by Linda Coles
That was when the idea hit him. He laughed again, though this time at its simplicity – and the irony of a cop even contemplating it.
He needed to break in.
He needed a geek. And he knew who might be able to help.
Chapter Seventy-One
“Jack, do you realize what you are asking me?” Ruth sounded incredulous and flattered at the same time. “And what even makes you think that I’d know how to get in? I build websites and apps, for heaven’s sake, not knock them down. You need qualified hackers like the cyber team, not a self-taught like me who, quite frankly, wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”
“Ruth, you expect me to believe that you only know ‘a certain type of coding’? You’re far brainier than that; you’ve already proven that. And I wouldn’t ask unless it was important. Besides, the cyber team are overstretched and not interested, so I’m going it alone.”
He heard Ruth swallow a guffaw at the idea of him going it alone on the dark web. Doggedly, he went on. “Shall I get Amanda to chat to you?” He knew mentioning her name would wind Ruth up and away from saying no. Over the last couple of years, he’d got to know her well through their common friend.
“Oh no you don’t, Jack Rutherford. Leave her out of this.” Jack heard a heavy sigh on her side of the phone. She was tempted. Jack knew what her next words were going to be and he smiled in anticipation. When the confirmation came, he silently punched the air with his fist, then winced as his stitches twinged. A passing nurse glared disapprovingly at him.
“Here’s what I’ll do,” Ruth went on. “I’ll set up a profile too and see what I can see from the front end, like you have. Make up an interest and get chatting in the forum. And I’ll do a bit of snooping behind scenes where I can, though I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to achieve, if anything. Remember, it’s all anonymous. That’s for a reason. And if they suspect someone is snooping too deeply, and they’ll have ways, they may get spooked, close up and move to another address. From what I know of illegal groups and forums, they move about real easy so they don’t get caught. But let’s see what we can do between us. Is your profile all set?”
“Yes. My username is Rutter, and apparently I’m into women’s shoes, the more pungent the better.”
“What? That’s gross. Where did that idea come from?”
“Actually, Amanda gave it to me. In a roundabout kind of way.”
“I won’t ask,” Ruth said. She went on, “I’ll call myself ‘Gregory’s Girl’ – close but not close enough. Look out for me later. What time will you be chatting?”
“After visiting hours tonight until the nurses turn my light out. Even in a private room they make you sleep more than you want to.”
“It’s called recovery, Jack. That’s why you’re there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a bit over it now. I prefer my own bed. And mug.”
“Well, do as they say and you’ll be home soon enough. Look out for me later, then, and keep out of mischief.”
Ruth said goodbye and looked at the half-filled-out profile on the screen in front of her. ‘Gregory’s Girl’ liked hair, since that was where it had all started. The longer the better. She saved the information and closed the page down until later. While she didn’t mind helping out with the case, she had a business of her own to run, and a client was waiting in the meeting room for her. She doubted the website this particular client was having built would be as fun as the one she was going to dig into later.
New members joined the chat room all the time, each with their own very personal desire, and the operator made it his business to never judge them. It was the more affluent members who went on to become clients of the other side of his business – the premium service, the darker service. They paid big money to have their desires delivered on a silver platter, and many of them were repeat business to him.
There were six new requests to join in the last 24 hours, and he looked at their interests. He’d seen and heard it all before, and pungent ladies’ shoes were no exception. He allocated the access level for the new member and did the same for the other five. Then he did some basic digging with the information he had. As usual, there was nothing to see: all anonymous users with anonymous backgrounds. Still, occasionally he got lucky with someone’s stupidity and ended up with information he could use somehow. But not today. Hopefully a couple of them had money.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Ellen had been sent packing. And the client wasn’t happy. She knew her feet weren’t looking their best after she’d run barefoot from the hotel; they hadn’t had time enough to recover. In reality, she should have pulled a sicky and not gone to the job in the first place, but school fees didn’t pay themselves. Now Jules was going to be pissed at her when the client phoned to complain, which they’d inevitably do. What was Ellen going to say? What was her excuse going to be? She’d worked with Jules for many years and they had a good relationship. Ellen was one of her top earners, so why hadn’t she just said no to the job?
She knew why: when you fall off a horse, you have to get back on. After waking up in a strange hotel room, with her ankles bound and smelling of expensive perfume, she’d realized she hadn’t got herself there – she’d been taken. Somehow. She’d turned up at the studio for work, but everything after that was a blank. And now she was letting Jules down for a second time.
It was as if there had to always be stress in her life. At least Danny was feeling better; his stress had gone, and that had taken a weight off her shoulders too. But now it had been replaced with another one, a different type. Instead of Danny being miserable and Ellen trying to sort it out, it was now Jules’s turn.
She smiled as she thought about her son; she had spoken to Danny several times on the phone, and the transformation in his voice was incredible. He sounded almost back to himself, almost happy again, and it was good to hear. Whatever had happened, whatever the story was, she was pleased for him.
The driver pulled up back outside her house. She thanked him, stepped out, and walked up her front path. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned back on it, gazing up at the ceiling for the answer that wasn’t there. Still, she was home now. She untied the laces of her protective walking shoes and slipped her socked feet into the waiting slippers. The phone in her bag rang. Probably Jules. She let it go to voicemail.
