One Last Hit

by Linda Coles

  “Yes. Jack and I are taking a DS from Manchester for a curry. Duncan Riley. He’s a nice bloke, actually. We’re hoping he can throw a bit of light on the prescription drug and distribution scene. There may be a connection to his contacts up there. They seem to be spreading their network outwards down here a little. When might you speak to Valance? It would be good to get another viewpoint on things before we meet him. Once again, cyber at this end have no bandwidth to speak of, pardon the pun. They only work with the big stuff, or those in immediate danger, not a few ‘baggies and butties,’ as you called it last night.” Amanda smiled as she said it; it was mildly amusing.

  “Well, on that, I must have been figuring things out subconsciously because I remembered about Bitcoin and what I knew,” Ruth said. “It would work, I bet, the app aspect, though I’ll still talk to Valance and double check. I seem to remember some article of recent saying Bitcoin wasn’t as reliable as it once was in terms of anonymity. And as smartphones go to run the necessary browser, I’m pretty sure the iPhone hasn’t got the ability or the security. I’ll have to check. But there’ll be something else and some way else to fill the gap by now. I’ll let you know.” Ruth got up to rinse her now empty mug. “I’m off for a very quick run, I think. Maybe just the one lap and then a shower. I’ll go and get changed. Care to come with me?” Ruth raised her eyebrows suggestively but Amanda scowled her reply.

  “My body wasn’t meant for running, so I’ll grab breakfast then hit the shower. Thanks for the invite though.”

  There was no way Amanda would ever go running, Ruth knew, but she teased her anyway.

  Five minutes later Ruth was heading down the front path in her running gear. Amanda sat at the kitchen table, pondering. If an app could be loaded with funds and used for anonymous transactions, then all sorts of things could be traded illegally with no one any the wiser. That left two questions bubbling away: first, how did the mobile van’s customers know about a secret app if it was a secret? Second, how could Amanda and Jack get access to it too?

  By the time Ruth came back, sweating like a horse, Amanda was dressed in her best suit, hair coiffed and make-up expertly applied. She had the bones of an idea.

  “Wow,” exclaimed Ruth, looking Amanda up and down. “I hope Duncan appreciates your effort, though aren’t you a little early?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. I’m going undercover.” Grabbing her bag, she pecked Ruth’s sweaty cheek as she passed, calling ‘Wish me luck’ over her shoulder as she went.

  Chapter Sixty

  Sam had checked her messages from ‘him’ and was thrilled to see he’d received the funds without a hitch. She’d followed his instructions to a T, so why she was surprised she’d no idea. But reading the short confirmation text sent a tingle of excitement through her body, like when something exciting you’d been looking forward to for ages was suddenly upon you. It reminded her a little of her wedding day, and the excitement and anticipation that had consumed her for weeks before the event took place.

  The day had been perfect in every way, from the sunshine to the ceremony and the party that evening. It had gone smoothly, and for the first few years they’d both been blissfully happy, bringing two delightful girls into the world and enjoying every moment they spent with them. When it had started to crumble, exactly, she couldn’t remember, but Duncan’s job hadn’t helped. It had begun taking up so much of his time and his attention even when he was actually present at home.

  Still, she pushed the thoughts away and tried to clear her head. What was done was done: there was nothing to be gained by rehashing it all. It no longer mattered whose fault things were, who had said or done something. It was all water under the bridge. Best to just let it wash out to sea.

  The kitchen looked like a TV studio waiting for a celebrity chef to arrive. Several bowls sat with prepared ingredients in them. Pastry was resting in the fridge and flour dust covered every surface, including the floor. Anyone looking would think the two girls had had a flour fight, not that a grown woman was making pastry, but Victoria and Jasmine were safely at school, out of harm’s way.

