by Linda Coles
“I do. Imagine how you’ll feel if someone else turns up like Sebastian did, and you could have perhaps stopped it. You’d never forgive yourself, would you? And you’d have that on your shoulders for the rest of your life. I say, do yourself a favour and tell them what you know, let them look into it.”
Georgia sat staring into her drink, looking miserable and tired. “I hear what you’re saying and I’ve tossed it around so much that I’m sick of thinking about it anymore.” She paused and took a sip of wine. “I’m going to do my own bit of digging first and then depending what I find out, I’ll tell them this weekend if it still points to one person. Deal?”
Sandra raised her glass and lightly tapped Georgia’s. “Deal, but make sure you do!”
“Can we change the subject now, away from death and investigations?”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Sandra, and clinked her glass again.
Later that night, when Georgia got home, she started scanning through Philippa During’s online profile, her old posts and pictures. Yes, she was a vet; yes, she lived in Rickmansworth; yes, she did have short auburn hair. But there was something else that caught her attention in one of the past images. Something Georgia had seen only too recently.
Chapter Sixty-Six
@Jaybaby “I guess you’ve heard about Sebastian?”
@Belfort “Yes, I have. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” #thief
@Jaybaby “Seems a bit rough, old boy. He was a good friend of mine.” #Steadyon
@Belfort “I know. Sorry, but I’ve just lost a chunk of money to the man through his greed. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone though.” #notsorry
@Jaybaby “What happened. May I help somehow?”
@Belfort “Not here, mate. I’ll message you privately. Any sign of who did it, do you know?”
@Jaybaby “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s GM Police, not the Met. @McRuth, you any idea?” #Amanda
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Ruth was doing a crossword puzzle at her kitchen table when she saw the ping come through. She picked up her phone and tapped on the site to see what Jason was tagging her in. Reading through the conversation so far, she knew instantly what it was—the death of Sebastian Stevens. She typed out her reply:
@Belfort Not sure myself. Amanda is working the case with the GMP detectives. Not here to ask. #checklater
@McRuth Would welcome the intel, though I guess it will be on the news if they had made an arrest.
@Belfort Sorry Jordan, I know he was your friend. Terrible way to go. Have the GMP interviewed you?
@McRuth They have indeed, but couldn’t tell them much. Just saw his newsfeed and called it in.
@Belfort from @Jaybaby Has the image been taken down yet so no one else has to see it?
@Jaybaby No, and it’s been pasted all over the news and web so it’s still very much out there. #Horrific
@Belfort Any news on the funeral? Not that I’ll be going but gives closure to friends like you.
@Jaybaby Apparently not until his body can be released. Could be some time. #murderinvestigation
@Belfort Sorry to hear that. If you want to chat over a pint, sing out, alright?
@Jaybaby Thanks, appreciate it. Likewise re earlier comment.
@Belfort from @McRuth Same goes from me Jordan. Just let me know.
@Jaybaby @McRuth Thanks to you both. #greatfriends
Ruth signed out and picked her crossword back up again. She was stuck on three across: garden tool, three letters ending in ‘e.’ As she stared at the page, her thoughts drifted back to her stepmum, who’d died tragically. Her passion had been her own garden, a garden that had got her in trouble when she’d gone somewhat overboard with her shovel one day and ended up killing and burying the landscaper. While Ruth didn’t condone what she’d done, she’d kept the secret safe, not even telling Amanda or her father. How could she? The landscaper still lay in a grave in the back garden, though her stepmother was unaware that she had figured that snippet out. By the time she had, it had been far too late.
“Hoe,” she said to the paper and filled in the gaps, completing the day’s puzzle. She checked the kitchen clock. Today’s crossword was not a personal best, time-wise; maybe tomorrow’s puzzle would be better. The back door opened and Amanda walked in.
“Perfect timing,” Ruth said, standing and wrapping her partner in a bear hug, kissing her cheek into the bargain. “Want some hot chocolate or something else? Have you eaten?”
