by J. S. Spicer
Her dark hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. From a distance it looked midnight black, but up close auburn strands glistened within the depths. She wore it up today. A few loose wisps tickled the collar of her coat, just beneath he could see a sliver of her pale neck. The urge to reach out and touch her was almost irresistible. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, away from temptation. It was too soon for touching; to rush this could spoil everything.
The shop was busy, giving him a few precious minutes up close with Jennifer. The cramped space and tight queue of people made it possible to be up close without attracting any special notice. He was almost disappointed when it was Jennifer’s turn to be served. He consoled himself by listening to her voice, soft but clear, as she ordered a ham sandwich on wholemeal bread. He would have to add that to his notes. She liked ham.
Joseph stepped out of the queue just before she turned to leave. She brushed past and again he caught that same fragrance.
The intention was to wait for a moment before leaving. Her routine was to buy lunch then return to the bank to eat. He would let her get outside and start heading back before following.
But then she dropped her glove.
He saw it fall to the ground, landing silently on the tiled floor. Jennifer didn’t notice. She was too preoccupied with putting her purse away and struggling to open the door. He was frozen to the spot for a second, pressed down by the possibility that had just presented itself. It was an elderly lady in a raincoat who galvanised him into action; she began tottering towards the fallen glove, hand outstretched.
Joseph was too quick for her. He scooped it up and rushed for the doorway, ignoring the old lady’s disapproving huff.
Stepping onto the pavement he could still feel the residual warmth of Jennifer’s hand amongst the soft woollen fibres. He was tempted to press it to his face, to breathe it in, but he didn’t want to mess up the chance he’d been gifted.
“Excuse me!”
She turned right away. She was already checking her pockets, looking for the lost glove. Joseph waved it happily, walked right up to her. Now he was looking directly into her face, close enough to see the amber flecks in her eyes reflecting the light.
“I think you dropped this.”
“Thank you.” She smiled broadly, reaching out for her glove. Joseph had to resist the urge to hang on to it. He’d been looking for a memento, but the chance to talk to her was worth more.
“I didn’t think you’d want to lose it,” he said, hoping to keep her talking as long as possible. “Especially on such a cold day.”
She slipped the glove back over her hand. “It is chilly. Well, thanks again.”
She was turning away.
“Wait!”
This time when she looked at him the smile was gone, replaced by an expression more guarded, wary. He’d spoken too harshly, he realised.
“I just wondered if you work around here?”
Guarded turned to distrust, perhaps even a trace of alarm.
“I’m looking for the library, you see. I don’t suppose…?”
He flooded with relief when he saw her relax, even almost smile again. He watched intently as she gave him directions, saw her lips form the words. She had a small dimple just to one side of her mouth. Joseph didn’t really hear anything she told him; he was just enraptured by the sound of her voice, lost in her liquid brown eyes.
They spoke for mere moments on the street, but Joseph savoured every second. He stood rooted to the spot for some time after she’d walked away, watching her retreating figure blend into the crowd. When she finally vanished he closed his eyes, doing his best to memorise every feature, every detail of her. He didn’t want to forget a single thing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It wasn’t getting any easier. If anything, it was getting harder to keep up the act. He could feel his façade crumbling, bit by bit. He didn’t know how much longer he could sustain the cool, professional veneer, that of the consummate, trustworthy Bank Manager. Hugh really wanted a drink, but he didn’t dare. It was natural to be troubled by a break-in, but going to the pub the first chance he got might make him look jumpy. Damn it, he was jumpy, but he couldn’t let it show.
He was still in a mild state of shock after seeing that empty safety deposit box; number 275. Of all the boxes in the bank, only that one had been opened and the contents stolen.
He’d known; the moment his eyes fell on that empty box. It wasn’t just some horrible coincidence.
The missing key.
As the morning wore on Hugh fixated on that missing key; the key to box 275. A sick feeling leached through his pores, settled into a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. He’d always kept it safe for her. She certainly couldn’t be trusted with it, even though the box was actually registered in her name. As her husband the contents were as much his anyway, weren’t they? Or at least they would be if someone hadn’t swiped them right from under his very nose.
He’d looked everywhere for the key, considered every possibility. Perhaps it had accidentally fallen out of his briefcase, even though it had been stowed in a secure compartment inside the lid. He’d scoured the house, on hands and knees at times, feeling into every nook and cranny, checking around the edges of carpets and under the furniture.
Carol had sworn she didn’t know where it was, sworn it with her last breath. She knew better than to lie. But what if she had? What if, somehow, she was behind the theft?
But even if Carol had dared to defy him, she could never have done it alone. The police thought it was a professional job; bypassing the security, disabling cameras, and leaving no trace that anyone had been there.
Suddenly Hugh Bishop had more on his mind than just getting away with murder.
When the police had finished examining the scene they started to trickle away. Finally only the detective, Travers, remained. Eventually he left too, but not before he spoke again briefly to the new girl, Jennifer.
Hugh saw them, watched from the shadows at the top of the narrow staircase. He strained to hear their words but they kept their voices too low. Bishop wondered what else there was to say, to ask? She’d only been with the bank for a week.
