Page 4 of Veiled Justice (The Other Detective #1)

The three of us – and my bird, Loki – entered Arley Hall together. I left Rupert and Ava to circulate whilst I made my way into the large Gallery to locate Cameron Quintos. The walls were clad in dark wood, their gloom tempered by a strategic wash of pale paint.

The Gallery had been opened to the Drawing Room to create further space for the gathering. Presumably the tables where they’d eaten at had already been cleared away, leaving a far more spacious area for the wealthy to mix and mingle in. God forbid they actually had to rub shoulders.

The room was long and narrow, with windows lining one wall, letting moonlight pour in to highlight the large paintings dotted on the opposing wall.

The room was hot, the press of bodies oppressive.

Curious eyes alighted on me, the three triangles on my forehead marking me an employee of the Connection, and the suit telling all and sundry that I was one of the dreaded Inspectors.

People stepped away from me, giving me a wide berth.

I used the space to scan for the man of the hour – Quintos.

Despite having arranged the event, he hadn’t yet come outside to look at the crime scene.

That struck me as odd: you’d think he'd want to see what had happened to Helga with his own two eyes.

Quintos was responsible for the party so in some part he was responsible for the corpse on the lawn – not for Helga’s death, but at least for her being there.

Yet he hadn’t come to see her. That told me something of his empathy – or lack thereof – right away.

Quintos might not have hired her personally, but there was a distinct possibility that he’d made all the security arrangements.

I looked around the long, narrow hall but saw no other ogres, which made Helga’s presence seem more like a private hire than a venue decision. Not hired by Quintos then. If not him, then who? Who had hired her – and why?

‘Out of frying pan and into inferno,’ Loki muttered.

I wasn’t quite sure whether he got idioms wrong by accident or whether he liked to put his own spin on them.

In this case, though, his modification didn’t feel wrong; there was a shit tonne of people present and interviewing them all would be a herculean effort.

I located the wizard amid a cluster of sycophants.

They stood in a loose circle at the edge of the room, drinks in hand.

Whisky, I’d bet, judging by the amber liquid swirling in square glasses.

Quintos had to be pushing sixty but he looked at least two decades younger; access to potions and experimental drugs had him looking fresher than a daisy.

The triangular symbol on his forehead told everyone around that he was in the Other realm, with full access to his magic.

His whole cadre bore the same mark, everyone at the party was in the Other, no Common folk had been invited.

I studied the man before I approached. He was of average height, just under 6 ft.

He was relatively plain, not unattractive per se, but there was nothing about him that stood out.

The only memorable thing about his appearance was his obvious wealth: everything he was wearing, from the black tuxedo to the watch on his wrist, said money.

Despite the tragic event on the lawn, he was laughing loudly with a group of men over whom he was holding court.

The sound set my teeth on edge. Like most of the guests, his elaborate mask now hung from his hand instead of adorning his face; apparently murder meant it was time to dispense with the masks but not necessarily the merriment.

Next to Quintos a dancer was strutting her stuff in a brightly coloured costume that reminded me of the beautiful peacock I’d just seen outside. Despite her costume having a considerable visual impact, it somehow covered very little of her. No one seemed to mind.

Another woman was dancing at the other side of the hall but she was contained within a cage. Every now and again she released a spurt of fire towards the crowd, which stayed at a safe distance from her. She met my eyes across the room; I raised an eyebrow and made the sign for ‘Okay?’.

Grinning, she nodded. The fire elemental was willingly in the cage. Good to know.

‘Loki,’ I murmured to the bird on my shoulder.

‘Fly around and listen to conversations. Let me know if you hear anything interesting.’ I paused.

‘Be discreet.’ The last thing I needed was for someone to steal my caladrius.

Not that Loki was my caladrius: he was mostly a bird that happened to roost in my house, but we had an understanding and I’d grown used to his presence.

‘Will fly like wind!’ Loki promised as he fluttered off. I supposed that since you couldn’t see the wind, that counted as discreet.

‘Mr Quintos,’ I said briskly as I approached the man of the hour.

‘A moment of your time, please?’ I asked politely.

I suspected a man like him enjoyed subservience and I wanted to start on the right foot.

Even so, despite the fact that I’d made a suggestion my tone told him what the answer needed to be.

‘Of course, Inspector,’ he said graciously.