“Hi, hun. Yes, I’ve eaten but I’ll join you in hot chocolate.” Kicking her shoes off, she sank onto a chair and blew out a heavy breath, closing her eyes and stretching her legs out in front of her. Ruth busied herself with hot milk and glanced across at Amanda, at the short blonde hair framing the face of the woman she so loved.
“Tough day, eh? Shall I run you a bath, put some Radox in?”
Amanda groaned in pleasure, eyes still closed.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then. We’ll drink our chocolate first. But can I ask you a work question before you unwind?”
“Shoot.” She still hadn’t opened her eyes.
“How’s the sick selfie case going? Only Jordan was asking. Sebastian was his friend, as you know. Are you any further forward? Any arrests imminent?”
“You know I can’t discuss open cases, Ruth,” Amanda said, sitting up and opening her eyes again, “but between you and me, we’ve nothing positive as yet, but that’s all I can say, so don’t go telling Jordan anything. Truth is, we have diddly to go on at the moment.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Just wanted to help him out. Must have been pretty traumatic to see that.”
“It’s not often we don’t get to the bottom of things, and I’m confident we will with this too.”
Ruth passed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate and Amanda took a sip. “Mmmmm, can’t beat it! Even in summer it’s still good and comforting,” she said, and sipped some more.
“I’ll just go and turn the taps on while you drink,” Ruth said, and left Amanda sat on her own, thinking about what they did know about the cases—a blurry picture of a short-haired woman and possibly a vet connection. It wasn’t a lot to go on. They needed to catch a break, and soon.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Another stiff glass of wine later and Georgia was pretty certain she was onto something, though she desperately wished she wasn’t. It all pointed to the same person, a person who had come back into her life, supposedly by chance, a few days ago. Had it all been a ploy? Was that why she’d been waiting outside the offices, waiting to ‘bump’ into Georgia, complete with a fake story? Now she felt used and stupid. Worse, she had probably been at least partly responsible for Sebastian’s death. Without her feeding his personal information to Philippa, he might still have been alive. Instead, he was lying in a cold fridge in a morgue in a dank hospital basement instead of enjoying drinks with his friends. Or girlfriends.
Georgia tapped the card in her fingers and picked up her phone, then set it down again. A voice in her head told her to dig a little deeper before she did anything else, something she might regret if she indeed had it all wrong. She opened her Messenger app and tapped out a message to Philippa, as if nothing was on her mind.
Hey, what you up to?
The reply came back quickly.
Hey Georgia! Nothing much. You?
No, had the week from hell so far, what with Sebastian’s death. Think I’ll get hammered.
Send.
Wow, yes. I heard about that. Terrible! You holding up?
The replies were coming naturally, no thinking-time delays. Maybe she was barking up the wrong tree after all?
Yes. So many questions, though, from the police and whatnot. Ready for my bed tonight, let me tell you.
Send.
Yes, poor love. Well, you look after yourself, eh? Get some rest. And we’ll speak soon?
Thanks. I’m going to head up to bed now, read for a while, clear my head.
Send.
Sounds good. I’ll let you go then.
Philippa signed off with a smiling emoji. Georgia stared at it. Was she way off with her suspicions after all?
Georgia sat back on the sofa, her thoughts whirling. Her friend sounded as normal as normal could be. Had she got it all wrong? Surely there was more than one scarf with a big poppy on it, and surely other vets had short hair? And anyway, what exactly did a murderer sound like—Hannibal Lecter? The only thing left to do was to sleep on it, to make a decision tomorrow rather than do anything rash now. Sometimes, things looked a little clearer after time had passed.
With a heavy sigh, she trudged upstairs to read for a while. When she finally drifted off to sleep sometime later, the dreams that came were not pleasant ones: Sebastian laughing, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as he laughed harder and harder, his face contorting as he crumpled to the floor. A woman with a knife just behind him, talking to her with words she couldn’t hear. A bright red poppy on a scarf wrapped around a woman’s severed head, eyes dead. Georgia tossed and turned to shake free of the dream, sweat gathering on her forehead and chest soaking her nightdress as the droplets turned into a wet river. When the dream finally broke, she surfaced back into the safety of her bedroom wide awake, panting hard.
