by J. S. Spicer
Lyle gave a snort of contempt. “You’re going soft, Travers. If Davis was thinking of anyone it was himself. If he couldn’t have the jewellery for himself then no-one else would. His girlfriend betrayed him, this is just his revenge.”
“Maybe,” Max muttered, unconvinced. “But it’s still a result. And not the only one; he also gave up Freddie Rushton, who will definitely do some real time for those armed robberies.”
It had been an unexpected bonus. The gun, the one Jennifer had used to shoot Joseph Myers, had proved key in linking Freddie to the spate of crimes in the area. Thinking of Jennifer was bitter sweet. She’d saved his life, of that there was no doubt. But that bullet, that one single bullet she’d fired from the gun, it had been fatal for Joseph Myers. The man was depraved and dangerous. What he’d done to Jennifer was awful. He’d also tried to kill both Max and Aubrey Davis. Max, personally, felt no qualms about Myers’ death, but he wished Jennifer didn’t have to live with taking a life. Everything that had happened was already having consequences, ripples of change in the fabric of the young woman’s life. She hadn’t returned to work at the bank, nor would she. Seeing her boss murdered in her own bath tub wasn’t something she wanted to be reminded of every day. It had tainted her home too. It didn’t surprise Max when Jennifer said she was thinking of returning home, back to her parents’ house. He couldn’t blame her, but he didn’t want her to leave.
As they continued to wait in the car Lyle’s silence spoke volumes. He could understand his colleague’s lack of enthusiasm, it wasn’t the neatest of conclusions, but in the end the people responsible had been brought to justice.
Max cracked his window to try and keep the glass mist-free. Other than the steady pitter-patter of rain the street was quiet.
It was the sound that alerted him. A tapping sound harder and sharper than raindrops. He recognised the rhythm of footsteps. Those feet were wearing high heels. Carefully he lowered the window a little more and strained to listen. Just one set of footsteps, and they were getting nearer.
He gestured to Lyle, whose nod told him he heard it too. In moments the woman appeared, hurrying along the street sheltered beneath a large umbrella. As she came into view Max stared at her, trying to confirm it was indeed Gemma Collins. As well as the umbrella she’d pulled up the hood of her coat, obscuring her features entirely from the two policemen. She was, however, carrying a backpack. Was it the same one Aubrey Davis had described?
She passed by the car without glancing their way.
“It’s her,” Max said.
“We can’t be sure of that.” Lyle’s tone was snippy; he’d been in a bad mood all evening. “You can’t see anything.”
“Her boots.”
“Her what?”
Max remembered those high-heeled boots. Gemma had worn them when she’d visited Aubrey at the hospital. He remembered looking at them as she clanked loudly along the corridor at Blackbridge General.
“I’ve seen her wearing them before.”
“We’re not moving for boots,” hissed Lyle. “Lots of people could wear them. We wait to see if she enters the premises; then we’ll go.”
Max was certain it was Gemma, even without recognising the boots, but knew what Lyle said was true; they had to do this right.
So they watched. Disappointment enveloped Max when she strode straight past the old barber shop. But then she stopped. Even with the umbrella obscuring much of their view he could tell she was looking around.
“She missed it,” he said quietly to Lyle.
Sure enough she retraced her steps until she was standing in front of the barber shop.
Moments later a light clicked on deep within, then another just inside the doorway. Tucked into the relative dry of the doorway the woman closed her umbrella. She half turned towards them as she shook the worst of the rain from it.
Gemma Collins.
“Guess you were right about those boots.”
Someone within the shop opened the door and Gemma quickly vanished inside. Lyle was already on his radio forewarning the constables stationed at the rear of the building.
Travers fumbled for the door handle.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“This is still my case, Lyle. I want to be there.”
“Stay here!”
“But…”
“Max, you’ve already been injured. You stay here. We can handle it.”
Before Max could argue further Lyle was out of the car and rushing across the street. Max stayed put, rooted to his seat by Lyle’s attitude. It was a rare thing for his colleague to call him by his first name, and even rarer for him to show anything approaching concern.
