‘I’m sorry I screamed sir...it wasn’t very professional but I thought he’d jumped,’ she said.
‘You and me both Tracy,’ Dylan said shaking his head. ‘Let Control know the outcome will you. I’ve got to get home,’ he said looking at his watch. ’We’re supposed to be setting off early for a weekend away.’
A few people stood out of their cars as Dylan walked back along the line of traffic. A stocky man in a leather ‘bomber’ style jacket leant heavily on his open door.
‘About bleedin time...you should’ve thrown the sad bastard off,’ he said, as Dylan came alongside. Dylan pushed the door closed, trapping the man against his car.
‘And you should learn to keep your thoughts to yourself if you want to finish your journey,’ he said, giving the door an extra shove. He would complain about Dylan – he was the type. Did he care? Right now...did ’e hell.
Sitting back in his car seat he checked his watch as he waited for the traffic to move. Dylan sighed and looked at his watch again; two hours had passed since he’d left work. Jen would be livid and the Divisional Commander wouldn’t be impressed either, but Dylan was satisfied. He was sure it was the right result. He acknowledged Tracy, who was talking into her radio as he passed the police car, before he put his foot down and headed home, better late than never, he thought.
Dylan pulled into the driveway. He walked past the toppled suitcases that lay on the hallway floor and into the lounge where Jen stood staring out of the window. Turning to him, the look on her face spoke a thousand words. He walked towards her and she turned away. He grabbed her to him from behind, circling her waist with his arms and nuzzled her neck. He was pleased she didn’t pull away.
‘Before you say a word, he was on Stan Bridge so I was stuck in the traffic. The only way to get home was to talk him down.’
She knew he was right, she’d heard the report on the radio that a diversion was in place. He kissed her shoulder.
‘Come on, let’s go...just you, Max, and me,’ he said softly. He could feel her soften, but she wasn’t ready to give in just yet.
‘You don’t know how lucky you are I’m still here,’ she said, her voice could have cut through steel but her expression portrayed the softness within her. He looked into her eyes. ‘Oh, yes I do,’ he said, slapping her bum playfully. ‘I’ll get changed.’
‘Do you want a quick coffee?’ she shouted after him. He smiled, knowing her anger had subsided.
‘No thanks,’ he called.
Max jumped up with excitement and Jen managed a half smile.
Minutes later he was locking the door behind them.
‘Switch that damn mobile off,’ she called as she walked to the car.
‘Yes boss.’ he said.
She sat in the car waiting for him to put the cases in the boot. It was a long journey south and it would take them at least six hours, but at last they were on their way. Max stretched out on the back seat, rolled around for a moment or two until he was comfy and moaned with pleasure as he settled. Dylan knew how lucky he was that Jen didn’t give him any hassle. He couldn’t decide which would be worse - the tongue-lashing or the silent treatment.
‘I bet you could have strangled him Jack.’ Jen said, when Dylan recalled the incident.
‘I’m not kidding I thought he’d gone...it really threw me...God, what a strange feeling it was,’ Dylan shivered. ‘In the past fifteen years I’ve had some close scrapes. I’ve been spat at, had bottles thrown at me, stitches to my face and fought for my life but none gave me the feeling I had when he went over the wall,’ Dylan said, as he replayed the scene over again in his mind. He felt his body drain and he closed his eyes.
‘Well, for the next few days you’re mine Jack...no bodies, well, only mine and believe you me, this one is very much alive,’ she chuckled, as she turned to him to see his reaction. He was fast asleep.
‘Please God for a few days of peace and quiet,’ she uttered into the darkness, not too sure if it was Jack or Max she could hear snoring. She was quiet and content as she negotiated the traffic to the Isle of Wight, her special place.
Chapter Four
Liz Reynolds flirted on the telephone with Mr Beckwith, the bank manager, in a nervous way, informing him that she was considering purchasing a work of art. He caught her off guard, asking her questions she hadn’t considered. How did she want the money, cash, banker’s draft? She didn’t have a clue. As she waffled on the reality of being blackmailed suddenly hit her.
‘I’ll let you know if I decide to buy it,’ she said, as she put the phone down.
