by Linda Coles
“Perhaps we should do the pinkie thing like when we were kids?” said Ruth, holding up her hand.
Amanda groaned and rolled her eyes at Jules. Ruth said the dumbest things sometimes for such a bright woman.
“What?” said Ruth, putting out her lip like a child. Her expression looked ridiculous with her outfit, and suddenly Amanda started to giggle. Really, dressed in tight leather and wearing ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ boots, they both looked stunning, and Amanda was suddenly helpless with laughter.
Ruth and Jules looked at each other, confused.
“Sorry,” Amanda said, wiping her eyes, “but looking at you both reminded me of Charlie’s Angels. They would have got into a mess like this, and happily dressed up like you too. Apart from Sabrina that is – she’s got to be me, hasn’t she, in a roll-neck sweater?”
Jules spluttered as she caught the joke, and they both joined in the laughter, leaning on each other’s shoulders, tears streaming down their faces.
A groan from the bed startled them into action, and all three ran for the door at once as though a firework had gone off, scrambling through it together. They looked, thought Amanda, less like Charlie’s Angels and more like the gang from Scooby Doo.
Chapter Eighty-Three
The story broke two days after their visit to the nightclub. Ruth, Jack and Amanda were having a casual breakfast together at Ruth’s place, each reading from their own copy of the same newspaper that Ruth had bought on her way back in from her run. A pot of tea stood steeping in the centre of the table; a rack filled with toast went untouched. Never before had the kitchen table seen so much interest in a local newspaper story. Three sets of eyes frantically read the copy, the odd murmur of appreciation or surprise the only occasional sound in the room.
The story covered both the front page and a two-page spread in the centre and went into great detail of what had been happening to women all over London, and maybe beyond. There were photographs of several unfortunate clients who had been caught up in it as well as a mug shot of the alleged organizer of the service, one Chris Smeeks. The words ‘whistle-blower’ and ‘dark web’ and ‘hackers’ fairly leapt off the pages. The reporter’s anonymous source had provided ample evidence – video files, photos, and client lists – and the reporter had handed everything over to the police.
It was estimated that the service had been going on for more than fifteen years, but thanks to a couple of victims who were willing to tell their story and to the anonymous source, it was being shut down. The police had asked the reporter to hold off printing the story until their suspect was in custody for questioning, and the man was now helping CID with their enquiries.
Believed to have started the service for a bet, he’d gone on to find a surprisingly lucrative market and had convinced the many people needed to pull it off that it was all a game and they were vital players. These players had even been even rewarded with virtual badges when they reached certain levels. It was virtual gaming in real life. A list of the players’ names was also in the source’s possession but since they had had no idea what they were involved in, the source didn’t see the need to divulge it.
Amanda was silent when she’d finished reading it all, as was Ruth.
Jack, on the other hand, smelled a rat. “Wow, that is a twist, isn’t it?” Jack looked at both women like they were two children hiding the fact they’d taken the biscuit jar to their room and eaten the contents. And he didn’t believe that was all they’d been up to. He detected some chocolatey fingers somewhere. Ruth answered first.
“It really is, though I’m glad he’s been caught. It must be terrible to wake up with your hair missing one day, to know that someone has been in your room while you slept and touched you. Horrendous, actually. I’m glad he’s in custody. A bit of excellent work.” She quickly put her head back inside the newspaper and pretended to be reading another story.
Jack pursed his lips and turned to Amanda. “Tell me again how all of this came to light.”
“Not much to tell, except Jules Monroe followed Smeeks to his club and confronted him. He denied her accusations, as he would, but another man overheard her shouting at him. He was intrigued by her looks and took a photo of her without her knowing. She’s quite distinctive, as you know, with that white streak of hair. Anyway, he found her name by doing a reverse image search on Google, then found her model agency, put two and two together and handed over what he had. Then he went to ground.”
Amanda hated lying to her friend, but she was anxious to keep him out of her screw-up, for his own good. Jack wasn’t long off retirement and she’d never forgive herself if she jeopardized it for him. This way was a much better bet. She smiled sweetly at him and added, “Couldn’t have come at a better time, eh?”
All Jack could do was agree. “One other thing though. How come it was a sports reporter who broke the story and not a mainstream journalist? And a friend of Ruth’s, at that?” He turned to her again. “Griffin Stokes is a friend of yours, isn’t he, Ruth?”
“He is, yes. He’s been spending heaps of time surfing the dark web looking for an alternative surgeon to remove his excess skin after his dramatic weight loss. He’s got such a lot of it, and it’s embarrassing for him as a young man. It’s a really big job to get it taken away, and a long recovery time, and he was looking for a cheaper and quicker way than a UK hospital. The waiting list here is over two years and he didn’t want to wait any longer.
“He met his source in an online group, though I’m not sure which one or what the topic was, but it’s on its way to being sorted now. It’s a bit of luck and a coincidence, though, I agree.”
Jack looked across at Amanda again, and she shrugged her shoulders. Judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t convinced.
