by MA Comley
He pulled his head back. His eyes were glassy and drooping because of the drink he’d consumed. “What d’ya mean? What radar?”
Lorne tapped the side of her nose and motioned to Katy that they were leaving. Zac shouted after her, “You old tart, what d’ya mean?”
They heard the punters at the bar and the barmaid shouting and telling Zac to ‘Give it a rest and go home.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When they arrived at Styles Interiors, their unannounced visit seemed to rattle the owner of the business, and Lorne couldn’t help wondering why.
Danielle Styles was a sleek-looking, black-haired woman in her early-mid thirties, stylishly dressed in a beige boucle suit that had large, prominent gold buttons embedded with the Chanel emblem. Their surroundings echoed the opulence Lorne had witnessed at the two murder scenes she’d recently attended.
Towards the rear of the expansive showroom was row upon row of exquisite large rolls of fabric, arranged by colour, with the paler colours at the top and the darker ones at the bottom. To the left stood dozens of mirrors along one wall, mostly ornate with gold frames, but Lorne spotted a few with modern touches too. The rest of the showroom was sectioned off into lounge, dining room, and bedroom areas. Not a shabby-looking sofa or chipped table in sight.
Digging her warrant card out of her coat pocket, Lorne flashed it at the woman, who was obviously fighting to keep her composure.
“Ms. Styles? I’m DI Simpkins, and this is DS Foster. Is there somewhere private where we can have a little chat?”
The woman examined the gold watch loosely draped across her tiny wrist and sighed. “I can spare you five minutes before an important client comes in.”
If the woman thought her schedule would put Lorne off, she had another think coming. “Let’s put it this way, Ms. Styles: either you find the time to see me here, or we can ask our questions in a cold, damp interview room back at the station. I know which I’d prefer.”
Styles spun on her heel, her hair and skirt flicking out in the spin, and walked swiftly through the showroom. Katy and Lorne fell into step behind her. The woman’s office was comprised of a wall of glass that looked out onto the showroom they’d just left. Styles swept behind her large smoked-top table and daintily sat in a leather office chair while Lorne and Katy rejected her offer to sit on the three-seater sofa, and chose to stand.
The woman stretched her long slim neck up to look at Lorne and asked, “So, what’s this all about, Inspector?”
“We’re just making enquiries at this stage, Ms. Styles. I presume you know that a couple of your clients have been burgled in the last few days?”
Nodding, Styles replied, “Yes, it’s a dreadful situation.”
And how would she know that if the news hasn’t broken on TV yet? In the same level voice, Lorne asked, “Can you tell me how you got the contracts for the Dobbses and the Kellys?”
The woman’s perfectly preened eyebrows met as she frowned. “I’m not with you?”
“You seem an intelligent enough woman to me. I really can’t ask my question any more simply, Ms. Styles.”
The woman broke eye contact with Lorne, sat back in her chair, and placed her elbows on the chair’s thickly padded arms. “Most of my work comes from word of mouth. People recommend me all the time.”
“Ah, I see. So you did some work for the Dobbses, and the Kellys went on to employ you, is that right?”
“I can’t remember which way round it was, but…” She stood up and walked over to the cabinet and pulled up the concertinaed front, returning with a moss-green-coloured file, which she placed open on the desk. “Ah, here we are…Yes, the Kellys had their makeover completed before the Dobbses.”
“And where did the Kellys’ recommendation come from?” Lorne asked, a niggling feeling beginning in the depths of her stomach.
The woman rifled through the papers, going back and forth to several sheets before she cleared her throat and told them, “Umm…I believe the recommendation came from a friend of mine, Kim.”
Katy took out her notebook. “Do you have a surname for her?”
“Smalling. We go back years. What does this have to do with your case, Inspector?”
“We’re just in the process of joining up the dots, Ms. Styles. I wonder if you would mind giving us a copy of your client list?”
The woman gathered the sheets together and stuffed them back in the folder, then held it protectively close to her chest. “Don’t you need some kind of warrant or court order or something?”
Here we go again. “Only if you have something to hide. Do you have something to hide?” Lorne approached the desk, flattened her palms on it and leaned over.
The woman blinked her thickly mascaraed eyelashes quite a few times before she answered, “Me? What would I have to hide?”
“I don’t know. We’ll wait while you copy the documents.” Lorne’s smile pulled her lips into a straight line across her teeth.
Styles leapt to her feet and took the file to an outer office. Lorne expected the woman to rejoin them and to leave the menial task of copying to an office secretary or someone. When she didn’t, Lorne surmised her actions meant that she intended to avoid them. Styles returned with a pile of papers around ten minutes later.
Lorne accepted the pile of papers and gave them to Katy. She held out her hand for Styles to shake, another trick her father had taught her at the beginning of her career: You can tell a lot from a person’s character in the way they shake your hand.
The thing that struck Lorne most about their handshake was how sweaty and clammy Styles’ palm was. She recollected her father’s words: ‘A sweaty palm is a sure sign that person is guilty of something or has something to hide.’ She left the office and wandered back to the car, wondering which category Styles fit into.
