Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  “Go on,” Rochelle probed. “I can sense there’s more.”

  “Sam and I are most certainly not.”

  “How so? What happened this time?”

  “I told her it was her fault they had gone. It was on her lookout and she dropped the ball completely.”

  “Ouch. That wouldn’t have gone down well, I’m assuming.” Her tea arrived and she wrapped her hands around the mug like it was a comfort blanket and took a sip while the cashier informed Duncan his curry was en route. He watched the bored woman saunter back to the kitchen to await his plate for delivery. Absentmindedly, he wondered about her life for a moment or two, what she had to go home to. Did she have someone? Not everyone did. He was aware Rochelle had stopped chatting.

  “Sorry. I was miles away. What did you say?”

  Raising her voice slightly, she said, “I said I assume that didn’t go down well, you saying it was her fault and all.”

  “No. We rowed, and I threw her an ultimatum.” The cashier returned and placed his curry in front of him. He picked up a fork and dug in, scooping rice and tikka masala up in one motion. “Mmm, not bad,” he said. He scooped up more with the side of his fork and ate.

  “This is like pulling teeth,” groaned Rochelle. “What was the ultimatum? Have I got to guess?”

  “Sorry, mate. I’m just really hungry. It’s been a long day. But to answer your question, I told her if she didn’t sort herself out and at least apply for a job or two, I was out and I’d take the girls with me.”

  He took another forkful and Rochelle watched him as he chewed, waiting for him to swallow and go on. When he didn’t, she said, “I’m guessing that didn’t go down well either. No wonder you’re feeling rough. Have you left her on speaking terms this evening or is it the sofa for you tonight?”

  “Well, we’re speaking, and when I got back with the girls after pizza, at least she’d had a shower, so my words must have had some effect.” He cleared the last forkful of curry into his mouth and Rochelle watched and waited for him to carry on.

  “We’ll see,” he said at last. “I hope she does sort herself out.” He put his fork down and wiped his mouth on a serviette. “But I’m serious. I will leave with the girls. I can’t trust her. This isn’t the first time things have gone haywire since she was made redundant. It’s like she’s lost her grip on life, and I can’t deal with it.” Rochelle nodded and he carried on. “I have to know the girls are safe at all times and I don’t think that’s too much to ask. There’s already two children missing. I don’t want there to be any more.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  There was nothing more to say, really. They stood, ready to get back to work. Duncan realized he was feeling more invigorated for both the chat and a decent meal.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Thank the lord for Anika, Sam thought as she searched for her bag and slipped some shoes on. Since the two lived close by, it would only take her friend a minute or two to get to the house and then Sam could get on with finding a chemist that didn’t know her. If she’d had the cash, it would be easier and probably quicker to go to the house for a pill and a cup of pretend tea, but she’d only got £10 in her purse and not a lot in the housekeeping account to draw another lot out. She knew Duncan watched the account and though he’d never asked her to explain every penny, she felt like she should be as inconspicuous as possible so as not to raise his suspicions.

  Car headlights came around the corner and she pulled the curtains closed and made her way to the door. As Anika pulled up, Sam scurried over to the car and waited for the engine to stop and her friend to get out.

  “Thanks so much, Anika. I owe you one! I’ll only be a few minutes, promise,” she said gaily as she turned and trotted to her own car. She pressed the fob to unlock it and jumped in quickly before Anika could ask any further questions. She reversed out onto the road and waved airily to Anika, who was now stood in the open doorway. Sam watched in her rear-view mirror as the front door closed. With luck, the girls would be none the wiser that their mother wasn’t home.

  Again.

  Sam drove to the nearest chemist and parked up outside. Through the window she could see a handful of people waiting in line for their prescriptions and contemplated trying her luck. If the pharmacist was busy, he might not give her the third degree about what she needed the tablets for or recognize her from her custom last week. And the previous week. The “terrible period pains” and “bad head” excuses could only work for so long, and she knew she’d likely be getting a sideways glance this time at the very least.

  As she watched, a customer came out; that left three others still inside. Undoing her seatbelt, she took a deep breath. She figured she might as well try, because the next chemist was a bit of a drive away and she really didn’t want to be out too long. After all, she’d promised Anika she’d only be a few minutes. The cool night air wrapped itself around her as she made her way inside the shop and joined the end of the queue. The pharmacist gave her a cursory glance but nothing more. Had he recognized her fleetingly? Or was she imagining it? Sam kept her head lowered as she shuffled forward to wait her turn to be served, wishing she’d brought a cap to disguise or change her appearance slightly. Was she being paranoid now? As the person in front of her, an elderly woman with a walking stick, turned and made her way slowly towards the door, Sam stepped forward. Her turn now. She did her best to look ill, and frankly this time it wasn’t hard: her mouth had gone dry, and the words felt like bricks in her mouth.

  “A. . . A. . . A packet of Paramol, please,” she stammered. Sam tried for a little eye contact, hoping it would make her look less suspicious, but she knew the pharmacist would ask the question regardless.

  “Can I ask what you’ll be using them for?”

