Notes on a Missing G-String by Winona Kent

Author:Winona Kent [Winona Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winona Kent / Blue Devil Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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And then I took Katey’s advice and set about being unethical.

The first step was to buy a couple of new pay-as-you-go smartphones that couldn’t be tracked. I was serious about that. Katey had made a very good point. Braskey obviously wanted to know what had happened to his jade necklace. And he obviously believed Holly knew something about it. And I was the person he believed he could use to get that information.

Not if I could help it.

I took the two new mobiles back to my flat and then I went online and did a crash course in How to Secretly Follow People. If you know how to do it yourself, you stand a fighting chance of being able to avoid others doing it to you. That was my theory, anyway. The trouble with human bloodhounds, of course, is that if they’re really good at their job, you won’t know they’re there. The best you can hope for is that your evasive tactics will outsmart them.

I went downstairs and rang Holly from the park across the road. Because it also occurred to me that Braskey might have managed to mic my flat—either from inside, or by aiming something outside at my windows or my plumbing. Have you ever seen that film The Conversation? Gene Hackman’s character drives himself to the point of distraction trying to uncover how the baddies have been listening to him. He demolishes his flat. And he never does find out.

Holly answered my call right away.

“Oh hello Mr. Private Investigator,” she said, betraying nothing once I’d identified myself. “I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again.”

“I’d pretty much come to the same conclusion,” I replied. “But then I had second thoughts.”

“And as I told you, Jason, I honestly think it would be best if you just dropped the investigation. There’s nothing to be gained.”

“Who said anything about the investigation?”

“Isn’t that why you’ve called?”

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “no.”

“What then?”

“The last time we met, as I was leaving, you made it clear you had other things on your mind.”

I waited while she processed what I was suggesting.

Then: “My fee is £500 an hour. Cash only, of course.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And if a gentleman should require additional hours or special personal services…there is a fee for those as well.”

My mind went into overdrive imagining what this was going to cost me. But if you’re going to be unethical, you might as well take the plunge. Forget about paddling on the shore.

“I would like to meet you for one hour,” I said, “at your hotel. I’m particularly interested in your special personal services.”

“You surprise me, Mr. Private Investigator. But I’m happy to oblige. Shall we say, at two o’clock, then?”

I checked the time.

“Perfect. Where are you staying?”

“I will meet you outside the Marble Arch tube station,” Holly replied, “and once I’ve ensured you are alone, we will go to my hotel.”

“Excellent,” I said. “See you at two.”

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