• • •
It was getting on for five o’clock by the time they tackled the city traffic and arrived back at the station.
John was anxiously pacing up and down just inside the door to the incident room. “Ah, there you are, ma’am. The DCI would like a word.”
“Everything all right, John? Did he give you a clue what about?”
He shook his head vigorously and rubbed his hands together anxiously. “No, ma’am.”
“What aren’t you telling me, John?”
“Nothing, ma’am.”
Lorne knew by the way he was fidgeting that something was up. She turned to Katy. “You make a start on those. I’ll see what the boss wants, and then we’ll head home for the night.”
The DCI’s personal assistant leapt out of her seat and knocked on his door the second she saw Lorne, heightening her stress levels further. The wily fox didn’t do things like that without reason.
“DI Simpkins is here, sir.” The assistant held the door open, and Lorne walked past her.
“Get us some coffee, will you?” DCI Roberts said.
“Not for me, thanks. Sir?”
He motioned for her to take a seat, and with her eyes locked on his, she lowered herself gently into the chair. She heard him exhale a deep breath as he sat down opposite her.
“I had a call this afternoon,” he said almost reluctantly.
Lorne settled back into her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Okay, enough of the dramatics, Sean. From whom?”
What he said next knocked the wind out of her and left her clutching her chest and gasping for breath.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Oh, my God! Sean, tell me it’s not true,” she said, tears misting her eyes and seeping onto her colourless cheeks.
“I wish I could, Lorne. But MI6 have confirmed it. They wanted to tell you themselves, but I said it would be better coming from a friend. What can I do to help?”
Stunned, Lorne simply stared at him and lifted her shoulders slightly. “You can tell me that I’ll see him again. That I’ll hold him in my arms again.”
“It breaks my heart to say this, but we both know I can’t gu
arantee that. The Taliban have a habit of playing by their own rules. You need to prepare yourself for every eventuality,” he said gravely.
Her eyes met his, and she shook her head vehemently. “I refuse to give up on him. I know his love for me will get him through this. It has to.”
“I didn’t mean to sound heartless, Lorne, but—”
“I know you didn’t. But if I give up on him now, then I might as well give up breathing, Sean. He’s my soul mate. The air that I breathe—” She broke off as a hard lump lodged in her throat.
“I’m so sorry, Lorne. After all the shit you’ve had to contend with over the years, Tony was the bright spark—”
“Is! Is, not was. He’s still alive, and while there’s a tiny hope left, I’m sure he’ll return home to me. Do you mind if I ring Dad?”
“No, of course not. Do it from here. I’ll give you some peace.” He rose from his chair and walked round his desk. He squeezed her shoulder gently as he passed.
“Dad, thank God you’re home.”
“Lorne? Whatever is the matter, child?”
“The reports were true, Dad.”
Her father groaned, and she heard him kick a chair or something. “Damn! Have HQ confirmed that?”
“Yes, Dad. Sean’s just told me. What am I going to do?” she sobbed fresh tears.
“Are you up to telling me what happened, love?” he asked tentatively.
“Apparently the Taliban captured him up in the mountains. He was hiding out in a cave near the drug warlord he was after. They’ve publicly flogged and tortured him. Oh, Dad…”
“I know, love. For his sake and yours, please remain positive. You hear it all the time on TV about rescue attempts. Tony’s one of MI6’s greatest assets. They won’t give up on him, and neither should we.”
It was just the kind of hopeful words she wanted to hear. Her father always managed to say the right thing, to keep her buoyant when all those around her thought the worst of a given situation. His time on the force had taught him that positivity overwhelmed any likely negativity in instances such as this.
“But they’ve already killed another agent. What’s to stop them from killing Tony?”
“That’s a logical question, sweetheart. But look at it this way. They killed the other agent, and Tony was sent out. The Taliban know that MI6 will keep sending agents to replace those killed. They’ll probably be rethinking their plans as we speak. If not…and I’m going to be cruel here. If they’re not about to change their strategy, they would’ve already killed him by now. Instead they’ve only flogged and tortured him. I say only…but you know what I mean.”
Lorne blew out a relieved breath when she realised her father had a point. Fresh hope surrounded her heart and a slight smile touched her lips. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem, love. I know you’ve got company with that lassie staying with you, but if you’d like me to come and stay for a few days, I will.”
“I’ll be all right, Dad. You have my word that I will stay strong until all possible hope has diminished.” It was the exact same words her father had said when her mother was lying in the hospital dying of cancer.
They both said they loved each other and then hung up.
Seconds later, Sean entered the room behind her. “Everything all right?”
“I know you were listening, Sean. No point in denying it.”
“Ah! I forgot you were a shit hot detective.” He chuckled and perched his backside on the edge of the desk in front of her. “Seriously, if you need a chat, my door is always open.”
Lorne nodded, and their eyes met. “I know and I’m grateful.”
“If you want some time off, I’ll understand and back you all the way.”
One of her eyebrows rose up quizzically. “Did I have time off when Baldwin kidnapped Charlie?”
