Dark Service

by Linda Coles

  His steps. He did a quick calculation in his head; he’d have to walk faster if he was going to make it. There was no way he could do less.

  “Can we make it seven fifteen? That would be better. So I’m not late.”

  “Seven fifteen pm it is.”

  Griffin couldn’t believe what he’d just agreed to, and so publicly. What would the strangers be thinking of him? Were they thinking anything? They all knew where he’d be tonight at 7.15 pm and who with. Did that matter? Thoughts bumped around inside his head as the carriage doors opened and strangers flooded out onto the platform and forward, each on their own way to work. As Griffin was swept along with them, he felt a small hand find his and slot itself in. It was Vee’s. And it felt comfortable. He glanced down but she didn’t glance up, and didn’t take her hand away either. And neither did Griffin.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Griffin couldn’t help the bats fighting in his stomach. At 6.30 pm, he stood in the shower letting the warm water cascade over him as he contemplated the evening ahead. A bat thumped him with its wing from the inside as he opened the shower gel to wash away the day’s grime. Pine forests filled the cubicle as his thoughts darted back to the evening ahead. Normally, he’d shower and surf after dinner, the end of his normal day of work, walk and web. That’s how it was, always had been for as long as he could remember, but then Vee had come along and things had started to move, to change. First his morning commute, now an evening out. What would be next? Soap bubbles slid down his naked body as he washed half-heartedly, not really concentrating on what he was doing, until his thoughts jolted back to his problem.

  Soon.

  He’d learned to keep it in perspective, to tell himself that it would be dealt with soon enough.

  Just as soon as he’d found the right person at the right price.

  He grabbed the loofah and scrubbed his body all over, the rough surface sending a tingling over all that it touched. By the time he was completely washed, his skin glowed like light sunburn and felt cleansed. The rest of his routine was much the same as every day, though tonight he dressed in clean jeans and another hoody instead of his normal pyjamas. A splash of aftershave and he was ready to go.

  ‘It is just drinks, for heaven’s sake. Get a grip,’ he told himself repeatedly on the walk over. “Nothing to be worried about.” But he didn’t feel relaxed; he felt exactly the opposite.

  Vee was already inside chatting to the barman when he opened the front door of The Baskerville, and he took the opportunity to stand in the doorway and take another deep breath to steady himself. From his vantage point, and knowing she hadn’t seen him arrive yet, he appraised her from top to bottom. Deep red Doc Martens on her feet, an obviously vintage floral dress that totally suited her and an aura about her that spoke volumes about her relaxed and rather lovely disposition. He dragged some courage up from his own boots and stepped forward to greet her. He opened with a well-planned-out ‘Hi,’ and hoped he’d figure the rest out from there.

  “Hey! Hi yourself. You smell nice. Sort of like a forest.” Her smile was as bright as it had been earlier that morning, and he found himself relaxing as she beamed up at him. Deep red lips and dancing eyes caught his attention. She looked even more striking than she had that morning. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Finding his voice, he said, “I’ll get these. You bought tea this morning. It’s my turn. What would you like?”

  “In that case, I’ll have a Snakebite, please.”

  Griffin looked at the barman, who raised his eyebrows and nodded that he’d heard the lady. “Make that two, then,” he added. He was not a big drinker; he’d see if he liked the taste and go back to his normal slimline tonic if not. He didn’t want to appear a party pooper on their first outing. He wasn’t calling it a date; it was just drinks. That was how he was reconciling it in his head to keep the fighting bats quiet.

  “I’ll bring them over. Pints or halves?” asked the barman. In unison they both said the opposite to each other.

  “Pints,” said Vee.

  “Halves,” said Griffin. It broke the ice and they both burst out laughing at themselves, and at the complete reversal of the norm.

  Men drank pints, didn’t they? No, not this one.

  The barman understood and busied himself with their order as Vee led the way to a table on the far side of the pub, away from the rest of the customers dotted about, some nursing a pint solemnly, some giggling over wine.

