Fifth Victim (6 page)

He recovered enough for speech, wiping his mouth on a folded napkin. ‘English, right?’ he said. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Here and there,’ I said. ‘London latterly.’

‘I’ve been out here five years. Was at Oxford before that. Nice to hear a familiar accent.’ Something had sharpened in his gaze. ‘And here I was, expecting just another boring evening.’

I cursed inwardly. If I’d smiled sweetly and made some vacuous comment, he would have soon ignored me. As it was, his patent interest was an inconvenience at best, and – if anything went down and he was overcome with stupid ideas of chivalry – it could turn into a serious handicap.

‘I’m Hunt, by the way – Hunt Trevanion,’ he said then, moving closer to offer me a tanned hand. He was older than I’d first thought, maybe approaching thirty rather than twenty, which gave him ten years on the average age of the crowd.

I touched my fingers to his briefly, not letting him get a decent grip even if he’d been so inclined, and said, coolly offhand, ‘Trevanion? Isn’t that a Cornish name?’

He shrugged. ‘Is it? I’ve never done the whole family history thing.’ He eyed me, assessing. ‘Have I seen you around before? At the tennis club, maybe?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m Charlie – I came with Dina.’

I had insisted that my new principal introduce me simply as a family friend, which she had done without undue awkwardness. Popping up out of nowhere with a claim to be bosom pals, I’d found in the past, led to too many difficult questions.

‘Dina?’ Hunt said. ‘Oh, yeah, I know – down there in the orange number? She’s a sweet kid.’

I thought of the hours Dina had spent earlier this afternoon, trying on what seemed to be every single frock in her substantial wardrobe. In her quest for the right air of alluring sophistication, she’d finally settled on some designer gown in apricot silk which I’d privately thought was too old for her.
A sweet kid
. Not exactly the effect she’d been aiming for.

It was so much easier, I reflected, to be restricted in choice to my one all-purpose evening dress. When I’d bought it, I’d been largely influenced by the fact that it was dark enough for blood not to show too badly, was machine-washable, and made of some stretchy synthetic material that not only allowed a reasonable degree of movement, but was also apparently impossible to crease. Anything else was a bonus.

‘So, why are you lurking up here instead of mixing down there among the bright young things?’ Hunt asked now, ignoring my best attempts at cold shoulder. He wasn’t good-looking in any conventional sense, I thought, but there was something attractive about him, even so. The more he spoke, though, the more I realised there was something a little off about his speech cadences, as though he was trying to cover some kind of regional accent. There were only so many rough edges, I considered, that an Oxford education could polish off.

I sipped my fake Scotch. ‘I might ask you the same question.’

He grinned and shook his head. ‘Oh no. It’s not me they’ve come to see.’

It clicked then, that when I’d seen him earlier, his arm had been around a petite black-haired girl in what I hoped was a fun-fur coat, who’d been treated like she was something special. Although, in a crowd of minor celebrities, that didn’t narrow it down much. The Eisenberg name, it seemed, had brought them all out of the woodwork.

‘Oh yes, the girl you came with,’ I said vaguely. ‘She’s famous, isn’t she?’

Hunt grimaced into his drink, almost a reflexive twitch. ‘Infamous, more like,’ he muttered. ‘Poor kid.’

‘You don’t mean … she was one of the people kidnapped?’

He looked up sharply. ‘Who told you that?’

‘With that kind of a reaction? You did.’

A flicker of distaste crossed his features. He drained his glass. ‘Nice to meet you, Charlie, but if you’re just after gossip for the tabloids …’

CHAPTER EIGHT

I stared at him, then said mildly, ‘Hey,
you’re
the one who started chatting
me
up, remember? Not the other way round. And Dina’s mother mentioned the kidnappings, that’s all. She’s worried that the same thing might happen to her daughter. You can’t blame her for that.’

Hunt hesitated for a moment, then his shoulders relaxed a little inside the well-cut jacket. ‘Yeah, well. OK then, fair enough,’ he agreed at last, casting me a still-dubious glance. ‘Yeah, Orlando was the first victim.’

