something soft was met with another moan. She dropped to her knees and felt her way up a body. The clothes were not Solomon’s, unless he’d changed. Long hair, might be a woman.

  “Are you okay?”

  A low moan. She touched the person’s face and discovered tape across their mouth. No wonder they hadn’t replied. “Sorry, this is probably going to hurt.”

  She ripped the tape off and the person groaned. “Shit, that stings.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Daisy?”

  She moved closer and stared at what little she could see of the captive. “Lord Toby?”

  “You got me.”

  “I’m not looking for you. Have you seen Solomon? Irish git. Obnoxious personality. Expensive taste in clothing. Last seen by you with my palm print on his face.”

  “He’s in a room the other side of the hallway. Three doors down.”

  “I’ll untie you and you can help.”

  “No can do. I’m handcuffed to a ring in the floor.”

  “How many people are down here?”

  “Last I saw three men at least. Two of them are armed. They’re one door down from Solomon. Are you alone?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but don’t worry. The police are on their way.”

  “You should wait.”

  “No. I’d rather know Solomon was safe before the shit hits the fan.”

  “He really means that much to you? You’d never guess from the way you slapped him.”

  “I don’t give a shit about him. I’ve got some questions, and if I don’t like the answers a slap will be the least of his worries. Sit tight.”

  “Good luck. If you like I can make some noise. I might be able to distract them long enough for you to get the key to unlock his door. It’s hanging on a peg above the fireplace in the room the men are holed up in.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Give me a couple of minutes to hide across the hall and then scream your heart out.”

  Daisy slunk across the corridor and two doors down. The handle turned easily and she stepped inside. She edged deeper into the dark and bumped her knee on something solid. She bit back a curse and felt in front of her. Whatever she’d walked into was metal. She found a handle and lifted the lid. The inside filled with light. An unholy howl sounded down the corridor, and she screamed as a face stared up at her.