by Linda Coles
And share in theirs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Come on in, Jack. You know the way.” Amanda held the door open for her partner, or her work husband, as she had been calling him lately. He was more like her work father in reality, though she took care of him more than he did her. Amanda watched as he made his way down the hall towards her kitchen at the back, a six-pack of Heineken in one hand, a bottle of red in the other. Looks like he’s in the mood for a drink or two, she mused. Placing the booze on the worksurface, he took a can from the pack and pulled the ring open; creamy froth filled the opening. He wasn’t quick enough to put his mouth over the hole and froth spilled over.
“Shit,” was all she heard, and she smiled at the older man. It wouldn’t be long now until he retired, and she often thought about how that would change her work life, having to get used to another person’s ways and foibles like she had with Jack. And like Jack had with her, if she was being fair. Still, he had that fatherly thing going on, and since her father was long gone she’d allowed the relationship to swing that way. Even though she was technically his boss, they were more like equals.
As she entered the kitchen and reached for a glass for herself, she asked, “Want a glass or are you drinking from the can today? Which will you make the least mess with?”
“Since I’m at your house, I should have a glass. I don’t want to bring the standards down, eh?” His smile was always a comfort to her no matter what her mood, and she reached up for a tall, dimpled glass and handed it to him. He watched as she poured wine into her own before he took a mouthful from his. He clunked his glass with hers and smacked his lips.
“Cheers, Lacey. I’ve been looking forward to a beer all day. Where’s Ruth? She not joining us?”
“She’ll be here shortly. She’s gone to pick dinner up. I know I said we’d cook, but neither of us has been organized enough, so we ordered take-out.”
“Fine by me. I’ll eat anything, as you know. As long as it’s hot if it’s supposed to be hot and cold if it’s supposed to be cold, I’m easy.” He downed a couple of long mouthfuls, making his glass less than half full.
“You thirsty today, then?” she asked, pointing to his glass. “You’ll be on the floor if you’re not careful. You know you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
“I must be the only detective in the world that can’t hold his drink. Never been any different. Two whiskies, max, and I’m done.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I’d rather work with a lightweight than a drunk. At least your head is clear.” She sipped her red wine as the front door opened and a woman’s voice called ‘Hello.’
“Down here,” Amanda called back, and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. Jack didn’t miss its arrival either. He was glad she’d finally found someone to settle down with, just like he had done many years ago with his Janine. But she was gone now, gone from the world forever, but never from his heart. When he was feeling particularly melancholy, he played a particular song from his ELO CD, “Sweet Talkin’ Woman.” It usually made his eyes well up. He missed his Janine every single day.
Ruth’s footsteps on the hardwood floor brought him back to the present, and as she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek in greeting, he realized these two women in his life were a blessing. It’s not often a man finds two women to love in his later years; these two were the family he’d never had. Ruth ruffled his salt-and-pepper hair affectionately with her hand, sending wispy bits in all directions.
“Time for a trim, young Jack, isn’t it?” Ruth teased him at every opportunity.
“Cheeky sod. When you’ve not got much up top, you can do with all the hair help you can get. Wait until you get to your fifties – you’ll have your own issues to worry about, mark my words. Just different issues to hair on your head.” Thinking and grinning he added, “Like hair on your chin.” Ruth’s hand raised in a mock swipe, pretend outrage on her face. Amanda burst out laughing at them both.
“Would you listen to you two? Anyone would think you’re the first people to get old. I’m starved. Can we eat, please?” Ruth handed the plastic bag over; the faint smell of hot Chinese food filled the kitchen. “I got a double of pork balls, purely because Amanda and I will eat so many that there wouldn’t have been enough to go round with only one portion.”
“I don’t know how you keep so slim. Do you not eat anything else?”
“It’s called running, Jack. You should try it sometime,” she said, and patted his soft midriff as she passed him to get a glass of wine.
Jack one point, Ruth one point.
