Charlie puts his mug down and strides into the lounge area. “Great, you’re here, let’s get everyone up to date on this case then.”
Martha flops onto the sofa next to Dan, and I take a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Charlie kneels on the floor and starts spreading notes across the glass surface. Jack takes the last remaining seat, next to Martha, flashing her a smile as he does so.
Charlie does a round of introductions which would make one minute speed dating sessions look positively leisurely. We all nod our hellos and then it’s straight down to work.
“The target appears to be a soap opera called North Shores. It’s been running for five seasons. Filmed in studios with various regular outdoor locations added into the mix. The main one is a flash mansion of a place sitting right on the waterfront on the city’s north shore,” he says.
With all the angst about seeing Charlie again and nerves about being part of such a major case, not to mention the crazy rush to get out here, I forgot to buy a notebook. I feel lost without somewhere to scribble down all the details of an investigation. I always like to buy a new notebook for each case. I’d have to anyway because the CCIA are very particular about case confidentiality as we’re dealing with the rich and the famous. My notebooks have to be handed in to agency HQ after each case is completed.
“All three murder victims were actors on the show. The first was Cate Villiers,” chips in Martha, taking over the case update. “Age twenty one. An unknown actress before she landed this prime role on North Shores. She only started on the show this season but quickly became popular with the fans. The gossip magazines loved her too, apparently. She died when the brakes failed on the car she was driving and she crashed off a hilltop road.”
“But get this,” adds Jack. “The car she was driving wasn’t hers. It belonged to her co-star Ed Kingston. He was one of the many eye candy guys on North Shores. Age twenty six. Former jeans and aftershave model. He’d been on the show for a few years. Big fan base. Very popular with the ladies.”
“Cate had borrowed his car because her own was in the garage for repairs,” Charlie says, taking up the story again. “But she lost control of the vehicle and it went off the road, crashing down a hill. Within twenty four hours though, Ed turned up dead too. Found by an early morning jogger, he was washed up on a beach outside the city. Confirmed as drowning by force, not an accident.”
I flinch at the news. Murder cases are tough to deal with. I suppose the other agents have grown used to it but I haven’t, not yet. I doubt I ever will.
“And finally, we have Maurice Fabio,” Charlie continues. “He’d been on North Shores since the start of the show. Over the years he’d made no secret of his battle with alcohol but he claimed to have been sober for the past two years. He died on the same day as Ed Kingston. Initial verdict was suicide. A bottle of whisky, a bottle of painkillers, even a suicide note. He was found dead in the bath by his cleaner.”
“So, was Ed the original target if it was his car Cate was driving when it went off the road?” Dan asks.
Charlie doesn’t even look at him as he replies. “Seems that way.”
“Do the three victims have anything in common other than being on the show?” Martha asks.
“Only the stuff you’d expect,” Charlie replies. “They all live here in the city. They have mutual friends via the show and working in TV. Other than that, nothing else has come up on our radar yet.”
“So, who would stand to gain from these deaths?” Jack asks, his expression clouded with concentration. “Certainly not the production company. All of this must have affected the show’s ratings, and not in a good way. I know North Shores is popular, but surely people won’t be queuing up to work on the show in the current circumstances. Not with everyone wondering who’s going to turn up dead next.”
“Somebody obviously has it in for the programme if they’re systematically killing off its stars. The money guys behind the show are in a panic, the cast are fearing for their lives and the fans are sobbing outside the filming locations, leaving flowers, cards and gifts,” Charlie replies.
“What about suspects?” Dan asks. I know he doesn’t wish he had a notebook like I do. Dan never writes anything down. I can’t understand how he remembers everything. Even Charlie has a notebook. My eyes skim across to Charlie. He’s wearing jeans and a plain blue shirt. His short dark hair is in need of a trim and looks sexily dishevelled at the front. My fingers ache to reach out and touch his arm. But I can’t.
