by Linda Coles
A shuffling near the doorway diverted her attention to Amanda, dressed exactly as expected, with the addition of sheepskin slippers on her feet. She glowed like a pink candle, and Ruth smiled her affection across the room, landing slap-bang in the middle of Amanda’s chest. They hadn’t been together that long, a couple of years at most, but they’d both felt the connection when they’d first met during a case Amanda had been working on. Ruth had been involved because she ran the local community online page, which had discovered dog-nappers working in the area. Several dogs had been held for ransom money but then things had turned even uglier and Amanda had stepped in in her role with the police. Eventually the two of them had met, and the rest had slotted into place like the last two pieces of a jigsaw. And in a few short weeks, they’ll be getting married.
“What are you smiling about? You look like you’ve been up to something the way you’re holding that laptop,” Amanda said mock-accusingly.
“I was just chatting to Griffin, actually. And you’ll never guess. He’s got himself a girlfriend. Well, he didn’t quite call her that, but a woman knows these things,” she said, tapping the side of her nose as if to say ‘I know.’
“Well, that’s great news. We’ll get to meet her as his plus-one at the wedding, I expect.” She took her towel off her head and her blond hair stood up at all angles.
“I want to meet her, or find out more about her at least, long before the wedding, purely out of interest. I daresay we’ll be a bit occupied on the day and I don’t want to miss out.”
“Such a Nosey Parker, Miss McGregor,” Amanda said, approaching her, “which brings me onto a very important subject.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Have you thought about our names, our surnames when we get married? Will we keep our existing ones or take each other’s?”
“Hmm. I hadn’t given it much thought, to tell you the truth. What are your thoughts?” Ruth stood and the chair scraped noisily on the floor.
“We could hyphenate, maybe. That way we get to keep them both. McGregor-Lacey. Lacey-McGregor.” Amanda tried them both on for size.
Ruth said, “They both sound nice to me, though Lacey-McGregor sounds like Lacey is my middle name, don’t you think?”
“Hmm, maybe. Let’s think about it. And the other options are to stay as we are now, which means no paperwork and our work names stay as they are, or we decide on something completely new.”
“Now, I hadn’t thought about that. Something completely new, eh? Like “Monaco” or “Postlethwaite,” perhaps.” Ruth was enjoying teasing Amanda and knew exactly which way the naming was going to go. Amanda stood laughing inside the doorway.
“Don’t laugh – Postlethwaite worked out well enough for Pete Postlethwaite, did it not?”
“I think I’d rather go with Monaco if those are the two options. It worked out fine for Princess Grace!”
“Well, that’s debatable. She died, remember? Car somersaulted over a cliff in the early eighties.”
“Then let’s forget either of those two options and mull it over in our heads. We’ll have to figure it out before the big day. We can’t have him asking us as we put rings on each other’s fingers. It will be funny enough when he declares us ‘wife and wife.’ There’s bound to be someone in the congregation who still finds the concept amusing, even though they know us.”
“I know, but I don’t suppose too many people have been to a same-sex wedding before, so we’ll forgive their ignorance.” Ruth fell thoughtful for a moment and Amanda knew exactly what she was thinking about. She strode over and wrapped her arm around Ruth’s shoulders and pecked her with a kiss on the cheek.
“Your mum will be watching her gorgeous daughter from way up high. She’ll have the best seat in the house, and I know she’ll be smiling down on you.”
“I know. But it would be nice to see her again, in person. There’s so much I want to say to her that I missed by being such a pig, and now it’s too late.”
“I know you do.” The two women hugged tight, until Amanda was sure Ruth was okay. It was Ruth who pulled away first.
“I’m fine. Thanks, love.” Looking up at Amanda, she added, “Oh, and my new name? It will be Ruth McGregor-Lacey. But you can call me Ruth Lacey.”
Amanda smiled her delight and said, “I’ll let the registrar know.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Amanda and Jack were parked up not far from Stephanie’s place, sipping coffee. They had spoken to her at length about the night with Sebastian Stevens, and she had surprised them both with her idea of how it all connected. It did sound plausible, but where was the evidence? And where was ‘Chris Meeks’?
“You ever had a really close friend who simply up and disappeared, Lacey? One that you didn’t try too hard to track down, see if they were alright?” Jack was asking the questions and couldn’t quite get his head around the fact that Stephanie and this Chris fellow had lost touch so abruptly after having had such a close friendship. Did people do that?
“I guess she and everyone else thought he’d gone off and found someone special and settled down. Nothing sinister to wonder about in a regular guy’s life. Why would there be?” She wrinkled her nose. “Did you get sugar in this coffee? It tastes sweet.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for any. I’m trying to give it up. Want to swap?”
“No thanks. Your lips have been all over it.”
“Then swap the lid over. I thought you were a detective, full of sharp ideas.”
“My repertoire doesn’t include my own practicalities,” she said peeling the lid off her paper cup. Jack followed suit. When their cups had been swapped and lids reattached, Jack took a sip and winced.
