Page 58 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

There was a hereto unknown passion to Nadine’s words, Marc would not have thought possible if he was not witnessing it himself. She actually cared about this injustice. A stark contrast to the cold-as-ice Detective Inspector that morning.

“And Theo?”

“Tell me his story and I’ll write it up too. You can have full disclosure before it goes to print. Blyham police can’t see the reality behind the victims. They’re nothing but statistics to them. It’s time to switch the focus and shame the bastards into action.” Her eyes moved slowly between them. “Do you trust me?”

After a beat, Marc replied, “I do.”

“So do I,” Jason said.

“Good.” Nadine fiddled with her phone. Her nails clattered against the screen. “I’ll need to record this conversation.”

They gave her a full and frank account of the last two weeks. How the search for answers to Theo’s death had led them to Dan and Tyrone. They told her how they had discovered Dan’s body at the gym after going there to talk to him. Jason gave his impressions of Tyrone. How likeable he had been beneath his tough talking exterior. She was especially interested in the botched attempt to run them down on Friday night.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” she said. “They didn’t assign you with police protection after that. After what happened to your brother.”

“Did you spot any officers out there on your way in this afternoon?” Marc asked. “After everything yesterday.”

Her mouth tightened. “No. I didn’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Shit.” She scribbled in her notebook. “Do you have any kind of protection in the house?”

“I’ve got exterior cameras and an alarm. We’re safe inside,” Marc said. He wasn’t worried about his security in the home. The killer had proved that they were far more likely to strike out in the open.

Nadine asked Jason about his experience the night before.

“Did you get any kind of impression about your attacker?”

“They were covered head to toe. Even their eyes were dark. And I was closing up the office at the time, most of the lights were out. They were fit, I know that. And fast. Hard to gauge their build given what they were wearing, but it wasn’t some brick shithouse.”

“Organised crime, do you think?”

“A professional hit, you mean. No, I wouldn’t be here now if that was the case. If they were paid, they were strictly low-end. They’ve fucked it up twice.”

“The type of person you might find hanging out in a grimy city gym?” she said. “Like the one where Dan worked?”

“It’s certainly a consideration.”

“What about Soloman Archer?”

“Another possibility, but we haven’t got a shred of evidence against him,” Jason said.

“And if he was going to hire a hitman, he could afford someone a lot more efficient and discrete than our killer appears to be,” Marc said. The moredevelopments there were, the less convinced he was becoming of Soloman’s involvement. “He was seeing Theo as an escort, but he has no connection to any of the other victims.”

“Unless they knew about him,” Nadine said, “or had something on him. Something he didn’t want to come out.”

“But how long have you been digging into him?” Marc asked. “You haven’t come up with anything and neither have we. He’s a shit MP and seems to be a horrible man and vile husband, but I think he might be clear on this one. And Dan and Tyrone were killed with a knife, in a frenzied way. That doesn’t suggest a professional assassin, does it? It’s personal. I think this is someone killing for their own reasons.”

“I still need to track down this photographer, Blake Remar. Tyrone thought he was dodgy, so did Theo’s ex-boyfriend Roaul. Until we speak to him, he’s still in the frame.”

“So, what you’re telling me is you’ve got nothing.” Nadine closed her notebook and laid her pen on top of it. She picked up her coffee cup in both hands and sipped.

Marc and Jason looked at each other hopelessly across the table.

“It feels that way today,” Jason said.

Nadine put down the cup. She reached across to take each of their hands. Unnerved by the nifty expression on her face, Marc accepted it cautiously.

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