Detective Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  How long ago it was that he’d first found his fascination. Glancing at the bronze bust looking over him, he smiled at the woman and idly wondered if perhaps she was still alive someplace. He’d never kept in touch after he’d taken what he’d so desired, what she had made him desire. She was the one who had led him to start his collection, to take hers first, to cherish it, to preserve it, to mount it in a cabinet. The first cabinet, the one numbered ‘1,’ with the name Prudence on the plaque. He felt himself stir at the thought of her, of how she’d used to sit on the edge of his bed as a young boy and tell him a story. Of how her eyes would twinkle as she spoke, how her soft-looking lips would move with her words and how her hair would shine. But it was when a nightmare came and he called out into the night that she would come from her room next door in her long nightdress, her hair loose around her shoulders. That was what he had found the most fascinating. And soothing. She’d lean in to him and stroke his hair to quiet him down, and he’d catch the smell of her hair. Fruity like an orchard. He could smell it now as clearly as though she were sitting there now, even over the lime and basil; it was there with him, always.

  “Your hair always smells nice, Prudence,” he’d said one night while she helped him get back to sleep. “And so soft too.” His little fingers had reached up and touched it, stroked it and run themselves back down, through it. She’d bent her head into his touch, enjoying the feeling of someone’s affection. Young Terrance had fallen asleep filled with calm then, and whenever a nightmare had come after that, she’d used her hair to help him back to sleep. Terrance had had many nightmares growing up, though he could never say what they had been about exactly when she questioned him.

  Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from his bathroom feeling relaxed, though anticipation was now subtly taking over. He made his way downstairs to await the text message that would tell him a delivery would be made within the following five minutes. He didn’t have long to wait. The lights of a car on his driveway could be seen through the trees now, and he opened the front door and stepped outside. When the black car had come to a standstill, a man in a black suit and driver’s cap took a slim, polished wood box out of the rear of the car and approached Terrance with it. It was about two feet long and just a few inches deep. He carried it like he was carrying the crown jewels, treating it with reverence as he walked slowly towards its new owner. Knowing what was inside, Terrance smiled inside and stretched out his arms to take ownership of the latest for his collection. The man handed the box over, then silently turned and climbed back into the black Mercedes to drive back the way he’d just come.

  Terrance waited for the lights to completely disappear then closed the door and headed upstairs to his bedroom and the long-anticipated experience with Taylor Palmer’s long cognac locks.

  As the driver headed away, the tiny chip embedded in the wooden lid confirmed the package had been delivered to the requested address, and a signal pinged on a screen somewhere back in London.

  Another transaction had successfully been completed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Griffin hadn’t expected her to get off at the same stop as his; he’d only decided what to do if she got off at a stop before his. And that was ‘do nothing’ anyway, so it wasn’t much of a plan. But now she was close by, just behind him somewhere, and he had precisely no idea what to do next. Walking forward down the platform towards the entrance and home, he fiddled with his iPhone and ear buds, his hands all thumbs and no fingers as he fumbled to undo a knot in the wires. He slowed his pace and moved over to the side, out of the way, as other passengers hurried past him.

  “Can I help?” The small voice was coming from his left side and he froze. Summoning up his courage, he turned to look at the owner of the voice and was both startled and thrilled all at the same time. ‘Velma’ was looking at him for an answer.

  “I . . . I . . .” he stammered, and then froze again. She smiled. He melted a little. Only a little.

  “Here, let me help you,” she said. “My fingers are smaller than yours. I’ll be twice as quick as you.”

  She reached for the wires. Griffin found himself handing them over and watching as her nimble fingers did indeed undo the knot in no time at all. She handed his ear buds back, smiling up at him.

  “There. Told you it’d be quick.” Her petite face took in his, though while hers looked relaxed, Griffin’s was tense with anxiety. He still hadn’t uttered a full word. ‘Velma’ waited. It seemed like an age before he finally mumbled his thanks.

  “Thanks. It was bugging me.” Finally.

  “What are you listening to?” They started walking towards the entrance together again. It was less embarrassing than waiting for him to speak.

  “Guns N’ Roses. Well, I was going to, but I’m talking to you now so I’m not listening to anything.” It came out a little more abrupt than he meant it to. ‘Velma’ felt the sting and glanced up at him. He backtracked a little.

  “Sorry. I meant I will be listening to it, but obviously not right at this minute. That would be rude.” He chanced a nervous smile, his perfect white teeth peeping out from his lips a little awkwardly.

  “I’ve seen you before. On the train. Where do you work?” Her voice bounced in a sort of singsong as she spoke. And the thought of her noticing him previously sent a tingle somewhere down his spine. He liked it.

  “Green Park. I’m a sports reporter. How about you?”

  “I work in IT just near Victoria station. I live here in South Croydon. I’m guessing you do too, since you got off here?”

  Is she always so chipper and forward? he wondered.

  “Yes, I do.” They both walked through the exit door and out to the road. “I live over there, just behind the church. I have a flat,” he said, pointing to a nearby spire.

  “Lucky you. I’m a bit further on down, on Whitgift Avenue. I still live with my parents. Can’t afford a place of my own yet. Too damned expensive.”

