Jason snorted. ‘I know. You didn’t speak to me for two weeks when I told my mam about what you were growing in the back garden. I’m not asking for names. More like … what kind of blokes are they? Local boys? Out-of-towners?’
Lewis folded his arms. ‘What’s in it for me, Jay?’
His mate had always been mercenary. That was how they’d ended up planning a gold exchange robbery and not knocking over the corner shop.
‘Bryn’s already writing you a letter for the transfer board. Because he’s a good bloke and I asked him. You know I’ve got nothing else for you.’
Lewis’ face was impassive, stony. ‘My mam likes One Direction.’
Jason blinked. ‘Right.’
‘There’s a concert coming up. She needs tickets and an escort.’
Their eyes met. And they burst out laughing, startling everyone else in the room.
‘Oi, Jonesy!’ A guard called across the visiting room, a soft face that Jason recognised. ‘You too, Carr. No need to be rowdy now.’
Jason threw him a sloppy salute before turning back to Lewis.
‘Deal. But I’m sending my mam. I love Auntie Elin, but not enough to sit through that shit.’
Lewis leaned forward, eyes sparking with amusement but voice pitched much lower. ‘The word in here is that the crew can’t be locals – no one round here has the connections or the balls. Something similar went down in Oxford about fifteen years ago, but one of my boys knows the guys what did that and says it’s not them. They wouldn’t have killed the guard, no way. The gangs who are into moving art get into it because they don’t want the hassle of drugs, guns, and girls anymore. And they work big.’
‘How big are we talking?’
‘Jay, come on. We robbed the gold exchange and that was the crime of the year. These guys just made off with a painting worth millions. One fucking painting! But it’s high risk at both ends, y’know. What if the buyer don’t like it? What if you’re going international and his boys take against your boys? My friends who know about these things tell me it’s all Arabs and Chinamen. Who wants to get involved in that shit?’
‘So, they shove it in a suitcase and fly it out to Dubai?’
Lewis chuckled, quieter so they didn’t draw too many eyes. ‘Nah, butt. The Oxford boys made for Liverpool. Same way the drugs go – in and out on the boats.’
‘Good job we’re a landlocked country in the middle of Europe,’ Jason quipped. ‘Any idea where to start?’
Lewis subtly glanced left and right, checking out their immediate neighbours.
‘The boy in the know? He’s a Gog.’
Jason didn’t ask further, though he wanted to interrogate Lewis about which part of North Wales he was from and where along that vast coast to begin. But they had been talking in hushed tones for too long and the last thing Jason needed was to be suspected of a conspiracy or for Lewis to be fingered as a snitch.
They chatted about the Autumn Internationals, their mutual friends on the inside and out in the world, and how Cerys had mutated into a sensible proto-cop with a copper boyfriend. When their time was up, they embraced with a slap on the back and the promise to email.
And the old guilt burned in Jason again, the knowledge that the clouds hanging over his head would soon dissipate to reveal blue skies but Lewis had yet more time to serve under the cosh. Time they should be sharing, together.
He should’ve been at the gold exchange that day, standing beside his best mate as they robbed an old man blind. But he had been arrested one week before for stealing their getaway car. For years, Lewis hadn’t been able to forgive him for that abandonment, the reason their plan had fallen apart. If he’d been there that day, maybe they’d still be leading a life of crime, or retired rich somewhere hot and sunny. Instead of Jason visiting his mate in prison.
He went out the gates and it started to rain, a typical Welsh absolution, the chains dissolving into the puddles, and Jason walked away, free in body if not in mind.
Chapter 9
Knucklebrained
Her unvented anger had exhausted her and Amy slept late, her bed more inviting than the case. She drifted in and out of broken sleep, repeatedly sucked back into obscure dreams of shadows and a hundred false awakenings.
When she finally rose, it was gone midday and the house was empty. Amy recalled Jason saying something about visiting Lewis this weekend – perhaps he had made an early start. She made some toast and tea in her dressing gown, before gravitating towards AEON to check for overnight developments.
Indira had uploaded her preliminary autopsy report, including possible connections and disparities from the evidence collected by the scene of crime officers. One report compared trace found all around the body to that recovered from the deceased’s clothes and shoes. One entry stood out: ‘silica and particulate organic matter consistent with natural beach sand’. No such sand was found on Paul Roberts’ shoes, which meant the killer probably brought it with him. Like breadcrumbs, the trail of sand would also give a cunning Scene of Crime Officer confirmation of the entry and exit points that the killer used. Amy put another mark in the amateur column.
She checked the results of Paul’s social media search. The results were sparse, a forgotten Facebook profile amongst a slew of older, mothballed networks that hadn’t seen use in years. Who still had a Friends Reunited account?
She would need access to his home computer or his work account to get a better picture of his browsing history, his interests, his connections. She fired off a quick email to Bryn with her modest requests, before looking for a distraction while waiting for new information. Why hadn’t they thought of this before now? How was she supposed to work without data?
Bryn had been getting sloppy about evidence provision recently. She’d had to ask on more than one occasion for the files and access she needed since returning to work after the accident. At first, she’d thought Bryn didn’t want to overburden her after her injuries but she’d been recovered for weeks now. He had no excuse for his continued laxity, in her mind.
