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  Copyright © 2016 by Rebecca Zettl

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the author

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.rebeccazettl.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Endless reports filled Detective Sergeant Donny Callow's computer screen, its brightness burning relentlessly into his tired eyes. God he hated the nightshift. Tonight was worse than most. He supposed he should be pleased that it was quiet. Less crimes being committed must surely be a good thing. At any rate it was giving him a much needed chance to catch up on his paperwork. Unfortunately, it was also threatening to put him to sleep. He took another pull on the strong coffee that he knew he shouldn't be drinking if he meant to get any sleep after returning home to his flat. He checked the time. There were a few hours still left between him and bed. A whistle from the doorway grabbed his attention. "Come on Callow, you're with me." DI Alan Gould called. Donny hurried after him, slightly ashamed to be so glad that something had happened. Stepping outside, the briskness of the early morning air did more to rouse him than the cheap and bitter coffee, unfinished on his desk. He had had little to do with DI Alan Gould in the past, though he was aware of Gould's reputation for a quick wit and a sharp tongue. It looked like he would have the chance to work with him now. They found the young woman where she lay sprawled on the concrete, her knees and slender arms grazed by the fall. Her glossy brunette hair tangled around her head as she stared blankly into the gutter. A large dark stain blossomed across the back of her designer jacket. Donny looked over at the pitiable woman, waiting for the pathologist crouched low over her body to finish his preliminary examination.

  "Crap. Isn't that...?" DI Alan Gould said.

  "It certainly looks like her." Donny agreed.

  "Crap." Gould repeated. "There isn't much to go on here either."

  "She's dressed for a party but she's got no purse or jewellery on her. She's obviously been robbed." Donny pointed out.

  "Agreed. Robbed and shot. Probably no forensics."

  Donny looked around. There wasn't much in the way of surveillance on this street. That was probably why the mugger had chosen this spot. They must have been over the moon when they spotted Isabelle. Everything from her perfectly manicured nails to her Louboutin shoes screamed wealth. Wealth that was provided by the jewellery empire that her father had built. The business that he had started almost thirty years ago with a small shop on Frederick street and had blown up into a multinational empire, to which the young woman lying on the pavement had been the sole heiress.

  Gould groaned. "What was she even doing down this street?" he wondered aloud, looking around the empty street, devoid of clubs, bars, or residences. "All of these businesses would have been closed." He said, gesturing up the street, which would be a hive of activity in a few hours' time. "The bloody media's here already. How did they even know? This case is going to be a serious pain in the arse." He went on irritably, his eyes looking past Donny to the cordon.

  Donny looked over to the blue and white barrier tape holding back a sparse smattering of people. Many were club goers and drunks lured by idle curiosity, but others had a more professional air about them; journalists. Most likely somebody had tipped them off. There was no other way that they could be here so quickly, and it was bound to happen sooner or later with a case like this. A flash of red hair caught his eye. Checking that Gould was occupied, Donny slipped over to the willowy, red headed journalist smiling at him from the barrier tape.

  "Hey," she greeted him brightly, "could you – "

  "No." he cut her off, but his fond smile belied the sternness of his tone.

  Alice Harding made a face. "Oh come on." She teased. "At least tell me if it's really Isabelle Cadence."

  "How did you even hear about that?" Donny asked, taken aback by the question.

  "I have my ways." She evaded. "So it is her then?"

  "No comment." He teased, making Alice roll her lively hazel eyes.

  "Fine. Have it your way." She said with irritation that was only half in jest.

  "We're still on for tonight right?" he asked.

  She nodded, shooting him a sidelong glance. "At seven."

  "I'm not going to tell you anything then either." He jibed, making Alice roll her eyes again before heading back over to his partner, who was talking to the medical examiner as the body of Isabelle Cadence was loaded into the coroner's van. "What was that about?" he demanded.

  "Sorry sir. She's a friend. I was just saying hi."

  "There's a time and a place Sergeant."

  "Sorry."