Ruth stood quickly to forestall any further questions and said, “Well, I fancy a proper breakfast someplace else. Maybe some bacon and scrambled eggs. Who’s joining me? Jack? Do you fancy bacon and sausages to go with your eggs? Amanda, can I tempt you?”
Amanda stood and scraped her chair back noisily.
“That’s a great idea,” she said, a bit too eagerly. “I’m in. Come on, Jack. Toast was never your thing anyway. I’ll buy.”
Jack knew when he was on the road to nowhere and the conversation was over. Still, they had a suspect helping with enquiries and the cyber boys were now heavily involved working through the mess. It seemed they’d found the time to take it seriously now.
He stood and reluctantly said, “Well, if you’re buying, I’m having a full English. I’ve got some making up to do on the eating front after my hospital stay.”
Behind his back, Ruth smiled knowingly to Amanda, who returned the look, but neither woman said a word. Amanda took up the rear as they filed through the house to the front door. The word ‘coincidence’ entered her head again. “But we don’t believe in them, do we, Jack?” she mumbled.
Nothing missed Jack’s ears. “What was that, Lacey?”
“I said I’ll drive. You choose the music.”
Chapter Eighty-Four
“Who’d have thought it, eh? A right turn-up for the books.”
Griffin and Vee were sat on a bench in the park with a vanilla cone each, frantically licking their rapidly melting ice creams. It was a gloriously warm evening as they sat; dog walkers and families strolled past, enjoying the fresh air.
Griffin carried on “And your experience helped the police nail the guy, so well done, you, for dropping that piece of info into the conversation. Otherwise they might still be hard at nothing.” He took another long lick as a rivulet of ice cream made its way down to his hand. He made a slurping sound as he tried to suck it away.
“So, what’s the plan with the story, then, Clarke Kent?” Vee was being cheeky but Griffin wasn’t bothered. He liked her cheek.
“She wanted me to hand it over to one of the other more experienced reporters but since it was my source, the story is mine.” They both smiled at the word ‘source,’ knowing full
well there wasn’t really one, and that Ruth was behind it somewhere. In order to disguise what had really happened, he was happy just to get the story and the notoriety that went with it. And there was a lot more story to come, he suspected.
Vee took a long lick of her ice cream then threw the remainder of the cone to the birds. Turning to Griffin she said, “I want to ask you something.” Griffin picked up on her serious tone and stopped licking.
“Oh?”
“Can I ask you why you spend so much time on the dark web? What do you do, or what are you looking for?”
Griffin was not in the habit of lying, but he couldn’t think of an alternative answer to the truth quick enough. He froze, saying nothing. Ice cream dripped down his hand.
“Whatever it is,” Vee said, “I know it’s important to you and I’m fine with it. It’s just that, after my experiences with the last boyfriend and the videos and so on, I’m wondering what I might be getting myself into again.” She took his free hand in hers. “I really quite like you, Griffin, but in order to go on, I need to know what it is that interests you so much. And I know it’s not the sport and drugs article. Call it a woman’s intuition.”
Griffin’s shoulders sagged and he tossed his remaining ice cream across to where Vee’s had landed. Birds settled into the extra cornet. Taking his handkerchief out and wiping his hands, he knew he was playing for time. At last he turned towards her and looked straight into her dark hazel eyes. She sure was pretty. The time had come to tell her.
“Okay, here goes nothing. But before I tell you, it’s nothing sordid, though it is extremely personal. But you are right: I need to get it out of the way, though in my experience, this is where the girls run a mile. I’m telling you this so that when you get the urge, you can just go.” Griffin dropped his shoulders and stared at his rather interesting knees as he began. Once he’d finished, he raised his head and looked across at Vee, expecting to see disgust and revolt on her face, followed by her hastily retreating body. But what he saw instead gave him hope. A tear slid down her cheek and even though it wasn’t a tear of joy, she was beginning to smile through it. Then she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, albeit rather awkwardly. Somewhat taken aback, Griffin ended up falling into her lap and Vee burst out laughing. Had it not been for her words as she laughed, he would have thought she was taking the mickey.
“I think I might love you, Griffin Stokes. Is that okay?”
Shocked and a little surprised but incredibly happy, Griffin said, “I think that’s very much okay, Vee Dobbs, because I think I might love you too. Is that alright?”
The return smile was all he needed.
“Will you come with me for support, to Thailand?”
“Try and stop me,” she said. “My bag is almost packed.”
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Linda Coles
Published by Blue Banana
Chapter One
Winter in Croydon was always dull. Cold, damp and dull. Rarely did it snow, rarely were there clear sunny days, and cold miserable rain fell like it owned the place. Summer could be stifling, with the density of buildings, hot traffic pollution and a lack of breeze that turned the city into an oven.
“Shame some summer heat couldn’t be stored for days like today,” said DS Amanda Lacey, as she and DC Jack Rutherford dodged the raindrops. “Even the smallest amount of heat would be welcome right now,” she grumbled as they dashed from Jack’s car towards the white mobile food van. They stood huddled together under the far-too-small striped awning along with two other hungry individuals. There was barely enough room for all four of them, and Amanda’s trouser seat and legs, exposed to the elements, were getting damper by the minute.