“See?” said Amanda. “Definitely sugar in there, and a lot. Detectives know this shit.” Sipping her own, she added, “That’s better,” and smiled at Jack, knowing just what he was thinking. He never said a word about the coffee and steered the conversation back to grounds he could win on: the case.
“So we have a name, which may or may not be his real one. A date that goes back fifteen years and one recent victim. There could be others, but we have no idea one way or another at this point and diddly-squat else to go on. How are we meant to solve this one? Any ideas?”
Amanda could hear the exasperation in his voice. In truth, she had no clue either. “Well, a couple of other officers have begun looking into what little we do have. There are about twenty Chris Meekses that fit his age range, and they’re narrowing it down for location and job etcetera, so I’m hoping there will be a shortlist of them to talk to very soon. Hopefully he didn’t move too far afield. We have his picture from back then, so even if he’s changed his appearance, grown his hair out or whatever, we should be able to match his old picture with one of them. I’m hoping, anyway.”
Her phone rang and she rummaged in her bag to retrieve it. Looking at the screen she added, “This could be news now.” She answered, “DS Lacey. You’ve some news, I’m hoping.” The car was quiet as Amanda listened to what the caller back at the station was saying, and Jack waited patiently.
“Thanks. That gives us something,” she said at last, and hung up. Turning to Jack she said, “Seems our boy is a clever so-and-so, a bit of a geek. And the ‘Chris Meeks’ we know him as has been in trouble before, though not under that exact name. We have his charge sheet as Chris Smeeks, subtly different but him just the same. A clever bugger online; got done for hacking some years ago. Never did any time, but guess what he hacked into?”
“A ham sandwich? Come on, Lacey. I’ve no idea, have I? Spit it out.”
“He hacked into a model agency’s database. But this particular model agency deals in . . .” She paused for effect. There was almost a drumroll in the air. “. . . body parts. Feet, hands, hair, teeth – you name it, they have a perfectly photogenic body part for your every need.”
“Holy shit.”
“Exactly. So they’re definitely linked now. That’s too much of a coincidence, and s
ince we don’t believe in coincidences...” Amanda paused again. “And apparently, after the breach, a chap was cautioned for becoming too much of a nuisance outside their offices – waiting for girls to come out, wanting to talk to them, offering them money and all manner of weird stuff. Spooked the girls, and he was cautioned.”
“Was that our man too?”
“No, someone else entirely, though I have a feeling we’ll be chatting to him very soon. Again, it’s odd that at the time of the breach, someone else interested in particular body parts turns up. I wonder what his interest was. Or is. If he had an interest then, does he still?
“After Mr. Smeeks’ caution, things quieted down for the agency and everything went back to normal. I say we start there, see what low-hanging fruit might still be left hanging that wasn’t picked last time around.” Amanda handed her coffee to Jack and started the engine. She read out the address to Jack. “See what Google Maps says is the best way to get there. I’m not entirely sure where it is.”
She watched Jack out of the corner of her eye trying to type the address she’d given him into the maps app. He was no fingers and all thumbs. As he finally pressed ‘go’ and the mechanical voice announced the directions, she noticed something else: Jack was grimacing slightly.
“Are you okay, Jack?”
“Eh?”
“Are you okay? You looked in pain there for a second.”
“It’s nothing. I keep getting a twinge down my right side, that’s all. Nothing more than gut-ache.”
“How long has that been bothering you?”
“Only a day or two. It’ll be gone soon. It’s nothing, really. Old age. Or that corned beef sandwich. The pickle on them always gives me gripe. I don’t know why I eat them.” He turned to her and smiled his ‘don’t worry’ smile. “You just drive and I’ll worry about the corned beef and pickle doing its thing.”
Navigating the late afternoon traffic, Amanda drove them out to an industrial estate on the edge of town. They parked outside and she craned her neck to look up at the building from the safety of the driver’s seat. An ugly two-story clad building, it could have been the office for any number of things, but a small sign on the entrance door announced the occupants.
“This is it,” said Amanda. “‘Body-licious.’ It kind of sounds more like a kink place, doesn’t it? Somewhere you might go to indulge in a particular fetish, like for vampires. Go and lick something for pleasure. No wonder odd men sit outside waiting, with a name like that.”
Jack nodded. “Let’s go and find out,” he said, and was half way out of the car before Amanda had unfastened her seatbelt to follow him. Jack strode up to the door, pulled it open without knocking, and set off up the steep concrete stairs on the other side. He was puffing and panting hard, clutching his side, when Amanda caught him up. He caught her stare.
“And now I’ve got a stitch on top of the pickle,” he grumbled. “Relax. I’m fine.”
Amanda gave him a look that said ‘I don’t believe you,’ and they entered the small reception area, which was empty of people. Framed pictures on the walls confirmed they were indeed in the business of body part modelling: there were photos of stunningly immaculate feet peeping out of high-heeled sandals, perfect hands that had never done dishes advertising washing-up liquid, and pristine pearly-white teeth smiling unnaturally from between perfectly plump red lips.
A young woman entered the room and gave them a grin to match the teeth and lips in the picture. Maybe they belonged to her.
Jack took the lead.
