Lost Cause (A Daisy Dunlop Mystery ~ Book 1)

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.