by Linda Coles
Picking the silencer up and examining it, Luke sat thoughtful for a moment. Suddenly everything felt very real. Pressing a button on a laptop had felt final, but that was nothing compared to holding an actual gun, bullets and a silencer in his hand. He was about to use this weapon and take someone’s life – for a measly £12,000. How many other lives had this particular piece snuffed out like candle flames? he wondered. How many people’s lives had been ruined because of it? He attached the silencer and examined the piece in its entirety, feeling the weight and size of the whole thing in his hand.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts and he fought to keep himself from jumping.
“Yeah?” His voice sounded wobbly to even him.
“I’m making hot chocolate. Do you want some?” It was his mother.
Luke let out the breath he’d been holding and couldn’t help smiling. If she could see what he had in his hand on the other side of the door, she’d have a flying fit.
“Please. I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back. He wrapped the gun up and stuffed it along with the bullets under his pillow for the time being. Where he’d store it permanently he’d no idea, but there was time to figure that out.
Or was there?
Tomorrow morning he’d head off somewhere quiet and practice, though with only twelve bullets to his name and no way of getting any more at the eleventh hour, he couldn’t afford many practice rounds. It was far from ideal, but he’d have to make it work. Satisfied of the temporary hiding place, he left his room to join his parents downstairs for hot chocolate.
As he sipped his drink and chatted cosily with his parents, he was struck by the contrast between the two worlds he currently inhabited. And tomorrow night, things would get about as far from cosy as they could ever be.
Tomorrow night, he was a hit man for hire.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Thank the Lord for that,” Amanda said, putting her brush down on the paint can lid. “I thought it’d never end.”
Ruth came up behind her and put her arm around Amanda’s waist, snuggling in close.
“Looks great, though, doesn’t it? A nice shade of blue, if I say so myself.”
“Well, you did pick it, so I hope you do like it. But yes, it’s a nice shade all right. The room looks much fresher now it’s all done. It was worth the effort.”
Amanda stood with her hands on her hips admiring their handiwork. “Room one down, another five to go.”
“Yes, the thought is exhausting, isn’t it?”
Amanda nodded, frowning.
“We should consider getting a pro in to finish the rest. I hate the turmoil everything is in. We can’t do it any faster and I’m not taking valuable holiday to damn well decorate.”
Ruth looked thoughtful. “I agree with the turmoil and not taking holiday time to do it. I wonder how much it would be to hire a professional. This really isn’t a good use of our precious down time together. I’d much rather be enjoying a movie with you than you painting the walls. Perhaps I’ll look into it and see.”
“You’ve just reminded me of something I wanted to ask you. And since you’re a techy, you might know the answer.”
“How may I be of service, Detective McGregor-Lacey?” Ruth bowed deeply, hiding her cheeky grin.
“Do you know of any apps out there that allow someone to preload them with money, then place an order for a product and use that money, but do it all anonymously, so that it’s untraceable? So, for instance, you could buy drugs from a food truck by placing an order for a bacon sandwich with ‘special sauce’” – she made air quotes – “then pay a hugely inflated price for said sandwich and receive a little packet of oxy with your bacon butty.”
“A baggy and a butty, eh?” Ruth couldn’t help but laugh. “It rolls off your tongue, doesn’t it? Butty and a baggy, baggy and a butty,” she repeated, trying the two combinations out for fun. “Baggy and a butty, I think. Perhaps I should have been in marketing, not building websites and apps. I’m obviously wasted.”
“Are you going to tell me the answer, then?” Amanda picked up the paintbrush and held it threateningly in her hand. Ruth ducked, feigning horror. “Or have I got to find someone else in the know?”
“I dare you.” Ruth smirked, egging Amada on.
“If you don’t tell me the answer by the time I’ve counted to three, I absolutely will.” A beat passed, “One. Two…”
Ruth stood her ground, grinning. Amanda moving a step closer, brandishing the brush.
