The Fashion Police (30 page)

We said good night, and I climbed into bed after checking under the sheets to make sure I didn’t have any company of the creepy crawly kind.

I tossed and turned all night, falling in and out of sleep. I had strange dreams about Tia, Fandango, Bagliero, Heather, the mob, and even the Hell’s Angels, which actually worked in my favor. I always found that the best time for piecing together all the fragments of clues was during that limbo time, in between sleeping and waking, when my subconscious was working overtime.

I struggled out from the depths of la-la land early the next morning to the sound of the Germans coming through the paper thin walls. They were rabbiting on in loud voices as they banged around in their room next door. I rolled over, sending the chintzy bed-spread to the floor and receiving a blast of icy-cold air on my back in the process. I pried one eyelid open, my sleepy gaze falling on my watch. Five-thirty a.m. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, trying to ignore the noisy Germans.

The bad news was that I’d had yet another very restless night. The good news, on the other hand, was that I was pretty sure I now knew what had happened. This case had been about blackmail and smuggling all along, just not in the way I’d originally thought.

25

I breezed into the office at Hi-Tec, carrying a cup of cappuccino, a family pack of white chocolate muffins with macadamia nuts, and a surprise for the boys. I was in a particularly good mood because I didn’t even know that white chocolate muffins existed, and I was a muffin expert. Go figure. I knew Brad and Hacker wouldn’t eat junk food, so I bought them a couple of whole wheat tortilla wraps with some wilting green leafy stuff – which looked as appetizing as a lump of mould – and couple bottles of sparkling water.

Brad was on the phone in his office having a very animated conversation with someone. Tia and Hacker sat at his desk with their heads locked close together, talking about Tarot cards.

‘Yo, everyone.’ I dumped the food on my desk, wriggled out of my rucksack, and handed out the goodies. Tia was a girl after my own heart and nibbled on a muffin while Hacker sniffed his food and tucked in with vigor. Brad came out of his office, ignored the moldy wrap, and perched on the edge of my desk. If I was him, I would’ve ignored the wrap, too.

‘What?’ I said to Brad.

‘Did the goons come back?’ Brad asked.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t go home.’

‘Next time, tell me where you are, just in case anything happens.’ Brad folded his arms, and for the first time since I’d known him, he looked rumpled. Like he’d had a bad night of sleep.

‘You should tell your boyfriend where you are,’ Tia piped up, glancing between me and Brad.

I felt my face flush and turned my face to the window to hide my burning cheeks. ‘He’s not my boyfriend. What gave you that idea?’

From the corner of my eye, I could see Brad watching me.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Tia slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I just assumed that you two were an item.’

‘I just got off the phone with Janice Skipper,’ Brad thankfully changed the subject, his eyes flitting in Tia’s direction with a look of sympathy.

I made fake choking noises and mimed poking my fingers down my throat. Childish, I know, but ooh, that woman pissed me off something chronic.

‘I have some bad news, I’m afraid.’ Brad interrupted my outburst. ‘Janice has charged Samantha with murdering Heather and Umberto. Apparently, the DNA results have come back on the blood found at his office, and they match his DNA.’

Tia dropped the muffin, sending it tumbling to floor. The color drained from her face. She opened her mouth to say something. Closed it again.

Hacker slid an arm around her waist as she rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed.

‘Tia…’ I licked my lips, running through my options of what, if anything, I could say to make her feel any better. ‘Janice Skipper doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’ I gave Tia a tissue and a weak smile, glad that Hacker was there to give her a bit of moral support.

After a few moments, the deluge of tears subsided, and she grew calmer. She blew her red nose with the tissue, drew away from Hacker, and rubbed her damp eyes with the sleeve of her top.

‘So, this is it? He’s really gone? I’ve been trying to hang on to the hope that he’s still alive, but if they’ve charged Samantha, they must be confident that Dad’s dead. Sorry, I need to go.’ And she rushed out, leaving us staring in her wake.

