Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  She ended the call. ‘Megan is new to Rodley. She arrived on the train a few days ago escaping a broken relationship. She doesn't have a job and hopes to find one soon.'

  'Have you got her address?'

  'Yes. Larry gave me directions.'

  When a sign for Rodley appeared, she guided him around the outer ring road and into the town centre. They passed a rugby club, a large veterinary surgery, and a cluster of takeaways before Rochester Street emerged on the left. Once he made a quick turn, they determined Megan's house, and he stopped the car. It was difficult to ascertain if she was within the house as the net curtains prevented them from seeing inside.

  'I think we should see if we can see anything at the back,' he suggested.

  They exited the car and walked along the street, passing her house. Having taken an immediate left along another street, they peered over a wall at the small group of houses recognisable as Rochester Street. When Luke scanned the tidy shared garden, he was stunned. Megan was by the rear of the house, and she looked exactly like Saskia. Just to be certain his memory was deceiving him, he extracted the printed image from his pocket, unfolded it, and compared the two women.

  He showed Imogen the picture. 'This was Saskia.'

  'Wow! They are so alike.'

  They strolled away, returning to the car.

  'I'd love to look like someone else,' she said.

  'I doubt you would . . . especially if the other person had been murdered.'

  'It's still exciting.'

  'You must lead a dull life.'

  ‘Really Luke. It’s me you’re talking to! You should know better than to make such comments.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Smiling, he opened the car and climbed inside. 'I'd like you to do a background check on Megan. See if you can find anything out: where she originates from, her family, her job . . .'

  'Saskia too?'

  'Yes, but hopefully we will find out what we need to know from Larry.'

  'Cool!'

  'Did you tell him we were on our way?'

  'I did.'

  Chapter 6

  The lunchtime traffic had started to clog up the streets, creating a stressful journey around the outer ring road. Luke looked at the queues up ahead and the café a little way on his left, and thought about his rumbling stomach. Unlike some of his friends, he struggled mentally if he missed a meal, often feeling nauseous and light-headed. Glancing at the time, he asked Imogen to pass him his baguette.

  They made slow progress to the traffic lights. He peered into the café and saw a few single men at tables. It seemed to be clean, with a simple décor suitable for those with basic needs. He assumed that the food would be greasy - eggs, bacon and sausage - and the waitress would be a buxom brunette with excessive feminine charms. His eyes drifted to the road.

  The traffic lights turned green. He placed his sandwich onto his lap, released the handbrake and pulled away. As his satellite navigator had failed, Imogen gave the directions, and moments later, they turned into a cul-de-sac and crept along the street, searching the semi-detached dwellings with bay windows for number eighteen.

  'His house is near the bend,' she said.

  He squeezed the car between two others and turned off the engine. They stepped outside, walked along the driveway and knocked on a glass door at the side of the house. Seconds later, a man wearing a crisp white shirt, blue tie, and black trousers, opened the door.

  'Larry Carr?'

  He nodded. 'Luke Adams I presume.' They shook hands. He turned to Imogen. 'Miss Morrison.'

  They followed Larry through his kitchen and into the dining room. There was a rectangular table in the centre, a cabinet alongside a small leather sofa, and numerous photographs of military aircraft upon the otherwise white wall.

  'Are you a military man?' Luke asked.

  'No. It's just a hobby. I did have the privilege of flying in one a few years ago . . . a present from my daughter.'

  'That must have been an experience.'

  'It was awesome . . . not for the faint-hearted.'

  'I can imagine. I've been in a small aircraft . . . that was scary enough for me. You feel close to the elements.'

  Luke pulled out a chair and joined Larry at the table, and listened as Larry shared his experience, enthusing over the design of some of the engines.

  'I must confess,' Luke said, 'I don't know a lot about flying, but it does sound like a fantastic hobby.'

  'It is. I've spent a lot of my time at a viewing platform near an RAF base not far from here. That's where I took most of these photographs.'

