by Karen Botha
Paula
There’s been a breakthrough on the case. I was already in a great mood beforehand, but now they’ve tracked down one barge moored both in the rough locality of the abandoned warehouse and in the area where the bodies were dumped. They’ve traced this barge back to London, identifying the same one down here.
“We have him, we’ve found our guy!” I shout across the office as Mo returns from his elongated trip.
His face lights up. “Where?”
Then I have to explain that I was a little premature because actually that made it sound like we have him in custody. In fact, we have the barge that he has been hiding out on. We have no idea what he looks like as he’s always wearing a cap if he’s outside when cameras can catch him. We have no idea what he looks like, as he’s always wearing a cap when he’s outside where cameras can catch him.
“The only footage we have is when he’s at the water gates, but we’ve sent the footage off to the tech team. They’re going to analyse the details, and scope out some sizing, based on the measurements of the fixed assets in the background.”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“They measure, for instance, the size of the machinery used to raise or lower the water level and then scale down to what it measures on the screen. Then, they work that back to establish his height, weight, and even his shoe size. It should be with us shortly. I was waiting to tell you in person but we sent it over last night and it’s got a rush-tag on it.”
Mo nods. “It’s amazing what those guys can do when they put their mind to it.” He’s not really speaking to me though, he seems distracted. He’s staring out of the window at the gloomy day lurking on the other side of the glass.
“What’s with you, how did you get on?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. This case worries me. Our guy is confident, but he isn’t making mistakes. I think as soon as we catch up with him, he’ll move on. And all the time we’re one step behind, he’s finding more people to murder.”
“Don’t be disheartened. Christine is trawling through the footage though, working out where he ended up. The good thing about him being on a barge is that we can track his movements way quicker than he can shift. Those boats are slow.”
He rubs his mouth, his top lip creases under the pressure, he pinches both lips between his fingers and stares. “If this were you, would you stay on the barge now? He has a good idea we’re onto him.”
“It depends if he has any other way of getting about. He may stay in one location now. When we find out where he last landed, hopefully then we’ll be able to track his movement through the streets. I think we’re nearly there Mo. I have a feeling about this.”
“Fair enough. Your judgement is usually sound.” But he doesn’t move, makes no effort to walk into his office. He just hangs about.
I wait.
“Is there something else?”
“Those warehouses. They were both reported to us on a tip off. It obviously wasn’t him that did it, because he came back to dump more bodies at the one in Yorkshire. Do you think there’s someone in this with him?”
I grunt. “Like a couple?”
“I don’t know. I just have a niggle at the back of my mind, that there’s something we’re missing.”
“I had the same thought last night.”
“How did forensics get on with that note?” he asks.
It’s not like I’d forgotten about it, but with everything else going on, it’s not been at the top of my list. “I’ll check. But I’ve not heard anything, so I assume no news. I’ll chase.”
He nods again. He still doesn’t move, so I walk off, leaving him to his thoughts.
“Team meeting everyone!” I clap my hands.
Once we’re in the briefing room, I stand at the front by the board. My brain doesn’t even register the remains in the pictures, they’re just part of the puzzle now that we need to solve.
“Jake, how are you getting on with tracking down a dating site? Any luck?” I ask straight off, before everyone has even got their butts on their seats.
“Yeah, I think I have. It looks like our victims are a combination of married, in relationships and single, but all were members on some kind of dating site. They’re not all the same site, but it turns out they have the same parent company.”
“So, it’s lots of sites, but only one list of names?” I double check.
“Yes, the people on the sites won’t realise they’re on the same site as half of the other people.”
“That’s respectable,” I say to myself sarcastically, rather than the room. No-one replies. We’re used to this type of underhanded money-making scheme. “Do you know who’s behind it?”
“Yep, got a name and Jim and I were going to head over to meet them.”
“Good work, but you’re doing well here. Leave that and Mo and I will follow it up. Christine, how about the CCTV, any luck with the location of our chap?”
She grins and her face illuminates, cheeky eyes spelling mischief where it’s not appropriate, but still it’s very much welcomed. “It’s funny you should ask. I was just about to make a break through when you called us in here. He was in Wakefield last night. I’m just working on the street scenes now to establish where exactly he went.”
The room cheers, with a heavy amount of whooping and jeering thrown in. “Well done. We’re cracking this, guys. I really feel like we’re getting there. Anything else?”
They shake their heads.
“What about that note?”
“I’ll chase it up,” Jake says, adding it to his list.
“Right then, full steam ahead everyone, let’s bring this guy in.”
Sometimes it’s like that. Everything comes together at once in a case. You have nothing for way longer than you feel comfortable with, but out of the blue, the killer makes a mistake and you pounce.
Lucy
I didn’t tell Adam I was coming to see Eric. He wouldn’t have wanted me to visit alone. But, it’s like Daisy read my mind the other day and this is something I need to do. Far from being beaten, the experience has given me a rod of steel up my spine which I think Daisy understands. I need to face what happened with Brian.
