Lethal Ties

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Lethal Ties Page 34

by Christmas, Helen


  “I work at Sainsbury’s,” he said, “in the online shopping department. It’s part time, so I’ve got plenty of hours to do other stuff - like my one day a week in a charity shop, which is voluntary - but I’m also looking for some bar work.”

  Nodding in encouragement, Geoff sipped his wine. “Great. It’s good to keep yourself busy, have you worked in any other bars?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Joe sighed and feeling himself relax slightly, went on to describe some of the stylish establishments he had worked for in Chelsea.

  “Sounds like you’ve had an interesting life,” Geoff’s wife mused.

  “It’s the one type of work I’ve got most experience in,” he added proudly.

  Raising his eyes, he was aware of Jess slipping in and out of the kitchen, preparing to serve her starter; tempura prawns carefully arranged on a bed of Asian salad with spring onions. Still, at least she looked happy, her face aglow.

  Overwhelmed by such hospitality, her friends relished their starter. By the time Joe had finished his beer, though, Geoff seemed eager to ply him with wine. So he gratefully accepted a glass of the same white the others were drinking.

  “What’s happening in your line of work then?” Jess plugged them.

  “Glastonbury Festival’s coming up,” Imogen beamed, “we’re running an article and I’m so excited about the line-up. Let’s just say - watch this space!”

  “Oh, give us a hint,” Jess pressed. “Who have you got in mind?”

  Setting aside her cutlery, she and Geoff exchanged glances. Joe did not miss the wolf grins spreading across their faces.

  “You need to see what’s trending on Twitter,” he said. “But George Ezra is a rising star and definitely one to watch. Three o’ clock Saturday, Pyramid Stage.”

  As the conversation ensued, Joe cleared away the plates. He had never attended a festival, no more than he’d heard of half the artists they were name-dropping as if they were close personal friends. Dimly aware of their banter, he lingered in the kitchen to plate up his main course; an aromatic Thai green curry with stir fried vegetables and rice. Jess had agreed it would go nicely with her starter.

  As the conversation continued over dinner, he listened with half an ear as they carried on rhapsodising about who was who in the media. Jess seemed unrestrained in her passion, ever keen to keep the topic on the world of journalism.

  Pouring herself another glass of wine, she fluttered her eyelashes at Geoff.

  “So tell me, what makes a top-selling story?”

  “Nothing beats a sex scandal,” he announced boldly, “and the sleazier the better, especially when it involves people at the top.”

  Excitement flashed in her eyes as they met Joe’s across the table.

  “It’s all about envy,” Geoff shrugged, “when people achieve success, like celebrities, the public might look up to them, but we can’t help taking immense pleasure in their downfall.”

  “Really,” Jess said, “that’s an interesting point... isn’t it, Joe?”

  Heart pounding in his chest, he had a horrible feeling where this was leading.

  “Don’t,” he whispered sharply, “not now.”

  This time it was Imogen’s turn to pounce. “Ooh, what’s going on here?”

  Joe cringed in his seat, filled with a sense that he had suddenly become a lot more interesting than George sodding Ezra.

  How could Jess do this?

  “You must have read the stories about Lord Parker-Smythe?” said Jess, relentless in her hunger to impress them.

  “Go on,” Geoff smiled brightly.

  “Joe knew him! He was a resident in one of those children’s homes...”

  “Jess, please,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Who says?” she protested.

  “The police,” he snapped, feeling the blood rise in his face. “That’s who. He’s gonna be standing trial soon and until that day, I’m not allowed to breathe a word, not to you, not to anyone...” Catching Geoff’s eye, he clung to his gaze with hope. “I’m sorry, but you’re journalists. Surely you understand?”

  Geoff smirked. “It’s okay, Joe, I know where you’re coming from and on that note, I think we’d better change the subject.”

  Jess looked crestfallen, but what did Joe care? The way they’d devoured his main course like there was no tomorrow, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t entertained them.

