Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  To leave everything. Find the peace she so desperately craved.

  And that’s exactly what she did.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Wilfred liked it when things turned out well, especially the unplanned – because that meant fate had intervened and something was destined to be the way it was. And that’s why making this particular house call was going to be the start of something special.

  His meaty hand rapped surprisingly gently on the front door and he took a step backwards to wait. There was the sound of footsteps getting closer and then the door opened, revealing a man in his mid-twenties with brown, poodle-like hair. Luke said hello.

  “Good morning. I’m looking for Luke Montgomery.”

  His brighter-than-bright smile always put people at ease. Wilfred knew he was a likeable character, and that people found it hard not to fall under his charming spell. Luke was no exception. He smiled back.

  “I’m Luke. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, Luke, my name is Wilfred Day and I hear you’ve been looking for finance to get a food van business off the ground. Can we talk somewhere private?”

  Another flash of perfect dentistry; it did the trick.

  As the man’s words registered, Luke’s face lit up, his smile as big as Wilfred’s but a lower wattage. He stood to one side of the door and signalled for him to enter. “My parents aren’t home right now so there’s no one here. We can talk in private. Can I get you a coffee? Tea perhaps?”

  Wilfred followed him through the house and out to the back where most people’s kitchens were and helped himself to a seat at the central island. He admired the set-up.

  “Tea, thanks. One sugar.” He took a slow look around. “Nicely done,” he said casually, taking in the whole room. “Modern with a dash of antique,” he added, nodding his approval.

  Luke busied himself with the kettle and tea bags as he spoke. “My parents travel extensively. That’s why I’m house-sitting for them.”

  Wilfred let the fib lie, realizing the young man was putting up a front, not wanting to admit he was broke and living in his folks’ back bedroom. It made what he was about to offer him all the more tantalizing, and he wanted Luke to want it, not simply do it. Having skin in the game, so to speak, bred loyalty, and loyalty made good business.

  “Good for them. It’s life’s experiences that make the person, not material objects. Those are of relatively little value.”

  Luke hadn’t noticed the Bentley when he’d opened the door but knew the man sat in his kitchen wasn’t short of a bob or two. His Rolex was a giveaway, as were the perfectly capped teeth.

  “So, who do we know in common, then?” he asked the stranger. “Who put you on this doorstep?”

  Wilfred chuckled to himself, then replied, “Well, that’s the thing. I don’t think you know her at all. Actually, let me correct myself: you only know her online. She’s a woman called Sam Riley, lives around the Manchester area.”

  Luke handed him a mug of tea and joined him at the island, looking thoughtful as he tried to remember who Sam was. Maybe he and Clinton had presented their business plan to her at some point, but no. Wilfred had said online. He really couldn’t place the name.

  Wilfred could see his brain doing a search and coming up blank. As he would expect him to.

  “Can’t say I can recall,” said Luke at length, “but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, actually, Luke, it does rather matter. It’s vitally important, actually, how you know Mrs. Riley, because she’s key to this business relationship moving forward.” His casual smile was still lighting his face up, causing no sniff of concern. But clearly Luke hadn’t the faintest idea what he was driving at. He took the opportunity to explain. “Well, allow me to explain who Mrs. Sam Riley is, and then we can talk about how I can help finance your venture.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Luke, Sam Riley is the woman who booked you and your partner to kill her husband a couple of days ago, in Croydon. You may remember that night?” Still the smile remained, and then it turned into a light laugh at the look on Luke’s face – all colour had drained from it. Instead of the happy, healthy-looking young man of a moment or two ago, he was now the colour of a Dairylea triangle. Wilfred gave him another moment to compose a reply.

  With a bit of a stutter, Luke asked, “Who are you?”

  “I’m a businessman. I’m not the cops or MI5 or any other agency you might wonder about. I’m Wilfred Day. And it’s my business to know about other people’s business. So, when I was helping an acquaintance out recently, I came across your enterprise, the one on the dark web specifically. And on that, you could have been a little more careful, I must say. If I found you so easily, others could as well if they chose.”

  Luke gulped but said nothing.

  “Still, it looks like I’m here first, and that’s a good thing for you and for me. And quite by chance – and you should believe in chance if you don’t already – you want to launch a food van business. And, since I have a fleet of my own, I can offer you advice as well as funding.”

  Luke couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “What about the website and Mrs. Riley?” he stammered. “If you’re not the authorities, what is in it for you and why are you really here?”

  “Glad you asked – and your secret is safe with me, by the way. I also notice you haven’t denied anything so far. I like that. If we’re going to be working together, trust is vital in our game.”

  “And your game is what exactly?”

  “I told you, I have a fleet of food vans, except we offer a particular product with our sandwiches that has proved extremely popular with the locals. And it’s all high-tech, all done via an app. And untraceable.” Wilfred was enjoying himself immensely, explaining how things were going to work from now on, even if Luke didn’t fully realize it yet. “So, I’m willing to fund you a small string of vans, to start with anyway, as long as you sell my product and use my technology for payment. Simple, eh?”

