Dark Service

by Linda Coles

  The Mercedes pulled into a narrow London side street and she cruised past, stopping just past the entrance he’d gone down. It was far too risky to follow him; she’d be found out for sure if she hadn’t been already. Turning her lights off, she put the camera into her bag and slipped out of the car. She set off back towards the dimly lit street, pulling into a dank doorway in the semi-darkness. It smelled of urine and puke. There were people milling about, as there were in most of London’s streets at night, some already the worse for wear, staggering and generally being loud. The majority of the revellers here were wearing thin coats, like raincoats, she noticed, and long ones at that. That was odd, she thought; it was a cool summer evening, but it definitely wasn’t raining, so why the need? It was curious.

  She watched as men and women slipped down the side street towards an opened door, manned by a bouncer of enormous proportions, and filtered in. There was no velvet rope like many nightclubs used to manage the queue outside, and there was no queue.

  Whatever went on in there, it was no ordinary club.

  She couldn’t see Chris any longer. He’d been lost in the throng, but she assumed he’d headed into the same door as the others. What to do now, she wondered? Approach the door and ask the bouncer what the place was? Google the address and see what popped up? A woman in unusually high heels picked her way delicately towards the street entrance and Jules watched her fishnet-clad ankles, mesmerized, as the woman made her way towards her in the darkness. She too had a long coat on. From her hiding place, Jules noticed the woman’s make-up as she passed under a street lamp: it was both theatrical and stunning. Jules resisted the urge to ask her where she was headed; she figured the woman needed to concentrate on her walking so she didn’t break an ankle, rather than having Jules emerge from the shadows and scare the hell out of her.

  She picked her phone out of her bag and did a search for the street name. As it was a small narrow street, there wouldn’t be too many businesses listed to choose from, she was sure. And she was right. Four names came up and she scanned them individually, knocking out the first three. It was the last result that made all the sense in the world.

  Femme Fet-Elle was a fetish club. That’s where Chris Smeeks had headed.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  She’d been at work a couple of hours when Jack texted her.

  “Any chance of a lift home? Out at 10 am.”

  He’d been given the all-clear to leave, then. That was good news, though she knew he wouldn’t be back at work for a couple more days, but going home at least was a step in the right direction. She texted back:

  “Great! I’ll come get you. Lots to fill you in on.”

  What would he make of Jules following Chris Smeeks last night? She wondered if Jules had found anything out. They could do with a break. Amanda then dialled Mrs Stewart, the housekeeper she’d organized for Jack a couple of days per week.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stewart, it’s Amanda Lacey here.”

  “Nice to hear from you Amanda. How’s the patient?”

  “Coming home today, apparently. I’ll pick him up at ten and bring him round. Are you able to be there, by any chance?”

  “Yes, not a problem. Everything is set. Maybe I’ll bake a pie?”

  Amanda smiled at her thoughtfulness. This was going to work out well. She hoped so, anyway. “Oh, that sounds lovely. He’d like that. How thoughtful of you.”

  “Good. I’ll see you later, then.”

  Amanda rang off and smiled at the phone. She and Jack had both met Mrs. Stewart briefly during a case when her boss, James, had died suddenly in his bed after taking a Viagra on top of his heart medication. Mrs. Stewart, his long-time housekeeper, had been the one to find him and she and Ruth had helped her through the worst of the investigation. She was a lovely woman, and she’d been the obvious choice when Amanda had thought about getting Jack some help.

  Amanda felt someone approach her desk and, looking up, saw it was Raj, the DC who’d been on duty last night. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.

  “What you got, Raj?”

  “The background on Mild Holdings. It seems, after a bit of jiggery-pokery, that the person behind the company is one Chris Meeks, or Smeeks as he’s known by us. He owns a black Mercedes – the one you saw last night – a black Porsche and a couple of other vehicles including an old ambulance, of all things. What he would be doing with that I’ve no idea, but you might.”

  “Meeks – of course, that explains the ‘Mild’ in the company name.”

  “Eh?”

  “As in ‘meek and mild,’ not arrogant, can be submissive. Gentle. I guess it’s his idea of being amusing, though I don’t think what he does is particularly non-arrogant or gentle. I wonder what he owns an ambulance for, though. Thanks, Raj.”

  She wasn’t at all surprised to hear his name connected with their case. This was more fuel for the fire they were stoking. She fancied another coffee, so she picked her mug up and took it to the sink to rinse it out. Jack’s dirty mug was still on the drainer; nobody had bothered to wash it for him in his absence, so she filled the sink with soapy water and cleaned them both properly. She’d hate him to think nobody had cared while he’d been ill.

  Her DI, Laurence Dupin, walked in to make himself a cup.

  “I’m picking Jack up at ten,” Amanda told him, “then dropping him home. He’s on the mend. I guess he’ll be back in a couple of days, knowing him.”

  “Good. We could use the extra resource. How’s the hair case going? Close to wrapping it up yet? We may need to move you soon. Other cases could do with the resource.”

  She took his dirty mug from him and washed it before handing it back to him. Maybe the gesture would be noticed. And score her a Brownie point, though probably not. They didn’t refer to him as ‘Dopey Dupin’ behind his back for nothing.