She worried, had she managed to comply with all the caller’s instructions?
The comfort, serenity and security she’d always felt in her home had disappeared. Liz ambled into her bedroom and perched on the suede window seat, looking out over the beautifully striped lawn. For an instant the slight glimmer of sun through the window felt unwillingly soothing. She looked up at the clouds racing across the sky. Liz placed the knife and phone next to her, finally feeling able to release them from her grasp. She looked down at the fishpond and beaming up at her were the floating koi carp, their scales catching a glimpse of sun that momentarily burst through a cloud. She drew her hand to her mouth and gasped.
‘Oh, my God.’ she squealed, jumping up. Her movement in the wardrobe mirror caught her eye and she went towards it to take a closer look, she didn’t recognise the image she saw before her.
Liz switched the shower onto full power and turned the heat up to as hot as she could bear. Scrubbing feverishly, she desperately tried to clear her confused mind as if cleansing her skin would somehow clear the fog in her head. Changed and focused, she set out to dispose of the dead fish so that Gemma wouldn’t see them on her return from school. The fish had grown to a good size over the years under Malcolm’s tender care, and as she knelt on the flagstones at the edge of the pond and netted their lifeless bodies into the bin her sporadic tears dripped into the water and her feelings turned to that of helplessness.
Later, sitting in the kitchen with a hot, strong, cup of tea she tried to make sense of what had taken place, wondering what on earth she was going to do next. She needed help but who could she turn to if the caller was really watching her? She analysed what he had said, he knew what they were wearing, where Gemma went to school. He had killed their fish so he had been in the garden. He knew the bank they used; would he know if she rang someone? And who the hell did she know who might be able to help her...‘Larry,’ she said, out loud. ’Larry Banks, he’ll know what to do.’ It must have been two years since she had seen him, how time flew.
For the few days Dylan was away Detective Sergeant Larry Banks was Acting Detective Inspector. Dylan wouldn’t have chosen Larry as his deputy but it was part of his personal development plan. Dylan’s hands were inexplicably tied. He had raised his concerns to the Chief Inspector Personnel but they were ignored.
‘It will make him or break him,’ he had said. ‘We’ll review his performance. He must be given the opportunity like anyone else. We cannot be seen to show favouritism. We have a force policy of equal opportunities.’
Larry strutted about Harrowfield nick ‘like a dog with two dicks’, in his Adonis-like way. The egotistical Chief Superintendent, Walter Hugo-Watkins, would have been proud to wear the same, new, designer suit Larry had bought for the occasion. The CID staff loved to mimic Larry’s performance. Dylan hoped the responsibility would temporarily curtail his alcohol consumption, which on occasions was Larry’s Achilles heel. One of the team’s more experienced DC’s Vicky Hardacre had pointed out to the others that he was wearing socks...he really was taking the role seriously.
Liz had met Larry through happier times with her husband Malcolm. Where had it all gone wrong? She’d been married to Malcolm for six years. Inheriting the well-known local scrap yard from his dad had meant they had no money worries. Malcolm was a popular guy, in fact it was often said he was the life and soul of a party. He knew a lot of people and was ru
ggedly handsome, although she hated his hands being ingrained with dirt and the stink of Swarfega he always used. She screwed up her nose at the memory of the smell. His arrest and prison sentence had rocked her world. Why had he got involved with a wrong crowd? Or had he always been involved and she just hadn’t been aware? Maybe she had been naïve. For two years of Gemma’s short life he had been locked away at Her Majesty’s pleasure and little Gemma hardly knew her daddy. Looking back, there had been signs. He had begun to drink heavily, stayed away from home, and on more than one occasion had hit her, as he became controlling in his behaviour, which escalated. If she didn’t write to him weekly or was late for a visit, he’d be livid with her. She tutted. Rumours had begun to fly that he’d had other women, and one even came to the door heavily pregnant, professing it was his child but Malcolm had dismissed her as a crank and she had heard nothing more. At the time Liz had been daft enough to believe him.
