Fourteen miles away, on the other side of Basildon, a young woman sat in another woman’s white towelling dressing gown. Suzie Appleby sat at a bedroom dressing table adorned with her predecessor’s make-up. All the brands were expensive, and Suzie had already tried out a few of them, but now the dressing table was serving as her desk. Behind her, the grand double bed was unmade, the duvet crumpled. Suzie’s red dress – the red housewifely one – was abandoned on the floor by the bed, along with whatever else she had been wearing after the investigator woman had left. She was a moody bitch. But then, Suzie reasoned, she was only jealous. She wasn’t the one getting into bed with a millionaire, with her amazing future already mapped out at the ripe old age of twenty. The girl hummed to herself as she clicked into Jamie’s work account, ready to plough through his tasks. She looked at the first couple of emails, a little irritated that Jamie was taking so long in the shower. After the PI lady had gone, Jamie had wanted to play. To celebrate. So they had celebrated. But now she wanted to clean up and get fresh again. She stopped working to listen, wondering if Jamie had finished when she saw something odd happen on the screen. As if by magic, words filled the search bar, and the emails began to run a search for Reva Rentals. “Reva what?” muttered Suzie. She watched the email search results being returned. She watched them open… watched them close again. And when Suzie realised what she was seeing, she called, “Jamie?”
But the hot water gushed on and Jamie stayed in the shower. He couldn’t hear her. But something was going on. Someone else was accessing his account, looking at emails Jamie had once deemed worthy of deletion. Whatever his reasons – whatever Jamie was hiding, Suzie knew she had to help him. She looked at the emails being raked over and, clicked them and deleted them immediately. Now they were gone for good.
“Read up, girlfriend,” said the girl, smiling.
Suzie watched as the next batch of emails were opened. “What is all this about rental cars?”
She watched as the emails opened on two from 2016, two short ones about another car rental, and a note written to someone called Adam. But if these emails were sensitive then surely Jamie would have deleted them too? But Jamie was a haphazard type, a gadfly. He cared about things for a time and then he forgot all about them. She already knew him well. Suzie clicked on the 2016 emails and deleted them as fast as she could. For a moment, it felt as if she was in a race with somebody, but as soon as the race had started, it was over. The other person stopped searching.
“Come on, you snooping bitch,” said Suzie, to her invisible enemy. Only one woman would have had access to Jamie’s private work email account. Lauren Jaeger, yesterday’s woman. The woman who owned the dressing gown and the dresser. And then she remembered Eva Roberts, the moody red-haired PI. The woman who had dissed her… and maybe the woman who might have triggered Jamie’s sudden urge to ‘celebrate’. The Roberts woman had acted like she was no longer on Lauren Jaeger’s side… But what if she had been lying?
It was a possibility Suzie Appleby couldn’t ignore.
Nothing and no one was going to take this new life away from her.
Not Lauren Jaeger, not the moody PI, and not Jamie’s past mistakes.
Suzie got up from the dressing table and matched towards the bathroom door. She knocked loud enough to break any shower trance
“Jamie. Jamie. Listen!” she called, raising her voice. “Someone is hacking your work email accounts. And they’ve been looking at your deleted emails.”
“What?” shouted Jamie. “Come in. The door is open.”
The girl walked into the steam filled room and looked at him earnestly. “Someone’s been looking at your emails, Jamie. Emails to some guy called Adam?”
Blane frowned and grabbed a towel from the chrome rail.
“Adam? What? My work emails. That’s impossible.”
“But it’s not, though is it?” said Suzie, her tone hardening. “You let me get into your email account. I’ll bet you let Lauren do the same.”
Jamie Blane nodded. The raw ruddy colour from the hot shower quickly drained from his face. Suzie felt a silent pride. She’d won again. Already, she’d shown Jamie just how much he needed her. Yes, she was the new queen and she was going to be good at this…
Seven
Freelancing. Whether it paid or not, Joanne’s version of freelancing felt a good deal better than being tied to the data work at the council or being tethered to chasing payments at Tobias Falk. Toby was a good man, but she had allowed things to go too far too quickly. Taking a break from the office, and from his probing blue eyes, would either bring things back to order, or prove she had made a mistake. She couldn’t go back to Eva, Dan and Mark. The bridges weren’t quite burnt, but Joanne knew going back was generally a bad idea. Besides, she and Mark had become rivals as well as lovers, and while the lovemaking had always been tender, something was coming between them at the end. Even so, she still felt a hint of sadness when she thought of him.
Checking her phone while she walked, she noticed a new voicemail. A couple of weeks back Joanne had been expecting any number of lovelorn voicemails from Mark begging for her return and forgiveness, or at least telling her he missed her. But Mark hadn’t left a single one. It seemed he was tougher than she had given him credit for. It stung a little, but she told herself it was for the best, but now she couldn’t help wondering if Mark had finally succumbed. Joanne kept on walking as she put her phone to her ear. She looked smart and felt it too. A young female professional about town, working on her own secret mission. But as soon as the message kicked in, she heard the dulcet tones of one Nigella and was spooked. Nigella was her senior line manager at the civic centre. Nigella rarely left the glass box of her office, let alone deigned to call a grunt like her. Nigella’s voice set her teeth on edge.