  Whisking away the plates, she hurled him one of her bitchy looks before retreating to fetch dessert. With nothing else to say on the matter, he sank into his chair, little realising that the evening was about to take a turn for the worse.

  Jess returned, and carefully setting down her platter of mango, papaya and passion fruit, served with organic coconut ice cream, she opened another bottle.

  The conversation filtered into small talk, Jess and Imogen feverishly sharing celebrity gossip, while Joe sank into a glass of fine red, courtesy of Geoff.

  “The best celebrity moment this year has got to be the Bruce Jenner story,” Imogen giggled. “Or should I say Caitlyn, after transitioning into a woman.”

  Geoff leaned across the table, his face lit with intrigue, and as Jess fiddled with her mobile, she found a photo on Instagram.

  “Oh - my - God,” she murmured, her lips twisting into a smile. “Now that is some transformation. Amazing to think that she’s gone public with this new image.”

  Joe suppressed a yawn, wondering how much more of this nauseating spiel he was expected to put up with. But with the conversation edging towards Instagram, he snatched up his own phone. Loading the app, he couldn’t resist a peek, secretly wondering whether Maisie had posted anything.

  The first image he saw pulled all the breath from his lungs.

  Trees. Winter trees, definitely oaks. They lingered in the mist like ghostly figures, skeletal branches clawing the sky, a black and white image so creepy, he could not believe Maisie would have posted it.

  Fighting to retain his composure, he took another swallow of wine.

  Yet the more he scrolled, the more unsettling images emerged before his disbelieving eyes and not just trees, but forests; dozens of them, the photographs taken in all seasons. One image in particular turned his blood to ice.

  A circle of bare branches hung silhouetted against a night sky... so evocative of her nightmares.

  “Fucking hell,” he murmured, forgetting he was in company.

  His thumb froze on the next image. It appeared to be a sponsored link, but who in their right mind would want a flickering torch powered by electricity?

  Stopping mid-sentence, Jess gaped at him. “What’s up with you?”

  “There’s something really weird going on with Maisie’s account,” he said. “I’m not messing around, but there’s no way she’d have posted this shit!”

  “Oh God, not this ‘troll business’ again,” she sighed.

  Joe could not move, the jeer in her tone grating on him. “This is no troll,” he said coldly. “This is serious. I wonder if her Instagram has been hacked...”

  “Maisie?” Imogen piped up. “I haven’t seen Maisie for ages. How is she?”

  “Maisie’s fine!” Jess bristled, her eyes boring into Joe. “And why are you so obsessed with her Instagram all of a sudden?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” he snapped back, realising even as he spoke that Jess knew almost nothing of her friend’s psychological issues.

  “Actually, there’s a fake app I’ve heard of,” Geoff intervened.

  Looking at Joe with raised eyebrows, he grabbed the wine, sloshing another hefty measure into their glasses.

  “I’m certain it’s got something to do with Instagram.”

  “Okay, so how does that work?” Joe asked.

  “The pictures and posts in feeds don’t even look like the user’s account, but apparently it downloads spyware. Google it.”

  “Spyware?” Joe echoed. “Does that mean... Oh, Jesus.” He broke off, knuckles whitening as he gri
pped his glass.

  Was it possible Maisie’s mobile had been tampered with?

  If so, it yielded their enemies a formidable advantage.

  “What?” Jess frowned.

  “This ain’t just about creepy pictures on Instagram,” he whispered, his voice deep with dread. “Neither of us have been able to get hold of her. What if this app’s given someone total control over her phone?”

  As Jess lounged back in her chair, the look on her face was nothing like he’d expected. Surely she should be worried? Yet he caught a glint of amusement in her eye before she glanced back at her audience.

  “Sorry. You can’t blame him for fearing the worst. He’s not unfamiliar with the criminal underworld...” She pursed her lips. “Are you, Joe?”

  Joe frowned. “Maybe not, but that’s hardly the point...”