Part of her was aware she was being unfair and knew that Bryn had a lot on his plate, but if he wanted her help in these crimes, he had to give her something to work with. She could only get so far working from unofficial sources – social media, remote access, supposedly secure government databases.
The lift doors opened, startling her. ‘Honey, I’m home!’
Jason thought he was being funny again, that was all. But Amy smiled all the same.
‘Good day at the prison, dear?’
‘Same old, same old. Didn’t fancy hanging about this time.’ He came up behind her and flipped open his notebook. ‘Ready?’
Amy found that she wasn’t angry anymore. Relieved, she opened her notes and assumed her typing position. ‘Ready.’
‘Lewis’ unnamed sources reckon this is part of an organised crime network operating on and off boats, like the drug supply. Definitely not the same blokes who robbed Oxford. And he thinks we’re looking at a North Walean connection.’
Amy nodded as she typed: CI HMPS gangs boats Oxford X N Wales. ‘Anything else?’
‘I’ve got to buy tickets to One Direction.’
‘If that’s how you’re spending your salary, I might need to reconsider my generosity.’
‘Oh, give over.’ Jason gently shoved at her shoulder and she didn’t flinch. She was getting better at that. ‘Tea?’
‘Please.’ She finished the dregs of her last mug before handing it off to him. ‘This intel fits the evidence perfectly. The SOCOs found beach sand tracked in by the killer.’
‘They can do tests on that, can’t they? Find out if it’s from North Wales’ beaches?’ Jason called from the kitchen.
‘Mm.’ Amy scanned the report again. ‘They’ve sent it to some national lab for analysis, but it could take a few days. You’re turning into a proper
detective, aren’t you?’
‘I just know my limits. I bring you second-hand gossip and you turn it into evidence that would stand up in court.’
‘That’s Bryn’s job. I just shore up your gossip with my own, before handing it over to the real police.’
Jason laughed. ‘Modesty? From you? You’re a genius at this and you know it.’
Amy blushed and tried to cool her cheeks with her palms before Jason came back in. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, noncommittal.
But she knew that Bryn needed her and she liked that feeling. Cardiff Police didn’t have access to computer forensics and that meant she was it. It was a huge responsibility, but she didn’t mind. She liked to be needed. She sent the scant details of Jason’s prison intelligence to Bryn via email, flagging up the connection to the sand. Playing her part.
Jason returned with her tea and she took a break from the computer, sitting beside him on the sofa as they drank in companionable silence.
‘Did you find anything out while I was gone?’
Amy filled him in on her lack of information from Paul’s social media, at which he nodded in all the right places. She had him well trained.
‘So, what’s next?’ he asked.
‘I have hours of CCTV to review.’
She felt Jason’s eyes on the side of her face, boring a hole. ‘And me?’
Amy hesitated. She didn’t have anything that needed fetching, no suspects to be interrogated. Bryn hadn’t responded to her request for Paul’s data and devices, so she had no need for Jason’s particular skillset.
‘How are we for bread?’
‘Seriously? We’re looking at a murder and you want me to pop to the shops?’
Amy flustered. ‘I have nothing for you to do.’
‘I can look at CCTV just as well as you can. We’ve got the tablet or my laptop.’
She hesitated, a moment too long.
Jason huffed and got up off the sofa. ‘Fine. I’ll check the cupboards for Cerys coming over tonight. Let me know if you think of some “one-brain-cell” tasks, yeah?’
‘Jason, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Amy protested.
Jason towered above her, all six feet of him radiating barely contained frustration. ‘Look, I know computers aren’t my thing. But you could teach me some stuff, enough to help you out. I’m not only good for my feet and fists.’
‘I know. I do know.’ Amy had no idea how they’d got into the bizarre situation of her giving Jason reassurance. It was a strange place to be.
‘I’m just saying I can do a lot more if you let me.’
He retreated into the kitchen, leaving Amy staring after him. Maybe she hadn’t been fair. But what if he missed something? She had years of practice looking at CCTV and she knew she could comb every frame perfectly. It would be difficult to let go.
But she trusted him with her evidence, with witnesses and dangerous situations. Amy trusted Jason with her life. Was trusting him with AEON really that different?
Amy headed for the shower, her mind still churning over this new development. The hot water would clear her head and give her the opportunity to think it through, away from the distraction of Jason’s earnest eyes and how much she wanted to please him.
She had to make this decision with her head, and not her unreliable heart.
Jason unloaded the dishwasher with jerky movements, frustration bleeding into his household chores. Other people had jobs that gave them weekends off and bosses who trusted them with more than just playing errand boy.
Sure, he hadn’t done much with himself in school, preferring to bunk off and shake down younger kids for their lunch money, case the best corner shops for a bit of thieving, or find who could score an eighth or two for a session down by the river. That had been his education, learning how to please himself and his mates, and intimidate anyone who got in their way.
But he thought he was better than that now. He wasn’t just some thug who got answers with a bruising. He was doing honest work, for Amy and the police. Why wouldn’t she let him prove that he could do more than just fetch, carry and clean?
