Dylan gave the vehicles five minutes, in case they returned for something forgotten, and then walked up to the house. The front door was locked and bolted, as he’d expected, but the lock on the back door only took him five minutes to open. Not bad going, that. With practice, he’d be great at breaking and entering.
He wandered around the building to make sure he really was alone.
Satisfied he had the place to himself, he went straight to the bare drab room that was Child’s office. The Doll he’d known wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in this building. It was too drab, too uncomfortable and far too cold. They’d both need a good pot of gold at the end of this particular rainbow.
He pulled open drawers but found nothing of interest. There were no wall safes hidden behind pictures. The books were exactly that—books. He searched every inch of the room. Nothing.
Rain lashed at the window and he was thankful he wasn’t doling out soup and leaflets in town.
He was about to leave Child’s office when a floorboard creaked beneath his foot. He dragged the table aside and lifted the corner of the worn grubby carpet. Eureka. A length of floorboard, about a foot long, was definitely loose. He lifted it, put his arm down into the void and moved it around until his fingers touched something. He grabbed the package and pulled it through the gap.
Unless he was very much mistaken, this was the same brown envelope he’d seen Riley put in his coat pocket.
The envelope was sealed and it was difficult to tell what was inside—a brick of heroin maybe.
Still listening for sounds of anyone who might have returned to the building, he took the package to the kitchen and put an inch of water in a pan to boil on the stove. Steaming open envelopes, especially the self-seal varieties like this one, was never as easy as it looked on TV, but it was his only option.
He held the envelope over the steam. It soon went damp and soggy, and the flap started to lift. With great care, he eased it open.
Nice.
Without disturbing the package, it was impossible to say how much money was inside. He could see no smaller denomination notes than fifty pounds. At a rough guess, he’d say the envelope contained around one hundred thousand pounds.
Very nice.
He resealed the envelope and, confident it was as good as new, threw away the hot water, dried the pan and returned it to its hook. He returned his find to Child’s office.
With the cash back in its hiding place, he pulled the rug into place, dragged the table across and, satisfied that the room was as he’d found it, closed the door behind him.
He went upstairs, where there were six bedrooms. One might have expected such a god-fearing family to adorn the walls with crucifixes, but there were no religious items on show.
He checked his watch. He’d be late meeting up with the others in town but, hopefully, not too late. So long as he could get a cab...
The largest of the bedrooms had to belong to Child and the lovely Doll. A dressing table was covered in creams and lotions, lipsticks, perfume bottles, hairbrush and every other thing required to make Doll look more beautiful—or less old.
He searched cupboards, wardrobes and drawers. He went through the pockets of clothes hanging in the wardrobes. He looked for dodgy floorboards. He moved various awful paintings aside to check for hidden wall safes. The ceiling had what looked to be original beams—too old and too substantial to be hiding anything.
He found nothing incriminating in that room or any of the others. There were enough condoms in Hank’s room to keep a super stud going for ten years, but that wasn’t a crime.
Still confident he was alone in the building, he changed the sim card in his phone and called Detective Inspector Rhodes.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “I’ve found a load of cash—probably a hundred grand, it’s difficult to say—and I have a feeling it was given to Child by an old mate of his, a businessman, one Gordon Riley.”
“Riley? Yes, he’s one of the refuge’s benefactors. A hundred grand, you say?”
“Difficult to tell, but yes, probably.”
“Riley’s aboveboard. He’s as rich as Croesus, thanks to some new computer game his company has unleashed on the world. He donated fifty grand this time last year. Child had a big piece put in the local paper about it. It’s probably another donation.”
“Hidden under the floorboards?”
“If Child has no safe on the property, and we couldn’t find one, it’s probably the best place until he can bank it. You can’t trust anyone these days.”
Dylan wasn’t convinced. “Okay, that’s it. I thought you might be interested.”
“We are. Good work.”
Dylan ended the call and hit the quick-dial button for his ex-boss, Frank.
“How are you getting on with that murdering bastard Child?” Frank asked.
“Okay, and I’ll have to make this quick. There’s a vicar, Bill Owen, who’s recognised me. He says he won’t tell Child, but I don’t know if I can trust him. Do you know him?”
“The name rings a bell, but that’s about all.”
“Find out what you can about him, will you, Frank?”
“Will do. I think he’s legit. He’s been in the town quite a while. At least, I think he has. I’ll check him out.”
“He claims to have been here for fourteen years. Also, I’ve just called Rhodes and told him about a stash of cash I’ve found—about a hundred grand. I think a chap called Gordon Riley gave it to Child. Rhodes says the bloke’s clean—rich from his computer-games company—but find out what you can about him, will you, mate?”
“Will do,” Frank said. “Anything else?”
“That’s it. And I need to get out of here so I can serve soup or dish out leaflets in the town. I’ll call you when I can.”
“Take care, Dylan.”
“Will do.”
Dylan changed sim cards in his phone, let himself out of the house and locked the door behind him.
He was about to head off down the lane when he heard a voice. He kept in tight against the house wall and moved silently and slowly to the side elevation.