“Three.” Amanda struck, the brush leaving a trail of pale blue down the front of Ruth’s shirt, but not before catching her on the chin first. Ruth spluttered with laughter. Her hand went to her chin and she wiped the blue away with the back of it, but that left her with the problem of where to wipe that.
“I warned you,” Amanda stated, “and you dared me.”
With paint on the back of her hand and Amanda still with the brush, Ruth lunged in an attempt to wipe her hand on Amanda. But Amanda was too quick for her: she thrust the brush out in front of her as the two connected, pasting more pale blue onto Ruth’s arm. Both women shrieked, and Ruth turned, quick as lightning, and wiped the back of her hand into Amanda’s blonde hair.
“Oh, not nice.”
“You started it, Missus,” Ruth said still smiling. “Probably time to get it cleaned up, though, before that dries,” she said pointing. “You have blue on blonde. I’ll go and turn the shower on.”
“So do I get the answer now?” Amanda asked, following her down the hall.
“The short answer is yes, it can be done. The long answer is it’s tricky. Obviously, the vendor needs to see the product has been paid for, and the purchaser needs to prove he’s paid in order to pick up, but for someone looking in, like the police for instance,” she nodded to Amanda, “that’s the tricky part. How do they keep the transaction away from law enforcement? They’ll not want to get caught. In that sense, it’s riskier than cash.”
“I’m thinking Bitcoin or similar?”
“I’m thinking I’ll double check with Valance tomorrow and let you know, eh? He’s a couple of steps ahead of me on that stuff, particularly the slightly illegal as you know.”
Amanda had first met Valance Douglas a few months back. He was an acquaintance of a vigilante victim she’d found herself working with as part of a sting that had gone so far off track she could have lost her job. Luckily, Plan B had come along and saved the day – in the form of tech whiz Valance Douglas. He and Ruth had stayed in touch afterwards; he’d proven to be a talented techy and private investigator. You never knew when you might need such a person. Like now.
“Right now, though,” Ruth said sternly, “that paint is drying, so get in the shower and get scrubbing.”
“Yes, Miss,” Amanda said chastely, and did as she was told.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Amanda’s head had gone into overdrive after her chat with Ruth the previous night. She’d thought about up, getting out of bed and making a mug of warm milk to try and ease her overactive brain but didn’t want to disturb Ruth in the process. She’d finally dropped off sometime around 2 a.m., and it had felt like she’d been asleep for five whole minutes when the alarm had pierced the quiet of their bedroom. In a deep sleep, Amanda had ignored it, but Ruth had leapt bolt upright. Worse, the clock was on Amanda’s side of the bed.
Six a.m. She would normally be out running by now, but since the decorating had cut into their relaxation time together, she’d not run for nearly a week. Maybe that was why she was feeling a little tetchy.
“Amanda,” she called from under her pillow. “Amanda!” She tried again more urgently, but it seemed nothing was getting through. Brute force was next. Lifting the pillow off her head, Ruth sat up and shook her wife by the arm in an effort to awaken her from a near comatose sleep.
Finally, a grunt from the blonde head.
Then movement as the noise became clearer and, as Amanda finally realized what it was, she reached
out to turn the noise off. Silence fell on the room once again. Ruth tossed the covers back and headed to the bathroom, muttering to herself.
“I may as well be up running now. So much for a bit of extra sleep,” she grumbled. After splashing water on her face, she made her way downstairs to make a mug of tea for each of them, hoping Amanda would have surfaced and shown herself by the time it was ready. She yawned. And yawned again. Maybe they would have to get someone in to finish the rest of the house after all; the extra workload was half killing them.
There was a shuffle at the doorway as Amanda entered, wearing her pink robe. Her blonde wavy hair stuck out at all angles.
