Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  He put the glass in front of her.

  'What's all this about?' she asked, cynical.

  'What?'

  'Why are you being nice to me?'

  He avoided looking at her. 'I heard what you said . . . about how we treated you. You were right. We need to do better.'

  Her eyes narrowed.

  'I think you should go see Verity, if that's what you want. It's the only way of getting answers in my opinion. What's the name of the private investigator you've hired?'

  'Luke, but we didn't hire him. He came of his own free will.'

  'More reason for you to pursue the case yourself. You're not going to be his top priority if the work is unpaid.'

  'I hadn't thought of that.'

  'He sounds a bit nuts if you ask me, believing in reincarnation.'

  'That's what I thought. Saskia's my mother . . . has to be.'

  'And Dad disagrees?'

  'If I didn't know better I'd think he was doing it on purpose.'

  His expression was staid. 'He can be argumentative. I wouldn't put it past him.'

  She reached for the glass of water.

  'I think the only explanation is that you're related,' he said. 'How else can you explain the similarities in your appearance? It has to be genetic.'

  'So why did I forget about the murder? Wouldn't it be engrained into me?'

  'You hadn't forgotten. You knew about it as soon as you returned here. It just needed triggering.'

  'But I still don't see why I would even need a trigger.'

  David moved his hair away from his eyes, placing it behind his ear. 'I read somewhere that if we suffer a traumatic event when we’re little we have a tendency to forget about it. Why remember something that hurts us?'

  She sighed. Sometimes she wished for nothing more than to remove the pain and suffering from her memories of Joshua. Then she would be able to enjoy the happy times, his infectious laughter and playful innocence in their entirety, instead of always feeling the oppressive burden of guilt. Nonetheless, the torment was now part of her, and his death had moulded her character. Without it, she would not be who she was, she would have lacked the strength to pursue this case, and she would have crumbled under the pressure, probably via drink. Nothing could be as traumatic as seeing her baby dead.

  Her phone sounded an incoming text message. She squeezed her fingers into her pocket and pulled it out.

  'Is it Dad?' David asked.

  'No, it's a friend, Larry. He wants to meet me for a drink.'

  'You should go.'

  She raised an eyebrow.

  'It might make Dad take notice. A bit of jealousy would do him good.'

  She pondered her options. Larry knew Saskia so he may be able to tell her things. On the other hand, he may have killed her. Maybe she should take heed of Ben and keep a low profile.

  'When does he want to meet you?' he asked.

  She hesitated. 'Now. Just down the road at the Cow and Calf.'

  'Then what are you waiting for? Dad should be back soon. You don't want him asking questions.'

  'Maybe it's not a good idea.'

  'You're not worried about what Dad thinks are you? I thought you were stronger than that.'

  'I'm not sure I should be going out. I don't know what I’m up against.'

  'You'll be safe in a public place. And as you said, it's only down the road. You'll be there in a few minutes.'

  'Yes, your right. I do need a break.'

  She hurried upstairs to freshen up, changed her top into something glitzy, applied a dab of perfume, and went back downstairs.

  David remained in the chair. 'Have a good time.’

  She reached for her bag. It was open and the letter was resting at the top. Her excitement bubbled; there was still one to read. She rushed out of the door, removed it from the envelope, and scanned the text.

  Chapter 14

  The door to the Cow and Calf Inn swung open causing Megan to stumble backward.

  'Wow! Watch what you're doing!'

  An acne-scarred man turned his head murmured an apology then continued to participate in the lively banter with his friends, leaving a trail of essence as he swaggered down the street. Smiling softly, remembering a time when she would have been like them and starting an evening of heavy drinking, she stepped inside.

  There were small clusters of people on opposite sides of the doorway and two elderly men seated by the bar a few metres apart. Both maintained a fixed gaze, looking straight ahead. They seemed to be strangers, but when she approached them, she could hear the occasional comment.

  Someone tapped her on her shoulder. She spun around.

  'What can I get you to drink?' Larry asked.

