Indigo- The Complete Series, page 55
part #1 of Indigo Series
Gordon tapped a few more keys on his laptop. “Look here,” he said, pointing at the screen.
Justin and Paul moved closer to the laptop’s screen.
He pulled up some tabloid sites and a few of Rachel’s social media sites. “Thanks to social media, I’ve been able to reconstruct a social diary for Rachel. I created a fake identity and asked to friend her on Facebook. And I also followed her on Instagram and Twitter. I’ve been able to verify her whereabouts for the last several weeks.” He scrolled through various photos. “Rachel boasts about where she ate dinner, who she’s with, and sometimes even includes photos of what she ate or drank. All of this information is available on her sites. So,” Gordon said, tapping a few more keys, “I made a spreadsheet of all the shops, restaurants, clubs, bars, and even a few Tube stations.”
Gordon loved his job, no doubt about it, but discovering details would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
“Did you find anything?” Justin asked.
Gordon gave a nod while he worked. “Rachel never had an established routine. She rarely went to the same club twice. Beginning about two weeks ago, however, she went to the same place at least three times a week. This is what I found,” he said, moving away from the computer.
Justin moved in closer to get a better look. “What club is this?”
“It’s a nightclub—Bacchanal—it’s in Piccadilly and is owned by Yuri Azarov, a member of the Russian mafia here in London,” Gordon explained. “Bacchanal is a perfect name for a den of decadent, drunken revelry,” he muttered.
“What’s this got to do with Rachel?”
Gordon resumed tapping keys again. “Rachel used to be photographed with men all over London. But,” he paused to look at Justin, “in the last two weeks,” he pointed the cursor, clicking on a particular photograph, “when she goes to Bacchanal, she is seen exclusively with Azarov.”
Justin inspected the grainy photograph. Yuri Azarov was a brutish-looking man who didn’t appear to be Rachel’s type. “She’s only known him a couple of weeks?”
Gordon cleared his throat. “Um, she’s dated a lot of men, as you know, Mr. Hamilton. I found out from her social media history that she first met Yuri over a year ago. When she returned from Los Angeles she was photographed more often than not with Yuri. She is now his exclusive girlfriend.”
He took a closer look at the photographs. Rachel and Yuri were seated at a private table with a few other couples. The table was littered with champagne and vodka bottles and an assortment of glasses. Yuri kept a close eye on Rachel as she laughed with a friend. “What am I supposed to be looking at? They’re at a nightclub, doing what people do at nightclubs.”
Gordon grinned broadly. “Ah, keep looking.” Gordon scrolled through photo after photo. In each one, Rachel might have been having a good time, but Yuri wasn’t. He also never took his eyes off of her. “See? Yuri is obsessed with Rachel. He never smiles, he never drinks alcohol, and he broods. A lot.” Gordon laughed as he showed him a photograph with a particularly angry-looking Yuri.
“Show him the video,” Paul said.
“How did you get a video?”
Gordon turned to answer, his hands resting on the keyboard. “I have a contact employed at a governmental agency that keeps an eye on several Russian mafia businesses in town. They’re able to tap into each business’ CCTV to monitor their activities. It can be quite helpful to know who the players are in the Russian crime community. Let’s just say my contact owed me a favor, and leave it at that,” Gordon said with a satisfied grin.
“This video was taken the same night you encountered Rachel and had the argument in the taxi,” Paul said, leaning forward to get a better look.
Gordon brought up a black-and-white video taken from Bacchanal. Yuri was seated at his table while Rachel got up to dance with a girlfriend.
Rachel and her friend laughed while moving their hips against each other. Both women wore short dresses and Rachel teased Yuri as she slowly pulled her dress up her thighs.
When a stranger came up behind Rachel and held her by the hips, she rubbed up against his crotch. “Whoa!” Justin flinched when he saw Yuri jump up and punch the stranger so hard in the face he stumbled backward and fell to the ground. Yuri then kicked him a few times, took Rachel by the arm, and hauled her through a private door.
Gordon hit the pause button and leaned back in his chair. “That’s all I’ve got right now.”
“I believe Azarov is the one responsible for assaulting Rachel,” Paul said.
“Then why didn’t she name him as her assailant? There must be a lot of people who’ve seen him treat her like this.”
“Maybe. In any event,” Paul said, standing, “we’re still working on it.”
Gordon turned off his computer and gathered his things. “There are lots of cameras in the club—all over, actually. I’m hopeful my contact will find the video to show what happened after they went through that private door.”
Paul turned to the investigator. “We'll talk later today, Gordon. Are you good with seeing yourself out? I have a few things I need to discuss with Justin.”
“No worries,” the young investigator said, slinging his computer bag over his shoulder. “Cheers.”
Justin groaned inwardly at what a plague that damn phrase—no worries—was. He could almost hear Lucy's laughter, and that lifted his spirits a little.
“So, what else do we need to discuss?”
Paul took a sip of his now-cold coffee, grimaced, and set down the mug. “I just want to say while this development is reassuring, I still have concerns.”
“About what?”
“Yuri Azarov, as you saw in the video, is a very dangerous man. I believe it's only a matter of time before we find some evidence that will implicate him as Rachel's assailant.”
