by Linda Coles
“I need someone to bounce ideas off, preferably right now,” he said to the dark road ahead of him. He’d been alone in this case since it started because really Susan Smith was just another missing person. And with the crash, other officers and detectives were tied up with much bigger issues needing their attention. He wondered about Bridget. She was always a night owl; would she mind some company? He asked Siri to dial her number and a moment later Bridget’s voice filled the car in her normal welcoming manner.
“What’s up?” She said brightly. He wondered if she took uppers to stay awake as much as she did. He’d never seen any signs that she used them.
“I’m sorry to ring you, I know it’s a bit late, but I could do with a hand on something. Are you busy?” Alan asked, hoping that she’d say she wasn’t.
“I don’t have a social life – well, not your idea of social, you know that,” Bridget said abruptly, and Alan could understand why that was. She could be scary if you didn’t know her and she didn’t allow men to get to know her very well. She favoured the one-night stand more. No ties.
“I need to bounce ideas around and after what I’ve just found out from the pathologist I need to get moving somehow. But quietly.”
“Well, you’ve got my attention now. If you need to do it quietly, you’d better come over.”
“I’m not far away,” he said. “I’ll be there shortly. And Bridget? This is between you and me, okay?” But she was gone already, as was customary with Bridget: to the point if it would suffice. Alan smiled to himself. Bridget was one woman you wanted on your side, particularly when you needed something done without raising any eyebrows. Or flags.
Bridget lived in a flat on the third floor, though there were only three floors. By the time he’d walked up the stairs, she was waiting for him in the doorway, or her foot was in the doorway. He pushed the door open and thanked her again for the seeing him at such a late hour.
“You’ve done that already. What is it you need?” Straight down to business.
“I need to talk it through with a bright set of ears. But you will need to put a different head on if we’re going to find the answer.”
“What’s wrong with my current head?”
“Well, if I said you needed to think like a girl, you’d be offended, but I need you to think like a girl.”
“You’re right, I’m offended,” she said flatly. “What do you think I am, a hermaphrodite?”
“Well, I can see you’re all girl, Bridget, but sometimes you don’t act like one. But anyway, can we skip all this and get down to it?” He realised the mistake in his words as soon as they’d slipped out of his mouth and Bridget wiggled her eyebrows. Alan hoped he wasn’t blushing and ploughed on, ignoring his faux pas. “So here’s the scenario,” he said, making himself comfortable. “You’re going to Paris and you have a liaison planned with another woman.”
Her eyebrows wiggled again and Bridget almost cracked a smile. “Go on,” she said.
“I’m not sure what kind of liaison, but two women arranged to meet in Paris. I say arranged to meet in Paris, and not before, because we now know that both Susan Smith and Tabitha Child knew one another. And whatever they were planning, they didn’t do it on the train beforehand because they weren’t sat together. I’m guessing when I say this, but I’d say it was part of keeping a low profile.”
“Do we know which hotel they were headed to, then? Because that will give us an idea of what’s in the surrounding area, where they could possibly be going, what they could be doing.”
“That’s a good start, and I’m hoping you’ve got an easy way of finding out because ringing every hotel in Paris is a massive job.”
“I can help with that. Leave it to me.” It was Alan’s turn to wiggle eyebrows. Bridget had some unorthodox methods of finding information, and scraping websites to find out the hotel booking would probably take all of ten seconds to do. It was best not to ask about her methods in any detail. It was more of a hobby than authorised police work. She got her laptop and immediately started tapping the keys furiously while Alan watched on – not that it made any sense to him. A timer rotated as the information loaded. When it finally settled, there was the relevant information on the screen. It wasn’t so much the name and address of the hotel that caught his eye, it was the name on the booking. And a booking for two separate rooms.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Alan.
Chapter Sixty
“So they really did know one another then,” Bridget said. “You were right. What made you suspect, by the way?”
“It’s just something I found in Susan’s luggage that made me wonder. It seemed a bit too wild for them to be complete strangers.”
“I guess you’re not going to tell me what it is,” said Bridget. Then, “Come on, you can trust me – otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”
She had a point.
“There was a temporary tattoo transfer in an envelope in Susan’s bag, identical to the one that Tabitha has on her upper thigh, and that’s what made me think there was something going on, as you would. They were obviously planning on swapping, maybe each pretending to be the other person, and that tattoo was vital if she was going to pass as Tabitha. The problem I have now is that the original tattoo on Tabitha leads to a horrific set-up that I’d rather not go into right now. Trust me on that, it’s not something either of us wants to get involved in.”
Bridget nodded her understanding. “Well, I guess we should ring the hotel and find out who actually booked it and when, because Marcus Smith’s name on the booking doesn’t mean it was actually him.
“Let’s hope they tell us without a warrant. Never mind it being way outside our jurisdiction.”
