Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries)

by Rosie Claverton

  She glanced up at the clock. 02:13. Yet another sleepless soul in the city of Cardiff tonight. But Cerys would be lying in their bed, waiting for him when he decided to rest his eyes or wake her for an embrace that would make him forget sleep, forget the nightmares.

  Amy had her cold, lonely apartment. No assistant sleeping downstairs or making her hot chocolate in their kitchen. No one to wake when her darkness was too deep and she just needed someone to hold close.

  Jason touched her shoulder, her arm, and sometimes he hugged her – when she was teetering on the edge of panic or despair. The times he knew about. But he was a friend, nothing more. He would always retreat, to his family, to his women.

  Amy shut down her banking program and watched the gallery footage again. Anything to distract from the chill in her that was nothing to do with loss of heat, the emptiness of the silent rooms, the lack of him.

  Chapter 14

  Lost property

  The shock of the water robbed him of his breath and Jason fought not to gasp and drown himself in his panic.

  But he hit the bottom immediately, free to kick up to the surface if he could ignore the raw agony. Adrenaline won over pain and he broke the surface into the mist on the water, no way of telling where he was in the bloody lake.

  His helmet was a goldfish bowl and he wrenched it off his head, letting it sink. He heard the shouts from somewhere behind him and he tried to turn, his sodden leathers weighing him down.

  A powerful flashlight swept across the water from the bank and Jason raised an arm to wave, sending a surge of frigid water over his nose and mouth. He spluttered but kept waving, until he heard an answering shout.

  ‘I see him!’

  Jason wasn’t going to wait around to be rescued, the cold already sinking deep into his bones and no Amy to send the emergency services to his exact location within moments. He started swimming towards the light, surprised when his legs hit the bottom within seconds. He got the gently sloping bank under his feet and staggered the last few feet to the safety of the shore.

  ‘Fuck, you all right, mate?’

  The man’s voice was trembling as he seized Jason’s hand, helping him stumble out of the water pooling around his ankles. Jason couldn’t see anything of him behind the strong light, but he was grateful for the strong arm steadying him.

  ‘Bit c-cold,’ he stuttered, his body starting to shiver in the night air.

  From behind the man, he heard someone or something come down from the road.

  ‘Where the fuck is my bike?’ Frieda grabbed his jacket and shook him. ‘What have you done with my bike?’

  Jason was startled into silence, unable to resist her angry hands on his jacket. But his flashlight-wielding saviour got between them.

  ‘Leave off, love. He just came out of the water. Your bike’s probably smashed against the wall up there.’

  ‘You bastard!’ she screamed, and any illusions he’d been harbouring about Frieda vanished in the face of her naked fury. ‘I never should’ve brought you here!’

  ‘Love, he could’ve died in that water. Or under my wheels. You need to calm down.’

  Belatedly, Jason realised that the man must be the driver of the lorry. The memory of his up-close encounter with the vehicle’s wheels threatened to buckle his knees, but Frieda still had a tight grip on his leathers.

  She let go of him, shoving Jason onto his arse before rounding on the lorry driver.

  ‘Who are you? You were all over the road!’

  ‘It’s been a long night,’ the man said evasively.

  ‘Asleep at the wheel? This is a police investigation now. Hand over your licence and registration.’

  The man bolted, scrambling for the barrier and dropping his torch. The light threatened to roll into the water, but Jason flapped at it with his arm, dragging it towards him. He pointed it at the barrier, to see Frieda pinning the man to the ground and handcuffing him.

  ‘I am arresting you for dangerous driving…’

  Jason missed the rest of the spiel, though he knew it off by heart by now. He reached inside his leathers and pulled out his phone. It was dead, dripping filthy water. Amy was gonna kill him.

  ‘Get off your arse and help me!’

  Frieda’s words finally penetrated and Jason prised himself off the grass, the torchlight guiding him to where she had her handcuffed prisoner sitting beside a scraggly bush.