The doorbell rang. They weren’t expecting Cerys until later, so who was paying them a visit? When the bell rang again, Jason crossed into the living room to find it empty and the sound of the shower running coming from down the corridor.
With AEON locked down, Jason moved towards the intercom and pressed the button the old-fashioned way. ‘Yeah?’
‘Jason, it’s Owain.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ What the hell was Owain doing here two days in a row?
‘Hi. Can I … come up?’
‘Yeah, sure.’ Jason buzzed him up and waited in the corridor. Something weird was going on here and he intended to find out what.
The lift doors opened and Owain strode out, dressed down with his laptop bag on his shoulder. ‘Where’s Amy?’
‘She’s in the shower. You need something?’
‘Mind if I disturb her?’ Owain tried to peer around him, as if doubting he believed Jason at all.
Jason decided he was getting to the bottom of this. ‘Why are you here? I thought you were working.’
Owain tapped the laptop bag. ‘This is work.’
Jason moved across the corridor to block Owain’s path to Amy. ‘I’m all ears.’
Owain’s hand gripped the bag strap until his knuckles turned white. ‘The CCTV—’
‘Yeah, we’ve got it.’ Jason wasn’t budging an inch.
‘I’m here to help. Her analysis.’
Jason’s mouth went dry. After she’d turned him down… ‘Since when does Amy need help with computers?’
‘Jason, please—’
‘Since when?’ he shouted, getting in Owain’s face.
Owain tensed, his whole body rigid and his eyes squeezed shut. As if bracing for a blow.
Jason deflated immediately. ‘Fuck, mate, I’m not gonna hit you.’
Owain released a shaky breath and slowly opened his eyes, as if he was afraid of what he might see. ‘Sorry. Just … jumpy.’
Jason had seen this kind of jumpy before. Amy startled like a rabbit in the face of a 4x4. But he’d never seen Owain wear it, like a heavy cloak weighing him down. But a brush with death altered a person, didn’t it?
Jason had seen the evidence of Amy’s nightmares, dark circles under her eyes and savagely bitten fingernails, and heard the stifled cries through the floorboards. He’d kept an eye on her, but he hadn’t ventured past her bedroom door. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed in your boss’s house, and entering Amy’s room for more than a wake-up call and a cup of tea was out of the question.
‘How about I put the kettle on while we wait for Amy?’ he said gently.
Owain nodded, still pale and trembling. Jason shepherded him towards the living room and made the tea, adding an extra spoonful of real sugar to Owain’s. He took it silently and stuffed a chocolate digestive in his mouth, like a small child at his nan’s house.
Jason watched him, his own hands unable to keep still in his lap. Because for all his protests to Amy, despite everything he thought he could make of himself, he still led with his temper, choosing the physical over the mental to solve a problem.
No wonder Amy couldn’t trust him with peanuts. Jason wasn’t even sure if he could trust himself.
Chapter 10
Two pairs of eyes
Amy washed the sweat from her skin, trying to be rational about Jason and his effect on her. She was used to struggling on with a head full of cotton wool, from the depression or the panic, lack of caffeine or a little too much red wine. But for another person to put her in a spin like this … The last person to have that kind of hold over her had been her mother, that raging hatred that had consumed her teenage years until she had finally escaped from her.
Stealing from her parents was the
best day’s hacking she’d ever done and she refused to regret it. The insurance company had coughed up, her father had changed his passwords to another predictable set of cricketing highlights, and they had all moved on with their lives. Except Amy and her sister were five million pounds richer.
Their parents had never found out who stole the money. Just as they had failed to notice Grandma’s fading memory, leaving the old woman to raise two young girls. Leaving Amy and Lizzie to bury their grandmother. It was only when Lizzie had reached out to them earlier in the year that they even knew what had happened to their daughters. Their father had assumed it was being ‘taken care of’, like so many little things. His mother’s memory. Lizzie’s education. Amy’s fragile mental health.
Rinsing the bitter taste from her mouth, Amy pushed the past away and boxed it up inside her. It would keep. Back in her room, she threw on whatever was to hand and headed for the living room.
She stopped short at the sight of Owain on the sofa. He was staring into his mug, looking both lost and hopeful that the tea would somehow hold the answers.
‘Owain’s brought his laptop,’ Jason said, from the kitchen doorway. ‘To help with the CCTV.’
She heard the hesitancy in his voice, with an edge of anger. He wanted her to intervene, to drag Owain back from wherever he had fled. But, if she let Owain in, she would be admitting that she could share her work – just not with Jason.
Amy was torn. Jason was her assistant, her best friend. But Owain needed a purpose, needed to keep moving in case he realised that in stopping the world had changed irrevocably. She recognised that look from the mirror. Maybe she could fix him in a way she had never managed for herself?
But before she could answer, Owain was unpacking his laptop and he’d lost some of the shadows from his face, his eyes. He almost looked like himself again. Amy knew exactly how much the work was therapy. Could she deny him that?
‘What about me?’ Jason asked.
She tried not to hear the hurt in his words. ‘You were going shopping. For Cerys.’
Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries) Page 5