by Linda Coles
A starling hopped by his car looking for scraps for breakfast, found a stray French fry, and tucked in. The activity alerted another bird close by who swooped down to stake its claim on the same find. Feeling sorry for the first bird getting moved on, Duncan lowered his window and tossed a piece of bread its way. Wasting no time, the starling picked the whole piece up and moved further to one side to eat it in peace. Duncan smiled as he started on his hash brown, his first good deed for the day already in the bag. His phone buzzed. Sam.
“Morning, early bird,” he said, thinking of the starling.
“Morning, hard-working husband. Just wondered if you’re in for dinner tonight and what time you’re leaving for your course tomorrow?” Sam enquired.
Duncan again thought about the change in her mood, then answered, “I should be home by six and as for tomorrow, I’ll leave home just after lunch. I’m meeting up for dinner while I’m down there so I’ll crack on with some reports in my room if I’ve time beforehand. Only way to get some peace. Why do you ask?”
“Thought I’d make something nice for dinner since you’ll be away. Might even bake you some brownies to take with you.”
“No need to do anything special on my account. Though your brownies are the best.” It had been a while since Sam had last baked brownies, and the thought of the fudgy centre, the way it stayed fudgy, made Duncan drool slightly. “On second thoughts, brownies would definitely be welcome if you can be bothered.” As soon as he’d said ‘bothered’ he regretted it and hoped she didn’t take offence. He scrunched his face up in anticipation. But if Sam had noticed the word she didn’t show it, and when she spoke again, his face resumed its normal expression.
“Great – I’ll make a batch,” she replied cheerily. “I’ve got to go out shopping later anyway so I’ll get the chocolate. Need anything?”
“No, I’m all good, thanks. I’ll see you later, then.”
“Okay. Bye!” Her sing-song voice hung in the car. Duncan scrunched his empty packaging into one bag and left the car to deposit it in the nearby rubbish bin. On the way, he grabbed a paper cup up that had missed its destination and put it with the rest of the rubbish. Good deed number two. His thoughts turned again to Sam and her change of attitude. It was like old times, and Duncan had an overwhelming desire to believe things had got better.
Perhaps he’d get her a little gift or some flowers, just because. He filed the thought away for later. Back in the car, he headed for the station and pulled in to his second car parking space of the morning. Rochelle’s Triumph bike slid into the space next to his and Rochelle, clad head to toe in black leather, nodded her greeting through his side window. He watched as she turned the bike off, swung her leg over the seat, and removed her helmet. At six feet tall, she was a vision many men couldn’t ignore – no matter how hard they tried. Her long blonde hair fell to her shoulders like a sexy slow-motion chocolate advert, and Duncan felt himself groan inside involuntarily. Rochelle smiled as their eyes connected in a work colleague kind of way. Shame on Duncan’s part. He opened his door and got out, pulling his coat collar up against the cold morning. In the distance a bit of orange was breaking the skyline in amongst the grey buildings. He felt brighter than he had done in weeks despite his exhausted state.
“Morning, Duncan. You look like shit.”
“Cheers, Rochelle. I don’t have the benefit of make-up to cover up my bags – I suspect you’ve already expertly buried your own,” he said coyly.
“Perks of being a woman,” she replied with a wink. “Makes up for PMS and the other crap we have to put up with.”
As they walked together towards the building, Duncan said, “Well, at least you girls don’t have to shave every day.”
“And neither do you, actually, but we girls shave more often than you’d think, so that’s your argument gone to crap. In fact, we wax, which really isn’t pleasant.”
She had a point. A vision of long, slim, smooth, silky legs flashed across Duncan’s vision – and they weren’t Sam’s.
Oblivious, Rochelle carried on. “And talking about who has the better deal, how’s Sam doing these days. Any improvement?”
They were inside the building now, headed robotically for the canteen and a coffee.
“Funny you should ask. Since my ultimatum, she’s done a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, and she almost seems like Sam from old. She’s up and dressed in the mornings now, and she even made my breakfast a couple of mornings ago. And earlier today, she rang me to see if I wanted her to bake some brownies.”
Rochelle raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, that’s great news! Looks like your chat worked. I’m pleased for you, for you both, because separating would have been a bitch, let me tell you. Stressful doesn’t even begin to describe it, and with two little ones to argue over …”
Her words trailed into nothing and Duncan could only nod his head. But Rochelle had more to say. “Of course, there could be another explanation for her complete turnaround.”
“Oh?”
“Come on, Duncan. What’s the most common and obvious giveaway clue when someone is murdered and we question the spouse’s friends and colleagues?”
Duncan looked at her in puzzlement.
“Think, Duncan. You were on the same profiling course as me last year. What is the most obvious thing the spouse does before they strike? What’s the classic giveaway?”
She waited. Then it hit him.
Pre-offence behaviour – when a spouse has a sudden and unexplained change in behaviour towards their partner. It was textbook stuff. A significant change in a partner’s behaviour can mean the partner may have already begun to plan for a change in the status quo.