Justin ran a hand over his beard. “And that’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes, it is. Yuri Azarov was born into a Russian mafia family. The interests of the Azarov family are diverse. They used to be involved in arms dealing, drugs, and even human trafficking. Yuri owns several clubs, which functions as a cover for his drug sales.” Paul held up one finger to emphasize his point. “However, in the past few years, he’s expanded his business and is a broker for stolen art. In fact, Vivian Seymour’s firm has been interested in Yuri’s involvement in stolen art for quite some time.”
“He’s obviously not a reputable businessman, but what has that got to do with my case? Why don’t we find evidence against him and then put him away forever?”
“It might be more complicated than that,” Paul said in a firm voice. “The Azarovs—especially Yuri—are violent and vengeful. He is a serious threat to Rachel.”
“I’m sure he is.” How in the world did Rachel get mixed up with someone like Yuri Azarov?
“If we can create a timeline for that night and obtain evidence against Azarov, we should be able to break apart her case against you. However,” Paul said, holding Justin’s gaze, “I have real concerns for Rachel's safety.”
Justin shoved his hands in his pockets. “Grace Hopper is her solicitor. Ensuring Rachel’s safety is a matter of concern for her, not you—or me, for that matter.”
“I agree. But I believe if we make the evidence public, Rachel will be at great risk.”
“So what do we do?”
“There might be a way to present what we find privately, and assist her with escaping Azarov. A rescue plan, if you will.”
Justin raised his brows. “What?”
Paul paused to collect his thoughts before speaking. “Rachel knows who's responsible for this assault. Agreed?”
“Agreed. So?”
“Grace probably knows, too. Or, at least, suspects. She's so media conscious she would sooner throw you and her client under a bus than try to bring the real perpetrator to justice. Because you are named as the suspect, she can ride the celebrity media machine for months.”
Justin frowned in confusion.
“We’re gathering the evidence that Grace doesn't have the resources to obtain. For all we know, Rachel doesn't even know it exists.”
“And?” Justin asked skeptically.
“I think if we find what we're looking for, we can present it to both Grace and Rachel...in private. No judge, no media.”
“And then what?”
“And then, Rachel drops all charges against you.”
How simple this all seemed. It would be such a simple conclusion to a fucked-up mess.
“What happens to Rachel? What’s the rescue plan you mentioned?”
Paul lifted his chin. “Phil Rothstein has assured me that he will offer Rachel a safe haven. He will get her away from London, away from the Russian mafia, and far away from Yuri Azarov.”
“You know Phil Rothstein?” Justin asked, eyes wide.
“The music industry can be a small community at times,” Paul said with a shrug. “Phil’s been a friend of mine for years.”
“Why would he do something like that? He hasn't dated her for a long time.” Phil Rothstein appeared to be everyone's benefactor.
“Phil's a kind man,” Paul said with a sincere smile. “If he cares about someone, and not just in a business sense, he gets involved. Most of the time, he prefers to remain anonymous and lend a hand here and there, but sometimes, as in Rachel’s case, he is deeply concerned for her welfare and will make it a priority to assist her.”
Rachel was fortunate to have Phil as a friend. “Why didn’t she consult Phil? He would have helped her find a better solicitor than that media whore.”
“I think Rachel believed Grace was famous and would keep her safe. Phil is convinced Rachel regrets it and wants a way out,” he said, standing, glancing at his watch. “I have to run. I have another appointment.”
They walked to the door, and Paul turned to him. “I’m hopeful we'll have this wrapped up soon. I think Gordon is on top of things, and when we find it, we'll call a meeting with Rachel and Grace.”
“And then?”
“You'll be free.” Paul grinned. With a nod of his head, he left the flat.
Justin stood against the door after closing it and took a deep breath. He might be able to be with Lucy sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER 10
Lucy
After Lucy talked with Justin, she went back to bed and slept through the night. The stress of being detained by the customs office had caught up with her. It was late morning by the time she woke up, feeling refreshed and ready to take on what the new day brought.
She noticed a text message from Justin last night:
I miss you. I want to see you. Naked. JXO
Smiling, she texted back:
You’re supposed to be working, not thinking dirty thoughts about me. LXO
Lucy found Vivian’s business card and a note on the kitchen counter:
Lucy,
I had to be in the office early this morning. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, so help yourself. I might be home late, so we’ll talk tonight, or in the morning. Call me if you need anything.
V.
Lucy made coffee and toast and scrambled a few eggs. Justin was writing, so she didn’t want to bother him. Without her own phone, she couldn’t call anyone unless she had memorized their number. Another consideration was how to avoid arousing suspicion about calling from a different phone number. And without her laptop, she couldn’t get any work done.
After examining Vivian’s DVD collection, she decided to pop in the first disc in the box set of Absolutely Fabulous and laughed through a few episodes of the British comedy series. When she got tired of watching TV, she explored Vivian’s library and selected a volume of John Keats’ poems.
