The Fashion Police (22 page)

‘I’m all ears,’ Brad said.

‘It was a password and account number for a Swiss bank account in Heather’s name,’ Hacker said. ‘Guess how much money she had in her account?’

‘I’ll go with a wild guess and say five million pounds?’ I said.

Surprise registered on Hacker’s face. ‘Guess when it was paid in?’

‘The day Fandango and the fashion collection disappeared?’ I was on a roll now.

‘Hey, you’re good, girl.’ Hacker grinned at me.

I straightened up in my seat. ‘I know.’

‘Are you sure that you’re not psychic, too?’ Hacker said to me.

‘Hardly! I was just thinking about the note in Heather’s apartment. It said “CB, five million pounds”. It must’ve been a payment from this Carlos Bagliero.’

Brad steepled his fingers, deep in concentration. ‘Do you know where the money came from?’

‘Not yet. I’m still checking. The payment came via several different accounts in different countries,’ Hacker said.

‘And what was the payment for?’ I wondered out loud. ‘I’m going with drugs. Any other offers?’ I glanced between Brad and Hacker. ‘Going once, going twice.’ I slammed my hand on Brad’s desk. ‘Drugs it is, then.’ I stood up. ‘Right, I’m going to see a scumbag about a van.’

But as it turned out, I ended up taking a very interesting and somewhat scary detour.

20

I dropped the Lemon off at the garage to get the rear window fixed. The manager took one look at it and laughed.

‘You’re a really bad driver, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘That’s what they all say. I bet you’re one of those women who see loads of accidents in your rearview mirror but never admit to causing them.’

I scowled at him. ‘Don’t push it, I’ve got raging hormones.’

Then he looked scared. ‘Oh, God. My wife gets that. It’s scary. Don’t worry. I’ll have the car fixed in no time.’ He practically ran off then to get away from me.

‘Is my Toyota fixed yet?’ I shouted after him.

He mumbled something incoherent and was saved from me pressing him further by my phone ringing.

‘I think I’ve remembered something important. Do you remember when you asked me about my dad’s will?’ A breathless Tia said.

‘Yes, but I still haven’t managed to find it.’

‘Well, I think I’ve just remembered the name of Dad’s lawyer so you’ll be able to get a copy from him.’

‘Great. What’s his name?’

‘I think it’s Bernie Crumpet.’

‘Bernie Crumpet?’

‘I know, it’s a crazy name, but that’s why I remembered it.’

I scribbled it down. ‘Thanks.’ I said, and as soon as the Lemon was fixed, I rushed back to the office to find Bernie’s address.

****

Bernie Crumpet actually turned out to be Bernie Crumpleton, although I thought that both names weren’t exactly confidence inspiring in a lawyer.

The only sign of Crumpleton, Crumpleton and Crumpleton Legal Services, was a discreet brass plaque that was hanging on the outside of a quaint, red-bricked Victorian house in Hertford, which had been converted into offices. I didn’t know the full extent of their clientele, but it looked like they were doing pretty well for themselves.

I licked the palm of my hand and ran it over my wind-swept hair in an attempt to smooth down the hideous frizz. Checking myself in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t look as scary as I felt, I applied some lipstick and pulled a few pouty faces before easing out of the car. Getting information from stuffy lawyers who played the client confidentiality card wasn’t one of my favorite pastimes, so I wanted to look as enticing as possible. I was going for the sexy seductress, come-to-bed-look, but in reality, it probably looked like a just-got-out-of-bed look. I’d seen Janice pull off the sexy seductress routine countless times to wrap men around her finger and get what she wanted, so why shouldn’t I try it for a change? And after all, this was war.

I desperately wished that I’d worn a low cut top so that I could flash a bit of cleavage, as well, as I sauntered through the entrance, swinging my hips for good measure.

