Chapter Eleven
My mind was reeling. Dad had gone up against Jingo too? Was there more to Jingo’s fascination with me than I’d thought? A vendetta?
Unease stirred. What did that mean for the ‘evidence’ he’d given me?
Fuck. I was more sure than ever that Jingo was playing me. I just didn’t know what the game was.
I chewed on my lip and looked at Laura. ‘Ji-ho texted you?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Ji-ho said. ‘I’ve already deleted all evidence from her phone, my phone, and our respective networks. There is zero evidence that I ever asked her to bring the file here, not even in the cloud-based backup servers. Zero evidence. Zilch.’
Tension slid out of my shoulders, and I blew out a breath. ‘Okay. I’m glad you’re on our side.’
‘I’d better get back,’ Laura said. ‘I’m on my lunch break.’
‘It’s 10.30am!’
‘I took it early. Hope you “feel better soon”, Elliot,’ she said to Channing, using finger air quotes.
I blinked. I wasn’t sure I’d known that Channing’s first name was Elliot. It made me think of E.T.
‘Thanks for coming, Laura,’ I said. ‘I appreciate it.’
She looked at me fiercely. ‘I’ve got your back, boss. We all do.’ She gave me a one-armed hug with surprising strength and marched out.
You are loved, Loki murmured.
Not loved, I corrected. Respected.
He blew a raspberry in my head. Silly Pigdog. Can’t see past her nose.
Uh-huh. Nice chatting to you, I said drily.
Channing and I divided Jingo’s paper file between us and settled in to wade through the nefarious past of Jude Jingo.
When Robbie returned, he looked triumphant.
‘What have you got?’ I asked.
He shot me a look. ‘Inspector, let me have my moment. I was an “undercover cop”, working for the Connection secretly.’ His eyes glimmered with mischief. ‘It was a lot of fun.’
‘I doubt the shop assistant bought it for a moment.’
‘Maybe not, but I enjoyed myself all the same, and I got you your information.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘This is what he bought.’ He showed me an image of a simple, crisp, pale blue shirt.
‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘He bought it on the day of his date with Kate, but that wasn’t what he was wearing when I saw him later that night.
’ I drew up a copy of his statement on SPEL.
‘In his statement to me, he said he’d bought the new shirt that day specifically for the date later on that evening, but he was wearing a white shirt, still starched in harsh lines, like it had been pulled out of the packet, not that blue one. Did he buy a white shirt there too?’
‘No.’
It might not mean anything. Maybe he’d changed his mind about wearing blue.
Maybe it was nothing. Yet my gut said maybe it was something.
Maybe he had worn that blue shirt and taken it off because of blood spatter.
Yeah, my gut liked that. And if he had swapped shirts, maybe we could find the blood-stained discarded one in his dirty laundry basket.
I had found blood-stained clothes at another of Jingo’s residences once.
When you hurt people every day, blood-stained clothes become the norm.
You didn’t need to panic and burn them like most innocent people did.
No, you chucked them in the hamper for the maid to launder.
A trip to Troy’s home was in order.
Still, if Troy was Jingo – and I was certain he was – I wanted to keep Loki off his radar. Way off. Jingo had imprisoned Loki before and I’d be damned if I gave him an opportunity to do the same again.
I’m heading out, I told my bonded bird. Can you stay here and supervise things at home? Tell me if the team here have any breakthroughs?
His little chest puffed out. Absolutely.
Thank you, buddy.
I looked at Robbie. ‘You up for some breaking and entering with me?’
He winked. ‘Always.’
Fairglass lived in an apartment in The Royal Albert Dock. Red-bricked and sun-drenched, it looked cosy and inviting.
The docks were busy, with people wrapped in coats and persevering in getting the most out of the autumn sun.
The location was busy, but its proximity to water made it convenient for a merman. I’d expected Troy to live on the ground floor, but the seventh son of the mer king resided in the penthouse suite. Of course he did.
The apartment was so fancy that it even had a greeter at the door, who confirmed Troy had just left the building, which meant we had the all-clear to go snooping.
I flashed my badge and the building manager took us into a sleek lift and up to the penthouse, no questions asked.
‘Thank you. You can go now,’ I said to the manager once he’d unlocked the door for us.
‘Pull the door closed when you leave,’ he grunted. ‘It’ll lock automatically. Don’t do it by accident or I won’t let you in a second time.’
My eyes went flinty. ‘You’ll open the damn door for me as many times as I need.’
He swallowed. ‘Right. Sure.’
