The order listed cleaning equipment: a cleaning brush, cleaning solution for upholstery, some Milton liquid, a nail brush. The order had been made via eBay. Not the typical auction process, but a ‘Buy It Now’ order much like a standard internet shop purchase. Eva flipped the sheet over.
The next sheet down showed an order for a hacksaw and rubble bags from Screwfix, the building supplies firm. There were also two plastic decorators’ sheets, two rolls of duct tape and a jumbo box of blue paper tissues. The items were pictured on the order sheet and looked to be the kind used by some public toilets, hospitals and doctors’ surgeries.
“Do you see when these were ordered?” said Lauren, pointing at the purchase dates on the first and second sheets. Both were dated the ninth.
“Three days ago,” said Eva.
“Yes. Which means he’ll likely have received all of these things by now.”
Eva frowned and scanned the sheets again.
“How did you get these?” said Eva. “I thought you couldn’t get into his emails.”
“I couldn’t, at least not into the account you wanted. But these aren’t from his personal email account, Eva. These are from his work emails, which is accessible from the intranet. Although Jamie always seems to think he has everything covered, a couple of things seem to have slipped his mind. Back in the early lovey-dovey days, he gave me access to his work email account. It was his way of showing that he trusted me. We were pretty close by then. He gave me his email credentials so I could run errands for the business under his name. I only did it once or twice, but I’ve got a very good memory for stuff like numbers and passwords. I had to try it. Thankfully Jamie hadn’t changed his credentials.”
“And you found these purchase orders there?”
“Yes and just look at what he’s been buying. First there was the knife in his car, now he’s ordering hacksaws, rubble bags and cleaning equipment… What does that tell you? And all of this stuff could be sitting in his car boot right now, ready to use whenever he chooses.”
“And you think this stuff is for…?”
“Yes, of course. And what? And you don’t?” said Lauren, “Come on. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Eva swallowed. The eBay orders had been made under the profile name JayBlay82 It looked like the account had been well established. JayBlay82’s profile had collected over two hundred and seventy stars for feedback. The Screwfix order had been paid for online using Blane’s credit card, and the order was a next-day pick up from the Basildon Screwfix depot. Proving whether Blane had collected the order would have been verifiable by a visit to the store, but looking at the paperwork, Eva had little reason to doubt it. The order looked genuine, had been paid for by his card, and had come from the man’s private work email account. But Eva still reminded herself to be thorough. So far everything was still a little too circumstantial for her taste.
Eva looked up from the sheets and found Lauren watching her. Her detached, critical thinking must have shown in her eyes.
“Look at what he’s buying, Eva. Look at the timeframe too. You saw what he did to me before. Think about what this means.”
Eva nodded and moved on. “Did you find anything on his work emails related to his wife’s fatal accident?” said Eva.
Lauren’s face hardened by degrees.
“No. I already told you about that. They were on his personal emails and he started guarding that laptop like its treasure. These were my next best way in. But if these still aren’t good enough for you, then look at this.”
Lauren peeled back the next sheet to reveal an email conversation between Jamie Blane and the office girl Suzie.
“I should have checked this email account right at the start,” said Lauren.
Eva found herself looking at a flirty email conversation between Jamie Blane and one of his female members of staff. The messages soon descended into an email game, a text-tennis of two-line messages outlining his attraction to the young woman, followed up by the girl’s eager responses. By the end of the second sheet, the conversation, over a span of two weeks, was already celebrating their most recent tryst and detailing plans for another. A few of the later messages were almost gruesomely explicit.
“He used to use lines like that on me. Now, reading them in black and white makes me want to puke. But here’s the thing -the thing that really counts,” said Lauren. She tapped her finger low down on the second sheet. Eva scanned the words. It had been written by the woman at work.
“It’s a real shame she’s still hanging around your apartment. Otherwise we could have fun like that all the time.”
Lauren’s fingernail traced Blane’s reply. She tapped the words to underline them.
“Forget about her. She can’t stop what we’ve got between us, Suzie. Don’t worry. She’ll be gone soon.”
“That was last week, Eva. Last week. It all fits together, you can see that. Poor little Suzie Appleby is getting herself lined up to jump into my bed so she can become Jamie’s next penthouse doll. She doesn’t understand what she’s setting herself up for. Jamie’s first wife died because of him, next it’ll be me, and soon devious little Suzie will end up in the trash just the same.”
Eva’s brow dipped over her eyes. “Look… I know what this looks like.”
“What? Don’t you dare tell me I’m imagining things!”
“No, Lauren, I agree. He’s certainly having an affair. And it sounds like he’s set up another date. Which is kind of interesting…” Eva ran her finger under the text, committing the details to memory. “But all these other things – do they really mean he’s going to kill you? Can you be sure?”
“Damn it. What’s it going to take for you to listen? You said you’d help! He’s got a knife. Now he’s ordering body bags! What more do you want? My actual body?”
“They’re rubble bags, Lauren.”
“And does Jamie strike you as the type of man who might be planning to knock down a wall? Come on! He’s never built anything in his whole damn life. Those bags are for me, Eva. For me! Stop pretending this isn’t happening. I can’t afford to pretend otherwise. I have to see things as they are, if not, I’m going to end up dead!”