Did the police suspect her of some involvement?
Once Travers had departed, Hugh made his way downstairs and slipped outside. He longed for some fresh air, never had the bank felt so stuffy and oppressive; his chest was tight with it. He also wanted to see where she went, the new girl. The embers of suspicion had been fanned by his fears and imagination.
He saw her, walking swiftly down Market Street. What was her hurry? What was the policeman’s interest in her? He started to cross the road, poised on the curb as a couple of cars passed by. Just as he stepped off the pavement he spotted someone else, somebody vaguely familiar. Things were starting to slot into place in Hugh Bishop’s brain. The man coming out of the café, he’d seen him a few times in the past week. Always near the bank, lurking, watching; hanging around at unlikely times of the day. Bishop saw the man’s gaze drawn to Jennifer’s retreating figure. The next moment the man was following her, hurrying through the crowds.
Bishop felt an upwelling of hope. It had felt as though the fates were conspiring against him, but now something was finally going his way. Now, he was certain, the scales were falling from his eyes. All the pieces quickly fell into place. This man who’d been hanging around, he must have been watching their every move, learning their routines, familiarising himself with the staff, the building, the security systems. And Jennifer, their newest member of staff, so friendly, so enthusiastic, willing to help out and take on any job. She must be the insider, the eyes and ears within the walls of the bank. Bishop mulled these thoughts over as he walked along on the other side of the street, keeping them in sight but staying some way back.
When they entered the sandwich shop he waited across the road. Backing into an alley he slipped his phone from his jacket pocket and put it to his ear, head lowered. Any curious passer-by would j
ust see a man apparently taking a call, which left him free to observe, unnoticed. He paced back and forth at the mouth of the alley for several minutes, his eyes locked onto the shop doorway.
A clattering behind caused Hugh to turn, almost dropping his phone. Just a cat, mooching amongst the dustbins. He hissed at it but it ignored him.
When he turned back Jennifer and the mystery man had emerged from the shop. They were standing on the pavement, talking. It looked as though he’d just passed her something but Hugh missed what it was, distracted by the damned cat.
Regardless, his suspicions were confirmed. They knew each other.
When they parted ways Jennifer hurried back towards work. Her companion stood where he was for some time, just watching her.
Bishop assessed the man. He was pretty ordinary-looking. Not that big but he looked like he was in good shape, and with just enough bulk to make him powerful. Bishop was a cautious man, a planner. He liked to think things through, consider all the possible outcomes, anticipate the problems. Rushing things definitely wasn’t his style, but the clock was ticking.
CHAPTER NINE
Travers mulled over his morning’s work on the drive back to the station.
The Manager had definitely been jittery. Understandable, perhaps. Maybe it was a matter of pride with the man. Still, he had seemed distracted, like he was having trouble focusing on what was going on. Maybe a mild form of shock? But that made little sense to Travers. Hugh Bishop had worked in the industry for many years; he’d been Manager at the branch for nearly ten of those years. If this had been an armed robbery, a raid during opening hours, then he’d have expected much more emotion and unpredictable reactions from management and staff. But, unfortunate though the crime was, it had taken place when the bank was empty, no traumatised staff, no injuries, or worse.
Travers thought about Jennifer Kim; his mind kept wandering back to her. She’d been calm, a little wide-eyed, unsure what was expected of her, but that was perfectly natural. It was only her second week working there; she was fresh, not jaded like many of her colleagues. She’d followed their lead, remained calm, professional and helpful. He’d been impressed by her and, he had to admit, attracted to her.
Still, his own personal motivations aside, there was a marked contrast between the behaviour of Jennifer and her colleagues, and that of their boss.
Travers resolved to dig a little deeper into Hugh Bishop’s background.
Back at the station Travers bypassed his own desk and headed straight for Carrie Winters. Carrie was a civilian who’d worked for the police for over two years as a crime analyst. She spent her days huddled over her desk, eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her. The long days and constant snacking hadn’t done her figure any favours, but her mind was sharp and she had a knack for information. She was Travers ‘go to’ girl. Technically, she served the department and was meant to prioritise tasks assigned to her based on their urgency, but Max knew she favoured him. He was usually top of the list.
“Hey, you.”
Carrie had big brown eyes that betrayed her every thought and feeling. They sparkled when Travers perched himself on the corner of her desk.
“Detective. How many bad guys have you caught today?”
Travers glanced at his watch. “Well, you know, it’s still pretty early. I work better after a good lunch.”
“Is that an invitation?” She flashed a cheeky smile.
“I wish! I think I’m in for a long day. We have absolutely zero leads on this burglary so far.”
“Ah, hence the visit to my little corner of the office.” Her expression shifted very slightly as the researcher in her took control. “What do you need?”
“Can you get me backgrounds on all the staff to begin with?”
“Sure. You think it was an inside job?”