“It looks like you’re eating for six or more,” the male voice said. “Here you go. Better than chasing mice, yes?”
Puzzled, Dylan risked a look round the corner of the house. There, sitting on the rickety bench under the apple tree, was Kennedy. He was feeding a heavily pregnant cat from an open pouch.
“Don’t eat it all at once,” Kennedy said.
So much for being deaf and dumb...
Chapter Fourteen
Bev was shaking so much, it took her three attempts to fasten the buttons on her shirt. Then she realised the buttons weren’t in the corresponding holes and had to start over. Finally she was dressed, and she emerged from behind the screen to see Dr. Singh tapping away at her computer.
The doctor looked up and smiled at her. “Take a seat, Beverley.”
Bev sat by the desk but couldn’t see what was being typed into her file because the screen was angled away from her. She took a few deep breaths to recover from what had been a shockingly thorough internal examination.
A wall poster designed for health professionals showed the correct way to wash hands. God help us all. A box in the corner of the room was crammed with toys, presumably for toddlers needing vaccinations. White walls, a small wash basin, green couch with matching green curtains, doctor’s desk and chair, two other chairs, shelves stacked with syringes, cotton wool and disposable gloves—the room gave Bev the creeps.
“Right,” Dr. Singh said, “that all seemed normal, but we’ll book you in for a scan to check everything out. While we’re waiting for that, we’ll get a CA-125 blood test done.”
“A what?”
“Sorry.�
�� The doctor smiled in a way designed to reassure. It didn’t work. “CA-125 is a protein found in the blood. It’s not a completely reliable test for ovarian cancer because other things can produce raised levels, but we can hopefully rule it out. And don’t start worrying that I think you have ovarian cancer, because I don’t. I simply want to rule it out.”
“I see.” She didn’t. She’d only heard one word. The cancer word ricocheted around her head.
“We’ll book you in for an abdominal ultrasound and a transvaginal ultrasound, but your appointment could be four weeks away, so we’ll do the blood test while we wait. Are you happy with that?”
Ecstatic.
“Fine,” Bev said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll refer you for the scan but you’ll need to make an appointment for your blood test on the way out. The next available one will be on Wednesday or Thursday.”
“Thank you,” Bev said again.
“Meanwhile,” Dr. Singh said, “try not to worry. I couldn’t find anything untoward. The pain will probably go away of its own accord.”
With an encouraging smile from Dr. Singh, Bev grabbed her bag and left the surgery.
She stood, third in line, at the reception desk. She’d never heard of a transvaginal ultrasound, but it didn’t sound like the most fun a woman could have.
The receptionist looked up. “Yes?”
“I need to make an appointment for a blood test.”
“Is it a starvation one?”
“I have no idea. It’s a—” she’d forgotten already, “—CA something or other.”
“CA-125. No, you don’t need to starve for that. Wednesday afternoon at five o’clock?”
“Yes, that’s fine, thanks.”
Clutching the small printed appointment card in her hand, Bev strode out of the building and along the street to the nearest coffee bar. She ducked inside and dropped down onto a chair at a table by the window. She was still shaking when the waitress appeared by her side.
“A cappuccino, please.”
“With chocolate?”
And crystal meth. “Please.”
Dylan’s mum was at the house looking after Luke and Freya, so there was no need to rush. She simply wanted a few minutes to herself. Just enough time to calm herself and get her thoughts into a logical order. The doctor had said the pain might go away of its own accord. She’d said everything had felt normal during that internal examination—and God, she’d been thorough. She’d said she didn’t think it was ovarian cancer, she was merely ruling out all the nasty stuff. That was good, yes?
Yes. That was good.
“There you go, love. Enjoy.” The waitress put a large cappuccino in front of her.
“Thanks.”
As Bev spooned the chocolate and froth from her coffee, she wondered why she was worrying about this so much. She’d become a worrier lately, ever since Freya was born. Luke had grown into a tall, sturdy teenager and she hadn’t imagined that after trying for a baby for years and finally admitting defeat, he’d ever have a brother or sister. But Freya had come along—an unexpected but wonderful gift—and Bev had been worrying ever since.
Even before this pain in her abdomen developed, she’d wondered what would happen if she became too ill to look after her daughter. Dylan thought she was mad, but he humoured her. He said he and his mother would cope between them. “And how ill would you have to be not to be able to play with her? You’re unlikely to be bedridden for months on end...”
He was right, of course. She didn’t want to be ill though, not even for a couple of days. She wanted to be fit, and healthy enough to run and play with her daughter.
Worrying herself sick because she had a vague abdominal pain wasn’t an option. It was self-indulgent crap. It was ridiculous.
She’d push it from her mind, not mention it to anyone, and hope it went away.
If her mate Lucy had been in this state, she’d laugh at her and tell her to pull herself together. She had to look at the whole thing logically. There was no point inventing horrors to worry about.
With that decided, she finished her coffee, returned to the health centre for her car and drove home.