  “So,” she started, “why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself. All I know is that you’re a sports reporter and where you live. Then I’ll tell you about me if you like.”

  Griffin wondered if she was always so forward or if it was just with him because he was reserved in his ways. And where the hell should he start? He looked aghast at the prospect but relented; they had to start somewhere. Or sit in near silence. Taking a deep breath, he began, the words tumbling out like the passengers on their commuter train did at Victoria.

  “Griffin Stokes. Twenty-five. Lived around here all my life. Single, a self-confessed nerd. Used to be into gaming but no more, and I walk daily. I like a wide range of music, eat healthily but never used to and have lost about twelve stone; still another one stone to go. Oh, and I’m an only child. I think that’s about it. Your turn.” Phew.

  Vee smiled her usual bright smile and Griffin wondered what was going through her mind at that precise moment – good or bad? He hoped it was good.

  “Vera Dobbs, but my friends call me Vee. Twenty-five, same as you, about a foot shorter than you at five-foot-four, can be a bit of a geek at times, spend too much time on Facebook, wondered about going vegan but like my bacon too much, two sisters and love the movies. Oh, and I quite like gardening, not that we have much of a garden at home, which, yes, I still share with my parents.” She’d mentioned before that she still lived at home and he raised his eyebrows inadvertently. Vee raised her own in reply.

  “What?” she asked. “Plenty of people still live at home at twenty-five. I can’t afford to move out yet; not around here, anyway.” The arrival of their drinks halted the conversation, giving Griffin time to make amends for his slip-up.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “You didn’t. And I’m not embarrassed. I’m saving hard to get my own flat, but until then, home it is. It won’t be for much longer, anyway. I’ve nearly got a deposit together.” She took a long gulp of her Snakebite and looked at Griffin expectantly for his response.

  “That’s great. It’s hard saving up a big chunk of cash; I’ve done it myself. And I’m doing it again.” Griffin realized his error as soon as the words had left his mouth and quickly added a question. hoping to deflect attention away from his comment. “Where will you buy? Something local or further out?” It was an opportune time to taste his Snakebite, leaving her to answer the last question. He hoped.

  “Ideally. It’s handy for work and I’ll still be local to my family, so yes. Just got to find the right place at the right price. What’s the Snakebite like? To your taste?”

  His tactic had worked. She’d missed his slip. Or hadn’t mentioned it, at any rate. “Not bad. It’ll grow on me.”

  Grinning, she said, “Maybe if you’ve nothing better to do this weekend, you could help me find a place? There’s a couple I want to look at.” Vee was looking at him across the top of her pint glass, a sly smile on her deep red lips. He watched, somewhat mesmerized, as her top lip vanished into the glass to meet the amber liquid.

  “I’d love to.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Joshua and Jasper were upstairs in their room, tucked up in bed reading with their flashlights. Stephanie had turned a blind eye to their refusal to go straight to sleep, knowing full well they were tired out and it wouldn’t be long before they were asleep anyway. And reading a book was a useful hobby to have, far better than playing with a screen just before sleep. Feeling like an early night herself, she watched bubbles gather on the surface o
f the milk she was warming in a pan for a mug of Horlicks to soothe her nerves. She hoped the malty drink would help; in the absence of wine, it would have to do. Since she’d told Ruth about losing her hair that day, she’d not thought about much else.

  Losing her mind, more like.

  Why had she said anything, raked it all back up again? It had been years ago, long before she’d married and had a family, and since she’d been out having a good time that had then ended up with her in bed with a man, there had been no point in reporting it. They’d both partied hard, she’d gone to his room and the rest had, well, happened. What she hadn’t expected the next morning when she had awakened, though, were the tiny nicks on the backs of her thighs, the kind made by a knife, and her beloved long dark hair gone, leaving nothing more than a short basin cut.

