Page 5 of Veiled Justice (The Other Detective #1)

The interviews had to be lightning fast in order to get through all of the guests and the staff who were still there. We took names and addresses and asked if they’d witnessed the murder or seen Helga with anyone.

I had interviewed about fifty people when I finally found Helga Jónson’s employer.

Tom Squiggins was twenty-one and had a chip on his shoulder so large you could have dived into a pool from it.

He was laughing uproariously with a group of lads like everything was tickety-boo. It immediately set my teeth on edge.

All three of them were tall and lanky. When they were sitting down it was difficult to estimate their height, but I suspected they would tower over me and, at five-foot-eight, I wasn’t a short woman.

‘Squiggins,’ I called as I walked over to the group sprawled in the high-back wing chairs.

‘That’s me, love.’ The tall redhead winked.

‘It’s Inspector Wise,’ I snapped.

His flirtatious energy shrivelled a little but it didn’t die. He sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Didn’t realise they let women be Inspectors now,’ he muttered, eyeing me.

His blond friend shoved him. ‘Only for like the last fifty years, Squigsy.’ He snickered.

‘And you are?’ I asked the blond.

‘Caspian Katz.’ He gave me a bow, which felt mocking. Katz had a jawline that could easily send him modelling down a catwalk but his brash body language made me think he hadn’t worked a day in his life.

‘Of the Katz PR empire,’ another lad helpfully interjected.

‘And you are?’

The mousy brunette smiled. ‘I’m Jameson Montague.’ He didn’t have Katz’s jawline, but he had huge blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a smile that could drop most panties without effort. Luckily, my pants were all but glued to me and his twinkling blues had no effect.

‘And what’s your family business, Montague?’ I asked coolly.

‘Property,’ he said airily.

Of course it was. I turned to the redhead. ‘Squiggins, I understand you hired the deceased?’

‘Yeah – and a fat lot of good it looks like she would have been,’ he grumbled. ‘What kind of bodyguard gets herself stabbed on duty? It’s embarrassing.’

‘I am so sorry her death has embarrassed you,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Why did you hire her in the first place?’

‘Gravitas.’ He shrugged. ‘Having a bodyguard gives me an illusion of mystery and danger. Let me tell you, the ladies lap up that shit. They can’t resist a bit of bad-boy allure.’ He winked again – what was it with all of these arseholes and the winking? Did they have eye problems?

‘So to be clear, you hired an ogre bodyguard to make yourself look like a bad boy?’ I said, not bothering to hide my incredulity. Ogre bodyguards were top of the line and they were expensive. What a ridiculous waste of money.

‘Yeah, why not?’ He shrugged. He clearly had thousands to burn in hiring someone just to make him look tough.

‘To be fair, it does make sense. Without her, you’d look about as bad boy as Kermit the Frog,’ I shot back with a faux-friendly smile. I wasn’t riling him just because he was annoying me but to test the man underneath the flirty facade.

Sure enough his smile melted like wax in the sun and he shot me a look with his green eyes that were suddenly filled with dislike. ‘Listen, bitch—’

‘That’s Inspector Bitch, to you,’ I said evenly, keeping my smile in place.

Katz kicked Squiggins under the table and he grimaced then applied his best, indifferent poker face. It needed work; I could still see the anger simmering underneath. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered mulishly.

‘What time did Jónson leave your side?’

‘How do you know that she did?’ Jameson Montague asked triumphantly, like he’d caught me out with a clever question.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Otherwise I’m assuming you would have told me about the murder you witnessed.’ I paused. ‘Unless one of you murdered her?’

He reddened. ‘Of course we didn’t!’

‘All right. Let’s try again. What time did she leave your side?’ I asked.

Katz answered. ‘We went into the gardens at around midnight. Everyone did – Quinty had laid on a fireworks’ display. When we went back inside, I noticed she’d gone.’

‘And you didn’t think that was odd?’

Montague spoke up. ‘Not really. Even ogres have to pee, right?’

‘She was gone longer than a piss break,’ I pointed out. ‘But you didn’t raise the alarm?’

Squiggins smirked. ‘I figured she was powdering her nose. Or maybe she got her period, you know?’

I really wanted to punch the little gobshite in the nose. I resisted because I had to, but I gave him a hard enough glare that he sank back further into his seat. ‘You didn’t see anyone harm her or threaten her?’ I asked.

All three men shook their heads. ‘Frankly, her leaving me was dereliction of duty. I’ll have to see about getting my money back,’ Squiggins sniffed.

I went on the attack. ‘I understand that you were harassing a young woman and Jónson put a stop to it.’

He shifted in his chair. The poker face was gone, washed away in a tide of dark anger. ‘She was way off base pulling me up like that. Louisa is so into me.’

‘Not as much as she’s into Quinty,’ Montague sniggered. ‘Or, more accurately, his wallet.’

I ignored his comments and focused on Tom Squiggins. ‘Jónson pulled you up in front of friends and that pissed you off.’

‘Damn right it did! Ogre bitch telling me what to do! She was the servant. It’s not her place to tell me to do anything!’

‘So you stabbed her?’

Squiggins’ mouth dropped open and he blinked owlishly at me. ‘What? No!’ he blurted. ‘Jesus! I was pissed off but not like … murderous or whatever. I couldn’t actually kill anyone. I feel ill even cutting up sashimi.’

‘What’s this Louisa’s full name?’

‘Carnforth,’ Montague supplied helpfully.

She wasn’t amongst the women I’d interviewed yet. ‘Can you point her out?’

The men took a cursory look around the room. ‘Can’t see her,’ Katz said. ‘She must have left earlier.’ Possibly because of the sexual harassment she’d suffered. I’d check Channing’s notes and follow up with her tomorrow.

I noted the contact details of all three men then took the time to look the males over carefully.

None of them had so much as a drop of wine on their tuxedos, let alone the spray of blood you’d expect from the scene I’d witnessed, but that didn’t preclude a change of clothes. I’d check the bins later.

The doors slammed open with a bang that reverberated through the room and in stalked Robert Krieg, the High King of the Ogres.

He wore a black suit that might as well have been painted on him, and which accentuated his muscular arms, the right one of which was only marginally oversized for an ogre.

His black hair was tousled and his chiselled jaw clean-shaven; the main things that marked him as an ogre were his hulking size and the two tusks that protruded from his head, a small obsidian one on his forehead and a larger jagged one behind it.

He stood well over seven feet tall. His grey eyes, almost a mercury-silver, swept the room.

They stopped at me.

Contained fury radiated from him like he was radioactive; frankly, I’d have rather taken my chances with uranium than an irate Krieg.

I prepared myself for our inevitable encounter, making sure no unease showed on my face or in my body language. For all he was a king, I was in charge here. I squared my shoulders and inwardly braced for his arrival like I would a tsunami, by silently saying my prayers.

The King of the Ogres stalked towards me like the deadly predator he was.