“I’ll call you and explain when I’ve had some tea, okay?” she mumbled to herself, and the phone, as though hearing her, went silent. Ellen walked through to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, staring out of the kitchen window to the small patio outside. The few planters were filled with low-maintenance greenery; just enough to add some style to the little space without needing any work. A small link of irrigation hose joined them up; it jumped into life on a timer in the evening during the warm months. A water feature gurgled in the centre; a simple bronze pipe recirculating water into a large concrete basin completed the oasis. The sound always soothed her. It was all she needed: a little space of green tranquillity to appreciate and relax in. She took her mug of tea outside and sat in the recliner to listen and think.
Ellen hated lies. But she and Jules went back many years. Should she tell her the truth? It was unheard of for Ellen to not have the best feet at all times, and she couldn’t think of an excuse to give Jules as to why they were in such bad shape now. Sure, she could say she’d been mugged and had run off, but that was a lie. Jules would want to know why she hadn’t informed the police, for starters. Yet the truth, whatever that was exactly, was far more sinister.
Tell no one. It wouldn’t be wise.
And the debt being paid? What was that about? She didn’t owe anybody anything, so how could a debt have been paid? Has someone got identities mixed up, confused her with someone else, maybe? She was unharmed, apart from her feet, though that had been her own doing in running from the room that she hadn’t actually been held captive in. But she’d bolted, been scared out of her mind, and hadn’t cared as she’d fled barefoot down the paveme
nt.
She sipped her tea and listened to the soothing sound of water trickling into the pool. Finally, she knew what she needed to do.
Tell the truth to Jules, but don’t tell anyone else.
Before she had a chance to change her mind, she retrieved her phone from where she’d left it inside and listened to the voicemail message. While Jules didn’t sound angry, she did sound concerned. Ellen dialled and waited.
“Hi, Ellen. You got my message, then?”
“I did, and let me first apologise. I should have said something sooner and let someone else do the job rather than hope the client didn’t notice. I’m really sorry, Jules. It won’t happen again.”
There was a long pause before Jules spoke again. “Apology accepted. And what happened with the no-show? You say you went; they say you didn’t. Why would they lie? What’s going on with you, Ellen? This is not like you.”
What indeed, wondered Ellen. Suddenly it came to her: she hadn’t lied. The client had lied.
She took a deep breath. “Jules. I need to tell you something. Something a little odd, in fact, and also the reason my feet are looking the way they are. But first, I need you to tell me you won’t tell a living soul. Can you do that?”
There was a pause. “Sounds ominous,” Jules said at last. “Ellen, whatever is it?”
“Tell me you can keep a secret, Jules. This is important.”
“Okay, I get it. Cross my heart and all that. Now what is it?”
Ellen took another deep breath and began to speak, the words rushing out of her mouth in a tumble, figuring the faster she explained, the less painful it would be.
“I think I was drugged, abducted, taken to a hotel. Someone tied my ankles together and left me to wake up in a room in Knightsbridge. When I awoke, the bedroom door was unlocked and I legged it barefoot.” Her voice caught. “That’s how my feet got damaged. I had no shoes to get home in. And yes, it sounds ridiculous, but you couldn’t make that up, could you?” She gasped for breath as the experience came back to her vividly. Tears filled her eyes. “What the hell happened to me, Jules? And why?” Ellen began to sob down the phone, partly from distress but mostly from the relief of confiding in someone, someone who’d said she wouldn’t tell a soul, someone who had known and trusted her for so many years.
“Hey, come on, Ellen,” Jules said soothingly. “Steady on. Slow yourself down. It won’t help to get so upset. Breathe, my love. Breathe.”
Ellen took a deep breath and it did soothe her nerves, just like Jules said. She was beginning to feel better for having let it all out. She took another long breath and felt the stress beginning to drain from her system. She slowed her sobs and blew her nose.
“Feel a bit better now?”
“Yes, thanks. Sorry about blurting it out, but the note they left told me to tell no one, that it wouldn’t be wise, but I knew I owed you an explanation. Can you forgive me, Jules?”
“Of course I can, and don’t you be worrying about that now. Look, take some time to get yourself back together and your feet back in shape. I won’t tell a soul what you’ve told me. Your secret is safe – though god only knows what that was all for. But the main thing is you’re unharmed and in one piece. Let’s keep it that way.”
Ellen sniffed and blew her nose again. A problem shared was a problem halved, as her mum had always said. Ellen felt better for having apologized to Jules and told her the truth, and she was confident Jules would keep to her word.
“Thanks, Jules. I knew you’d understand.”
She finished the call and rested her head back. It was now beginning to ache from crying. With the fountain tinkling in the background, yet another question entered her head.
Why hadn’t Jules sounded surprised?
After calming Ellen down and thanking her for being honest, Jules finished the call. And found she was once again in a quandary: Ellen was not the first of her models to have told her such a story in confidence. The bigger details were the same in each one: the mention of a hotel room and of having been drugged. It was only the smaller details that changed: the items that had been given or taken.
