‘Ghost hunting?’ Tomek asked, unable to hide the cynicism in his voice.
‘If you believe in that sort of thing, of course. I do, but not many agree. Besides, it’s fun for the kids, keeps them entertained.’
‘What ghost?’ Tomek asked, deciding to indulge the man.
‘It’s said that my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather’s wife committed suicide here a few hundred years ago. According to legend, she wasn’t so happy about the marriage, and at that time saw no way out, so she killed herself. But the story goes she liked the grounds so much she decided to stay, and I think she might have wanted to get some revenge as well since, her ghost’s been spotted several times. I’ve seen her once, but I know she’s been around more than that. Sometimes I can feel her presence in the room.’
‘Was she around at the weekend?’ Tomek asked. ‘Can’t imagine she would have been too happy with what she saw.’
Oscar’s face contorted even more.
‘We may never know. It’s not like I have security cameras installed in each of the rooms…’ Micky cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, gentlemen, I digress. I presume you’ve come here to ask me some more questions about Angelica?’
‘Yes,’ Oscar said. ‘It’s come to our attention that she spent the night with a woman while she was here. Can you remember who?’
Micky leant to one side, peering round Tomek to see if anyone was nearby. Once satisfied there was no one within earshot, Micky answered, ‘It’s not uncommon. Our guests spend the night with whomever they desire.’
‘Yes, but there was a particular female guest Angelica spent the night alone with, and on more than one occasion.’
Micky folded his arms across his chest. ‘Florian told you that, did he?’
‘Florian?’ Tomek repeated, alarm bells ringing. ‘I thought you didn’t know his name?’
The man stuttered. ‘I…’
‘How much more do you know about him? Can I see your phone?’
The man’s hand involuntarily flew to his breast pocket. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘Why not? What have you got to hide?’
‘You can’t ask to see my phone.’
‘Yes, I can. I’m not taking it by force. I’m allowing you to volunteer your phone to me. If you give me permission, there’s nothing wrong with that. However, the fact you don’t want me to have it is only going to make me think that you’re hiding something. Which, given the fact that you lied to us about not knowing The Donkey Man’s name—’
‘Donkey Man?’ Oscar interrupted, curiosity getting the better of him.
‘I’ll explain later,’ Tomek told him, then quickly returned to Micky. ‘The fact that you lied to me about not knowing who Florian is makes me think that you do have something more to hide. Now, I’m going to ask again, and this time I’ll make it easier for you: do you know the woman Florian’s referring to?’
The man hesitated, a struggle playing out on his face. It was clear to see that he knew the answer, but didn’t want to give it up.
‘Might I just add that failure to give us this information, if it later comes to light that you knew what we were after, means you’re interfering with an investigation and could lead to jail time,’ Oscar added.
That always worked.
‘Fine,’ the man said in a huff, then reached into his pocket and handed Tomek his phone. ‘Her name’s Emilia Solveig. She owns her own hair and beauty salon in Southend. She’s been coming to The Nights of Eden for about a year now. I first invited her to join after bumping into her at her salon. It was late, and I needed a haircut. She was the only place open.’
‘And you just ended up talking about deranged sex parties and orgies with a complete stranger?’ Tomek said loudly on purpose. His voice travelled across the water, but it was quickly drowned out by the gushing water fountain.
‘Quiet! Don’t say it so loudly. Not everyone knows what goes on here.’ Micky sighed heavily. ‘She… she was in a difficult place, all right. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it when you see her.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Emilia Solveig was thirty-two years old, with long blonde hair that had been curled into tight, perfect ringlets. Her face was covered with make-up, but it had been expertly applied, as though she spent the better part of two hours on it every morning, and several years of her life training to do it professionally. She was in the middle of cutting a customer’s hair when Tomek and Oscar entered her salon. The inside of the salon was a cacophony of noise: heavy bass playing in the background, hair dryers blasting warm air, water cascading from a shower head, and loud chatter, combined with the sound of scissors cutting, and tinfoil tearing. Tomek had no idea what was going on, he was used to a simple short back and sides with a little trim on top, but this was industrial on another level. There were four customers in total, each being tended to by a member of staff, all in various stages of the haircutting process.
Emilia, at the other end of the row of chairs, noticed them in the mirror and turned to face Tomek.
‘All right, gents?’ she asked. ‘Appointments only, lads. We don’t do walk-ins.’
‘But you did for Micky Tatton,’ Tomek said.
At that, Emilia paused, set her scissors down on the counter, and made her way cautiously towards Tomek. As she approached, Tomek studied her face, trying to work out if he’d seen her on Friday night, whether he recognised her out of costume.
‘Why you sayin’ that name round here?’ she asked, keeping her voice low. ‘’Oo are you?’
‘The police,’ Tomek whispered. He kept his warrant card in his pocket, lest any of her customers or colleagues see. ‘We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about a friend of yours.’
‘A friend? Who?’
‘Angelica.’
Emilia’s face glazed over. Her lips parted and her expression fell behind a wall of deep thought.
‘Angelica? She… what’s happened?’
‘Could we go somewhere more private?’
Emilia turned behind her. ‘There ain’t nowhere. I…’
