She managed a crooked smile. ‘And you come running to the rescue?’
‘You’d better believe it.’ He hauled her into his arms for a short, hard kiss. She could almost taste his frustration. ‘Let’s get this over.’
She had expected heavy-duty gates, but these were for ornament rather than security. They swung open under Devlin’s hand. He slid the thin probe he’d intended for the padlock back into his pocket and waved Kaz through.
‘Well, at least that takes care of explaining to strangers how we came to break into their house.’ Devlin slid back into the car and peered through the windscreen. ‘This way for Bluebeard’s Castle.’
The car crunched along a narrow drive, edged with bushes and shrubs. Kaz tried not to be diverted by the sights on either side. She’d remembered a write-up of the villa in
The
Garden
magazine. It had belonged to an English plantsman before the First World War. ‘Which will give me a reason for being here, if they do turn out to be strangers.’ Devlin only grunted in response, but she felt some of the tension leach out of him. ‘
Do
you have a gun?’
‘What do you think?’
Kaz cast a sideways look at him. ‘Don’t shoot the first thing that comes running out. It might be me.’
The car crawled forward.
‘Stop!’
Alarmed, Kaz trod on the brake. Devlin winced as the car jerked.
‘Did you see something?’ She was craning to look round.
‘No. This is where I get out.’ He gestured ahead. The foliage cover was thinning in front of them. ‘Better if you go on alone.’
He took a quick, professional look round. Checking for cameras in the shrubbery? ‘Leave the car somewhere conspicuous up front and don’t take the keys.’ He pulled her close. The kiss this time was long and deep. When he let go, she tried to control the trembling.
‘We can still turn round and go back.’ He gestured to the passing place alongside. When she shook her head he cursed softly. ‘Go on then.’ He had the car door open and his feet on the ground. ‘Go. Do what you have to do. And if you need me,
use the phone
.’
He’d faded into the bushes before she had the car moving again.
The drive ended in a wide sweep of dusty, compacted ground. Kaz turned the car to face back the way she had come, before getting out.
The house was big and imposing, approached by a terrace with two sets of steps, flanked by statues. Sea gods and monsters, as far as she could tell. There was a jumble of outbuildings, garages and what looked like a dovecote. And behind that the tower they’d seen from the lake. A plantation of citrus and olive trees stretched away to the side of the house.
Kaz reached for the car keys then, remembering, left them where they were. She got out slowly and leaned against the car. She’d come to the right place. A woman had come out onto the terrace, with a watering can in her hand. Kaz walked forward.
‘Hello, Valentina. Is my father around?’
Chapter Fifty
Devlin had found a vantage point, just on the edge of the foliage cover. It would have relieved his nerves to stay with Kaz and wait in the car for her. But if her father was holed up here, Kaz arriving alone was one thing, arriving with
him
in the passenger seat was something else entirely.
This was hardly a covert op, but old habits were harder to kill than rats.
‘Good girl,’ he approved softly as Kaz turned the car. She was getting out. Leaning against the car. The slim woman in black, who had just come out of the house, put down her watering can and was descending the steps. Devlin watched her hesitate, then reach out to embrace Kaz and lead her inside.
Valentina? Oliver’s latest mistress and mother of Kaz’s half-sister? Who else could it be?
Showtime.
Kaz fought to keep her mind on her surroundings, not on her pounding heart. The proportions and construction materials of the villa were beautiful. She saw glimpses of mellow stone and marble, with pale wood and gilding. The understated furnishings, in soft shades of ivory and sand, let the paintings and sculptures sing.
Kaz caught her breath, swallowing a sudden rush of tears, as they passed a portrait of her mother, holding a mirror. She concentrated instead on the woman ahead of her. Her mother’s replacement.
Even as the thought came, Kaz dismissed it. Valentina hadn’t arrived on the scene until long after Suzanne had packed her bags. Kaz studied the young woman who was walking slightly ahead of her. They were almost the same age. It was Valentina’s taste that had arranged these rooms and hung these pictures. She’d made a home for Oliver and her small daughter. The scatter of toys under tables and a familiar children’s book, abandoned face down on a chair, brought a lump to Kaz’s throat. She focused again on Valentina.
The woman didn’t look well. The chic linen top and narrow-legged jeans hung on her, as if she had lost weight, and her movements were jerky and nervous. Kaz remembered meeting a blooming young girl, shy but exultant at her conquest of a great man. They’d dined at The Ivy and Oliver had scarcely been able to keep his eyes, or his hands, off her.
Was living with Oliver taking its toll?
They’d reached a small drawing room, giving onto a second terrace which overlooked the lake.
Valentina gestured to a chair. ‘Sit, please.’ She gave Kaz a hesitant smile. ‘I will tell Oliver that you are here. Help yourself to a drink.’
Left alone, Kaz poured a small glass from a pitcher of orange juice and drifted out of the terrace doors and over to the balustrade. Clear water lapped on a small pebble beach below, stirred by passing boats and the wake of the ferries. Nothing else moved in the gardens on either side of the building.
Devlin was somewhere out there. Kaz fingered the phone in her pocket. In most households a visiting daughter would not have been kept waiting in an ante-room while her father was asked if he wanted to see her. In most households a daughter didn’t arrive with the intention of accusing her father of murder. Kaz’s shoulders sagged a little. Even now, she didn’t have to do this.
Minutes passed. Kaz finished her juice and looked at her watch. Her father would know by now that she was here. A boat skimmed close to the shore. The wash made choppy waves on the tiny beach. Oliver was taking his time, deciding if he would see her. Would he really refuse?
