Fatal Liaison

by Vicki Tyley

“That’s Cindy, my girlfriend. Would you like to meet her?” A Cheshire cat grin split Joe’s face in two.

  Hysterical laughter swelled in Megan’s throat. Joe had moved on. She felt such a fool. What conceit to think he’d been obsessed with her. That feeling of being watched was just that: a feeling. All in my head, she thought, just all in my head.

  “Some other time perhaps.” She made an obvious check of her watch. “I’m late already.”

  Joe leaned forward to kiss her cheek. This time she let him. “See you around then. Call me.” He sauntered off, stopped and turned at the curb to blow her a kiss, before tackling the traffic.

  “You better get to your appointment, then,” Greg said, an edginess to his voice she hadn’t heard before.

  “Greg, wait!” she called after his retreating back.

  He stopped, but didn’t turn, waiting for her to catch up.

  “I’m not good company right now. I’m tired and overemotional and I need some time out.” Reaching out, she laid her hand tentatively on his forearm. She felt his body bristle and immediately went to pull away. Before she could remove her hand, his opposite hand had come up and covered hers.

  “Megan, I understand all that, but please don’t shut me out. There is no need to make excuses. I’m here to help…” With a low sigh, he averted his eyes. “Nothing more.”

  She followed Greg’s gaze, staring at the same piece of concrete that he seemed fixated on. “Lately, I’ve done and said a lot of things I didn’t mean. None of which were meant to offend. The last thing I want to do is alienate you.”

  “Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk later,” he said, scuffing the concrete with his shoe. Stilling his foot, he looked up. “One question before you go. I recognized Joe from the surveillance photos. How well do you know the guy?”

  “What sort of question is that?”

  “Well, when did you meet him?”

  “I met him the same night I met you. Not long after you left, in fact.” She glared at him, resenting the direction his line of questioning was heading.

  Greg pressed his lips together, studying her face as if trying to gauge how far he could go without getting his head bitten off.

  Megan saved him the trouble. “Yes, I went out with him a couple of times. No, I haven’t slept with him. No, I’m not still seeing him. Enough information for you?”

  “I didn’t mean that. What I was actually alluding to, until you got up on your high horse, was what do you know about his background? Off the top of my head, I don’t remember if Neville came up with anything. Do you think we should be checking him out a bit more thoroughly?”

  Jumping to conclusions had always been her forte, but now she was positively excelling. In an effort to make amends, she answered Greg as honestly as she could. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Time and time again, I’ve replayed that night in my head. Joe hardly looked at Brenda, let alone spoke to her. It was me he was interested in.” She wasn’t about to reveal how ardently he had pursued her though. “And as you can see,” she added, holding her palms out, “I’m still here.” She stifled a yawn, edging in the direction of her car. “Only just though.”

  Greg eyes narrowed. “Don’t say things like that. Even in jest.”

  CHAPTER 41

  The tap-tap of the pen hitting the desk as he absentmindedly see-sawed it between his fingers barely registered in Greg’s mind.

  Had Megan been right? Had he been blinkered by his deep-seated belief that Lawson Green was guilty? Basing his convictions on a hunch that Lawson was the man his sister had been involved with, he’d condemned the man without so much as a hearing. What right did he have to set himself up as judge and jury?

  None.

  The pen slid from his fingers, clattering to the desk. Restless and unable to settle, he prowled the offices, moving from one room to another, spending less than a minute in each.

  His unexpected meeting with Joe Renmark earlier had rattled him. Joe was tall-ish, dark-haired and from a woman’s point of view probably considered good-looking. It opened up a realm of possibilities that Greg hadn’t considered. Was it possible that the “tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous” man Sam had referred to was Joe and not Lawson? Or someone else altogether?

  Had Megan been at risk? Was she still at risk? What about Joe’s so-called girlfriend in the car? Greg came to an abrupt halt, stopping mid-stride. He was letting his imagination run wild. So what if it’d been Joe or even some other guy that’d been dating Sam? That in itself didn’t automatically brand him a murderer.