Rochelle looked at him, levelly.
“You seriously think she is planning to off me?” he said incredulously.
Rochelle gave him a questioning look but said no more.
Chapter Fifty-Four
It was Sam’s turn to stare at a message.
Not much time but can be done. £12K. Half now; half on completion. Need photo and whereabouts to get rolling. Stand by.
This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Her husband out of the picture, leaving the girls and her on their own with money in the bank? Wasn’t she sick of his continual late nights and his endless moaning about her not being up to his expectations? She’d tried to keep things together when she’d lost her job, but it was a struggle. She had found the constant rejection from possible employers hard to deal with, even though she was overqualified for many of the roles she’d applied for. But she’d found a way to cope; the painkillers had taken the edge off her anxiety, relaxing her, letting her sleep. It had been her oversleeping that day that had been the catalyst for the sorry situation she now found herself in.
The message was still waiting for an answer. The money wasn’t a problem, nor was getting a photo. Nor, it seemed, was the time frame – tomorrow night. So why was she hesitating? Because once she hit reply and did what the message asked, there’d be no turning back. Hit men couldn’t be turned off once the switch had been flicked. It was a one-way decision and only Sam could make it. Was she ready?
No messy divorce to worry about . . . money in the bank . . . Cornish coast . . .
She’d only spoken to Duncan a matter of minutes ago, asked him if he’d be in for dinner and about the time of his departure tomorrow – and so casually too. Sam longed for a piece of paper to write down the pros and cons. If the hit did go through, she knew the police would immediately suspect and question her. She knew they had all sorts of ways of finding proof, most of which she was unaware of. Had it been the other way around – Duncan getting rid of her – he’d have a much better chance of getting away with it. He’d not only know the processes and procedures the crime scene officers would use, but he’d be nice and close to the case to monitor what was happening, whom they suspected. He’d be able to destroy or tamper with evidence, something Sam wouldn’t be able to do. Absentmindedly, she wondered how many
officers over the years had committed such a crime – and got away with it.
But thoughts like these were not going to help. All she could do was limit the evidence, set the emotional groundwork and spread a few crumbs of her own to keep suspicion away from her door.
Still the message went unanswered. Was that a sign in itself, that she didn’t really want him dead? Wouldn’t she have clicked it by now if she felt sure? What the hell was she supposed to do? Pressure was building, her nerves rattling in their sheaths, and she gulped down a deep breath like a hiccup. Anxiety tightened in her chest; her breath came in shallow gulps as she fought to calm herself and breathe normally again. She felt beads of sweat on her forehead and wiped them away with the back of her hand.
A tablet or two would fix it.
Collecting her bag from the banister end where it was hanging, she slipped her hand into the side pocket and felt for the pills she knew would be waiting in there. She clutched two and slid them out. Would two be enough? Sighing, she reached in for two more. Staring at them, stark white and smooth against the palm of her fleshy hand, she hated them. Hated them for what they stood for, hated having to take them, hated that, without them, she would be crushed by the feelings that hurt her so much. Sighing again, she swallowed the lot of them down and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water to speed things along.
The sun was not far above the horizon in the distance, the promise of a brighter day to come, and she remembered the girls still upstairs, tucked up snug in their own beds. It was time to get them ready for school. Perhaps she’d walk with them this morning. The fresh air and sunshine would do them all good.
The girls. The pills. The two most prominent things in her life at that moment. One a blessing, the other a curse. She climbed the stairs to wake her daughters.
She went into Victoria’s room first, planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Time to get up, darling,” she cooed as Victoria opened her eyes. “It’s a lovely day. I thought I’d walk you both to school this morning. We could stop at the shop and get you a little butterfly cake each if you’d like?”
Victoria smiled sleepily and nodded her approval before pushing the covers back and slowly climbing out. Sam watched as her eldest daughter made her way sleepily to the bathroom, then went into Jasmine’s room. Her heart swelled as Jasmine followed her big sister into the bathroom and the girls began their morning chatter. They were the most precious things in her world.
Bar nothing else.
She went back downstairs to make breakfast and wait for the girls to appear. As she put the kettle on, she made her final decision.
She opened her laptop and clicked reply.
She attached a recent picture of Duncan, along with the address of where he’d be staying that night. She typed:
Money OK, picture and address included. What next? Send.
The deed was done. The ball was rolling. The status quo was about to change.
What happened from here on in was out of her hands.
Chapter Fifty-Five
After she dropped the girls off at school, she went into a café and logged into her laptop again. As she’d suspected, there was a message waiting for her. If the other café customers knew what she was up to, sat in the corner organizing what she was organizing, would anyone try and stop her? Would she herself stop Anika if she was planning on doing the same thing to her partner?
But Anika wasn’t married to Duncan, and Anika wasn’t a disappointment to her partner, unlike Sam was. If Duncan was flippant enough to tell her he was out of there if she didn’t change, then he could have what was coming to him.
The message was simple and included two links.
