by Linda Coles
The main problem they faced was that an internet-based business could be operated from anywhere that had internet access. Did he have a home office, then, or run it from someplace else?
Amanda sat outside in her car. Chris Smeeks’ house was about 100 metres up ahead, tucked firmly behind a tall, thick red brick wall with large black wrought-iron security gates. Leafy green bushes protruded over the top of the wall. The place had the air of an extremely private property, the type owned only by a select few – successful business people, actors, premier league footballers. Other homes along the street were of a similar style – private, secluded and glamorously large. There wasn’t a barking dog or pounding stereo to be heard. This neighbourhood was renowned for wealthy inhabitants. It was rumoured that a couple of A-listers had property along the row and threw legendary parties for those lucky enough to get an invite. It was obvious these folks worked hard, earned hard and then partied hard.
On her first drive-by of Smeeks’ place, she’d noticed through the gates two cars parked up on the driveway, a shiny black Porsche and a shiny black Mercedes. Husband and wife, then? There hadn’t been any mention of a partner from her intel but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a live-in lady. Or maybe he just liked a weekend car for entertaining himself and went to work in the Merc, wherever work was. There was no record of an office leased to or owned by him, but again that didn’t mean it didn’t exist: it could mean they simply hadn’t found it yet.
Amanda sipped on her coffee. Being on a stakeout was particularly boring and something that was normally done in twos. Keeping tabs on movement was hard for one person; boredom and drifting off were real risks. But there was no one else. Since Jack was still in hospital, she was it. No one else had been quick to offer their time this evening, even with her promise of a burger. Who could blame them? Her colleagues were probably sipping cocoa in the comfort of their own homes right now. She sighed and took another sip of coffee.
A moment later her phone buzzed with a text from Jack, a welcome distraction.
“Any movement? any anything?”
“No, nothing. Bored already.”
“How long you staying put?”
“Until 10 pm then heading home. I’ll come back tomorrow. No resources to sit 24/7 so doing what I can.”
“I’m hopeful of release tomorrow, and then I can help.”
She smiled at the word ‘release.’ Had Nurse Bossy-Pants detained him? Jack had mentioned his rather friendly and knowledgeable nurse and her suggestion. While she couldn’t see herself in a PVC dress, she had thought, not for the first time, that Ruth would indeed look knockout in one. As outstanding figures went, Ruth had been first in line for the best of everything when she’d been born, and all the time she spent pounding the pavement running kept her in shape.
“Excellent news,” she said, yanking her thoughts back to the task at hand. “It’ll be good to have you back when you’re fit. And only then.”
Now who sounded the bossy one?
It was then that she saw movement up ahead: the big electric gates opening wide. Which car would drive out and who would be driving it, she wondered?
“Gotta go, Jack. Movement up ahead. Talk later.”
She rang off, threw her phone on to the passenger seat and gave the driveway up ahead her full attention. The black Mercedes nosed its way to the curb, then turned right out of the gate towards her. She slithered down in her seat to be less noticeable. Why hadn’t she brought a cap with her, a bit of disguise for her bright blond hair? She reprimanded herself for being so dumb; it was Stakeout 101, and any rookie would have known to do that.
As the large black car cruised by, she managed to get her arm out the window and snap the registration plate with her phone. The driver, unfortunately, was hidden behind tinted windows.
“Let’s see who owns the big car,” she said to no one. The Mercedes carried on down the road as she watched in her rear-view mirror, then turned right at the bottom, towards the M25. And that meant whoever was driving could be headed anywhere. She cursed herself again for not having worn a cap; with her hair covered, she could have risked trying for a better look.
She leaned forward to switch on her engine and noticed another car crawling along the quiet road at a snail’s pace, its headlights off. As she watched, the driver switched the lights on. Odd, she thought: in the gathering dusk, they should have been on earlier. She left her engine off and watched as the car passed her. She reached for her phone again and snapped the registration plate, then watched in her rear-view mirror as, just like the Mercedes before it, turned right at the end of the road.