  'A white wine please.'

  A barman appeared, nattily dressed with a tight hairstyle and soft complexion.

  Larry ordered the drinks. 'It's the least I can do . . . after my behaviour last time. I shouldn't have lost it with you. Your relationship with Ben is none of my business.'

  'No, it's not. Your remarks disappointed me.'

  'I've bought you something as an apology.' He reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. 'Here.'

  She accepted the envelope and carried it to a table by a wall. Once settled, she peered inside and found two tickets to an art exhibition in the local gallery. ‘These are great, thanks.'

  'You said you were into art,' he said.

  'Yes. I haven't got started yet, but I will. I just need a bit of inspiration.'

  'Then it seems that this is just what you need. There are plenty of great vistas around here to paint. If you need a local guide, just ask.'

  'Where do you suggest?'

  'One of my favourite places is a couple of miles from here. I used to go there regularly when I was younger. It's a bit of an effort now, an uphill walk, although having said that I drive these days. The view is stunning.'

  'You must take me some time.'

  'Just say when.'

  She reached for her glass. The wine tickled her mouth and kissed her taste buds. It was refreshing, cool and welcome.

  'David seems a good kid,' Larry said.

  'David?'

  'Yes, I came around this afternoon. He said you were sleeping.'

  Frowning, she averted her gaze to the deep blue carpet. Why had he not told her? He had had the opportunity. ‘He didn’t say.’

  He held a concentrated stare.

  'I just can't work him out. He's pleasant one minute, horrible the next.'

  'That's teenagers for you.' He went on to tell her of the troubles he’d had with his daughter when she was in her mid-teens. She stayed out too late, drank too much, and wore, what he considered indecent clothing. Now she was a young woman to be proud of.

  She listened half-heartedly. Who would Joshua have become? How would he have coped without his father in his life? Her envy was scant, but the more he spoke of his daughter's beauty and intelligence, the more it grew. Determined not to deny him his pleasure, she kept her thoughts to herself and maintained a feigned interested look.

  He stopped mid-sentence and stared. 'Oh, I'm sorry. How tactless.'

  'It's okay, carry on.'

  'No, it's not. You should have said something. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

  She sipped her wine. 'Your daughter sounds like a wonderful young woman.'

  'She is. And I’m sure your son would have been too . . .’

  A sad smile formed on her face. She looked to her lap.

  ‘What's stopping you from making it work with Ben.'

  For a few moments, she stared at the empty tables across the room before refocusing her gaze on Larry. 'I do care about him and I know he cares for me, but he's over-protective. Take this afternoon. I went to see Verity Fox to try to find out a bit more about Saskia, and when I returned home we got into an argument.' She shuffled her body and crossed her legs. 'He doesn't want me to see her – or anyone for that matter - until we know who killed Saskia.'

  'No one knows f
or certain that she's dead.'

  'You're right, but I'm certain she is. Luke, a private investigator I'm working with, thinks so too.'

  'He's spoken to you then?'

  'You know him?'

  He grinned. 'I called him. You look so similar to Saskia that it worried me.'

  Relief swept across her face. 'It was you! You should have said.'

  'I didn't know if you'd be in danger. It was just an inkling I had.'

  'Your inkling's right. Someone has been following me.' She peered around the room. 'Whoever it is could be here right now. I have no idea who’s doing it at all.'

  'I haven't seen anyone acting suspiciously.'

  'Me neither,' she said, 'thank the Lord.' She stood up. 'Another drink?'

  He nodded. At last, she had someone to confide in. Someone whom she felt would be on her side. It was a warming feeling, and as she waited for the barman to fill the glasses, she passed him a quick glance. His smile was simple and self-assured, and not over-confident or smarmy.

  A minute or so later, she returned to the table.

  'What did Verity tell you?' he asked.

  'She said they were close, best friends in fact. I don't think she liked it when Saskia married Ron. From what I can gather it caused them to fall out.'

  'Yes. I remember that.'

  'What do you know about them?'