“Hello. I’m Detective Jack Rutherford and this is DS Amanda Lacey. Are you the owner, by chance?”
The woman smiled again. “I’m afraid not. That would be Jules. I’ll go and get her. May I ask what it’s regarding?”
“We’d like to ask a few questions about an old case, a menace who was cautioned for approaching the girls.”
“I thought that had been solved.”
“It has, but we would like to chat to Jules again, if you could go fetch her. Thank you.”
The young woman’s smile faded fast as she left the room in search of Jules. Amanda stood back and let Jack handle things. In a few moments, stilettos could be heard approaching from the distance. They were fast and loud and sounded unhappy. The door opened and an austere-looking, well-dressed middle-aged woman with short-cropped dark hair and gold-rimmed glasses looked Amanda quickly up and down.
She had a wide streak of white hair by her right temple that reminded Jack of Thomas Mallen, the nineteenth-century Northumberland squire who had had the same feature. A TV program had been made about him and his family, called – unsurprisingly – The Mallens, and his mother had used to watch it. As a teenager it hadn’t been his thing, but that distinctive white streak of hair had been a talking point for the many years the show had run.
The woman glared at the two detectives now, though Jack had no idea why. Amanda picked up on her perfume – Chanel No. 5. Her red-soled shoes meant only one brand: expensive.
“I’m Jules Monroe,” she said. “What can I do for you both?” Her attitude screamed busy and in a rush. They both felt like intruders, which was, of course, the whole point.
“Sorry to bother you,” Jack said, “but we’re hoping you can help us with an old case. You may recall a man was cautioned for harassing the models.”
“How could I not remember? It was creepy. But that was tidied up, was it not?”
“It was, yes. You are correct. But there may be a link from your case to something that happened only recently. You also had another case where you were hacked, if I am correct? Your database was broken into?”
“Yes, it was, but you know all this. Nothing seemed to have been taken – case closed. I’m not sure how can I help you. . .?” She checked her gold wristwatch as if to hurry him along. It glistened, matching the gold rims of her spectacles. Amanda assumed they were more than gold-coloured.
“We think the person may be connected to your break-in and may also be responsible for another crime,” Jack went on. “Or crimes. Did you ever find out why he hacked in? Did he ever have any further contact with you? Messaged you, perhaps?”
Jack wasn’t getting to the point quickly enough and it was obvious he was grasping at straws. Amanda stepped in before the woman got seriously annoyed and stormed back to her office.
“Ms. Monroe – Jules,” she began. “Recently, a number of women have been the targets of an extremely upsetting type of personal assault, probably the work of the same person. To be perfectly honest, though, we have very little to go on. We think the hacker who targeted your business may be the link between these crimes, so we would appreciate anything you can remember about that incident: a text, any reason they may have given for the hacking, a message, a threat down the phone – anything you can remember at all could be helpful in tracing this person so we can talk further. If it turns out they have nothing to do with these current cases, we can move on, of course, but if they are involved, then they need to be stopped.”
Jules’s shoulders visibly drooped as she stood thinking, a finger against her lips. At length, she sighed and began to speak.
Chapter Fifty
“It’s good to see you haven’t lost your touch, Lacey.”
They were heading back to Croydon to the station. Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda could see Jack was touching his side occasionally.
“Sometimes you need a little ‘woman-to-woman’ to get the desired result, and she wasn’t responding to you.”
Jack grinned. “Is that what you call it now, eh? ‘Woman-to-woman’?”
She grinned back. “Just because I’m marrying a woman doesn’t mean I fancy all women, pea-brain. Just like you don’t fancy all women either. I’m no different, you know.”
He knew. “Well, it worked, so that’s all that mattered. I wonder why she didn’t come out and say anything before, though?”
“Quite. I guess they were more concerned with the stalker than a seemingly random hack
ing attack where nothing was taken. A guy waiting outside your office is much more ‘in your face,’ and more of a direct threat to their employees. So I suppose that’s what they focused on in the end.”
“So what was the real reason for the hacking, I’m wondering?” said Amanda, almost to herself. “Why would someone want access to that company and then not use it maliciously? That we know of, at least. Ms. Monroe said herself she’d have known if her competitors had accessed her files, and they clearly hadn’t. It’s amazing they even knew they’d been hacked, come to think of it – it’s not like these people leave a trail of breadcrumbs. There has to be something else we’re missing. Another reason.”
They fell quiet as she drove, then Jack piped up again.
"Unless it was to see if they could do it? You know, like some folks climb mountains, just to see if they can? Though if that was the case, it doesn’t really help with our victims.” Jack fell quiet again.
“You know, crime has changed over the years.” Amanda, too, was thinking. “It may be worth a chat with National Cyber Crime to get their take. For example, credit card fraud is old hat, and maybe something more lucrative has taken its place. Otherwise, why would someone hack a database and not sell the contents to a competitor? No one else would want it, would they?”
“I can’t see an obvious reason, no. Ask your Ruth; she’ll probably know more than the cyber guys, and she’d be a damn sight quicker to get an answer from, too.”
