by J. S. Spicer
As Jennifer began concocting excuses she pulled down the blinds. The drenched stranger out on the street was forgotten.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They’d been careful about choosing the location. The town centre was definitely out; what with CCTV and the possibility that one of them would bump into someone they knew, it was far too risky.
The Wheatsheaf was ideal, a few miles out of town, located on a busy stretch of road linking Blackbridge with its neighbours. It was a large pub, popular with the after work crowd, drawn in by the two-for-one meal deals and cheap drinks. At 7pm on a Wednesday it was full of office workers unwinding before finally head home and early drinkers planning to move on before long. It was a transient kind of place, a convenient stopping off point along the road, popular with travellers and commuters and those risking a blind date but not willing to risk it at their own local.
Aubrey had carefully selected a small table tucked into the window recess. It offered a good view of the entrance, as well as a portion of the car park. A wooden pillar largely obscured him from those going to and from the bar. Sufficiently concealed he took a sip of lager, settled back, and finally began to relax. He could see but not be seen, as least not by many. The table was a good choice. When she arrived nobody would give them a second look, they could go almost completely unnoticed. He put his backpack on the seat next to him, placing one hand protectively on top of it.
He was keen to get this over with, though he had to admit things had gone much better than he’d expected. Now, the hard part was over, the risky bit done. All that remained was to get the money. That would be easy.
Aubrey glanced down at the bag, his left hand still draped on top of it. He smiled to himself. His half of the cash would set him up nicely. Despite his vow to himself to stay honest this time, he couldn’t have turned down the golden opportunity that had fallen into his lap. She’d been very trusting, his partner in crime, he didn’t know whether to admire that quality or scoff at her naivety.
But then, here he was, waiting dutifully just like they’d agreed. Inside his backpack was a cloth bag stuffed full of expensive jewellery. He’d examined it all carefully the night before. He had some expertise, enough to have an idea of worth. It was mostly antique, overblown and vulgar. The individual pieces wouldn’t win any fashion prizes, but they were quality items. In that bag was a lot of gold; the weight of it as he’d carried it out of the bank had made him dizzy with excitement. The price of gold was high right now. They’d get a lot for it. But that was nothing compared to what they’d make on the stones. The precious gems studding each and every piece were breath-taking. It had been a long time since he’d seen so many diamonds, and never of such quality. But there weren’t just diamonds, there were sapphires and rubies too, a few emeralds.
After the sale they would split the money between them. It had crossed his mind, just briefly, to betray her. Once the job had gone off without a hitch, once he had the goods in his possession, why share? But he knew she was a desperate woman, and there was no telling how a desperate woman might react if you double-crossed her. She knew too much about him. Besides, he couldn’t really resent sharing with her. After all, the jewellery did legally belong to her.
He still didn’t fully understand why she’d needed him at all; she could have entered the bank at any time, waltzed right in there and taken the contents of her safety deposit box without any interference. She was having some troubles in her marriage; he’d picked up on that much. They hadn’t shared much about themselves really, but if you spoke with someone enough the evidence was there. Any mention of her husband, even of husbands in general, brought about a change in her. She shrank, contracted, turned in on herself. Whatever was going on was none of his business. He didn’t need or want to know.
Aubrey checked his watch then peered out at the car park. Still no sign of her.
He took another sip of his pint, taking his time over it. He was driving so wouldn’t risk another, not with a bag of jewellery on him. Plus, he didn’t want to make any more trips to the bar; so far he was sure he’d done a good job of being unremarkable, forgettable, anonymous.
Every car door slam grabbed his attention, every footstep at the threshold.
He gave it thirty minutes exactly before he caved in and pulled out his mobile. They’d agreed to keep phone contact to a minimum, and only when absolutely necessary. He felt this qualified; he wanted to be on his way.
The tinny, automated voice told him the phone was switched off, to try again later. He ended the call. Off? He doubted the phone was really off, not at a time like this. More likely she was in a bad network area and must have lost signal temporarily. He’d give it five minutes then try again.
Irritation flared. She’d been the one to insist they meet tonight. Aubrey would have preferred to let the dust settle before they risked being seen together, but she’d wanted to see for herself; to make sure it was all there. He’d done this type of thing before. OK, he hadn’t got away with it every time, but he did know what he was doing. He’d already met with a contact he knew who would take the jewellery off their hands for a good price. Bryce Dewar ran a small, and not very successful, barber shop on the outskirts of Blackbridge. It was a front of course for his other nefarious activities. Aubrey didn’t altogether trust Bryce, but then he didn’t altogether trust anyone. Still, the man knew his gems. His eyes had lit up like Christmas baubles as he’d examined the contents of the backpack, and the price he’d offered had made Aubrey’s knees go weak. All they had to do was lay low for a week to give his contact time to safely gather together the cash, then they’d be set up very nicely thank you.
So, where was Carol?
Aubrey Davis waited at The Wheatsheaf for just over an hour. He dialled her number half a dozen times. Each time it was the same message. She hadn’t shown up, and he couldn’t get hold of her.