  ‘I don’t know—’

  ‘I don’t care. Watch him while I call it in.’ She wrenched the torch from his hand and shone it at her face, as if she were telling ghost stories around the campfire. ‘If he escapes, I’m arresting you for aiding and abetting.’

  She marched off, taking the light with her, and Jason felt his way to their captive in the dark. He had no idea what to say – the man had saved his life, but he had tried to run, so was definitely guilty of something.

  ‘Sorry about this, mate,’ he said, which was ridiculous.

  ‘Don’t worry. Bitch cop caught me out, didn’t she?’

  They sat together in the dark, Jason massaging water out of his leathers as he tried to keep moving, stop himself stiffening up. He couldn’t hear Frieda’s voice, so she must’ve wandered farther down the road. Didn’t want to be overheard – or couldn’t get signal. They could be here a while.

  ‘Would you mind reaching for my fags? Inside left pocket. And help yourself – you look fit to drop.’

  ‘Could still get the drop on you,’ Jason said lightly, feeling his way to the cigarettes and lighter inside the man’s jacket. ‘My neck’s on the line too.’

  He placed an unlit cigarette in the man’s mouth by the flame of the lighter, before lighting him up and helping himself to the offered cigarette. He might have quit, but if this wasn’t a time for vice indulgence, he didn’t know what was.

  He replaced the lighter and fags, before taking back the man’s cigarette – he probably shouldn’t let the prisoner choke on his own fag.

  ‘What you done then?’ Jason asked, in the conversational tone of the prison yard.

  ‘You police?’

  ‘Nah. Work for a PI, but nothing official.’ He suddenly seized on an idea. ‘You’ve come from the port, right? Holyhead?’

  The man leaned forward and Jason let him take another drag, his grimace lit only by the crumbling glow of the ash.

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘We need to know a thing or two about what’s going on up there. And you’d be in the perfect position to tell us. Can’t speak for Her Ladyship, but that might be worth something. See what I’m saying?’

  His companion was silent for a long time. Jason brought the cigarette back to his lips, but he shook his head. Jason stubbed it out against his boot and smoked his own to the stub. He’d quit again when he felt less like Frosty the Snowman.

  ‘I may know something about what’s coming in and out of the docks. And … who you might talk to, to make it run smooth, like.’

  Jason grinned in the dark. He’d show Frieda exactly why she’d brought him along.

  At six o’clock on Sunday morning, Bryn was tucking into a bacon butty at his desk when the phone trilled.

  The sound echoed in the deserted office and Bryn picked it up curiously. ‘Hesketh.’

  ‘Bryn, it’s me. Jason.’

  Bryn glanced at the clock to double-check the time, and glanced out the windows for good measure. Still dark, and definitely not a decent hour for a Sunday.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he said, before a stab of fear hit his heart. ‘Is it Amy?’

  ‘No, she’s fine. I think. Listen – I’m in Bangor with Frieda.’

  Bryn gawped. A blob of ketchup dripped off his butty and onto the keyboard.

  ‘Well, that’s … something.’

  ‘I got a bit … I can’t get through to Amy, let her know I’m a
ll right. And you know what she’s like.’

  Bryn knew enough about his pet hacker to figure she was pretty pissed off that her assistant had buggered off to North Wales with some pretty girl from London. But on that point he kept quiet. ‘What should I tell her?’

  ‘I’ll try her again when I get settled in a hotel. And not to worry. Cheers, Bryn.’ Jason sneezed loud enough to wake the dead. ‘Shit, I’m coming down with something. Fucking water.’

  All Bryn’s detective instincts kicked in. ‘What happened to you, exactly?’

  Jason paused. ‘Promise you won’t tell Amy?’

  ‘Second thoughts, best you don’t tell me.’ Bryn didn’t want to get between those two, curiosity be damned.

  ‘I’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘And how will Agent Haas like that?’