His eyes drifted to where the girl in question was standing at the centre of an admiring circle that included both Torquil and Dina. For once, Torquil seemed content not to be the focus of attention. Dina hovered on the outskirts, not quite included – or excluded, either.

I briefly wondered why she hadn’t pointed out Orlando to me as soon as she and Hunt had arrived. Getting useful information out of the previous victims was supposed to be one of the main reasons for us being here. We would, I determined, have words about that later …

Because it was always easier to start with a question to which you already knew the answer, I opened with, ‘How long ago did it happen?’

Hunt’s gaze turned suspicious again, but it must have seemed a reasonable thing to ask because he said grudgingly, ‘Last July.’

Ten months ago
. ‘She’s doing well to be here, then,’ I said. ‘It can’t be easy for her to feel safe coming out again.’

‘Yeah, she’s quite a girl,’ Hunt said softly. ‘But they grabbed her from home, so I don’t think being
outside
is the issue.’ He waved his empty glass towards the darkness beyond the lights. ‘Besides, it looks as though old man Eisenberg has laid on plenty of security around the place.’

I debated on telling him the guardian gorillas weren’t up to much, but decided that would raise too many questions – not least of which was how I could tell.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said instead. ‘It’s scary, though, don’t you think? I heard three people round here have been held to ransom over the last year. I mean, aren’t
you
worried?’

‘I’m not rich enough to be worried,’ he said with candour. ‘My folks are well off, don’t get me wrong, but hardly in the same bracket as Orlando’s people.’

‘Or Torquil’s?’

He laughed at that, his former amusement seemingly part-way restored. ‘Nobody is quite in
that
bracket.’

I asked him what line of business his family was in and, with that easy flash of teeth again, he told me they’d made their money in the music business, which seemed to cover a multitude of sins.

I would have asked more, but at that point Torquil bounded onto the bottom step below us and clapped his hands for silence, which he achieved with a speed that must have gratified him. Someone even turned the music down a notch.

‘All those of you lucky enough to have gotten a special invitation, we’re moving this party up a gear and onto my father’s yacht,’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you – you’ve had your fun, now go home.’

There was a smattering of laughter, as though he’d said something funny instead of merely downright rude. Torquil grinned at their confusion and continued up the staircase, leading one lucky lady by the hand. It wasn’t hard to recognise the tiny figure of Orlando being pulled along in his wake. She was barely five feet tall, slim to the point of undernourishment, in a floaty kind of a dress that was not far from being a nightgown.

Behind the pair, the crowd jockeyed for position and an undignified scramble developed, as if proximity alone would convey favour. Dina was among them, I noticed, but it was hard to tell if she was making the running or just being carried along in the crush.

As Torquil reached the top of the staircase, his eyes glided over me totally without recognition, then flared when they landed on Hunt.

‘
There
you are!’ he said with a mix of annoyance and relief. ‘Where are the others?’

Orlando disengaged herself and moved to Hunt’s side, wrapping herself around him like a cat. Despite what he’d said about her comparatively settled state of mind, she was clinging to him for more than physical comfort. Hunt ignored Torquil’s question long enough to smile indulgently down at her. She blossomed under his gaze.

Sean, I recalled starkly, had made me feel like that. Although we had not been able to show it much in public, it had still been there.

Torquil opened his mouth again, but it was Orlando who tore her eyes away from Hunt’s to say calmly, ‘They might come, or they might not. It kinda depends on if they have something better to do.’

She had a cool, clear voice that carried. Certainly, those hurrying up the steps on Torquil’s heels heard it and there were one or two audible gasps, and then a giggle.

The birthday boy’s head reared back – shock or anger, it was hard to tell. And as the initial jolt passed, his mouth twisted into a sneer. He rounded on the people behind him, glaring furiously. There were enough smiles among the eavesdroppers to tip annoyance over the edge into full-blown temper. Did
anybody
like him, I wondered, watching their faces? Clearly not.

And Torquil must have seen that, too. Whether it came as a surprise to him or not was something else.

‘Oh, just get the hell away from me – all of you!’ he cried suddenly, taking a step towards them and jerking his arms as if to scare birds off a lawn.