  “Dental pain. I have really bad toothache,” she said, and rubbed her lower jaw convincingly.

  “Have you used them before?” he enquired, sounding like he was on autopilot. To her relief, he wasn’t paying her much attention, simply asking the question to satisfy his professional obligations but too busy to really care about a truthful answer.

  “Yes, occasionally.” She smiled, but he was looking at his computer screen.

  “Seven pounds, please,” he said, and she handed over the £10 note. The drugs were almost hers.

  “And three pounds change.”

  She watched as he put the black packet into a paper bag, then reached out as he handed it across the counter and gently took the bag from him, resisting the urge to snatch it, get a handful of tablets inside of her and feel the blessed drug circling around her system as quickly as possible. With the package in her hands, she thanked him and walked back outside as calmly as she could. Another transaction completed successfully.

  A small shop was still open just along from the chemist and she went inside to purchase a bottle of water to swallow them down with, then went back to her car. Once inside, she relaxed a little. All would be well with the world in just a few short minutes. Sam opened the bag, then tore open the box and slipped out the blister of tablets. She popped out six tablets and threw them all to the back of her throat, then took a couple of long drags on the bottle of water. The placebo effect was instantaneous: just knowing she had the pills in her stomach made her feel instantly better, and when they did actually kick in, she’d be back home in the comfort of her lounge to feel the full effect.

  But there was one task to do before she got home – get rid of the evidence. If Duncan saw the number of packets she was disposing of each week, he’d know something was up. She quickly slipped the rest of the tablets out of their blisters and put them all into the side pocket of her bag, a place Duncan never went. They’d be quite safe there. She put the car in gear and headed home, stopping briefly outside the chip shop to throw the packaging in a bin. She’d smiled at her ingenuity. Maybe being the wife of a detective had its uses after all: she had learned to cover her tracks seamlessly.

  With her mission complete, she
pulled up on the driveway and went inside the house to thank Anika for covering.

  “No problem,” Anika said. “Glad I could help. Did you get what you needed?”

  “Yes, thanks. Jasmine has a bit of a cough, poor mite. See you tomorrow for coffee maybe?”

  Anika was already putting her coat back on and Sam watched as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

  “Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ve a few errands to run, so I’m not sure when.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow. Drive safely,” she said, but Anika was already half way down the path to the curb. Her friend lifted a hand and waved and a moment later was gone. Closing the front door, Sam leaned against it and rested her head back, her eyes closed, and took a couple of long, deep breaths. The pills were starting to take effect.

  Just what she needed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sam awoke sometime during the night in their bed. Duncan was sleeping quietly beside her. She hadn’t heard him come home or slip in beside her, but then not much would have wakened her after six tablets. Her mouth was parched and she rolled her tongue around the inside trying to lubricate it, but she knew she needed water. The bedside clock glowed three a.m. and a handful of minutes. The dull sensation of a headache made her wince as she pushed the bedclothes back and silently headed to the bathroom. The house was in darkness save for the eerie glow of the streetlamps; it was just enough light to mark her way without needing to turn another light on. She sat and took a pee, then rinsed her hands in the basin, then filled them like a cup and drank the cold water down, repeating the process to quench her thirst. Her head buzzed. How could that be when she had taken painkillers? she wondered. Shouldn’t they dull her pain rather than give her more?

  Drying her hands, she padded quietly out into the hall and looked in each of the girls’ bedrooms. Both were fast asleep, not a care in the world. Had they been aware of the commotion they’d caused earlier on that morning, when no one knew where they’d gone? Her head vibrated again, and she closed her eyes for a moment to let the stab of pain pass. What with the amount of upset, her continual tears and Duncan’s harsh words, was there any wonder her head hurt? She loved both her girls with all her being, and the thought of someone taking them away from her was unbearable, something she couldn’t fully imagine and never wanted to experience.

  She went back into Victoria’s room and lightly kissed her forehead, then gently brushed a couple of stray strands of hair away from the sleeping girl’s eyes. Then she tiptoed back into Jasmine’s room and did the same.

  “Love you both,” she murmured into Jasmine’s hair, then crept quietly back to her own room. Duncan was still fast asleep as she lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin, staring straight up at the ceiling.

  Throb, throb, throb.

  She massaged her temple and closed her eyes, willing the pain to go away, but she knew it wouldn’t, not yet. Her thoughts went back to Duncan’s words, his threat to take the girls – her girls – away and leave her behind to fend for herself. How could he be so heartless, so damn mean? She turned her head towards him as he lay there asleep and dared herself to open her eyes again and watch him. Peeling one eye open then the other, she focused on his face, a few inches from her own, so close she could feel his breath on her face. His breath smelled of garlic and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, but carried on watching him, taking in every wrinkle, every pore that she could see in the dim light and etching it in her mind.

  What would life be like without him in it? Would it be so terrible? Could she survive without him, without his income? It would be tough, sure, but Duncan worked for CID, meaning if anything happened to him, she and the girls would receive his salary and his pension.

