Page 5 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

“You don’t think so?”

“Not as such. I know it’s the stuff of conspiracy thrillers, but it’s unlikely there’s anything in it. Soloman has a lot to lose, after all. It’s just… Oh, I don’t know.” He glanced out of the window. The rain continued to come down in blinding sheets. He’d get soaked again going back to the car.

“If Nadine thinks there’s something in the theory, she’s going to pursue, and if she finds the evidence, she’ll expose it. I have no doubt about it.” Jason’s voice was kind. His expression sympathetic. “What I’m trying to say is—what do you want me to do? I won’t be able to kill the story if she finds the evidence she needs.”

Marc took another sip of tea. His mouth was exceptionally dry. “I know. I’ve already told you Theo was my mother’s golden boy. It will destroy her if just a tiny bit of the story turns out to be true. I want you to investigate Theo’s life too. Find out exactly what he was up to in the months before he died. Who he was involved with. If there’s any truth to the escorting claims and whether he was really involved with Soloman, or if it was just an attention-seeking lie. I’d rather my parents heard the truth from me than read about it in the papers first. I would do it myself, but I don’t want to go through all those movies he made. It’s one thing to hear about it, it’s something else to watch your brother getting his brains banged out for some sad form of validation.”

Jason didn’t speak for a moment. He studied Marc carefully across the desk. Finally, he said, “You might not like what I discover.”

Marc let out a bitter laugh. “I know I’m not going to like it. I don’t like anything about it. But it’s the only thing I can do right now to protect my family. Knowledge is power, right?”

Jason didn’t answer. He kept looking at Marc while the rain raked against the window.

Chapter Three

An Unusual Case

“I don’t know what to make of it.” Jason Durham drained the pint glass of beer to the bottom. “I’ll go to the bar and get us another. You can tell me what you think when I come back.”

“Just a Coke for me,” said Ryman Blair, his business partner. “I’ve got to drive home after this. I need to pick Chloe up from swimming in”—he checked his watch—“forty minutes.”

Jason slid out of his chair and crossed the wood-panelled room to the bar. The torrential rain had not stopped, and the wooden floor was starting to take on the heady smell of damp. His trousers were still wet around the calves. The New Inn was a three-minute walk from the office, but Jason and Ryman had got soaked as they pelted down the street.

It had just gone six-thirty. Most evenings at this time the pub would be doing a decent post-work trade, but the filthy weather had kept a lot of punters away. There were only three other customers in the bar. Jason ordered another pint of craft ale for himself and theCoke for Ryman then carried the drinks back to the table.

Though they were just a two-man detective agency, Ryman was the founder of the business and the senior partner. He was forty-six, built like a mountain, and Jason’s best friend as well as colleague.

“Well?” Jason asked, slipping into the seat. His trousers were damp on the arse too and he shuffled to get comfortable.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Ryman said, shrugging his shoulders. “It sounds interesting to me.”

“But Soloman Archer. I don’t know. A man like that could close us down if he catches me snooping into his private life. He’s connected.”

“Fuck him.” Ryman laughed. “Seriously? You can’t be scared of him? He’ll be out at the next election. Maybe well before that if Nadine’s story has any truth to it. The man’s on borrowed time.”

“It’s not just that. The whole sex angle makes me feel awkward. Do I really want to trawl through the sexual activities of a dead man?”

There was something about the whole case that made Jason uneasy. He couldn’t nail it down to anything more than a niggling feeling, but it wouldn’t go away.

“You’ll be helping a grieving family. Nadine’s suspicions about Soloman are probably nothing more than bullshit, but if she thinks she’s got enough juice on Theo, she’ll run with that instead. You might be able to head her off and bury the details before she can even find them.”

“Hmm.” Jason sipped the foamy head off his pint.

“It’s not like you to be prudish.”

“I’m not.”

“So why are you clutching your pearls because the victim was a sex worker. He deserves justice as much as any client. Take the bloody case.”

Jason sighed. Ryman was right, as always. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s strange, that’s all. Why doesn’t this Marc guy just tell his parents anyway? Why does he want all this evidence.”

“Didn’t he say Theo was the parents’ favourite? They won’t believe a word Marc says against him unless he’s got solid proof. They’re as likely to turn on him for tarnishing the memory of their precious child.”

Jason had already done a quick search on Theo Glass, or rather Hart Stone as he was known online. It hadn’t taken long to find his Hot-4-Fans profile, and while the sexy stuff was hidden behind a paywall, Theo had posted plenty of explicit photos and videos to his free social media accounts to drum up business. It was all there, if you knew where to look. He was a good-looking lad who’d managed to hang on to his twinky appeal well into his late twenties. He had a lot of followers too, even now. The connection between Theo Glass, the Blyham man killed in a hit-and-run, and Hart Stone, the self-described hot-to-fuck-cum-dump, hadn’t been made. There was no mention on any of the Hart Stone accounts that he had died.

Jason took a long swallow. The ale was going someway towards easing his tension.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “If Marc wants to pay us to dig around his brother’s personal life, we shouldn’t complain.”

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