by Linda Coles
His heavy footsteps climbed the stairs and he popped his head around the doorframe, a smile in his eyes. He seemed so happy.
“I smell baking,” he said with a tone of happy accusation.
“Guilty as charged,” she replied, then winced inwardly at her words – was that slip up an omen? Changing the subject for the moment, she added, “I thought I’d get a few things together – you know, the things you might forget.” She held up his pyjamas and he smiled knowingly. “Can’t have you cold. You’ll need these in your room. What if there was a fire alarm in the night? You’d be stood there half-naked and freezing to death.”
She knew she was rambling on about nothing, talking for the sake of it, but it helped. Why hadn’t she taken a couple of pills this morning to steady her nerves? Wasn’t that what they were there for? If only her bag was nearby, she could easily have sneaked a couple from the side pocket and slipped them down. But it was hanging at the bottom of the stairs where it always was. So, gibbering on was the next best alternative. It took her mind off what was coming.
Duncan walked into the room and started to fill his bag with the other items he’d need and she stood back and watched him. “Not sure if I mentioned but I’m meeting them from Croydon station for a curry at seven p.m. so I need to get going. There’s a case they’re working on that might be linked to a case of ours, so I’ll call you when I get in if it’s not too late, okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. Do what you need to do. I’ll probably have an early night anyway. I’m nearly at the end of my book so I’ll finish that off and that’ll be it. I’ll text you before I go to sleep.”
It was all part of the plan.
“Okay.” He looked around the room to see if he’d forgotten anything, then hoisted up his packed bag. He was almost ready to go.
“I’ve made you something to nibble on for your journey down,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. He followed her down, bag in hand. He watched as she put four mini-quiches into a container and handed it over.
“I thought you’d like these more than sweet brownies – they’re much more substantial. Now don’t eat them all when you set off. You’ll appreciate them late afternoon when you get the nibbles.” Timing was important, but she could only suggest.
“Thanks, Sam. That’s nice of you. I appreciate it.”
Their eyes caught for a moment and she smiled. He’d always had beautiful eyes… He leaned in to kiss her, their lips touching briefly for the last time.
When he walked out the front door, she’d never see him alive ever again.
It was a sobering thought.
She needed a drink.
Chapter Sixty-One
She looked every part the businesswoman. Her smart navy suit fell a little below her knee; a deep cream blouse with a plunging neckline set off her blonde hair perfectly. The look was completed by a pair of large pearl studs in her ears and a swipe of pale peach lipstick – she was aiming for classy.
Funny how a change of style of clothes could make a person feel so different about themselves. Amanda’s normal attire of work suit and Doc Martens was functional, though certainly not what you’d call stylish. High heels were impractical on the job for many reasons; really, it was only TV cops who wore them, women who, incredibly, managed to sprint over gravel and climb chain-link fences without difficulty when the time came. No ankles were ever broken in the making of those episodes. Away from television and back in the land of reality, of course, it was a completely different story, so she’d head back home to change out of her Wonder Woman suit after her assignment.
Kodaline sang about all she wanted while Amanda drove down Purley Way, headed towards a bacon sandwich and a spot of early morning surveillance over a Styrofoam cup of tea. Thinking she’d better tell Jack what she was up to, she directed Siri to call him. Kodaline and her song faded down and a loud ringing tone.
“Morning, Lacey-McGregor, or McGregor-Lacey, or whatever you’re now called,” he teased her, chewing loudly and following up with a slurp.
“I gather you’re still finishing breakfast.”
“Yes. Full English this morning, too. Mrs. Stewart came early specially to make it. Good of her, eh?”
“Yeah, great. Send her over when you’ve done with her. I have a few chores that need doing. But right now, I thought I’d fill you in on where I’m headed.”
“Oh? And where’s that?” Another slurp. Amanda envisioned him with his mug, a brown sauce–stained plate in front of him.
“I’m a businesswoman with a need for something to calm me, so I’m going to order a bacon sandwich with a side order of special sauce. I want to see what happens, and who makes it happen. All being well, I should have something to report back when I get to work. If I’m not in by ten, it’s gone horribly wrong and you’ll probably find me whacked and tied up in the bushes somewhere nearby.”
“Cheery thought, Lacey. Righto, then. Thanks for letting me know. You be careful, and I’ll see you a bit later.”
“Never thought of that, Jack, but will do,” she said, rolling her eyes. Though he was only a handful of years older than her, he treated her like the daughter he had never had. And for the most part, she let him; in many ways, he was the father she had never been close to.
The line went dead, and Kodaline’s soft, eerie voice again filled the car. Up next was Meghan Trainor. Perfect; Amanda was in the mood for something quietly soothing.
Ten minutes later, she swung the car into the layby, and parked at the furthest corner, as out of sight of the van as possible. Satisfied that the staff couldn’t see her, she turned the engine off and pretended to be searching her bag for something. Compact make-up mirrors were one of the best surveillance tools, she’d learned: they looked completely natural yet were small enough to see around without looking obvious – unless you were a man, of course. Amanda took hers out and pretended to preen a little, all the time watching the front of the van and who was doing what. Even though it was still early, there were already a couple of people queuing. Both were wearing business suits, and both had their phones in their hands. To the uninitiated, there was nothing wrong with the picture but Amanda stayed put, watching and pretending to adjust her make-up.