He left as discreetly as he’d arrived, slipping out with his backpack, returning to his car over on the far side of the car park, away from the lights. As he drove off into the night his mind was racing with questions. Still, what did it matter really? He’d held up his end of the deal. He made up his mind to go ahead on his own, then stash her half of the money somewhere safe, just for a little while. She had his number. If she didn’t contact him in the next few weeks then as far as he was concerned it was all his.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Max went to his favourite pub after work. It was a bit run down, floors rubbed pale and scratched with wear. The smoking ban had cleaned up the air, but the place hadn’t been redecorated in decades; the pattern on the wallpaper blurred from years of soaking up nicotine stains. But Max liked it.
It was close to home for one thing. For another, it wasn’t frequented by any other police officers. Max wasn’t much of a mixer. He’d make the effort during a case, networking, exchanging information, even attempting a bit of small talk now and then. A degree of socialisation was required to do the job properly, but at the end of a long day, he liked to be alone with his thoughts.
Sitting at his favourite corner table in The Old Dog, Max took a long drink from his pint, set it down on the rickety table, and sank back into his seat with a sigh. He could already feel the rigours of the day leaching out of him, seeping away as he began to relax.
He wasn’t in a great rush to get home. Waiting for him there was his father, Gus, an unappetising microwave curry, and a full in-box of emails to go through before bedtime.
Lorraine had dropped the last of his things off at the weekend. She made sure she stopped by when he was out, just leaving a black bin bag filled with an odd assortment of items on the doorstep. There were a few books of his that he was glad to get back, but also a novelty mug she’d bought him, now chipped and stained, a mismatched pair of his old socks, an almost empty can of deodorant and a handful of post, all junk mail. Aside from the books it was all obviously destined for the bin. It was as though she’d scoured every inch of the flat to seek out any trace of him for re
moval. She didn’t want anything left behind. That bag of rubbish had felt very final.
Max took another swig of lager. Maybe he’d have a couple of drinks tonight, stay at The Dog longer than usual. Perhaps he’d even order something from their menu, limited as it was. He’d eaten there before, but not often. The food wasn’t great, but then neither was the ready-meal in the fridge at home.
Max let his thoughts tumble. He was a man who knew how to focus his mind, how to organise his thoughts and not get distracted. But he also understood the brain was a complex piece of machinery; sometimes you had to let it do its own thing. So for a while he let his mind wander wherever it wanted to go, meandering aimlessly; thoughts of Lorraine, what was she doing now? Thoughts of his father, a brilliant but eccentric man; thoughts of a holiday, he was due one, overdue if anything. Somewhere hot, of course, where he could lie near the ocean keeping the heat at bay with ice-filled drinks and a cool sea breeze. Thinking of beaches made him think of women, beautiful, tanned women strutting around in bikinis.
Thinking about gorgeous women didn’t bring him back to Lorraine again, with her tall, athletic figure. Instead another woman popped into his head, a woman he met just a few hours ago; Jennifer Kim.
He’d second guessed himself half a dozen times during the course of the day. He shouldn’t have asked her out. It was unprofessional, it was reckless; at the very least it was premature. What if, unlikely as it was, she turned out to be involved in the crime in some way? He’d lightly toyed with the idea of calling to cancel. He knew he wouldn’t though, even as he’d pondered the notion.
That would be backing out. That would be giving in to doubt or fear. That wasn’t the Max Travers way. If he decided to do something, then he did it. After all, decisions should be decisive. So he would go ahead and meet Jennifer at the restaurant tomorrow night as arranged.
In the end he didn’t stay long in The Old Dog. The prospect of a quiet drink was spoiled by the arrival of a crowd of suits, the kind with floppy over-styled hair and loud voices. Instead he returned to the house where he’d grown up and crept up to his old room, careful not to disturb his father who was tucked away in his study with the glow of a small lamp and stacks of historical volumes.
Closing his bedroom door on the rest of the house he fired up the laptop. The whisky bottle was where he’d left it, taunting him, beckoning him. He swept it from the bedside table and stuffed it in the bottom of the wardrobe. Out of sight, out of mind. He had a case to work; this was no time to sink into the depths of a bottle.
Propped up on pillows with the laptop across his thighs he checked his emails, looking for and finding the one from Carrie.
She’d sent through all she’d found so far on the staff at the bank. It wasn’t much, but it was what they’d expected of bank employees; no criminal records had flagged. They’d dig deeper if necessary of course, but for now Travers felt relief as he scanned the brief but thankfully unremarkable data they’d gathered so far on Jennifer Kim.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jennifer Kim was nervous. She told herself not to be, but she was anyway. She didn’t know why, exactly. Yes, a first date was always a little daunting. But, was it a date?
He was investigating the burglary at the bank, but if he just wanted to discuss the case he could see her at work or ask her to go to the station. Instead, he’d asked her to have dinner with him.
She arrived five minutes late but was still there before him. It was a nice place, cosy but elegant, small enough that a quick glance was enough to tell her he hadn’t arrived yet. She was shown to a table where she fussed and fidgeted and constantly looked towards the door. She picked up the menu for something to do with her hands. The food was just pricy enough to make it feel like a treat to eat there but no so much as to have her trawling through it for something affordable.
