The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets)

by James, Harper

  ‘Someone’s complained?’

  ‘Not exactly. He was approached by one of the strippers—not one of the girls involved, but another girl who doesn’t like what’s going on.’

  ‘A stripper with a conscience?’

  ‘It would appear so. And he’d very much like your client to come forward. So far all he’s got is one girl’s suspicions.’

  Evan shook his head even though Guillory couldn’t see him. ‘It’s not going to happen. He won’t risk his wife or work finding out.’ He thought about Jesse’s vehement refusal. ‘I’m not sure in which order he prioritizes them, though.’

  ‘He sounds like such a nice guy. Mr Public Spirited.’

  Evan knew Guillory well enough to know she’d be shaking her head sadly at the selfish ways of the world.

  ‘Everything you tell me about him makes me want to help.’

  ‘So that’s it, is it? Detective Angel isn’t going to do anything unless my client comes forward with a complaint.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it. Or someone else does.’

  Evan thought about the implications of what she’d just said.

  ‘You’re not suggesting I go down there, get drugged, spend thirty thousand on my credit card, and then go to see Angel, are you?’

  ‘Perhaps—if I thought your credit was good for thirty grand.’

  ‘You’ve got a point.’

  ‘What it all adds up to is unless your client makes a complaint and starts a proper investigation, you’re free to go down there and create mayhem—like you normally do.’

  It was the best news Evan had heard all morning.

  ‘Thank you, Detective. I’m going to take that as official endorsement. I am so pleased I record all my calls.’

  Evan cut the call to the sound of Don’t forget you owe me dinner coming down the line.

  Chapter 12

  ANGEL WAS RIGHT ABOUT the breakfast. It looked and smelled amazing. Gina wished she’d ordered some as she watched him work his way through three eggs with bacon and home fries. But she’d never have been able to eat it, her throat was too dry, her insides churning far too much. He offered her some toast but she couldn’t even face that.

  ‘You really should eat something,’ he said, not looking up from his meal. ‘I would have thought you needed to keep your energy levels up with all that dancing.’

  It was like he’d slapped her face. Her eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped as if she’d sat on a spike. She was lightheaded, her skin tingling all over.

  ‘What was that?’

  He looked up from his breakfast at last. He was smiling that same smile but it might have been because he was so pleased with himself.

  ‘That surprised you, eh?’

  She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to put her face either.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been fretting too much over telling me.’

  The tone of his voice told her he knew exactly how badly she’d been worrying about it. She ought to give him a slap.

  ‘How did you know?’ she said, her voice small and pathetic in her head.

  ‘I’m a detective, remember? When you first called up and mentioned Chi Chi’s—’

  She gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘You didn’t—’

  ‘Yeah, I called them up, spoke to the manager—I think his name was Bob Needledick—and said Hi, I’m a detective with the Louisville PD and I want to ask you about a girl called Gina who’s been telling tales out of school ...’

  Gina looked away, her face burning. ‘Sorry, that was stupid.’

  Angel took a sip of his coffee and picked up a toothpick. ‘Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I made a few enquiries and then when you turned that lovely green color and made a dash for the ladies’ room yesterday—’

  ‘So you’ve known all along?’

  She stared at the table top, unable to look him directly in the eye.

  He nodded. ‘Pretty much. And when I came by the club last night, that kind of clinched it.’

  Her head whipped up so fast she thought she’d cricked her neck. The grin was gone. So was the sparkle.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t.’ It sounded so whiny, she hated it.

  ‘I believe in being thorough,’ he said, inspecting his fingernails.

  She couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘I needed to check it out for myself.’

  ‘Just tell me you didn’t.’

  He extended his arms and put one hand firmly over his coffee cup and one over hers. ‘Okay, I didn’t,’ he said, his face splitting almost in two.

  She grabbed one of the cups and tried to push it into his lap. She might as well have tried blowing it across the table top. Even with both hands she couldn’t move his hand an inch.

  ‘You are so lucky.’

  His eyes said he knew it.

  She leaned back, took a deep breath and shook her hair out. Her shoulders relaxed, the lump in her throat went back down where it came from. It was so much better now it was out in the open. What she couldn’t decide was whether it was any easier the way he’d done it, rather than her fumbling her way around the issue. Whatever. It was done now.

  ‘Did you think I’d treat you any differently once you’d told me? Look down my nose at you? Start calling you Ms Morgan?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  He shook his head as if to say: what shall we do with you?

  ‘You’re working as an exotic dancer to pay your way through college. So damn what?’

  Again, she couldn’t keep the surprise off her face.

  He studied her with a wry smile on his face. ‘You’re carrying a University of Louisville tote bag and we’re two blocks from the campus.’ He jabbed his thumb at his chest. ‘I should be offended at your lack of faith in me as a detective. I’d guess it pays better than waiting tables too.’

  She couldn’t believe how easy she was to read. Not much mystery and intrigue surrounding her, that was for sure. It was like her life came straight out of a well-read book—and he didn’t miss a page.

  She nodded. ‘It does, but what would your mother’s friend say?’

