The link between the two deaths is Gold a perfume made by the company that Digby acquired just before his death. But Gold is no ordinary perfume… it seems to have addictive properties…
From the book:
“So what exactly did my precious step-mother hire you to do?”
Nikola Digby was lounging in a lounger, by the heated swimming pool. The air was cool outside, the result of an overnight thunder storm. But the sun was streaming in through the transparent roof sans cold air.
“She wants me to look for your father.”
“My father will turn up when he's ready.” said Nikola in a deep sultry voice. “Why don't you sit down.”
…“Now you're being Freudian,” she said, pouting disapprovingly. “We learned to fend for ourselves, at least when it came to using our time. Of course daddy's money came in handy.”
“Interesting,” said Freeman pensively.
She turned over onto her front, adjusting her position sensuously, as if aware of Freeman's eyes feasting upon her and determined to give him a tantalizing treat.
“If you're going to hang around why don't you make yourself useful,” she said.
“What?” asked Freeman, uncertainly.
“Come over and put some oil on my back.
He could tell that she was toying with him. Opportunities like this, he usually had to work for. It was obvious that she was well aware of the fact that she was God's gift to men.
“Why do you think that your father gives Michael more money than he gives you?”
“Well for a start because Mike always seems to have so much of it. He's never short of a grand or two if he wants to buy some new car or yacht or whatever. I mean I suppose it all evens out 'cause I can get men to buy me jewellery. But still, Mike always seems to be rolling in it. You know he has his own private five-seater airplane. You're forgetting my legs.”
He'd stopped rubbing in the oil and had been about to step back, when Nikola's voice had shocked him out of his complacency. He sensed that she enjoyed the power of giving him orders rather more than the tactile sensation of his firm hands sliding their way across her soft body. But he didn't protest. He squirted more oil onto his hands and began rubbing into her calves.
“How much does your father give you?” asked Freeman.
“Twenty thousand a month. He says that giving us too much would ruin our characters.”
“Twenty thousand a month sounds pretty good,” said Freeman, feeling somewhat guilty as he thought about the three hundred thousand that he'd just deposited.
“Not when you're paying off a ten thousand a month mortgage and driving a Ferrari and travelling and trying to keep up to date with the latest fashions.”
“And buying perfume at four hundred dollars an ounce?”
“Exactly,” said Nikola. “I mean you'd think that as it's daddy's company he'd be able to get me free samples. But he insists that because it's a public company and his group is only the major stockholder, he can't bring the home the goodies for nothing.”
“So I guess you have to buy it at Harrods.”
“Unfortunately. And contrary to any gossip you may have heard about me, I hate shopping. I just love owning. What about my thighs?”
“The pace is fast, characters convince and the plot is well thought out. Kessler writes well.”
“Kessler merges tense courtroom scenes with an intriguing storyline to produce a very satisfying read.”
YORKSHIRE EVENING PRESS
“Courtroom battles share the limelight with high-energy action as the story builds to a stunning climax.”
NORTH EASTERN GAZETTE