  'Not much. I used to see them together a lot. They were always up to something, or it seemed that way . . . always huddled and giggling.'

  'Did I mention they used herbs to poison people?'

  He nodded impassively.

  'Any ideas who the recipients were?' she asked.

  'As I said, I didn't know them well enough.'

  'It's a pity,’ she said and sipped her drink. ‘I think there's a connection somewhere. I was thinking of asking Ron. I met him briefly, he seems a decent chap.'

  'He's not that decent,' he said, 'at least he wasn't when he was younger. He used to brag about the women he picked up, and that was while he was with Saskia. She deserved better.'

  'Did he love her?'

  'If he did he had a funny way of showing it. I used to see him in bars. He often had a woman on his arm. For some reason he liked redheads.'

  'But Saskia was blonde, like me.'

  His eyes became glassy. 'Yes, she was.'

  'Verity didn't think they married out of love. She’s not the most pleasing woman to be around.'

  ‘She and Saskia were two of a kind. I once saw them argue. They were kicking and screaming, pulling hair . . . the works.'

  The door opened and a rush of cool air brushed across Megan's body. Three women, all in their forties, strutted towards the bar. One flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and gazed salaciously at a man by the pool table. He opened his legs ever so slightly, moved his hands to his crotch, and watched her seductive movements.

  'Could Verity have killed Saskia?' she asked.

  'I've wondered that myself. It's possible.'

  'She gave me a letter, two, in fact, they don't say a lot, but you can tell from the tone that they had problems.'

  'What do they say?'

  She retrieved them from her bag. 'The first was from Saskia.' She read the letter. 'The second was Verity's reply. It says, "Saskia, you are one annoying bitch. Let me reply. Yes, I made mistakes, and yes, I lost my temper, but you're far from perfect. I know stuff about you too, don't forget that, and I don't run. What we did was wrong, but we agreed . . . both of us. Don't put the blame on me. We were in it together. We shared everything: the positives and the negatives, the wins and the losses. Get rid of your holier than thou attitude. It doesn't suit. You're not the perfect creature you try to make out. Try what you like, try for justice. I'll be waiting. Verity."'

  His face lit up. 'Wow! They were having problems. It sounds like she was out for blood. I'm surprised she wanted you to see these.'

  Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her head.

  'Perhaps you should visit Ron,' he continued. 'He's sure to remember what they had been arguing about. Do you want his address?'

  'No. I know where he lives.'

  'How come?'

  She pressed her finger around the rim of her empty glass. 'I . . . I found it. I can't explain.'

  'You've been there before then?'

  'Not that I recall, although it did seem familiar.'

  'Like déjà vu?'

  'Exactly.'

  He did not reply.

  'Do you think it means anything?' she asked.

  'I doubt it. It's interesting, though.'

  'I have other memories about Saskia. They come out of nowhere. I can't stop them. Most of the time, something triggers them - a street, a house, or perhaps a person. I thought I knew you when we met.'

  He grinned. 'I remember.'

  ‘I realised later that it was because you knew Saskia.'

  'But I didn't know her, not really.'

  'No, I realise that, but you did . . . sort of.'

  'I suppose.'

  'Perhaps Saskia fancied you.'

  He gave a wry smile. 'No such luck. She was way out of my league, and even if she wasn't I don't think she would have had an affair, despite how Ron treated her. Not only that, but I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. We weren't the best of friends . . . never saw eye to eye.'

  'I wouldn’t have thought a bit of trouble would bother you.'

  'I was never stupid. Yes, I got into fights, but I didn't go looking for them.'

  Cool air rushed towards her, followed by the pounding of heavy footsteps. She spun around. It was Ben.

  'What are you doing here?' he asked.

  'What does it look like?' She paused unsettled. ‘I’m having a drink with a friend.’

  'I thought we agreed you should stay at home.'

  'I never said I agreed with you. And anyway, what's going to happen to me in a public place?'

  Irritation creased his face. 'We'll talk about this later. Let's go.'

  'I'm not ready to go.’