She and Jack were on their way to see a CI, a confidential informant, and had stopped for sustenance. Amanda’s stomach had been making more noise than a motorway grader levelling the road surface as they drove, so rather than treat the CI to the noise, they’d pulled over for food. Jack had his fun facts handy and as always chose that moment while they sheltered to educate her and the other two suits.
“A rumbling stomach is the sign of a healthy digestive system as well as possible hunger. Did you know that?”
“No, Jack, can’t say that I did, though you’ve enlightened me once again.” She smiled, knowing there was more to come, grateful for the distraction of waiting under the wet awning. “Do tell me more.”
“It’s your digestive muscles contracting and releasing little pockets of gases that build up, which is why your gut gurgles after a meal, but more so when it’s empty. There’s food absorbing the noises when your tum is full, so it’s quieter. Then, as you get hungry it growls, letting you know it’s ready to take food on board.”
“Good to know. Thanks, Jack.”
They stepped forward to place their order.
“Two bacon rolls and two teas, please. No sugar,” said Amanda. She turned back to Jack, who was looking a little dubious. She knew exactly why. “You can’t have a bacon roll and sugar in your tea if you’re going to lose that weight, Jack. You can’t have it both ways,” she told him as gently as she could. “Which would you prefer to give up today – bacon or sugar?”
Jack conceded with a submissive sigh. “If it was up to me, I’d have two sugars in my tea,” he said petulantly.
“Well, it’s a good job it’s not up to you, then. Your doctor told you to drop a few pounds for a reason and it’s better you do it now than when you get much older. It’s easier on your body all round.”
Jack saluted Amanda cheekily, as he often did. Even though she was technically his boss, they were extremely close work partners and friends too.
“Well, I’m having a dash of brown sauce. Can’t eat bacon without it.”
“As you wish.” Amanda turned back to watch their rolls being put together and slotted into paper bags. The man inside the caravan had heard the brown sauce conversation and slipped a sachet in alongside one roll before handing them both to Amanda.
He handed over two white cups and Jack took them both. There was no need to ask which was which.
“I’ll get the car opened,” Jack said, and dashed off to let himself in
Amanda followed a moment behind him. Inside, she put the bags down, shook her head and ruffled her blonde hair with her fingers in hopes of heading off a bad hair day. Her short, loose curls had a habit of looking like an angora goat once they’d got wet. Marilyn Monroe she was not, though she had the hourglass figure buried beneath her sensible work attire. As a detective, there was little point in her wearing heels and tight skirts like they did on Netflix; she was more the Doc Martens type – highly polished and just as tough.
Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she sighed at the wet angora looking back at her, then wiped her side of the windscreen with the back of her hand so she could see out to the rain.
“What’s so interesting out there?” Jack asked her.
“Just watching those two over in that car, the ones who were being served when we pulled up.”
“What about them? They’ll be on their lunch break, same as us, probably.”
“Well, that’s just it. They look like they don’t normally eat from a roadside van, and since they got in their car, they haven’t touched their food. The bags are still on the window ledge. I can see them.”
“Well, maybe they’re talking or something.”
Amanda didn’t reply as she finished her own roll and sipped her tea. More cars pulled up, more suits bought their lunches and then hurried back to their vehicles as the rain fell. Finally, the
original navy BMW pulled away, spinning its wheels on the loose wet gravel. The passenger window opened and an arm appeared and threw two white bags and two white cups out into the bushes. Then they were gone.
“Now that’s odd, don’t you think?” asked Amanda.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Who throws perfectly good bacon rolls away – and why?”
Chapter Two
“Fancy a swift one before home?”
Duncan looked at his watch; he was one of the few men at the station to still wear one. It informed him it was just before 7 p.m. and he’d been due home an hour ago. He looked at it a moment longer, asking it for the answer: to drink or not to drink; that was the question. With no obvious clue as to what he should do, he let his own head guide him.
“Just one – why not?” he said. And that was that. DS Duncan Riley collected his few loose belongings off his desk and made his way out of the Greater Manchester police station accompanied by his colleague and friend DS Rochelle Mason. Neither of them spoke until they were clear of the building. A comfortable yet excited silence buzzed through both their bodies, though each kept it from the other.
Rochelle finally broke the silence as they approached their individual vehicles, which were parked next to one another. Duncan’s car bleeped loudly as he pressed his key fob.
“Usual place?” he asked her.
Rochelle was still busy fumbling in her bag for her keys. “May as well, if it’s just a quickie,” she said at last. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes shining in the light from the streetlight, he knew they would be; her tone had given the game away. As a detective, he didn’t miss a trick, not from a criminal, and certainly not from a flirty colleague. And besides, he liked it. He watched as she slipped astride her Triumph motorbike, started the engine, and pulled her helmet on. The throb vibrated through them both. She lifted her visor to speak. Her breath floated on the cool evening air, forming a long cloud in front of her, like cigarette smoke, only far sweeter.