We’re in Eric’s office, which looks worse during the day than it did at night. At least then the lights are low, right now I can see every one of the stains. A fleeting thought floats through my brain before I push it aside, I wonder what those sickening stains are. I’m willing to bet I know all the answers now, and none of them are good.
“Did you find Brian the other night?” I ask straight out as soon as I’m seated on that god-awful leather sofa.
“No, we didn’t and I don’t think we will now. He’ll have done a runner.”
“You don’t think he’s going back to his house then?” I clutch my fingers together in a ball.
He shakes his head.
“If you were going to look for him, where would you start?”
“Leave well alone, Lucy,” Eric warns.
“Don’t worry. I’m just intrigued. This is a whole new skill set. I’ve been around Paula a lot, but she runs her cases by the book. Obviously you guys have a different way of working. I’m just intrigued...”
He eyes me, and pauses before he replies. “We’d speak to the locals, find out as much as we can from them. They’ll open up to us, where they’ll close down on the police.”
“But what would you ask?”
“Probably the same questions as the police, but we’d just get honest answers rather than the run around.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it. Surely justice is justice, regardless of whoever is dishing it out. But people seem to make a distinction.”
Eric studies some papers on his desk, fiddles with the corners. “Look, Lucy, I’m sorry about the other night. I didn’t realise you were going outside.”
“It’s not your fault, I didn’t think. It didn’t even enter my head that I might be in danger, I let my guard down.” I sigh, throw him
a closed smile. “I apologise for getting you in bother with Adam. He’s quite protective.”
“Well, it turns out he should be.” He grins wide, and I see a flash of the person he was when he was younger, or at least before he got involved with the mini-mafia of London’s East End.
We sit, quiet for a second, before I pluck up the courage to ask. “What happened to you? How did you end up involved in all of this racket?”
He leans back, physically taken aback by my enquiry. He nods though, and opens his mouth to answer. “It’s a long story. My parents weren’t the best, so it was essentially me and my sister against the world. In trying to look after her, I became entangled with the wrong group. You know how it is when you’re growing up: you miss the obvious. They became my friends. It was inevitable, really, that their life would become mine.”
“That sounds simple, why a long story?”
“You’re nosey today, someone has found her confidence?”
“Yeah, kicking the arse of a bad motherfucker can do that to a small girl of five foot.” I show him my muscles, my grin wide.
“Sounds familiar. It’s similar to my story. It gives you a kick, the violence, doesn’t it?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m buzzing. I’ve always been a softie, but when you’re in a situation like that, you discover a side of yourself that you didn’t know existed. It makes you reassess your life.”
“We have more in common than I thought Lucy. Don’t go joining my group of mates though will you? You’re better off with Adam.”
I grin. “No, we’re getting married, actually. We decided the other night. I’m just looking out for myself a bit more and now I’m not afraid to go after what I want.”
“What do you want, Lucy, why are you here?”
“I want you to find Brian and tell me where he is.” That’s it. Said.
“No. Absolutely not. I know I live on the edge here, but friendships are one thing I hold dear. Adam will never forgive me if something happens to you. I won’t do it.”
“Listen, I’m a big girl. I need to deal with this my way. Can you find him?”
“I’m sure I can, but the point is that we shouldn’t. Let the police do their work. The case is being run by your best friend. She’s on your side.”
“I have to do this myself, Eric. I need it.”
He leans back in his office chair, eyes me with trepidation. “I’ll see what I can do. But if I find him, I’m not necessarily going to tell you so you can go running off on your own. We need to make a plan. Is that agreed?”
I stand, walk towards his desk and hold out my hand. “Agreed.” I say as we shake.
Lucy
When I’ve finished, I head on into central London, like I’d told Adam I would, and meet Paula. She didn’t want to go to the normal bar where her and the boys normally hang out.
“Let’s try somewhere different. Have a bit of girl time. That place I went the other night was nice, the champagne bar at St Pancras. Shall I meet you up there?”
It’s not a question, that’s clearly where we’re meeting and I wonder whether the bar was really that good or whether she has a different reason for us meeting there.
When I walk in I’m still undecided.
I head to the open bar and order a bottle with two glasses then take my place in one of the vacant booths and wait.
She turns up, head up her ass as usual. Her hair is windswept where she’s presumably been dashing through the rush hour commuters. Hugging me at the same time as pulling out a chair, she’s buzzing.
“You OK?” I ask, smiling. It’s been a while.
“Sure, we’ve made a breakthrough. I think we’re going to catch him soon, Lucy.”
She fills me in on the details as we sip our decadent bubbles. All the time she’s speaking, her eyes are flitting around behind me.
“Are you looking for someone?” I raise an eyebrow.
“No...”
I raise my other eyebrow.
“Well, maybe. He could be in here, he hasn’t texted. But if he’s here and I ignore him, it would be rude. I don’t want him to think I’m affected by our liaison in any way.” She takes her fingers and air quotes around liaison.