  "I don't want anyone talking to the press except the designated liaison." Gould led them back to their vehicle, grumbling. "This is going to be a media crap storm."

  Donny didn't comment. He was sure Gould was right, but he felt a little disloyal, knowing that Alice would be part of that 'crap storm'.

  They climbed into the car and Gould steered them past the coroner's van, past the gathering gawkers and down the road towards the Cadence's impressive residence where they faced the unenviable task of notifying the young woman's father.

  Donny watched the face of the man opposite him. Walter Cadence. His hard clenched jaw showed how hard he was striving for stoicism, but his eyes were clouded with grief. The three sat quietly in Mr. Cadence's carefully arranged formal lounge, every detail gleaming with ostentation. Dressed at this early hour in plaid pyjamas, a dressing gown and socks, Mr. Cadence looked almost as out of place in his own living room as Donny felt. He perched uncomfortably beside Gould on the Cadence's immaculate leather couch, his elbows propped on long legs. "I'm sorry Mr. Cadence, but there are some questions that we need to ask you." Normally dour, Gould had long since learned how to be gentle and delicate with families. Mr. Cadence nodded without speaking so Gould went on. "Did your daughter have any enemies? Or anyone that she might have argued with recently?"

  He shook his head; the tears he was struggling to hold back beginning to fall. "Izzy didn't have any enemies. She was such a sweet girl. Everyone liked her."

  Donny found that hard to believe. In his experience the kind of obvious wealth that the Cadences surrounded themselves with attracted resentment. He kept the thought to himself, unsure how to frame the suggestion. Suddenly Mr. Cadence nodded. "She'd had a fight with one of her friends I think. There was this charity she was talking about recently. But then she decided to pull out." He said, wiping his hand across the lower half of his face. "I don't know who the friend was. It wasn't someone I knew. But I can't imagine it came to this."

  "Do you know why she was having second thoughts?" Donny asked.

  "She said something about them didn't quite add up." He said shaking his head. "She was starting to doubt their credibility but I don't really know the details. It was some place called... New Dawns."

  Donny noted the name down, and continued making notes while Gould walked Cadence through the usual questions that they needed to ask. He didn't know a lot about where his daughter had been the night before or who she'd been with. She was a grown woman after all, and she hadn't lived with her father since taking an upmarket flat on Sheepcote street six months before. Finished with preliminary questions Gould excused the two of them.

  "The
re's a ring that she always wore." Mr. Cadence told them. "I had it made for her for her twenty first birthday. It's one of a kind. She wore it every day. Do you think I could have it back please?" he asked mournfully.

  "She wasn't wearing any jewellery when she was found Mr. Cadence." Gould told him gently. "But we'll let you know if we locate it."

  Mr. Cadence nodded and they left the bereaved man to grieve in peace.

  ***

  Alice Harding sat staring at the screen of her computer, where she was working on her article for tomorrow's edition, covering the murder which Donny had refused to discuss with her. The police had formally released the identity of the victim as Isabelle Cadence. To Alice's complete lack of surprise, the family had declined to comment. Which left her trawling through Isabelle's online accounts trying to find out whatever she could about the victim. She had been a beautiful, vivacious girl who seemed to have a lot of friends and a very active social life. Alice noticed an unusual ring curling around Isabelle's left index finger. It looked as though she wore it everywhere. It was probably stolen along with the rest of her things. Alice kept looking. Isabelle's recent posts showed Alice that this girl was starting to take an interest in charity. There wasn't much else for Alice to find besides a wealth of information on her father's businesses and affiliations. After filling several pages of notes, she was about to close down the browsers when one more result caught her eye. She followed the link and was intrigued to find a website belonging to a self-proclaimed psychic. Curious. She flicked through the psychic's page, before looking back through Isabelle's social pages. It seemed that Isabelle had visited the psychic fairly often. She seemed to have a lot of respect and credence for the psychic's work. Alice added the name to a list of other friends who might talk to her. Alice put the list aside in case she needed it later. She had her initial article fairly well set out in her head and began to write, flicking back and forth through the notes that she'd taken; at the crime scene this morning, from the police statements and from her research. Hours later she grabbed her jacket, and headed home. The article would be printed the next day without any mention of the psychic, but Alice had to admit the connection still intrigued her.

