by Linda Coles
He had a point there, Rick knew. It made him think of Duncan’s two and their recent brush with Mrs. Skeen. Thank God she’d called it in before making an alternative decision.
“I’ll get you the laptop and recent places of interest tonight. She’ll be waiting for an update so I’ll pop round and get what you need then. I need to move fast on this, though, Wilfred.”
“I understand, my friend. Call my number later when you have what I need and we can arrange the drop-off. Now drink up, for tomorrow you’ll know who shot JR.” He threw his head back and laughed at his own joke. “Get it? Remember JR Ewing?”
“I’ve heard the story, though I’m surprised you know it. That TV show ended before you were born, almost.” Rick wasn’t in the mood for games. He tossed the remainder of his drink back and stood to leave.
“I’ll call you when I have what you need,” he said, then walked away, leaving Wilfred to finish the rest of the spicy nibbles alone.
Chapter Seventy-Five
“Still no bloody reply. What the fuck?”
Sam was getting more and more irritated as the evening wore on. Since sending her earlier message demanding to know what was going on, she’d heard nothing back, not a whisper, and she was fast losing patience. Draining the wine glass beside her, she poured another large one from the bottle of red on the coffee table and sat back to nurse it – and think. This was not what was supposed to have happened – her sitting there wondering. No, she should be making plans for herself and the girls and arranging a funeral for their father. Instead, she was worrying about whether her tracks had been covered enough to keep her out of trouble, keep her safe.
And keep her out of prison.
She slammed the lid shut and plugged the laptop in to charge the battery, deciding instead to watch TV and finish the rest of her bottle before bed. Her head was buzzing from the alcohol on an empty stomach and she knew if she didn’t soak it up with something, her head would feel like someone had split it open with an axe the following morning. Padding into the kitchen, she turned on the oven, unwrapped a readymade pizza from the freezer, and placed it inside. There was time for a quick shower, so she headed up the stairs. Halfway up, she heard a knock at the front door and, mumbling to herself that it was a bit late for visitors, she went to answer it.
It was Rick again.
“I was passing by and thought I’d see how you and the girls were doing.”
His smile was bright, and he was unapologetic for the hour. He picked up on her disapproval. “I’ll only stay a minute.”
She opened the door wide and let him through.
“I was headed for the shower, actually, but how kind of you to drop by.”
He noticed her forced smile and added it to his observations of her behaviour.
“Then you go ahead. I’ll make a cuppa quickly. Would you like one?” He could smell wine on her breath but asked anyway, and he was already on his way through to the kitchen.
“No, thanks,” she called after him, annoyed at his intrusion but not wanting to say so.
“You carry on. I’ll make myself at home,” he called.
Still annoyed, she carried on with her plan. It wasn’t long before Rick could hear the shower running overhead as he stood in the little kitchen. He hadn’t got long to act. He quickly moved back to the living room and scanned the surfaces looking for her laptop, then noticed it plugged in by the window. It was there for the taking. But would it be too obvious – him turning up and her laptop vanishing? Surely, she’d know he was investigating her, and that wasn’t what he wanted – not yet. But it was tempting. The sooner he got it to Wilfred, the better.
He thought of Duncan lying alone in his hospital bed, an officer stationed on his door as a precaution, and suddenly he didn’t give a rat’s ass about whether he showed Sam his hand so soon or not. If she had set someone up to kill Duncan, Rick wanted to know about it now so he could do something about it. And he needed more evidence.
His phone rang, but he let it go to voicemail then called upstairs to Sam. Whether she heard him or not didn’t matter.
“Sorry, got to go. Duty calls,” he shouted, then quickly grabbed the laptop and cable and stuffed them inside his jacket. Out on the front step, he gently closed the door behind him and slipped down the path towards his car. He chanced a glance at the front bedroom window before driving off. The light was off. He assumed Sam was still in the bathroom.
Sam watched from behind a crack in the bedroom curtain, her hair wet and dripping onto her bare shoulders. What had he wanted so late? she wondered. Regardless, she was pleased to see him leave so early: there would be no awkward questions about Duncan, questions she might have tripped herself up on. The investigation would already be in full swing, she knew, with all possible resources engaged to find the attempted cop killer. Law enforcement stuck together, protecting one another, and Manchester was no different.
