Free Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) by James White Page B

Carruthers sat bolt upright.
    Nick shook his head.              “And you were keeping tabs on both of them.”
    Carruthers was already reaching for his notebook. “Where?”
                  “Relax. Someone’s already been there. That’s where I went tonight after the club. The place had been turned over good and proper. I had another look myself; there’s nothing there. You search her main flat?”
                  “Of course.”
                  “You find anything?”
    Carruthers shook his head. “I’m going to need that address, Nick.”
    “Ground floor, fifteen Conway Street, but you’re wasting your time.”
    “Maybe, but I’ll be the judge of that. What else?”
    “I told the Brigadier that Ramona was dead. He didn’t know. Then I told him to leave; he was attracting the attention of the two men your tail saw running out.”
    “Anything else?”
    Nick shrugged. “That was it. I searched the flat then came home.”
    Carruthers stared at him. “You’re sure?”
    “Yes. So what do you want me to do now? Are we done?”
    Carruthers stood and moved, pushing his face into Nick’s. “No, we are not done. You’re still officially a suspect in the murder of Ramona. I’ve got no leads here. My men can’t even get into the clubs you patronise, the ones that they can find. I know about all your illicit dens and late-night spots; what I don’t know is who goes there or why, and what they might be up to. You’re useful. I need you as my eyes and ears, and I need you to keep digging.”
    “Why not just pull in the Germans and the Italians?”
    “Because I’ve got nothing to go on. They’d wriggle free and then they’d know I was on to them. I need more and I need to know what they’re doing.”
    “How long are you going to keep me doing this?”
    “As long as I like,” sneered Carruthers and Nick had to fight an impulse to punch the man.
    A tense silence stretched between them, broken by the sound of a key in the lock. Clara strode into the room, her face a mask of fury. She checked herself as she saw Carruthers; surprise then shock flicked across her face, before it settled into a forced smile that convinced no one.
    “Sorry I didn’t realise you had company,” she said.
    “Mr Carruthers was just leaving,” Nick replied, steering the man with a firm grip on his elbow.
    Carruthers, for his part, was staring intently at Clara. “Yes, I was, Miss…?”
    “De Vere.”
    “I see. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He turned to Nick. “Interesting company you keep.”
    Nick shoved the man’s hat into his arms and pulled him to the front door. Nick was tired, and tired of Carruthers and his barbed statements and supposition. “One last thing,” Nick said as he opened the front door. “What is Brigadier Johnson working on?”
    Carruthers paused by the door and looked as if he was about to say something, then his eyes drifted past Nick. Nick half turned his head. Clara was standing down the hall watching the two of them. He turned back to Carruthers, who gave a slight smile.
    “No idea and nothing for you to concern yourself with. Good night.” He topped his hat at Clara over Nick’s shoulder, turned and clomped down the stairs.
    Nick stood at the door until he heard the front door slam shut. He was all too aware of Clara’s silently boiling fury behind him. He mentally braced himself and turned with a conciliatory smile. It was time to face the music.

 
    CHAPTER 6
     
    Clara didn’t stay. Nick had endured a whirlwind of accusation and ire that he’d sat stoically through. After she’d blown away into the rising dawn, he washed and lay down on the bed. He must have dozed, because the nightmares awoke him in a cold sweat around ten. It was probably the longest sleep he’d had in days.
                  He shaved and washed again, knocked up a Bloody Mary to stave off the dull thud of the hangover beginning to press at the