Satisfied that there were no more vehicles coming her way, she turned her engine on, pulled out of the spot she’d been closeted in and set off, turning right at the end of the road. If the Mercedes and the second vehicle were headed to the M25, she could follow at a distance fairly easily for as long as the fading light lasted. If they weren’t, she’d have to give it up for the night and have a word with the DI tomorrow.
She activated the speed dial. The sound of a phone ringing came through the car speakers, closely followed by Ruth’s voice.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself. I’m letting you know I’ve left my spot, but I’m not headed back just yet. I’m following a car following a car to see where they take me.”
“Be careful. You’re on your own, hun. That’s not good.”
“I’m only following, I won’t get out, and if they don’t go on the M25, I’ll be straight home.”
“Okay, I’ll be up. Let me know when you know. See you later.”
Amanda hung up and concentrated on following the taillights ahead in the failing light.
They turned on to the M25.
Chapter Seventy-Six
She’d had to give up for the night. Amanda had followed both cars until they’d turned off the M25 again and headed towards London itself, and she knew she couldn’t do a proper job on her own. She pulled over at a petrol station to phone the cars’ registration numbers through. Once she’d done that, her plan was to head home. She was knackered.
“Hang on, Amanda. I’ll punch them in,” the uniform back at the station said. Amanda waited, listening to the sound of keystrokes. A moment later, the officer said, “Here you go. Got a pen?”
“Yup.” Amanda balanced her notebook in her lap.
“The first is a black Mercedes, registered to a company in the name of ‘Mild Holdings,’ so that might need some extra digging to see who’s behind that. And the other is registered to a Jules Monroe. Mean anything?”
“Well, now, that’s interesting.”
“Which one?”
“The woman. Jules Monroe. Not what I expected to pop up at all. Funny how these things come about, isn’t it? Looks like I’ll be seeing Ms. Monroe again tomorrow. Thanks again.”
She hung up and sat back to think. What on God’s earth was Jules Monroe doing hanging about outside Chris Smeeks’ house?
At night?
And why was she following him?
The data breach had been a long time ago – had she been in contact with him all along? Or had she, too, found him again only recently? Regardless, what was she doing outside his home and following his car?
She dialled Ruth. “I’m on my way back now. I’ll be about forty minutes, so don’t bother waiting up. I’ll see you when I scramble under the covers. I’ll try not to wake you.”
“I’ll be awake. I’m just playing on my laptop propped up in bed. You drive carefully.”
Amanda blew her a kiss down the line and then headed back on the M25 in the opposite direction. Even though she’d been sipping coffee for the last couple of hours outside Smeeks’ place and should by rights have been wired, she felt surprisingly sleepy. She cracked the driver’s-side window open and let the cool night air fill the car. The taillights of the cars in front dazzled her, but not as much as the bright white headlights of the oncoming traffic, three lanes wide. Six lights appeared to be headi
ng straight for her, and another six directly behind them. And another six behind them. Did the M25 ever slow down or thin out to a trickle?
Her thoughts drifted slightly as she drove, and she made a mental checklist of things to do tomorrow: talk to Jack about Jules first thing, find out who ‘Mild Holdings’ were, and find out where the Mercedes had been headed and whether it had been Smeeks at the wheel. CCTV cameras could help with that one, hopefully, though the tinted windows didn’t help. Maybe they would get lucky and get a full face-on windscreen shot.
Her thoughts drifted again. What did Jules know? She’d need to speak to her again. And would Jack be out tomorrow? She hoped so. She also hoped he was going to be happy with her choice of housekeeper. Maybe she could straighten him up a bit too.