  Yet it seemed she had not quite finished with him. Locking eyes with Imogen, her words seemed designed to prompt a reaction.

  “Criminal underworld?” Imogen gasped in wonderment. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” Joe sighed. “It’s not something I’m proud of but some of them bars I worked at in London were run by a local kingpin...”

  “A gangster!” Imogen spluttered. “Oh, tell me more, please... I’m dying to find out how organised crime works. It’s for my novel.”

  “She’s writing a gangland thriller,” Geoff grinned, keen to join in. “So come on then Joe, put her out of her misery will you, and maybe we can move on.”

  Joe took a shuddering breath. The thought of dragging George Oldman into the conversation made him feel sick to the core, but with the alcohol flowing freely, he was beginning to lose his inhibitions.

  “What can I tell you? The guy who recruited me was a legend, and like all the bigshot crime lords he was rich, powerful and very much feared.”

  “He’s the reason you went to prison, wasn’t he?” Jess oozed.

  Disbelief widened Imogen’s eyes. “You went to prison? What for?”

  “Got sucked into an armed robbery,” Joe muttered darkly, “but let’s not go there...”

  “But that’s awesome!” she laughed with glee.

  He hadn’t known it before it happened, he hadn’t even sensed the inferno building up inside him, but it was this comment that ignited it. Studying their faces, he could see them virtually salivating over his past.

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” he shouted, banging his glass down.

  Slops of red wine spilled onto the table cloth, Jess glaring in outrage, but suddenly he didn’t care. He’d had enough.

  “There was nothing ‘awesome’ about it! A woman was shot dead, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, thanks to that psycho!”

  Jess reached for his hand, but he wrenched it away irritably.

  “It still haunts me! And all the while people like you are getting off on this... sensationalising crime like it’s some - some sick entertainment, there’s families out there grieving! Have you ever thought about that?”

  The atmosphere buckled into a stony silence. Jess looked as if she were about to burst into tears, but Joe was past caring. With an overwhelming urge to get away from them, he shot up from the table, knocking his chair over, before storming off to the bedroom utterly devastated.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Lying on top of Jess’s double bed, he gulped in deep breaths. The seconds ticked slowly but he could still hear them out there, murmuring in hushed tones, the occasional tinkle of a wine glass.

  He wondered whether he should go back.

  Except it was too bloody late to apologise, the damage had been done.

  They didn’t stay long, but hearing them leave brought a roller coaster of emotions to the surface. In those final few minutes the fog in his mind had cleared and only then did he grasp the truth behind Jess’s obsession. What she had done to him.

  Closing his eyes, he braced himself for the bomb to go off, and this time he was ready for her. It began within minutes, the slam of a door, the crashing and banging of plates echoing from the kitchen.

  Joe counted to ten before dragging his weary limbs into action.

  Sure enough, the moment his shadow fell over the threshold, she spun around, her face flushed with anger.

  “How could you?” she hissed. “I have never been so humiliated...”

  “So how do you think I felt?” he said icily.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she retorted, ramming another plate into the dishwasher. Disdain twisted her face, and the look did her no favours.

  “First, you bring up Lord Parker-Smythe,” he spat. “Sex scandal, my arse! You couldn’t wait for me to spill my guts about the case! And as for that shit about my past, just be honest, Jess. You don’t love me! All you want from me is some titillating gossip to feed your journalist friends. Well, I’m sick of it!”

  “Joe, that’s not true,” she whimpered.

  Dropping the mug she was holding, she flinched in shock as it bounced on the floor and smashed. Joe glanced away. The look in her eyes was almost pitiful.

  “How can you say that? I invited you into my home, gave you a love life most men would kill for and this is the way you treat me?”

  “I never asked for any of it,” Joe seethed. “You offered it to me on a plate. We have to face facts, Jess. We’re not compatible and it’s time I left.”

  His hands shook as she tried to corner him and he backed away.

  What could he do, other than run while he had the chance?