  Griffin mumbled a reply along the lines of ‘I hear you,’ and, still feeling very self-conscious, didn’t add anything further. They were nearly at his address when he found his words.

  “I’m nearly home now. Thanks for sorting my buds out. Perhaps I’ll see you again, on the train?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said what’s your name?”

  “Griffin. It’s Griffin.”

  She stuck her hand out and, after several seconds of staring at it, he took it in his. They shook.

  “Nice to meet you, Griffin. I’m Vee. That’s what everyone calls me. I’m Vera, really, but I don’t like it, so stick with Vee.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Vee.”

  She was already walking off as he spoke but she turned and gave a little wave. He was sure he heard her say ‘I hope so,’ or did he imagine it? He hoped he hadn’t. She was cute.

  Opening his front door, he thought back to Vee on the train when their eyes had caught each other’s, and how she did look like Velma Dinkley – glasses, haircut, height, everything about her. And she was called Vee. What a coincidence. And she’d spoken to him even though it had scared him half to death. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Her speaking to him? Because if it had been left up to Griffin to make the first move in greeting, the world would still be waiting. But then she had been very confident in her approach, something he lacked. When he was at the right place, he’d take a confidence-building course or something, but until then, there wasn’t much point. Work, walk, web were the routines of his life, his very existence; his walking counteracted the time he sat still at work and at home, surfing the web, most evenings. He spent a considerable amount of time online searching each night, trying to find the best option for his situation, and he was still a way off finding the solution. So he kept on looking.

  Griffin took his satchel and put it in the cupboard before taking his clothes off and folding them all neatly in a pile on the end of his bed. He replaced them with training shorts and
a T-shirt and collected his running shoes from a different cupboard. He downed 250 millilitres of water from the jug in the fridge and set out on his usual route to complete his 10,000 steps, pulling the door shut behind him. His mind ventured back to Vee’s petite face. She really was quite pretty. He was almost at the small park when he realized he’d been humming as he’d walked. Griffin never hummed.

  But something had made him. Or someone, more to the point.

  Chapter Twenty

  His perfectly timed repetitive morning routine complete for the day, Griffin left his flat and walked the short distance to the train station. He’d slept well and blamed his slightly lighter feeling on rest as he walked briskly to his usual spot on the platform. Elvis in his ears, he found himself looking around, searching the others who were waiting for the train, but Vee wasn’t one of them. Pity. If she was going to catch this one, she’d better be quick, but as the familiar clicking of the tracks sounded, signalling an approaching train, she was nowhere to be seen. The engine pulled up ahead; his usual carriage stopped directly in front of him and he waited for the doors to ping open. One last glance back up the platform before he boarded told him she wasn’t going to be on this train.

  His train.

  Sitting in one of his three usual seats – his choice depended on who else was on board – he resigned himself to the fact his ear buds would be his entertainment for the remainder of the journey in to work.

  That evening was a different matter.

  At 5.30 pm on the dot, Griffin left the office and headed to Victoria station, buds in his ears, Guns N’ Roses playing for his return journey.

  He felt her before he saw her. Glancing to his left, he could see that Vee was just about by his side, her petite face with its thick glasses smiling up at him. While she wasn’t particularly small, Griffin was nearly a foot taller at six foot four.

  “Hey,” was all he could muster, though he knew he wanted to say more. But what exactly?

  “Hey back. I wondered if I might see you on the way home.” Her smile turned out to be infectious. Well, just a little. He smiled down at her through barely open lips, although his smile was nowhere near as blazing as hers.

  “Good day at work?” It felt a safe subject, less awkward perhaps. There was always the weather.

  “Yes. You?”

  “It was okay. Nothing special. Deadline was yesterday so there’s always a bit of a breather the following one. Not much goes on.” Thinking, he asked, “What is it you do in IT? It’s a big subject.” They carried on walking towards the station up ahead.

  “I’m in cyber security, actually. I work for a private firm. They do a lot of computer forensics for businesses. You know, like when someone leaves a company and tries to take a copy of the database with them. Or trying to defraud the company through dodgy accounting – that sort of thing.”

  “That sounds interesting. A bit more so than sports reporter.” They had almost reached the platform while they talked; Griffin felt a little more relaxed with each step and her easy conversation. And her easy manner.

  “It can have its moments. It’s mainly dull digging, until you find a clue, that is. Of course, I’m not much higher up than a gopher at the moment, but I’m working on it.”

  The train was waiting at the platform and Griffin guided them both to ‘his’ carriage before sitting down. She sat next to him. It felt pleasant.

  “I enjoy it,” she continued, “though I’d like to get a bit more involved with cases than I am at the moment, but I’m learning. And learning to be patient. And of course, I can do some of my own research in my own time. You know, in the dark web as well as the surface web.”

  “You spend a bit of time in there, do you? The dark web?” Griffin’s interest was piqued a little more. The dark web wasn’t something people openly talked about much, though a lot of what a person could find there was perfectly legitimate.

  “I do at the moment. Have you ever been inside?”

  With her perfectly innocent face looking up at him, he hesitated before replying. Tell the truth or avoid it?

