The Fashion Police (17 page)

‘Yo, yourself.’

He grinned. ‘I’ve discovered something weird. Guess what it is.’

‘Fandango was really Elvis in his previous life?’

‘No.’

I pursed my lips in thought. ‘Tia is really a man?’

‘No, and that would be weird. She’s a fine piece of woman.’

I moved the file off the sofa and motioned for him to sit down. ‘I give up.’

‘Heather Brown was broke. She made lots of withdrawals from her bank account in the last nine months.’

‘Exactly how much money are we talking about?’ I flopped down next to him.

‘Seventy-five thousand pounds.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe she was being blackmailed, or she was clearing out her account, getting ready to make a run for it.

‘Or she had a big spending habit.’

I shook my head. ‘You should’ve seen her apartment. Apart from all the clothes, which were probably freebies, her stuff looked like it came from a charity shop.’

‘She could’ve had a drug habit,’ Hacker said.

‘That’s certainly a possibility. Did you find out who Carlos Bagliero is?’

‘It’s a dead end. I can’t find anything at all on Carlos Bagliero.’

‘Nothing at all?’

‘No. I checked social security, passport, driver’s license, tax returns, bank accounts, and birth and death certificates. I can’t find any trace of him.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense. There has to be a reason why his name was on Heather’s USB file.’

‘Either she made a mistake with the name, or someone went to a great deal of trouble to wipe all references to him in the databases,’ Hacker said.

‘Did you crack the numbers code?’

‘I’m still working on it. Do you want to hear the weird part?’

I sat forward, all ears.

‘Samantha James bought a warehouse nineteen and a half years ago, but she never gets any post at that address. No invoices, bills, or merchandise. In fact, she’s never owned a business in her life.’

‘Hmm.’ On the face of it, buying a warehouse might not seem that odd, unless she had no business to house in it, and she bought it right around the time she married Fandango. Then it would seem pretty high on the odd scale. ‘It must be a front address, then,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’

‘It’s at the same industrial park where Lennie and Lonnie Cohen have their warehouse.’

For a moment, the information stunned me. Then I remembered something. ‘If it wasn’t the only industrial park in the area, I would’ve thought that was a strange coincidence. I’ll need to check Samantha’s warehouse out.’  I stood up and headed for the door. 

‘I’ll come with you.’

I gave Hacker a suspicious look as he followed behind me. ‘Why?’

He averted his eyes. ‘No particular reason.’

‘What’s going on?’

He picked up one of my fluffy cushions and hid his face behind it.

I moved to stand in front of him and pulled the top of the cushion down. Peering at him, I waited for him to spill the beans. I could wait all day if necessary when I was in stubborn mood.

I sensed him wrestling with his conscience for a while before he finally answered. ‘OK, Brad asked me to keep an eye out for you.’ He threw the cushion on the sofa.

Before I could decide whether to be flattered or angry, my mobile rang.

‘Hi Amber,’ Dad said.

‘Hi, how are you?’ I asked.

‘Pretty busy, actually. I caught Callum Bates trying to nick a Porsche last night.’

I chuckled. ‘Did you hit him over the head again?’

‘No, this time I managed to get in a roundhouse kick to the head before he cried like a baby and stumbled off up the road. I don’t think he’ll be back in my neighborhood again.’

‘Good for you.’

‘How’s the case going? Are you still being followed?’

I didn’t want to worry him. ‘Er…a little bit.’

‘Don’t worry, dear. I’ve got your back if anything happens – oh, I’ve got to go, I’m teaching control and restraint techniques to the over-sixties neighborhood watch group. Bye.’

I hung up and rang Callum Bates. ‘Got a headache this morning?’ I tried not to giggle, but I couldn’t help it.

‘What’s it to you, bitch?’

‘Oooh, tetchy! Someone got up on the grumpy side of the bed today.’ You had to hand it to him, though; at least he was consistently abusive.

‘What do you want Miss Piggy?’

‘What are you up to, Callum?’

‘That’s none of your business, Porkster.’

‘This is your last chance. Are you ready to do the lie detector test about your alleged stolen van?’

‘No.’

‘OK, your loss.’ I said, snapping the phone shut.

16

The roads were quiet, in large part due to all the Saturday-night drunkards still sleeping off their hangovers. If I had a life, that’s what I’d be doing too. Since I still needed to get a photo of Paul Clark to prove his injury claim was false, we took a quick detour to his house.

The curtains were closed behind the bay windows, and there wasn’t a peep out of anyone from inside the house. Not even a mouse stirred in this joint. Maybe they’d gone to the launderette for a washing fest. I tried the supermarket again, keeping a close eye out for strange-looking insects and kids high on too much sugar. Clark was like the cockroach that hid when a light was turned on.