  “Getting there,” she said. “It seems there are others with an interest in our target. I followed a vehicle that was tailing him last night. I’ll go and speak to the driver later, but I need to get some other stuff in place first so I don’t spook her. A bit of a surprise turn-up, actually. I’m concerned she’s got a vigilante plan going. We’ll see.”

  The plop plop whoosh of the coffee machine made Dupin raise his voice in reply. “Right. Keep me informed. Say hello to Jack for me.” Taking his filled mug, he left the small kitchen area and Amanda turned her attention to making one for herself. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the space, a smell that always delighted her nostrils. As it filled her mug, she thought about what he’d hinted at. Damn resources. Is that all she and Jack were? It frustrated the hell out of her sometimes.

  Jack was waiting in his room. He was sitting on the bed, old leather bag at his feet, when Amanda walked in.

  “All set?”

  “All set. It will be good to get back home. Thanks for picking me up.”

  “No problem. You’ll feel a little better once you get back to your own bed. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Wait and see. I’m not telling.”

  “Come on, Lacey. You know I don’t like surprises. What is it?”

  “Wait and see.” She picked his bag up and they slowly walked to the entrance. Her car was parked nearby in the no-parking zone. She caught his look.

  “I’m a detective, on urgent police business.”

  The car beeped as it unlocked. Jack got in the passenger seat and Amanda put his bag on the backseat. As they pulled away Jack asked, “So what’s new, then? Where’s the case at?”

  “It seems Jules has an interest in Smeeks too. I followed her following him last night, but I couldn’t see it through. I plan on having a chat with her after I’ve dropped you home. And Smeeks owns Mild Industries, as in meek and mild. What an arse.”

  Jack chuckled at her annoyance.

  “We should check out this Femme Fet-Elle club,” he said. “It’s the most popular one. Or so says my nurse.” Jack winked as she turned to him for clarification. “Info
comes at you from all sorts of places. I guess nurses are entitled to relax in the same surroundings as accountants and builders. Or anyone else that has a particular fancy, for that matter. I just don’t get it, myself.”

  “I’ll do the checking out. You do the recovery. And a bit of research if you feel up to it.”

  “Now look who’s being the dominant – though I guess you are the woman here.”

  “And the boss, if I have to pull rank,” she said with a sideways smile. “And not one that’s into masochism.”

  A few minutes later Amanda pulled up outside Jack’s house.

  “Whose is that car on my drive?”

  Amanda got out and helped Jack to the door, ignoring his question. She hoped this wasn’t going to go down as well as a cold sore at an orgy. It opened before they arrived. An older woman stood waiting, a pretty floral apron tied around her middle, a smile on her friendly face.

  “Why does she look vaguely familiar, Lacey, and what’s she doing wearing an apron in my house?” Jack said, stopping halfway up the path.

  “This is Mrs. Stewart. She’s helping you out a couple of days a week, and she looks familiar because you met her once. The book club chap that died – James. Remember him?”

  “How could I forget? He really was a stiff, wasn’t he?”

  Amanda shushed him and marched him to the door.

  “Hello again, Mr. Rutherford,” said Mrs. Stewart, “or do I call you Detective?” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke and she held her hand out to shake.

  Jack took it. “Nice to see you again. And Jack will do.” As he spoke, he caught the smell of something savoury on the air and wrinkled his nose like a dog to take it in.

  Amanda was right behind him with his bag. “Let’s go inside,” she said and ushered him into the living room. The curtains were open; a breeze entered through the open windows and the room looked a whole lot more inviting than it had a week ago. Photo frames gleamed, a clock on the wall ticked, yet nothing had been moved.

  “Wow. Looks like someone has been busy,” Jack said, clearly impressed. “And what’s that glorious smell – a pie, by chance?”

  The women smiled at each other and Mrs. Stewart spoke up.

  “It’s a meat and potato pie. I believe you’re partial to those. It will be ready in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you wash your hands and get ready?”

  Jack turned to Amanda with a mixture of amusement and delight on his face, his eyes twinkling too at the prospect of pie.

  “Need a hand upstairs?” Amanda asked him.

  “I’ll manage.”

  Amanda waited as he climbed the stairs slowly, knowing his first port of call would be his bedroom. If he was going to be pissed off with this new arrangement, it would be round about now. The floorboards told her he had entered the room, the shrine to Janine, then there was silence. Amanda had given strict instructions to Mrs. Stewart to clean but not move a thing. They heard him exit again, his footsteps calm and quiet, and knew she’d done just the right amount to freshen his room. The two women collectively breathed out as Jack slowly made his way back downstairs.

  “Is there gravy with the pie by chance?” he enquired.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Amanda didn’t stay for pie, though it did smell damn good. She was extremely pleased that Jack was okay with her well-intended interference. The man needed some care and attention, and the bit of company would do him good, too. Mrs. Stewart had jumped at the chance of a bit of extra income, and Amanda had a feeling they were going to get on fine. The pie had been a great peace offering – who didn’t like a homemade meat pie? Her mouth watered a little at the thought of it. She herself was stuck with her wilted ham sandwich from a nearby garage, but there was work to be done. Jack had asked to tag along, of course, but since he’d only left hospital a few hours earlier, she wasn’t taking any chances. Detectives leapt out of hospital beds and back onto the job in movies, not in South Croydon.

