Page 59 of King’s Ransom

‘You coming or what?’ he snorted.

‘What is it, Sam?’ Audrey said.

I was scanning the windy bedroom, my mind turning.

‘This answer doesn’t feel right. It’s not . . . complete.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Garrett asked.

‘Complete?’ Hooper said. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘It might be pointing to a decoy location, like the bomb on the 61st floor that killed Juno Everh—’

I cut myself off as I realised what was bothering me.

‘That’s it. Our kidnapper said, “The world’s greatest detectives are here. Ask them.” Detectives. Plural. We got this clue from only one great detective, Sherlock Holmes. I think there’s another clue that we still have to find . . .’

Hooper had had enough.

‘I don’t have time to indulge your weird quirky brilliance, you four-eyed freak.’—(125)—‘We’re going to the cathedral to rescue Aristo King. You’re either coming or you’re not.’

‘Then I’m not. You go get your glory,’ I said. ‘I think there’s more here.’

‘Whatever,’ Hooper grunted. ‘What about the rest of you brilliant private eyes?’

‘I’ll go with you,’ the Tech Detect said.

But the other two detectives—Xiao and Garrett—hesitated, glancing at me.

‘I think Dr Speedman’s right,’ Xiao said. ‘I’m going to stay here.’

‘Me, too,’ Garrett said.

‘Good. Fine. Stay.’ Hooper nodded at the two NYPD cops still here, the plain-clothed detective and the uniform: ‘You two, you got guard duty: keep watch over Mrs King and her son and this whole apartment; it’s still an active crime scene.’

‘You got it,’ the plain-clothed cop said.

Then Hooper left, dashing out.

No doubt eager to be on the scene when they found the world’s richest man, Director Longmuir hurried after him with the Tech Detect in tow.

Five minutes later, I was walking through the bloodstained and now near-empty apartment with Audrey and Heidi, looking for anything that might help answer the riddle: more books, an item of clothing, anything.

I even searched Mr King’s walk-in wardrobe to see if his rock-band t-shirts mentioned any kind of detectives or investigators.

(The two cops who had been left at the penthouse kept an eye on us. Yasmina King also lurked nearby, holding her son, not letting him out of her sight.)

‘I don’t think my ex likes you,’ Audrey said as we passed through the kitchen.

‘Even if I wasn’t dating you, I still think that’d be the case,’ I said. ‘Guys like him usually don’t care much for guys like me.’

I’d already checked the rest of the bookshelf in the bedroom, scanning it for books about other famous fictional detectives, like maybe Agatha Christie novels featuring Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot, but I didn’t see any.

In the main living area, I even checked the books with blank spines—but they were just a hodgepodge of no-name books wrapped in the trendy off-white dust jackets.

‘You mean rich-boy Ivy League jocks turned federal agents?’ Heidi said. ‘I think it’s fair to say your ex is a total fucking asshole, Audrey. What did you ever see in him?’

Audrey shrugged. ‘When you’re young, it can be easy to confuse narcissism for charm and he was very charming back then. Lesson learned.’