‘Can I help you?’ the receptionist asked when I entered what must’ve formerly been a dining room. Expensive dark green leather sofas were arranged in an L shape in front of a cast iron fireplace. The place was empty. The phone wasn’t ringing, the fax wasn’t spurting out paper, busy lawyers weren’t running around the office. In fact, the only sound was the noise of traffic speeding up and down the road outside.

‘Hi, my name is Amber Fox, from Hi-Tec insurance. I wondered if I could see Bernie Crumpleton.’

‘What’s it regarding?’ she asked dubiously, looking up from the magazine she was reading like she begrudged the interruption.

‘It’s about one of his clients.’

‘I’m not sure if he can fit you in. He’s very busy.’ 

I glanced around the empty waiting room. ‘Really?’ A morgue looked livelier than this place.

‘Very busy,’ she repeated and looked back at her magazine, in case I hadn’t got the hint the first time.

‘It will only take a moment. It’s very important.’ I smiled, and thought I heard a slight huff as she picked up the phone and murmured briefly into it.

‘He’ll see you now.’ She pointed down a corridor behind her. ‘His office is through there.’ With that, she went back to her magazine.

I entered a doorway at the end of the corridor and found Bernie Crumpleton, dumpy and round-shouldered, in an expensive suit – which would’ve looked much better on George Clooney than it did on him.  He was seated behind a large desk that was completely devoid of any paperwork. The only thing on the desk in front of him was an open leather briefcase.

Bernie had an egg-shaped head with plump cheeks, and he’d made the mistake of trying to mask his baldness by winding a few strands of hair around his head in a comb-over hairstyle, which was obviously an attempt to try and look more youthful. It didn’t work, though. I guessed he was in his late fifties, and no amount of hair rearranging would make him look any younger.

‘Hello.’ He pushed the top of the briefcase down slightly in a hurry and leapt up from his chair like he was grateful to actually see a human being. ‘What can I do for you?’ He held a pudgy hand out and pumped mine with enthusiasm before holding out a wooden chair for me to sit on and returning to his side of the desk.

‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. I’m Amber Fox from Hi-Tec insurance, and I’m looking into the disappearance of one of your clients.’ I sat down and pouted slightly. Let the sexy seductress routine begin.

I twirled a curl around my finger and glanced around the office, which didn’t have any files cramming up a busy in-and-out tray, and suspected that he didn’t actually have that many clients to choose from. ‘What a lovely office you have.’ Flattery always worked for Janice. ‘You must have a thriving business.’ My gaze cut back to him, and I gave him my full attention with an alluring smile thrown in.

He coughed slightly. ‘Er, yes. Now which client are you talking about?’

‘Umberto Fandango. As you may have heard, he’s gone missing under suspicious circumstances.’

He drummed his fingers on the desk like he was in a hurry and didn’t seem to notice the flattery. ‘Yes, what a sorry state of affairs.’ He shook his head. ‘And how can I help?’

I leaned forward, thrusting out my boobs just enough for him to notice them but not look too obvious. ‘I need to find out who the beneficiaries of his will are because it might have a bearing on what’s happened to him.’

He didn’t take a second glance at my boobs. Not even a mini batting of eyelids. His Rolex watch appeared to be more interesting, and he glanced at that instead. He tapped on the face. He didn’t seem nervous exactly, more like distracted by something, and it certainly didn’t appear to be me. ‘You mean it might be a motive for someone to…get rid of him?’

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘Well, I’ve already given that information to the police, and in actual fact, that’s probably more than I should’ve done considering our client confidentiality ethics, but they did stress that it could be a matter of life or death.’

Damn. How come the sexy seductress routine worked for Janice and not me?

‘I’m sure you can get the information from them,’ he went on, shifting in his chair as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

Double damn. Janice would never give up that information to me. ‘Yes, it absolutely is a matter of life or death, and in order to expedite our investigation it would be really helpful if you could just tell me the beneficiary details.’ I tilted my head and gave him a little-girl-lost smile. ‘Think of his poor daughter. She’s worried sick, wondering what’s happened to him.’

‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t, I’m afraid.’ He slipped his hand inside the briefcase, pulled out a set of keys and jangled them around in his hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry.’ He extended his hand again for another pumping.

I stood up and leaned toward him over the desk, ready to shake his hand, and as I did so, I clocked something strange in his half open brief case. Something I’d seen before in Fandango’s offices the first time I went there to plant the bugs. Under normal circumstances maybe it wouldn’t have seemed that strange, but these were far from normal circumstances. I stared at the white, Lycra material, studded with rhinestones, that was scrunched up in his briefcase, and my heart raced with excitement.

I was convinced that the thing he didn’t want me to see was a Fandango swimsuit.

Bernie caught me looking and slammed the briefcase shut. Then a red flush crawled up his neck. He recovered quickly though, pumping my hand extra hard and escorting me out of his office and back into the waiting area quicker than you could say Speedo.

Odd, I thought, as I got into the Lemon. I had parked a few cars down from his office, and waited for Bernie to appear so that I could follow him. Odd that the law firm didn’t seem to be busy, and yet it had a façade that oozed wealth, unless he was into some kind of un-lawyerly, dodgy dealings. Even more odd, though, was why Bernie happened to have a Fandango swimsuit in his briefcase, unless he was involved in Fandango’s disappearance somehow. And although the attorney didn’t appear to be nervous, something seemed amiss to me. Lawyers were good actors. They had to be to keep their guilty clients out of jail, so if he was involved in something illegal, he’d be trying to do a good impression of not looking nervous.

Just as I was wondering where all the other Crumpletons from the name plaque were, and what they were involved in, I saw Bernie hurry out of the building and get into a high-spec Range Rover. He looked like a man on a mission to me. Was Bernie off to warn Fandango? If not, was he going to meet whoever was involved in Fandango’s disappearance?

I followed him out of town, keeping a surreptitious four car lengths behind him. When he pulled onto the curved driveway of a detached, turn of the century house in a secluded location, I kept on driving and pulled up further down the road.

I approached the house on foot a few minutes later, wondering if maybe Fandango was hiding out here, or whether he was being held against his will. It was a quiet location. The size of the plot and the established gardens meant that it was almost completely hidden from the neighbors’ prying eyes. It would be easy to keep someone tucked away on one of these estates.

I walked quietly up the block-paved driveway and made my way to the downstairs window at the front of the house, peering in. The curtains were drawn, making it impossible to see anything. I looked through the stained glass front door, but I couldn’t see any shadows moving around inside. I could hear something, though, and it was coming from upstairs.

Standing stock still, I strained my ears to listen. Yes, there were definitely noises of some kind coming from up there. Noises of…what were they? Creaking sounds, like a rope swinging, and…slapping, and I could hear Bernie’s voice now too.

‘Tell me,’ Bernie said in an authoritative voice.

‘No,’ I heard a voice say in return, but the voice was muffled, so I couldn’t tell if it was Fandango or not.

Another slapping sound followed by a creak and a moaning noise made me freeze in shock for a moment. What the hell was going on up there? Was Bernie torturing Fandango?

I stood, rooted to the spot, listening to more groans and moans.

‘SAY IT!’ Bernie shouted.

‘No,’ the muffled voice replied. It sounded like whoever was up there had a gag over their mouth.

More slapping sounds, and then: ‘Tell me,’ Bernie again.

I tried the handle on the front door. Locked. I darted around to the back of the house and found a door leading into the kitchen. I yanked the handle as my heart hammered away, and with a swift click of the latch, it opened. I hastened through the empty kitchen, to the sound of more slapping and groaning, and crept up the stairs, praying there wouldn’t be any loose floorboards to give me away.

The noises were coming from a bedroom directly at the top of the stairs. The door was open just enough for me to poke one eye around the gap and see the whole weird scene going on in the bedroom.