  While her missing hair and the mysterious nicks had been a shock, it was how those things had happened at all that had alarmed her. Yes, she had partied hard and downed shots as well as copious amounts of wine, but she never touched substances, not even the odd joint. The only way what had happened to her could have happened was if she’d been drugged.

  By someone else.

  She grabbed a chocolate biscuit from the jar and took the steaming mug with her to her room where she slid between the sheets and sat thoughtfully with her drink. Crumbs dropped on the bed as she bit into the biscuit, and she absentmindedly brushed them to the floor, not particularly caring. She was due to vacuum tomorrow anyway. Her phone chirped a message and she reached over to the side table to see who it was. Did she want to talk? Probably not. Ruth’s name filled the green text box.

  “Just saying hi. Hope you’re okay. Sorry to have dug up the past. If you need me, you know where I am. xxx”

  Smiling at her friend’s thoughtfulness, she tapped a text in reply.

  “Just sat in bed, with Horlicks and a biscuit. How sad is that? Seriously, I’m fine though. Thanks for checking in.”

  Since Amanda had been to the Palmers’ home and found out Taylor, too, had received the same card, the idea of its being a coincidence was seeming less and less likely. If whoever had assaulted her all those years ago had surfaced again only recently, something or someone had activated them, to her way of thinking. Unless of course they had never completely gone away.

  “When are you going in to the station to fill out a report?”

  “I’m going in tomorrow. There is no real urgency, just getting it on paper really. It may help someone else.”

  “Yes, that’s the spirit. Well, good luck. And good night. Xxx”

  “Night. xxx”

  Stephanie stared at the screen and re-read the message. While it was probably too late to get justice in her own case, she hoped her experience and any evidence she might be able to give would help catch the perpetrator and prevent it happening to anyone else. Had Sebastian Stevens still been alive to tell his side of the story from that night, that might be a different matter.

  Opening her Kindle, she turned her attention to her book and finished her Horlicks as Jack Reacher chased a badass through a crowded market. If nothing else, it took her mind off her own life’s issues, and she allowed the fiction to cover her like a soft blanket. Half an hour later, she was sound asleep, her bedside lamp still blazing, the boys in the other room still reading. It was a little after 1 am that she woke with a start and went to check on them. Both were by then fast asleep. She turned off their lights, tucked their blankets around them and crept back into her own room, now lit only by the moon streaming in through the window. She lay listening to the night – a couple chatting quietly as they walked on the pavement below, their voices carrying upward on the still air; the distant sound of a dog barking a couple of times before settling again; and a car cruising to a standstill nearby. A car door slammed shut and she heard the sounds of two people saying goodbye. Then silence returned.

  She turned over in bed, wide awake again. Tomorrow, she would report what she could remember. Which wasn’t much. There had only been herself and one other person in the room that night. They’d had a good time, pushed some boundaries, and afterwards she’d fallen asleep. Or so she had thought. A vague recollection came back to her as she lay there and delved a little deeper. She reared up in bed with the sudden realization of something.

  “Oh shit!” she said quietly, her heart rate picking up speed as she remembered back. There had been an argument, the sound of another male voice in the room for a brief time. But she’d been half out of it and fallen back into oblivion. What had all that been about? She lay back down to think through the events that had followed.

  Sebastian Stevens had still been lying next to her the following morning, and he’d been the first one to point out her hair was gone. He’d sat bolt upright in the bed, pale as a ghost, and said “What the hell happened to your hair?”

  She’d rushed into the bathroom to look in the mirror and stood there open-mouthed in shock. It couldn’t have been him; otherwise, why hang around until morning and act the way he had? In a panic, she’d gathered her belongings, dressed and fled back home. It was when she’d got in her own shower that she’d noticed the little blobs of dried blood and felt the stinging on the backs of her thighs as the water washed over her. That was what had really concerned her. The card she’d found later on, just inside her handbag, and reflecting back now, she realized it had been placed where only she would have seen it. Yes, she’d wanted to report it, but the message on the card had been clear. As was the voicemail Sebastian had left on her phone after she’d fled.