“Just a dream,” she said to herself, her voice shaking. “Just a dream.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
It had been quite the bonus finding out one of Fiona Gable’s friends was a hunter too, and there was no way she could let it go. Of course, poor dear, departed Fiona had other hunters among her friends, but as Philippa had scrolled through and looked at what this particular man had posted, she realised he must have been away hunting at the same time as Fiona had been. Had they both been at the same place? Had they swapped war stories around a campfire over whiskey? Had they compared kills, reliving the experience over dinner? The thoughts grossed her out—the two gloating pigs sharing a meal together and talking about the one that got away, probably overstretched somewhat for the purpose of a better story. Or maybe there hadn’t been a need to; maybe the day’s hunt had been action-packed enough that there had been no need to add gory details. She stopped at the photo of him posed arrogantly beside a dead leopard. She could practically see the target forming on his head already. No longer would that graceful animal roam the African plains or sleep comfortably draped over a branch. No, he’d taken all that away from it. So now it was her turn to take something from him.
She’d sent him a friend request, and he’d accepted it almost immediately with a short note back saying how nice it was to see her again.
Pft! It amazed Philippa just how shallow the man appeared to be, and despite not knowing a thing about him save for his deplorable hobby, she hated him already. But the picture she’d used had worked and that was the main thing. Able to see into much of his life now, she’d watch from the sidelines for a few days while she decided what to do about him—or rather when to do it. She stared at his profile picture like she was trying to read his mind, understand his thoughts, what went on in his head. Cocking her own head to the right, she said “For a complete prick, you’re damn handsome. That dark hair of yours actually makes you look a little exotic. Where do you originate from, I wonder? I mean, originally, your roots? I guess I’ll just have to guess for now, and I’m guessing maybe somewhere in the Middle East. Remind me to ask you when we finally do meet—just to quell my own curiosity you understand.” For now, though, her plan was to look and listen and flirt with this rather tiresome but handsome sleaze-ball.
Scrolling through his profile, she clicked ‘like’ on a couple of his posts and left a nondescript comment on another, just enough for him to see she was out there, interacting with him, playing with him. Knowing he was married with children, she played it safe for now, but her direct messages to him would become quite different. With no one to see those apart from Aaron and herself, she could be as flirty as she needed to be. Or he wanted her to be.
Aaron Galbraith was now enemy number one, and her new fake profile of Frankie Green was going to see he got his comeuppance.
Aaron checked his newsfeed while his beautiful wife Stephanie took a long, well-deserved soak in the bath upstairs, taking advantage of some quiet, alone time. They’d been married for ten years and had two wonderful young twin sons, Josh, and Jasper, who were sound asleep in their bedroom. At the tender age of seven, they were like two peas in a pod, not only identical to each other, but mini-versions of both parents combined. With Stephanie’s dark, sultry looks and almond eyes and Aaron’s dark hair and deep hazel eyes, there was no mistaking whose children they were when they were all out together. They looked like the perfect magazine shot family, needing only a small dog to complete the look. And no doubt they’d get one one day.
With everyone safely sleeping or soaking, Aaron took the opportunity to chat to Frankie, a woman who’d popped into his online life a couple of weeks ago when she’d sent a friend request. While she looked vaguely familiar, and gorgeous, her name didn’t register with him at all, though she was friends with some of his other friends. He just couldn’t place where he knew her from; he hadn’t bothered to ask, not wanting to offend. Women changed their hair all the time, so she could well have been cropped and blonde before the long shiny hair she sported in her pictures now. And since she was such a stunner to look at, and quite a flirt as it had turned out, he’d left it at that. And he liked the mystery.
