by Linda Coles
“Did you meet each other before? Did you have photographs of each other?” asked Chrissy. “How did you manage to find somebody that looked so much like you?”
“I don’t know, that was a bit of a fluke. Tabitha approached me first. I didn’t go looking for it, I just got an email one day that asked if I wanted to swap my life with someone else and, after a couple of messages, I thought actually that sounds like fun. It all looked professional and above board – I had Marcus to think about. I don’t know how they got my details, spam, I expect. And one day after Marcus had left for the day, I was sat in the garden room and another email came through and I thought sod it, why not, let’s have some fun. I arranged everything for Melanie’s anniversary date.”
Julie and Chrissy caught each other’s eyes. It sounded like Susan had been targeted – it wasn’t a fluke – but neither of them said anything and Chrissy prompted her to carry on. “What happened then?”
“I clicked on the link and went through to a chat room, and I could see there were so many different conversations going on involving other people. I thought this looks real enough and no harm, so when a message came through that a woman wanted to trade, it was like my short-term prayers had been answered, and Paris sounded ideal.”
“Was it her idea to meet in Paris?”
“Yes, it was all set and then we had the train crash. We were travelling on the same train, though we’d both said we wouldn’t let on that we knew each other so we didn’t sit together. I booked the hotel rooms, one for me and one for her.”
“Did you know who to look for when you reached the top of the Eiffel Tower?” Chrissy asked.
Susan shook her head, no. “I just knew that when I got there I had to show my inner thigh. She had given me a tattoo transfer, like what you had when you were young. It was quite an elaborate one and I was to apply it to my thigh and wear a dress with a high slit in it to make it visible. I guess it was a sign, like a password, though I don’t suppose there’d be many women at the top of the tower just before midnight. And wearing a dress with a slit in it.”
The tattoo was news to Chrissy. Alan had obviously kept it from her, unless he didn’t know himself. “And when you met him, what was to happen next?”
“He was to escort me down and take me off for an evening of grandeur, a spot of romance that was to go nowhere if I didn’t want it to, and just generally have a nice evening out with a lovely gentleman. Show me the town.”
“Do you, by chance, know the name of the person you were meeting?” Chrissy asked, not expecting Susan to know.
“Yes, his name was Charles. Lovely name, don’t you think? He sounded like a real gentleman.”
“Did you catch a surname or was it first names only?”
“Yes. It was Morton, Charles Morton. He was travelling in from Europe somewhere.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chrissy knew she’d heard the name Morton. From Alan.
“Let’s take a break for a minute, Susan,” Chrissy said. “Give yourself a rest. I know how draining this must be.”
“And embarrassing,” Susan said. “It sounds so sordid now I repeat it all.”
“Don’t worry about that now, and don’t be hard on yourself. I need to make a phone call, so sit tight here with Julie then we’ll carry on, okay?”
Susan nodded gratefully.
“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Julie said helpfully.
Chrissy composed a text to Alan. Knowing full well that he could be deep in conversation with the local police, she didn’t want to disturb him with a call. Still, she needed her own question answering. The text asked, do you know Charles Morton? She clicked send and hoped he’d reply soon.
Alan was still in the waiting area when he saw the message and put two and two together. There was only one way that Chrissy could have heard of Charles Morton and that was from Susan – that meant he was involved too. He hoped there weren’t going to be any more surprises, that the colleagues he worked with, trusted, were all bona fide. He texted back:
Yes I know Morton or should I say I know of him. Okay to call?
Chrissy replied yes and waited for the phone to ring.
“Susan mentioned she was meeting Charles Morton. I assume, if you know of him, he’s also with the police? This gets worse if he is,” she said wearily.
“You’re telling me it gets worse. I’ve got to report this up the chain somehow, and that puts me right in the shit. Not that I have any evidence, only one woman’s word and a name, and we all know how that might play out. Senior brass don’t like this kind of mess – goings on with one of their own, especially a top-ranking officer. The publicity this accusation could generate would be the commissioner’s worst nightmare. Not to mention my own tarnished reputation. Not that I’m particularly thinking of myself too much right now.” He let out a deep sigh.
“He would never have used his real name unless he was planning on her not surviving this,” Chrissy said. “From what I’ve learnt so far, the girls were to change places, but I’m figuring, with what we know already, that for Tabitha at least it was a permanent thing. It was Tabitha that was going to make a run for it, leaving Susan behind to take her place and, I suspect, not as a protected person. More likely, she would be disposed of by those that were looking for Tabitha in the first place. Am I right?”
She didn’t need Alan to say anything to the contrary. His silence told her all she needed to know. He’d figured similar, but now things had fallen into place, it only made the suggestion stronger.
“And Susan got embroiled in a huge mess that could have got her killed,” Chrissy said.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“She’s feeling rather embarrassed, rather gullible right now, and I don’t blame her. By the way, I assume you knew about the fake tattoo?”
“Yes, sorry about not telling you. I had to keep something back just in case. What did she say about it?”
“Only that she had to wear it as proof of who she was when they rendezvoused up the top of the Eiffel Tower. She was destined for a night of luxury, intrigue and excitement – or so she thought. And look how it’s all turned out. I’ve recorded everything so far for you so you can listen when you get back.”
