by Linda Coles
“No, I know that, but the ferocity of the hallucinations he mentioned seems extreme. Worth checking if it’s not too late. Right,” she said, standing. The coffee break was over. “I’ll call the doc and ask her to do a tox screen, and you check in with Rick. Then we’ll head over and see how our man is this morning. I believe his wife is coming down.”
Jack’s antennae pricked up. “That should be interesting to see. Can’t we plant a camera and mic and watch remotely?”
Amanda raised her eyebrows in a ‘no.’
“Good idea, though, don’t you think?”
“It’s still no.”
Duncan was sitting propped up in bed. Normal colour had returned to his face and he spoke with a more natural voice again, his throat having healed nicely overnight. He greeted Amanda and Jack with bright eyes and an equally bright smile as they entered. Clearly Duncan was feeling much better.
“Looks like I’ll be heading back towards home soon. Just a couple more days in hospital and I think they’ll let me go home.” He sounded chipper for someone who had had the ordeal of his life a little over 24 hours ago. “Sam called me too. She’s on her way. I could have saved her a journey.” Again, his beaming smile. Amanda couldn’t help wonder if he’d had a full change of heart about her. But given what Rick had found, and what they had yet to tell him, well, who knew how he’d react. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
They pulled chairs up and sat down. Amanda took the lead.
“It’s good to see you looking so much better, Duncan. You had us all worried there for a while.”
“It seems like a distant memory now, apart from the throb in my hand. My shoulder doesn’t feel so bad in comparison. They reckon I’ll need another operation on it in a few days. Looks like I’ll be desk bound for a while.”
“Duncan, I need to ask you a couple of sensitive questions. Regarding Sam, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Do you remember what you said when you were first found, along the lines of ‘look at Sam’?”
They watched as the smile vanished from Duncan’s face.
“I wasn’t myself. I was hallucinating. Badly. God, I’ve never felt so ill as that night.”
“I understand. But we had to check it out – run the normal account checks, telco, bank, etcetera. You understand.”
“I’m guessing from your tone something came up.” It wasn’t a question.
Amanda pressed on. “There was a bank transaction, a loan taken out, of twenty thousand pounds.” A flicker of surprise showed on his face. “There was also a withdrawal the following day of six thousand pounds. Would you know what those were for, by chance?”
Duncan’s face was utterly blank now; it was clear he had no clue what the money meant.
At that moment, the door opened and in walked Sam herself, looking for all the world like the concerned wife of any man in. As she bent over the bed and brushed his lips with hers, attempting to give him a hug without hurting him, Amanda and Jack both discreetly rolled their eyes.
Jack mouthed, “Question her here?”
Amanda shook her head no. “Not yet,” she mouthed back.
They stepped tactfully out of the room and waited in the family room until Sam had finished her doting wife routine.
Duncan would surely ask her about the money, Amanda thought. Wouldn’t he?
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Amanda and Jack sat patiently in the waiting room, chatting waiting for Sam to finish her visit and clear off.
Amanda’s phone buzzed. The caller ID showed DS Black. She hit answer and put the call on speakerphone.
“Hi, Rick. You’re on speakerphone with Jack. Anything to report?”
“Hello to you both, and yes, you could say that. It’s probably better you take me off speakerphone and relay back to Jack when we’ve finished. Let’s say it’s extremely sensitive and walls have ears.”
Amanda and Jack exchanged a look, and Amanda clicked the speakerphone off again and put the phone to her ear.
“Go ahead. It’s just me now. What’s up?”
“First, don’t ask me how I know this because I called a favour in. I now need evidence to back it up, evidence that we can use in court, because what I’m about to tell you won’t fly on its own.”
“Let’s hear it, and then we can see what we’re dealing with.”
“Sam was behind the attempted hit. Paid six thousand as a down payment, likely another six on completion. The site she used is no longer operating. It closed up shop and moved on like many of them do. My source followed her trail easily. She left tracks, and because we were looking at an individual, the trace was easy enough to do.”
He let that sink in and waited for her to respond.
“So Duncan was correct to begin with,” Amanda said, “but now he’s saying she wouldn’t do such a thing. He either doesn’t want her in trouble or simply doesn’t want to believe it, eh?”
“Could be. But it gets worse. She’s also been buying packets of painkillers both locally and online, more than the average household would use. My guess is, and it’s only a guess, she will be getting other stuff as well. Maybe losing her job hit her harder than we realized.”
“And my guess is Duncan doesn’t know that part either.”
“Correct, but it explains the regular cash withdrawals I found. They’ve been going back a few months. It won’t be that hard to find out exactly where she’s buying from.”
“Well, that may be related to our news,” Amanda said thoughtfully. “We’ve asked Faye Mitchell to run a tox screen because Duncan’s hallucinations don’t add up. I’m wondering if he took something without knowing it. It makes even more sense now we know Sam arranged for his death. We should get the results later today. And speaking of Sam, she just arrived a few minutes ago.”
“Urgh, thanks. Let’s see what the tox comes back with. We could maybe trace a positive result back to her. At least that evidence would stand up.”
