Walk Like You

by Linda Coles

  Tabby had seemed nice enough – naïve, maybe – and when she’d offered companionship without excitement travelling across to Albi and beyond, Kirsty had been willing to tag along. The free meal from the woman’s credit card had been an extravagance but worth every euro, and Kirsty had then felt bad about doing it and told herself it would be a one off. But she had no self-control and was used to hoarding like a squirrel. When Tabby had announced the following morning she was taking a shower, Kirsty slipped out, card in her pocket, and found another café, down a cobbled side street, that was serving eggs for breakfast. There she sat quietly, watching the early risers go about their morning business, the market stallholders preparing their produce and other goods for sale throughout the day. Judging by the already clear blue sky, it was going to be another hot one. Sitting there relaxing, she felt like the cat with the cream pot.

  An hour later, Kirsty ventured back to wait for the opportunity to slip the credit card back into Tabby’s wallet without raising suspicion. Entering the small room that the women slept in, she found Tabby lying stretched out on her bunk, a borrowed book in her hands.

  “Nice walk?” she enquired, not taking her eyes off the page she was finishing.

  “It’s so pretty this town. I could quite happily live here for a while,” she said and flopped on to her own bunk with a heavy sigh.

  “Well, if we manage to get jobs each today, we can stay for a while. Unless you have other plans?”

  Remembering and suddenly feeling a little uneasy that sometime soon Tabby would see the charges, she made her excuses. “I’m not sure I’d want to stay too long, mind. Itchy feet, me.”

  “Well, there’s no point looking for a job just for a week if you’re planning on leaving,” Tabby ventured in a sing-song voice.

  “True. It is pretty though.”

  Tabby reared up and swung her legs over the side. “Well, you decide. I’m going to see what’s on offer job-wise, so up to you.” Slithering off the bed, she applied a little lipstick and fluffed her hair up in the small mirror hanging on the wall. “I’ll have to do.”

  “Where will you head first? Clothes shops or cafés?”

  “Cafés. The tips will be a bonus.”

  “Good thinking. Anyway, I’m staying here, I’ll take a shower myself so if you want to leave your bag, I’ll take care of it. No sense in carting it with you if you don’t need to.” Kirsty had a plan for everything.

  “Well, if you’re sure… I’ll pop back at lunchtime then, shall I? You’ll be wanting to get out yourself.”

  “Perfect,” she said, stifling a yawn after her big breakfast. “I might still be lying here when you get back.”

  “How do I look?” Tabby asked, smiling.

  “Great. I’d employ you. Go get ’em.”

  If Susan had done some dumb things in her life, they were nothing compared to letting Kirsty look after Tabby’s things.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Much to his annoyance, Alan Davies had had to wait until the following morning to grab the first flight out to Toulouse and was getting into a hire car with Chrissy and Julie when he received further notification from Bridget. It was a simple text telling him the bare details of another transaction at a café in Albi – the time it occurred and the amount spent. The smile he couldn’t keep from his face was noticed instantly by Chrissy and she enquired after it.

  “Good news?” she asked hopefully, shutting the boot lid. Julie and Chrissy had grabbed a flight down to Toulouse where they’d stayed overnight and waited for Alan’s arrival. The nice hotel, which Julie had sprung for, was an excuse to wear one of the more formal outfits she’d brought with her and Chrissy had enjoyed the luxury in the bargain. They’d both slept and eaten well and felt re-energised for the trip ahead.

  “You could say that,” Alan said, sending a quick thumbs-up emoji back to Bridget. “It looks like another transaction at another café in Albi – how convenient.”

  “Sounds like we might be getting closer. I hope it is her.”

  “What makes you think it’s not?”

  “Well, anybody could have stolen her purse. And after everything we’ve managed to wheedle out of you – and I suspect you’re still hiding some of it – it sounds like this Tabitha Child woman was up to no good. I mean, now you’ve seen what’s in that package, does it make more sense to you?”

  “I’m still short on a lot of the details of exactly who she is, but yes, it does. The protected-person’s scheme is just that and I’m not allowed access to her file, for obvious reasons. I can’t find anything out, not without raising more red flags. Quite honestly, I can do without somebody else’s superintendent asking what my interest is in a case that I’d rather have nothing to do with.”

  “So why are you here then, detective?” Julie asked.

  “Because I work with my gut and I work with facts. So when my gut tells me something is adrift, it’s generally right. And when the first transaction came through, I thought it odd after all this time of radio silence. Like you, I’m hoping it is in fact Susan at the end of this trail.”

  “I am,” said Chrissy. “It’s costing me a fortune.”

  “It’s costing me a fortune actually,” said Julie. “I’m your client, remember. But if it brings Susan home that’s all that matters. It’s not like Richard can’t afford this.”

  “Speaking of your husband, when did you last speak to him? I’ve not heard you mention him. Or the shop.”

  “Couple of days ago,” said Julie. “I suppose I ought to give him a call, make sure he’s all right and not fallen into the dishwasher trying to put the soap in.” She looked off into the distance as if actually imagining the scene with disappointment.

  “He’s not that bad,” said Chrissy with a smirk on her face. Richard might be a bore, but he wasn’t stupid.