“Hello, Joanne. I’m calling about your prolonged absence from work across the last six weeks. I do see that we have a doctor’s note for the first period – two weeks early last month, but you haven’t supplied another note since and as you’ve now been off sick for six weeks, we need to arrange an urgent meeting. As you know, we have a strict sickness policy here at the council. I’m sure you must have read the code of conduct. I’m afraid, if you can’t provide us a doctor’s certificate for the whole of last month, and have no other verifiable justifications for your absence, we may have no choice but to terminate your contract. Call me as soon as you can. I hope we don’t have to lose you.”
Joanne scowled at her phone. “Well, that’s the bloody end of that, then.” There was no way she was going to attend that meeting or play-act with her doctor for another sick note. As Eva had said, she was better than that. Joanne decided she would resign as soon as she got back to her desk. The thought of no income was frightening, but also liberating. Joanne was suddenly going to be a lot freer than she’d imagined. But she hoped circumstances wouldn’t railroad her too quickly into Toby Falk’s arms, or onto his payroll. Not at least, until she’d finished her current mission.
She was in Wickford, on the outskirts of Basildon. The place was a nightmare to get to without a car, but she’d put the effort in and made it. She reached the crest of a steep hill road, which cars ploughed down at a reckless speed. At the top of the hill she found the high brown walls of St Cecil’s Comprehensive. It was a mean looking twentieth century build, a box-shaped sprawling school of brown brick buildings. It was lunchtime and the wild noise of the boys and girls was in full swing as they ran amok in the playground, watched by hapless dinner ladies and a single stern male teacher. Joanne paused and looked at the children through the railings. Not more than five years ago that would have been her, in Southend. But now Joanne felt she had more in common with the teachers than the wild beasts in school uniforms. Or so she thought. Joanne took a breath, told herself to channel her inner Eva, then entered the school gates. Before she had gone twenty yards, an oafish looking lad in a teal blazer wolf-whistled her, and his sidekick laughed out loud. School. Some things never changed.
“Aahhh, you’ll be Miss Dillon, then?” said the man as he stood up from his chair. The deputy head was a very tall man in very small room. As soon as Joanne closed the door behind her, he made her feel cramped and claustrophobic. Perhaps the bad old school feelings were coming back. It was only just five years after all. She tried her best to seem confident and businesslike, shaking the man’s long hand. Mr Carlton was wrinkled and kindly seeming, but with sharp head-teacherly eyes.
“Please call me Joanne,” she said.
“Joanne, yes. Right you are. But only if you’ll call me Leonard. Leonard is fine, but I can’t accept being called Len. I can’t stand it.”
“Leonard,” she said.
The man nodded. “Now then, to your inquiry. The secretary said it was something about a former student here? I must say I don’t recognise you as being one of our girls, though I suppose I could be wrong.”
“No. I didn’t come here. I went to school in Southend.”
“I see. Some good schools in Southend… And some not so good ones.”
“I got through okay,” said Joanne.
“I’m sure you did. The right attitude always pays dividends in my experience. Good for you, young lady.”
Joanne winced at the man’s patronising words and tried to hide it.
“So, you’re asking about one of our old girls. And why is that, may I ask?”
“Because one of my close friends has been having some problems with this person. My friend hadn’t seen this girl for nearly twenty years, then all of a sudden she reappeared and has been causing trouble, making wild claims, putting my friend in danger.”
“Hmmm. I’m not sure I follow. What could this present situation have to do with her schooling? You say they parted what, twenty years ago. Just how old are these two ladies?”
“Mid-thirties. They both studied here in the nineties.”
“The nineties, eh? I see… I’m still not sure why you’d ask us about this. Why isn’t your friend here, the lady in question? The lady you’re helping.”
“Because it’s so sensitive. She won’t ask for help, but I know she needs it.”
The man frowned and patted his hands together.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to help you then, I’m afraid. A school must maintain a certain degree of fidelity to students long after they’ve moved on. Loyalty and confidentiality. It’s a mutual trust. And then there’s data protection to think of. We can’t be seen to breach that in any way at all. If we did that, we might fall liable in all sorts of ways. Heads would roll. Deputy heads especially,” said the man with a snort of laughter. Joanne could only smile.
“I understand,” she said. “But I thought it might be worth sounding you out.”
“By all means, sound away.”
“The woman who is causing the problems. Her name is Lauren Jaeger. Does that name ring any bells?”
“Lauren… Lauren Jaeger…” said Carlton, his voice changing by degrees. “Now, yes, that does as a matter of fact. I’ve worked here since eighty-nine… I was a history teacher back when I started… Lauren Jaeger… does she still have long wavy blonde hair?”
“Mousy brown, but pale. That colour between blonde and brown.”
“And she always had a snappy line, a tendency to use sarcasm to get a laugh. If it’s the girl I’m thinking of, she trod the line pretty carefully at first, and less carefully at the end. Made an impact. The chaps liked her of course, and I don’t think she minded about that too much.”
“I’d like to check we’re talking about the same girl,” said Joanne, sensing an opportunity. “Do you recall her friends?”
