by Linda Coles
From his research during his hospital stay, he’d found out a great deal about the fetish community and the behaviour of men with fetishes. And yes, they were mainly men: women made up only a very small percentage of the fetish community. It seemed very few men took their fetish to another level and went on to do real harm. California’s Jerry Brudos and Canada’s Russell Williams were two of the more horrifying examples he’d read about.
On the other hand, the women involved in fetishes were usually into masochism. Many of them enjoyed doling out pain and pleasure to those who liked to receive, and he’d seen far too many photos lately of women in black leather holding whips. Jack squirmed a little in his bed. He had enough trouble removing sticking plaster from a hairy forearm, and these people did pain for pleasure. Holy freakin’ moly!
At any rate, he had deduced from his research that even though, statistically, half of Croydon’s male population might have a penchant for black lacy ladies’ undies or spike-heeled shoes, they were unlikely to turn it into anything more sinister. He and Amanda would need to go at this another way.
A yawn forced its way out of his mouth at the same time as the night nurse passed by his door. She popped her head in.
“It’s probably time you got some rest, Mr. Rutherford. You can do that in the morning, I’m sure.” She nodded at his laptop and gave him a look that said ‘I’m in charge.’ He had a sudden image of Hattie Jacques dressed as a nurse in Carry On Matron. No one messed with her.
“Right, yes. I’ll just log off.”
“Good move. I’ll be back in a moment to make sure that you’re resting.”
Jack didn’t doubt she would be. He absentmindedly wondered about those who had a thing for nurses. Being in hospital must be a candy shop experience for them too – if they felt well enough, that was.
He slipped down under the covers and closed his eyes, a broad smile on his face. Janine’s smelly white lawn bowls shoes filled his mind for a very different reason.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Jack had always been an early riser. Spending so much time lying in a hospital bed had thrown his normal routine into turmoil, and that meant he’d been awake since 4 am. Unfortunately, that then meant he’d be fast asleep at 4 pm, taking a nap like an old man.
He was old. Who was he kidding?
Neither the sun nor the birds were up yet. And at 4 am in hospital, there wasn’t a fat lot else going on there either. Breakfast was another three or four hours away. He was parched and needed a cup of tea desperately. Gingerly, he pushed the covers back and steadied himself as his feet touched the floor. If anyone saw him and asked, he needed the loo. If they didn’t, he might make it down the quiet corridor to the visitors’ room and make himself a cup. He hoped the night nurse had her head in a good romance and wouldn’t pay him any attention.
Unfortunately for him, however, she knew every sound in her ward, and his creeping down the corridor was one of them. He’d been rumbled. She looked at him sternly over her reading glasses, her chin nearly touching her chest as she glared. Or was that chins?
“Mr. Rutherford, are you all right?”
“Yes, just thirsty and couldn’t sleep. Thought there might be some tea going somewhere.”
She closed her book. It mustn’t have been that enthralling, thought Jack. Either that or her ears were incredibly well tuned in.
“You only needed to have rung your bell. I’ll go and make you one, but you go on back to bed. Do you take sugar?” She smiled as sweet as two spoons full.
“Thanks – one, please. Don’t suppose there’s a biscuit to go with it perhaps? I didn’t eat much dinner last night. Or earlier on, at any rate. My body clock is all out of whack.” He tried to match her smile with one of his own, but he didn’t have the same effect. Her sideways look told him there were no biscuits.
“I’ll bring it to you,” she said again. “Now go back to bed, please, and be careful as you go.”
He swore he heard her tut-tutting like Hattie Jacques. Not wanting to test her patience any longer, he did as she suggested and headed back to his bed, managing to get his tartan pyjama–clad body back under the covers without mishap.
Ten minutes later, the nurse appeared at the door, cup and saucer in hand. He was pleased to see a Digestive biscuit balancing on the edge of it. He beamed at her.
“Oh, what a woman. Thank you very much.” Pleasantries always went a long way, he knew. He watched as she placed the cup on the table that half straddled his bed, moving his newspaper and laptop to the side a little to make room.
“There you go, and you’re welcome. Just push your buzzer next time. There’s only a small staff on at night, and I don’t want to be worrying about you falling while I’m seeing to another patient.” She tucked his bedclothes in like his mother had done when he was a little boy. He found it strangely comforting. Maybe that was half of the appeal of nurses: someone to take care of you and make your decisions for you.
“I’ll be good, I promise,” he said, trying on a little-boy pout. The nurse returned a curious smile. Before he could stop himself, he said, “You know, we’ve got a case at the moment involving fetishes.” Now where on earth did that come from? he wondered.
She stopped in her tracks, her expression even more curious now. She was quick with his meaning. “And you think because I’m a nurse, I get randy old men leering at my behind in a uniform, enjoying me being bossy to them?”
“Something like that. Do you? Get many, I mean?”
“A few, but we handle them. Remember, most people are in here because they’re sick, so getting amorous is not right up there on their list of activities. Why do you ask?”
“Research, really. I’ve been doing a lot while I’ve been lying here and it’s been both fascinating and weird. You wouldn’t believe some of the fetishes I’ve come across.”