“Agreed. They’re moving him tomorrow; will you tail her from your end? At least possession would be a start, and I doubt much will happen while she’s down here.”
“Will do. Oh, and until the results come back, don’t say anything to Duncan. I’ll do it later if need be. Buddy to buddy, as it were.”
“Understood. He only knows about the loan, nothing more, and we’d just told him about that when Sam arrived, so I’ll keep you posted. I need to ask you something else, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Remember when we talked about Wilfred Day and our suspected food van connection? Well, Duncan was going to go through what he knew just before this all happened. So it never got discussed. Perhaps when this is all over, we can go over what we both know in a bit more detail?”
“Absolutely. Any way I can help let me know.”
“Great. Speak to you later.”
Amanda rang off and then filled Jack in, though he’d already caught the gist of it. Sam Riley had balls, that was for sure. But would those same balls keep her out of trouble? That depended on how Duncan reacted to the news when Rick had a word sometime later.
Rick sat with his phone in his hand, unsettled by the mention of Wilfred’s name again. He’d always thought he’d eventually get Day, that the man would trip up eventually, but now he wasn’t so sure. Without Day, how else could he have found out what Sam had planned, and about her drug problem? By hacking in as he had, Wilfred Day could well have saved Duncan’s life. Did Rick now owe Day, rather than the other way around?
Later that afternoon, Dr. Faye Mitchell sent a terse text to Amanda.
Drop by my office ASAP.
“Grab your jacket, Jack,” Amanda yelled across to his desk, where he was busy writing up a report. “Faye has news.”
Dr. Faye Mitchell’s office was on the other side of Croydon, which, in non-rush-hour traffic, took only twenty minutes tops. It was however, rush hour and that meant double. By the time they’d arrived and parked, there weren’t many people
left in the red brick building. They hurried into her sparse second-floor office, which even on a hot sunny day gave Jack the chills. Faye seemed to like a cold working environment.
“Come in. Sit down.” She directed them to the two chairs in front of her desk. “I thought it best to go through this in person rather than over the phone.”
Jack and Amanda both looked at one another, excited.
“Ever heard of solanine?” she asked.
“Nope, can’t say I have.” This from Jack.
“Ever remember your mum telling you that green potatoes were poisonous?”
They nodded.
“I thought that was an old wives’ tale,” stated Amanda. “But go on.”
“Our boy Duncan was more than likely poisoned, intentionally if the amounts of solanine in his system are anything to go on. Many of us have small amounts of solanine in our systems simply from the foods we eat, but Duncan’s levels were over the top. I’d say given his reaction – the strength of his hallucinations, his extreme stomach upset and the lingering sore throat – he’s lucky to be with us, never mind the bullet wounds. Someone tried very hard to kill him, it seems. Well done for thinking about the hallucinations, Amanda!”
Amanda didn’t feel like celebrating, but the result did now give them real cause to talk to Sam more formally. Assuming Sam had given it to him, of course – that was the next hurdle. She needed to get Rick to look in the rubbish bins at the house and find whatever it was she’d given him. She hoped the bins hadn’t already been collected and emptied.
“I need to make a call quickly,” she announced, and stepped outside to speak to Rick. He listened closely and said he’d get on to it, but first he wanted to give Duncan a call since he was now more coherent. Perhaps a casual conversation would tell them what food they were looking for.
“Is Sam still there?” Amanda asked him.
“I don’t think so. She said she had to get back for the girls.”
Sitting back in her chair, Amanda felt excited and deflated at the same time.
What sort of woman would go to such extremes to get rid of her husband?
Chapter Eighty
Rick didn’t waste any time getting a team round to Sam’s place. He’d then headed out to the hospital to speak with Duncan again and had learned that Sam had baked some delicious little quiches for his journey down. Duncan had also told him what a change he’d seen in her recently, how lovely she’d been to him and the girls. He was lucky to have her, he said.
Rick had been puzzled by that; he wondered if Duncan was telling the truth or just trying to convince himself of the opposite to what he had already suspected himself. Reluctantly, he decided not to question him about the bank loan; he had no wish to upset him further. It would have to wait until later.
Sam had left just after 2 p.m., Duncan told him, so with a bit of luck she’d be home before the traffic really jammed up.
That left Rick precious little time to get a warrant and find the offending pies.
A short time later, Rick entered the Rileys’ home accompanied by two officers dressed in white coveralls. They quickly found what they were looking for – the remainder of the home baking nicely tied up in a bin liner and shoved halfway down the bin. Why she hadn’t flushed them down the toilet instead Rick had no idea. If you were planning on poisoning someone, it seemed pretty obvious to him to dispose of any further evidence, but then that’s why the prisons were filled the world over: they were filled with dumb pricks. He was, however, grateful that Sam fell into that category. Now they had real reason to question her formally. He was looking forward to hearing what she had to say on the matter. And soon.