Carlton paused, considering whether to say anymore. Then he did.
“Um, yes. She was in a group of very boisterous young women, the kind who liked to play with fire, messing with older young men and ex-student types who would linger at the gate after the school was closed. We had to manage those problems very carefully. There were a fair few warnings given, to be sure.”
The description didn’t sound quite right. “I think we must be talking about the wrong person. Treading the line doesn’t sound much like Lauren. This Lauren is quite intense and comes across as very needy.”
“Lauren Jaeger?” said Carlton. He cleared his throat like he was having trouble speaking. “Not back then, she wasn’t. She was confident, almost too assertive. A risk to herself sometimes towards the end but keep that under your hat.”
Too assertive, risky… that sounded more like it. Mr Carlton was opening up.
“I take it there weren’t two Lauren Jaegers here?”
“No, no. There was only ever one of those.”
“But her friends, Mr Carlton. The ones you describe are all wrong. She had one best friend, only one friend…”
“Oh? And who might that be?”
“Eva Roberts.”
“Eva.” The man’s face turned blank a moment before it broke into a smile. “Eva. The studious one. Quiet, well-motivated, pretty and just a little shy.”
“That’s her,” said Joanne, with a grin.
The man turned thoughtful. “Yes, I do remember that they were close friends. Very close for a time. I almost forgot about that. I think they must have fallen out about year nine – the third year in old money, because after that, I only remember Lauren hanging around with the extreme ones.”
“It’s a long time ago, Mr Carlton,”
“Yes, but I do remember. Those girls were here for five years. That makes them difficult to forget.”
“Then do you remember why they fell out?”
“No, sorry. I knew the girls, but not very well. Eva was much more likeable. Easier to manage. What exactly are you trying to find here? Their school history can’t be very relevant to whatever they’re going through almost twenty years later… can it?” Carlton’s brow fell low over his eyes. Joanne sensed the man was troubled.
“I was hoping it might shed some light onto Lauren Jaeger. You see, I don’t think she’s been entirely honest with us, and that’s causing some serious problems for Eva.”
“Ah…” said Mr Carlton, as if the words made sense. “I think I see where you’re coming from. You wanted some sort of character reference. Is that it? Well, it sounds as if you have quite a firm grasp of Eva and Lauren already. I’m not sure what else I could add.”
“Actually, I need a little more than a character reference.”
“As I said, that may not be possible. What is it you actually want, Miss Dillon?”
“Lauren Jaeger has been dishonest with us about a number of things since she first showed up. The things she’s lied about are pretty serious. Situations involving violence amongst other things.”
The man knitted his fingers together in a guarded gesture. Joanne looked him over and paused to add weight to her words.
“Lives could be at risk. Or at least, people could be hurt as a result. Eva Roberts included.”
Carlton stayed guarded. “Then perhaps you should be speaking to the police instead of a school deputy head.”
“No thanks, Mr Carlton. I think I’m in the right place.”
“I hope this doesn’t seem rude, but you talk about lives being at risk. You’re not prone to exaggeration are you?”
“Not about something like this, no.”
“Fair enough. Then please get to your point, and I’ll consider what you have to say.”
“I think Lauren Jaeger has been lying to us about her predicament and her past. I want to check on her life story in order to get a clearer view on the present situation. Lauren told us she worked in the fashion press until she was somewhere around twenty-nine years old. I’ve got a feeling that was just another lie.”
“She said she worked in fashion media?”
The man scratched his temple and frowned, jutting out a thoughtful bottom lip. “I knew a good deal more about Lauren than I did of Eva. Lauren didn’t go to sixth form college. There were issues, you see. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t m
ove past all that. Everyone has the potential to excel, given the right nourishment and circumstances.” The way the old man said the word circumstances made Joanne curious. It sounded as if he doubted whether his philosophy had paid off in Lauren’s case.
“Circumstances?”
Carlton shook his head.
“Fashion media. The girl always expressed a desire to become a model. But the very limit of what I can say is this. I don’t believe she worked in fashion at all. Anything’s possible, of course. I do know there was an incident in her late teens and after that she ended up staying in France for quite some time. This fashion media career, did she say it began in France?”
“I don’t know. France was never mentioned until I met you.”
The man’s brow dipped over his eyes. “No, perhaps not.”
“What was this incident?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything more. In fact, I’ve said too much already.”
“France – was it a gap year thing?”
“Did people even think gap years back in the nineties? Some might have gone inter-railing, maybe… Either way Lauren didn’t do A levels so there was no gap year to fill. At least not in terms of education.”
“So there was another kind of gap to fill?”
“Your words, not mine, miss. I’m sorry, all this nostalgia has rather caught me by surprise, Miss D—”
“Joanne.”
“Yes, Joanne. But I don’t think I can say any more. Besides, I have another meeting. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short. I do apologise.”
The man stood from his chair, filling the room with his gangling body. Joanne got the message.
“Thanks for your time, Mr Carlton.”
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, shaking Joanne’s hand. “But next time, please send your request by email. It’d really be better for all concerned.”
Play With Fire Page 9
