Detective Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  There was a pause. “Sounds ominous,” Jules said at last. “Ellen, whatever is it?”

  “Tell me you can keep a secret, Jules. This is important.”

  “Okay, I get it. Cross my heart and all that. Now what is it?”

  Ellen took another deep breath and began to speak, the words rushing out of her mouth in a tumble, figuring the faster she explained, the less painful it would be.

  “I think I was drugged, abducted, taken to a hotel. Someone tied my ankles together and left me to wake up in a room in Knightsbridge. When I awoke, the bedroom door was unlocked and I legged it barefoot.” Her voice caught. “That’s how my feet got damaged. I had no shoes to get home in. And yes, it sounds ridiculous, but you couldn’t make that up, could you?” She gasped for breath as the experience came back to her vividly. Tears filled her eyes. “What the hell happened to me, Jules? And why?” Ellen began to sob down the phone, partly from distress but mostly from the relief of confiding in someone, someone who’d said she wouldn’t tell a soul, someone who had known and trusted her for so many years.

  “Hey, come on, Ellen,” Jules said soothingly. “Steady on. Slow yourself down. It won’t help to get so upset. Breathe, my love. Breathe.”

  Ellen took a deep breath and it did soothe her nerves, just like Jules said. She was beginning to feel better for having let it all out. She took another long breath and felt the stress beginning to drain from her system. She slowed her sobs and blew her nose.

  “Feel a bit better now?”

  “Yes, thanks. Sorry about blurting it out, but the note they left told me to tell no one, that it wouldn’t be wise, but I knew I owed you an explanation. Can you forgive me, Jules?”

  “Of course I can, and don’t you be worrying about that now. Look, take some time to get yourself back together and your feet back in shape. I won’t tell a soul what you’ve told me. Your secret is safe – though god only knows what that was all for. But the main thing is you’re unharmed and in one piece. Let’s keep it that way.”

  Ellen sniffed and blew her nose again. A problem shared was a problem halved, as her mum had always said. Ellen felt better for having apologized to Jules and told her the truth, and she was confident Jules would keep to her word.

  “Thanks, Jules. I knew you’d understand.”

  She finished the call and rested her head back. It was now beginning to ache from crying. With the fountain tinkling in the background, yet another question entered her head.

  Why hadn’t Jules sounded surprised?

  After calming Ellen down and thanking her for being honest, Jules finished the call. And found she was once again in a quandary: Ellen was not the first of her models to have told her such a story in confidence. The bigger details were the same in each one: the mention of a hotel room and of having been drugged. It was only the smaller details that changed: the items that had been given or taken.

  And Ellen had mentioned a note. What on earth was that about?

  Since the break-in, since that day her database had been hacked into, Jules had been wondering why. And now she knew, almost for certain.

  Someone was using her girls to fulfil the desires of others.

  Jules tapped her teeth with her finger, thinking; it had to be an elaborate set-up for it to have been going on for so long and on such a grand scale. Whoever was behind it must be charging a small fortune to ensure the girls kept quiet and their clients were kept happy. Perhaps she should have mentioned all this when the police had visited her office but she hadn’t, not wanting to betray the women who had fallen victim and go back on her word.

  But now whoever this was had targeted Ellen, and for Jules, that was the last straw: for one thing, Ellen was far too valuable to her, and their friendship went back way too long. But more importantly, it meant that this person still had access to her database. He was still watching, and she needed to find him and put a stop to this.

  Picking up her phone again, she searched through her contacts for Chris Smeeks, then pressed send. He answered on the third ring.

  “Jules! What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this honour?”

  “I urgently need your help. And I don’t think what I have in mind is quite legal.”

  “Not quite legal is my specialty. Tell me more.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Jules sat nervously on the park bench waiting for the investigator to show. He had asked to meet her in person to hear the rest of the story, not trusting digital eavesdroppers. In his line of work, he couldn’t be too careful. She wrung her hands and tapped her fingers restlessly as she waited. She couldn’t understand why she felt so wound up. She’d done nothing wrong.

  In the distance, she saw him approaching, his figure cutting a fine image as he jogged to a nearby bench and fastened a shoelace that didn’t need fastening. When he was satisfied there was no one in the immediate vicinity, he strolled over, wiping his face on the bottom of his running shirt. Sweat trickled down his tanned neck as he sat at the end of the same bench she was sitting on. His name was Valance.

  “Nice afternoon for a run,” Jules said.

  “It surely is. Are you running much these days?”

  Jules made a scoffing sound. “Pilates is more my thing now. It’s easier on my body.”

  Valance smiled, casting a subtle appreciative glance at her stylish and slender frame.

  “Have you found him yet?”

  “Patience, Jules. These things take time. But that aside, I will have something for you later on today. From what I’ve learned so far, he has a lot going on with various shell companies and complicated set-ups, and it’s not been easy to unravel things. But we’re not far off. Why aren’t you involving the police?”

  “I can’t involve the police. Too many of my girls have been threatened and I’m loyal to them all. They’ve told me their experiences in confidence and I have to respect that.”