Alan watched Bridget pick the phone up, dial and wait to be connected. He knew exactly when the call was answered because her whole stance changed and a huge bright smile appeared on her face. It would be a male on the line and Bridget was about to turn on her best charm. Alan listened as an eloquent and fluent French Bridget went to town and asked what he assumed would be relevant questions. He had no idea on the actual content of the conversation and was only able to pick up certain words. Studying French at school had been a long time ago. When the call came to an end and she hung up, he had never seen a smile as bright as the one facing him now.
“So?” he said, impatiently prodding her along.
“So, get this, Susan Smith herself booked the room. She booked both rooms actually, one for herself and the other for her friend Tabitha Child, which we kind of assumed. So we’ve got that confirmed. She specified two rooms that looked across to the Eiffel Tower, that’s why there’s a record it was Susan that booked it. She did the online transaction then called ahead. But – this is the beautiful part – the receptionist apologised at having to charge the credit card for a no-show as is customary with hotels. You hold your room with a credit card and since the two women never showed… So Marcus will know now as he’ll have access to the credit-card account. He’ll have seen where she was staying and that there were two rooms. So I wonder what he’s been thinking and why he hasn’t said anything to us. But that’s immaterial. Because it gets better.”
“How so?” asked Alan.
“Well, apparently there’s a package still waiting for Tabitha Child that arrived a couple of days before she was due, and it’s still sat in a pigeonhole waiting to be picked up. Now, I didn’t think he would forward it on so I asked for it to be held and told him I’d pick it up.”
“Bridget, you’re a genius!” he said. “I wonder what’s in it, and how the hell are we going to get hold of it now?”
“Fancy a trip to Paris?” Bridget questioned.
“We’ll never get that authorised. So, while it’s a wonderful idea, there’s not a cat in hell’s chance that you and I are going to France. But you know what?”
“Do tell,” she said in a deflated tone.
“I know somebody in France already and I’m betting they would be happy to get on th
e train and pick up that package.”
“Securely?”
“Of that, I couldn’t be sure. But how else are we going to get it?”
“How about if we send in the local police?”
“No, I think that would raise too many questions. What did you say to the guy anyway? I assumed it was a guy?”
“I merely said that I was a friend of Susan’s and I had been meant to join the two of them but couldn’t. And since my friends wouldn’t be heading back, I asked if it would it be okay to retrieve the package – he doesn’t need to know that I’m a police officer, it makes things too complicated sometimes – and he said yes, he didn’t see why not. So I’m kind of thinking we need to get that package picked up pronto before he changes his mind or someone else makes the decision for him.”
“Agreed. We’ll come back to that in a moment. So now we know where they were staying, what part of town, we just need to figure out what they could possibly have been doing. And the Eiffel Tower is significant. The tattoo must be involved because why else would Susan Smith have it?”
“Was there anything of interest in Tabitha’s suitcase when you looked?”
“Not really, although both suitcases were identical. The one thing that Tabitha had was a wig, a short brown wig.”
“What kind of style?” Bridget asked, intrigued.
“A bit like Coco Chanel, I suppose, a short bob.”
Bridget cocked her head in question. “My sister is a hairdresser; I grew up having my hair done, being a guinea pig. What else?”
“Nothing, just a change of clothes or two, black stilettos, black dress in each, the tattoo and the wig. They were travelling light for two women going away for the weekend.”
“I’m going to do some research on the dance halls. Call it gut instinct but since we have nothing else to go on… Those girls all wear wigs and look identical.”
“You go with dance halls, but what else would a woman want to wear a wig for? Bridget, you’re a woman, why would you possess a short-haired wig in your wardrobe? And, more importantly, why would you take a wig on your trip to Paris, in your luggage? Particularly if you’re not a dancer.”
Bridget thought for a moment. “Because I want to disguise myself, obviously,” she said slowly. “Or maybe I don’t want someone to see the real me while I do something out of my ordinary. When you wear a wig, it becomes almost like a mask, I suppose. Like certain clothes make you feel different: severe, flirty or powerful. Like Superman with his undies. Inhibitions dissolve. I wonder…” she said thoughtfully, furrowing two fine blonde eyebrows.
“What are you thinking?”
“That maybe we have one bored female that’s gone off to Paris for a bit of razzle-dazzle of her own.”
“But that won’t work because you’ve got the wrong woman there with the wig. It was Tabitha that had the wig, Susan had the tattoo.”
“Unless,” said Bridget, something dawning on her, eyes opening wide with a smile spreading across her face, “these two women knew one another, yet they didn’t sit together on the train to Paris. They stayed in the same hotel, paid for by the same woman, but in separate rooms. And they’ve each got something to disguise themselves with. Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“No clue,” said Alan.
“I’m thinking these two women were swapping places for some reason. Or for a time. The tattoo was to make Susan more like Tabitha, and the wig because Tabitha didn’t want to look like herself or Susan. Does that make sense?”
“I’m not sure it does entirely, but I see your line of thinking. It’s not necessarily as straightforward as we might think. You’re saying if Tabitha didn’t want to be Tabitha and didn’t want to be Susan, but wanted another disguise to be somebody else… Do you think there is a third person in this that we haven’t come across yet?”