“The tea will stir you into action,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Hardly at all, actually,” said Ruth. “Though I must have towards the end. I think the last time I looked at the time it was nearly two a.m. and I still hadn’t gone off by that stage. I nearly got up but I knew I’d start bloody Googling stuff for work and then there’d be no chance of sleep. So instead, I lay there with my brain whirling round like a Catherine Wheel. I may as well have got up for all the use it was. Might have cracked the case, even.”
Amanda yawned loudly, her face contorting. The kettle came to the boil and Ruth smiled at Amanda’s optimism. Cracking a case via Google was rarely that easy. She poured boiling water onto tea bags and grabbed milk from the fridge as Amanda slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
It was still pitch-black outside. There were a few upstairs lights on in other houses nearby, probably commuters getting ready for another day in the city. Ruth was no different; her office was in Green Park, not far from the tube station, though as the boss, she wasn’t on someone else’s time clock, only her own. And that’s the way she liked it. Adding milk to the tea, she passed Amanda a mug and sat with her.
“You’re as tired as I am, so let’s get the decorating finished by a pro, eh? I couldn’t care less about the cost at the moment. Neither of us likes doing it, and both of us are sick of the mess so I’ll see what I can come up with.”
Amanda nodded her agreement. “Great idea. But anyone worth their salt will be booked up, so we’ll have to wait a bit to get it started. I guess there’s no real rush, though.”
“I agree. Well, that’s settled, then. I’ll get someone round to look at the job. You’re busy, and I’m busy, so it’s the best way.” Ruth sipped on her tea, gazing over the mug’s rim towards Amanda. “You’re out tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Jack and I are taking a DS from Manchester for a curry. Duncan Riley. He’s a nice bloke, actually. We’re hoping he can throw a bit of light on the prescription drug and distribution scene. There may be a connection to his contacts up there. They seem to be spreading their network outwards down here a little. When might you speak to Valance? It would be good to get another viewpoint on things before we meet him. Once again, cyber at this end have no bandwidth to speak of, pardon the pun. They only work with the big stuff, or those in immediate danger, not a few ‘baggies and butties,’ as you called it last night.” Amanda smiled as she said it; it was mildly amusing.
“Well, on that, I must have been figuring things out subconsciously because I remembered about Bitcoin and what I knew,” Ruth said. “It would work, I bet, the app aspect, though I’ll still talk to Valance and double check. I seem to remember some article of recent saying Bitcoin wasn’t as reliable as it once was in terms of anonymity. And as smartphones go to run the necessary browser, I’m pretty sure the iPhone hasn’t got the ability or the security. I’ll have to check. But there’ll be something else and some way else to fill the gap by now. I’ll let you know.” Ruth got up to rinse her now empty mug. “I’m off for a very quick run, I think. Maybe just the one lap and then a shower. I’ll go and get changed. Care to come with me?” Ruth raised her eyebrows suggestively but Amanda scowled her reply.
“My body wasn’t meant for running, so I’ll grab breakfast then hit the shower. Thanks for the invite though.”
There was no way Amanda would ever go running, Ruth knew, but she teased her anyway.
Five minutes later Ruth was heading down the front path in her running gear. Amanda sat at the kitchen table, pondering. If an app could be loaded with funds and used for anonymous transactions, then all sorts of things could be traded illegally with no one any the wiser. That left two questions bubbling away: first, how did the mobile van’s customers know about a secret app if it was a secret? Second, how could Amanda and Jack get access to it too?
By the time Ruth came back, sweating like a horse, Amanda was dressed in her best suit, hair coiffed and make-up expertly applied. She had the bones of an idea.
“Wow,” exclaimed Ruth, looking Amanda up and down. “I hope Duncan appreciates your effort, though aren’t you a little early?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. I’m going undercover.” Grabbing her bag, she pecked Ruth’s sweaty cheek as she passed, calling ‘Wish me luck’ over her shoulder as she went.