Malcolm had brought Larry home one night. She’d thought he was nice; he’d had a sparkle in his eye which ignited an instant connection between them. Malcolm told her later that Larry was a copper and he’d got him out of a tight spot. She didn’t pry, as ignorance was bliss by this time. Malcolm had started spending more and more time away, and she and Larry had got quite close...well, they’d had moments of pure lust. Larry never wanted more, and she liked that. When they’d talked, they’d talked mostly about Malcolm, she conceded it was the only thing they had in common. When Malcolm got locked up Larry stopped coming round...she wondered why? His number was still in her phone and she toyed with the idea of sending the text she’d typed out, as she read it over and over again. Liz closed her eyes and said a prayer as she pressed SEND: what had she got to lose? She needed help and she needed it quickly.
Larry was busy fiddling with his new mobile as he sat with his feet up on the desk in the general CID office. ‘Urgent. A blackmailer who says he is watching me is threatening my life and Gemma’s. I need your help. Please. Liz.’ To onlookers as he walked to Dylan’s office his stride changed from a strut to a scuttle, and he slammed the door behind him. He needed to think. He needed a drink. He thought Liz was history. She was attractive though, he sneered. They’d had great sex but he didn’t want commitment and he thought she knew that. The text sounded like a problem, not fun...but he was intrigued. He wondered if he should ignore it. Then again, perhaps she was feeling needy and bored with hubby away.
‘Well I can do the sympathy shag if that’s all she wants,’ he said chuckling. He decided to reply.
Reynolds Scrap Merchants was started in 1916 and was respected for miles around until Malcolm Reynolds got greedy and saw a money-maker in stripping stolen cars. Neglect and knocking his wife, Liz, around had been the start of his downfall. She’d unintentionally told the smooth talking DS Larry Banks one or two things during their affair, which he used to ensure CID, could target her husband and bring about a prosecution. Larry got enough information to put Malcolm inside for receiving stolen goods. Still looking at the text, considering his reply, he continued to reminisce. Thank God Malcolm had never caught them together and Liz hadn’t told him either. There was once a very close call, he recalled, when he’d left his socks under their bed when Malcolm had come home unexpectedly, hence his resistance to wear them at all now. Either way, if Malcolm had found them Larry thought he’d have probably killed them both. Malcolm was into power lifting and was built like a ‘brick shit house’ as were his close associates. Larry smiled to himself, for some strange reason he got a buzz out of it and the excitement made the effort all the more worthwhile. Gosh, he’d had some close calls when he thought about it, but with Liz he’d got a result. Good job Dylan didn’t know he’d been sleeping with a villain’s wife. What a martyr Dylan was. He laughed out loud. It might actually be fun to see her again he thought, as he typed the text.
‘Hi Liz – I’m in charge here these days so I can meet up anytime and see what can be done. Leave your house at 11. 30 and head for the car park at the Tandem Bridge side of Dean Reservoir - When I’ve checked nobody’s followed you I’ll come over. Stay in your car, leave the passenger door unlocked.’
They’d been there before...at least he thought it was her. Larry freshened up by applying the Anherb aftershave gel that he kept in his drawer. He read the bottle. ‘A macho deep blue aftershave gel for the man who keeps pace with time. ’Yeah, that was definitely him. He shrugged smugly as he tossed the bottle back in his drawer and locked it. Vicky coughed to draw Lisa’s attention to Larry as he strolled through the office, talking on his mobile, leaving without a word. Lisa raised her eyebrows, ‘A woman,’ they mouthed in unison, holding their noses and laughing. The smell of his aftershave lingered long after he had left.
Liz felt some relief now that she had contacted Larry; at least it was someone to share her problem with. She’d convinced herself that he would know what to do; after all he was a police officer wasn’t he? Her mind was focused on the meeting. She changed into tight black leggings and a baby pink cashmere jumper, purposely leaving off her bra. He liked it that way, if she remembered correctly. Passing the hallway mirror she checked her appearance. Happy, she picked up her car keys, took a deep breath and went out to her car. Conscious that someone could be watching her, she tried to act as normal as possible as she climbed into the pale blue Renault sports car, with a personalised plate beginning LR3. She checked her watch, and at precisely eleven thirty she pushed the key card into the ignition, but the car’s engine didn’t turn over. Confused, she took out the card and tried again, scanning the information on the dashboard. Put your foot on the clutch...oh, she was stupid. How many times had she started this blessed car? Hands shaking, she pressed her foot on the clutch and inserted the card again, the car purred into action, only to stall. ‘Grr...what’s wrong with you, woman?’ she said, as she tried again. This time it started and she turned left onto the main road. She knew the journey would take about twenty minutes. Constantly she checked her mirrors to see if anyone was following. At every junction she stared at men in their cars. Any one of them could be her blackmailer. ‘Then again,’ she thought, ‘what did blackmailers look like?