“Nothing much showing up as yet. We need to get down to this waterfront mansion and speak to the show’s director, a guy named William Denver, see what he can tell us re some leads. Oh, and Cate had an ex-boyfriend who might be worth having a chat with.” He hands around folders and I open mine to see a summary of the case, a list of contact numbers and sheets of information about the city, the show and the investigation.
“So, who is doing what?” Jack asks. He’s tall and solidly built with cropped dark blonde hair and a cheeky-chappy smile. I already like him. He seems friendly.
“Jack, you and Martha go down to the North Shores house and start interviewing the behind the scenes guys. Then we’ll all meet up for the chat with Denver.” Charlies gets to his feet, collecting up the various papers. “Amber and I will start with Cate’s ex. Let’s get going then, guys. Keep each other updated with any news you get along the way. Contact numbers are in the folder. Several times each day I’ll arrange a time and place for us all to meet, assess where we’re at and plan our next move. OK?”
Charlie turns to Dan and, as though he’s an afterthought, adds, “Stone, you can interview the victim’s families.” Most of the time Charlie calls Dan by his surname, Stone. Dan tends to refer to Charlie as Charlie Boy. Sometimes I think they’re more like bickering boys in the school playground than highly-trained special agents.
Martha gets to her feet and places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I do love it when you’re in masterful mode.”
Oh, did mention Martha is a huge flirt? I think she’s probably on a par with Dan on that front.
“What about the note?” I ask, edging forward and planting my elbows on my knees.
“What note?” Jack checks.
“There was a threatening note left on the windscreen of one of the SUVs in the parking garage downstairs,” I explain. “Charlie, you’ve got it, right?”
He gets the note, unfolds it and drops it on the table so everyone else can read it. “It’s nothing. I’m not wasting time getting surveillance installed to see who is leaving these, and there’s no point moving to another apartment block, they’ll only track us there as well if they want to. We’ve got more important things to be getting on with.”
“Interesting,” Martha says, tapping a fingernail against her cheek as she reads the note. “So, it looks like they know an awful lot more about us than we do about them.”
“We know they can’t spell,” Dan chips in, and throws me a wink.
Charlie claps his hands together. “Then let’s track ‘em down and find out all about them.” He heads off to what I presume is the bedroom. Maybe he’s going to get changed or he’s looking for car keys or something. Whatever the reason, he’s vacated the room for a moment and it gives me a chance to see if anyone will swap with me. I don’t want to have to work this case with Charlie. It’s so awkward between us at the moment. My stomach clenches at how good things used to be, and now we’re reduced to this. Not knowing what to say or do around each other. He could have paired himself off with Martha or Jack. OK, I get that he wouldn’t want to work beside Dan, but he didn’t have to choose me…
I grip Martha’s arm. “Why don’t you work with Charlie? I’ll work with Jack.”
Jack looks momentarily confused. “Am I missing something here?”
“Yes,” Dan and Martha both chorus.
“Care to enlighten me?” he asks with a questioning raise of his eyebrows.
“Amber and Charlie have a thing.
Well, I should say, they used to have a thing,” Martha begins.
“And then Charlie screwed it up, so now they don’t have a thing,” Dan helpfully finishes.
“I thought Charlie was involved with that actress,” Jack says cautiously. “You know, the gorgeous one called Delilah. I saw it in the papers. She said he was the love of her life. Lucky devil.”
I stare at my feet and an awkward silence hangs in the room for a few seconds.
Jack catches on. “Ah, so Delilah was the catalyst for the two of you splitting up. Did they really have a thing though or was it all for show, a part of some case?”
“Charlie claims the latter, but we’re not convinced,” Dan chips in. “I mean, come on, Delilah is stunning.”
Martha slips an arm around my shoulder. “And what’s Amber? A troll?”
“Of course not. I didn’t mean that,” Dan actually looks embarrassed at Martha twisting his words.
“Boy, this case is going to be confusing,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “And not just because we’re dealing with three murders instead of one. The relationship dynamic between you guys is crazy.”