  Up ahead, she could see the door for Body-licious and pulled up outside. To her right was the car she’d seen last night, the one that had followed Chris Smeeks to wherever he’d gone. Perhaps Jules would tell her where that was exactly. Amanda hoped she was in a receptive mood. She opened the door and climbed the stairs to the main office. Another striking receptionist greeted her warmly. Perhaps the models took turns doing the job.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help?” Long eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly kiss. Amanda was mesmerized for a moment by the length of them and then caught herself.

  Don’t stare.

  “I’d like to speak to Jules Monroe, please. DS Amanda Lacey.” Amanda flashed her credentials and the woman took a closer look.

  “I’ll see if she’s available. I won’t be a moment.”

  “She’d better be,” Amanda muttered to her retreating back. Standing alone in the reception area gave her the opportunity to look again at the perfect images of body parts that adorned the walls. They made her feel frumpy stood there in her sensible work boots and trousers, though she’d never been the feminine type, not even as a child; always the tomboy. Ruth was the gorgeous one, the one who could have been in any one of the pictures on display. Still, not everyone could be perfect.

  The incoming stilettos sounded on the floor, and Amanda noted they didn’t seem quite as angry as they had on her and Jack’s first visit. Chanel No. 5 filled the room, and Jules appeared. Amanda smiled warmly, hoping the woman-to-woman thing would work this time too. She stretched her hand out to shake and Jules took it.

  “Nice to see you again, Ms. Monroe.” Start as you mean to go on. “I have a couple more questions for you, if I may. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  By Jules’ face, it wasn’t going to be a problem. Maybe she’d had the right amount of coffee or happy beans so far today.

  “Hello again. Yes, come through this way,” she said, and turned to lead the way back through the door she’d entered only a moment ago. So far so good. “Can I get you a coffee, or water?”

  “Water, thanks.” Amanda watched as Jules filled a glass from a nearby water cooler and then handed her the glass. She took a sip. If Jack had been with her now, he’d have been chomping to get going with the questions, but Amanda waited a moment until Jules was seated. Amanda’s first question was going to be a surprise to her.

  “Where did Chris Smeeks go to last night? Where did you follow him to?” She watched as the colour drained from Jules’s face and she started to stutter a response. She’d clearly been caught totally unaware. Jules took a breath in exasperation.

  “You were following me?” Incredulous.

  “No. I was sat outside his home and as he left, you pulled out too. Want to tell me why, when you’d told us you hadn’t been in touch since the hacking?” Amanda sipped at her water for something to do while she waited for a reply. The one who spoke first was the loser here.

  Jules lost the standoff. With an air of exasperation, she said, “I guess you’ll find out anyway. I followed him to a fetish club, actually. In Islington. I didn’t go in.”

  “Why were you following him?”

  “Because I’ve reason to believe he’s still gaining access to my database.”

  “Oh? What makes you think that?”

  “I have my reasons. I can’t say any more. Apart from the fact that I know some of the girls have been approached.”

  “Approached?” This was like pulling teeth. “Come on Jules, you’re not telling me the full story. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

  “I can’t say. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  “How did you find him after all this time? And a name change?”

  “Hired someone cleverer than me. He gave me the address and I’ve been watching.”

  “And anything to report, apart from the club visit?”

  “No. But that’s enough, isn’t it? He’s obviously a part of something. Some of my girls have been involved in unpleasantness, and what with the old guy who was caut
ioned, it’s all fetish related. Maybe the club is a front for something?”

  Unpleasantness? And more than one of her models? Amanda frowned. Was this getting bigger by the minute? A thought was percolating like coffee on a stove. Had Jules’s girls been treated to a nice hotel room and discovered something missing after the fact? Like Stephanie, and like Taylor? Like maybe a bunch of others? Well, she thought, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  “So, some of your girls have received notes encouraging them not to tell, am I right?”

  The colour that had drained and returned to Jules’s face drained for a second time. Amanda hoped she wasn’t going to pass out.

  “How do you know about those?”

  That was all the confirmation Amanda needed.

  “So now we have that straight, let’s hear the whole story. What you know so far. All of it.”

  Jules could only nod.

  “When was the first one reported to you?”

  “About ten years ago. There were only a couple back then, but since the hack, they’ve increased quite a bit. The girls who have been targeted were terrified and begged me not to tell, so I haven’t. I only found out by accident – girls missing jobs and odd out-of-character things going on.

  “After the first couple, it was easy for me to ask them, and they trusted me. It was a huge relief for them to get it off their chest and tell someone they could trust, explain their behaviour. There could be many others I don’t know about, of course, but it’s been steady over the years. And because of the mention of a debt being paid, they’ve been loath to take it any further with the official authorities. Some have figured out which debts the notes refer to; others haven’t.”