The smell of pizza cooking returned her thoughts to herself, and she quickly towel-dried her hair and slipped into her robe. The tension of his surprise visit was making her nerves jangle and she knew she needed something to soothe them. Wine alone was clearly not strong enough for the task. Tomorrow, she had to show her face at Duncan’s bedside as the dutiful, loving and distraught wife, and that meant an early start getting the girls to Anika’s – she would take them to school for her. The rest of the day? Well, driving down would be as boring as hell but it would give her time to rehearse her act. Convincing was going to be her new middle name.
Back downstairs, she found her bag and the rest of the bottle of wine and swilled down a couple of pills before starting on the pizza. It wasn’t long before the potent concoction in her stomach started to take effect and a pleasantly drowsy state enveloped her as she dropped off in front of the TV. A couple of hours later, she groggily climbed the stairs and finally crawled into her bed.
Rick called the number he’d rung earlier and told Wilfred he had the laptop. A drop-off point was agreed to, and Rick thanked him again for helping him out with a delicate situation. Wilfred assured him that it had been no problem, that it was nice to be working with him instead of against him for a change. He’d take a look a little later and fill him in first thing. Rick detected the boyish excitement mixed with amusement in the man’s voice but said nothing. They’d speak in the morning.
Rick hoped with all his heart he was wrong about Sam. A spouse organizing their partner’s demise wouldn’t do much for anyone’s relationship. How do you move forward from there?
Chapter Seventy-Six
As Rick handed the laptop over, he said, “It would be great if you could return it before the morning so she doesn’t suspect anything.”
Anyone would think Rick had never dealt with Wilfred Day before; he was as nervous as a kitten in his company, but that was more likely the subject matter – a woman he knew, his partner’s wife. He wasn’t enjoying what he was doing.
“Not a problem. For speed, jot the address down and consider it done. She’ll be none the wiser by morning.”
Rick looked at Wilfred squarely and said, “I’m not stupid. I’m sure you can remember it.”
Wilfred gave him a mock hurt look as Rick recited the address to him, storing it in one of his deep memory banks, no doubt. Rick hoped he went to the right address – not that Wilfred himself would be going, of course. Most likely he’d send a minion. Wilfred Day kept out of trouble himself; that was part of the problem, and the reason he was still operating like he was.
“Let’s hope there’s a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow, eh?” said Rick.
“Most novices leave a trail. I’ll be more surprised if there isn’t one.”
And that was the end of their conversation. Wilfred slipped back into the driver’s seat of the ostentatious Bentley and waved like the Queen Mother as he pulled away.
Rick stood uneasily, watching him go. “This better bloody work,” he said to the cold night. Not a star nor a sliver of moon was visible; there was j
ust the hazy amber glow of the city lights above Manchester. Rick got back in his own car and headed home. It had been a long and stressful day, and he knew there were probably more to come.
It didn’t take Wilfred long to get back to his place and start working on Sam’s computer. Breaking in without her password was a stumbling block that took him mere seconds to overcome. He rubbed his giant hands together in glee like a child about to tuck into a banana split all to himself.
“Let’s see what you’ve been up to, then, Sam. Are you a clever girl or a buffoon?”
It didn’t take him long to find the first of the breadcrumbs as he worked, shaking his blond head occasionally at her mistakes. At least she’d had the good sense to use a Tor browser, but she hadn’t the knowledge to use a secure connection. It seemed the public Wi-Fi in the café she frequented could have been the start of her downfall. From there, it was easy enough for a talented hacker such as himself to find out what she’d been up to and, as he was beginning to discover, it wasn’t pretty.
The site she’d contacted for the job had since been removed, but again, that wasn’t a problem to a man with his particular talents. Deleted files still left a footprint, one that he could follow, but he’d do that later. Right now, he concentrated on loading the cloning software so he could watch any further keystrokes she made from the privacy of his own system. He sniggered as he thought of privacy – privacy was on life support, almost like the man he was trying to help, in his own roundabout kind of way.
It wasn’t long before he’d done what he needed but for good measure, he decided to check her regular web browsing history.
“Well, well, well, Sam, what have we here? I can only imagine what you’ve been buying from such places.” He took a closer look and then sat back thoughtfully, tapping his fingers as he considered his findings. Depending on what DS Rick Black had in mind when he reported back, Wilfred could make use of this information to solve the problem of a naughty spouse. She’d never make the same mistake again, that was for sure.
