by Luis Samways
“Man, that’s news to me. So what are we supposed to do? Admit defeat and let this bitch walk?” Amy asked.
“Nope. We go after her the only way we know how,” Lionel said.
“No,” the operator said “We don’t go after her. We entrap her. We mount a case, and then we swoop in.”
“But we don’t have a case. We have nothing. Nothing but bodies. I don’t know how much actual police work you’ve done in your life….” Amy said to the operator.
He interrupted her and said, “Name’s Steve. Feel free to call me Stevo.”
“Whatever, Steve. Just don’t go telling us how to do our job!”
“I’m not. I’m just saying that maybe we have more than we think. Maybe we have the mother lode.”
“Like what? What do we have?” Lionel asked.
“Think about it. The vehicle was parked in a forest just outside Ramsgate. It was there for eight minutes. What do you think a woman like that was doing in a forest?”
“Catching butterflies and ripping their wings off. Seems about right for a bitch like that,” Amy offered.
“No. She was either hiding something or getting something,” the operator said.
Amy pondered that assumption for a second or two, and grinned at the operator. “You know what, Steve? You may be right. I say we go down to the forest and see what she was up to.”
Lionel nodded. Steve the operator smiled. And before they knew it, they would bust the case wide open.
Twenty-Seven Minutes Later:
Amy Francis pulled up to a row of trees. She’d been driving with Lionel for nearly fifteen minutes. They had left London in a helicopter and were taken to a spot where the Met had a car waiting for them. It was nice that the Met were finally playing ball with the both of them. As Amy pulled in and turned the engine off, she imagined the sort of commendations the both of them would be getting. If anything, the Met were trying to cover their tracks. They didn’t want the public knowing that they could have prevented all this from happening. Hence why Amy was suspecting some sort of commendation.
“At least we’re here,” Amy said, sighing loudly and resting her head on the headrest.
Lionel patted her on the shoulder and said, “Looks like we have company.”
They could see three CSIs in white lab coats and protective masks making their way to the car. Looking around, Amy could see that they had turned up in their own van. The Metropolitan police insignia was tattooed on the side of their vehicle. She saw that one of the approaching CSI men was holding a clear bag in his hand. It had something shiny and metallic in it. At first Amy couldn’t make out what it was, but suddenly she recognized the distinct shape.
“YES!” she screamed rather loudly. She began pulling on the steering wheel, shaking it violently. Her partner looked on in awe. He was shocked to see her reaction. But then his vision locked on to the oncoming CSI and what one of them was holding.
“Fuck!” he yelled, joining in on all the hysteria. The three approaching CSI figures were smiling under their protective masks. One of them slid the mask off to show his grin. They reached the car, and Amy rolled down the window. It creaked and squealed as it rubbed against the metal body of the vehicle. She couldn’t get the window down fast enough. The anticipation was killing her. But finally the window came down, and she got an up-close and personal look at what the lead CSI man had in his hands.
“I present to you one murder weapon, with four usable prints,” the man said.
“One step closer to Spain,” Lionel said, leaning into the driver’s seat and planting a big sloppy kiss on Amy’s cheek.
“Well done, Amy!” he said. “I always knew you were right.”
She smiled and said, “When have I ever been wrong!”
They laughed a little. The CSI guy nodded his head and said, “We’ll be taking this bad boy off for testing. Expect some sort of result within the hour.”
Amy and Lionel watched as the three men walked off toward their van. The doors slid open and then shut. The engine roared to life, and they sped off.
“Within the hour,” Lionel said.
“Within the hour, the bitch is mine,” Amy retorted.
She turned the engine on and followed the speeding van out of the forest enclosure. Amy caught one last look at the row of trees behind them. She then focused on the woodland road. They were off to the local laboratory. They’d have the results soon.
“Within the hour!” Lionel said, sounding as if he couldn’t hold in his excitement. They were that much closer to casting their net. And when they did, they’d catch their girl.
Fifty-Two
Seventeen Minutes Later:
Demi Reynolds was watching the coast of Spain come into focus. The ferry’s PA speakers crackled into life, and the captain notified the passengers that they were only ten minutes off from hitting the coast and disembarking. Demi hung on to the guardrail of the ferry. She was on portside. She watched as the waves battered against the ship’s stern. She smiled as the seagulls in the sky circled the boat. She sighed as the smell of the air changed from the familiar to the unknown. Demi hadn’t traveled much, but she did in fact pick up a few things on her voyage to freedom. She realized that every town and every city had a distinct smell, and that England’s air smelled different from Spain’s air. She came to that realization only seconds prior to the captain making his announcement over the PA system. She wondered if anybody else in the world had noticed such things. If somebody had gotten off a plane and realized that the air smelled different. It was still air. It did the same thing. But for some reason, during the ferry trip, Demi had noticed a change in its texture. A change in the way it hit her nostrils. She smiled to herself as she pondered the validity of her observations on air and whether a scientist would debunk her theory.
Her thoughts meandered into nothingness as she stared at the coast of Spain and the city of Santander approaching on the horizon. She smiled at the sight of European architecture rising from the rocks. The night sky acting as a safety blanket over the buildings. The indoor lights melting into the cold. Demi had always wanted to travel, and now she was doing so. Sure, it was under circumstances she would much rather be different, but she was traveling nonetheless.