“Whatever,” Martha chimes, heading for the door. “Jack, you’re with me. Let’s get going.”
Jack follows her out of the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. I turn pleading eyes on Dan. He doesn’t want me to get back with Charlie so surely he’ll swap, won’t he? Not that I want to be the one to interview the relatives of the deceased, I shudder at the thought, but right now, it might be preferable to having to spend time alone with Charlie. I smile at him and before I can even get to ask the question, he’s replying.
“Sure. I’ll swap,” he says, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Consider me your knight in shining armour.”
I’m about to thank him profusely when Charlie walks back into the room, sees Dan’s arm around my shoulders and stops in his tracks. “No.”
“What?” Dan asks as I try to edge away from him.
“No swapping case allocations.” Charlie picks up two sets of car keys. “Amber, you’re with me.” He tosses one bunch of keys to Dan. “There’s another hire car in the underground car park here. You take that one. The registration is on the hire company’s key fob.”
Dan sighs and heads for the door.
“Let’s make a move then, shall we?” Charlie says to me, gesturing towards the door.
Sugar.
CHAPTER TWO
“Where does Cate’s ex live?” I ask as we head across the city. A part of me was tempted to clamber into the back seat again rather than sit in the front with Charlie but I know that would have been childish and unprofessional.
“Kitsilano Beach,” he replies. “Shouldn’t take too long to get there.”
I hope not because the atmosphere between us is shredding my nerves. Why did he insist I work with him if he’d not going to talk to me about what’s going on between us? Should I say something? Get the ball rolling? I don’t want to though. What if he’s going to say that we’re not just on a break but well and truly broken? That there’s no going back for us. I don’t want to hear those words. Then again, the heavy silence hanging between us at the moment isn’t easy either.
Kitsilano Beach I discover is a trendy suburb of the city and yes, there is a beach. I’ve never seen a stretch of sand in a city before. It is a truly gorgeous spot. The beach is edged by huge wooden tree trunks lying down, and more of the same are arranged on the sand itself for people to sit on or lean against. On the other side of the bay, across the bright blue water, are trees and some distant mountains. Who knew a city could be so stunning? Vancouver doesn’t feel like any other city I’ve ever visited. It’s so picturesque, with its hills and harbour. Away from the beach, we’re soon back in high-rise skyscraper land and pulling up at the address for Cate’s ex. A guy called Brad Worthing. A designer menswear model and wannabe actor. We enter the building and Charlie speaks to the doorman, flashing his badge and asking if we can see Brad. He’s probably not at home. I stand and wait, watching from a few feet away as the doorman picks up the phone, presumably to call Brad’s apartment. Within a minute the man nods and gestures towards the elevators. OK. So Brad is at home then. Inside the lift, I feel as though I’m about to implode. Charlie stands on the opposite side from me. I hate this distance between us. Why can’t things go back to the way they used to be? I miss Charlie. Then I remember exactly why things can’t go back to the way they used to be. A potent cocktail of my jealousy, Charlie’s stubbornness, and a load of uncomfortable questions, which I’m too frightened to find out the answers to.
“Which floor?” I ask, fingers hovering over the buttons.
“Tenth,” Charlie replies, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
I push the button and stifle a sigh of frustration. Why doesn’t he say something? Why don’t I say something? Why is my mouth so dry and my brain failing to find anything at all to say to him?
Just as the elevator approaches the fifth floor Charlie turns to me. “Amber, we need…”
At last. I brace myself. Here it comes. What do I want him to say? Can we really get back to how things used to be?
The doors ping open and a woman with a young boy steps into the lift.
“We’re going up,” I say with a smile, hoping they want to go down and will vacate this lift.
“So are we,” the woman smiles. “My friend lives on the twelfth floor.”
Right. Of course. Wonderful.
The woman settles herself between us in the lift; the child looks enquiringly up at Charlie. “Are you a policeman?” he asks.