  She had sunk her claws in deep but shredded his heart in the process.

  “Joe, please!” She was begging now. “Where are you going to go?”

  “Does it matter?” he sighed. “Maybe I’ll find a bench in Marine Park Gardens, but there’s no way I’m spending another night with you. It’s over!”

  Without wasting a second, he scoured the apartment for his most important belongings and threw them into his rucksack. Returning to the bedroom, where he had already stuffed as many clothes as he could fit into a carrier bag, he made a grab for that too. The rest he would have to leave. All the while he was packing, he could hear Jess bleating in the background. But he wasn’t listening. Heart crashing wildly, he threw on his jacket, never more determined to escape.

  “You ungrateful bastard!” she screamed in his wake. “I hate you!”

  Maybe they were the last words he would ever hear from her, but he didn’t look back. Footsteps light, he flitted downstairs to the exit, stepping into the darkness where the cool summer air embraced him.

  Creeping his way along the sea wall, he heard the soft swish of waves in the distance. The thought of returning to the beach shelter rose temptingly... but of course, Jess knew nothing about Maisie’s key nestling in his rucksack.

  At last he allowed himself a smile.

  Didn’t she say he could move back in if things didn’t work out?

  So he turned away from the seafront, yet to embark on the long walk up Victoria Drive that would ultimately lead him to her door.

  It took less than fifteen minutes, and as the large brick and cream house reared up in front of him, he felt his heart lift.

  Oh, how he had missed her flat, the soft lamps, the pretty colours and its cluttered, lived-in cosiness.

  Jess’s seaside apartment might be luxurious but it lacked character. Minimalist and sterile, he had never felt at home there; the way she snapped his head off every time he left a fleece lying around living proof he could never have fitted into her perfectly-ordered world. Exhaling a sigh, he slipped his key into the door, and with the neighbourhood basked in shadow, took a moment to observe his surroundings.

  The first thing that struck him was an unfamiliar silver camper van where Maisie used to park. The absence of her car brought with it a groundswell of fear. Letting himself in quietly, he wondered how she was faring.

  Asleep in her idyllic cottage probably, unaware of the hidden danger.

  First thing tomorrow, he would call
her, but not just to update her on his own crisis. She needed to know about the images he had seen on Instagram.

  With no work until Friday there was little he could do other than settle down for now. Crashing out in Maisie’s spare bedroom, fully clothed, he had endured a somewhat restless night, but with so many troubled thoughts brewing in his mind, sleep did not come easily.

  Before the next day dawned, however, Joe would learn their enemies might be a little closer to home.

  Reluctant to call Maisie’s mobile, he phoned the Council. The chances were he wouldn’t be able to reach her any other way. Yet he heard no ring tone, no sign his phone was even connecting.

  Joe stared at the screen. With thoughts of fake apps rising darkly, never mind spyware, he was beginning to question the status of his own handset.

  Spyware.

  Such a concept left a bitter taste but it seemed unwise to ignore Geoff’s warning. Spyware suggested infiltration on a deeper level, something more sinister than he could deal with. That left only her landline.

  “Good morning, Chichester District Council?”

  Torn from his musings, he asked to be put through to the Child Care and Fostering department. Yet Maisie couldn’t be reached there either.

  “I’m afraid she’s in a meeting until lunchtime. Shall I take a message?”

  The situation left him floundering, but what could he say? He had urged her to get her phone looked at but with no further communication since Monday, there was no telling if she had done it.

  “No, it’s okay, thanks, I-I’ll call back later,” he spluttered.

  Holding his breath, he waited for the receptionist to hang up but as the phone fell silent, he pressed it to his chest. He had a hundred things on his mind, but something else had just clicked.

  Spyware.

  He couldn’t shake off the memories of the things they had talked about; meetings with Sam, the invitation to visit their cottage... Maisie had read out the postcode. It once again drew his attention to the house in East Lavant, its secluded country setting, and a wave of dread rolled over him.

 

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