Jules kept her distance from the black Mercedes, but it was proving difficult. To the uninitiated, tailing another car was not as simple as it looked, and she hoped she hadn’t been spotted. She had no idea where he was going, or what she was going to do when they got there, but she had taken off after him anyway. On the seat next to her was a camera with a powerful lens attached to it that she’d borrowed from a photographer friend. He’d assured her she could point and shoot easily and wouldn’t be detected in the darkness as long as she didn’t ram it in his face and kept back discreetly. Hopefully he was right.
The Mercedes pulled into a narrow London side street and she cruised past, stopping just past the entrance he’d gone down. It was far too risky to follow him; she’d be found out for sure if she hadn’t been already. Turning her lights off, she put the camera into her bag and slipped out of the car. She set off back towards the dimly lit street, pulling into a dank doorway in the semi-darkness. It smelled of urine and puke. There were people milling about, as there were in most of London’s streets at night, some already the worse for wear, staggering and generally being loud. The majority of the revellers here were wearing thin coats, like raincoats, she noticed, and long ones at that. That was odd, she thought; it was a cool summer evening, but it definitely wasn’t raining, so why the need? It was curious.
She watched as men and women slipped down the side street towards an opened door, manned by a bouncer of enormous proportions, and filtered in. There was no velvet rope like many nightclubs used to manage the queue outside, and there was no queue.
Whatever went on in there, it was no ordinary club.
She couldn’t see Chris any longer. He’d been lost in the throng, but she assumed he’d headed into the same door as the others. What to do now, she wondered? Approach the door and ask the bouncer what the place was? Google the address and see what popped up? A woman in unusually high heels picked her way delicately towards the street entrance and Jules watched her fishnet-clad ankles, mesmerized, as the woman made her way towards her in the darkness. She too had a long coat on. From her hiding place, Jules noticed the woman’s make-up as she passed under a street lamp: it was both theatrical and stunning. Jules resisted the urge to ask her where she was headed; she figured the woman needed to concentrate on her walking so she didn’t break an ankle, rather than having Jules emerge from the shadows and scare the hell out of her.
She picked her phone out of her bag and did a search for the street name. As it was a small narrow street, there wouldn’t be too many businesses listed to choose from, she was sure. And she was right. Four names came up and she scanned them individually, knocking out the first three. It was the last result that made all the sense in the world.
Femme Fet-Elle was a fetish club. That’s where Chris Smeeks had headed.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
She’d been at work a couple of hours when Jack texted her.
“Any chance of a lift home? Out at 10 am.”
He’d been given the all-clear to leave, then. That was good news, though she knew he wouldn’t be back at work for a couple more days, but going home at least was a step in the right direction. She texted back:
“Great! I’ll come get you. Lots to fill you in on.”
What would he make of Jules following Chris Smeeks last night? She wondered if Jules had found anything out. They could do with a break. Amanda then dialled Mrs Stewart, the housekeeper she’d organized for Jack a couple of days per week.
“Hi, Mrs. Stewart, it’s Amanda Lacey here.”
“Nice to hear from you Amanda. How’s the patient?”
“Coming home today, apparently. I’ll pick him up at ten and bring him round. Are you able to be there, by any chance?”
“Yes, not a problem. Everything is set. Maybe I’ll bake a pie?”
Amanda smiled at her thoughtfulness. This was going to work out well. She hoped so, anyway. “Oh, that sounds lovely. He’d like that. How thoughtful of you.”
“Good. I’ll see you later, then.”
Amanda rang off and smiled at the phone. She and Jack had both met Mrs. Stewart briefly during a case when her boss, James, had died suddenly in his bed after taking a Viagra on top of his heart medication. Mrs. Stewart, his long-time housekeeper, had been the one to find him and she and Ruth had helped her through the worst of the investigation. She was a lovely woman, and she’d been the obvious choice when Amanda had thought about getting Jack some help.
Amanda felt someone approach her desk and, looking up, saw it was Raj, the DC who’d been on duty last night. He had a sheet of paper in his hand.
“What you got, Raj?”