  'They are good.'

  'I have hundreds, probably thousands, in the attic.'

  'It must have taken quite a bit of your time.'

  'It did, although it was a valuable escape.'

  Larry clasped his hands on the table and lowered his head, his eyes holding a reflective gaze. Then he looked up, aware of Luke's questioning expression. 'My marriage was failing.'

  'That must have been difficult.'

  He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. 'Not really. The only thing we had in common was Danielle.'

  'Your daughter?'

  He nodded. 'Best thing that has happened to me. I didn't think so at the time mind. I must confess I was a mess back then.'

  'Oh?'

  'It's not important. Now, about Megan.'

  He retrieved his notebook and pen from his bag. 'Can you go through your meeting again, from the start?'

  'When I got on the train she was seated alone in a quiet carriage. It was as though I had stepped back in time. I thought it was Saskia. They have the same hair colour, almost the same hairstyle, and even the same body shape. Have you seen her?'

  He nodded.

  'I managed to get a photo . . . just in case you hadn't. I thought you'd be interested.'

  Larry leaned backward and opened a drawer in a cabinet, and pulled out a couple of photographs and placed them side-by-side on the table. One was of Saskia, the other Megan. The differences were minor. Saskia had less fat around her neckline, and her eyes were larger and closer together.

  'Do you think Saskia has been reincarnated?' Larry asked.

  'It is a possibility, but it's too early to tell.'

  'Megan even has the same mannerisms. She rotates her ring and chews her lip just the way Saskia did.'

  'Did you notice anything else?'

  He shook his head. 'There was one thing that I thought was strange. She said she had never visited Rodley before, but she knew what the art gallery looked like.'

  He took notes. 'You said on the telephone that she remembered being murdered.'

  'Yes. It happened just as the train was pulling up at the station. She seemed to go into some sort of trance, and then said she saw blood and a knife. She said: "someone kills me". She was terrified.'

  'So she felt as though she was in danger?'

  'I would say so. She had her hand on her stomach . . . as though in pain.'

  'Did she say anything else?'

  'No. I helped her off the train and put her into a taxicab.'

  'How much did you talk to Megan while you were on the train?' he asked.

  'All the way to Rodley. She was good company. I felt like I had known her for ages.'

  'Like old friends?'

  'Yes, exactly.'

  'You seem a friendly man, it doesn't surprise me.'

  'I think she wanted to stay in contact,' he said, 'but it felt a bit weird given that she looked like Saskia.'

  'What relationship did you have with Saskia?'

  'I didn't know her particularly well.'

  'Would you say you were friends?'

  'I suppose.'

  'Good friends?'

  He folded his arms. 'Just friends. She was married. I wouldn't have gone there even if I had wanted to.'

  'How did you meet her?'

  'Probably in a pub . . . I can't remember.'

  'What was her husband's name?'

  'Ron Maddison.'


  'Do you know where I can find him?'

  'Afraid not.'

  Luke scribbled Ron's name in his notebook. 'What other family did she have?'

  'She was from a large family. I think there were seven or eight kids in total. She was closest to Verity, the eldest of her younger sisters.'

  'Is Verity still around?'

  'I've no idea. I've not seen her in years.'

  'What was their surname?'

  Larry was thoughtful. 'Fox.'

  'Anything else you can tell me about Saskia?'

  'No. Like I said, I didn't know her that well. She was quite a few years younger than me.'

  'Do you know if she was involved with any local clubs or anything like that? I'd like to speak to as many people as I can who knew her.'

  'She hung around in pubs most of the time, or during the day at the shopping centre. She didn't seem the type for clubs, at least not the type you're referring to.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'I wouldn't have thought she was into anything structured . . . liked to feel she was a free spirit.'

  'What do you know of her disappearance?' Luke asked.

  'She left without warning . . . apparently went travelling in Europe.'

  'Did you know she had plans to leave?'