  The downside, of course, was that the police looked after their own when something happened. If one of them was murdered, for instance, the whole station and probably beyond would be thrown onto the case, leaving no rocks unturned, as the cliché went. Yes, that’s exactly what would happen, she knew. They knew all the tricks, and Samantha knew none. But as she lay there thinking, mulling things over in her mind and listening to his steady breathing, Sam realized there was another way.

  If she didn’t know the tricks to work with, she’d find someone else who had.

  The kitchen was cold but that didn’t bother her as she filled a glass at the sink and looked out into the darkness. It made her wonder about death, and what it would feel like. Was there really a bright light that beckoned the dying to come towards it? Was there an afterlife, a heaven, some sort of reunion with the Divine? Or was there nothing at all, just a big black hole that everyone fell into, without feeling anything, without knowing anything, like turning a switch off?

  Sam glanced at her glass of water she was still holding and remembered why she was in the cold kitchen at gone three in the morning in the first place.

  Another tablet.

  And some research.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It was nearly five thirty in the morning when she looked up from her computer screen as someone entered the kitchen. Duncan stood in the doorway, blurry-eyed but quite awake, a confused look on his face. She answered his unspoken question.

  “Couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb you so I came down here.”

  Duncan rubbed his fleecy cotton-clad arms against the cold.

  “You must be frozen,” he said. “The heating is only just coming on. How long have you been up?” Duncan entered the room fully and headed over to flick the kettle on.

  “Sometime around three, I think, then I kind of lost track of time until you just walked in. I didn’t realize I’d been sat here so long,” She smiled at him as she stood and closed her laptop lid, then busied herself getting mugs from the cupboard and teabags from the canister nearby.

  “Shall I put you some toast in or would you like some eggs for a change?” She smiled sweetly at Duncan, who wore a look of mild surprise on his face.

  “Er, yes. Eggs would be great for a change. Thanks.”

  “Well, go and get your robe before you freeze and I’ll make them for you. Scrambled or poached?”

  “Scrambled, please,” Duncan said, and, still looking at her strangely, left the room to grab his robe. Sam heard him pad slowly back up the stairs, probably wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming at her transformation.

  By the time he returned, the kitchen smelled of hot toast and a mug of tea was set on the table, his place set with cutlery. He took a sip, though he didn’t say a word.

  “Eggs will only be a minute,” she informed him, her voice almost sing-song, as she stirred them. In her head, she was being the perfect wife, and it wouldn’t do her any harm to do so – while he was still here. It was almost enjoyable, but only almost. “Here we go,” she gushed as she scooped eggs onto the waiting buttered toast and set the plate down in front of him. She wanted to scream ‘Voila! I hope you choke!’ but venting inside her head would have to do for now. Before leaving him to eat, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek – which did actually make Duncan almost choke on the mouthful he was chewing. Then, with another unusual gust of energy, Sam informed him she was heading for the shower while he ate, before he needed the bathroom himself, and made her own way back upstairs.

  Once in the bathroom, with the door firmly closed behind her, she let out a billowing breath as if she’d spent the day in a labour camp rather than simply making eggs on toast. She turned on the shower and stepped under the warm jets, letting the water run over her head and shoulders. She ran her mind back over what she’d decided during her early morning kitchen research. The main thing was she couldn’t do the actual act herself: she wasn’t that kind of woman and certainly wasn’t a killer. No, that task was for someone else – a professional. She’d run through the various options open to her and hadn’t found one she could get away with all by herself. If she shot him, someone might hear, and besides, how would she remove his body on her own? If she poisoned him, how would she make it
seem natural or an accident? And again, there was the question of what to do with his body. Suffocation? No, she wasn’t strong enough – and again, the body issue. Ditto for drowning or hanging or beating him to death. So as Sam combed conditioner through her hair she mulled the options left to her: make it look like an accident or make it look like a disgruntled villain had taken his revenge and shot him. Ultimately, it needed to look like he’d been killed in the line of duty in order for his salary and pension to continue.

  Clean and dried, Sam blew her hair dry and applied a little light make-up before getting dressed in jeans and a nice blouse and going back downstairs. Now that her decision had been made, she needed to make sure he stuck around, and the way to do that was to make him think his words had had the desired effect on her. She smiled at just how far from the truth that was…

  Duncan was finishing the last of his mug of tea when she re-entered the room. He did a cartoon-style double-take as he looked up and saw her.

  “That startling, eh?” she asked with another pleasant smile.

  “No. I mean yes,” he stammered. “Oh, I don’t know what I mean but it’s good to see you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a change. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “Well, there’s no need, I’m perfectly fine. And you’re right: I need to clean up my act, get a job again – give me something to do. Then we can get a cleaner to help around here, and maybe some help with the girls for after school. What do you think?”

  “I think that sounds perfect,” he said encouragingly. He smiled at her as he stood to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “Well, I need to get a move on and go shower. Let’s talk more tonight when I get home.”

  He headed upstairs and after a few moments, she could hear his faint whistling as he got ready for work. It wasn’t a tune she recognized, but that didn’t matter. It was good to hear him being happy.