  “Just a little.” Each night. . . There – that wasn’t completely a lie.

  “Cool! So if you know about it and have been there, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  Oh, yes. I know, indeed.

  She went on. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever stumbled across while you’ve been surfing?”

  “I’ve not stumbled across anything weird, actually. It’s a bit hard to ‘stumble,’ as you put it, but I’ve checked into some of the drug chat rooms, for article research, you know – doping in sports, that sort of thing. Why? What have you stumbled on?”

  The train jolted forward with a clank as they finally set off in the direction of home, the carriage full of tired commuters headed back with them. Vee lowered her voice in the crowded carriage and semi-whispered in his ear. The warmth of her breath on his skin as she spoke felt good. Very good. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. He hadn’t been so close to a female in a long time.

  “Nothing really weird or anything like that. But I have figured out a couple of places I’d like to peek into. I’m a bit scared, though, of what I’ll find there, so I haven’t bothered.” Hurriedly she added, “Nothing freaky – just a bit different. I shall say no more.” She gave a sort of half-nod to the surrounding people in the carriage, some with flapping ears no doubt, clearly not wanting to risk being overheard. Having a fair idea of the types of things she might have found access into, he merely nodded to her in reply and said nothing.

  And of course, he didn’t mention what he had been looking into while he surfed, either. That had to remain private for a good while yet. He hardly knew her; even though he found himself liking her, he had no idea what her reaction would be. No. It was way too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Taylor awoke with sore eyes and turned towards her alarm clock, which sat on the night-table not far from her pillow. After spending a sleepless night filled with questions and tears, she’d finally dozed off. The clock read a little after 8 am; the last time she’d checked, it had read 5 am. Three fretful hours was all she’d managed. And now she felt like shit. Her head pounded like a madman trying to kick his way out of his cell, and she knew without looking in a mirror how red-rimmed her eyes would be. She could almost feel the crimson glow of them as she lay there. There was no rush of yesterday’s nightmare returning, because it had never left her in the first place. No rush needed. She felt numb, lifeless even, and certainly not in the mood to celebrate her homecoming at her parents’ place, with all their neighbours and friends tagging along. No. Her most immediate problem was how was she going to get out of going today and avoid explaining what had happened. And tidy her hair up in a rush. What was left of it, that is. She reached for her phone and dialled her mother.

  “Hello, darling! You’re an early bird.” Always a happy singsong in her voice; Taylor wished she could match it.

  “Morning, Mum. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Not at all. I’m just drinking tea sat up in bed, thinking about your father’s and my next trip. I fancy Florence but I don’t think your dad’s that keen. Says he’d like to go a bit further east and see some of the eastern European countryside for a change. God only knows what for.”

  “He’s always liked the less touristy places, Mum. It’s you that dislikes them.” Her voice sounded flat and mono in comparison to her mother’s bright pitch. Her mother picked up on it in an instant.

  “What’s wrong, darling? You sound unwell.”

  Thanks, Mum. That’s because I’ve been violated.

  “Well, that’s why I’m ringing, actually. I’ve been up all night and I look and feel terrible. I think I should stay put today. I don’t want to wreck your get-together.” There really was no lie there; it was God’s honest truth.

  “Oh, dear. That really is unfortunate. Everyone wants to see you. But if you’re unwell … then I guess you’d better stay where you are. It’s p
robably something from the plane journey home. Your father generally catches something when he travels.” That was the truth, too.

  “Sorry, Mum. Maybe I’ll be a bit better later on; we’ll see. And I love your roasts too, so I must be bad if I’m going to miss one.” Another truth.

  “Well, you stay where you are, dear, and look after yourself. I’ll call you later. Try and get back to sleep if you can. The rest will do you good. I’ll handle the rest of the family and we’ll see you when you’re feeling better. Okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mum. Love you.” Taylor forced a smile as she hung up, imagining her mother sat propped up in bed with pillows, a mug of tea in one hand and the phone in the other. It’s what she did on mornings they were both at home together and not rushing off anywhere. Dad made her tea and delivered it every morning. He treated her like royalty.

  Taylor pulled the duvet up under her chin, lay perfectly still and closed her sore eyes for a moment. The conversation had been easier than she’d anticipated, but all she’d really done was stall the inevitable. Buying some time wouldn’t get rid of the problem, only delay it, but she hoped by the time she had to confront it, she’d be in a stronger state. At the moment, she doubted she had the strength to knock the skin off a rice pudding. With fond thoughts of her father dutifully following her mother around the sights and shops of Florence, sleep crept up on her and carried her on until lunchtime.

  For the rest of the day, or what was left of it, Taylor busied herself in her small flat. Being away for so long meant dust had gathered in unseen corners and was a welcome distraction as she vacuumed and scrubbed and generally re-arranged things. By the time 6 pm had come, the place looked like a magazine shoot. A knock on the door startled her. No one knew she was back yet and, remembering the vacuum cleaner’s noise, she figured it was probably a neighbour. Without thinking, she opened the door. The look on her mother’s face reminded her instantly of the events her spring clean had pushed to one side of her head for a while. Her mother’s mouth was wide open in an oval. A small toy train could have driven through the entrance.