“Good thinking.”
“The more I stew on this, the more I’m certain of what was to happen. They were trading places and Charles Morton knew all about it. And that stinks. Why his interest, I wonder?”
“I’ve no idea. This is getting way above my pay grade now. I’ve not even spoken to a local detective yet and time’s marching on…” But his phone vibrating stopped him going any further. It was a message from Bridget. “Hang on a minute, Chrissy,” he said, reading what it said.
I’ve found your man. It’s Dominic Berger, French for Shepherd actually, and he’s French born. Worked in vice but PP now. Protected persons. Another piece slotted into place.
Any idea of his particular interest? He hit send and waited. It was only a moment before the reply came back.
I was getting to that, works for protected persons and he’s got a reputation for pushing boundaries. Been in trouble in the past. He’s likely her contact. Handler?
Alan wasn’t surprised to read the reputation part. Detectives that worked in vice were often well placed for corruption. It was easy money to turn a blind eye. Or get a freebie. No harm done. And if they were involved in something corrupt, invariably lines could be blurred on their non-vice job too. He sent thanks and returned to Chrissy. “Are you still there?” he enquired.
“Yes, what’s happening?”
“It seems our man’s Dominic Berger, French born, protected persons back in the UK and has a record for not being straight up.”
“Makes sense then. It also makes sense why Tabitha Child wanted to swap the life she had – and permanently. She was going to run away and leave Susan behind. What a bloody mess. And ironically that’s exactly what Susan has been doing all week, running in someone else’s shoes.�
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“I’d say your friend Susan’s had a lucky escape. Naïve, yes, but a lucky escape for sure.”
“I think that’s going to be too much to tell her right now, she’s pretty frail. I just hope she can go through with this when she has to meet Berger again. It’s best that she doesn’t know that aspect at this stage.”
“I agree. We can tell her afterwards. Right now, I need to go banging on some doors and find somebody we can trust because I really can’t do this single-handedly now. I don’t want the wheels to fall off or any other clichés you might hear me say.”
Chrissy smiled at that. Even stressed, Alan kept his wit.
“Well, if you can’t get any joy with the local police, the only thing left to do is to create a disturbance, a distraction of sorts. I can get Julie to scream that he touched her inappropriately or something and the local cops can take him away. It will buy us some time.” It was Alan’s turn to smile. Julie would love the part of damsel in distress, he was sure.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, we don’t want any more hassle. Take care of Susan and if there’s anything else, let me know. Just don’t pass any information back to her, not yet anyway. There’s plenty time when we get back to the UK to tell her the full story of how close she came to being abducted.”
“Go get some local help then, we’ll be waiting.”
Alan decided he’d been sitting there long enough and slipping his phone back into a pocket, went to bang on a door or two.
He then made a call to the National Crime Agency, which covered corruption, kidnapping and a whole raft of other crimes in the UK, to start the ball rolling on Berger and Morton. It was far from ideal, but it would have to do for now.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
There had to be another way to solve this mess and get Susan home safely. Chrissy checked her watch; it was almost time for Dominic Berger to return and he’d be expecting to take Susan with him. Before she headed back inside the café, she took a moment and sat on a nearby stone wall dappled by sunlight. The morning was turning out to be full of events, and the warm sunshine calmed her a little and she turned her face up to catch a few rays on her cheeks. Her shoulders ached; her nerves felt frayed at their edges. This case hadn’t been her average PI job. Snooping on an errant spouse might be boring, but it was a lot easier than gallivanting across France chasing a ghost. It was Dominic Berger that was bothering her. Why hadn’t he arrested her on the spot for travelling under a fake identity and committing credit-card fraud? Why the cloak and dagger, the threats and blackmail? The original proposed switch sprang to mind: could it be that simple?
“Hell, really? Is that it?” she said out loud at the incredulity of her thought. “Susan as Tabitha in a court of law?” Tabitha had been in protected persons after all. And since she’d been killed on that train…
That was his main driver, it had to be. But to what end?
He has a reputation of not being straight up.
What was in it for him? Promotion, perhaps? Pay off?
Chrissy’s head was in turmoil as she attempted to filter what was relevant and put it in some sort of order. They had a runaway woman, plenty of hearsay and speculation, and a whole lot of nothing else. The more she thought it through, the more she realised Alan had no chance getting help this side of the Channel. Once Dominic— if Dominic ever reached a French police station interview room, their accusation would be dropped in an instant. Had Alan arrived at the same conclusion? she wondered. She dialled his number and listened as it rang out. If he was in fact speaking with the local police, he wasn’t going to pick up, not when time was of the essence, so she quickly tapped out a text with her own proposal explained. Reading it back to herself, it seemed the only option to get the job done. It was a risk, but one she was willing to take under the unusual circumstances. The whole saga needed handing over to his colleagues back in the UK, who had the motivation and the tools to see it through.
