Private Royals (Private 12.50)

‘How do you know, sir?’ Morgan asked from the doorway.

The Duke’s eyes widened as he turned towards the American’s voice.

‘I will show you.’

CHAPTER 4

CHANGED INTO HIS street clothing of jeans and a roll-sleeved shirt, Knight pulled the Range Rover to a stop at Chelsea Harbour, the Duke and a hoody-wearing Morgan emerging from its back seat. The ride had been quiet, the investigators wanting to hold their questions for the Duke until they had set eyes on what he assured them was the scene of a crime.

‘Nice place,’ Morgan said quietly to Knight, casting his eyes across the rows of moored boats. ‘He says hers is the centre penthouse.’ He pointed at a block of luxury apartments.

‘Wonder what the rent is on that,’ Knight said.

‘About seven million to buy.’

Knight was about to ask Morgan how he knew, but the confident smile of the handsome man told him the full story.

‘Leave some for the rest of us, will you?’ Knight grinned, turning to see a white transit van pull up behind the Range Rover.

‘The cavalry has arrived,’ the van’s driver announced from its window in an east London accent.

‘Good to see you, Hooligan.’ Morgan smiled, extending his hand to the man who was the guru when it came to all things forensic, scientific and technological at Private London.

‘Good to see you too, Jack.’

‘Your Grace, this is Jeremy Crawford,’ Knight introduced the scruffy man more formally.

‘Call me Hooligan, Duke’ he insisted. Red-haired and freckled, the self-confessed geek had earned the nickname for his love of all things West Ham, and wore the moniker as a badge of honour.

The Duke said nothing, and seemed to shrink at the sight of the building in front of them.

‘It’s OK, sir. The sooner you take us inside, the sooner we can make sure your daughter’s safe.’

Morgan wanted to reassure the Duke. But once they’d entered the building and gone into the penthouse apartment, he feared he may have spoken too soon.

The room was awash with blood.

‘Bloody ’ell,’ Hooligan exclaimed before catching himself. ‘I’ll get to work on some samples then, shall I?’

‘Do it,’ Morgan agreed, then turned to Knight. ‘Peter. Elaine still at Scotland Yard?’ Elaine was the sister of Knight’s deceased wife, and was a well-respected inspector on London’s Metropolitan Police Force.

‘Want me to call it in?’

‘No police!’ the Duke said urgently, coming alive. ‘He’ll kill her!’ He pointed a shaking finger at the kitchen countertop.

Morgan stepped carefully to it, and cast his eyes over the granite.

A message had been scrawled in blood:

‘I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER.’

CHAPTER 5

MORGAN AND KNIGHT stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the rows of moored boats beneath them, millions of pounds’ worth of pleasure craft sitting gently on the water.

‘He’s right about the police,’ Morgan sighed, leaning against the railing. ‘We bring them in, Abbie’s chances of making it out alive go down big time.’

‘Maybe,’ Knight mused. ‘But this isn’t Mexico, Jack. Nobody’s going to tip off the kidnappers.’