Chapter Sixty
Sam had checked her messages from ‘him’ and was thrilled to see he’d received the funds without a hitch. She’d followed his instructions to a T, so why she was surprised she’d no idea. But reading the short confirmation text sent a tingle of excitement through her body, like when something exciting you’d been looking forward to for ages was suddenly upon you. It reminded her a little of her wedding day, and the excitement and anticipation that had consumed her for weeks before the event took place.
The day had been perfect in every way, from the sunshine to the ceremony and the party that evening. It had gone smoothly, and for the first few years they’d both been blissfully happy, bringing two delightful girls into the world and enjoying every moment they spent with them. When it had started to crumble, exactly, she couldn’t remember, but Duncan’s job hadn’t helped. It had begun taking up so much of his time and his attention even when he was actually present at home.
Still, she pushed the thoughts away and tried to clear her head. What was done was done: there was nothing to be gained by rehashing it all. It no longer mattered whose fault things were, who had said or done something. It was all water under the bridge. Best to just let it wash out to sea.
The kitchen looked like a TV studio waiting for a celebrity chef to arrive. Several bowls sat with prepared ingredients in them. Pastry was resting in the fridge and flour dust covered every surface, including the floor. Anyone looking would think the two girls had had a flour fight, not that a grown woman was making pastry, but Victoria and Jasmine were safely at school, out of harm’s way.
Satisfied that she had everything ready, she took the pastry out and began to roll it, lining individual circular sections of the tray to create the bases for the mini-quiches. When the tray was filled with twelve perfect-looking pastry bases, she began to fill them with the finely chopped ingredients from the bowls. In the bottom of each went tiny slivers of green potato skin topped with tiny bacon pieces, chopped tiny potato eyes, chives, cheese and herbs. Then she poured the eggy mixture over each one to fill the tartlets to the top and sprinkled a little more grated cheese on top. When the poisoned pies were complete and she was satisfied she hadn’t forgotten anything, she placed them in the hot oven to cook. There was an air of satisfaction about her as the golden oven light glowed over her creations. During her research, she’d learned that the active ingredient could be a little bitter, and she hoped the bacon and strong cheese would mask any flavour issues. The last thing she wanted was for Duncan to spit it out and be fully alert when his evening visitor came to call.
Twenty minutes later, the delicious-looking treats were done and the homely smell of fresh baking and cooked cheese filled the kitchen – she was almost tempted to try one herself. After placing them all on a wire rack to cool, she dug into the back of a kitchen cupboard for a suitable travel container. The oven clock read 1.15 p.m. Duncan had said he’d come by about 2 p.m. to grab his overnight gear before heading down south for the night, and that he’d
be back late Friday night.
Or that was the intended plan …
She’d already laid his toiletries out along with his hold-all and pyjamas; somehow, he always managed to forget these when he went anywhere overnight and would end up sleeping in his underwear. Idly she wondered if he’d be wearing them when the time came; it seemed an odd thing, sad almost, to wear for his demise. But what would be better, a suit and shirt? His running gear? Jeans and a T-shirt, perhaps? What was the preferred attire to be wearing when your time came? Sick patients lying in bed wouldn’t have any choice in the matter, so Duncan would be in their company as his spirit left this life – wearing just his PJs.
She stared at the stripes on the bottoms, blue and purple, and touched the soft flannelette fabric, though she resisted lifting them to her face. To do that would mean she still cared for him, and really, she didn’t. Anger started to bubble in her stomach like toxic gases. She could still feel the sting of his words like the slap of an elastic band her your arm – so cruel and unnecessary. He’d started her down this road she’d taken – he had! He was to blame for what was about to happen next. Yes, it was all his doing! Sam was getting wound up now, anxiety rippling through her chest, heat coursing over her skin, scalding tears filling her eyes.
A door slamming shut downstairs brought her to attention and she hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Duncan’s voice rang out. “I’m home, Sam.” It was kind of sing-song, happy even, not like his usual stressed, dull tone.
Sniffing fiercely and wiping her eyes again, she called down to him, “I’m in the bedroom.”