Amanda changed the conversation to something a little more serious as she removed lids off trays and placed the food in the centre of the table. Sweet-and-sour scented steam rose invitingly.
“Talking of hair, I had an interesting yet a bit disturbing conversation with Jeremy in the hair salon.”
“I can see how that would be disturbing,” Jack chimed in, and Ruth laughed with him.
“There’s nothing wrong with Jeremy. He’s just a bit of a drama queen, that’s all.” She knew she’d said the wrong words as soon as they’d left her mouth, and all three erupted in laughter. Amanda flapped her hands, trying to bring some decorum back to the table.
“No, this is serious. Listen to this.” She pushed on. “He was called to a house on Sunday evening, for a woman who was in need of some emergency attention.”
“Emergency hair attention?” Jack was confused. So was Ruth.
“Yes. And you’ll never guess why.”
“So tell us.”
“Someone had chopped her ponytail off, taken most of her hair. One of her ‘friends,’ apparently. Can you imagine that? Why would someone do such a cruel thing? I can’t imagine.”
“Wow, that’s wicked. And it must be distressing, too,” said Ruth. “No wonder he had to go over. Every time she looked in the mirror she’d have been horrified, I’m sure.”
Jack, ever the detective, had his own thoughts. “It was definitely a so-called friend? Was she bullied, perhaps?”
“I asked that, Jack, but no. A bright, confident young woman recently home from the US. Catching up with friends and her hair gets lopped off in a prank, presumably.”
Jack wasn’t entirely convinced. “Seems unlikely, though, doesn’t it? On the surface, I mean? You haven’t seen your mates because you’ve been overseas, then wham, they move in and, in what amounts to assault, chop your hair off? As a welcome home present? It doesn’t fit with me. There’s something more to it.” He put a pork ball in his mouth and tried to chew the whole thing. Tiny pieces of crispy batter fell from his lips. Ruth couldn’t help herself.
“Try cutting it up, Jack. You’ll have more joy keeping it all in your mouth.” Another point to Ruth. 1–2.
When he’d finally swallowed his mouthful, he said, “Fun fact alert.” Both women groaned but listened to what Jack was about to say. “Stolen hair is big business in some countries, actually. Venezuela, for instance. Women have been attacked in shopping malls for some time. One person holds the woman and another chops her hair off. It’s over in a matter of seconds and the women are usually too dazed to remember much about their attackers. They sell it on for wigs.” Jack was full of fun facts about all manner of things.
He cut another pork ball in half. Sensible.
“You think something is going on here, then, in London?” asked Amanda.
“Could be – why not? Hair is hair, and nothing surprises me anymore. Easy enough to sell on, I expect. You can sell anything these days, and don’t forget the dark web. It’s a whole shopping mall in itself. Want something peculiar or particular? There’s a place to purchase it from.”
“Well, it’s going to be a bit difficult to do much. The woman in question didn’t report it to the police, so there’s nothing to investigate. No case. Not officially, anyway.” Amanda topped up her wine glass and Ruth’s and opened a fresh can for Jack. “Doesn’t stop us keeping
our ears open, though, does it?”
Jack understood full well what Amanda’s version of ‘keeping her ears open’ meant.
She’d be digging as soon as dinner was over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ruth, Amanda and Jack had both had more than their fair share of Chinese food, the remains of which still sat congealing in trays on the kitchen counter. Amanda picked a tray up and peered inside, curling her nose up with distaste. Her finger touched the orange skin that had now formed on the food, springy and not too dissimilar to homemade jam.
Ruth watched her. “It’s funny how you don’t mind eating it when it’s hot,” she said, “but as soon as it goes cold, it takes on another form. I bet a dog wouldn’t be interested in that MSG-laden concoction, and I’m guessing you’re not going to save it and reheat it? Or worse, eat it cold later?”
“You’re right there. Straight to the bin outside, I think,” Amanda said, collecting more trays and putting them all back into the plastic bag they had arrived in. She tied the top in a knot and headed for the back door to dispose of them.