‘I’m going to solve this case if it kills me.’ I sat down, banging my forehead on the desk as I tried to think. I ignored the concerned looks passing between Brad and Hacker and carried on until my forehead hurt. Then I stopped and cracked my knuckles. ‘Right, come on, Amber.’ I pulled out the Fandango file containing Fandango’s financial spreadsheets, the other financial files I’d printed from Heather’s USB, the rhinestones I’d found at Samantha’s warehouse and Fandango’s office, the notes of Heather’s that I’d found, and Bagliero’s passport, spreading it all across the desk, and staring at it until my eyes ached. ‘Have you traced where the five million pound payment into Heather’s bank account came from?’ I asked Hacker.

‘I’ve managed to trace it to a front company in Sicily. I’m trying to find out who’s behind it. Give me a few more hours.’

‘One thing that bugged me about this case all along was the robbery of the fashion collection. Nothing seemed to fit in with it until last night.’ I picked up the rhinestone between my thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light, remembering the diamond studded biker’s earring shining at me. ‘If it looks like a diamond and sparkles like a diamond, then it must be a diamond, right?’ I bit it. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.’ I handed it to Brad, who examined it.

‘A girl’s best friend.’ Brad pulled up a chair and sat next to me.

‘These things were all over Fandango’s fashion collection. Personally, I’ve never really been into glitzy clothes, but I assumed that rhinestones were obviously in vogue this year. I think I know what was going on, and it’s actually pretty clever.’ I shifted in my seat to face them. ‘Fandango was smuggling diamonds. He had them attached to his clothes. Who would think they were anything other than rhinestones, and who would suspect an international fashion designer of smuggling diamonds? Enzo Fetuccini wasn’t laundering money. He was paying Fandango for shipments of diamonds.’

‘Clever.’ Hacker raised an eyebrow.

‘We know that the mob goons weren’t involved in the disappearance of Fandango and his collection or Heather’s death because of the revolver used and the Obama mask. Also, they seem to be looking for the collection too. So the only other person who could’ve been involved is Heather. She must’ve found out about the smuggling and wanted a piece of the action. She had a drug problem, she needed the money badly, but I’m guessing that Fandango didn’t want to split it with her. So, if she double crosses him and sells the shipment to someone else, she’s cleared a cool five million pounds. She staged a robbery where she just happens to be assaulted and can’t remember what happened so no one suspects that it’s an inside job.’

‘What do you think happened to Fandango?’ Brad asked me.

‘When there was no ransom demand, I thought he was still alive, but it looks likely that he was killed by whoever Heather sold the collection to.’

‘Why would a well respected business man get involved in smuggling diamonds for the mob?’ Brad asked.

‘Blackmail,’ I said. ‘Fetuccini was blackmailing Fandango to smuggle the diamonds for him, which means that Fetuccini discovered something about Fandango’s mysterious past.’

‘But what?’ Hacker frowned.

‘I have an idea about that.’ I scribbled away on my notepad, tore off a sheet of paper, and handed it to Hacker. ‘Have you ever used this?’

‘No, but you are talking to the finest computer whizz kid this side of the equator. Leave it with me.’ His fingers danced over the keyboard.

‘Hang on a minute. If the Goon Girls weren’t sent by Fetuccini to find the collection, why do they think that you’ve got something of theirs?’ Brad asked me.

I pursed my lips, thinking about that one. ‘Good point. I haven’t got a clue.’

‘Well, they broke into your car and your apartment, and they said you had something their boss wanted.’

‘I checked my car when it was broken into. There’s nothing in there really, unless they were chocoholics too and wanted my Easter bunny. The only thing missing was my flashlight, but they were probably too tight to buy one themselves, so they thought they’d nick mine instead.’

‘Have you checked your apartment?’

‘No. Maybe they think I found the collection, and I’ve got the diamonds stashed in my cookie jar.’