Dylan’s mum was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a glossy magazine. Bev had to stifle a grin as she spotted the iPod and earphones. She’d bet her life that Vicky was listening to her hero, Bob Dylan. Vicky had some strange ways—the hippie clothes and lifestyle, the marijuana smoking—but Bev couldn’t have wished for a better mother-in-law. She wasn’t protective of her son as some women were. She was kind and always ready to lend a hand. Her sense of humour never faltered. She was crazy, but Bev adored her.
“Hello, love.” The earphones were yanked out. “How did it go?”
“Fine,” Bev said. “She’s sending me for a scan and a blood test to make sure, but she didn’t think it was anything to worry about. Is Freya asleep?”
Vicky nodded. “About five minutes ago. Luke—”
“—is watching TV. Yes, I guessed.” Why he had to have the volume so high, Bev had no idea. There was nothing wrong with his hearing. Although there would be if he kept this up.
She went into the lounge. “Turn it down, Luke. It’ll send you deaf.”
He grinned up at her. “Sorry? Did you say something?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.” He was like his dad in every way imaginable.
The volume was turned down and she went back to the kitchen. “Fancy a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks, love. It would be wasted on me.”
Bev opened a bottle and filled a glass right to the top. She deserved this.
“Any news from Dylan?” Vicky asked.
“No.” Bev hated it when he worked away and she especially hated knowing he was working undercover. When he was kicked off the police force, she’d believed that was one nightmare they wouldn’t have to go through. “He’ll ring when he can, but I don’t know when that’ll be. I’m sure he’s all right though.”
“Of course he is. He’s big enough and ugly enough to take of himself,” Vicky said in a matter-of-fact way.
“True.”
Vicky filled a cup with boiling water, showed it a teabag and added some milk. “I’ll drink this and get out of your way.”
Bev smiled at that. “You’re never in the way.”
“Thank you. But I have a lot to do, so I’ll go anyway.”
They talked of how well Luke was doing at school and how he loved his football, and of how utterly adorable Freya was. They spoke of the weather and dreamed of sitting outside with long cold drinks when summer came.
“If it ever comes,” Vicky said. “Summers in England are rare these days. What did we have last year? Those two weeks in March?”
“I remember it well. I put away all my warm clothes and spent the rest of our so-called summer freezing.”
“That’ll teach you.” Vicky rinsed her cup under the tap and put it on the drainer. “Right, I’m off, love. Give me a shout if you need anything.”
“I will, and thanks. I appreciate it.”
Bev poured herself another glass of wine. She’d relax if it killed her.
Surprisingly, it was late that evening, when Luke and Freya were both asleep in their beds, before she switched on her computer. She’d have a quick look at CA-125 blood tests, transvaginal ultrasound scans and ovarian cancer, and then she’d settle down and watch a good film. She would not under any circumstances spend hours on health forums...
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re going into town?” Dylan said. “That’s great. Can I beg a lift in your taxi?”
Hank and Gary Child looked at each other, both waiting for the other to dream up the excuse of the decade. It clearly defeated them both. Their father was listening in, so that probably didn’t hel
p.
“Sure,” Hank said with obvious reluctance.
“Which part of town are you making for?” Dylan asked.
“We’re going to Tempo,” Gary said. “No offence, Dave, but I don’t think they’ll let you in. The last I heard, you were threatening coppers with broken bottles.”
“Yeah, well. I ought to show my face and apologise. A lift to Tempo would be great. And don’t worry, I won’t cramp your style.” He winked at them. “I’ll apologise for my less-than-admirable behaviour, enjoy a couple of their cheap drinks and make my own way back. The walk won’t seem so far with a couple of whiskies inside me.”
Hank shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The moon was throwing its light on the brooding hills when the taxi pulled up outside the refuge. The sky, dotted with stars, promised another cold night.
Gary jumped in the front seat and Hank and Dylan sat in the back.
“Tempo,” Gary said.
The driver was as quiet and disinclined to chat as the Child boys.
“I can’t believe you two are grown men,” Dylan said. “When I used to work with your dad, he was always talking about you. Back then though, you were just teenagers.”
“That’s a long time ago,” Hank said.
“Yes, a lot of water’s passed under the bridge since then. Mind you, I was even more surprised to find him in a setup like this. He’d be the last person I’d have expected to find God and start doing charity work.”
“Yeah, well.”
“What about you two? Do you like living up north? Are you enjoying life at the refuge?”
“Would you?” Hank asked. “I’m out of here when I can get some cash together. I’ll be heading back to civilisation.”
“London?”
“Yeah.”
“So all this God stuff isn’t for you either?”
“It’s not that, it’s just that it’s so dead up here. There’s nothing to do. I’m heading back to London as soon as I can. I’ll get a decent job down there, somewhere to live—”
“I don’t blame you. It would be too quiet for me too. I can’t understand how your dad copes with it, or why he’d want to. When I first found out he was living here, I thought the heat must have been on in London. That was the only reason I could think of why someone would be here. When he said it was through choice, well, it beats me.”
Deadly Shadows (A Dylan Scott Mystery) Page 10