He led the way out of the ballroom, which still felt entirely too festive considering the circumstances that had brought me here, and into the library.

He behaved as though he owned the place, though as far as I knew he’d hired Arley Hall and Gardens for his charity event rather than buying it outright.

Still, I’d check. If he owned it he’d have had more opportunity to scope out the place and identify hidden areas in the garden where others wouldn’t walk by and witness a murder.

Cameron Quintos sat on a chair by a fireplace, which was roaring despite it being June. I suppose the flames added a certain ambience – but they also added plenty of heat. In moments he started to sweat and pulled out a handkerchief that matched his bright-red bow-tie.

I remained standing; this was a man who needed a reminder of the power I wielded as an Inspector. I pulled out my police notebook – my PNB. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Quintos. I’m sure this must all be very distressing for you.’

‘Indeed.’ He nodded, though he didn’t look the least bit distressed. In fact, his eyes were a little too bright. Ava was right: he was excited about this development.

‘Did you know the victim?’ I asked coolly.

‘No,’ he answered and didn’t elaborate even when I let the silence linger.

Finally I broke it myself. ‘Have you seen her before?’

He gave a shrug. ‘I couldn’t tell you because I haven’t seen the body. I’m told she’s an ogre and, to be honest, they all look alike to me.’ Another shrug. He didn’t care in the slightest that I might judge him a racist arsehole. In spades.

Wanker.

‘Items on her person indicate her name is Helga Jónson. Does the name ring a bell at all?’

‘No.’

Again with the one-word answers. ‘Was she a guest at the ball?’ I persevered.

Quintos barked a short laugh, ‘Heavens, no – she’s an ogre.’ Perhaps realising that he was outing himself as a human-supremacist, he added quickly, ‘It wouldn’t work well with a masquerade ball, would it? With the horns poking out, I mean.’

Uh-huh. ‘Tell me a little about this event.’

Looking amused, he raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow.

‘What do you want to know? It is the event of the year. Tickets are limited and attendance is through invitation only. A seat at a table is ￡5,000. The raffle alone has already raised a quarter of a million pounds for charity.’ He puffed out his chest and gave me a supercilious smile.

‘Which charity?’

‘The NSPCC.’ He smiled. ‘We must all do our part to help the next generation.’ He winked.

The NSPCC was a children’s charity. Something in his tone led me to conclude that he didn’t give two shits about the children but rather the way that supporting it made him look.

Still, I supposed that didn’t really matter.

Regardless of his motivation, his money would be spent for the benefit of the kids.

‘How many guests are present?’

‘Two hundred were invited and paid. I don’t know the final number of attendees.’ He waved a hand airily. ‘People have last-minute things to attend to – as a businessman, I understand that. I’m not offended if someone doesn’t turn up.’

‘Would you refund the cost of their ticket?’

Quintos looked at me with disdain. ‘Good gracious, no. That would be taking money away from the children.’

He was laying it on thick and I wasn’t buying it in the slightest. ‘You have a guest list?’

‘My PA will have it. Lisa Smeltin.’ He stood. ‘If that will be all, I’d best go and see to my guests. This disruption is really unfortunate.’

‘This disruption is someone’s murder,’ I said in a hard voice. ‘And none of your guests may leave until I or my colleague have spoken to them all.’

His mouth tightened into a grim line; clearly, he wasn’t a man who was used to being told what to do. ‘Inspector … ?’ He trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name.

‘Inspector Wise.’

‘Inspector Wise, I appreciate that you are doing your job, darling, but there are a lot of important people in that room. We don’t have time to waste.’

That grated on me, so I smiled. When I spoke, however, there was nothing friendly about my tone.

‘That’s Inspector Darling. And as little time as you all have, you appear to have had more than enough time for a little dress-up party.

’ I sent him a patronising wink like the one he’d shot me when he’d spoken about the NSPCC.

‘I’ll make sure to be brief. Thank you for your time, Mr Quintos. ’

I walked out of the library like I owned it.

Time was ticking. A man like Quintos wasn’t going to let us interrogate his guests; he’d pull strings then I’d get a call telling me to stand down. The murky politics were my least favourite aspect of the job.

I had to move as quickly as possible. I had more than two hundred people to speak to with only Channing to help. Luckily, I loved a challenge.