Demi had told herself that she would forget the whole ordeal back home. Spain was a new chapter. It was a new beginning. A life of pleasure. No pain. No sorrow. And, above all, no killing.
She was adamant about that. So much so that since she’d stepped onto the ferry, she managed to push all her memories of England to the back of her mind. She was no longer scared. She wasn’t thinking of Donny the Hat anymore. She was trying to block out the image of Hamish dying from a gut shot. But something was making her think of England again. Something was messing with her perfectly formulated plan to push all thoughts of England to one side. She snapped herself out of her daydream and stared at the dark blue sea beneath her. The sky above her was blue as well. Dark blue. Not one cloud in the sky. All twinkling stars. That’s another thing that she noticed about England. It always had a blanket of clouds. And when it didn’t, it usually meant that the country was experiencing some sort of “record heat wave” that wouldn’t even touch the sides in Spain or Portugal, let alone anywhere else.
“A new life,” she said under her breath, attempting to push the memories of England away once again. But something was making her feel uneasy. As if she had forgotten something. And then it clicked, and the penny dropped.
“The gun,” she said, immediately checking her person for the cold metal piece. She patted herself down, careful not to draw too much attention. The deck was quiet. Most of the passengers were at the small bar above. She continued to quietly pat herself down and realized she wasn’t carrying her gun.
“The car,” she said, quickly strolling toward her vehicle. She made a left and walked past a few dozen cars that were parked in a row. Hers was on the end. She was one of the last people to get on the ferry. She passed an old couple looking at
the waves, much like she’d been doing seconds before. After a brisk minute walk, she reached the 4x4. She opened the driver’s door and got in. She searched the interior like a woman possessed. Demi didn’t let up. She turned every inch of the inside of that car. She checked the glove compartment. The foot well. The dash. The compartment on the driver’s door. The passenger’s door. The floor. Under the mats. Between the gaps in the seats. Under the seats. Every possible location. She was breathless as she got out of the car and made her way to the back. She opened the boot and saw it was completely empty. There was no use checking it. There was nothing to turn inside out.
She slammed the boot shut and cursed. A man walking by her looked concerned but didn’t dare ask if she was okay. He cowered away and got into his own car, which was a few rows down from hers.
“Fuck!” she shouted. Luckily, no one was close enough to give a damn. She kicked the body work of the Land Rover. She made a dent. She kicked it again. And again.
But then she stopped. Something popped into her head. A flashback. She was bending down. Uncovering dirt. A piece of plywood. And then a bag. A bag full of money, passports, and documents. Her eyes widened as she remembered standing up. And then she heard a thud. She closed her eyes and replayed the image over and over again. Every time she replayed the image of herself getting back up, after fishing the see-through bag out of the ground, she heard that thud.
“I dropped it!” she said, opening her eyes.
The sound of the ferry blowing its horn startled her back to reality. Santander’s port came into shot. They were pulling in. A bell sounded. People began to rush back to their cars.
She had arrived in Spain.
Back In England:
Amy and Lionel were standing in a room. The walls were bright white. The place smelled of disinfectant. They were standing behind a seated man who was staring at a screen. Amy and Lionel had been staring at the screen for a good twenty minutes. Amy herself hadn’t blinked, or at least that’s what it felt like.
“This may take a while,” the man seated at the computer said, to no answer. He was just about to suggest that they get a coffee when a buzzer went off. The screen flickered, and “searching” changed into “match found.”
“We got you now, you bitch,” Amy said as a picture of Demi Reynolds loaded, along with her personal information.
“You can run…but I’ll get you. I’ll get you good,” Amy said under her breath.
TO BE CONTINUED
A thank you from the author:
Thank you for reading this novel. I appreciate your support. Without you, this wouldn’t be possible. If you enjoyed this book, please feel free to let others know. Word of mouth helps my books reach other readers. An Amazon review containing your thoughts does wonders. Thank you again and I hope to see you nose deep in one of my other books soon!
Luis
P.S
I’ve added a chapter sampler for my new Frank McKenzie novel at the end of this book. Feel free to read on!
Stranger At The Door Sample
One
The man got out of the car and waved his wife off with a playful smile. “It’s better if nobody knows we went out tonight,” he said.
His wife, Mandy, sat behind the wheel of their brand-new Cadillac and shone back a full row of pearly white teeth. She was feeling playful as well. After all the intimacy problems they’d been having for the past six months, a little mischief and wonder was very much needed for the both of them.
“Now, Mr. Governor, don’t ruin a perfect evening,” she said.
The man stood out in the cold, looking down at his wife from the passenger’s window. He bent down and gave her a wink. He then wagged his long finger at her, half sticking it into the rolled-down window. “Mandy, I told you not to call me that. Nothing is finalized yet. I don’t know if you’re aware, but there tends to be a vote before anybody is given the position of governor.”
“Don’t wag your finger at me, mister!” his wife returned, switching off the car’s engine and stepping out of it, high heels first, into a wet puddle. She looked over the roof of the car and gave her husband a look. It was a plain and simple one. It screamed AH, MY NEW SHOES!