  “His heart is in the right place and that’s all that matters.”

  It wasn’t the reason most women stayed married, but Chrissy wasn’t about to say so. She’d better give Adam a call later on; they didn’t go for long without chatting on the phone. And the college had called again.

  With Alan in the back seat and Julie as passenger, they were ready to go. Once they were out of the airport complex and on the open road, heading towards Albi, Chrissy brought up the subject of the package at the hotel again.

  “So, who do you think organised the fake IDs?” she asked. “What are your thoughts on it?”

  Since Alan had discovered the contents, he’d barely thought of much else. The obvious answer was the woman, Tabitha Child, had planned all along to swap her identification and likely take off with it. The question was, had that same woman had designs on taking Susan Smith’s place permanently? And if so, why? And what was the plan then for Susan? Make her disappear? It didn’t bear thinking about. Tabitha, the poor individual they thought her to be, placed in a protected-persons scheme, the victim of a heinous crime in a case that was still to be fully wrapped up, had desires to break free from it all. The tattoo on her inner thigh was a stamp of ownership and since Susan had the identical tattoo in her luggage, ready to be applied, the two of them had intended to swap places – certainly for a time. With only a couple of spare changes of clothes in their cases, it seemed they were swapping for a short period of time and then would go back home to their normal lives. At least that’s what Alan was hoping they’d planned. But now he wondered if Tabitha had other ideas, though as yet he’d no proof other than the fake IDs. Maybe, when they found her, Susan would be able to throw some light on what they were up to, where they were headed and what the outcome was to be. Or, of course, he could be barking up the wrong tree again. He hoped he didn’t need to find yet another new one.

  Alan had told Chrissy and Julie as much in a rushed conversation on his arrival, but they were still unaware of the tattoo in Susan’s luggage. That added the sinister element for Alan, and he didn’t want to unnerve or worry the two women unnecessarily. The wig he’d found in Tabitha’s case also adde
d to the puzzle. After throwing ideas about with Bridget, they’d come to the conclusion that Tabitha was adding a disguise of her own, not solely taking another ID. Why though? But neither of the women had arrived in Paris as planned, the unexpected train crash seeing to that. Somehow Susan had survived it and had gone on as Tabitha Child, not wanting to be found. Again, why?

  When disasters happened – like an earthquake, or a building blowing up, or a floods ripping through a town and washing people away – they offered a way out for anyone caught up in them who’d been thinking about changing their lives and disappearing forever. It gave them a way to leave, be presumed dead. The trouble was there had been no flood, no earthquake, no bomb going off. The flaw in Susan’s plan was that her disappearance could be explained: she could have left on foot. To be presumed dead, there had to be no other explanation, no way of surviving the catastrophe, and, preferably, there had to be a body as proof.

  And now suddenly there were two transactions to chase. Could it be Susan? Were they close to putting an end to the mystery and taking her home?

  Alan suspected there was yet more to come.

  Chapter Seventy

  Dominic had been sat on the cathedral steps for far too long and his bum was turning numb. He stretched his legs out in front of him to try and relieve some of the pressure as he focused his eyes on as many faces as he possibly could, scanning his near environment, scanning in the distance. He didn’t want to think about needles and haystacks. He knew the person he was looking for had used the credit card in the town already, and he was hoping that they’d hung around for a while longer and that they would make another slip-up and lead him to his mystery woman. His plan after that was simply to approach her and have a conversation about how he could wreak havoc in her life. She’d have no choice but to speak with him. As the chief super had said, everybody has a price. It was just a matter of finding out what that was. Needs must: Tabitha Child was no longer able to give evidence and he wasn’t going to let the case collapse around him, and if the woman could fill that space, it was the only way to resolve his own problem.

  Then his own debt would be paid.

  He was bored, not to mention desperate for a coffee. Dominic scrambled to his feet and sauntered off, moving around the edge of the town square, looking for a café he fancied. While it was still reasonably early in the day the temperature was already cranking up. Still, to sit in the shade seemed a waste of sunshine. He chose a sunny spot and made himself comfortable with his back against a stone wall. From his vantage point, he could see a good proportion of the area around him, though both locals and tourist numbers had picked up, making it more difficult to peruse each and every face that passed by. At least the few redheads were a little easier to see, though none looked like his mystery woman. Maybe the redhead never would appear? And how could he possibly know which one had used the card?

  A young waiter took his order and vanished back inside, leaving Dominic to stare out from behind his sunglasses at every passing female face he could. When his phone buzzed in his pocket with an incoming text, he read it and smiled, shaking his head slightly, almost in disbelief.

  “You are getting desperate or getting stupid, one of the two,” he said to himself quietly. He read the message again to make doubly sure he’d understood it correctly, but there was no mistaking it. Tabitha Child’s credit card had been used yet again. It was another café in Albi, as it had been previously, and, because of the early hour of the transaction, it must’ve been breakfast, not that it mattered. Yet another clue, another pointer to finding the woman he needed so desperately, had landed in his lap, or his back pocket to be precise. He headed straight for the café the transaction had come from and pulled out the photograph of his mystery woman ready. Since the last transaction had not been her in person, he expected the result to be the same though was hoping not. As he approached the counter, a young woman smiled a greeting and offered him “Bonjour monsieur.” Not attempting French past the first word, he pointed to the photograph. “Bonjour. Have you seen this woman today, for breakfast, perhaps? Has she been in the morning?” He flashed his detective ID at the same time; the authority of it, even without jurisdiction, always helped with those not in the know.

