Chapter Four Holly
Chapter Four
HOLLY
The New York traffic sounds are starting up in the nearby streets as I stare at the invitation.
Rather than a flat paper or card, the wedding invitation is a small rectangular black box, the size of a slim novel.
The front is a thick flap edged in deep foil filigree, like a greetings card on steroids.
As I lift it, a tinkling classical music score begins.
Beneath is a clear acetate panel, and underneath, top left, is a tiny golden carriage.
The kind Cinderella might have. It looks slightly eerie set against the deep black card.
As I watch, the carriage starts to slowly roll across the top of the invitation, revealing a trail of words under the clear acetate as it goes.
‘Leopold Kensington’, it scribes. The carriage backs up. Begins a new line.
‘Invites Holly Stone to the wedding of his daughter, Adrianna Kensington, to Mark Li.’
Mark is the CEO of a highly successful tech company, so I’m guessing this is a little showboating for him. But it still doesn’t explain the mystery of why I’m getting an invitation.
Unless … It occurs to me this could be from my former boss, Simone. She’s a close friend of Leopold’s. Maybe she thinks an invitation to the world’s most famous wedding will smooth things over between us.
I shake my head. ‘Seriously, Simone?’ I mutter. ‘I quit over your obsession with Adrianna Kensington’s stalker case. Do you honestly think an invitation to her wedding will fix things?’
An image of Simone’s unhappy face flashes in my mind. Despite her tiny frame, pixie haircut and large round eyes, she is a straight-talking, no-nonsense type. Just like me. Last time we spoke, I accused her of putting TV ratings ahead of justice. The memory prickles me with discomfort.
I watch, mesmerized, as the carriage fills out the rest of the invitation.
Day 1. Teterboro Airport, 11 a.m. Drinks Reception, Elysium Island. White Tie.
Day 2. Elysium Island, 11 a.m. Ceremony. Wedding Breakfast. Black Tie.
Day 3. Elysium Island. Celebrations. Dress-up. 3 p.m.–2 a.m.
My mind drifts to the meager rack of clothes in my room. What in the world is ‘white tie’?
A final line scrolls out.
Holly Stone, meet Mark Li at the New York Plaza URGENTLY!
OK … So maybe Simone didn’t send me this invite? Before I can take this in, my cell sounds its goth-rock ringer. I glance at the display.
Could be: Mark Li
I press to answer.
‘Holly Stone?’ The voice is male, loud with confidence.
‘Yes?’
‘This is Mark Li.’
He leaves a pause. I don’t fill it. ‘Did you get the invitation?’
‘The one couriered to a live crime scene?’ I lift the cut-out from its cushion bed for a second time, turning it in my hand. ‘It got my attention.’
There’s a pause. ‘Good. I had twelve staff work around the clock for a week, getting that carriage to roll. Adrianna was insistent the card be a certain thickness and the weight ratios were a nightmare.’
Adrianna. As in The Adrianna Kensington. It’s really weird to hear him say her name so casually. Everyone has heard of the Kensingtons. Adrianna works hard to keep private, with limited success. With a father like Leopold Kensington, her private life is public property.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Li? Why are you asking me to meet you at the Plaza?’
‘I need your help. You work as a forensic, for Attorney Simone Walters?’
‘Not anymore,’ I explain. ‘We had … a disagreement.’
There’s a long pause.
‘Mr Li?’ I try. ‘If Simone is using you as a go-between, you can tell her to talk to me herself.’
‘I wasn’t aware that you and Attorney Walters had had a disagreement,’ he says smoothly.
‘I contacted you because I researched you thoroughly, and determined your qualifications to be excellent. Your self-taught abilities in the field won you a scholarship at New York University. You’re the only student ever to graduate forensics without a high-school diploma.
Your two years working with Simone Walters was another point in your favor.
But,’ he concludes, ‘I will now strike this merit from the list. What I do know is you are driven by unusual and complicated cases.’
‘Mr Li,’ I say, trying to maintain an even tone, ‘I’m flattered you researched me.
But you should know that I quit Simone’s law firm because I want to solve criminal injustice, not garner TV ratings.
Simone wanted exclusive access to Adrianna’s stalker case.
I didn’t. I’m just not interested in picking over a dead case for publicity purposes, so I don’t think I’m the right person for you. ’
‘One of our bridesmaids has been murdered.’
The words send a jolt right through me. Adrianna’s upcoming wedding to her tech billionaire boyfriend has been featured in every glossy magazine, and the family employs the best security in the world. The idea of one of their bridesmaids being murdered is as bizarre as it is unlikely.
‘I’m … so sorry to hear that,’ I manage. ‘I’d advise you to trust the police …’
‘We have good reason not to,’ says Mark.
‘Because the Kensington nightclub empire is notoriously shady, and Leopold Kensington is three parts businessman to one part mobster?’ I suggest.
‘I’m sending you pictures. They’ll self-delete in a few minutes.’
I can’t match his flat voice and emotionless delivery to a man whose bridesmaid was recently murdered.
There’s something not quite right about Mark Li.
‘Mr Li—’ My phone pings as files arrive.
I snatch a look and recoil in shock. The images are close-ups of a gruesomely murdered woman.
Her face is obscured, but I can see heavy injury detail to the head and temples.
Her body has been displayed in a way that is grotesque, even to a person who routinely visits crime scenes.
The forensic expert in me can’t help but be intrigued.
‘The police haven’t been able to remove the body,’ adds Mark. ‘They’re sending in a specialist team this morning, so we only have a few hours.’
‘The body is still there?’ My mind is whirring, wondering at what could possibly be preventing the police from removing it. I glance again at the pictures, but nothing gives it away.
‘I can tell you more,’ says Mark. ‘But it needs to be in person. Meet me at the New York Plaza, seven a.m.’ I glance at the time on my phone: 6.30 a.m. ‘Please.’ The word is heartfelt. ‘We don’t have much time. You’re the only one who can help.’
Defeated, ‘OK,’ I sigh. ‘But I can’t get there for seven a.m.’
There’s a pause and I hear keyboard tapping. ‘It’s a twenty-six minutes, drive to the Plaza from your location.’
‘Some of us use public transport,’ I explain to him.
‘I’ve sent a car,’ he says. ‘It will be with you in five minutes.’
He hangs up.