Feng Shui Assassin

  *

  Placing a series of three by five cards out on her bed, Amanda considered the circumstances of the victims' deaths and their connections with each other. Each card had a photo clipped to the edge, along with a brief description of death and social position, and bulleted points highlighting anything unusual that Amanda had noticed.

  Donald Grace and David Masters were both dead. A suicide and an accident. Both members of the Valentine Trust. Amanda clipped a pink ribbon connecting the two cards.

  Grace committed suicide by leaping from the fifteenth floor of an office block. No suicide note was left. No motivation for taking of his own life.

  Masters was victim of an explosion at his country residence. No explosive residue or evidence of any accelerant was found. There had been a party that night, but no one had come forward to give a statement.

  Then there was the stone-walling, jackass lawyer, Duvalier. Amanda placed his card between the two dead trustees. Perhaps a connection or perhaps wild coincidence. Another card held the registration plates of the people at the funeral. Untalkative attendees at Masters' funeral. She had submitted the registrations into the Police National Computer and would have their names waiting for her in the morning. Along with a list of traffic violations and points on licences.

  A meow forewarned Amanda of the approaching menace and, on cue, a white cat leapt onto the bed. Jasper, her white furball-of-fun, padded over the cards and settled herself against Amanda's lap. Amanda stroked her under the chin and the cat purred, stretched, leaned against her leg and purred some more.

  Amanda closed her eyes, lying back on the bed. She felt weary, but couldn't stop the flicker of images cascading through her mind. She thought on how the men could be connected in death as closely as they were connected in life.

  The ringing phone stirred her from sleep. She was still dressed and lying on the bed, Jasper flexing her claws beside her. The alarm clock blinked four thirty. She answered the phone with a croaky hello.

  'Glad you're awake. Get your ass out of bed. I'll be outside your place in two minutes to pick you up and head into Walthamstow,' Kirkwood growled on the other end of the phone.

  'What's happening?'

  'Something I think you'll find of great interest. It involves one of those bods you have a conspiracy on. But you haven't much time, so stop flapping your gums and get dressed. Outside. Two minutes.'

  Amanda hung up and rolled into the bathroom, scattering the cards as she did so. After splashing her face with cold water and checking that she looked at least half decent, she grabbed a thick coat and was out of her flat a minute after the phone call.