“It was nice, though, as usual. Jack enjoyed it. And the company.”
“He gets lonely on his own; I know that. I feel sorry for him sometimes, you know. He’s not that old, really. There is still time for him to find another partner to spend his retirement with, but he spends far too much time in his job. And he’s not going to find someone at work, is he?”
Ruth watched as Amanda wiped the table down and returned the dishcloth back to the sink so she could finish off. “He’ll have to search a bit farther afield than that. I wonder if he’d try Tinder?” Ruth was trying to be helpful. It wasn’t working.
“Are you serious?” Amanda said incredulously. “He barely uses email and text, bless him, and he still plays CDs in his car. ELO, for goodness’ sake.”
Ruth’s mouth dropped open at that one. “Eh?”
“Yes – I kid you not. He probably thinks Spotify is some form of acne outbreak. He’s a damn good detective, but he’s a total luddite.”
“Hmm, I see your point. Then we should help him, you know, without him knowing. Not a blind date, but something. Someone in a certain place we all are, you know, and we get chatting.”
“He’s a detective, Ruth, remember? He’d sniff that out like you sniff bacon cooking next door.”
Ruth had to smile at that one. She could never become a vegetarian; bacon was too strong a pull. “Then maybe we should look at our wedding guest list again. There must be a suitable single aunt between us? Sit him with her.”
Amanda rolled her eyes in exasperation. What was she getting into?
“No?” Ruth said, still smiling.
“No.” Amanda was firm.
“Then I don’t know what to suggest. No apps, no blind dates, no single wedding guests. What else is there?”
“Nature. That’s what it is, nature. Let it do its thing. Without interference from either of us.”
Ruth knew when to press and when not to bother. She left it alone. Some battles you fought, some you didn’t. The kitchen once again tidy, Ruth announced she was making hot chocolate.
“Want a mug?”
“Always, thanks. Seriously, leave well enough alone. He may find someone all on his own. Talking of single friends, how is Stephanie doing now she and Aaron have split? Is she dating yet or is it too soon?”
“You can’t seriously be thinking Jack and Stephanie, can you? He’s as old as her dad, nearly.”
“No, of course not. I was just thinking of another of your friends in the same boat. Single. I don’t think Jack would be her type, really. Aaron was a good-looking man, but Jack? Well, he’s Jack, isn’t he? And he needs a haircut.”
Back to hair conversations.
“Now that is weird, isn’t it? The woman with her hair chopped off. My goodness, what a cruel thing to do.” Ruth filled a pan with milk and put it on the stove. “I’m actually meeting Stephanie tomorrow for lunch, so I’ll fill you in on any dating gossip there might be.”
“Well, say hello from me. It’s been a while since I saw her.” Amanda said no more as she thought back to the night when Stephanie had got the fright of her life and Aaron had almost lost his. They’d driven up to Grasmere in the Lake District to their cottage, though separately, and things had exploded somewhat, leaving their relationship in shreds. It was beyond repair and would never be stitched properly back together again. Their two young sons were coping well with the new family living arrangements, but it was far from ideal.
“Come on, let’s take these up to bed and read for a while,” Ruth said, handing Amanda a steaming mug of hot chocolate.
“You go on up. I just need to grab my laptop. There’s a couple of things I want to check up on first.”
“Jack said as much, didn’t he? What are you up to now? I can read you like a book.”
“Oh, you just reminded me of something talking about Stephanie again. Someone, actually. In fact, being a techy you might even know the answer.”
“Try me.”
“Well, if you were up to no good ten or fifteen years or so ago, before the dark web was created, say, how would you get involved in shady stuff, things a little out of the everyday ordinary?”