  'No. Like I said, I didn't know her particularly well. Although having said that, I do recall that she once said she wanted to go abroad. She had dreams of working in a resort . . . somewhere hot, I think.'

  'So it wasn't a surprise.'

  'No.'

  'But you said on the telephone you believed that she was murdered?'

  Larry turned sideways on his chair, still facing Luke, and rested his arm on the back. 'That’s the rumour that goes around the town. I was in two minds . . . always have been. It's quite possible that she just left.'

  'Did she have any enemies?'

  'I wouldn't have thought so. She was down-to-earth and well liked. I don't think anyone would have had reason to kill her.'

  Luke chewed the end of his pen, searching for obvious gaps in his interrogation.

  'Is there any way of proving Megan is Saskia?' Larry asked.

  He looked up from his notes. 'We'll have to first confirm Saskia is dead, but after that, I'm afraid not. I wish I could say there was. Often memories emerge - things that can't be explained. It's speculation that a reincarnation has occurred. There is little proof, although we do get some occasionally.'

  'I have read about some fantastic cases, including yours, where private details about someone's life are spoken by someone unrelated.’ He paused. ‘I believe reincarnation must happen. What a waste of a life otherwise.'

  'What is your interest in this case? Imogen asked.

  Larry turned, expressing surprise and irritation, and spoke abruptly. 'I'm worried for Megan. She seems a nice young woman. I'd hate to see anything happen to her.'

  'Have you spoken to her since her arrival?'

  'No.'

  'But you took a photograph.'

  'I just happened to be out with my camera when I saw her a little distance away. I didn't want to disturb her . . . she looked preoccupied.'

  'What was she doing?'

  'She was in the local cemetery looking at a gravestone.'

  'Whose was it? Luke asked.

  'I've no idea, I didn't hang around. He eased himself free from the chair and table. 'I'm sorry to end this, but I have an appointment to attend.'

  Luke returned his notebook and pen to his bag. 'Thanks for your time Larry, you have been most useful.'

  They shook hands.

  'Anytime,' he said. 'And if you can confirm she has been reincarnated, I would be most interested. It is a fascinating subject. I've read all your work. You're the best in your field.'

  'Thanks.'

  They strode to the car.

  'Fancy a coffee?' Luke asked.

  Imogen nodded.

  Luke strode around to the driver’s side of the car, climbed inside and started the engine. As he pulled away, heading for the café on the main road, he pondered Larry's behaviour and responses. His first impressions were positive, Larry appeared friendly, he was quick to answer the questions, and did not seem in any way to be trying to deceive. It was understandable given that Larry had instigated the meeting. But was he worried about Megan's safety? Could that be justified?

  To Luke, reincarnation was an exciting phenomenon but rarely did anyone share his enthusiasm, except, of course, Imogen. He glanced to his colleague, who was busying herself with her lipstick, and wondered if her passion was genuine.

  'What did you think of Larry?' he asked.

  'He was hiding something.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Just an instinct.'

  She placed her lipstick in her bag, put it onto the floor, and leaned back in the seat. 'It all seemed a little bit too rehearsed, and I thought he was a bit slick. Did you see him glancing at himself in the mirror?'

  'No,' he replied.

  'And I doubt he had an appointment. I think he was starting to feel uncomfortable with the questions.'

  'But he had a suit on.'

  'So? I noticed a computer was on in the next room, and there were things scattered across the sofa and coffee table. He didn't look like he was going anywhere in a hurry.'

  'What kind of things?'

  'It looked like he had emptied a drawer or a box, as though he was searching for something. There were pens and pencils, small boxes, wooden ornaments, sponge balls, and so on. I couldn't see anything unusual.'

  He indicated right and turned into the café car park.

  'Did you see him tapping his leg?' she asked.

  'No.'

  'He started doing it when you asked about Saskia. I think it was a nervous reaction. He did it when he mentioned his marriage break up too.'