I laugh, but don’t let her off. “But you are affected though, aren’t you? Didn’t you really like this guy?”
“Well, yeah, but it was a sexual chemistry. Who’s saying whether we’d have gotten on in real life. And we scratched the sexual itch.” Her eyes divert again.
She’s lying, but I leave her dignity intact. “He might just be playing it cool. Guys have a way of doing that don’t they?” Actually, I’m not sure they do. The guys I’ve met are perfectly happy to pick up the phone if they feel like it. It’s only us girls who over-analyse the situation. Guys, being more simple by nature, will call if they want to, and if they don’t... well. Then, they’re not interested. I let my sentence stand though, to make her feel better.
Right on cue, her phone vibrates. Her eyes shoot to mine and we giggle like school girls with a crush. “Ooh,” We say in unison.
She swipes to answer. “It’s not him, it’s forensics,” she says in a loud whisper before standing to speak outside.
I look around, taking in the trumped-up business men in suits, intermingled with harried commuters and laid back holiday makers. It’s an eclectic mix.
When she returns her mood has changed. She’s more flat.
“What?” I ask as she plops down on her stool.
“They found out who the note in my home was from.”
“Oh yeah?” I’m not sure how to react, so play it non-committal.
“It’s Andy’s new girlfriend. Nothing to do with the case. That’s why they called me, they realised it was near where I live and wanted to alert me that the case may be closer to home than I suspected. They were concerned for my safety.”
I burst out laughing, “I’m sorry Paula, but here you were thinking that your life is in danger and it’s your ex’s new girlfriend who’s jealous of you texting him.”
Her face is horrified, her wide eyes glare at me. “I can’t believe you’re laughing. Do you know how serious this could be? She did break in you know, and Boob could have been knocked down or anything.”
“Well, it’s not as serious as some mass murderer knowing where you live. Just stop texting him and you’ll be fine.” My giggles continue. She has a point, but she brought this on herself. She played with fire, so she should expect to get burnt from time to time.
Paula
We’re in the East End, around Brick Lane, an area which still looks like the old East End, but has the prices of the West End. Basically, what I’m saying is, it’s scruffy round here, and overpriced to boot. I’m watching my back as we head up the side steps to the front door of ‘Meredith Associates,’ the bland umbrella brand for a host of not so blandly named URLs.
Declan Meredith, however, is far from what I was expecting.
His wedding ring flashes under the office lights as he holds out his arm to shake Mo’s hand. And that’s when he looks at me. His eyes gape wide, his mouth also falls open.
“Morning Declan, I’m Paula.” He cringes, retracts his hand before it has time to connect with mine. I stare at him. Hard. Fucker said his name was Ed, and funnily enough, that ring wasn’t on his left hand when we were making out in the hotel room.
“Mind if we take a seat?” I ask. He’s still hot, but I’m too furious to let it affect me now. Well, maybe a teeny bit. The top of my legs remembers a little more than I’d like it to. I cross one knee over the other as I take the chair across from him, pushing the image of him standing watching me get off out of my mind. Oh and that throbbing cock. Say what you like, he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
But I’m not married.
And I’m not running round with aliases.
It also strikes me that his sister obviously knows what he was up to, so his sexual wanderlust must be a common occurrence. If it hadn’t been so much fun, I’d feel di
rty. As it is, I’m pissed. And I want to know what the hell his involvement is in this case.
‘Jesus, what have I done?’ The memory of us chatting over that bottle of champagne floats back. We talked incessantly and about very little other than my work and, whilst I did maintain enough professionalism not to discuss this case, I can’t remember whether I let anything slip.
Did he just go with me so that he could find out something?
Fuck!
He was on the train back south.
What if he is the killer? And I slept with him.
My head is being ram raided by conflicting thoughts spiralling way out of control. But, should I tell Mo? I should, in the name of full disclosure. Ugh. My first job back!
All the while, the conversation is progressing with utmost dignity in front of me. Mo is introducing us properly, has outlined that we’d like to understand how his business works in a little more detail, without providing Declan with any information which could be useful to him if he is intrinsically involved in this case somehow. Which, if I’m being rational, I’m sure he is not.
Shit!
“So, our model is quite unique.”
‘Quite unique.’ I mimic in my head. He didn’t speak like that the other day. Is this Ed’s identical twin or something?
“How so?” Mo asks, his voice gruff as his neck is bent, allowing his head to bury in his notepad.
“Well, in the amount of data we are able to gather and match up. We take down up to five hundred details about a client when they sign up to our books. That’s why the different website addresses are irrelevant. We only publish on the sites what is appropriate for that clientele, but we match up the information in the back end with any of the clients on our database. It’s up to them to meet up then, and take their relationship from there.”
It actually sounds quite sensible, much as it begrudges me to say. “So, let’s get this clear. I could be on www.Iamsingle.co.uk and you could be on www.Iammostdefinatelymarried.com and, as long as neither of us specifically stated up front that you being married was a problem, then you’d match us up and let chemistry do its stuff?”