She clicked send and hoped he read it before Dominic arrived back to pick Susan up. Just because Susan had said she would put him off didn’t mean that’s what would actually happen when it came down to it. She was sinking fast and her resolve to stand up to him could end up going down like a pile of falling bricks. Surely Dominic wouldn’t be stupid enough to forcefully drag her out of the café and risk her squealing like a two-year-old. He couldn’t have that, not in a town full of onlookers. Everyone had a camera with them these days and the scene would be up on YouTube before the next coffee was poured. Susan had to delay him until lunchtime at least. Chrissy’s phone vibrated; it was Alan calling back.
“It’s risky, but it would work,” was his opening line.
“They didn’t want to get involved, I’m guessing?”
“Correct. Hearsay and too much for a local team. Let’s discuss option two. I’m fifteen minutes out. Has he been back yet?”
“No, but he won’t be too much longer.”
Alan was silent as he hurried back, having told Chrissy he needed to think for a moment. When he was ready, he said, “Maybe not. Look, when he shows, you or Julie need to eavesdrop. Be a damn waitress yourself if you have to, but we have to know how he’s planning to leave the country with her. Toulouse airport is the nearest and flies directly to London so unless he’s planning on a ferry, which would be the long way home, it would have to be a flight. We can plan from there. Remember, he’s no idea we’re on to him or even that we’re here.”
“I need to get back inside then and brief them both. See you shortly,” she said before hanging up. Quickly checking her surroundings from behind her dark shades, she casually sauntered into the café as if she were about to use the toilet. Once inside, she slipped into the rear store cupboard where Susan and Julie were waiting. A pink, blotchy face and a near-perfectly made-up one greeted her. Susan looked beat. All the energy had been sucked out of her and she resembled an airport windsock on a still day. Julie looked somewhat frazzled but eager to know what was to happen next. Chrissy needed to force some energy into the situation and, rubbing her hands together, excitedly announced, “Change of plan ladies. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
When she’d relayed the details, it didn’t sound the least bit exciting at all. In fact, it sounded incredibly stupid and dangerous, but what other choice did they have? Chrissy felt sure it was the only way. All she had to do was hope Susan was mentally capable and strong enough to carry it through.
There was no time to lose.
Chapter Eighty
Alan knew it was risky but couldn’t come up with a better solution in time. It wasn’t simply a case of getting Susan Smith back home. There was so much more at stake now: a corrupt police officer ready to commit yet another crime to add on to his already substantial list, and a chief superintendent with corruption links that would likely go nowhere. With no evidence to back the story up, a defence lawyer would laugh them out of a holding cell. And unless any proof did come to light, there was hardly any point Alan even bringing it up for the grief it would cause. That didn’t make it right though. There had to be retribution of some kind. As he turned the final corner, heading back towards the café, he could see Dominic was already seated at the same table where he’d spoken to Susan earlier on. His body language looked relaxed and in control, and confidence oozed off his broad shoulders. One leg crossed the other casually, and he appeared to be talking and laughing into his phone.
“Who are you chatting to, arsehole?” he said quietly to himself, as he watched from a distance, before slipping into a nearby glacier for an ice cream, all the time watching the man. Blending in as a tourist was a safe bet, and he was glad of the cover of his sunglasses. None of the three women appeared to be there, and he assumed they were still out back in the storeroom. He sent Chrissy a text telling her where he was.
I’m in the glacier across the way, what’s happening at your end? He ordered a double scoop of chocolate and waited for her reply. She called him straight back.
“All set.
Saunter over and sit near his table when you see Julie, who’ll be wearing a large hat. Don’t let on you know her,” she said. She was an organised, gutsy woman and Alan couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the last part. Did she think he hadn’t been a detective long?
“We’re monitoring airline bookings, assuming that’s his plan – it’s the obvious choice. She’ll have to travel as Tabitha Child so that’s easily found. How’s Susan holding up?”
“Scared witless. She’ll be fine. Now she knows the plan. Okay, here comes Julie. Ready?”
“Ready,” he said, hanging up and heading over to the café. Dominic had the majority of his face turned away from him so it made Alan’s approach that bit easier. He hoped Dominic hadn’t noticed him following earlier, but he couldn’t worry about it now. He pulled out a chair to the side and rear of the man and made himself comfortable. Julie was at a table on the other side, looking as stunning as ever, half hidden behind a huge straw hat and sunglasses that almost swallowed her whole face. Bright red lips were about all he could see. Alan assumed Chrissy was inside, still coaching Susan. She hadn’t looked particularly strong earlier, but then an experience like this would turn the staunchest into quivering jelly. A moment later, Susan came out into the sunlight, looking reasonably upbeat, ready to play her part. Alan watched as she headed straight for Dominic’s table and pretended to take his order.
“And what’s it to be?” he asked, as if he were ordering his lunch. He sounded casual about it.
“How do we get back?” Not a quiver in her voice. Alan was impressed.
“We fly of course. Why?”
“I get seasick. I was hoping we’d fly. Toulouse, I assume. What time?”
“Flight leaves at two,” he said, standing. “You’ll be home before you know it.” There was a definite smile in his voice and Alan was tempted to rear up and punch it away, but that would have been tantamount to operational suicide. Taking a deep breath quietly, he refocused on the conversation going on to the side of him. Julie had also stood, though she had her back to Dominic so he couldn’t see her face at all.