“I’ve no clue, I’m simply putting the notion out there. But it’s obvious Susan was going to be Tabitha and we need to find out why. And Tabitha was going to be someone else, and if there isn’t a third person involved, then how about this: Tabitha was going to be something important to Susan. But since Tabitha in now deceased, that tattoo is still in her Susan’s luggage, and of course the train crashed so the swap never happened.”
“What in heaven’s name were the two of them up to? And with Susan out there, is she still trying to complete whatever it was they’d planned? Without the tattoo?”
“We need that package. Call your contact.”
Chapter Sixty-One
It was nearly 1am when Chrissy’s phone rang and, in the silence of the hotel bedroom, it shrilled like an air-raid siren going off. Chrissy heard it immediately, but then she didn’t sleep with earplugs in and an eyemask over her face. Julie, on the other hand, did both of those things. Chrissy hoped it wasn’t an emergency back home – it was her general ringtone, but who else would be calling so late? And if it was a spam call, they were going to get the wrath of Chrissy Livingstone tenfold. She hoped it was the latter. Sliding to open the call before the whole hotel woke up, she could see it wasn’t Adam or one of the boys. Chrissy wasn’t expecting Detective Alan Davies either – something was adrift.
“Hello,” she said quietly. Julie still hadn’t stirred. “This is Chrissy Livingstone. Is something wrong, detective?”
“No. And I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but I wanted to catch you. Are you still in France by chance?”
“Yes, why?”
“There’s been a bit of a development in your case. It could well be linked to another as I’ve mentioned once before. I can’t say anything about the other, but I wondered if you were heading to Paris by chance.”
Chrissy couldn’t help smiling: was Susan in Paris then?
“What’s the development and what’s in Paris? Susan?”
“A package actually. It’s expecting to be picked up and quickly but…”
“You can’t get authorisation, or too much tape, and while I’m here…” She let the words hang in the air. It was déjà vu, like the USB drive. And that had proved useful. “What’s in it for my investigation? Apart from the expense.” If he needed a favour, she needed something back.
Alan had been prepared for the question, “Susan had been scheduled to check into a hotel for a couple of nights. There is a package at the hotel that is waiting to be picked up and I’m hoping it will give us another clue to follow.
Chrissy didn’t need to think for long. “Deal. Text the address and who I need to ask for, and I’m on my way first thing.”
“One more thing. Do you or your sister speak French fluently?”
“I speak four languages fluently, including French. Why do you ask?”
“Because my contact is expecting a gushing, French-speaking woman, and you’re it.”
“I’ve played worse parts. I’ll call you when I have it. Can I open it before you actually receive it?”
“I’m afraid you can, yes, unfortunately for me. In fact, I’m relying on you to do the right thing here. Can you take some photos of the package and the contents, and email them to me?”
“Of course.” She was checking the fastest way to get there on her laptop as they spoke. “There are a couple of trains around 6 am so we’ll be in Paris around 8.30. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Excellent. And Chrissy?”
“Yes?”
“Keep your wits about you.”
He rang off. Now that had her wondering.
Behind her, Julie finally stirred, mumbled something incoherently, then fell silent once more. A package intrigued Chrissy and as she climbed back into bed and set an early alarm call, she wondered how its contents might help them find Susan, now known as Tabby. She hoped it contained good news. Turning the lamp out, she slipped back under the covers. It would be another hour until sleep finally came and she could no longer hear the gentle snores of her sister in the bed beside her.
When the alarm went off just after 5 am, Chrissy was already awake, having spent a fitful night toss
ing and turning. She’d have felt better by not going back to sleep at all. The call had only been four hours ago. She rubbed the grit from her eyes and padded across to awaken Julie, who was still blissfully unaware of the adventure ahead of them both. Shaking her gently wasn’t enough, it appeared, so she upped the pressure to firm. Finally, there was breakthrough. A slender, well-looked-after hand slipped the eyemask up to her forehead and Chrissy couldn’t help but wonder how her sister still looked so immaculate lying in bed in her nightdress. She didn’t have a hair out of place.
“Do you sleep in a hairnet?” Chrissy asked, looking closer though there was nothing visible.
“Why are you up so early, what’s happened?” Julie enquired, stretching and glancing at the clock.
“Get up and I’ll tell you as we go. But we’re booked on the 6.15 am train to Paris so get a move on. Throw your things back in your case and we’ll leave it at left luggage in Gare du Nord. I’m not sure if we’re coming back today or not.” Julie stared without a word. It didn’t appear to be computing. “Julie! Come on, get up!”
“All right, I heard you the first time,” she moaned, heading for the bathroom where she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth.
“You’ll have to do your make-up on the train. The taxi will be here soon, though without your big bag we could have walked it.” It wasn’t a dig, merely an observation. Chrissy threw her own belongings into her bag and made a start on Julie’s, pulling out clean underwear, trousers and a blouse for her to wear. They’d have to do and would go with her newly acquired walking sandals. The rest she packed up ready to go. No doubt there’d be complaints, having her clothes chosen for her like a child would have had, but there wasn’t time to work by Julie’s schedule. Not if they were to catch the early train.