  ‘She’ll learn to live with it, won’t she?’

  The edge in his voice told Bryn that at least some of the shine had come off. He’d seen the way Jason had looked at Frieda in the detectives’ office. He’d obviously fancied her enough to tag along to Bangor, but he’d hopefully got the measure of her now.

  Bryn had seen enough London coppers to know they were hewn differently to Welsh police, and the National Crime Agency knew how to find a humourless hard-arse. The local divisions were a different story, but Bryn’s mind skirted away from those thoughts. The Welsh Division of Organised Crime Command was lying dormant and no one had any desire to resurrect it.

  ‘Bryn? You still there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m here. Just keep an eye out, will you? NCA may be leading on this but I … well…’

  ‘I’ll keep you in the loop,’ Jason said, and it was as good as a promise. If there was one thing Jason wore well, it was loyalty.

  ‘Stay in touch.’

  Bryn hung up the phone and absently picked up his cold sandwich. Why was Frieda Haas in Bangor? And why hadn’t she mentioned she was leaving the capital? She had commandeered his investigation and then left him to it, no word of what she was doing or when she’d be back.

  While the cat’s away… It seemed the investigation was back in his hands and he intended to make full use of that time – and his secret weapon.

  It was time to bring his hacker back into the fold.

  Chapter 15

  Show me yours

  Frieda was giving him the silent treatment.

  Her beloved bike was under a tarp in the Bangor Police Station car park until she’d had a chance to look it over and decide on scrap or salvage. The way she was glaring at Jason, however, made him feel like she’d rather be making that decision about him.

  Jason had turned down a trip to the local hospital, assuring their police escort that he was just a little scraped up and soggy, but he was grateful for access to the locker rooms and some dry clothes. He also raided their first aid box for bandages to cover the road rash on his leg, and the contents of his wallet were drying out on the radiator in their tiny kitchen.

  He’d told Frieda that their new lorry-driving friend was willing to make a deal, but she’d ignored him until they got to the station, when she presented the idea as her own. Jason was beginning to realise how much of a cow she really was and regretted ever swinging a leg over her bike.

  Wearing a mixture of odd gym clothes, Jason made his way to the briefing room, where Frieda was filling in the local officers on the purpose of their visit and the accident. She was still wearing her leathers, her cold eyes barely registering his entrance as she continued to hold court.

  ‘It seems our driver was in a hurry, but we have no idea why. The back of the lorry was entirely empty except for some pallets, a couple of crisp packets and a full bottle of what looks like apple juice.’

  ‘He was on his way back from Dublin,’ Jason chipped in. ‘Made his drop-off yesterday evening and caught the last ferry back.’

  The lead uniformed officer turned to him. ‘And who might you be, son?’

  ‘He’s with me,’ Frieda said, with obvious distaste. ‘He’s … a consultant for the South Wales Police, and the driver made some comments to him while we were waiting for backup.’

  The officer looked at him appraisingly. ‘Nye Thomas, Duty Sergeant. You think you can get him to talk some more?’

  Jason shrugged one shoulder. ‘That was for free, but I reckon he’ll be after something in exchange for more. You’ve got nothing on him otherwise.’

  ‘Nothing? He destroyed my bike!’

  ‘Treacherous bit of road,’ Nye said. ‘And not a drop of alcohol in his veins. I don’t think we can hold him accountable for your bike, Miss Haas.’

  Frieda looked between Nye and Jason as if she wasn’t sure who she wanted to eviscerate first. ‘I’ll talk to London.’

  While the Icewoman made her phone call, Jason bummed a cigarette off one of the constables and went outside for a quick fag with him. Nothing like a dash of cold water and a near-death experience to send him running back to nicotine. The morning sun had burned off most of the mist and Jason was grateful for the warmth settling into his skin.

  ‘You’re up from Cardiff then?’ the PC asked, probably a year or two younger than Jason and still keen.