Giving up on Clark again for now, we cruised into the industrial park, looking for Samantha’s warehouse. To my surprise, her address was right next to the Cohens’ warehouse, separated by only a six-foot-wide slip road running along the side. It was blocked by a skip, which was piled high with cardboard boxes. I couldn’t exactly park the Lemon in the vicinity, since it would attract too much attention, so I parked up in my usual spot in the housing estate behind the park, and Hacker and I returned on foot.

We circled the warehouse, which had the same layout as the Cohens’. The only difference was that this warehouse had a lifeless look about it that smacked of years’ worth of disuse. A layer of dusty grime had long since covered the doors of the loading bay, rust had eaten away at the front door lock, and cobwebs smothered the small window next to the door, quivering slightly in the breeze. The place was silent with not a soul in sight, and more than a little creepy. I glanced up to the second floor windows and noticed a security alarm box to the side with faded writing. I didn’t think it was actually connected to a security company, but worst case scenario, we’d have maybe twenty minutes to nose around before someone bothered to turn up.

It took about two seconds to pick the ancient lock. Easing it open, we slipped inside. A damp, musty smell attacked my nostrils immediately. As I waved a hand under my nose, I noticed a filthy light switch, hanging partially out of the wall to our left. ‘You switch it on,’ I said to Hacker, giving the exposed, blackened wires a suspicious look. I didn’t fancy getting a few hundred volts through that. My hair was unmanageable enough already without adding more static.

Hacker examined it carefully, then flipped the switch. Nothing happened. He turned it off and on again a couple of times for good luck, but it still didn’t work. I took the flashlight Dad had given me out of my rucksack and switched it on.

‘Great,’ I said when it didn’t work. ‘I could’ve sworn Dad put some new batteries in.’ I shook it about, whacked it on my palm, and tried again. Nope, the little bugger still wouldn’t cooperate. ‘Oh, well, never mind.’ The inside was dark, but not a complete blackout. Once our eyes adjusted to the light, we could just about see well enough. I made a mental note to eat more carrots.

Empty shelves covered one wall of the building, and a few plastic tables had been pushed into the corner with a few sad-looking plastic chairs. A small fridge, which looked like it dated from the 1950s sat in the corner, and a huge rolled-up carpet had been dumped on the floor next to it. The fridge made a loud humming sound, followed by a whirring noise. It repeated itself in a continual, monotonous loop. Nothing in the barren area gave us a clue as to what the warehouse had been used for.

‘Cobweb city.’ I glanced at the floor, which was caked with sooty cobwebs and yet more dirt. I looked at my once-black sneakers and grimaced at the layer of gunk that had adhered itself to them. ‘I’ll have to stick these in the washing machine when I get home.’

‘There isn’t much in here,’ Hacker stated as he glanced around.

‘What have we got here?’ I peered inside the fridge, pulling out a carton of long life milk. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed. ‘Whoa!’ A rank, putrid odor seeped out. Obviously its life wasn’t that long. I quickly replaced the cap, shoving it back in the fridge out of sniffing range. On top of the fridge sat a small first aid kit, the case around it rusty and crumbling. Inside I found a bottle of saline eye drops, plasters, bandages, and antiseptic cream.

We climbed the metal stairs to the next floor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. The two doors at the top of the stairs were closed. Hacker opened the first one, and I followed him into a large, empty storage area with windows. I was just about to turn around and leave when I noticed something small, glinting in the light. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger and held it up to the window. It was the same kind of rhinestone that I’d found at Fandango’s offices.

‘Interesting,’ I said, pocketing it. ‘This proves that Samantha lied to me. She has had some contact with Fandango in the last nineteen and a half years.’

‘Maybe she stole his collection and killed him.’

I shook my head. ‘She’s got a motive to kill him, but why steal the fashion collection? It’s not exactly the kind of thing you could get rid of easily on the black market, so essentially it would be worthless.’ I opened the second door, and we found ourselves in an office area.

A battered metal office desk sat in one corner and not much else, unless you counted the bats hanging upside down from an iron roof joist.

‘Is there anything interesting in them?’ Hacker asked as I opened the desk drawers.

My eyes lit up. ‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘A packet of Pacers sweets.’ I pulled the packet of green and white striped sweets out and held it up. ‘They stopped making these when I was a kid. I used to love–’’

‘I meant anything to do with Fandango.’ Hacker gave me a strange look.

‘Er…no.’ I quickly threw the mints back in the drawer.

‘OK, then. Time’s up. We need to get out of here.’

We hurried back down the stairs and opened the front door a smidgeon, making sure the coast was clear. We’d just got outside and clicked the door shut when we heard the sound of footsteps and hushed voices coming our way.

Damn.

We could try and pick the lock again, but chances were good that we’d be caught before we got back inside the building, or we could stand still and pretend to be statues.