Her phone rang. It was Ruth.
“I have something for you that may be of use.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“I’ve just spoken to Valance and run a hypothetical at him, and he came back with how it could be done. I say could, not is – that’s up to your team. The detectives.”
“Come on, then – spill the beans,” Amanda said. “I don’t need a disclaimer statement attached.”
“Crypto currency could be used easily, and there are various forms now –loads, in fact, not only Bitcoin. In fact, he says it’s unlikely to be Bitcoin because it’s way too valuable. He mentioned Monero and Dash and a couple of others, but here’s the thing.” Ruth took a breath then carried on. “Anyone can do it, and it still runs off the Onion browser, but money can be added to the app. But it can’t be done on an iPhone: Apple doesn’t support crypto apps. So Android would more than likely be the one to use. Have a look at which phones customers are using if you can. From what he says, you won’t find an iPhone amongst them.”
“Nice work, Detective McGregor-Lacey. Does he have any idea how money changes hands through the app?”
“He said he’d do some checking, but his initial thought was what he called a ‘pooled wallet,’ where value is assigned to an account but no specific currency is associated with it. It basically means funds are harder to track. To purchase, the buyer would then wire the currency to the app, and hey presto! – transaction almost complete.”
“Nice one, Ruth. Thanks. I’d better go and see what’s what, then. Wish me luck.”
“Stay safe, eh?” Sheesh – first Jack, and now Ruth. Amanda rolled her eyes heavenward. Well, at least they cared.
“Will do. See you later.” Amanda rang off and glanced over to the food truck. T
he queue had grown to four people waiting.
“May as well get going,” she mumbled as she made her way across the uneven ground in heels she wasn’t used to. Little pieces of fine gravel pinged as her heels caught the loose covering and she was thankful it was a clear morning. Holding an umbrella and balancing at the same time might have been a problem. Amanda joined the back of the queue, eyes and ears on high alert. Immediately she noticed a couple of things: first, no one was talking at all, although that wasn’t necessarily cause for alarm; these people were probably all strangers. Second, each person had their phone in their hand – again not all that uncommon, but on further inspection, she noticed that not one of them was an iPhone. Again, that on its own wasn’t startling, but given Ruth’s intel and her own suspicions about what went on at this particular food van, it was a glaring indicator.
Amanda watched carefully now. As each person placed their order, they put their phone on the serving hatch, screen up. Someone not paying attention, someone who was there solely to get a sandwich and nothing else, would probably not have noticed this. Intrigued, Amanda moved forward in the queue, watching closely without seeming to watch.
Her main question now was how such an operation could be marketed to those looking to shop, because the suppliers, the two men inside the food van, could hardly hang their sign out, could they?
There were a couple of ways to find out more. And Amanda was going to try them both.
Chapter Sixty-Two
The man directly in front of her had turned his head as Amanda joined the back of the queue and given her a smile of admiration – as well as a rather obvious top-to-bottom look she could have done without. “Too bad, buddy. I’m taken,” she thought gleefully. Still, it was good to know she could still pull, even if it was a man.
“Good morning,” he drawled when he’d finished browsing.
Play nicely, Amanda …
“Morning,” she said, acting friendly. She was keen to chat with Mr. Smooth if she could.
“The best bacon sandwiches this side of Watford Gap, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, the best.” Another bright smile from Amanda.
“Do you come here often?”
Amanda groaned inwardly. Seriously, did he have nothing better? That was the cheesiest chat-up line in the book, though there could have been a double meaning to his question. “I’ve just come a couple of times,” she said, “but as you say, they are the best. They give me a bit of a buzz, actually. Love the special sauce.”
She watched his face and waited. His eyes flicked across hers, searching for her own double meaning, she assumed. At last he nodded slightly. No doubt about it: he knew exactly what she was referring to – and it wasn’t the bacon.
He held his phone out – an Android – and waggled it in the space between them, like a secret being shared between two friends.
Amanda smiled knowingly. “What currency do you use? Monero or something else?” She wore a natural, easy-going smile, as if they were two friends discussing laundry powder.
Mr. Smooth was definitely eager to chat, although he clearly thought he was getting somewhere with the classy-looking woman behind him.
“Yeah, I started with Monero,” he said self-importantly, “though I use Dash now. I’ve tried a few, actually, but in the interests of keeping it away from prying eyes, I juggle things a bit.” He touched his nose and gave her an exaggerated wink. “And you?” he enquired chummily.
“Same as you, actually,” she said, smooth as butter. “Seems to work.”
The queue shuffled forward, and another man joined in behind Amanda, phone in hand.
Amanda turned back to Mr. Smooth. “How did you find this place?”
“Probably the same way you did. A friend told me I should try their sandwiches if I wanted a little stress relief. I thought they did ‘massages’“ – he made air quotes around the word – “until I figured it out. Wasn’t sure if I was going to get a helping hand or a hand job when I first came.”