  He gave a small shrug. ‘Probably something along the lines of Que sera sera.’ His smile got wider. ‘I don’t have to translate that for you, do I?’

  She pretended to go for the coffee cup again. He clamped his hand back down on it so hard it broke under the force, spraying them both with cold coffee. They stared stupidly at each other like a couple of naughty children.

  He leaned forward and for a moment time seemed to stop as she thought he was going to try to kiss her.

  ‘Look,’ he said and opened his mouth, ‘see any silver spoons in there?’

  The waitress came over to clear up the mess he’d made. They sat quietly, trying to keep their faces under control, feeling even more like naughty children.

  ‘I don’t know what it is with you young people these days,’ the waitress said. ‘In my day we used to kiss, not just show each other our teeth. What is that? Some kind of pre-kiss examination?’

  She looked at Angel, narrowed her eyes. ‘Looks like you failed the test, mister. Want me to show you how to use that toothpick?’

  The waitress winked at Gina and walked off. Gina checked her watch. Damn. She only had ten minutes before her class started. She was starving now but didn’t have time to order breakfast. She gave him a sheet of paper with the list of girls’ names and told him what she’d seen.

  ‘I know this was difficult for you—’ he said as they were leaving.

  ‘And you didn’t make it any easier.’

  ‘—but you’ve done the right thing. I want you to know I admire you for that.’

  ***

  BACK AT HIS DESK Angel went to work on the list of names Gina had given him. There were five of them actively involved, although she thought some of the other girls helped out as and when needed.

  An older woman called Samantha was the ringleader, and four others, all in their late twenties. Half an
hour’s work turned up pretty much what he would have expected for the younger women—assault, prostitution, some shoplifting and credit card fraud. Petty misdemeanors, that was all.

  Samantha was a different kettle of fish altogether. He’d have to take a closer look at her. Just looking at her made him realize what a risk Gina was taking. He wouldn’t like to mess with her if he was Gina’s size.

  There hadn’t been any complaints against the club—which there wouldn’t be if she was right and the guys were being blackmailed—and he couldn’t see what he could do about it. They’d been after the guy who owned the place, a mobbed-up psychopath called Tony D’Amato, for years. The stories and rumors surrounding him, of the things he’d done to people who crossed him, were amongst the worst Angel had come across, but they’d never managed to pin anything on him. It was always the way with these people. And it was no different this time, he didn’t have anything to go on. In the normal run of things, he wouldn’t have bothered with it unless something more concrete than one girl’s vague suspicions came to light.

  But it wasn’t the normal run of things this time. If Gina was right, she was taking a huge risk and he wanted to do something about it. From a professional and a personal point of view.

  Pushing back in his chair, he swung his feet onto the desk. He stretched lazily and laced his fingers behind his head and smiled to himself. He pictured Gina’s unblemished skin and the delicate flush that had risen unbidden to her neck and cheeks when he told her what the waitress had said, pictured the way she’d smiled, but with something missing, when he said he’d told the waitress it was strictly business.

  He had no doubt his mother had heard all about the pretty, young thing he’d had coffee with by now, how well they’d got on. Her friend was famous around the neighborhood for telling stories. It was said she gave the priest a headache when she went to confession. If she’d been true to form, the embellishments would have included holding hands at least, and probably kissing as well.

  He could look forward to a thorough grilling the next time he went over for dinner. If he gave a suspect the same treatment his mother would give him, he’d have Internal Affairs over him like a rash. And who knows, maybe his mother was right, maybe it was time he thought about settling down, starting a family, giving her the grandchildren she prayed for every night. He could certainly do a lot worse than Gina. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, his jaw tightening as he imagined what might happen to her if he couldn’t find a way to help.

  Chapter 13

  EVAN STARED AT HIS cell phone sitting on the desk, not wanting to pick it up, knowing he’d have to make the call sooner or later. He might as well get it over with. He briefly considered getting a pillow and wedging it between his ear and the phone when he made the call, because Charlotte was a firm believer in shoot the messenger.

  The previous day, at his own expense, he rented a nondescript compact auto with tinted windows. He couldn’t find his false nose and mustache, so he’d settled for a black hoodie. In the dark, with the tinted windows, he was confident his brother-in-law wouldn’t recognize him even if he happened to glance his way.

  He’d sat fifty yards down the street from Mitch and Charlotte’s house and tried not to think about what he was doing, tried hard not to resent Charlotte for putting him in this position. He’d watched as Mitch left the house, hefted his bowling bag into the back of his car and drove off.

  Evan knew the route Mitch should’ve taken if he really was out for an innocent evening’s bowling. But his heart had sunk as Mitch made a left instead of a right turn at the end of the street. His spirits lifted when Mitch pulled into a liquor store parking lot but fell again when he came out a few minutes later with what was obviously a bottle of wine and not a six-pack of beer. In all the years he’d known him, Evan had never seen a drop of wine pass Mitch’s lips. And he didn’t suppose the guys at the bowling alley were any different.