The woman behind the counter looked up from the bread slicing machine. Lauren lowered her voice to an insistent whisper.
“You have to see this as I do. Please.”
Eva sighed. Before she could say a word, Lauren snatched the sheets away to reveal the last two in the pack.
“Fine, then. Whatever,” said Lauren. “But read these. This is the last thing I’ve got. What you say after reading these will tell me everything I need to know.”
The insistence in Lauren’s eyes forced Eva’s eyes down to look at the sheet. Eva scanned the text.
The emails were dated from the end of the previous month. They were short and terse, and it seemed, deliberately vague. Eva read them once then read them over again. The email conversation took place over one single working day. A Friday. The messages were unusually brief, but the manner and content of the messages suggested the two men were familiar. And IronVelvet had to be male. The replies came from his email account, and all of them were blunt, masculine and to the point…
Jamie Blane: Got another problem to solve. Can you handle it?
Reply: I’m busy. Too much on. Look elsewhere.
Jamie Blane: Like where? I can’t look elsewhere.. Too much risk in outsourcing elsewhere.
Reply Size of the job?
Jamie Blane. Smaller than last time. Not a problem for you.
Reply. One or more?
Jamie Blane. One.
Reply: When?
Jamie Blane. ASAP. I’ve got plans.
Reply. Maybe – if you lay groundwork. But ASAP means larger fee.
Jamie Blane. That’s acceptable, depending. Groundwork?
Reply. Yes. I’ll send you a list. Make sure get it fixed.
Jamie Blane. So you’ll do the job?
Reply. If you lay the groundwork, I’ll d
o the job. But you’ll have to finish it. I’m too busy for anything else. Take it or leave it.
Jamie Blane’s reply came at the end of the working day, after a three-hour gap – perhaps allowing the man time to think over the proposition.
Jamie Blane. I’ll take it.
Eva’s head ached as she read it. From a certain viewpoint the emails were unspeakably dark. But from another angle, the emails could have been work related, about a menial job, or an unwanted project-related task.
“I agree, Lauren, this does look iffy,” said Eva.
“Iffy?” said Lauren. “Look at the dates. Look at the purchase orders. Look at his emails to his latest tart, Suzie Appleby. Put it all together.”
Lauren leaned closer, the scent of her coffee breath reaching Eva’s nostrils. The woman flipped the sheet to show the signature at the bottom of the staccato emails.
“Remember that?” said Lauren.
Eva read the last word and looked up into Lauren’s eyes.
“IronVelvet,” said Eva. “Yes, I’d already guessed.”
“It’s the same name used in the emails I saw on Jamie’s personal account. It’s the same guy he contacted about his topping his wife. Eva, this means he hired this man to kill me ten days ago. I’m in danger, Eva, serious danger.”
Lauren’s eyes were deadly serious. Her face was flushed with emotion.
Eva looked at the email once more and read the sign-off name, the date, and looked at the format and the email address. It was the evidence she had asked for. Evidence that was difficult to dispute… The balance of probabilities had shifted beyond reasonable doubt.
“He’s going to kill me, Eva. You can see it now, can’t you?”
“But why hurt you? I never got that part. If he wants you gone so he can get his thing going with the office junior, then why not just let you go?”
“Because he’s a control freak. He always has been. Because he’s a psycho? Maybe because he likes his exes dead? I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. I just want to get out of this with my life intact. Eva, you said you’d do whatever it takes. Now I know you won’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. If you abandon me, my blood will be on your hands – because you would have known I was in danger and done nothing.”
“But I never said I was going to abandon you!”
Lauren looked at Eva’s eyes and held them. “You never said the words. But I felt it all the same.”
“Give me a chance. I’m trying.”
“No, Eva. Give me a chance.”
There was a pause.
Eva closed her eyes, took a breath and looked up at the woman who had once been her best friend.
“What is it you want me to do exactly?” said Eva.
“I don’t know how long I’ve got left. I can’t wait for you to build your so-called leverage.”
“So what is it you want?”
“I want you to do the only thing you can do. I need you to take the kind of action you’ve done before. You said you would stop this man whatever it takes.”
Eva looked at Lauren knowing what she meant, feeling it, but still not believing… and yet she had known somehow that it would come to this.
“Whatever it takes?” Eva repeated.
Lauren nodded.
“The way I see it, there’s only one way out of this. Pre-emptive action. We have to strike him first.”
“Strike first?” said Eva, reading Lauren’s expression.
Lauren looked at the baker woman to check she wasn’t listening in but the woman seemed busy about her tasks behind the counter. Lauren nodded slowly and Eva saw there wasn’t a trace of doubt in her eyes. Right then Eva realised she was caught in a quagmire - trapped by her own words and obligations. She was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t. Staring through the window out into the diesel-fumed bus depot, Eva struggled to think of a way out. But she couldn’t find one.