Sam saw two cars parked outside her house as she turned into her street. The girls were in the back, chattering about their day and about how they’d had donuts with Anika after school. She only half-heard them now. One of the parked cars was Rick’s; the other was a painted squad car. What the hell had happened now? And what did they want with her?
Pulling into her drive, she instructed the two girls to stay in the car for a moment while she went inside. She climbed out and almost sprinted up the path. She yanked open the front door and . . . silence. Where were they? As she passed through the house, she spotted them through the kitchen window: they were going through her rubbish. At that precise moment, maybe he sensed she was home because Rick Black looked up and their eyes met. And held. Suddenly it dawned on Sam what they were looking for exactly – and they were in that bin. Inside, she was screaming at her own stupidity.
Shit, she hissed – and saw Rick watching her face.
Sam wanted to bolt but that wasn’t possible. They’d only give chase, making it worse for her in the long run. What reason would she give?
Think, think, think!
Sam stood stock still as Rick approached the back door, his eyes never wavering until he reached the step. Knowing the door was locked, he knocked politely and she went to let him in.
Act normal, Sam …
“Hello, Rick. What’s going on out there?” She hoped her smile wasn’t too false; it was the best one she could muster under the circumstances.
“Hello, Sam. May I come in?”
She stood back and opened the door fully, then stood aside to let him in. He stood in front of the kitchen window, looking out at nothing it seemed, and then he spoke. Slowly.
“It looks like Duncan had been poisoned as well as shot.”
She raised both hands to her open mouth in shock. That bit was real – how had they found out that nugget of info when they’d only just retrieved the pies?
“Oh my God! How?”
“Looks like something he ate that day; something was put in his food. But here’s the thing – apart from a bowl of cornflakes and a canteen meal of egg and chips, he only ate one other thing before falling ill.” He looked straight at her. “And that was your home baking – quiche, I believe.”
She swallowed deeply. So they already suspected her. But did they know about the contract to have Duncan killed?
Rick moved on. “Sam, are we going to find something in the rest of those pies that, for some reason, you put in the bin? Something that would have given Duncan such a serious reaction?” He paused. “Poisonous potatoes, perhaps?”
They knew. And as soon as the pies were tested, they’d know it was her. There was no point in denying it. Sam took a seat at the table and put her head in her hands, hoping for a moment to think through the mess. As far as she knew, it was only the poisoning, nothing more. Waterworks might help.
“Looks like I’ve been rumbled,” she said wearily. Tears welled in her eyes and she let them fall freely. “I only wanted to give him an upset stomach so he’d come home the next day and not go on the stupid course. We never see him anymore. It’s all work, work, work with him, and when he is here, he’s not really present. I didn’t mean to do any real harm – you’ve got to believe that!” With each word she sounded more distraught, so by the end of her last sentence, she was almost shouting her innocence.
Rick stood silently, watching Sam’s tear-stained face, which was turning pinker by the second. Had he got it wrong, then? Was this part as she said it was, and not actually an attempt on his life? But he knew about the contract, the one she herself – the woman sat in front of him, the wife of his work partner – had set rolling and paid good money for. Six thousand pounds, to be precise.
No matter that it was illegally obtained evidence. He couldn’t let that go.
Chapter Eighty-One
They’d finally left her in peace. But had Sam been convincing enough? Would her spur-of-the-moment story fly? She mentally slapped herself for being so careless with the remaining pies. Why the hell hadn’t she dumped them away from the house, in a public rubbish bin for the rats to feast on? But it was done and dusted now: they had the hard evidence in their bag and she’d had to admit as much as she’d sat there in the kitchen with Rick.
The big question now was, what would happen next? Wi
th Duncan in hospital for another day or two, there was precious little time to cover her tracks if they did look at her any further. The money was an issue, though, and one she knew they’d easily find out about, though she figured the crypto transfer aspect would be safe. Once she had a plausible explanation for the loan and the missing £6000, there was nothing else to tie her to his attempted murder. No, she’d been tucked up in bed when he’d been shot. The text she’d sent shortly beforehand would prove her phone had been used near to or inside their house. And her car wouldn’t be on a CCTV motorway camera anywhere because she hadn’t stepped out the door. No, she had been safely at home and safely out of trouble.
But the £6000 irked her, and the fact that she’d had no reply and no means of contacting ‘him’ irked her even more. She pulled her laptop close and began to search; maybe he had another site, another shop – though how she’d know if another was his, she had no clue. It was worth a try, though. The money needed returning and soon.
From the privacy of his knocked-through house, a G&T by his side, Wilfred Day followed her keystrokes as she did her best to search. He watched as she scrolled through other hit-for-hire sites, clicking, backing out, clicking the next one, backing out again. He raised an eyebrow. Good lord – was she actually searching for another hit man, someone to finish the job off properly?
“Feisty little minx, aren’t you, Mrs. Riley?” He picked his phone up and dialled.
Rick stared at his phone as it vibrated. The screen said Will D, his own code for Wilfred Day in case someone was looking over his shoulder. He clicked accept.
“Thought you should know, she seems to be searching again, looking for another hit. It’s over to you,” Day told him.