It was unfortunate that Dina reached the top of the stairs just at the moment Torquil’s tantrum exploded. Propelled from behind, she had no option but to keep moving. She stumbled, reached out blindly and caught hold of the sleeve of Torquil’s white tuxedo in a completely reflex attempt to save herself from falling.

Her champagne glass was still in her hand as she did so, and the remaining contents splashed up and out in a pale arc. The majority of the liquid landed, inevitably, across Torquil’s chest. Enough spattered onto his face to make him flinch, and the involuntary reaction seemed to piss him off all the more.

There was a moment’s stunned silence, then someone sniggered. It was infectious, and within seconds everyone was either laughing or making too obvious attempts not to. If Torquil had possessed an ounce of class, he would have laughed with them.

But he didn’t.

Dina recovered her balance and put a hand to her mouth to try and mask a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Torquil’s wiry body was actually quivering. I caught the expanding rage in his eye and shifted my weight, fast.

‘You stupid, clumsy, little,
bitch
!’ he got out, his voice rising to a breathless howl. Dina cringed, and Torquil’s straightforward anger turned into something much more dangerous. He moved forwards, arm rising as if to strike.

I stepped in under his wild swing and grabbed his wrist, whipping his palm down and round into a rotated lock that brought him up short with my body blocking the action from most of the onlookers.

He briefly tried to resist. I tightened the lock and, almost to my surprise, he had the sense to freeze before I was forced to dislocate his wrist. I guessed it had more to do with saving face than pain. Our entwined hands were jammed between our bodies, mostly hidden in the folds of clothing. If he didn’t struggle, they were likely to stay that way.

I butted my shoulder against his chest and met his furious gaze from a lot closer than either of us would have liked. From that distance I could tell he plucked his eyebrows to stop them meeting in the middle.

‘Don’t spoil the party,’ I murmured. ‘And don’t make me spoil it for you.’

His instinctive first reaction was scorn, followed swiftly by the knowledge that the torsional pressure I was applying to his hand was slowly but relentlessly forcing apart the bones of his forearm. He was involved in enough dangerous sports to know what physical damage felt like. I don’t think I was prepared to actually break his wrist, just to prove a point, but for a moment I wasn’t sure about that, and neither was he.

‘All right!’ he managed through his teeth, loathing me with his eyes.

I let go abruptly and moved back, keeping between him and Dina just in case he got brave again. He went instinctively to cradle his injured hand, then realised how that would look and let it dangle.

When I glanced across, Hunt had drawn Dina aside and was looking slightly bemused by the whole episode. Dina herself had turned as pale as Torquil. Orlando’s face was expressionless, as though any hint of violence caused her to shut down.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Dina said. ‘It was a complete accident. I’ll have the jacket dry-cleaned, of course.’

Torquil tore his eyes away from me long enough to stare at her like she was something he’d stepped in. Into the buzzing silence came the thump of boots through the bar leading to the balcony and two of the bulky security men finally elbowed their way through. They were both out of breath.

‘What’s the problem, Mr Eisenberg?’

‘There’s no problem,’ Torquil said at last. He jerked his head towards Dina. ‘But see she leaves, right now.’ His eyes flicked over me, very quickly, as if he was afraid of what he might see in my face. ‘And take your … friend with you.’

I retrieved Dina from Hunt with a nod of thanks for his care, putting my arm around her shoulders. She was shaking.

‘Come on,’ I said quietly as the security loomed beside us. ‘I’ll take you home.’

She allowed me to guide her silently through the stares of the bar, and down onto the wide wooden jetty that led towards the exit gate into the parking area. I glanced at her face as we went, and found her eyes were dry but hollow with misery.

‘It’s all over,’ I said, aiming to comfort, but the effect was not what I expected.

Something like a sob rose in her throat and she whirled to face me, hands clenching in frustration and anguish. ‘Oh, Charlie, how
could
you?’

CHAPTER NINE

‘I’ll never be invited to anything
ever
again!’ Dina moaned. ‘He’ll tell
everyone
what you did and nobody will even
speak
to me.’

I waited for her outrage to subside, then said carefully, ‘Don’t you think you’re maybe overestimating how popular Torquil is?’