  Nevertheless, his inner voice refused to be quietened. If that’s the case, why hadn’t he come forward to eliminate himself from the investigation? And, surely, any man who’d genuinely cared for Sam would’ve wanted to pay his last respects. Greg thought back to the day of the funeral, the faces of those that had attended flashing through his mind like a fast-forwarding video. He was quite sure there’d been no one there he couldn’t account for. And he was equally sure it’d been Lawson he’d spotted loitering on the fringe.

  Suddenly remembering the surveillance photos, he headed back to his office, reaching behind the door for his jacket as he entered. He retrieved the packet from the inside breast pocket, rehanging the jacket before spreading the photos out in a grid pattern across his desk.

  With a little leeway, the description “tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous” (gorgeous being subjective) could fit many of the men appearing in the photos.

  With a loud sigh, Greg dropped into his office chair. After everything that’d happened, he felt like a pawn in some type of perverted game of snakes and ladders. He would climb one ladder only to land on a snake and slide back down again. Glancing at the photos, he realized he was back at square one.

  Who was to say that there was even a link between the killer and the dinner dating agency? Logic was one thing, but the gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach was telling him something else entirely. Still convinced the answer lay somewhere in the spread of photos laid out in front of him, he reassembled them into one heap. One by one, he scrutinized the pictures, sorting them into two piles. The stack of shots with dark-haired males in them was smaller, though only slightly, than the one without.

  Perhaps one of Sam’s friends or workmates might recognize the man whom his sister had been dating. Not that he held out a lot of hope. Earlier questioning of the people who he knew Sam had been fruitless. Most hadn’t been aware that she’d joined up with a dating agency, let alone been actively dating. But, and it was a big but, there might be something in one of the photos that would trigger a memory.

  CHAPTER 42

  Megan pushed through the supermarket turnstile, flinching as it clanged behind her. The aroma of fresh bread and spice filled the air. After collecting a shopping basket from the stack, she headed down the first aisle. Her stomach growled.

  For days, she’d subsisted on cups of tea and not much else. The afternoon before when she left Greg’s office, she’d been asleep on her feet. Keeping her eyes open for the drive home had zapped the last remnants of her energy. Once home, she’d headed straight for her bed, pausing only long enough to pull her clothes off, before climbing in naked between the sheets. Within seconds, she’d been out cold, deep in a dreamless sleep.

  Sleeping for eighteen hours straight, she’d awoken ravenous and with a renewed sense of hope. The empty pit in her stomach was the size of a watermelon and growing.

  First stop: fruit and vegetables. She picked up a small golden mango and sniffed it, inhaling its distinctive tropical sweetness. She replaced it and moved on to the crates of oranges and apples. Her body needed sustenance not indulgence.

  The real world had to be faced. She’d almost used up all of her annual leave entitlements and unless she suddenly came into some money, she’d have to return to work, and soon. The bills still had to be paid and no matter what happened, life had to go on. With these thoughts ringing in h
er head, she continued with her shopping.

  She was just rounding the aisle when she spotted Lawson Green. Her first impulse was to confront him. How long had she been waiting for this chance? But instead of charging down the aisle and ramming his trolley, she pulled back. Peering around the corner, she watched as Lawson, too engrossed in what he was doing to have noticed her, continued to stack up bottles of water from the shelf. There was no sign of Pauline Meyer.

  The nearness of him frightened her. Megan reached a hand out to steady herself against the supermarket’s sturdy shelving. Her rubbery legs felt like they belonged to somebody else, her breathing ragged.

  So close but so far.

  With the help of a few deep breaths, she managed to slow her breathing. Feeling a little more in control, she looked down the aisle again only to see Lawson disappearing around the corner. A fresh wave of panic flooded her. Whatever happened, she couldn’t afford to lose track of him.