  Much later that evening she stared blankly into the golden chardonnay in her glass, still distantly considering the connection. ".... earth to Alice," Donny's voice reached through her absent stupor and she snapped back to the present. He stared at her expectantly, as though waiting for an answer. Alice's mastiff, Benji, lolled at his feet, mirroring his expression. They'd taken quite a shine to one another since Alice had moved in next to Donny almost twelve months ago. "Sorry." Alice said, realizing that she had been miles away while Donny tried to talk to her.

  "Rough day?" he asked. "I heard Mr. Cadence tore the press a new one today. Passionate about privacy." Concern clouded his pale blue eyes but Alice shrugged it off. "He declined to comment." she said drily. "But actually there's something else on my mind." She explained that she'd found out about the psychic Isabelle had been seeing. Donny rolled his eyes. "Bloody psychics. Conmen. All of them."

  "How do you know?" Alice quipped.

  "Oh come on. Don't tell me you believe in all that tripe." He scoffed.

  "I'm willing to believe there could be things we don't understand yet." Alice defended. "Nobody knows it all. Not even you."

  Donny chuckled. "Alright. Fine. You believe in whatever you want. I don't have to believe it though."

  "You old cynic." Alice teased. "Well, con-woman or not, I'm going to see if I can see her tomorrow. I'm curious."

  "You're wasting your time."

  "Well I need to find someone who'll talk to me." She said. "Unless you've changed your mind. Are you going to tell me anything about the case?"

  "Nice try," Donny laughed. "You're better off seeing your psychic. I've been warned off talking to the press. Sorry."

  Alice put her glass of wine down on the coffee table and put her arms around his neck, running slender fingers through his dark hair. "Not even for me?" she wheedled, batting her eyelids facetiously. Donny leaned in and kissed her before pulling away just enough to speak. "No." he said, then leaning back in to meet her lips again.

  "Hardarse," Alice teased, her words muffled by the kiss. Donny chuckled, sweeping Alice's curls back with gentle fingers. "Let's not talk about this anymore," he coaxed. Alice couldn't bring herself to argue.

  ***

  Alice parked her car outside the business address listed on the psychic's website. It was a large house with a sign posted on the lawn proclaiming the psychic gift of one Anais Raven. A chime tinkled as Alice pushed the door open and made her way in through the open front door, admitting her to a kind of waiting room. Her heart sank as she looked around. The room, smelling strongly of incense and crammed with tacky dreamcatchers and crystals seemed to reinforce Donny's impression that she was wasting her time. Alice chided herself. What had she expected? It didn't matter. She was already here, so she may as well ask what she had come to ask. Psychic or not, Anais Raven might have a unique perspective on Isabelle Cadence. Alice waited, her patience thinned by the invasive odour of the incense and the headache that it was bringing on. Eventually, a balding middle aged man emerged from the back room followed closely by a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed head to foot in a flowing bohemian kaftan. The man smiled warmly at Alice, seeming to notice her discomfort. "First time?" he asked.

  "Oh, um, no I'm not here for that." Alice stammered, surprised by the question.

  "Oh don't be embarrassed," he encouraged. "Anais here is brilliant. You won't be sorry you came." He said. Anais herself smiled graciously, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. "You know she predicted the death of that girl." He went on enthusiastically.

  "Of Isabelle Cadence?" Alice asked, surprised.

  Anais' cheeks flushed and she tried to wave the comment aside. "It really wasn't like that," she insisted.

  "Don't be modest!" he said. "My friend Vic was here when she told her," he told Alice. "Overheard it. She warned her. Poor girl. I guess she didn't listen."