  Satisfied that she had everything ready, she took the pastry out and began to roll it, lining individual circular sections of the tray to create the bases for the mini-quiches. When the tray was filled with twelve perfect-looking pastry bases, she began to fill them with the finely chopped ingredients from the bowls. In the bottom of each went tiny slivers of green potato skin topped with tiny bacon pieces, chopped tiny potato eyes, chives, cheese and herbs. Then she poured the eggy mixture over each one to fill the tartlets to the top and sprinkled a little more grated cheese on top. When the poisoned pies were complete and she was satisfied she hadn’t forgotten anything, she placed them in the hot oven to cook. There was an air of satisfaction about her as the golden oven light glowed over her creations. During her research, she’d learned that the active ingredient could be a little bitter, and she hoped the bacon and strong cheese would mask any flavour issues. The last thing she wanted was for Duncan to spit it out and be fully alert when his evening visitor came to call.

  Twenty minutes later, the delicious-looking treats were done and the homely smell of fresh baking and cooked cheese filled the kitchen – she was almost tempted to try one herself. After placing them all on a wire rack to cool, she dug into the back of a kitchen cupboard for a suitable travel container. The oven clock read 1.15 p.m. Duncan had said he’d come by about 2 p.m. to grab his overnight gear before heading down south for the night, and that he’d be back late Friday night.

  Or that was the intended plan …

  She’d already laid his toiletries out along with his hold-all and pyjamas; somehow, he always managed to forget these when he went anywhere overnight and would end up sleeping in his underwear. Idly she wondered if he’d be wearing them when the time came; it seemed an odd thing, sad almost, to wear for his demise. But what would be better, a suit and shirt? His running gear? Jeans and a T-shirt, perhaps? What was the preferred attire to be wearing when your time came? Sick patients lying in bed wouldn’t have any choice in the matter, so Duncan would be in their company as his spirit left this life – wearing just his PJs.

  She stared at the stripes on the bottoms, blue and purple, and touched the soft flannelette fabric, though she resisted lifting them to her face. To do that would mean she still cared for him, and really, she didn’t. Anger started to bubble in her stomach like toxic gases. She could still feel the sting of his words like the slap of an elastic band her your arm – so cruel and unnecessary. He’d started her down this road she’d taken – he had! He was to blame for what was about to happen next. Yes, it was all his doing! Sam was getting wound up now, anxiety rippling through her chest, heat coursing over her skin, scalding tears filling her eyes.

  A door slamming shut downstairs brought her to attention and she hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Duncan’s voice rang out. “I’m home, Sam.” It was kind of sing-song, happy even, not like his usual stressed, dull tone.

  Sniffing fiercely and wiping her eyes again, she called down to him, “I’m in the bedroom.”

  His heavy footsteps climbed the stairs and he popped his head around the doorframe, a smile in his eyes. He seemed so happy.

  “I smell baking,” he said with a tone of happy accusation.

  “Guilty as charged,” she replied, then winced inwardly at her words – was that slip up an omen? Changing the subject for the moment, she added, “I thought I’d get a few things together – you know, the things you might forget.” She held up his pyjamas and he smiled knowingly. “Can’t have you cold. You’ll need these in your room. What if there was a fire alarm in the night? You’d be stood there half-naked and freezing to death.”

  She knew she was rambling on about nothing, talking for the sake of it, but it helped. Why hadn’t she taken a couple of pills this morning to steady her nerves? Wasn’t that what they were there for? If only her bag was nearby, she could easily have sneaked a couple from th
e side pocket and slipped them down. But it was hanging at the bottom of the stairs where it always was. So, gibbering on was the next best alternative. It took her mind off what was coming.

  Duncan walked into the room and started to fill his bag with the other items he’d need and she stood back and watched him. “Not sure if I mentioned but I’m meeting them from Croydon station for a curry at seven p.m. so I need to get going. There’s a case they’re working on that might be linked to a case of ours, so I’ll call you when I get in if it’s not too late, okay?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do. I’ll probably have an early night anyway. I’m nearly at the end of my book so I’ll finish that off and that’ll be it. I’ll text you before I go to sleep.”