It was chilly, so she made a cup of tea and pulled up a herringbone knit throw around her hips. Curling up on the couch, she found her favorite poem, “To Autumn.” As she read the first line, the rain pounded against the windows, turning her mind to the calendar. The seasons were changing, and the days would soon get shorter and colder. Her time in sun-drenched Santorini with Justin seemed like it happened months ago, instead of days. Her life in Los Angeles? It belonged to a different era. She fell asleep on the couch listening to the rain and dreaming of Justin.
***
Lucy tensed when the doorbell rang. The room was darker, and it was still pouring rain outside. She walked to the door, peeked through the peephole, and was surprised by who was standing there.
“Hello,” she greeted Trevor, the friendly bellman from the Carlton Hotel. He was standing at the door with her luggage and dripping umbrella.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bianchi. I’m Trevor, remember me?” He gave her a timid smile, and his cheeks bloomed with a bright scarlet blush. She had forgotten Trevor had a small crush on her.
“Of course. Come in, please,” she offered with an outstretched hand. She was running out of clean clothes, so she was thrilled to see her luggage.
“Miss Bentley contacted the hotel and was going to send one of her assistants to pick up your bags, but I volunteered to come instead. I welcomed you to the hotel, so I wanted to be the one who delivered your bags to you.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
Trevor glanced nervously around the room before he could muster the courage to look directly at her. “Someone hurt you that night, Miss. I wanted to see for myself you were all right.”
“I’m feeling much better. Thank you.” Lucy was touched by his concern for her.
“I know everyone thinks that musician was the one who hurt you, but I know he didn’t do it. It was probably that man who was in the suite next to yours.”
“Edward Pierce,” she said, nodding. “Did anyone ask you about it?”
Trevor shook his head. “No one on staff at the hotel asked me anything. The concierge saw you leave, but that’s all I know.”
“What about Dr. Pierce? Did anyone see him?”
“I don’t think so. I know he left without paying his hotel bill. After you left, I went up to your suite. It was a right mess. I had to inform the management, of course. We gathered your belongings and kept your bags in storage until someone contacted us.”
“What about Dr. Pierce’s luggage?”
“His room was fine, but he and his bags were gone.”
“I want to thank you for bringing my luggage to me. I appreciate it.” She smiled at him. “Can I ask another favor?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?” he asked eagerly.
“Would you be willing—only if necessary—to give a statement to the police about what you just told me about Dr. Pierce?”
“I could give a statement to the police…if you want me to.”
“Thanks, Trevor. I’ll speak to Ms. Bentley and she’ll contact you.”
“Well, I better get back to work.” He gave her another shy smile and more blushing.
Goodness, he must be the shyest young man she had ever met. “Thank you again. And be sure to thank the Carlton management for me,” she said, walking him to the door.
After Trevor left, Lucy rolled her luggage down the hall but stopped when the doorbell rang again. Trevor must have forgotten something. She looked through the peephole, but could only see a blur of purple. Confused, she opened the door. “Trevor?”
To her surprise, Justin’s face peeked out around a large bouquet of irises. “Who the hell is Trevor?” he demanded, indignant. He wore a dark green wool knit cap that was pulled down low on the back of his head and a black parka.
Lucy squealed, tugging him inside the flat and kicking the door shut.
He held her face in his hands and kissed her hard. He was dripping wet, but she couldn’t care less. She kissed him in return as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked between kisses. “I thought you couldn’t leave your flat?”
“I snuck out through the service elevator. And I’ll sneak back the same way.” He handed her the bouquet and looked around. “Are we alone?”
“Yeah. Vivian is at work.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Let me just find—”
“Later,” he growled as he picked her up, tossing the flowers on the entry table.
She gasped. “How did you know where I was?”
“You’re asking too many questions, and we’re wasting precious time. Now, which room is yours?” Justin asked as he rushed down the hall, Lucy giggling in his arms.
Although it had been raining all day, a shaft of late afternoon sunlight shone into the room, filling it with light and shadow. As Justin walked in, he put Lucy down on her feet and stripped off his cap and jacket. He turned to face her. He was backlit, so his face was difficult to see, but she didn’t need to see his face to know he was studying her.
The rain cascaded against the windows, creating a rippling effect of the light in the room. Lucy’s heart pounded with excitement.
Justin gave her a naughty grin. “You’re wearing my T-shirt.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling as she played with the hem of the shirt.
Taking a few steps closer, he said in a rough voice, “Take it off.”
“Is that an order?” she teased.
He gave her a curt nod. “Now.”
Lucy pulled the shirt slowly over her head, tossing it aside. She shook her hair out and watched his expression shift.
He slowly licked his bottom lip as he took in the sight of her. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back, and kissing her with fiery passion.
“Justin,” she whispered through his kisses.
He ran a finger over the sheer purple lace of her demi bra. “I haven’t seen this bra before.” He slowly pulled down the cup and gave her an appreciative grin as her breast spilled over. She shivered when his fingers brushed across her nipple with the lightest touch. He softly groaned as he pulled the other cup down. “I worked quite a bit today.” He leaned down to gently kiss her breast, the whiskers of his beard tantalizing her sensitive skin along with his lips. “But after you distracted me with that text about me thinking dirty thoughts about you, I was done for.”
