Fifth Victim by Zoe Sharp Page B

than God. Don’t ask how he made most of it. Hell, even I don’t ask how he made most of it,’ he added, as if he and his father had conversations about high finance all the time. He grinned. ‘But the long and the short of it is, money don’t talk – it sings . And, when it does, everybody dances.’ He leant forwards, elbows on the table, the smile dropping away. ‘And that means I can do, or have, anything I want, and nobody will lift a finger to stop me. Capiche? ’
    I waited a beat. ‘How very boring for you,’ I said, letting my voice drawl.
    Torquil looked momentarily surprised at my lack of proper intimidation, and then he laughed out loud, a proper bark of amusement. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why, ’cause you’re a bitch, but I really do like you.’
    ‘Thank you … I think.’
    He held my gaze for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to Dina. Beyond the waist-high kick boards that edged the arena, she had managed to coax Cerdo into a creditable canter pirouette to applause and cries of ‘Way to go, Dina!’ from Raleigh.
    Any moment now , I thought cynically, he’s going to suggest a group hug .
    ‘I wouldn’t put that untouchable status to the test as far as she’s concerned, if I were you,’ I said quietly. ‘She’s well protected.’
    ‘I kinda like her , too,’ Torquil said. ‘That was a cool gift.’ And as if to prove it, he reached into a pocket and dragged out the Swiss Army knife Dina had given to him for his birthday. He fingered the engraved casing, looking almost unsure of himself. ‘I thought I might invite her to dinner. As a thank you and an apology. You think she’ll come?’
    I thought of Dina’s comment before the party, that Torquil was the price rather than the object of going. It was not part of my job description, I decided, to vet my principal’s choice of date unless they posed an actual threat.
    All I said was, ‘A little early in the day for that, isn’t it?’
    ‘Depends.’ Torquil checked the encrusted Rolex that swamped his wrist. If he ever fell into deep water wearing it, it would pull him to the bottom so fast his eardrums would burst. ‘I know a place does great seafood in Miami,’ he said, almost diffident. ‘And Dad’s just bought a new Lear 85.’
    ‘Nice choice,’ I said sedately. His expression turned slightly mulish, as if he’d been hoping for more surprised admiration of his father’s executive jet. I put my head on one side, asked in mild tones, ‘How do you live with such certainty? Once you’ve had everything – done everything – how will you even bring yourself to get out of bed in the morning?’
    Just for a moment, something flitted across his face. It took me a moment to recognise it as panic and I realised he’d already reached his boredom saturation point. He was a week past his twenty-first birthday.
    At that moment, his cellphone began to vibrate and emit the theme from Mission: Impossible . Now why didn’t that surprise me? Torquil snatched it up immediately.
    I tuned out his mumbled phone conversation and watched Dina instead. She was walking Cerdo in a cooling-off circle around her instructor at the far end of the arena. Raleigh was talking animatedly, mainly with his hands, and Dina was nodding seriously, a buzz of excitement about her. At least she hadn’t reached the same plane as Torquil. Not yet.
    It was a testament to the newly attained state of relaxation between horse and rider that the sudden clatter of hooves on the concrete yard didn’t startle Cerdo beyond a slight quickening of his stride, a twitch of his ears. But at least he didn’t try to dump his rider again.
    A girl on a fine-boned bay Arabian horse arrived from the direction of the cross-country course, both looking hard-ridden. The girl swung down in the yard, where another of Raleigh’s girl groom groupies rushed to take her reins. As the rider removed her crash helmet, I recognised Orlando’s delicate