  He drained the rest of his tea as Luke took it all in. He’d barely touched his own. Wilfred looked at his Rolex. “Look, think it over and I’ll be in touch so we can chat more. But just so you have the alternative side of things, remember I know what you and Clinton did. And I can prove it.”

  The smile was gone now. Luke swallowed hard.

  “I’ll call you again tomorrow about this time so we can iron out any details,” Wilfred said smoothly. “And look at it this way: you get your own fleet, a dream you’ve had for some time now. And it can all become a reality, making you both rather wealthy young men.” He gave Luke’s shoulder a light slap as he stood and walked towards the front door. “I’ll let myself out. Have a fantastic day!” he called to him.

  Fantastic day, thought Luke, his heart pounding. More like unusual day.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  “Who the hell tipped them off, then, do you reckon?” Jack asked the room.

  Blank faces stared back at him, and Amanda took the opportunity to speak up. It was better coming from her, as detective sergeant, rather than Jack. She noticed that Dupin was watching the proceedings through his office window.

  “Jack is right to be pissed, as we all are,” she explained. “It seems as soon as we figure it out, they’ve moved on. Where to, we’ve no idea, but my guess is they are still operating in some form – this gig is far too lucrative for them not to be. Our friends in Manchester warned us Wilfred Day was slippery, and the link between him and the vans here was tenuous, to say the least. But since we don’t believe in coincidence, somehow in all this he’s been tipped off. I doubt we’ll see vans distributing on our patch any more now. That doesn’t mean they won’t get caught somewhere else, but it won’t be by us. Drug squad have now taken an interest, so it would have been taken out of our hands soon enough anyway.

  “In other words, don’t be despondent about it. You all worked diligently with the case and the shooting of DS Riley, who’s back at home
again now, by the way.” Amanda paused for breath. She saw that Dupin was stood behind her now, listening to her every word.

  “Would you like to add anything, sir?” She stepped aside and let him take over.

  “I think DS Lacey has covered it nicely. If Day was behind it, he’ll slip up one day, and drug squad will be ready to swoop, mark my words. But excellent work anyway. Excellent.” There was a pregnant pause as all eyes remained on Dupin, waiting for him to go on, but it became obvious he hadn’t anything else to say. Eventually, chairs and bodies turned back to their desks, and a low hum of conversation resumed.

  As they walked back to their desks, Jack looked at Amanda and gently shook his head in defeat. He hated it when a case ended on such a low. In a quiet whisper, he said, “I’d like to know who the leak was. I’m not going to forget this. If it’s someone in this room, I’ll find them. They’ll not do it again.”

  Amanda was taken aback by the vehemence in his voice and couldn’t help but wonder why. Why this case? What was so special about it or the slippery Wilfred Day? No doubt he’d tell her when he’d calmed down – she’d wait until then.

  “I hear you, Jack,” she said, then added, “Listen, why don’t we all get take-out from Wong’s tonight? You, me and Ruth. Sweet-and-sour pork balls will cheer us up, eh? I’m buying.”

  Amanda knew Jack couldn’t resist a meal from Wong’s. She smiled as he accepted the invite, though it was obvious he was still annoyed.

  “Sounds perfect,” he said. “I’ll bring a bottle. Or two.”

  “Well, if you’re bringing two, you’d better bring your toothbrush or be prepared to leave your car and taxi it home. I suspect between us we’ll easily polish them off. Come round for seven o’clock?”

  She smiled brightly, trying to lighten his mood. It must have worked. Jack smiled back.

  “Great, and I can check out your decorating standards at the same time.”

  She knew he was only joking. His idea of decorating was re-gluing loose wallpaper edges back down so that they’d be good for another ten years. She checked her watch. It was nearly time to leave for the evening anyway. She called Ruth and told her they had a guest for dinner.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  One week later

  They were all in attendance. Sam’s parents, Anika, Victoria and Jasmine, and a couple of aunts and uncles alongside supporting one another as the casket was lowered into the ground. Duncan watched on with Rochelle and Rick, his two best friends in the world, beside him for support on what promised to be an exceptionally sad day.

  Rick placed his arm around his friend’s shoulder; Rochelle took his right hand in hers as the service drew to an end and handfuls of soil were sprinkled on top of the casket. Slowly the crowd dispersed, most in search of sherry and sandwiches at a nearby pub. Had either of them been paying attention, they’d have noticed the hulking blond man in the long caramel-coloured coat at the edge of the cemetery watching the proceedings and then returning to his tan Bentley and driving away as the service drew to a close.

  Duncan felt numb to the bone, though it wasn’t the weather making him feel so. For a change, the usually weak winter sun shone brightly high in the sky, casting a strangely summery glow across everything it touched. Duncan had barely said a word to anyone, and people had mostly let him be, figuring he was too distraught at Sam’s suicide to speak much. But he had already grieved that loss while he lay injured in hospital. What he was doing as he stood there, as others moved on, was all for show. He’d already said all he needed to say. Though Sam would never hear it.