  His gut had tightened progressively the further they drove away from Mitch’s regular bowling alley, his heart pounding as if he was the one on his way to an illicit tryst. He’d yanked the hood of his top off his head angrily, sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and vowed he would never do this again, no matter what Charlotte or anybody else said, however much they begged, cried or threatened. He had never felt so disgusted with himself.

  Mitch had turned into a residential street very similar to the one where he lived—happily, Evan had thought—with Charlotte and parked up. Evan pulled his hood up again and timed it just right so that he passed the house as an attractive blond opened the door, half hiding behind it, presumably because she wasn’t wearing a lot of clothes. Mitch had slipped inside, the door closed and Evan had driven directly to the nearest bar.

  And now he had to make a call that would very probably contribute to the end of his sister and her husband’s marriage, leaving two more kids to grow up being pulled back and forth between parents who hated each other.

  ***

  EVAN ENDED THE CALL and sat quietly for five minutes, staring out the window, not thinking about anything. It had been worse than he thought it would be, but it was done now. Charlotte had assured him she wouldn’t bring his name into it, but Mitch wasn’t stupid, he’d work it out. Now Evan just needed a few minutes to himself before he called Jesse and lost himself in problems that weren’t so close to home.

  He hadn’t been looking forward to the prospect of going to Louisville, but now he positively embraced it, the chance to put some physical distance between him and family problems. But he had to talk to Jesse first. He knew it was a waste of time asking, but he needed to ask him anyway, see if he was prepared to talk to Angel. There was a lot of background noise when Jesse finally answered the call.

  ‘Where are you? I can hardly hear you.’

  There was a long pause before Jesse answered. He was walking somewhere fast. He sounded breathless. ‘I’m in the ... railway station.’

  It didn’t sound like a train station—it sounded more like an airport. There was a last call announcement in the background. But why would Jesse lie?

  ‘My contact in the local police department spoke to somebody down in Louisville.’ He was almost shouting to make himself heard. ‘A detective called Angel. He said that one of the strippers has come forward.’

  A huge sigh of relief came down the line. ‘Thank God for that,’ Jesse said. ‘This whole thing has really been getting to me. I’ve been so screwed up I was just about to—’

  ‘Sorry Jesse, it’s not one of the girls involved in the scam.’

  There was a long moment’s silence. He imagined Jesse slumping down into the nearest seat, deflated after the euphoria of a second ago.

  ‘It’s not?’ His voice was high and edgy. ‘Who then?’

  ‘Another stripper. She’s seen them drugging the customers but she doesn’t know exactly what happens in the private rooms.’

  He paused to let the implications sink in. It was definitely an airport in the background. There was no mistaking it. Jesse hadn’t said anything.

  ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not stupid,’ Jesse snapped with more force than was necessary. ‘Between me and the stripper, this Angel guy has got the whole picture. He wants to talk to me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  ‘You need to talk to him. It’s a better bet than anything I’m likely to dig up.’

  ‘I don’t know, Evan.’ Jesse’s voice was hesitant and Evan knew he’d lost his chance. ‘I could lose my job. I’ve got to go.’

  The line went dead. He looked at his phone but he’d definitely hung up on him. What the hell was that all about? He’d put money on Jesse being in an airport and then cutting the call as he dashed for his flight. But why lie about it? The answer was obvious—he didn’t want him to know where he was going. He tried calling him back but this time the phone was switched off. That clinched it— people like Jesse only ever turne
d their phone off when they were forced to do so.

  Jesse was getting on a plane. And it didn’t take a genius to work out where he was going—although what the crazy idiot planned to do when he got there was anybody’s guess. The guy was the dictionary definition of a loose cannon. Didn’t he think he was in enough trouble already?

  Evan didn’t have any choice in the matter now. If Jesse wouldn’t speak to Angel, he’d have to fly down there himself. He’d talk to Angel, take a look at the club and try to keep Jesse from causing any more trouble.

  Good luck with that, he thought bitterly to himself as he booked himself a flight.

  ***

  TROUBLE COMES IN THREES. After he’d booked his flight and found a hotel, he checked his email. It was mostly spam as usual, a few things he needed to follow up on. Dull, boring routine stuff. He caught a yawn in his fist, rubbed his eyes with his knuckle, blurring his vision a little.

  Then he saw a name that un-blurred them fast. His heart lurched into his mouth, his stomach a roiling crucible of bile, as someone stuck a cattle prod in his butt. His fingers froze, suspended over the keyboard, his breathing fast and shallow as he stared at the words his mind point-blank refused to process.

  It was some kind of sick joke.

  The sender’s email address pulsated on the screen in front of him, the words swirling in and out of focus as a thousand jumbled thoughts screamed through his brain.

  Sarah_Buckley_0712

  He stared at it for a long time, unable to make his fingers respond, unable to ... anything. On his desk, his cell phone rang, vibrated itself across the scarred wood towards the edge like an electronic lemming. He stared at it fascinated, as if he’d never seen it before, watched it as it vibrated itself all the way over the edge and hit the floor, carried on ringing until finally it went to voicemail.

  He looked back at the screen, at the name that was still there, the one he hadn’t imagined. He hit return, stared at the message that some sick bastard had sent him.