“No, to be honest, I don’t. The break-in was flawless. I think we’re dealing with a pro. What bothers me is how specific the theft was. If you have the skills to get away with breaking into a bank why wouldn’t you make it worth your while? The place was chock full of cash and valuables and he just took the contents of one safety deposit box.”
Again his thoughts drifted to Jennifer Kim, this time clouded with a little more doubt. He shouldn’t have arranged a date with her, not yet anyway, but he didn’t want to back out.
Carrie picked up a biro, tapped it against her bottom lip as she considered this. “Maybe the thief was interrupted? If he had to make a hasty exit it might explain why not much was taken.”
Max stood and stretched. “Possibly. But no-one knew anything about it until the staff arrived this morning and made the discovery, so it seems unlikely he was disturbed.”
“OK, well what was taken? Maybe it was really valuable all by itself, or was stolen to order for some reason.”
“I don’t know yet. The bank will email over the details of the owner so we can follow up with them. Here, you’re pen’s leaking.” Travers leaned in to wipe a spot of blue ink off Carrie’s chin.
At that precise moment Lorraine strolled into the office. She looked immaculate as usual; cropped blonde hair bounced just above her shoulders and the grey suit she wore fitted to perfection. Stylish simplicity was her motto for work wear.
What Travers noticed most about her though were her eyes; deep blue, and flinging daggers of hatred at him as she passed by, like a cold northerly breeze blowing through the room.
Carrie gave Max a sympathetic look then turned back to her screen.
Max watched Lorraine for a few moments. She sat at her desk and began studying some files. He hoped with time it would get easier. He carried the guilt, she carried the hatred, and between them they’d created something poisonous that seemed to foul the air of everyone around them. It wasn’t fair on their colleagues but he didn’t know what to do except wait it out.
Lorraine, on the few occasions they’d spoken, insisted she could behave professionally, but the little things gave her away. That scathing look she’d thrown his way as she’d entered the room, the way she now twisted her chair around so her back was firmly to him, and, based on some of the looks and whispers he’d noticed from others, she was most likely bad-mouthing him to anyone and everyone who’d listen.
For now, he decided, distance was probably the healthiest option.
“See you later,” he said quietly to Carrie. “Call me if you find anything.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jennifer fumbled with her key in the lock. She could hear the phone ringing inside her flat; bound to be her mother, everyone else used her mobile. Her hands were full with her dripping wet umbrella, handbag, and a carrier bag of groceries she’d picked up on her way home. Eventually the door yielded. Jennifer hurried across the threshold, dropping her umbrella and handbag, more carefully placing the groceries on the floor to protect the half dozen eggs she’d bought. She kicked the door closed behind her but didn’t bother with the light switch. The flashing from the telephone guided her, along with the hazy orange glow creeping in from the streetlamp outside her window.
“Hello.”
“Jennifer, it’s your mother. I was about to hang up!”
“Sorry, just got in.”
“Just? Don’t you finish at five?”
Jennifer sighed. How often had they been through this? Her mother worried constantly since Jennifer had moved away from home. She didn’t factor in things like working late, or travel disruption, or stopping off to pick up some dinner. She had a strict timeframe in her head for when Jennifer should get in each evening.
Jennifer kicked off her shoes and moved to the window as her mother launched into her favourite topic; Jennifer’s shortcomings. She didn’t call enough. Was she working too hard? Was she eating right?
She perched on the arm of the sofa and gazed out at the dark, wet street. She let her mother’s words wash over her like the rain flowing down the windowpane. She listened enough to give one word responses when required, but her attention was elsewhere. She�
�d spent the afternoon flustered, her focus fractured by the drama of the burglary, and the unexpected encounter with the detective.
She swapped the phone to her other ear, eased off the arm to the comfort of the cushioned seat, and stretching her legs out in front of her kneaded the carpet with her toes. Jennifer’s mother had moved on to talk about her sister now, Chrissie. Jen was tempted to speak up, defend her sister. Since she’d left home Chrissie had the full attention of their critical parents. She knew they’d been giving her sister a hard time over her latest boyfriend. In the end Jennifer bit her lip; partly because she didn’t want this phone call to last all night, but also because deep down she privately agreed with her mother about the boyfriend, he was bad news.
A shadow across the street caught her attention. Someone was out there. As her mother’s voice droned on through the earpiece, Jennifer strained to make out the figure standing on the pavement across the street. On that side it was mostly terraced houses, running in an almost unbroken block, except for occasional gaping openings where passageways led to the back gardens. The figure stood at the threshold of one of these. At first she thought some passer-by had stopped to take shelter from the rain, then realised whoever it was stood near the entrance to the passageway, but hadn’t actually stepped inside.
She made out the shape of a hood but it was difficult to see much. Whoever it was stood halfway between two streetlights, woven into the shadows spilling from the opening behind.
Jennifer watched for a few moments, idly curious as to why someone would allow themselves to get soaked in a downpour when cover was merely inches away. Then her mother began making noises about visiting Jennifer that weekend.
She’d already secretly arranged for Chrissie to visit; sisters together for a day in town. She’d have to do some fast thinking and persuasive talking if she was to prevent her mother spoiling their plans.