“Look what you’ve gone and done, Mr. Governor!” she said, making her way around the car and over to her finely dressed husband. He was looking around at their surroundings. It was a rough neighbourhood, and the motel they were standing in front of had hourly rates, but that was all part of their newfound exciting sex life. It contained a lot of seedy hotels and unused dives. It was all part of their therapist’s idea of “getting it to work again,” whatever that meant.
“Look what you’ve gone and done,” his wife said, reaching him and putting her hand gently on his thigh. “You got me all wet,” she said, bursting out into a belly laugh that sounded like a squawking bird in the late night Boston air.
“I’ll get you some new shoes,” he said.
“Don’t worry about them, honey — I don’t mind getting wet and dirty once in a while,” she confessed, moving her hand from his thigh down to his crotch. She grabbed it and squeezed. It wasn’t the time or the place, but the soon-to-be governor was definitely ready to express his gratitude to his wife. She looked great in her little black dress. She wore extendable silk gloves that ran halfway up her arms. She had a single necklace on that looked delicate around her neck. Her fiery red hair waved in the wind.
“The necklace,” he said, reaching for it. He held it firmly in his grip. “I gave that to you when we were younger,” he muttered under his breath.
His wife stepped back a few feet, a look of dismay on her face.
“Roger, I just grabbed your damn crotch, and all you can think of is my necklace? I’m afraid I’m going to have to reiterate how badly I want you inside me, so get moving or this date is over!” she said, half serious, half smiling.
Mandy was a stunning woman who had a knack for getting her own way. The only person who didn’t respond to such traits was her husband, Roger. She loved him for that. That was why she had been with him for twenty-seven years. That’s why she was working on their marriage. Love, for her, was him. She forgave him for his past discrepancies. She understood that a man in power needs a thrill. She was just adamant that the next thrill her husband would be getting was from her, and not some stranger Roger decided to fornicate with.
She forgave him, though. A man, after all, is only as perfect as the woman he is with. She understood her part in things. But she wasn’t there to dwell. She was there to have fun.
“So come on, let’s do this!” she said, nearly “whooing” like an excited teenage girl on spring break.
Roger broke into a sweat. He was nervous. He hadn’t been with his wife for a while. Not since the incident. But he was excited. She looked amazing. He was remembering why he married her in the first place. Besides her fabulous figure and a tremendous appetite for pleasure, she was his rock. He knew he had done wrong. And it was time to repay his debt to her. He had a long list of things he was planning to do that night, and neither of them involved one ounce of sleep.
“Coming,” he said, wrapping his strong hands around her firm waist.
The middle-aged gorgeous couple walked side by side into the seedy motel. Once the doors opened, neither of them would be the same again.
Cue a night of fearsome make-up sex….and death.
Two
“You don’t actually think we have a chance this year, do ya?” Santiago said as he grabbed a betting slip from the rack in front of us.
“Bruins always have a chance,” I said, watching my partner fill in the accumulators for me. I wasn’t one for getting my hands dirty. That was the tradition: I cough up the money, and San fills in the slips. We would split it whenever we won. That was the deal. Seems like a bad one on my part, seeing how Santiago never actually put any money in, but it wasn’t like we were betting big. It was always just twenty bucks. That’s my limit.
“That’s crazy talk. Rangers
look to be closing in on the gap. If they don’t win the Cup, then I’d be surprised if we even get to the playoffs,” Santiago mumbled as he filled out my picks.
“That’s why they call it betting, San — you’re supposed to go AGAINST the feasible to attain the pot of gold!”
Santiago chuckled as he put the pen down and handed me the slip.
“No, you do it. That guy behind the counter doesn’t like me much,” I said.
San nodded his head, as if he had already heard why.
“Not many people like you, Frank. Hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
“Something to do with me busting his nephew for slanging rock downtown,” I said, grabbing some cash from my pocket and handing it to the bronzed hand of my partner. He and I were opposites. He was tanned and good-looking. I was pale and rugged. The perfect mixture of diversity. It goes down well at the P.D. ball. Everyone loves an ethnic odd couple.
We walked to the counter and buzzed the bell. A fat guy behind a pane of glass mumbled something under his breath as San slid the slip under the gap between us. The fat guy behind the counter nodded and gave us a ticket stub. In exchange, Santiago flicked a twenty under the gap.
“He doesn’t think you like him,” Santiago bellowed rather loudly, pointing at me and pulling a face. The guy behind the counter frowned and shrugged unapologetically.
“Well, at least he ain’t as stupid as he looks,” the fat guy said, turning his back on us and looking up at the small TV he had propped up on a shelf.
“Well, that’s taken care of. How about we go and grab a bite to eat?” San said, punching me on the arm.
“Yeah, why not? Hoagies, it is,” I said.
Then the fun ended when my cell phone buzzed. I fished it out of my jacket pocket and put it to my ear.
“Detective Frank McKenzie,” I said, looking at Santiago, who was rolling his eyes. We had just finished a sixteen-hour shift and were looking to wind down before hitting the sack. But a vibrating cell can mean only one thing.