She quickly checked her watch, which was pinned upside down over her left breast, and then wandered back towards his bed. Curiosity.
“What’s the case?”
Jack told her what he could without divulging details. When he’d finished, she said, “Nothing surprises me anymore. I expect in your research you’ve been to some of the clubs in town?”
“Not yet, no. I’ve kind of been laid up.” He grinned. “Why? Any in particular I should visit when I get out of this bed?”
“Do you have a partner, female maybe?”
“Amanda, yes. Why?”
“She got a good body?”
“Eh? Well, she’s not my type, but no, nothing stunning. She’s a sensible Doc-Martens-wearing type of woman. And very talented.”
“I think I’ve seen her here. Visiting.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then you need to find a woman who would look knockout in PVC and send her in undercover. If she’s clever, she’ll be let in right away. Women always get in, as long as they’re dressed appropriately, if you understand my meaning. It would be easier to do that than have you go in, I expect. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.” She smiled. “I’d start with the most well-known club first if I were you. It’s extremely popular with the kinksters.”
“Oh? And what’s it called?”
“Femme Fet-Elle. It’s in Islington.”
Jack had seen the name in his research. He nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
She turned to leave and Jack called to her retreating back.
“And what’s wrong with me going in? I’m in reasonable shape, aren’t I?” Despite himself, he felt slightly miffed. She turned to answer but changed her mind and rolled her eyes instead.
“Thanks for nothing!” he said, trying not to sound huffy. “And I won’t ask how you know so much.”
Over her shoulder, she said “You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” She gave him a wink before walking from his room, leaving Jack feeling like he was the only one in the world who didn’t have the appetite for something other than vanilla. You never know, indeed, he thought wryly. He checked his phone for the time. It was still
too early to chat to Amanda, but he sent her a text anyway. If Ruth was up and out running, she might be sipping her first coffee of the day.
He was correct.
Chapter Seventy-Five
It hadn’t taken much to find out where he lived. Now all they had to do was find out how he was connected to the two cases they had so far. And Amanda was damn sure he was. Between herself, Jack and their DI, they’d come up with a plan. They would monitor him for a time to avoid spooking him before they could get hard evidence that he was involved. And that meant surveillance, watching his house and following his every movement.
The main problem they faced was that an internet-based business could be operated from anywhere that had internet access. Did he have a home office, then, or run it from someplace else?
Amanda sat outside in her car. Chris Smeeks’ house was about 100 metres up ahead, tucked firmly behind a tall, thick red brick wall with large black wrought-iron security gates. Leafy green bushes protruded over the top of the wall. The place had the air of an extremely private property, the type owned only by a select few – successful business people, actors, premier league footballers. Other homes along the street were of a similar style – private, secluded and glamorously large. There wasn’t a barking dog or pounding stereo to be heard. This neighbourhood was renowned for wealthy inhabitants. It was rumoured that a couple of A-listers had property along the row and threw legendary parties for those lucky enough to get an invite. It was obvious these folks worked hard, earned hard and then partied hard.
On her first drive-by of Smeeks’ place, she’d noticed through the gates two cars parked up on the driveway, a shiny black Porsche and a shiny black Mercedes. Husband and wife, then? There hadn’t been any mention of a partner from her intel but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a live-in lady. Or maybe he just liked a weekend car for entertaining himself and went to work in the Merc, wherever work was. There was no record of an office leased to or owned by him, but again that didn’t mean it didn’t exist: it could mean they simply hadn’t found it yet.
Amanda sipped on her coffee. Being on a stakeout was particularly boring and something that was normally done in twos. Keeping tabs on movement was hard for one person; boredom and drifting off were real risks. But there was no one else. Since Jack was still in hospital, she was it. No one else had been quick to offer their time this evening, even with her promise of a burger. Who could blame them? Her colleagues were probably sipping cocoa in the comfort of their own homes right now. She sighed and took another sip of coffee.
A moment later her phone buzzed with a text from Jack, a welcome distraction.
“Any movement? any anything?”
“No, nothing. Bored already.”
“How long you staying put?”
“Until 10 pm then heading home. I’ll come back tomorrow. No resources to sit 24/7 so doing what I can.”
“I’m hopeful of release tomorrow, and then I can help.”
She smiled at the word ‘release.’ Had Nurse Bossy-Pants detained him? Jack had mentioned his rather friendly and knowledgeable nurse and her suggestion. While she couldn’t see herself in a PVC dress, she had thought, not for the first time, that Ruth would indeed look knockout in one. As outstanding figures went, Ruth had been first in line for the best of everything when she’d been born, and all the time she spent pounding the pavement running kept her in shape.
“Excellent news,” she said, yanking her thoughts back to the task at hand. “It’ll be good to have you back when you’re fit. And only then.”
Now who sounded the bossy one?
It was then that she saw movement up ahead: the big electric gates opening wide. Which car would drive out and who would be driving it, she wondered?
“Gotta go, Jack. Movement up ahead. Talk later.”