  “No, sorry, monsieur,” she said, “I have not seen this lady.”

  “If you find her order, you might remember who it was?” he offered hopefully. A quick search and she knew exactly who she had served. Dominic snatched the attached credit card receipt and made a mental note of the last four digits.

  “A woman, yes, but with long red hair and green eyes.” The waitress pointed halfway down her own back to indicate the length. “I remember her so because she ordered eggs, not a traditional French breakfast. Most tourists enjoy fresh croissants, unlike this lady.”

  “Was anyone with her, nearby, perhaps?”

  “I did not notice, no.”

  Long red hair and green eyes narrowed it down further – it was better than nothing. Figuring there was nothing more to ask the young woman, he left without another word. The woman with long red hair was most likely the same person from yesterday lunchtime. And chances were she’d spend again later.

  He needed to find her – today. Perhaps she could lead him to the woman he really needed.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  By the time Chrissy, Julie and Detective Alan Davies finally arrived in Albi it was almost lunchtime. Chrissy got out to stretch and could feel the hot sun searing into the bare skin of her shoulders. It must have been about 40°C; one of the hottest days of the summer, no doubt. But that didn’t seem to stop the swarms of tourists that still filled the medieval and picturesque town of Albi. Chrissy had managed to park in one of the few small car parks. From there they’d planned to find the café where the transaction had taken place earlier that morning and get something to eat at the same time. Together the trio walked up the steep incline towards the town square, Julie taking a moment to be in awe of the beauty of the cathedral building itself – it seemed too large for the area in which it stood. Built of light red brick, it gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Maybe we can go in when we’ve finished our enquiry here? I’d love to go inside and take a closer look,” she cooed. Chrissy wasn’t planning on sightseeing on this trip, it was work after all, and Richard could easily bring her back for a longer visit. Alan had Google Maps open and was directing them to the café.

  “There should be a left turn on the other side of the square,” he said, pointing. The whole area looked ancient, the cobbles smooth and shiny under foot, and Chrissy was glad Julie was still wearing her flat sandals. A sprained ankle they could do without. Like the other turns they had passed, this led to nothing more than a cobbled alleyway, not much wider than a single small car and not somewhere you’d want to meet oncoming traffic if you were driving. The alley sloped downwards and an array of tables and chairs outside several cafés and restaurants all mixed in together, borderlines for each boundary blurred. The colour of the tablecloths or napkins seemed the way to differentiate one establishment from another. When they arrived at the right one, the three sunk on to a wooden chair each. At least the hot sun had moved over behind the buildings and the space was gloriously cool. A young woman approached their table with menus in hand, passing them out with a bright smile.

  “Bonjour. Hello,” she said, covering both languages and receiving a chorus from three voices in return. Quickly scanning the menu, Chrissy ordered sparkling water, a filled crêpe and another coffee, all in perfect French.

  “Make that two,” chimed Julie.

  “Three then,” added Alan and the waitress nodded and disappeared to prepare their order. “As soon as I’ve had a drink, I’ll ask her,” Alan announced.

  “Why don’t I go first, woman to woman?” Chrissy offered. “She might open up a bit more. You’re a big guy after all; we don’t want to intimidate her.” It was a fact not a criticism.

  “My size has stood me in good stead over the years, I’ll ha
ve you know,” Alan said, though he wasn’t offended. “But as you like. Maybe I’ll take the next stop.”

  Chrissy removed the photo she had of Susan and laid it on the table as the waitress returned with three glasses and the distinctive green of a bottle of Perrier. As she placed the glasses in front of each of them, Chrissy spotted her reaction as she caught sight of the photo. Her pause was ever so slight, but it was there, though she never said a word. When she’d left the group, Chrissy leaned in excitedly and said, “She’s seen her. For sure. Susan has been here.”

  “Then go and talk to her,” Alan said. “She may be alerting Susan that we’re here looking for her. We don’t know what the set-up is yet – if and how they know one another.” Alan was anxious to get a result too.

  Chrissy stood and entered the café building itself, heading for the counter where their waitress was making coffee. “Hello again,” she said, smiling at Chrissy.

  “Le Français est plus facile pour vous?” Is French easier for you?

  “I speak English. How can I help?”

  Chrissy placed the photo on the wooden countertop and waited a moment before asking, “She was here this morning? Only she’s been missing for a few days and we are worried about her. Maybe she came for breakfast, early?”

  The young woman shook her head, “No, she didn’t come for breakfast.”

  “Well, that’s odd because her credit card says differently. Are you sure?”

  “I am sure. I told the other man, the woman at breakfast had long red hair. This is not her.”

  That stumped Chrissy for a moment, she felt sure their waitress had recognised Susan in the photo. “What other man?”