Sitting alone in the car Max thought about the strangeness of everything lately. He reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling his hand out he opened it up to look at the tiny silver key resting against his palm. Aubrey Davis had given it to him at their last meeting, the look on his face at the time a mixture of relief and regret. So small, so delicate, weighing almost nothing in his hand. This one little key had been at heart of it all. A career criminal breaks into a bank to help out an abused woman trying to escape her husband, and the fallout that follows could never have been predicted; murder, stalking, kidnapping. On top of everything Lyle was actually being nice to him!
What next?
His thoughts were interrupted by the shop door flying open and someone running out. It was Gemma.
She took off down the street. The umbrella was gone, but she was clinging on to the backpack.
Without giving it a second’s thought Max was out of the car and in pursuit.
He caught up easily. Gemma, in her heels, just couldn’t run fast enough. As he reached out to grab for her she spun round, swinging the backpack right at him.
It glanced off his injured shoulder. The pain made him dizzy but he reached for her again, throwing his weight towards her. She tried to swing the bag again but Max, with a swift kick at those distinctive boots of hers, managed to knock her feet out from under her.
With Gemma on the ground Max threw himself on top of her. With two damaged arms the best he could do was use his weight to detain the bucking and screaming Gemma Collins. It seemed he was destined to get a few more bruises before he could finally put this case to bed.
Max looked up when he heard rapid footsteps closing in.
Never would he have thought he’d be so pleased to see Lyle Banks.
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
A few weeks later the temperature climbed and Blackbridge shrugged off the last remnants of winter. Max Travers felt almost back to normal; his wrist was still in plaster and he got an occasional twinge in his shoulder but otherwise he was good as new. He was still living at his father’s house. For the most part they avoided each other, lurking in their own pockets of isolation. The house had become segregated into Gus and Max areas, except the kitchen, that was neutral ground. When they did occasionally speak it was OK, slightly better than it had been before, but Max didn’t want to push his luck. Mending fences with the old man, if possible at all, would be a lengthy and delicate process.
One Sunday afternoon he slipped out and drove to Jennifer Kim’s place. He didn’t go up to the flat, just sent a text and waited in the car.
He felt a sense of responsibility for this young woman. He couldn’t help wondering if, somehow, his involvement with her had put her in danger. The surveillance they’d uncovered at Myers house pre-dated the burglary at the bank, but not by that long. What was certain was he’d watched her almost constantly.
Had Myers seen them having dinner that night?
Jennifer was still a ghost of her former self, whether from her captivity, or shooting dead her captor, or both, he wasn’t sure. Each day she became a little stronger though, just the smallest improvement, but it was something.
He couldn’t help smiling to himself as she hurried towards the car. She wore a long floaty dress and sandals, her hair loose down her back; a carefree summery picture. A
casual observer would never guess the demons she carried within.
“Ready?” he asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
Jennifer nodded and gave him a rare smile.
Green Meadows was just the same as always, the great building changed little with the passage of time, watching the seasons blow by year after year.
Max waited outside, strolling across the lawns with the sun beating on his back.
By the time Jennifer joined him he was down by the river, watching the water race and tumble. The first bluebells of the season had popped out their heads, responding to the new warmth of spring. Max watched her approach. The breeze caught gently at her dress and lifted her hair from her shoulders. He tried to read her expression; he noticed he was tightening up inside in anticipation of what she would say.
“How did it go?”
“OK.” She stopped in front of him, her eyes locked onto his. “Well, I think.”
“So, if they offer you the job?”
Again the tenseness pulled at his insides.
Jennifer’s gaze drifted over the water, he suspected she was looking ahead to the future, not merely to the riverbank on the other side.
When her eyes found his face again she looked like she’d made a decision. “I think I’d accept.”
Instinctively they both started walking, moving into the shade of the trees. “It would be very different working in a place like this, after what I’ve been used to.”