  “No one will pay you any attention after what you agreed to last night.”

  She had known that was true. What they’d done – the sex, anyway – had been consensual. But what about the nicks? And why had her hair been so cruelly taken? And by whom, for what? She had never asked him, had wanted to simply put the whole eerie incident behind her and forget it, and him. Over the following weeks, she’d willed herself to put the whole thing out of her mind, learn from it and move on. Resolutely, she’d vowed never again to pick up a man who seemed too good to be true, and to run for the hills when the coke came out.

  Tomorrow’s report-taking would drag it all back up in detail, she knew, details she’d rather forget. But if someone else had been involved that fateful night and the police managed to track them down, her day in court would come.

  Snuggling further down into the bedclothes, she willed sleep to return.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Interview rooms in police stations were set up not for victims but for criminals, Stephanie thought. Uncomfortable plastic chairs and functional cheap tables made anyone who sat at them feel uneasy in their surroundings, and the discomfort only added to Stephanie’s anxiety. At least she knew the friendly faces on the other side of the table, which eased her mind a little. But she’d been drained before she’d begun: thinking back to an event that she’d rather have blocked from her mind, one that had happened fifteen years ago, wasn’t an easy task, especially coupled with a fitful sleep the night before. She’d never smoked a cigarette but was desperate for one now.

  Jack was the one asking the questions. “Let’s start right at the very beginning, then, before you met Mr. Stevens. What were you doing that night, and who with? Then fill us in from there. Don’t leave anything out: the smallest detail could be of use and I’ll prompt you along the way if I need clarification on anything. Okay?” He smiled encouragingly at her.

  Though she was still feeling wound up, Stephanie took a deep breath in, exhaled and started on her account of that night’s events. Jack scribbled as she talked.

  “I’d met a man, who turned out to be Sebastian Stevens, in a bar one night. I’d had quite a bit to drink. My friends had split up a little, and I found myself propping the bar up. That’s when he said hello. He seemed nice enough and I allowed him to buy me a drink.” She sipped water from a plastic cup. “He had started out with some other friends, I assumed, and a bit like me, he’d split off from them. We chat
ted, we drank, we flirted and later that night, he escorted me out to his car. He said he had a driver, which I believed because when we got outside, there was a man in the driver’s seat of a flash black car. And he, I mean Sebastian, was as drunk as I was, so I was glad he wasn’t driving.

  “I got in, and we went back to his place. It was only a mile or two away, but too far to walk in my heels, and like I said, we’d drunk quite a bit.” She took another deep breath and carried on, knowing that the next part could be embarrassing. “We went inside his flat, which was more of a penthouse, so I knew he was really well off, what with the driver as well. He poured us drinks, and one thing led to another. I’m sure I don’t need to spell the next part out to you.”

  “Do you remember, and I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but were you still coherent at that stage or not?” Jack was embarrassed too but needed the answer.

  “Yes, I was alert. Pissed out of my head but alert. We got into bed, and I remember having sex but I must have passed out shortly after that. The next thing I remember was a vague conversation sometime in the night. Not Sebastian, but another voice, like there was someone else in the room. But I drifted back to sleep again. When I awoke in the morning, Sebastian was still there in bed and it was him that noticed my hair had been cut off. And not just cut off but stolen. Then I panicked. Sebastian was as shocked almost as I was, I think, and swore it hadn’t been him. And I believed him, because why would he? And he was still there with me. If he’d done it, I figured he’d have been long gone, but then we were in his place. A hotel room would have more suitable, had that been his plan, not his home.

  “My hair wasn’t in the room. I looked. It had definitely gone. So I left as fast as I could and got a taxi home. That’s when I discovered the tiny nicks on my thighs. That, I believe, was him.”