  Luke held the door of the café open and allowed Imogen to pass through, before following her to the counter. A strong odour of fried foods lingered in the air and there were ring stains on the tables. They purchased coffees and progressed to a table in the corner of the room, away from the other customers.

  'You're not a bit like you appear,' he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Is that supposed to be a compliment?'

  'Of course it is. You are bright . . . and observant.'

  She leaned back and folded her arms. 'But I look a bit stupid.'

  'No, that's not what I meant. You don't look stupid at all. It's just that you are pretty, and -'

  'Pretty girls can't be intelligent.'

  His skin warmed. He reached for his coffee and tried to bury his face in the warm vapours. 'Of course they can, and you are.'

  'But that's not how I appear to you.'

  'Yes . . . I mean no.'

  'I think you should quit while you are ahead Luke.'

  'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

  She chuckled. 'Relax, I'm teasing.'

  The tension lifted from his shoulders. If only he could engage his brain before his mouth.

  'I'm going to freshen up . . . give you a moment to recover,' there was a glint in her eye, 'I won't be long.'

  He watched her perfect form totter to the toilet at the far side of the café near the entrance. She was wearing leggings, making it easy to trace their solid structure, and imagined them firm, supple, and smooth. Then he thought of her feet, dainty with manicured toenails painted red. She was different to Sarah, and whilst he enjoyed looking, he had to admit that she not his type at all.

  He made mental comparisons with his ex. Sarah was a serious woman, and even though she did have a sense of humour and with it a beautiful smile, she rarely cracked a joke. Teasing her was futile, as her mind was so often elsewhere, pondering some case or other that she was working on. Being a lawyer was a time-consuming job.

  His heart was heavy. He loved Sarah, and still saw her on occasions, sharing moments of intimacy. He knew that she saw their relationship as a matter of convenience, but he clung onto her every word and eve
ry breath. It pained him to watch her depart, having become joined once more, but he could do little else. To Sarah, the sex only filled a gap. If he applied pressure, he knew it would end. In his opinion, a little intimacy was better than nothing.

  Imogen exited the restroom. There was a sparkle in her eyes and the sunshine rested on her fawn hair, creating an almost translucent patch. Her arms swung at her side and her gait was carefree. She almost looked as though she floated across the linoleum floor, her manner pure and innocent.

  'One or two things don't make sense to me,' she said, sitting back down. 'Larry said he didn't know Saskia particularly well, but he knew about her mannerisms and ambitions.'

  'I've wondered about that too.'

  'He said she had wanted to work abroad and be a free spirit. If that's true, then why did she marry, especially at such a young age?

  'She must have changed her mind and fallen in love.'

  'Either that or she was unhappy in her marriage and was looking for an escape. I think Larry knew her better than he admitted.'

  'There was no point pushing him. We need him to open up on his own terms . . . at least until we have evidence.'

  'Agreed.'

  'Did you see anything to indicate he lived with anyone?' he asked.

  'No.'

  'Me neither.'

  A balding man with a large round belly stood up and strode to the exit. Imogen followed his gaze, and together they watched him walk out of the door and approach a truck.

  'The kitchen was grimy too,' she said, 'I can't believe a woman would live like that.'

  'That's a bit sexist.'

  'Well, it's true. There were dirty pans on the hob, and the sauces spilled across the worktop. He wanted to give the indication he was neat, with his suit and all, but everything else pointed to him being a bit of a slob . . . likewise in the lounge. There were too many contradictions. There were smears on the window as well.'

  'You're a stickler for detail,' he said.

  'And not a bit of a dreamer?'

  He raised an eyebrow. His phone sounded. 'Not at all.'

  It was a message from Sarah asking to meet. His heart flip-flopped as he imagined a night of passion, skin on skin. He would have to go shopping to buy her favourite bottle of wine and ingredients for a meal. What should he make? Lamb chops, chicken, or fish? His day just got a whole lot better. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and his eyes danced.