  Decision made, she abandoned her half-filled shopping basket and, keeping her head down, headed straight for the express checkout. If she could get outside without Lawson spotting her and be in her car waiting for him, she’d have a better chance of staying on his tail.

  The supermarket’s automatic glass doors opened. And even though the temptation to turn around and see if Lawson was at one of the checkout counters was intense, she exited without a backward glance. Eye contact of any sort would wreck any chance she had of trailing him.

  Only when she was ensconced in her car, sunglasses shielding her eyes, did she allow herself the satisfaction of looking back. The day was overcast and the dark glasses didn’t help, but she felt certain she’d be able to pick Lawson out of the people leaving the supermarket without any trouble.

  For fifteen long minutes, she sat buckled into her seat, staring at the supermarket’s doors. A frazzled mother trying to cope with a toddler and a heavily laden wayward trolley exited first. Then there was the young couple, each lugging green shopping bags. Lawson Green was the last in a straggle of single shoppers.

  Megan’s gaze followed him as he pushed his trolley across the car park. Not knowing what Lawson drove, she prayed his car wouldn’t be the white Toyota Camry or something equally as nondescript. She almost whooped for joy when she saw him stop and open the back of a bright aqua-colored Kia Sportage four-wheel drive. Not only was the Kia’s color distinctive, but the vehicle’s profile would make it much easier to tail.

  Adjusting the peak of the grungy red cap she had unearthed from under her seat, she turned the key, letting the car idle while Lawson finished transferring the bags of shopping from the trolley to the back of his vehicle. Her heart pounded against the inside of her ribcage, and not for the first time, she wondered if she really was cut out for all the cloak and dagger stuff.

  Before she had time to give it any more thought, the brightly colored four-wheel drive backed out of the supermarket car park space and merged with the traffic. Horns tooted and she received a couple of one-finger salutes as she bulldozed her way into the traffic. Thankfully, the traffic lights at the next intersection were in her favor, allowing her to gain on her quarry.

  The way Lawson zigzagged through the suburbs it was as if he suspected he was being followed. Somehow, Megan managed to keep him within her sights. It was a fine line between being too close and losing him.

  She had no idea where they were heading, but factories and warehouses soon replaced residential developments. Trucks and vans predominated on the roads. And then suddenly, without indicating, Lawson turned right into what appeared to be an industrial estate of some sort.

  Megan slowed, every nerve on edge, but continued driving past the corner. A little further down the road, she did a U-turn and pulled over. What was Lawson doing with groceries in an industrial estate?

  For a fleeting moment, she contemplated phoning Greg, but then just as fleetingly decided against it. Time was of the essence. Taking her foot off the brake pedal, she edged closer to the street corner. Should she park the car and continue on foot or risk driving into the industrial estate?

  Leaning forward over the steering wheel, she peered through the windscreen, scanning the landscape for a flash of bright aqua. Nothing. He’d disappeared down one of the estate’s maze-like roads.

  Her heart sunk. What the hell do I do now? she asked herself. When there was no answer forthcoming, she put the car in gear and took the road where she’d last sighted the four-wheel drive. It was either that or go home.

  She drove slowly, following the road as it meandered its way around the assorted factory units and warehouses. Fortunately, it was a business day and her black Nissan Pulsar wasn’t too conspicuous. She’d just rounded a bend and passed a group of white concrete-block units when she spied Lawson only meters in front of her. She kept driving.

  Pretending she knew what she was doing, she pulled across the road into the car park of, according to the sign, a lawnmower repair factory. With her heart hammering, she angled the rear-view mirror to watch what Lawson was doing.

  His was the only vehicle in the warehouse’s front car park. There were no signs anywhere that Megan could see from her position to tell her what the stand-alone brick building housed or what it was supposed to be. Fallen tree branches and sun-bleached rubbish blown by the wind into overgrown, weedy garden plots suggested the place hadn’t been operational for some time.

