Page 9 of Ticket Out

Solomon was good to his uncle, good to his mother, and had never been anything but friendly to her.

If he was a crook, he wasn’t a vicious one.

“I’ll let you two get on to the club. I’ll try to join you tomorrow. I can bring Mr. Rodney, Solomon.”

The club served meals Tuesday to Saturday, and Mr. Rodney never missed.

“That would suit me fine,” Solomon said, taking his uncle’s key to lock his door for him. “You don’t want to join us tonight?”

“Gabby found a dead man in a car today. She needs an early night.” Mr. Rodney tugged on his jacket, making sure it was straight.

“I heard the coppers were all over Clematis Lane. That’s why?” Solomon’s face was still friendly, but his eyes had gone hard.

Taken aback, Gabriella gave a nod. “I found a man dead in his car outside the gallery there.”

“Shot?” Solomon asked, voice low.

Gabriella lifted her shoulders. “The police wouldn’t tell me. There was a lot of blood on the one side of his face, so I asked them if he was shot and they refused to say.”

“Bastards,” Solomon said, suddenly cheerful again. “Never want to part with information, but want you to spill everything to them.”

“What do you have to do with the police, that they want information from you?” Mr. Rodney asked, voice a touch querulous.

“Nothing, Uncle Eric. Nothing at all.” Solomon gave her a wink over his shoulder as he helped the old man down the stairs, and Gabriella lifted a hand in response.

A bad boy. No doubt. And a little more scary than she’d realized.

But still, she liked him.

And he was right about the police. They wanted it all one way.

Theirs.

chapterfive

“You bitch!”

Spittle from Mr. Bottle Green Jaguar hit Gabriella’s cheek as she finished fixing the FPN onto the jag’s windscreen.

She stepped back, always a wise move when they got this worked up, this quickly.

She had noticed him storming out of the smart, white Georgian row house while she was sliding the FPN into its thin plastic sleeve, and had moved just a little bit faster.

“You’re illegally parked on double yellows, sir. Instructions are included on the fixed penalty notice on how to pay, or if you want to contest the fine, when and where to do that.”

She eyed him. An old rugger player from the Home Counties, she guessed, now gone to seed, but still trying to pretend he was in his prime.

“I want to contest it here and now,” he shouted. “Cancel it, you little witch.” His face was almost purple, and he seemed to be struggling for air.

“If you’re unable to pay the fine, you can request a payment plan,” Gabriella said, sweetly. She actually didn’t know if people could do that. She would ask Liz at end of shift. She only said it to shame him into backing down. “There is a hardship allowance . . .” She let her voice trail off. “Have a good day!” She half-turned, trying to keep him in view as she moved away.

He gave a roar, like a gravely wounded bull in full charge, and came at her.

She had just decided to give running away a serious go when lights and sirens suddenly broke the calm of the street, and a big black Wolseley leapt the pavement, cutting between her and the irate jaguar owner.

He stumbled to a halt, mouth slack as Detective Sergeant Archer swung out of the car.

“You all right, Miss Farnsworth?” the sergeant asked, putting himself bodily between her and Mr. Jaguar.

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