by Linda Coles
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 pa
use 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.
Also by Linda Coles
Hey You, Pretty Face
A Jack Rutherford solo story.
An abandoned infant. Three girls stolen in the night. Can one overworked detective find the Christmas connection to save them all?
London, 1999. Short-staffed during Christmas week, Detective Jack Rutherford can’t afford to spend time on the couch with his beloved wife. With a skeleton staff, he’s forced to handle a deserted infant and a trio of missing girls almost single-handedly. Despite the overload, Jack has a sneaking suspicion that the baby and the abductions are somehow connected…
As he fights to reunite the girls with their families before Christmas, the clues point to a dark secret that sends chills down his spine. With evidence revealing a detestable crime ring, can Jack catch the criminals before the girls go missing forever?
Hey You, Pretty Face is a standalone spinoff mystery featuring relentless Detective Jack Rutherford. If you like hard-nosed cops, intricate casework, and plots ripped from the headlines, then you’ll love international bestselling author Linda Coles’ dark tale of suspense.
Buy Hey You, Pretty Face to unravel a missing persons mystery today!
Also by Linda Coles
The Controller - Book 1 in the series
One man’s courage could save man’s best friend…
Pete is trying his best to get on the right side of the tracks. Dog-napping spoiled pets for ransom money seems harmless, and he could really use the cash. All he has to do is locate targets with his drone and tell the gang where to find them. It’s easy money, until Pete learns what’s really happening to the dogs…
Wh
en the gang starts to sell the canine captives as bait for an underground fight ring, Pete changes sides in a hurry. With help from local detective Amanda Lacey, they have one chance to hatch a daring rescue. But will they be in time to save the kidnapped dogs from torment and certain death?
Get The Controller
Also by Linda Coles
Hot To Kill - Book 2 in the series
She’s literally getting away with murder… Madeline Simpson is hot, sticky, and stressed to the max. She’s had it up to here with people treating her like dirt, and the hot flashes certainly aren’t helping. When her temper causes her to accidentally murder her landscaper, she expects to live out the rest of her menopause in prison. But the police have their hands full with a series of sexual assaults… Feeling above the law, Madeline aims to teach her biggest offenders a lesson. While her pranks take a dark and dangerous turn, Madeline begins to suspect the true identity of the serial sex offender. To catch the culprit, Madeline will have to go it alone… or risk unburying her deadly secrets.
Get Hot To Kill
Also by Linda Coles
The Hunted - Book 3 in the series
They kill wild animals for sport. She’s about to return the favour…
Philippa is fed up with the big-game hunter posts clogging up her newsfeed. The passionate veterinarian can no longer sit back and do nothing when hunters brag about the exotic animals they’ve murdered and the followers they’ve gained along the way…
To stop the killings, Philippa creates her own endangered list of hunters. By stalking their profiles and infiltrating their inner circles, she vows to take them out one-by-one…