“No, you didn’t. But this is different, Lorne,” he stated, patting her hand with his.
“I can’t sit at home all day wondering…I’d rather be here throwing myself into the job, surrounded by friends.”
“I understand, totally. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel the same way. If the need arises to come and vent or to kick something or someone, don’t be afraid to knock on my door.”
She stood up and moved to the door before she responded. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Katy and I are going to call it a day now, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Fill me in on the case tomorrow, okay?”
“Sorry, we went to—”
He raised a hand to stop her. “Unless you’ve uncovered some case-breaking evidence, it can wait until tomorrow. Go home and try to get some rest. You’ve got my home number if you need me, all right?”
“Thanks, sir. I’ll be here bright and early to run through the case with you, then.”
“That’s a date, Inspector. Now, shoo!”
When she walked through the outer office, even the wily fox had a sympathetic expression. Any other time, Lorne would’ve bitten the woman’s head off. In this instance, she decided the woman’s heart was in the right place and gave her a brief nod of acceptance.
Katy insisted she should drive home while Lorne filled her in on what had happened to Tony, with the understanding that it went no further.
All the way through her horrific tale, Katy shook her head and gasped several times. After unburdening herself, Lorne spent the rest of the journey in dazed silence. And when Henry came to meet her at the door, she bent down to hug him and broke down.
“Oh, Henry, what am I going to do without him?”
The dog whimpered. Katy squeezed past her, patted Lorne on the shoulder, and ruffled the dog’s head. Then she went through to the kitchen and opened the back door for the collie, to be ready for when his mistress released him.
Sensing her need was greater than his, Henry sat and licked the salty streaks on her cheeks.
Several fraught minutes later, she kissed him and sent him on his way. Lorne followed him into the kitchen where Katy was pouring boiling water into two cups. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? Being human and having normal feelings? Everyone has their breaking point. My old Nan used to say, ‘A good cry set the world to rights.’ You need to get it out of your system before you can begin to see things more clearly.”
Lorne smiled, took the offered cup of coffee, and moved to the back door. “When did you become so sensible?”
“I’ve always been quite an expert on human nature. I just find it a struggle to take onboard my old Nan’s advice. I can dish it out, but as far as heeding it goes…Nah, it isn’t going to happen.”
Lorne dried the dog’s paws on the towel hanging on the rail by the back door and looked up at Katy. “I’ll feed Henry, but would you mind fending for yourself tonight? There are plenty of ready meals in the freezer compartment, and the microwave is easy-to-use.”
Katy’s head tilted questioningly.
“I’m not hungry. I thought I’d have a soak in the bath and grab an early night,” Lorne clarified.
Her partner nodded. “Sure. But my old Nan used to say—”
Lorne smiled and interrupted her, “Yeah, I know, something like ‘Never skip a meal in a crisis.’”
“Something like that. Give me a shout later if you want me to make you a sandwich or something. There’s a David Attenborough documentary on that I wanted to see anyway, so don’t worry about me.”
Lorne gave Henry his evening meal, then disappeared upstairs, still surprised by Katy’s comment that she was interested in Attenborough’s work. Not a thing you’d consider a youngster entertaining nowadays. Or someone of Lorne’s age, come to that.
The half-hour soak in her wonderfully fragrant lavender foam bath helped ease the tension in her body and put things into perspective a little. But she entered the bedroom and saw the picture Charlie had taken of Tony and herself down by the river. They were the epitome of happiness, laughing and looking adoringly at each other. Her newfound resolve teetered on the edge of th
e precipice.
To take her mind off things, she picked up her Kindle and started reading the paranormal mystery by Linda Prather that she’d downloaded the week before, after Charlie had raved about how good it was.
She drifted off to sleep a little while later, but she woke up every few hours crying out Tony’s name.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next morning, her stomach was complaining so much that she got up at six thirty and fixed herself a fry-up.
Katy appeared sometime after seven thirty and helped herself to a bowl of cereal. “What’s on the agenda today?”
Lorne appreciated the fact that her partner hadn’t referred to how rough she looked. Maybe the light touch of makeup she’d applied had successfully masked her pallor.
“First of all, I need to bring Roberts up-to-date on the case, not that we have much to go on. While I’m doing that, I thought you could team up with AJ, to download the pictures I took on my camera yesterday and see if you can come up with a match on the database.”
“Okay. This AJ, I get the impression he’s a bit of a ladies’ man. Is he?”
She laughed. “We used to say he likes his cars fast and his women even faster! I’m not sure if things have changed or not while I’ve been away. One thing, though…”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“You two have something in common.”
Katy screwed up her cute nose and asked, “What’s that?”
“You come from wealthy families.”
“I didn’t say my family is wealthy,” Katy responded defensively.
“Oh didn’t you? My mistake. AJ’s father is a lord. I’m not saying he can’t be trusted, but we tend to tread carefully around him. Wouldn’t want to upset him, if you know what I mean.” She tapped her nose.
“Crikey! What’s he working in the police for?”