“You don’t need to be a techy to answer that one because there is very little tech involved.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the gangs and criminals back then relied on their networks mainly; that’s how they moved stuff around. The smartphone as we know it wasn’t prevalent back then, though there was a small palm-held computer in the nineties, but it wasn’t common. I think it was called Simon, actually. But phones and laptops would only have been of use along with the dark web, hence the need for physical networks. Crims wouldn’t advertise on Google, remember.”
“Good to know.” Amanda was thinking as Ruth spoke. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? Of course, there wouldn’t be much to find on a computer from back then because crims didn’t use them. And who kept a computer for more than three or four years anyway? And even if they had, the dark web wasn’t operational to the public back then, and again, there’d be nothing to find.
Ruth led the way holding two mugs. “Come on. Let’s go and read, then.”
Personal networks. Maybe that was how Stevens had operated back then, mused Amanda.
Sebastian Stevens: now there was a name that still sent shivers up and down her spine. Not only had Stephanie encountered him and his strange sexual ways some years back, but he’d turned up dead at his trendy penthouse in Manchester recently after a vigilante who hadn’t agreed with his big-game trophy-hunting hobby had sent him back to his maker. Rather gruesomely so, too: graphic photos of his semi-decapitated head had been posted on his personal social channels for the world to see. The perpetrator had made Stevens their very own trophy that night. And although the method had been gruesome, the death of a vile creature like Stevens was not something the world had lost sleep over. Good riddance to him and his kind, thought Amanda.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ruth always met her friend Stephanie regularly for lunch. And since the breakup of her marriage, it had been an even more important standing diary date, with a few extra evening wines or morning coffees thrown in when needed.
There had been many such occasions. No one had envisaged their marriage split, least of all Stephanie, but when she’d found out that her husband was a serial adulterer with some rather non-vanilla tastes, well, a leopard never changes its spots. There had been many tears, and still, several months later, a few slipped down her cheeks when she found herself alone and was feeling maudlin. The evenings were the worst. Stephanie looked at the much stronger woman reflecting back from the mirror. She was gradually getting used to being single again and making a life and revised home situation for her two young boys. Stephanie rubbed her freshly painted pink lips together and checked her side view in the glass.
“Not bad for a forty-year-old single woman with tw
o kids.”
In fact, she really did look good. With long, dark straight hair and an olive skin, she always looked ‘not bad,’ even first thing in the morning with her hair mussed up. While she didn’t think it or feel it herself, she was a stunning woman, a real head-turner no matter what your taste was. Or your sex.
She left her Richmond home and drove to the tube station, destination Green Park and Ruth. And lunch. And a glass of wine. Her mum was picking the boys up from school so there was no need to hurry back. Mum –what would she have done without her? The boys needed continuity and she’d helped provide it for them, and for that Stephanie was eternally grateful.
The train throbbed gently as it sped through the back suburbs of London, and she found the vibration soothing. When it finally pulled into Green Park about half an hour later, her stomach rumbled in anticipation of something good to eat. Breakfast had been a lifetime ago, it seemed. Ruth had suggested Stephanie drop in at the office before they went on to the restaurant in case she was delayed a little, which was a common occurrence. It was better to wait in her office if Ruth’s meeting overran than sit at a restaurant table, waiter hovering, looking like she’d been stood up. She entered Ruth’s building and smiled at Pete, who was just passing through reception.
“Hi, Stephanie. Ruth is on time for once. She won’t be a minute. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
He’d been working with Ruth for a couple of years and was almost part of the furniture now. A rough start at home and a stint in juvie had given him ‘character,’ as he liked to call it, but he’d been on the right road for some time now, with some much-needed support and guidance from Ruth. Not to mention a legitimate job. And one he loved, he’d said. She sat in reception and waited. Ruth’s shoes could be heard approaching long before she herself was visible; her steel stiletto tips echoed on the hardwood. As usual, she wore a figure-hugging skirt and blouse, refusing to go the full ‘tech uniform’ of jeans and hoody, and as usual she looked stunning. Her arms were outstretched as she approached and Stephanie joined her in a full bear hug.