The boy’s mother shushes him and flashes an apologetic smile at Charlie. “Policemen wear uniforms, honey. Leave the nice man alone.”
“Not all of them,” the boy replies. He tugs at Charlie’s hand. “You look like you should be a policeman.”
Charlie crouches down and my heart melts a little. “I do?” he asks the boy, who nods enthusiastically. “Can I let you into a secret?”
The boy stares back, wide-eyed. “Please!”
Lowering his voice to a whisper Charlie says, “I’m a spy.”
The woman smiles, clearly amused by what she thinks is Charlie playing along and making up stories to amuse her little boy. I wonder what she’d say if she knew Charlie isn’t lying. That he really is a spy of sorts. A special agent.
“Oh, wow! Have you got a gun?” the boy gasps.
Charlie nods. “But not on me at the moment.”
The boy looks momentarily disappointed then fires another question at Charlie. “You talk like James Bond.”
“That’s probably because we’re both British,” Charlie says, still kneeling down to talk to the boy.
There are a thousand emotions whirling inside of me at the sight of the two of them, chattering away. Not so long ago, I’d dared to dream that Charlie and I could have a future with marriage and children, but then it all went pear-shaped. Clearly, I’d let my imagination run away with itself. One week ago, everything was perfect between us. OK, not perfect, but pretty close to perfect. Then Diva Delilah had demanded Charlie work her investigation in America and he’d been despatched across the pond. From that point on, things started to unravel.
The lift reaches the tenth floor and we step out. Charlie waves a goodbye to the boy and smiles at the toddler’s mother.
We’re standing outside Brad’s apartment now and Charlie is knocking on the door. The man who answers the door does not look like a designer menswear model. He looks like he has a raging hangover, hasn’t shaved for a week and doesn’t know how to use a comb.
“Yeah?”
“We’re from the agency,” Charlie replies. “The doorman just rang to let you know we were here.”
The man nods and steps back to let us enter the apartment. “Oh, yeah, yeah, come in.”
The apartment looks unlived in. As though its owner has never really set up home in it, just dumped his belongings and used it as a base
while he flits around the world for his work.
“You want to talk about Cate, I take it.”
“Please,” I say, chipping in with an encouraging smile. “I know this must be difficult but we really need your help to catch the murderer. Sometimes things which seem insignificant can turn out to be important clues.”
The agency tell me that one of my strengths is my interpersonal skills. I’m good at talking with people, getting them to trust me and open up. Everyone seems to agree with them, including Charlie who usually leaves a lot of the tricky emotional conversations with relatives or acquaintances of the deceased to me.
Brad paces back and forth, looking as though he needs a drink. “Can I get you guys anything?”
Charlie and I both shakes our heads.
“You don’t mind if I do?” he asks, but he’s already opening a bottle of beer from the fridge and drinking it down in great gulps.
“Do you mind if we sit?” I ask.
“Go right ahead.”
I perch on the edge of one of the two sofas which surround the empty coffee table. Charlie sits on the one opposite. Forcing my mind away from Charlie and back to the reason we’re here, I turn to Brad.
“When did you last see Cate?” I ask, risking the tiniest of sideways glances at Charlie to seek his go-ahead. I’m the support officer here and technically I should seek the agent in charge of the investigation’s approval before commencing questioning. But that’s usually not necessary where Charlie’s concerned. He’s great to work with. He’s encouraging and not at all bossy. He sees me as an equal and never plays the special agent card over my support officer role. But that was all before we split … Today, things are different. I feel as though I’m an apprentice working with her boss for the first time. It’s all strange and unnerving.
“We broke up about a month ago,” Brad replies, then finishes his beer. “We’d been together for about eight months. I’m away a lot though so during those eight months we probably only saw each other a handful of times each month.”
Past Perfect: A Fun and Flirty Romantic Mystery (Amber Reed Mystery Book 4) Page 2