No one appeared to be in the car park when she arrived. The weather was seasonal for Yorkshire, the wind was rushing across the heather and rippling the water in the reservoir below. She instinctively locked the doors, and dropped down the vanity mirror, scrunching her hair in her hand as she did so. She wanted Larry to like what he saw, otherwise she knew he wouldn’t be interested and she was desperate. After all, she and Gemma’s life may depend on him. Deep down she’d no doubt, unless he’d changed, there were only two things on Larry’s mind, sex and drink. The quietness of the purring car felt eerie in this spot that time had forgotten. So many years before the scene could have been the one the Bronte sisters looked upon. Through the window, Liz searched for a slight movement that would indicate Larry’s arrival. There was none. Surely he’d turn up, he wouldn’t let her down, would he? She turned the radio on and flipped channels for something to do. It was no use she couldn’t concentrate. She turned it off. Suddenly there was a loud bang on the boot. She jumped, but to her immense relief it was Larry, she hadn’t seen his car or heard it. She looked around, where was it?
‘Come on, open up,’ he ordered at the passenger door, holding his lapels on his suit to keep his jacket fastened in the wind.
‘I told you to leave the passenger door unlocked.’ he scolded.
‘I’m sorry...you frightened me. I never saw you. Where’s your car?’ she gasped, her mouth was as dry as a bone as she tried desperately hard to control her breathing.
‘Over there,’ he said pointing to the dark blue Audi that could just be seen tucked into the hillside. He rubbed his hands together. He turned his eyes towards her and she noticed the appreciative look on his face.
‘So you remembered,’ was all he said as he leered at the sight of her. No, he hadn’t changed.
‘You’re looking really good, Liz,�
� he said.’ What’s happened? How can I help?’ He was a smooth talker. Liz didn’t need to think, every last word the blackmailer had said was imprinted on her mind and she relayed it all to him very quickly.
‘What do I do? I’m scared stiff. Should I tell Malcolm?’ Her eyes, although unnoticed by Larry, were pleading and frightened.
He whistled. ‘Slow down,’ he said, laying a reassuring hand on her leg.’ He’s done nothing at the moment apart from kill the fish, has he?’
‘Well no...but you know they were Malcolm’s pride and joy,’ she wailed as tears welled up in her eyes.
‘How did he leave it with you? Did he say he’d be back in touch?’
‘Yeah, he didn’t say when, just to tell the bank I’d be going in to withdraw a large amount of cash, and I’ve telephoned the bank manager,’ she swallowed.
‘You have? Good. Did he say how much?’
‘No,’ she sniffed.
‘Right, so all he’s after is money is he? We’ll play along with him. Keep in touch with me by text, he can’t trace that. I imagine his next call will be telling you how much he wants, what denomination he wants it in and where he wants it leaving. Can you draw a large amount of cash from your bank account?’
‘Within reason, it’s a joint account...our nest egg from his dad’s estate. He told me not to tell anyone. He watched me take Gemma to school, he described what she was wearing...he suggested he’d hurt her...I’m really frightened,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to annoy him. ‘God, what do I do, Larry? What about Malcolm? He’ll go mental if he thought someone was threatening us, especially Gemma. You know what he’s like.’
‘Don’t tell him for the moment then. There’s no point upsetting him, yet. He can’t do anything from where he is, can he? Look, let’s see what happens. Let’s take it slowly, step- by- step, play along and I’ll put a team on it. On your way home, call at a shop for a carton of milk or something.’
Consequences Page 3