  Lawson had unloaded his shopping from the back of the Kia. The shopping bags sat in a heap on the ground, their plastic tops fluttering in the breeze. He gathered up all the bags in two hands and made his way towards the building’s large double doors. Every few seconds, he would pause and glance furtively around him. Then he was gone, out of sight somewhere inside the warehouse.

  Now what? Megan sat staring into the rear-view mirror, gnawing on her bottom lip as she pondered her next move. Something was definitely going on in that warehouse and she was going to find out what.

  Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, hesitated, then answered it.

  “Greg, hi.”

  “You okay? You sound a bit tense.”

  She blinked. Two words: that’s all it took? “I know where Lawson Green is.” In as few a words as possible, Megan described where she was and how she’d come to be there. She wasn’t able to provide him with an actual street address, but at least she was able to give him the name and phone number of the lawnmower repair business where she was parked.

  “On my way. Stay in the car.” Greg hung up before she had a chance to protest.

  If he expected her to sit around until he arrived, he didn’t know her as well as he thought. At least three of the shopping bags Lawson had been carrying contained bottled water. Why would you buy bottled water if not to drink? But what if the water was for someone else? Someone else who for whatever reason couldn’t get to water? Could that someone else be Brenda?

  Reaching through the gap between the two front seats, she grabbed the black vinyl clipboard folder she sometimes used when she visited clients onsite. She then rummaged in her handbag for a pen.

  A quick glance in the rear-view mirror confirmed that the combination of the red baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and the large sunglasses made her look like a moron. All she needed to complete the image was a plastic bulbous nose and fake moustache.

  She opened the car door and without stopping to think about what she was doing, jumped out. Endeavoring to appear as businesslike as possible, she walked out towards the road, following the concrete curb to the next property. She stopped in front of the vacant lot, made a few nonsensical marks on the clipboard page, looked up as if she was sizing up the bare plot of land, and then scrawled a few more squiggles on the page.

  At that stage, she still had her back to the warehouse building Lawson had entered. Feeling less than brave, she took a deep breath and turned, strolling as nonchalantly as possible across the road to a clone of the complex of white concrete-block units she’d passed earlier. She repeated the exercise of surve
ying the property, pretending to take notes.

  But she couldn’t loiter for too long. Someone was bound to grow curious. Her breathing became tighter and shallower with each step closer to the neighboring brick warehouse. She stopped breathing altogether when Lawson suddenly emerged through one of the double doors. With no more than a cursory glance in her direction, he hurriedly locked the doors behind him, strode to his car, got in and drove off. He seemed distracted, agitated and indifferent to her presence. Quite a contrast to his earlier demeanor.

  For a time, Megan could do nothing but stand shaking on the curb, eyes closed with the clipboard clutched to her chest, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to dissipate. Talk about a close shave.

  More than ever, she was determined to find out what those brick walls housed. Before she approached the double doors where Lawson had exited, she scanned the road and nearby properties to check the coast was clear. The solid wooden doors were large, but up close, they appeared positively massive. A large rusted metal bar pinned across both doors was secured by a shiny new heavy-duty padlock.

  Knowing there was no way she could break in through the front doors, she explored her other options. First, she tried the loading bay’s roller door. It rattled, but moved less than a centimeter when she tried raising it. Walking around the warehouse’s perimeter, the only windows she saw were small and high up. The metal-clad back door was double-bolted and padlocked.

  What would a computer systems programmer be doing leasing, owning or otherwise a commercial warehouse? Inside the building was something Lawson evidently wanted kept secure. Megan was becoming increasingly desperate to find out what that something was. She was also terrified Lawson would return before she could check it out.

  She was busy yanking on one of the back door’s padlocks in the slim hope it would give, when the sound of footsteps startled her. She almost had a heart attack on the spot, but recovered enough to throw herself into the shrubs bounding the back wall. Shaking and huddled close to the ground under the scratchy vegetation, she didn’t even give a thought to the spiders and other creepy-crawlies that might be lurking there.