Max nodded but didn’t speak. The tightening in his gut was gradually relinquishing its grip. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that she stayed, but he wanted her to. He glanced around, at the tranquil sprawling grounds which spread to the river’s edge. Even inside the main building it was a much quieter environment than a busy bank branch in the centre of Blackbridge. But, just maybe, for a time at least, a quieter place was just what Jennifer needed.
He’d also found an apartment that might suit her; fully furnished and far enough away from her old place to quiet the bad memories. She’d agreed to the interview at Green Meadow, and had looked enquiringly through the property details he’d put in front of her a few days ago.
Until now he’d thought she’d reject his efforts to keep her in Blackbridge; a cloud surrounded her, one which seemed unlikely to dissipate unless she left the area. Now she said she may take the job.
As they stepped beneath the cool canopy of leaves Max took her hand in his. It was smooth and warm, and the best thing about it was that she didn’t pull it away.
They chatted for a while about small things, practical things, such as which buses came out that way and what she’d do with her furniture if she moved. Small things but to Max’s mind these were positive words, hopeful words.
“Did he really kill her?”
The sudden switch of topic, and the low, almost fearful tone of Jennifer’s voice, caught him off guard. He looked at her, almost afraid to speak about that now. He wanted her to move away from it all, the fear and horror of what she’d experienced. But Jennifer was looking at him, calmly, patiently.
“Hugh Bishop, you mean?”
She nodded.
“Yes. The forensic evidence at their house and at the caravan was conclusive. Not to mention we found more evidence in the boot of his car. He murdered her in their kitchen, then drove the body out to their caravan. Maybe he intended to get rid of it more thoroughly when he had time, but the break-in at the bank caught him out pretty significantly.”
She looked ahead again. They were still walking along, slowly, no rush, no destination, just listening to the sounds of the river and the trill of the birds amongst the branches.
“How did you hear about the job here?”
Good, they were back on safer ground. Well, almost. He supposed he had to tell her. “I spoke to Carol Bishop’s solicitor a few days ago. He told me she’d changed her will about six months ago, and had left her aunt’s jewellery collection to Green Meadows. The sale of the jewels will give them a nice injection of cash. He told me that as well as upgrading some equipment they’d be taking on additional admin staff.”
A frown momentarily puckered Jennifer’s brow, then it smoothed again. “She was determined her husband would never profit from her jewellery wasn’t she? She decided to leave them to Green Meadows, but when things got too bad at home she asked Aubrey Davis to steal them from under Hugh Bishop’s nose.”
“Yes, but since her will is still valid, Green Meadows gets a nice big donation, and you get a new job.”
She squeezed his hand.
“But Aubrey Davis gets nothing in the end. Didn’t she promise to split the proceeds from the sale with him?”
“I wouldn’t feel too bad about him,” he told her, even though deep down he grudgingly admired Davis for eventually coming forward and helping them catch Gemma and retrieve Carol’s stolen jewellery. “Even if he doesn’t get anything, at least his mother will benefit from Carol’s generosity.”
They’d emerged from the trees again, stepping into the hot afternoon sunlight. The many windows of the Green Meadows care home glinted cheerfully in the distance.
Jennifer stood looking out over the Green Meadows grounds, when she turned back Max saw that her eyes were glistening. She stepped closer to him, reaching for his arm, which she held onto lightly as she looked up into his face.
“So many times I thought I was going to die.”
Max stayed silent. He could see it was a struggle for her to say the words, so he just kept her close, his eyes locked on her face.
“First at the flat with Hugh Bishop. With Joseph Myers in that house, then in the back of that van.”
She paused. A tear slid down her cheek. Max gently wiped it away with his forefinger.
Jennifer gripped his arm harder and behind the tears her eyes blazed with determination. “I don’t want to think about dying anymore,” she told him, her voice stronger now. “I want to focus on living.”
Max was filled with compassion for this gentle young woman who’d been through so much, and felt a welling of pride at the reserves of strength and determination she was able to muster. Not trusting himself to speak right now he just hugged her tightly to him.
They stayed like that for a while, amongst the wild flowers on the riverbank.
End