Time and place noted. Please transfer funds by following instructions in link. Message when half has been transferred.
Sam clicked the first link and was a little surprised it wasn’t a regular banking transaction. But then she thought about for a moment and almost laughed aloud at herself. Who in their right mind would order a hit and transfer funds through a regular banking entity along with their account name? While that would have been simple, as would putting hard cash in a carrier bag and dropping it into a nearby rubbish bin, it was neither secure nor practical.
She scanned the link he’d sent her – she’d assumed he was a ‘he’ – and read the basic instructions on opening a crypto currency account. It looked straightforward enough on the surface. Well, there was no time like the present. She needed to get this underway now, and opening an account and transferring the first instalment correctly was step one in getting the job completed.
A few minutes later, she looked up from her screen with satisfaction. The first part was almost complete. She clicked the second link – how to buy currency and then transfer it to pay for the deal. Again, it was straightforward enough and it wasn’t long before she was ready to hit send. With everything lined up ready, this was the final part in sending the boulder careering towards Duncan. And it could never be undone. Looking away from her screen for a moment, Sam gazed out of the café window at the people outside going about their own business. What was going on in their lives right now, today? she wondered. Did they ever feel like obliterating someone from their lives? A boss, maybe? An abusive partner, a boring partner, or a parent, even? Perhaps a child that was causing distress or annoyance? Was anybody safe from the ideals of someone they knew?
She looked at each person in turn as they moved past the window and tried to image what the imaginary thought bubbles coming out of them would say. Who would be making a shopping list, working on a presentation, figuring out an apology, or contemplating suicide? Everyone had their own set of problems that varied in importance, and what was important to one wouldn’t necessarily be important to another. Like when people moaned about having a bad day – one person’s version of a bad day would be totally different to the next person’s; a surgeon losing a patient topped finding out that your child has crayoned the hall wall. But whatever went on in a person’s own particular world, well, that was the most important thing, Sam knew, no matter how trivial it might seem to others. What would someone read from her thought bubble? she wondered. An involuntary shiver brought her back to the present, and the blinking transfer button. There was no point in delaying it any longer.
She hit the button.
A confirmation popped up to tell her the funds were now on their way, and Sam gulped nervously.
Tomorrow night, her girls would no longer have a father.
But she’d be single, in control of the girls’ future and comfortably well off for the rest of her life. It was a small price to pay for such luxury, and reconciling it in her head that way, she instantly felt better. The Cornish coast could be a great new place to settle her little family into a new routine and a new life.
She drained the last of her coffee, closed her laptop and headed out. There were still a couple of things to take care of before tomorrow night, but the main part was complete. Well, at least the first half of the money had gone. Idly, Sam wondered if she’d ever use her crypto wallet again when this was all over.
I’m not planning on buying more pills.
Back outside in the bright, cool, sunny morning, all felt well in the world. A smile crept slowly across her face, and she realized that for the first time in a long while she felt good about things, about the future, albeit without the man she’d once promised to love and obey, in sickness and in health. What a load of old cobblers that had turned out to be. As she passed a fashion chain store, she heard Fleetwood Mac over the sound system, suggesting folks go their own way. Her smile grew wider until, by the time she’d sung along to a few lyrics, she was laughing out loud as she walked. Oh, the irony. Going her own way was exactly what she intended to do, and from the day after tomorrow, when everything had been completed and she was expertly playing the grieving widow, she’d be most certainly going her own way.
Next stop: the garden centre and the greenest seed potatoes she could find.
&nb
sp; Chapter Fifty-Six
Easy enough so far. The equivalent of £6000 was in his crypto account now, with another six to come in the next 24 hours. So far so good. There was enough to pay for a firearm with and time enough to finalize the loose ends of his plan, making a tidy profit in the process. It was turning out to be a good idea.
His first hit was tomorrow night and he planned to drive down and back again in one go. He’d leave the car in a side street nearby, walk to the victim’s hotel, whip in, do the job, and then head home. He and Clinton would share the driving; it would be early morning when they made their way back and he didn’t want to risk falling asleep at the wheel.
He’d yet to tell Clinton about his precise role in all this, but since Luke had been the initiator of the project, it was only fair on Clinton that Luke himself would do the actual deed.
The thought terrified him.
He took out the scrap of paper that Caramel Teeth Man in the pub had given him. There was a mobile number on it. No names; just a number to contact and organize a drop-off, cash of course. Luke found this funny somehow. Perhaps he should educate the man on the finer points of using a crypto currency. It really was quick and simple, and less risky than a rubbish bin deposit in a park somewhere. And besides, being tied to one location limited one’s business opportunities. Take it online, however, and the world was your oyster – though he doubted Caramel Teeth Man had ever tasted one. He dialled the number and waited for Caramel Teeth Man to answer.
“Yeah?”
“I need a piece as discussed.”
Luke heard a gurgling sound as Caramel Teeth Man took a long pull from a can, then a hearty belch.
“When do you need it?”