She rang off, threw her phone on to the passenger seat and gave the driveway up ahead her full attention. The black Mercedes nosed its way to the curb, then turned right out of the gate towards her. She slithered down in her seat to be less noticeable. Why hadn’t she brought a cap with her, a bit of disguise for her bright blond hair? She reprimanded herself for being so dumb; it was Stakeout 101, and any rookie would have known to do that.
As the large black car cruised by, she managed to get her arm out the window and snap the registration plate with her phone. The driver, unfortunately, was hidden behind tinted windows.
“Let’s see who owns the big car,” she said to no one. The Mercedes carried on down the road as she watched in her rear-view mirror, then turned right at the bottom, towards the M25. And that meant whoever was driving could be headed anywhere. She cursed herself again for not having worn a cap; with her hair covered, she could have risked trying for a better look.
She leaned forward to switch on her engine and noticed another car crawling along the quiet road at a snail’s pace, its headlights off. As she watched, the driver switched the lights on. Odd, she thought: in the gathering dusk, they should have been on earlier. She left her engine off and watched as the car passed her. She reached for her phone again and snapped the registration plate, then watched in her rear-view mirror as, just like the Mercedes before it, turned right at the end of the road.
Satisfied that there were no more vehicles coming her way, she turned her engine on, pulled out of the spot she’d been closeted in and set off, turning right at the end of the road. If the Mercedes and the second vehicle were headed to the M25, she could follow at a distance fairly easily for as long as the fading light lasted. If they weren’t, she’d have to give it up for the night and have a word with the DI tomorrow.
She activated the speed dial. The sound of a phone ringing came through the car speakers, closely followed by Ruth’s voice.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself. I’m letting you know I’ve left my spot, but I’m not headed back just yet. I’m following a car following a car to see where they take me.”
“Be careful. You’re on your own, hun. That’s not good.”
“I’m only following, I won’t get out, and if they don’t go on the M25, I’ll be straight home.”
“Okay, I’ll be up. Let me know when you know. See you later.”
Amanda hung up and concentrated on following the taillights ahead in the failing light.
They turned on to the M25.
Chapter Seventy-Six
She’d had to give up for the night. Amanda had followed both cars until they’d turned off the M25 again and headed towards London itself, and she knew she couldn’t do a proper job on her own. She pulled over at a petrol station to phone the cars’ registration numbers through. Once she’d done that, her plan was to head home. She was knackered.
“Hang on, Amanda. I’ll punch them in,” the uniform back at the station said. Amanda waited, listening to the sound of keystrokes. A moment later, the officer said, “Here you go. Got a pen?”
“Yup.” Amanda balanced her notebook in her lap.
“The first is a black Mercedes, registered to a company in the name of ‘Mild Holdings,’ so that might need some extra digging to see who’s behind that. And the other is registered to a Jules Monroe. Mean anything?”
“Well, now, that’s interesting.”
“Which one?”
“The woman. Jules Monroe. Not what I expected to pop up at all. Funny how these things come about, isn’t it? Looks like I’ll be seeing Ms. Monroe again tomorrow. Thanks again.”
She hung up and sat back to think. What on God’s earth was Jules Monroe doing hanging about outside Chris Smeeks’ house?
At night?
And why was she following him?
The data breach had been a long time ago – had she been in contact with him all along? Or had she, too, found him again only recently? Regardless, what was she doing outside his home and following his car?
She dialled Ruth. “I’m on my way back now. I’ll be about forty minutes, so don’t bother waiting up. I’ll see you when I scramble under the covers. I�
�ll try not to wake you.”
“I’ll be awake. I’m just playing on my laptop propped up in bed. You drive carefully.”
Amanda blew her a kiss down the line and then headed back on the M25 in the opposite direction. Even though she’d been sipping coffee for the last couple of hours outside Smeeks’ place and should by rights have been wired, she felt surprisingly sleepy. She cracked the driver’s-side window open and let the cool night air fill the car. The taillights of the cars in front dazzled her, but not as much as the bright white headlights of the oncoming traffic, three lanes wide. Six lights appeared to be heading straight for her, and another six directly behind them. And another six behind them. Did the M25 ever slow down or thin out to a trickle?
Her thoughts drifted slightly as she drove, and she made a mental checklist of things to do tomorrow: talk to Jack about Jules first thing, find out who ‘Mild Holdings’ were, and find out where the Mercedes had been headed and whether it had been Smeeks at the wheel. CCTV cameras could help with that one, hopefully, though the tinted windows didn’t help. Maybe they would get lucky and get a full face-on windscreen shot.
Her thoughts drifted again. What did Jules know? She’d need to speak to her again. And would Jack be out tomorrow? She hoped so. She also hoped he was going to be happy with her choice of housekeeper. Maybe she could straighten him up a bit too.
Jules kept her distance from the black Mercedes, but it was proving difficult. To the uninitiated, tailing another car was not as simple as it looked, and she hoped she hadn’t been spotted. She had no idea where he was going, or what she was going to do when they got there, but she had taken off after him anyway. On the seat next to her was a camera with a powerful lens attached to it that she’d borrowed from a photographer friend. He’d assured her she could point and shoot easily and wouldn’t be detected in the darkness as long as she didn’t ram it in his face and kept back discreetly. Hopefully he was right.