  ‘Checking out some leads,’ Jason said, like he knew what he was talking about and hadn’t just followed Frieda up here to get away from his boss.

  ‘It’s to do with that museum theft, isn’t it?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘We’ve been keeping an eye out, but truth is that our boys aren’t up to much about here. Snatching purses and growing weed, that’s about it. I don’t think any of them have got the brains to traffic a painting.’

  ‘We think it’s an international operation. Any strangers in town?’

  The PC considered. ‘Usual tourists, but most of them have gone home now. If you wanted to sneak about, you wouldn’t come through Bangor, or stop off anywhere. People are right suspicious round here, unless you’re local. If you were smart, you’d drive up the A470 or take the A55 along the top of the country. Never see another soul.’

  Jason nodded – that made a lot of sense. One painting would be easy enough to hide in a bag, and it wasn’t like North Wales was swarming with border control. You could stroll onto any ferry coming in or out and no one would be any the wiser.

  He returned to the office, where Frieda was writing in a little black notebook, a firm do-not-cross perimeter in a five-foot circle around her. Jason had never been one for heeding warnings, though, and he stopped beside the desk she was leaning on.

  ‘What did they say?’

  She didn’t look up. ‘I can question the suspect. If he gives me enough specifics, he can have immunity from prosecution. If not…’

  Her tone was neutral, her cold mask firmly back in place. Jason thought he might prefer it that way. At least she was tolerating him and not calling for his head.

  ‘Can I watch?’

  ‘I thought you might be a voyeur.’

  Her flirtation was careful, cool, and Jason wasn’t in the mood to play games.

  ‘I’ll be behind the screen then,’ he said, and made to walk away.

  Frieda caught his arm, a firm warm grip on his bare skin. ‘Jason … I’m sorry. About before. Are you sure you’re all right? You should get the police medic to take a look at you.’

  Her eyes were earnest, her voice pitched low so they weren’t overheard. Was this another game, or did she genuinely care about what happened to him?

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, practising his own distance, the aloof voice he’d perfected during his time inside. ‘Let’s get on with it, yeah?’

  She nodded, released his arm, and led the way out of the room as if nothing had passed between them. Nye joined them outside the interview room, gesturing at the ajar door of the observation room.

  Jason had been in an interview room more times than he cared
to remember, but never on the outside looking in. The one-way glass tinted the harshly lit room with a shadow, the miserable lorry driver leaning against the table edge.

  Frieda and Nye entered the room together, Nye sitting opposite the driver but Frieda choosing to remain standing.

  Nye set the old-fashioned tape recorder and laid out the preliminaries. Jason watched the man’s face carefully for a reaction, but he was a study in misery, downcast and defeated.

  The lorry driver gave his name as Benjamin Stock, living in Canton, Cardiff – a couple of streets over from Dylan’s garage.

  ‘What were you transporting, Mr Stock?’ Frieda was straight to the point.

  ‘I thought … I thought this was about my driving.’

  ‘I think it’s about a lot more than that, isn’t it? Forensics are crawling all over your lorry and they’re making some very interesting discoveries.’

  Jason had seen the lorry when he went for his smoke – it was cordoned off in the corner of the car park, right next to Frieda’s battered bike, with not a soul in sight. She was playing him.

  ‘Please – that bloke before, the one who went in the lake. He said you were after information. I can give you that.’

  ‘I think you’d better.’

  But then Benjamin seemed to regain a semblance of control. ‘What’s … what’s in it for me, like? I mean, I’m happy to help you but if I … there are nasty people involved, see. I got a girlfriend, a kid.’

  ‘Tell us what we need to know, and we will take care of everything. You want witness protection? I can give you that – if you tell me everything. If not…’ She paused, leaving his imagination to fill in all the potential consequences.

  Benjamin winced at the thought. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, but they don’t let on to all of us. I can take you to the spots, get you some other fellas who are involved.’

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning. To ensure we can rely on your information. What was your latest shipment?’