  "I guess so." Alice said politely. She was more interested in Anais' reaction. She seemed deeply embarrassed by the exchange and Alice had to wonder why. Her prediction had been correct after all. The enthusiastic client left. Anais stood in front of Alice, her hands spread in a casual gesture of welcome. "I didn't catch your name," she said.

  "Alice Harding."

  "You told Craig that you weren't here for a reading. So what brings you here Miss Harding?" she asked, doing her best to sound mysterious, but seemingly still unsettled by the previous exchange. "I'm from the Daily Bulletin – "

  "Oh, no." Anais cut her off. "I'm sorry Miss Harding, but I can't talk to you about Izzy. Our discussions were in the strictest confidence." She chastised.

  "Is it true that you warned her?" Alice asked.

  The stony look on Anais Raven's face was all the answer that Alice would receive. The psychic held her hands up in a defensive gesture. Alice noticed a piece of silver twisting around the woman's finger. It looked familiar to Alice. She excused herself and turned to leave. "I'm sorry, but there's one more thing." She added casually. "That is a gorgeous ring you have there. Do you mind if I ask where you got that?" she asked. Anais Raven looked surprised and bewildered by the question. "It was a gift." She said.

  "From Isabelle Cadence?" Alice guessed, rightly by the look on the psychic's face, but she wouldn't answer. Acutely aware that she had outstayed her welcome Alice turned and left the psychic to it. The swirling silver ring on her finger was identical to the one that Isabelle Cadence always wore, Alice was sure of it. Whether it meant anything or not was another story. Alice sighed and struck the psychic's name off her list. No luck here. Back at the office Alice crept up the hallway taking quick, soft steps, hoping that her editor would not hear him as she passed his office. For a moment she thought that she had managed it, but a few meters past the door his voice boomed out from his open door. "Alice,"

&n
bsp; She pulled up short and turned reluctantly back to his office. "Yes Ed?" she asked contritely.

  "What have you got on the Isabelle Cadence story?"

  She briefly laid out what she had found out about the murder, about the woman herself and about the psychic. She watched the frown lines around Ed's face deepen as she spoke. He was a hard man to please. "So just the bare basics then. The same as everyone else will have."

  Alice didn't comment. "Haven't you got some friend in the police force?"

  Alice raised her eyebrows. "He's been instructed not to discuss the case with the media. And the press liaison's not ready to release anything else yet."

  "Oh come on. Surely you can get something."

  Alice hesitated. Surely he didn't really expect her to put Donny in that position.

  "Well, it's up to you." Ed waved a hand at her dismissively, already turning back to his computer screen. "But I expect you to come up with something. Everyone's going to be all over this, so we need to come out with something none of the others have got. How you manage that Alice, is your problem."

  Dismissed and irritated, Alice left and walked back to her own desk, where she had been heading in the first place. One thing was clear. She desperately needed to come up with something. She just had no idea how she was going to manage it.

  ***

  Donny sat at the back of the incident room, staring blankly into his coffee. Gould's voice droned from the front of the room, intoning what little was already known about the untimely death of Isabelle Cadence, briefing the team that had been assembled to investigate her murder. Unlike Donny, who had been present for much of what had transpired so far, the others were hearing this for the first time, and paying far more attention. Donny looked up as Gould finally brought the recount up to date.

  "So, either she had some enemy her father didn't know about or it's just what it looks like; a mugging. We need to find out which." Gould surmised.

  "O'Dowd and Plunkett, I want you two talking to staff at all the pubs and clubs in the area where she was found. Find out where she was and who she was with. Fahey and Webber, you're covering the pawn shops. See if anyone has tried to flog her jewellery. There's a ring in particular." He gestured to a photo provided to them by Mr. Cadence, showing a distinctive swirling silver ring wrapped around one finger. "He had it made for her. It's unique. So if this shows up, we can be pretty confident that the person who traded it in is our guy. Callow and Tiedemann, talk to her friends, see if any of them were with her that night or know who was. Let's get to it everyone."