There was a sound behind her. She spun round. Valentina was coming back. The woman was smiling. Somehow it made her face look even more haggard. ‘Oliver is in his studio. Would you like to come up?’
It was shady in the lee of the garage block, but Devlin could feel sweat on his back. He was standing downwind of an enormous urn of pink lilies. The heavy scent caught in his throat. The urge to reconnoitre was another hard habit to break. Restless, once the two women had disappeared from view, he’d penetrated further into the outbuildings, towards the back of the villa. More than half his mind was with Kaz in the house. Not a good move, but he just couldn’t help it. He took out his phone, to make sure it was still on, then stuck it back in the pocket of his jeans. Should he go back and wait near the car? Or take a longer look around?
Curiosity won. Once Oliver knew that Kaz was here, the surprise card had been played. Secrecy didn’t really matter. Even so, he moved cautiously out of the shade.
Ahead of him was a small, squat tower, built of yellowing brick. It looked as if it was older than the villa. An exterior staircase led up to a door at the top. Devlin walked round it, and found two heavy doors, big enough to take a cart, on the other side. Some sort of storage tower?
The doors at ground level didn’t look as if they’d been opened in years, but there were new windows under the roof and they were all open. Intrigued, Devlin went back to the steps and began to climb.
The door at the top had been fastened on the outside by the simple expedient of stuffing a metal rod through the handle. Devlin took it out and shoved it in his pocket. The door swung inwards silently. The familiar smell of oil paint came to meet him. A quick burst of panic flared, before reason reasserted itself. Unlikely that anyone would be locking Oliver Kessel into his own studio. So what was going on here?
Inside the door was a small hallway and another set of steps. The walls and the treads were freshly plastered and painted white. A high, narrow window gave a glittering view over the lake.
Devlin waited for a moment, listening. There was a small scraping noise from above, then a silence that sounded like someone holding their breath. Devlin hesitated, then propped open the door behind him with a doorstop shaped like a shell, that he found in the hallway. He turned back to the inner stair.
‘Katarina. Such a surprise. How lovely to see you.’
Oliver was leaning elegantly, hands propped behind him, on a high stool in the centre of the room. Relaxed, casual, the great man at leisure in his studio, in front of his easel. Kaz halted a few feet away from him. She couldn’t make herself go any further. Valentina had opened the door and ushered her through, then left them.
She was alone with her father.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She felt as if she were standing on the tips of her toes, even though she knew her feet were flat on the floor. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say, just trusted to the moment. Now she was here, there was only one thing she could say. Only one question capable of being asked. She had to get the words out, before they choked her. This man
…
‘You must know why I’m here.’ Her voice came out in a harsh croak. ‘I want to know how my daughter died.’
‘Katarina!’
His face was a masterpiece of control – no expression, except maybe a hint of concerned bewilderment, but she got what she was looking for in his eyes – a tiny flicker of fear. Relief flooded through her, followed by searing pain.
It’s all true.
‘My dear.’ He was leaning forward. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened to you? You know how Jamie died
–’
‘I know what you wanted me to believe, what you set up for me to believe. Jamie didn’t die in a car crash. She died here, after you abducted her.’ She took a step closer and then another. ‘How did my little girl die?’
He reared back as she approached, swaying slightly, eyes widening. ‘Katarina, you clearly don’t know what you’re saying. This is wild talk. You need help
–’
‘I know everything. About Jeff and Phil and the child you had killed in Jamie’s place – Sally Ann Cheska. Did you even know her name?’
‘Stop!’ Oliver put a hand out, only to draw it back. ‘This is outrageous. You’re talking nonsense!’
Kaz stared, hearing the outrage and denials, but searching instead, in his expression, for evidence. And finding it.
He was playing injured surprise to perfection, but something in his posture had changed. The facade was falling in; cracking with every accusation she threw at him. A savage joy leapt horribly in her chest, as she took another pace closer.
From the pocket of her dress, her mobile phone began to warble.
The staircase came out on the edge of a circular room. There was no ceiling, just the roof of the tower, lined in wood. Light spilled in through a series of shallow windows. All of them were open, admitting the faint breeze that came off the lake to cool the air. The room appeared to be empty. Devlin took all this in, during one assessing glance. It was the furniture in the room that took his attention. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like an artist’s studio that had been miniaturised. A tiny easel, low tables holding paint and equipment. Then he got it. Not miniature, child-size. He moved slowly into the room, hands at his sides, shoulders relaxed, every sense at the stretch. When he came to the middle of the room he stopped and listened.
It was the smallest of movements, but he traced the source immediately. There was a heap of cushions piled against the curve of the wall. He made straight for them, before swinging round, at the last moment, in a ninety-degree turn.
There was a squeal and clatter.
Crouched at the end of the equipment table, dark eyes wide with alarm, her mother’s eyes, was Jamie Elmore.
Chapter Fifty-One
The child was dead, twice over. It didn’t make sense, but his eyes weren’t lying. It was Kaz’s daughter cowering in front of him.
‘Oh, shit.’ Devlin could hear Kaz’s voice, whispering in his ear. ‘What do you know about five-year-old girls?’
The little girl’s eyes had travelled up his whole height and back down again. Now they were getting wider. Any second and she was going to scream. Shoving down panic, Devlin put his finger to his lips.
The scream got swallowed, but not forgotten. The small head tilted, in a heartbreaking echo of her mother. Pulling in a shaky breath, Devlin marshalled his scattered wits.
He could do this. It was female. Pint-size but still female. Although the usual passwords, Manolo Blahnik, diamond earrings, weekend in Paris, weren’t going to work here. He’d just have to go with charm.
He hunkered down, careful to keep his distance, and tried out a smile. He got a wary, watery grimace in response.