He threw his head back and laughed at his own wit, and Amanda did her best to join in. The man in front of him turned around and scowled, but Mr. Smooth ignored him. “But it’s all done so nicely,” he went on, lowering his voice. “No one who didn’t know about it would be any the wiser.”
Amanda smiled. “Yes, extremely clever, and neat too.” Lowering her own voice even more, she asked him, “How many outlets are there? Any idea?”
They shuffled forward again. Mr. Smooth was up next.
“I don’t know of any others myself,” he whispered, “but there must be, right? To set it up like they have. It’s not like the days when ice cream vans first started serving alcohol from their fridge instead of Mivvies. My guess is the queues of blokes waiting for ice cream gave the game away on that one.” He made air quotes around “ice cream.” “None of that here, though,” he went on, glancing around him. “Just a few folks lining up for breakfast, you and me included.” He gave her another sickly wink and then moved forward to place his order.
She watched discreetly as he set his phone on the counter, screen up. She could see an app page open, waiting. It happened so smoothly that anyone not in the know really would be hard pushed to notice; she had to admit she was impressed. From her current position, Amanda was now able to see what was happening inside the van. One male was cooking and putting bacon sandwiches together. A second male slipped a serviette and sachets of special sauce into the bag, along with what looked like a sachet of salt. Except Amanda knew it wasn’t salt; it was something a lot more relaxing than that. And who in their right mind put salt on their bacon sandwich, anyway?
Mr. Smooth moved off with his order, waving lightly as he walked back to his car, and wished her a nice day as he went. Smiling, Amanda stepped up and placed her order for a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea and waited. How very vanilla of her, considering the present company.
It was extremely clever, Amanda mused. Nobody would suspect the white sachets had anything sinister in them and, as no large cash notes had changed hands (she had used only a few coins paying for the sandwich), there had been no obvious transaction either. To the casual observer the men in the van were simply selling and serving bacon sandwiches.
Damn clever.
So, who was the mastermind behind this venture? Maybe DS Duncan Riley could shed some light on that later.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Amanda hadn’t gone home to change before heading back to the station, figuring she’d be ready for dinner with Duncan later that day so what the hell.
She soon wished she had. The first wolf whistle landed while she struggled to climb out of the car without exposing too much thigh in the process.
“Oh, for hell’s sake,” she mumbled as her heel caught on the floor mat. Cursing, she yanked her shoe off and set one stockinged foot on the ground, looking for all the world like a hippy celeb staggering out of a limo. The observer whistled again and was rewarded with a swift middle finger from Amanda.
With both feet on the ground and once again contained within their shoes, she clumped off towards the station, noticing the backs of a couple of the men as they scurried inside ahead of her.
Jack swivelled round in his seat as she approached and his face lit up with a cheeky grin. “I didn’t know you cared, Amanda. I’d have dressed up a little if I’d known.” He rearranged his tie theatrically.
“Not you too, Jack,” she groaned, and feigned a swat at him. “Can’t a woman wear nice clothes occasionally?”
“Oh, that she can. And you should do so more often – you scrub up rather well.”
She cocked a brow at him. “Hardly practical in our job. I’ll be back to functional tomorrow. And my feet are killing me already in these shoes. Where’s my Doc Martens when a girl needs them?” She slipped her shoes off under her desk and rubbed the side of her foot. “But it worked, though. I now know what’s going on.”
“Really? Go on, then.”
“I will, but I need coffee fir
st. You want some?”
They set off for the kitchen, and as they waited for their coffees, Amanda filled Jack in on what she’d learned from chatting with Mr. Smooth and her observations on the inside of the operation.
“So, the salt packs aren’t salt at all,” Jack mused. “I wondered why they weren’t printed when you found them in that rubbish bin, but I thought no more about it. And they wouldn’t get mixed up with the real salt because that would be in printed sachets, I’m guessing.”
“Precisely.”
“But we still don’t know how many vans are operating, do we?” Jack said thoughtfully. “And I suspect it’s more than one. How the hell do we find out, do you think? This could be nationwide or just a local network.”
“Quite, but I think the first place to start is van ownership. We loosely traced this one back to one of Duncan’s contacts, so we could do the same with any others on our patch. See what we’re dealing with ourselves before taking it further afield.”
“I’m on to it. Shouldn’t be too hard to get a list of license holders from the council. I’ll get Raj to give me a hand.” Jack drained his coffee mug and thumped it down with satisfaction. “That, Lacey, was a good cup of coffee.”
Amanda smiled at his back as he returned towards his own desk and work. It seemed she’d been dismissed.
“Well, I guess I’d better tell Dopey what we’ve got going on,” she said, and padded off barefoot towards DI Dupin’s office. He was seated at his desk engrossed in a document in front of him, his bald patch more prominent than ever, it seemed. She knocked on the doorframe with a knuckle to get his attention.
Without looking up he said, “What is it, Lacey?”
“How’d you know it was me, sir?”
“You forget I’m a detective too, Lacey, and to answer your question, first of all I saw you, and second, your perfume.”
Immediately Amanda wondered if she’d been putting too much on.