‘Maybe they think you hid them in your knicker drawer.’ The corners of Brad’s lips curled into a sly grin. ‘Why don’t we check there first?’

‘Nice try.’

‘It would be purely for the purposes of furthering this case,’ he said, his tone innocent, but the heated look in his eyes gave his thoughts away. I just rolled my eyes and ignored him.

****

Brad took my key, sliding it into the lock and opening my apartment door without a sound. I followed close behind, my chin millimeters away from the back of his shoulder. We checked that the coast was clear of crazy mob stalkers before we started our search.

‘What happened to the plant pot?’ Brad stared at the pieces of broken clay scattered across the floor.

‘Tia hit Tracy over the head with it.’

Brad smirked.

An hour later, we’d searched every inch of my apartment, including my knicker drawer, and we’d come up with nothing.

Brad held up a pair of black, cheeky knickers with the words ‘Are you feeling naughty?’ embroidered on the back. He turned to me, swinging them around. ‘Are you?’ His steady gaze held my eyes until I looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

‘Am I what?’ I gulped.

‘Feeling naughty?’

I grabbed the knickers out of his grasp, managing to steer him away from the top shelf of my bedroom cupboard where my vibrator was located before it gave him any ideas. I am a hot blooded female, after all, and I didn’t trust myself any more.

‘Don’t you ever tidy up?’ Brad looked glanced around my messy kitchen and into the living room.

I quickly lunged around, snatching up cushions littered on the floor, flinging them on the sofa in an almost equally untidy pile. Next, I hurled bowls and plates in the dishwasher. ‘Yes, see, I’m tidying up now. At least it looks homey and lived in with a bit of clutter, not like your place, which looks like the invisible man lives there. Anyway, the oven is spotlessly clean and tidy.’

Brad opened the oven door. It creaked from lack of use. ‘It’s only clean because I scraped off that plastic mess inside it. Do you actually use the oven?’

‘Not apart from that one time I cooked the pizza.’

‘Well, that doesn’t count then. Have you thrown anything out recently?’ Brad asked.

‘The rubbish.’

He looked at my overflowing bin. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, that was next on my list.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, I’ve thrown out two pairs of damn fine sneakers, which were nowhere near past their sell by date, but I don’t think the Goon Girls take a size six.’

‘Have you moved anything lately?’

‘Nope.’

‘And nothing is missing?’

‘Double nope.’

‘Strange,’ he said.

‘Stranger than fiction.’

****

I dropped Brad back at the office and drove to my parents’ house. I needed to ask Dad for a bit of advice, plus it was Thursday, which meant Mum would be cooking her regular lunch for Suzy as she did every week, and my mum’s cooking was pretty great.

I’m not sure exactly how I missed out on her cooking genes when the stork dropped me off, but I even had trouble boiling an egg. I was pushing thirty-six now, and a girl could only live on junk food for so long before she turned into a blimp.

There was only one thing for it. I needed to wake up and smell the health food, or the coffee, or whatever the saying is. I desperately needed cooking lessons, especially if I was going to live with Romeo.

Oh, my God! Where had that thought suddenly popped into my brain from? Had my subconscious made my mind up to move in with him when I was asleep last night? Part of me really wanted to. Part of me wanted to get married and have lots of little Romeos running around. But then my scary thought process took over, and I thought about the ‘what ifs’. What if he wasn’t the right one, what if we ended up hating each other, what if he couldn’t deal with me squeezing the toothpaste out from the middle of the tube, what if I couldn’t deal with him being so tidy? Romeo’s two-bedroom house didn’t even have a dirty sock left on the floor or the top left off the shampoo bottle, and that was so not normal. What if he ran off and left me with the little Romeos, and I couldn’t cope? What if I was really meant to be with Brad? What if I couldn’t trust my own judgment anymore? There were so many ‘what ifs’ out there, it felt like they were pressing down on my brain, and maybe, eventually, they’d squash the life right out of me, and I’d turn into a shell of my former self, like poor Mrs. Clark.