Hacker pointed to the skip that was parked in the slip road. We ducked behind it as the voices got closer, and the footsteps stopped. I strained my ears, trying to listen to the conversation.

‘We’ve got two shipments going out this week, so I don’t want anything to go wrong.’

‘I’ve only got a few more vehicles on my list to steal, but there’s some crazy old bat who keeps attacking me.’

I recognized both voices.

Poking my head around the skip, I caught the back view of two guys. One was Callum Bates, and the other was short enough to be Lennie Cohen.

‘How’s your mate Dave getting on?’ Cohen asked. ‘Is he kosher?’

‘I haven’t known him for long, but he’s one of the best car thieves I’ve ever met. He’s only got the Lamborghini left on his list to steal.’ Bates picked his nose.

Ew! And he had the cheek to call me a pig.

‘Well, keep up the good work. I’ll make arrangements for your fee when it’s all finished,’ Lennie said.

We heard the doors of a vehicle open and close and the engine start. We waited for five minutes after it pulled away before we stood up.

‘So, Bates is working for the Cohens now. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll pass the information on to Romeo,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

As we emerged from our hiding place behind the skip, I felt a searing, hot pain in my right foot. ‘Agh!’ I screamed loud enough and high-pitched enough to put any opera singer to shame as I hopped on my left foot and inspected the bottom of my right sneaker.

A nail had embedded itself through the sole, and judging by the pain, probably halfway into my foot, as well. My eyes watered. I felt a hot, sticky, wet patch working its way around my toes.

‘Are you OK?’ Hacker asked.

I grabbed hold of his arm, resting my right foot back on the floor on tippy toes. ‘I think I might need a foot transplant. What kind of idiot leaves rusty nails everywhere? Any willy-nilly nail throwing should be banned, punishable by death.’ I supposed that at least I wouldn’t have to wash my shoes now, but I wasn’t too happy about throwing away my favorite pair.

‘Do you want me to carry you to the car?’

‘If I say yes, will it make me a wimp?’ I tried to ignore the throbbing, which felt like someone was blowing up my foot with a bicycle pump. I didn’t deal with seeing my own blood very well, and I didn’t really want to take my shoe off in case I fainted, which was a strong possibility.

‘I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.’

I gazed down at my foot. ‘OK,’ I squeaked. ‘But I’m not going to the hospital.  They might try to amputate, and I’m quite attached to both of my feet. Can’t you do your freaky voodoo on it and make it all better?’

‘I could, but there’s a slight chance it would turn your foot into a chicken’s foot.’

I pulled a disgusted face. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like chicken, but I think it would be hard to find decent shoes for a chicken’s foot.’

****

After Hacker dropped me off at my apartment, I laid down on the sofa with a packet of frozen peas wrapped around my foot in a towel. I had managed to pull the shoe off but that was as far as I had been able to go. As I stared at the ceiling and tried to ignore the throbbing, I wondered if I’d done something really bad in a past life, and someone up there hated me. Or worse – maybe they’d put a hex on me. After ten minutes, I felt bored and fidgety, so I called Romeo. As usual, his voicemail kicked in. I left a message and stared at the wall for a bit of variety. Luckily, I was saved from complete boredom at that point by a knock at the door.

I swung my legs off the sofa and hopped to the door.

‘Foxy.’ Brad swept in and scooped me up in his arms. He kicked the door closed behind him and placed me gently back on the sofa.

‘I’m not an invalid, although I might be soon if they have to amputate it,’ I told him.

‘Hacker told me what happened.’ He unwrapped the towel, pulled down my bloody sock, and examined the bottom of my foot. ‘It’s just a scratch.’

‘Is it? It doesn’t feel like a scratch. Are you sure there isn’t a big, gaping wound? I could feel so much blood.’

He shot me an incredulous look. ‘You mean you haven’t looked at it yet?’

‘Well, I was just about to, but you interrupted me.’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘You were scared.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Was not.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘I don’t like the sight of my own blood. Other people’s doesn’t bother me all that much, but for some bizarre reason I’d prefer to have all my blood inside my body, and not outside.’

‘You need to get this cleaned up.’ He rolled up his sleeves. ‘Have you got any antiseptic cream?’

I pointed to a kitchen drawer and watched as he busied himself running hot water into a bowl. He grabbed a wodge of cotton wool, a plaster, and some antiseptic cream. I eased myself back on the soft cushions, closing my eyes.

‘You need to get a tetanus shot and maybe some antibiotics,’ he said when he’d finished.

We went to the hospital emergency room and waited along with the other patient people. An elderly woman with a head injury clutched an ice pack to her bruised forehead. A twenty-something woman with long hair sat with her neck drooping to one side. And a young guy with his little finger sticking out at a right angle looked like he was about to throw up.

‘What’s wrong with your neck?’ I asked the younger woman.

‘I can’t move it,’ she said.

‘What did you do to it?’ I said.