He left, and I watched him walk back to the chrome lift and step into it and away. When I was sure we didn’t have an audience, I pulled on purple disposable gloves and handed a pair to Robbie, who snapped them on with a flourish.
‘You’re enjoying this,’ I muttered.
‘I’m enjoying watching you,’ he corrected, voice warm with amusement.
My cheeks heated despite myself. ‘So romantic.’
‘It is, actually. We’re bonding over criminal activities.’ He winked.
I rolled my eyes. ‘They let us in, Robbie. I hate to tell you this, but this doesn’t constitute a crime. We’re here with permission.’
‘Not the owner’s permission,’ he argued. ‘Now hush and let me enjoy breaking into someone’s home with my police officer fiancée.’
I laughed a little and pushed the door open wide so we could see what we were dealing with.
A wave of cool air washed over us, scented with sea salt and something expensive and sharp. I recognised the scent from dinner: Troy’s cologne. For it to be lingering in the air, he must have sprayed it recently.
I wondered at the coolness. Did mer need a cooler temperature to feel comfortable since they were used to the freezing plunges of the sea?
The lighting was bright, and floor-to-ceiling curved windows stretched the entire length of the outer wall, showing off as much of Liverpool as they could fit into one view.
It did a good job too. Outside, the Albert Dock glittered with sunset reflections, people hustling and boats bobbing lazily.
I drew my gaze back inward. The suite was different from what I’d expected. It was luxurious, yes, but carefully curated. Not too flashy. No gold taps. No marble lions.
The penthouse was all clean lines and ocean colours: deep navy cushions, pale driftwood furniture, steel and glass edges.
Everything was sleek, but the textures softened it: wool throws folded over the back of a sofa the size of a small yacht; a rug that looked handwoven in muted blues and stormy greys.
A huge piece of art dominated the far wall. Abstract. Swirls of ink and water, dark shapes twisting through lighter ones. There was an edge to the piece, like someone had painted a deadly riptide.
‘Nice,’ Robbie commented, following my gaze.
‘Yeah, I guess so. You like your art? Your pottery? There’s a tonne at the ogre’s den.’
He hesitated before he confessed, ‘The pottery is mine.’
‘What do you mean yours?’
‘I make it,’ he admitted, but his frame was tense. He’d gone from relaxed and strolling around with me to looking like a man bracing for execution.
‘It’s amazing,’ I said honestly. ‘Why does telling me that make you look as tense as you did when we were at the den blessing?’
He pressed his lips together. ‘Father didn’t approve of my … artistic pursuits. He thought them womanly.’
I gaped at him. ‘Are you serious? Art isn’t gendered.
Fuck, nothing should be gendered. Do what makes you happy.
If that’s making pottery, painting or dressing up in a tutu, I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Were you nervous to tell me that? Robbie, I love you.
I want you to be happy. And I’m on board with anything that does that.
’ I paused. ‘Well, not anything. I’d have issues if you wanted to torture and kill people to get your rocks off.
But art? Pottery?’ I snorted. ‘Fill your boots.’
He crossed the distance between us and crushed me to him in a fierce hug that told me precisely how nervous he had been to confess his secret clay habit.
It spoke of how much I loved him that I let him hug me at a potential crime scene.
I squeezed back just as tightly, and when he pulled back his eyes were gleaming suspiciously.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your dad,’ I began. ‘I know he raised you alone and with love, and he probably did his best, but I’d hit him upside the head for making you feel like you had to hide your hobbies.’
Robbie held my face. ‘You would have, too,’ he said admiringly. ‘So fierce, my kaerasta.’ He pressed his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. ‘I adore you, Stacy.’
For some reason, that undid me more than his declarations of love had done. I didn’t think I’d ever been adored before.
‘Work now,’ I said, clearing my throat.
‘Of course, Inspector. But later, we’ll make time for play.’ He winked, and my insides warmed.
I took a step away from him. ‘Sounds good to me.’
I turned away from my fiancé and looked at the room.
Hopefully it would tell me more about Troy Fairglass and, if we were lucky, perhaps a thing or two about Jude Jingo.
The greeter had said ‘Troy’ hadn’t long left, so that meant Jingo had definitely come here to scope out the residence.
Whether he’d used it as such and we’d find some dirty laundry, or whether he’d come here to snoop on Troy, I didn’t know.
The living area flowed into a kitchen without walls; only a shift in flooring from warm wood to slate showed its shift in purpose.
The kitchen counters were pale stone and spotless, with a bowl of fruit arranged so perfectly I suspected the whole thing was fake.
A closer examination confirmed the fruit was indeed ceramic.
Who did that? What was the point of fake fruit?