  It was all part of the plan.

  “Okay.” He looked around the room to see if he’d forgotten anything, then hoisted up his packed bag. He was almost ready to go.

  “I’ve made you something to nibble on for your journey down,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. He followed her down, bag in hand. He watched as she put four mini-quiches into a container and handed it over.

  “I thought you’d like these more than sweet brownies – they’re much more substantial. Now don’t eat them all when you set off. You’ll appreciate them late afternoon when you get the nibbles.” Timing was important, but she could only suggest.

  “Thanks, Sam. That’s nice of you. I appreciate it.”

  Their eyes caught for a moment and she smiled. He’d always had beautiful eyes… He leaned in to kiss her, their lips touching briefly for the last time.

  When he walked out the front door, she’d never see him alive ever again.

  It was a sobering thought.

  She needed a drink.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  She looked every part the businesswoman. Her smart navy suit fell a little below her knee; a deep cream blouse with a plunging neckline set off her blonde hair perfectly. The look was completed by a pair of large pearl studs in her ears and a swipe of pale peach lipstick – she was aiming for classy.

  Funny how a change of style of clothes could make a person feel so different about themselves. Amanda’s normal attire of work suit and Doc Martens was functional, though certainly not what you’d call stylish. High heels were impractical on the job for many reasons; really, it was only TV cops who wore them, women who, incredibly, managed to sprint over gravel and climb chain-link fences without difficulty when the time came. No ankles were ever broken in the making of those episodes. Away from television and back in the land of reality, of course, it was a completely different story, so she’d head back home to change out of her Wonder Woman suit after her assignment.

  Kodaline sang about all she wanted while Amanda drove down Purley Way, headed towards a bacon sandwich and a spot of early morning surveillance over a Styrofoam cup of tea. Thinking she’d better tell Jack what she was up to, she directed Siri to call him. Kodaline and her song faded down and a loud ringing tone.

  “Morning, Lacey-McGregor, or McGregor-Lacey, or whatever you’re now called,” he teased her, chewing loudly and following up with a slurp.

  “I gather you’re still finishing breakfast.”

  “Yes. Full English this morning, too. Mrs. Stewart came early specially to make it. Good of her, eh?”

  “Yeah, great. Send her over when you’ve done with her. I have a few chores that need doing. But right now, I thought I’d fill you in on where I’m headed.”

  “Oh? And where’s that?” Another slurp. Amanda envisioned him with his mug, a brown sauce–stained plate in front of him.

  “I’m a businesswoman with a need for something to calm me, so I’m going to order a bacon sandwich with a side order of special sauce. I want to see what happens, and who makes it happen. All being well, I should have something to report back when I get to work. If I’m not in by ten, it’s gone horribly wrong and you’ll probably find me whacked and tied up in the bushes somewhere nearby.”

  “Cheery thought, Lacey. Righto, then. Thanks for letting me know. You be careful, and I’ll see you a bit later.”

  “Never thought of that, Jack, but will do,” she said, rolling her eyes. Though he was only a handful of years older than her, he treated her like the daughter he had never had. And for the most part, she let him; in many ways, he was the father she had never been close to.

  The line went dead, and Kodaline’s soft, eerie voice again filled the car. Up next was Meghan Trainor. Perfect; Amanda was in the mood for something quietly soothing.

  Ten minutes later, she swung the car into the layby, and parked at the furthest corner, as out of sight of the van as possible. Satisfied that the staff couldn’t see her, she turned the engine off and pretended to be searching her bag for something. Compact make-up mirrors were one of the best surveillance tools, she’d learned: they looked completely natural yet were small enough to see around without looking obvious – unless you were a man, of course. Amanda took hers out and pretended to preen a little, all the time watching the front of the van and who was doing what. Even though it was still early, there were already a couple of people queuing. Both were wearing business suits, and both had their phones in their hands. To the uninitiated, there was nothing wrong with the picture but Amanda stayed put, watching and pretending to adjust her make-up.