And Ellen had mentioned a note. What on earth was that about?
Since the break-in, since that day her database had been hacked into, Jules had been wondering why. And now she knew, almost for certain.
Someone was using her girls to fulfil the desires of others.
Jules tapped her teeth with her finger, thinking; it had to be an elaborate set-up for it to have been going on for so long and on such a grand scale. Whoever was behind it must be charging a small fortune to ensure the girls kept quiet and their clients were kept happy. Perhaps she should have mentioned all this when the police had visited her office but she hadn’t, not wanting to betray the women who had fallen victim and go back on her word.
But now whoever this was had targeted Ellen, and for Jules, that was the last straw: for one thing, Ellen was far too valuable to her, and their friendship went back way too long. But more importantly, it meant that this person still had access to her database. He was still watching, and she needed to find him and put a stop to this.
Picking up her phone again, she searched through her contacts for Chris Smeeks, then pressed send. He answered on the third ring.
“Jules! What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this honour?”
“I urgently need your help. And I don’t think what I have in mind is quite legal.”
“Not quite legal is my specialty. Tell me more.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
Jules sat nervously on the park bench waiting for the investigator to show. He had asked to meet her in person to hear the rest of the story, not trusting digital eavesdroppers. In his line of work, he couldn’t be too careful. She wrung her hands and tapped her fingers restlessly as she waited. She couldn’t understand why she felt so wound up. She’d done nothing wrong.
In the distance, she saw him approaching, his figure cutting a fine image as he jogged to a nearby bench and fastened a shoelace that didn’t need fastening. When he was satisfied there was no one in the immediate vicinity, he strolled over, wiping his face on the bottom of his running shirt. Sweat trickled down his tanned neck as he sat at the end of the same bench she was sitting on. His name was Valance.
“Nice afternoon for a run,” Jules said.
“It surely is. Are you running much these days?”
Jules made a scoffing sound. “Pilates is more my thing now. It’s easier on my body.”
Valance smiled, casting a subtle appreciative glance at her stylish and slender frame.
“Have you found him yet?”
“Patience, Jules. These things take time. But that aside, I will have something for you later on today. From what I’ve learned so far, he has a lot going on with various shell companies and complicated set-ups, and it’s not been easy to unravel things. But we’re not far off. Why aren’t you involving the police?”
“I can’t involve the police. Too many of my girls have been threatened and I’m loyal to them all. They’ve told me their experiences in confidence and I have to respect that.”
“I’ve set things in motion,” he said. “That’s all you need to concern yourself with – trust me. Though when I find him, what’s the plan from there?”
“I’m a big believer in taking your own medicine,” Jules said, a sly grin on her face as she turned to him. “I think he should be made to appreciate his own skills. I want him to become the victim of his own success.”
Valance grinned in reply. “I see you’ve not lost your touch where fairness is concerned. A nice trait to have if I may say so. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t want him just found, I want him taught a lesson. And I want to be there to watch. I’m still working out the details, but let’s say I’m quite looking forward to it.”
“Understood.” He grinned. “I’ll keep you updated. Sit tight.” Then he stood and ran off in the same direction he’d originally been heading befor
e he’d stopped. Jules watched his strong legs push him forward as he ran off into the distance and wondered what the penance might be for Chris Smeeks when they got him. Whatever it was, it was going to be satisfying to administer.
Jack smiled as he replied to another member of the forum, someone with the handle of ‘Looby’ who he’d since learned had a real love for Christian Louboutin shoes. It seemed he – Jack assumed it was a ‘he’ – was wealthy enough to be able to afford such items in quantity and had been cautioned for loitering outside several of their London stores. Not deterred, he’d found the same group as Jack to share his experiences with other like-minded people and post evidence of his astonishing collection. What Jack had found surprising was the set-up he’d created for each pair in order to appreciate them. The room looked like a showroom, carefully constructed and filled with glass cabinets that were filled with the objects of his desire. It looked like a shop itself, but with only one customer.
“Frigging weirdo,” he’d muttered as he’d looked at the images the man had shared. But he was supposed to be working, not entertaining himself with things he didn’t understand.
“Impressive collection. Are they all unused or do you like them to have been worn? I prefer the sweet scent of a woman’s foot myself.” Jack nearly balked as he typed.
Looby replied almost instantly. “A mixture, though it’s a lot easier to find new ones.”
“You ever taken them without permission, lost in lust as it were? That’s what I enjoy the most. The gym is a great place for me – so many to choose from.”
“Not taken them, no. I love to watch them, touch them if I can. The theatre is my candy store equivalent – all the ladies out for the evening in their finery. Then I go home to my collection.”
Jack wrinkled his nose at the weird conversation he was having, and then gave his head a shake: this was research, he reminded himself. All in a day’s work. But he’d had enough for one night and ‘Looby’ wasn’t being much help; he didn’t fit the profile, whatever that was. He bid Looby good night and looked at the other threads that were taking place. He was about to sign off when a conversation caught his eye: ‘Gregory’s Girl’ was having an in-depth conversation about hair, long hair specifically, and Jack paused to watch. He was becoming quite the voyeur, not to mention something of a reluctant expert on the subject.