“The background on Mild Holdings. It seems, after a bit of jiggery-pokery, that the person behind the company is one Chris Meeks, or Smeeks as he’s known by us. He owns a black Mercedes – the one you saw last night – a black Porsche and a couple of other vehicles including an old ambulance, of all things. What he would be doing with that I’ve no idea, but you might.”
“Meeks – of course, that explains the ‘Mild’ in the company name.”
“Eh?”
“As in ‘meek and mild,’ not arrogant, can be submissive. Gentle. I guess it’s his idea of being amusing, though I don’t think what he does is particularly non-arrogant or gentle. I wonder what he owns an ambulance for, though. Thanks, Raj.”
She wasn’t at all surprised to hear his name connected with their case. This was more fuel for the fire they were stoking. She fancied another coffee, so she picked her mug up and took it to the sink to rinse it out. Jack’s dirty mug was still on the drainer; nobody had bothered to wash it for him in his absence, so she filled the sink with soapy water and cleaned them both properly. She’d hate him to think nobody had cared while he’d been ill.
Her DI, Laurence Dupin, walked in to make himself a cup.
“I’m picking Jack up at ten,” Amanda told him, “then dropping him home. He’s on the mend. I guess he’ll be back in a couple of days, knowing him.”
“Good. We could use the extra resource. How’s the hair case going? Close to wrapping it up yet? We may need to move you soon. Other cases could do with the resource.”
She took his dirty mug from him and washed it before handing it back to him. Maybe the gesture would be noticed. And score her a Brownie point, though probably not. They didn’t refer to him as ‘Dopey Dupin’ behind his back for nothing.
“Getting there,” she said. “It seems there are others with an interest in our target. I followed a vehicle that was tailing him last night. I’ll go and speak to the driver later, but I need to get some other stuff in place first so I don’t spook her. A bit of a surprise turn-up, actually. I’m concerned she’s got a vigilante plan going. We’ll see.”
The plop plop whoosh of the coffee machine made Dupin raise his voice in reply. “Right. Keep me informed. Say hello to Jack for me.” Taking his filled mug, he left the small kitchen area and Amanda turned her attention to making one for herself. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the space, a smell that always delighted her nostrils. As it filled her mug, she thought about what he’d hinted at. Damn resources. Is that all she and Jack were? It frustrated the hell out of her sometimes.
Jack was waiting
in his room. He was sitting on the bed, old leather bag at his feet, when Amanda walked in.
“All set?”
“All set. It will be good to get back home. Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem. You’ll feel a little better once you get back to your own bed. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Oh?”
“Wait and see. I’m not telling.”
“Come on, Lacey. You know I don’t like surprises. What is it?”
“Wait and see.” She picked his bag up and they slowly walked to the entrance. Her car was parked nearby in the no-parking zone. She caught his look.
“I’m a detective, on urgent police business.”
The car beeped as it unlocked. Jack got in the passenger seat and Amanda put his bag on the backseat. As they pulled away Jack asked, “So what’s new, then? Where’s the case at?”
“It seems Jules has an interest in Smeeks too. I followed her following him last night, but I couldn’t see it through. I plan on having a chat with her after I’ve dropped you home. And Smeeks owns Mild Industries, as in meek and mild. What an arse.”
Jack chuckled at her annoyance.
“We should check out this Femme Fet-Elle club,” he said. “It’s the most popular one. Or so says my nurse.” Jack winked as she turned to him for clarification. “Info comes at you from all sorts of places. I guess nurses are entitled to relax in the same surroundings as accountants and builders. Or anyone else that has a particular fancy, for that matter. I just don’t get it, myself.”
“I’ll do the checking out. You do the recovery. And a bit of research if you feel up to it.”
“Now look who’s being the dominant – though I guess you are the woman here.”
“And the boss, if I have to pull rank,” she said with a sideways smile. “And not one that’s into masochism.”
A few minutes later Amanda pulled up outside Jack’s house.
“Whose is that car on my drive?”