  When talking is too painful, experts say, it often helps to write a letter to whomever is causing your anguish, but never send it. The process of putting thoughts down on paper helps to take the burden off your own shoulders, gets the thoughts and feelings out in the open and allows the healing to begin. So, before they’d closed the casket lid for the last time, Duncan had slipped the letter inside. It read:

  Sam,

  It was very nearly me in this casket right now.

  It pained me to find out you wanted me dead. After all these years and two wonderful children I was surprised, to say the least, but it all fits together. It was your sudden change in behaviour that raised the question initially, though in Rochelle’s mind rather than my own – I was a bit slow on the uptake.

  But here’s the thing: when I heard these two novices that night, arguing about who was going to kill me, I knew she’d been right – no self-respecting criminal would have gone with such an amateur route. But an actual amateur would. And they were almost successful, because I was incapacitated – something I suspect was your own handiwork. The thoughtfulness of the little pies escaped me at the time. I should have known it was all part of it. How silly I’ve been.

  Rick never said a word to me; still hasn’t. Knowing Rick, I guess he’s protecting my feelings because, now you’re gone, it wouldn’t do any good to bring it all up. He’s good like that, and that’s why I cherish him as a friend and work colleague as much as I do.

  You’re gone yourself now, and in a way I’m glad, because it means I don’t have to face you and what you did. How could we ever go back after that? You made it impossible.

  We won’t be meeting in an afterlife, because I’m not going where you’re already headed – a special place reserved only for you. So, the girls and I will pick up the pieces of our lives, and we’ll find happiness once again, though it will take time. Thankfully, we have plenty of that.

  Maybe you’ll be happy now. You certainly weren’t when you were here.

  Duncan.

  He’d poured it all out, cleansed his soul, scraped back the scales and prepared himself for life as a single father with two wonderful girls. Where he’d take them he didn’t yet know, but it would be tough to stay where they were, in the house they’d all shared together, where she’d been found. He’d never forgive her for that. The girls didn’t need to have witnessed their mother lying dead, face down on the sofa, with an empty vodka bottle beside her. Where had she got the drugs that had eventually killed her? How had he missed her having a problem? Maybe he hadn’t known her at all.

  In time the girls would get over it – they all would – but for now, he had to be there for them, support them through the years ahead and give them everything they needed, everything a single dad could muster.

  Perhaps he’d buy a caravan, move to the Cornish coast where the weather was warmer and the ice creams were plenty. Maybe that’s what she’d meant for them when she’d left the brochures and magazines nearby. A note would have been nice.

  But she hadn’t bothered, so Duncan had written his own note, which, along with the truth, was now buried with her forever.

  The day was, indeed, done.

  Hey You, Pretty Face

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Blue Banana

  To Carole. For your support, and love of Jack.

  Chapter One

  Sunday 19th December, 1999. Almost Christmas.

  It was going to hurt. She knew it would hurt far more than the act of giving birth itself had done, not an hour ago. But life for the little one would be so much better without her, with someone else who could take care of her, give her everything she would ever want for, a life the young woman hadn’t a chance to offer her.

  “Goodbye, little one. I’m doing this because I love you, not because I don’t want you. It’ll be better for you this way.”

  She kissed her baby’s forehead before wrapping her tightly in the swaddle she had. The infant whimpered a little. Perhaps she was trying to
communicate, asking her not to go. Perhaps they could find a way to be together; it wouldn’t be that bad. But the woman knew it could never be anything else, and as tough as it was, she knew she had to stick to her decision. Inside her, two voices screamed loudly at each other, straining her chest: one urging her to leave her child, the other sobbing, pleading with her not to go through with it.

  Deep down, she knew there was no choice and, mumbling words of comfort to herself, she tried to quiet the voice begging her to stop. With the whimpering child wrapped in a towel and tucked inside her only coat, she placed the tiny bundle inside the porch of the church doorway, tucked away from the relentless biting wind and sleet that was beginning to fall. With the baby safe for now and out of harm’s way, she was sure she would be secure for the night. Someone would surely open the church door in the morning and take her in. The child’s life from that moment on would be so much better than the alternative. She shivered and hugged her arms. She knew she would be cold without her coat, but the little one needed it more. It was the least she could do, her last solo act of kindness for her daughter before she walked away.

  Forever.

  The young woman barely felt the wetness falling on her shoulders as she disappeared back into the street and the darkness, the hot tears streaming down her face cooling quickly as they fell away. She rubbed her arms, more out of needy emotion and comfort than anything else. The sleet melted on contact with her thin sweatshirt, soaking the fabric. Even though she was shivering, she didn’t notice the vibrations shaking her body. Her only focus was the sheer desperation of the situation, the intense hopelessness that was her short life so far. At least her baby wouldn’t have to be part of it now, would have a fighting chance with someone else, someone more able, someone less useless, someone less scarred.