“Yes,” said Lauren. “We strike hard. And we strike first…”
Fifteen
They were moving fast through the Westcliff streets, with Dan pushing the Egomobile well over the speed limit. Dan could have blamed the adrenaline coursing through his veins, or just the same bad old habits. But either way, the Egomobile was rattling under the pressure. Something deep underneath his convertible’s body was causing a problem and the exhaust was growling. The car sounded more of a beast than ever. Dan hoped they weren’t going to break down in the wild backwaters of Westcliff. Not good when a couple of armed rogues were hot on their heels. They sputtered along North Road, heading towards the big church and graveyard and busy London Road beyond, but they were still within easy spotting distance of The Albany Centre. This Crossfire was the second incarnation of the Egomobile. The first had been wrecked a good long time ago, and the new version had been bought a few years back after a tough case chasing a killer across town. The current version was an ‘05 model. Granted it was almost fifteen years old, but even so, Dan had hoped he would be able to rely on it as much as the original. But that was the trouble with relying on anything – eventually, there was a hundred per cent chance that it would let you down.
“Mark. I need to borrow your mobile,” said Dan.
Dan looked across at the unusual arrangement in the front passenger seat and the two passengers sitting there. Chrysler Crossfires were sporty two seaters, but tonight there were three people enjoying the ride. Which meant Mark had to share the seat with their latest companion, Alma Poulter. The woman’s big dark hair scraped the convertible’s ceiling because, awkwardly, she had no choice but to sit on Mark’s lap. With every bump and shudder of the car, the woman glowered down at Mark as if he was doing something inappropriate. But this was Mark. Inappropriate seemed to be one of his worst fears. Opening the woman’s knicker drawer had almost brought him out in hives. There was no way Mark would want to risk upsetting a firebrand like Alma. The girl was not to be messed with. Already, that much was plain to see.
“Mark?” said Dan, pressing his foot to the accelerator. The car was lacking its usual aggressive pace.
Mark leaned up in the seat and managed to brush past the woman’s tattooed bicep. She glared down at him again, but Mark wisely ignored her.
“I haven’t got it.”
“What?”
“I haven’t got my phone with me.”
“Why not?” snapped Dan.
“I really don’t use it that often. I suppose I must have left it in my rucksack.”
“You don’t use your mobile? You’re young. You’ve got a girlfriend. You should be using it all the time.”
Mark shrugged and shook his head.
Alma looked down at Mark then at Dan. “He’s got a girlfriend?” she said. “Is she real?”
“Of course’s she’s real!” snapped Mark.
But Alma was waiting for Dan to respond. He looked across at her and nodded. “Yes, she’s real. And she’s quite a looker too. But that’s not the most important thing on my mind right now.”
“It’s important to me,” said Mark.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Alma. “But the way you’re squirming underneath me down there, I think it would have been safer for you to sit on my lap.”
“Come on, stop it,” said Dan in irritation. “You can see I’m struggling here. I need you two to pipe down.”
“You knocked my bodyguard out cold, brought two armed gunmen into my safehouse, and then kidnapped me. And now you’re the one having a bad day?”
“Believe me,” said Dan, looking into the rear-view mirror, “none of this was on my wish list. You held the two of us captive first. My arms are still sore from all that tape. What was wrong with you? You went crazy with the stuff.”
“You looked a bit more capable than Penfold down there. I had to be sure you were out of the game. Seeing what you’ve done since you got free, I don’t think there’s any need for me to apologise.”
“What I’ve done is save your arse from two guys who looked like they
wanted your head on a platter.”
“Yes, and you brought them to me. You made it all happen. You’re the problem here, not me.”
“The real problem is that two villains with guns were after you. I doubt we’d have ever had the pleasure of meeting each other if not for that little fact.”
“Can you shift your backside, you’re hurting my knees?” said Mark.
“If your knee has a problem, move it,” said Alma, as she looked back at Dan. “Who do you want to call anyway?”
“My partner. She needs to be told what’s happening. She needs to know the client is a scumbag.”
“My, my,” said Alma. “Haven’t you whipped up a storm here.”
“I told you already, we were used. That guy – the first guy – the one with the nervy look…”
“The shaking hands,” said Poulter, “and the eighties hair.”
“Yes. He’s the guy who hired us. He said he was your brother.”
“I got that part,” said Alma with impatience.
“He said that you got in with some dealers in Watford and you didn’t know what you were getting into. He said they dragged you down here against your will.”
“You told me already. The problem is you believed it. How could anyone believe a story like that?” said the woman with more than a hint of derision in her voice.
“As a motive for looking for a missing person, it sounded reasonable,” said Dan. He shrugged, but he looked a tad sheepish. Alma kept her eyes on him, watching him like a stern teacher waiting for a naughty child to confess.
“And you didn’t check that story out before you started looking for me?”
“Hey. You were missing. He brought us some evidence too. The photograph of you at the DJ Toxic gig at Maison Sol. That was the hook that had us looking. It was good psychology. We didn’t have a reason not to believe him.”
“Trust me, there’s always a reason not to believe what anyone says. You being a gullible sucker isn’t an excuse for ruining my life.”
“You were already on the run, lady. I dare say you had a fair old hand in ruining your own life before we showed up.”
Cuts Both Ways Page 17