  “I’ve set things in motion,” he said. “That’s all you need to concern yourself with – trust me. Though when I find him, what’s the plan from there?”

  “I’m a big believer in taking your own medicine,” Jules said, a sly grin on her face as she turned to him. “I think he should be made to appreciate his own skills. I want him to become the victim of his own success.”

  Valance grinned in reply. “I see you’ve not lost your touch where fairness is concerned. A nice trait to have if I may say so. What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t want him just found, I want him taught a lesson. And I want to be there to watch. I’m still working out the details, but let’s say I’m quite looking forward to it.”

  “Understood.” He grinned. “I’ll keep you updated. Sit tight.” Then he stood and ran off in the same direction he’d originally been heading before he’d stopped. Jules watched his strong legs push him forward as he ran off into the distance and wondered what the penance might be for Chris Smeeks when they got him. Whatever it was, it was going to be satisfying to administer.

  Jack smiled as he replied to another member of the forum, someone with the handle of ‘Looby’ who he’d since learned had a real love for Christian Louboutin shoes. It seemed he – Jack assumed it was a ‘he’ – was wealthy enough to be able to afford such items in quantity and had been cautioned for loitering outside several of their London stores. Not deterred, he’d found the same group as Jack to share his experiences with other like-minded people and post evidence of his astonishing collection. What Jack had found surprising was the set-up he’d created for each pair in order to appreciate them. The room looked like a showroom, carefully constructed and filled with glass cabinets that were filled with the objects of his desire. It looked like a shop itself, but with only one customer.

  “Frigging weirdo,” he’d muttered as he’d looked at the images the man had shared. But he was supposed to be working, not entertaining himself with things he didn’t understand.

  “Impressive collection. Are they all unused or do you like them to have been worn? I
prefer the sweet scent of a woman’s foot myself.” Jack nearly balked as he typed.

  Looby replied almost instantly. “A mixture, though it’s a lot easier to find new ones.”

  “You ever taken them without permission, lost in lust as it were? That’s what I enjoy the most. The gym is a great place for me – so many to choose from.”

  “Not taken them, no. I love to watch them, touch them if I can. The theatre is my candy store equivalent – all the ladies out for the evening in their finery. Then I go home to my collection.”

  Jack wrinkled his nose at the weird conversation he was having, and then gave his head a shake: this was research, he reminded himself. All in a day’s work. But he’d had enough for one night and ‘Looby’ wasn’t being much help; he didn’t fit the profile, whatever that was. He bid Looby good night and looked at the other threads that were taking place. He was about to sign off when a conversation caught his eye: ‘Gregory’s Girl’ was having an in-depth conversation about hair, long hair specifically, and Jack paused to watch. He was becoming quite the voyeur, not to mention something of a reluctant expert on the subject.

  From his research during his hospital stay, he’d found out a great deal about the fetish community and the behaviour of men with fetishes. And yes, they were mainly men: women made up only a very small percentage of the fetish community. It seemed very few men took their fetish to another level and went on to do real harm. California’s Jerry Brudos and Canada’s Russell Williams were two of the more horrifying examples he’d read about.

  On the other hand, the women involved in fetishes were usually into masochism. Many of them enjoyed doling out pain and pleasure to those who liked to receive, and he’d seen far too many photos lately of women in black leather holding whips. Jack squirmed a little in his bed. He had enough trouble removing sticking plaster from a hairy forearm, and these people did pain for pleasure. Holy freakin’ moly!

  At any rate, he had deduced from his research that even though, statistically, half of Croydon’s male population might have a penchant for black lacy ladies’ undies or spike-heeled shoes, they were unlikely to turn it into anything more sinister. He and Amanda would need to go at this another way.

  A yawn forced its way out of his mouth at the same time as the night nurse passed by his door. She popped her head in.

  “It’s probably time you got some rest, Mr. Rutherford. You can do that in the morning, I’m sure.” She nodded at his laptop and gave him a look that said ‘I’m in charge.’ He had a sudden image of Hattie Jacques dressed as a nurse in Carry On Matron. No one messed with her.

  “Right, yes. I’ll just log off.”

  “Good move. I’ll be back in a moment to make sure that you’re resting.”

  Jack didn’t doubt she would be. He absentmindedly wondered about those who had a thing for nurses. Being in hospital must be a candy shop experience for them too – if they felt well enough, that was.

  He slipped down under the covers and closed his eyes, a broad smile on his face. Janine’s smelly white lawn bowls shoes filled his mind for a very different reason.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Jack had always been an early riser. Spending so much time lying in a hospital bed had thrown his normal routine into turmoil, and that meant he’d been awake since 4 am. Unfortunately, that then meant he’d be fast asleep at 4 pm, taking a nap like an old man.

  He was old. Who was he kidding?

  Neither the sun nor the birds were up yet. And at 4 am in hospital, there wasn’t a fat lot else going on there either. Breakfast was another three or four hours away. He was parched and needed a cup of tea desperately. Gingerly, he pushed the covers back and steadied himself as his feet touched the floor. If anyone saw him and asked, he needed the loo. If they didn’t, he might make it down the quiet corridor to the visitors’ room and make himself a cup. He hoped the night nurse had her head in a good romance and wouldn’t pay him any attention.