He smiled at the message on his phone, the ambiguousness of it, the double-entendre meaning; if anyone else saw their exchange, they wouldn’t have a clue what they were really talking about. It seemed whatever she said could be taken in one of two ways depending on either his or her mood. He readjusted himself slightly as he took it the way he hoped she’d meant. It was pretty clear she was up for some fun so he replied back excitedly.
I’ve got a trip out to LA so I’ll be gone a week or so. But maybe we could grab that drink when I’m back? Would that work for you? Be good to catch up again in person.
Frankie couldn’t believe her luck that he wanted to meet so soon. She’d only been watching him and chatting with him for a few days, but was pleased that he seemed keen. And she’d made it easy for him, after all: most men liked to be teased a little, and she had been doing a fine job of getting his attention so far. But was she ready to do it all again just yet? Should she let the dust settle a little first, take the heat out of current goings-on? Or was it best to go with the momentum, strike while the publicity was hot and her mission was getting the exposure it so deserved? Surely the murders must be making others think about their bad choices in hobbies, reflect on it at the very least? Even if it stopped one person from taking up the sport, it was worth it—and it was definitely worth it to the animals involved. She looked at the tiny screen in her hand and pondered what to do. Moments later, momentum won out.
Sounds good, she typed back. Tell me where and when and I’ll make it work.
Perfect. I’ll work on it. What time do you finish work usually?
It varies, but around six, so I’ll dash home and change, then be on my way.
Frankie wasn’t intending for anything to happen on their first meeting, and even though she’d been the essence of a flirt, she needed to work on Aaron a little more. If she was infiltrating his life on the side, she needed him to want her, and chase her, just a little, to give her time. The fact that he was married with children didn’t bother her. They were collateral damage as far as she was concerned. It was Aaron and Aaron alone she was interested in, but not in the way that Aaron hoped she was. Still, the plan was working out just fine so far.
Can’t wait to see you again after so long. You’ve not changed a bit—still looking great.
What bull, she thought, but replied in a similar fashion. Me neither, and you’re as dark and handsome as you were back then. Until then, toodle pip.
Aaron closed the app down on his phone and smiled to himself. The sound of Stephanie moving around upstairs br
ought him back to reality and he slipped his phone back into his jeans pocket and headed upstairs, where she was just slipping into her nightdress. He sidled up to her and gently kissed her neck, whispering breathlessly into her ear.
“Why don’t you leave that off, and I’ll join you shortly?” He pecked her neck again.
Dropping her head back with pleasure, she smiled knowingly and he left her to grab a quick shower.
Not ten minutes later, Aaron was back, a fluffy towel tied around his waist, his broad chest tanned and muscular from working out three times per week. He liked good-looking things and he added himself into that folder. He took the time and effort to look his best, for himself and those he cared for. And Stephanie appreciated his effort, and he hers.
But it wasn’t the beautiful Stephanie Galbraith that filled his head that night as they moved together: it was someone else, someone else with long brown hair. And her name was Frankie Green.
On the other side of town, Frankie certainly wasn’t thinking of Aaron, well, at least not in the same way he was of her. Her desires were somewhat different, more deadly as she percolated the plan in her head. She had chewed through several small packets of cashew nuts, and a glass of red wine had since turned into three. Nibbling helped her think, get the pieces of the puzzle right. She’d been lucky so far, but she wasn’t going to become complacent: that’s where errors occurred and she’d no desire for time inside sharing a cell with a serial killer. Aaron would be easy to get on his own, she was sure—he’d made that pretty damn clear—and that would work in her favour. Finding him through Fiona Gable had been a stroke of luck, and as she nibbled and sipped, she wondered idly if either of them had known Sebastian Stevens too. It wasn’t such a farfetched thought: like-minded people, those who shared the same interests, particularly something so expensive, could well have crossed paths at some point. The thought amused her as she tossed the last of the nuts into her mouth and took the little empty plastic wrappers out to the kitchen.