Page 124 of Joker in the Pack

“Find the bastard. I don’t care how many men it takes. If the guys upstairs have a problem with it, tell them to call me.”

Nye’s stress transferred to me, and I began chewing a nail. Dammit—I’d been so good about that for the last few weeks. I forced myself to grip the edge of the cushion instead, but my fingers couldn’t keep still, and before I knew it, I’d pulled out a pile of stuffing. It floated around my feet in the breeze like a pile of fluffy snow. I should have stopped, but the motion was soothing, like popping bubble wrap or the rocking of a patient with no hope of escape from the asylum.

I went back for another handful, only this time my fingers hit…

Hang on. What was that?

I gripped the damp edge and pulled. A padded envelope popped out, the ends sealed with sticky tape.

“Nye! Look at this!” I leapt up, waving my prize in his face. “It was in the sofa cushion.”

Eight faces stared down at me, the whites of their eyeballs reflecting the dying embers of the fire.

Then Nye started laughing. “Fuck me, it was out here all along.”

“Can we open it? I want to know what it says.”

He gently uncurled my fingers and took my treasure, holding it by the corner. “Not here. It’s already soggy. We need to take this into the lab.”

“Your car’s not looking too healthy,” Max said. “Some of the roof tiles popped off in the heat and landed on it.”

“Can you give us a lift into London?”

“No problem.”

Max had parked his SUV by the road, and as we walked past the remains of Nye’s BMW, I realised what a close call we’d had. Most of the panels were dented, and fragments of the smashed windscreen twinkled orange in the light.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This all happened because of me.”

“The car doesn’t matter. It’s insured. Was the cottage?”

I sent a silent thank you to my ex-landlord, who’d told me only idiots didn’t have building insurance. “Yes. I bought a policy as soon as I moved here.”

“Smart cookie.”

Insurance was only part of the problem, though. Where was I going to live in the meantime? Maddie’s sofa, most likely. She wouldn’t mind, but the thought of sleeping there for the months it would take to rebuild the cottage filled me with misery. I wished I could take the insurance money and run, but when I’d skimmed the small print, I was pretty sure it precluded that option.

With the envelope safely stowed in the centre console, Max reversed into the lane, and we sped out of the village. Nye held me as tightly as the seat belt would allow.

“I want you close, babe. What could have happened back there…” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

The feeling was mutual. I snuggled against his chest until we pulled into the now-familiar parking garage of the Blackwood building.

“Test-tube’s waiting upstairs,” Max said. “He came in specially.”

“Test-tube?” I asked.

“Tudor Testino, our head of forensics. But everyone calls him Test-tube.”

“That’s some name.”

“His father’s Italian, and his mother’s Welsh. His father wanted to call him Angelino, so he reckons he got off lightly.”

I put Test-tube in his early fifties, with neat grey hair and a ready smile. He took the envelope from Nye and hurried off with it, followed by three other men in lab coats. Nye took my hand, and we trailed along behind.

“We’ll try the scanner first,” Test-tube said. “It won’t cause any more damage.”

He ran the envelope through a machine similar to those in airports, and a dark shadow showed up in one corner.

---