  Unfortunately for him, however, she knew every sound in her ward, and his creeping down the corridor was one of them. He’d been rumbled. She looked at him sternly over her reading glasses, her chin nearly touching her chest as she glared. Or was that chins?

  “Mr. Rutherford, are you all right?”

  “Yes, just thirsty and couldn’t sleep. Thought there might be some tea going somewhere.”

  She closed her book. It mustn’t have been that enthralling, thought Jack. Either that or her ears were incredibly well tuned in.

  “You only needed to have rung your bell. I’ll go and make you one, but you go on back to bed. Do you take sugar?” She smiled as sweet as two spoons full.

  “Thanks – one, please. Don’t suppose there’s a biscuit to go with it perhaps? I didn’t eat much dinner last night. Or earlier on, at any rate. My body clock is all out of whack.” He tried to match her smile with one of his own, but he didn’t have the same effect. Her sideways look told him there were no biscuits.

  “I’ll bring it to you,” she said again. “Now go back to bed, please, and be careful as you go.”

  He swore he heard her tut-tutting like Hattie Jacques. Not wanting to test her patience any longer, he did as she suggested and headed back to his bed, managing to get his tartan pyjama–clad body back under the covers without mishap.

  Ten minutes later, the nurse appeared at the door, cup and saucer in hand. He was pleased to see a Digestive biscuit balancing on the edge of it. He beamed at her.

  “Oh, what a woman. Thank you very much.” Pleasantries always went a long way, he knew. He watched as she placed the cup on the table that half straddled his bed, moving his newspaper and laptop to the side a little to make room.

  “There you go, and you’re welcome. Just push your buzzer next time. There’s only a small staff on at night, and I don’t want to be worrying about you falling while I’m seeing to another patient.” She tucked his bedclothes in like his mother had done when he was a little boy. He found it strangely comforting. Maybe that was half of the appeal of nurses: someone to take care of you and make your decisions for you.

  “I’ll be good, I promise,” he said, trying on a little-boy pout. The nurse returned a curious smile. Before he could stop himself, he said, “You know, we’ve got a case at the moment involving fetishes.” Now where on earth did that come from? he wondered.

  She stopped in her tracks, her expression even more curious now. She was quick with his meaning. “And you think because I’m a nurse, I get randy old men leering at my behind in a uniform, enjoying me being bossy to them?”

  “Something like that. Do you? Get many, I mean?”

  “A few, but we handle them. Remember, most people are in here because they’re sick, so getting amorous is not right up there on their list of activities. Why do you ask?”

  “Research, really. I’ve been doing a lot while I’ve been lying here and it’s been both fascinating and weird. You wouldn’t believe some of the fetishes I’ve come across.”

  She quickly checked her watch, which was pinned upside down over her left breast, and then wandered back towards his bed. Curiosity.

  “What’s the case?”

  Jack told her what he could without divulging details. When he’d finished, she said, “Nothing surprises me anymore. I expect in your research you’ve been to some of the clubs in town?”

  “Not yet, no. I’ve kind of been laid up.” He grinned. “Why? Any in particular I should visit when I get out of this bed?”

  “Do you have a partner, female maybe?”

  “Amanda, yes. Why?”

  “She got a good body?”

  “Eh? Well, she’s not my type, but no, nothing stunning. She’s a sensible Doc-Martens-wearing type of woman. And very talented.”

  “I think I’ve seen her here. Visiting.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Then you need to find a woman who would look knockout in PVC and send her in undercover. If she’s clever, she’ll be let in right away. Women always get in, as long as they’re dressed app
ropriately, if you understand my meaning. It would be easier to do that than have you go in, I expect. You’d stick out like a sore thumb.” She smiled. “I’d start with the most well-known club first if I were you. It’s extremely popular with the kinksters.”

  “Oh? And what’s it called?”

  “Femme Fet-Elle. It’s in Islington.”

  Jack had seen the name in his research. He nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

  She turned to leave and Jack called to her retreating back.

  “And what’s wrong with me going in? I’m in reasonable shape, aren’t I?” Despite himself, he felt slightly miffed. She turned to answer but changed her mind and rolled her eyes instead.

  “Thanks for nothing!” he said, trying not to sound huffy. “And I won’t ask how you know so much.”

  Over her shoulder, she said “You never know what goes on behind closed doors.” She gave him a wink before walking from his room, leaving Jack feeling like he was the only one in the world who didn’t have the appetite for something other than vanilla. You never know, indeed, he thought wryly. He checked his phone for the time. It was still too early to chat to Amanda, but he sent her a text anyway. If Ruth was up and out running, she might be sipping her first coffee of the day.

  He was correct.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  It hadn’t taken much to find out where he lived. Now all they had to do was find out how he was connected to the two cases they had so far. And Amanda was damn sure he was. Between herself, Jack and their DI, they’d come up with a plan. They would monitor him for a time to avoid spooking him before they could get hard evidence that he was involved. And that meant surveillance, watching his house and following his every movement.