  Her phone rang. It was Ruth.

  “I have something for you that may be of use.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “I’ve just spoken to Valance and run a hypothetical at him, and he came back with how it could be done. I say could, not is – that’s up to your team. The detectives.”

  “Come on, then – spill the beans,” Amanda said. “I don’t need a disclaimer statement attached.”

  “Crypto currency could be used easily, and there are various forms now –loads, in fact, not only Bitcoin. In fact, he says it’s unlikely to be Bitcoin because it’s way too valuable. He mentioned Monero and Dash and a couple of others, but here’s the thing.” Ruth took a breath then carried on. “Anyone can do it, and it still runs off the Onion browser, but money can be added to the app. But it can’t be done on an iPhone: Apple doesn’t support crypto apps. So Android would more than likely be the one to use. Have a look at which phones customers are using if you can. From what he says, you won’t find an iPhone amongst them.”

  “Nice work, Detective McGregor-Lacey. Does he have any idea how money changes hands through the app?”

  “He said he’d do some checking, but his initial thought was what he called a ‘pooled wallet,’ where value is assigned to an account but no specific currency is associated with it. It basically means funds are harder to track. To purchase, the buyer would then wire the currency to the app, and hey presto! – transaction almost complete.”

  “Nice one, Ruth. Thanks. I’d better go and see what’s what, then. Wish me luck.”

  “Stay safe, eh?” Sheesh – first Jack, and now Ruth. Amanda rolled her eyes heavenward. Well, at least they cared.

  “Will do. See you later.” Amanda rang off and glanced over to the food truck. The queue had grown to four people waiting.

  “May as well get going,” she mumbled as she made her way across the uneven ground in heels she wasn’t used to. Little pieces of fine gravel pinged as her heels caught the loose covering and she was thankful it was a clear morning. Holding an umbrella and balancing at the same time might have been a problem. Amanda joined the back of the queue, eyes and ears on high alert. Immediately she noticed a couple of things: first, no one was talking at all, although that wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm; these people were probably all strangers. Second, each person had their phone in their hand – again not all that uncommon, but on further inspection, she noticed that not one of them was an iPhone. Again, that on its own wasn’t startling, but given Ruth’s intel and her own suspicions about what went on at this particular food van, it was a glaring indicator.

  Amanda watched carefully now. As each
person placed their order, they put their phone on the serving hatch, screen up. Someone not paying attention, someone who was there solely to get a sandwich and nothing else, would probably not have noticed this. Intrigued, Amanda moved forward in the queue, watching closely without seeming to watch.

  Her main question now was how such an operation could be marketed to those looking to shop, because the suppliers, the two men inside the food van, could hardly hang their sign out, could they?

  There were a couple of ways to find out more. And Amanda was going to try them both.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  The man directly in front of her had turned his head as Amanda joined the back of the queue and given her a smile of admiration – as well as a rather obvious top-to-bottom look she could have done without. “Too bad, buddy. I’m taken,” she thought gleefully. Still, it was good to know she could still pull, even if it was a man.

  “Good morning,” he drawled when he’d finished browsing.

  Play nicely, Amanda …

  “Morning,” she said, acting friendly. She was keen to chat with Mr. Smooth if she could.

  “The best bacon sandwiches this side of Watford Gap, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, the best.” Another bright smile from Amanda.

  “Do you come here often?”

  Amanda groaned inwardly. Seriously, did he have nothing better? That was the cheesiest chat-up line in the book, though there could have been a double meaning to his question. “I’ve just come a couple of times,” she said, “but as you say, they are the best. They give me a bit of a buzz, actually. Love the special sauce.”

  She watched his face and waited. His eyes flicked across hers, searching for her own double meaning, she assumed. At last he nodded slightly. No doubt about it: he knew exactly what she was referring to – and it wasn’t the bacon.