  Larry stood up, caught her eye. 'Don't worry, I have things to do. I'll see you later Megan.' He exited the building.

  'How dare you speak to me like that?' she hissed. 'I'm not your property!'

  'I'm just looking out for you.'

  'Like hell you are!'

  She raised herself to her feet, ready to make a hurried escape when a group of men in the corner caught her attention. One of the men was bending over, picking up his keys from the floor. He was wearing jeans and a heavy cotton shirt. When he stood up, she saw it was Ron.

  Their heads turned.

  Ben stomped towards the group. 'What's so fascinating?'

  'Sorry mate. We don't want trouble,' Ron said.

  He grabbed Megan's arm. 'This is Megan. You hear? Megan. Not Saskia. No relative of Saskia. Just plain Megan.'

  They turned away. He pulled her towards the exit. 'Let's go.'

  With barely a breath of wind in the air and only the sounds of vehicles in the distance, the night was tranquil. They strolled into the artificial light, weaved through the row of cars, and crossed the street. Megan was leading by half a pace, scowling and with her arms folded.

  'Can't you see I'm acting this way because I care,' Ben said, desperate to catch her up.

  She quickened her steps, maintained a firm stare on the other side, and ignored his comment. Through a window, a Chinese woman was taking an order from a middle-aged man with a beard. Nearby, two women sat on a bench next to a large potted plant, and across the other side, a man was reading a newspaper. Her stomach rumbled. She glanced along the street. There was an Italian restaurant a few doors down and a fish and chip shop on the corner. She opted for the English takeaway.

  'Fish and chips please.'

  'Make that two,' Ben said.

  She frowned at him. He eased her aside, dipped his hand into his pocket for some cash and paid the fee. Not commenting, she grabbed the polystyrene container, enjoying the warmth, and strode outside. Progre
ssing away, she reached for a chip, greasy and soft, and placed it into her mouth. It was quite delicious and had a dash of salt and vinegar to enhance the potato flavour. She reached for another, and another, and it stopped her burning pangs of hunger.

  They strolled to the other side of the intersection and walked alongside a wall. There were Trees and grasses down an embankment and a small bridge ahead.

  'Shall we take a walk along the river?’ he asked. ‘It's a beautiful evening.'

  Without commenting, she followed him down to the track and noticed his sturdy gait, firm buttocks and floating strands of hair. He may have been over-protective, but it was good that he cared. She edged closer to his side in an appreciative gesture.

  Meandering in the darkness with only the moon and the trickle of light from the streets to guide them, she scanned the skies, searching the black expanse for familiar twinkling stars. Ben was right; it was a beautiful evening, a perfect summer’s night, and not a night for arguing.

  A chink of light at her rear caught her eye corner. She spun around, looking to the bridge. The light vanished and a shadowy figure disappeared from view.

  'What is it?' he asked.

  Whilst fearful someone was following them, she didn’t want to alert him to her insecurities, and shook her head.

  He frowned, looked ahead into the darkness, and then sat on a bench a little distance away. She hovered nearby, searching the small patch of trees at his rear, and continued to eat. It was eerily silent, with neither the birds rustling in the trees nor the wind moving the shadows. She shuddered, involuntarily.

  'Did Larry tell you anything useful?' Ben asked.

  'I didn't think you were interested.' She relented to his pleading look. 'He's the one who contacted Luke, he was worried about me.'

  'So he knew Saskia?'

  'He'd see her around, often with Verity. He knew Ron too . . . they used to go to the same pubs. He said he was a bit of a womaniser. In fact, he told me he used to cheat on Saskia.' She placed the empty polystyrene container in the bin and wiped her hands on her jeans. 'I got the impression Ron was aggressive as well, which I thought was little odd. He seemed gentle to me.'

  'He could have changed. It was a long time ago.'

  'Yes, I suppose you're right.' She glanced to Ben, apprehensive. 'I would like to speak to him, but before you say it I'll go see Luke first. But if he doesn't make quick progress, I'm off.'