The candlelight and crisp linen set a romantic tone, didn’t it?
She should have asked questions, but instead had just giddily agreed when he’d suggested it. She tugged at her dress sleeve. Why had she worn a dress? Her black dress too. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks, even though she was sitting alone. This was the dress she wore for dates. This was the dress she wore to impress; black, short but not too short, long-sleeved but off the shoulder. She wore her black hair up tonight, exposing her neck, her shoulders. The more she thought about it the more ridiculous she felt. He’d been so casual when he’d suggested meeting up. ‘Listen, let’s grab some dinner tomorrow. Do you know the Blue Tavern?’
She’d agreed without hesitation.
She’d found his cool blue eyes mesmerising; they’d drawn her in. But perhaps she’d imagined the lingering looks from Max Travers, the signs of flirting.
She jumped as the door to the restaurant burst open; it was him. Her heart sank. He wore faded jeans and a casual jacket. The grey shirt beneath looked crumpled, like he’d worn it all day.
She’d gone home, showered, applied makeup, changed clothes - half a dozen times - and shown up looking like a dog’s dinner.
He looked like he’d just rolled up once he’d finished work.
She tried to think of a way to look less dressed up, maybe let her hair down, push her sleeves up; perhaps even go to the Ladies to remove some of the heavier makeup.
Too late; he’d seen her. He waved and headed for the table.
“You look nice.” He smiled as he took a seat opposite. The compliment made her cringe but his smile was captivating.
She managed a small shrug which she hoped conveyed a ‘this old thing’ vibe.
Travers grabbed a menu, opened it out in front of him.
“I’m starving,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket.
Jennifer opted for the salmon, served with fresh vegetables, and ordered a small glass of white wine. Max meanwhile chose the pork belly which came with a huge side of garlic potatoes. He swilled this down with frequent slugs of bottled lager as he demolished his plate of food.
There was some awkward small talk before the food arrived. They didn’t quite resort to talking about the weather but they may as well have. Given how they’d met neither wanted to talk about work, which denied such innocent queries as ‘how was your day?’ and resulted in a stilted, guarded exchange.
Jennifer watched her companion wolf down his dinner. She realised he was rushing through this. He didn’t want to be there after all. She half-expected a fake phone call, some contrived emergency. Then he’d be off, dashing out as quickly he’d breezed in.
In contrast to Max, her appetite waned and died. The feeling of foolishness returned in force. She tried not to let it overwhelm her. She didn’t want him to see she was bothered when his inevitable departure took place.
Jennifer was absently pushing asparagus tips around her plate when his knife and fork clattered onto his now cleared plate. He swiped at his mouth with a napkin and looked over at her, then down at her barely touched plate.
“Problem with your food?”
“Just not that hungry,” she managed to keep her voice calm but glanced accusingly at his empty plate.
He also looked at it for a second, then pushed it to one side, propped his elbows on the table and leant forward, looking at her closely.
“I really was hungry,” he told her, his voice quieter than before, gentler. “Haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
Jennifer just nodded, unsure how to react.
“Listen.” He leaned in further, his eyes dipping away and then back to her face. Here it comes, she thought. The rejection. The departure.
“It was probably inappropriate of me to ask you out,” he said. Jennifer felt her gut tighten but silently scolded herself. What did it matter anyway? She didn’t know this guy, he was a stranger. If he wasn’t interested so be it. She really shouldn’t care one way or the other. But she did care.
“But.” He reached out now, across the table, and took her hand in his. “I’m glad I did. I’m even more glad that you said yes.” He didn’t let go of he
r hand, just held on to it loosely. She could have pulled away, but didn’t.
She locked eyes with the man across the table. He was difficult to read, whatever was going on behind that cool expression was impossible to tell; the surface was like a calm sea. But his hand was warm. It felt nice.
“I’m glad too,” she finally said.
“How about dessert? I promise to take my time over it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was cold on the empty street, but his rage kept him warm.
They’d been in there for over an hour. He’d followed her, as usual, when she’d left her flat. Straightaway he’d known this wasn’t a quick trip to the corner shop.
She was dressed up.
He could see the hem of a black dress peeking out beneath her coat. She wore high heels, makeup, and had done her hair differently, more elaborately. He’d almost lost her this time. Her routes were so well-known, so predictable, but tonight she’d called a taxi.
Tonight she’d taken him by surprise.
He cursed himself for becoming complacent; wasn’t that just the worst thing for any relationship? He’d been incredibly lucky, hopping the town centre bus at the end of the road. If she’d been going anywhere but the centre he’d have lost her with no hope of finding out where she’d gone. But the taxi took the main road straight to the heart of Blackbridge. Even at that time of the evening the roads were busy. The taxi got caught in a snake of traffic creeping along in the wake of another bus, slowing its pace and allowing him to keep it just in sight. At a set of traffic lights the taxi made a left turn.
Joseph had rushed to get off the bus; having a hurried row with the driver about it in the process. Once he hit the pavement he’d run as fast as he could, fear coursing through him that he might have lost her.