He checked his watch. It was getting close to midnight. No matter – she’d be fast asleep now, tucked up in the marital bed more than likely. He turned his attention to the deleted files and the trail they’d left. Novices really should be more careful when dealing in areas they don’t know much about, he mused. A few more keystrokes and he had another set of information he could use later on if it suited.
He’d been the top man in his field for more years than he could remember, and while his competition still chose to beat and maim their victims in order to collect on debts or ensure loyalty, Wilfred had always found his methods less invasive and just as successful. Fingers didn’t get pointed, blame wasn’t apportioned and snitches didn’t benefit to their own end, and that was because he held the knowhow. He, Wilfred Day, was the talent, the untraceable hacker who could hit his enemies where it hurt the most.
He turned back to Sam’s laptop. Now he had two lots of intelligence to work with that would prove valuable in both the short and long runs. But now, he had to get the druggie’s laptop back to her lounge before she suspected anything was amiss. He called the relevant number and recited the address. By the time she awoke, her laptop would be plugged in again, sitting right where she’d left it – with a little added invisible software on board for good measure. He’d report back to DS Black in the morning, and then it was down to him to decide how to handle it.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Rick was finishing his first coffee of the day and eating a slice of toast when his phone vibrated on silent. It was still early, just gone 6 a.m.
“Morning.” He wasn’t happy about associating with the very man he’d tried so many times to put away, but right now Rick needed the shortcut – and quickly.
“I hear today will be a beautiful day. What do you have planned, DS Black?” Wilfred sounded like he’d already been up for a couple of hours. Rick ignored his joviality and got straight to the point.
“What did you find?”
“Ah, patience, my dear man. All will be explained in due course.”
Rick groaned inwardly but waited dutifully for Wilfred to say more
“First I have a question for you.”
“And what’s that?” Patience, patience.
“Since you can’t use my evidence in court, how are you planning to handle this situation?”
Rick really didn’t want to explain his plan to anyone until he’d spoken to Duncan, so he tried to evade the question. “I’m not entirely sure yet, so let me worry about that. What did you find out? Is she involved?”
“That she is, I’m afraid. As I’ve said before and will say again now, novices shouldn’t dabble in this type of thing. It took me a handful of minutes to figure out what she’d been up to.”
Rick groaned audibly now.
Wilfred went on. “Tell me, do you like this woman, or, more to the point, does DS Riley like his wife? Are they close?”
“She’s not my favourite woman in the world but then I’m not married to her. I can’t speak for Duncan, though I expect he’ll be pretty pissed off when I tell him. Why?”
Wilfred ignored his question. “Will you arrest her? Do you have any evidence other than what I’ve found?”
“Not enough, I’m afraid.” He sounded defeated to his own ears. What a sorry state to be in, and even more so for Duncan to be in. Rick could sense there was more to come. There was.
“Did you know of her habit?” Wilfred said. “Her predilection for pills, of the codeine variety? She likes to shop online, I expect to balance buying from the local chemists. That way she can always have a stash on hand, as it were.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Rick said wearily. “But that would explain a few things.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Thanks, Wilfred. I think we’re about square.”
“Glad I could be of assistance. Let me know how it turns out. And have a fantastic day…” He gave a familiar chuckle.
They rang off, and Rick sat frozen in place, his head whirling with thoughts about what to do next and how to tell Duncan. He wasn’t looking forward to the day ahead.
In truth, Wilfred Day hadn’t yet been to bed since his discovery. One thing he’d learned early on in his career was that there was something to salvage from every situation, no matter how bad it seemed on the surface. Last night’s discovery of Sam’s activities, coupled with who she’d been involved with, had given him an idea, an idea that could be beneficial on several fronts. Once he’d found out who had been behind the hit, he’d spent time doing some homework, and it had paid off.
He liked both DS Black and DS Riley. He’d always found them easy to deal with on the few occasions he’d been interviewed officially, and he saw them both out and about regularly. He looked at the address he had jotted down, along with a man’s name. A drive-by later was in order, but for now, it was time to get some sleep.
He had a busy day ahead of him.
Sam was almost ready to go. Anika had collected the girls and taken them both to school on her behalf, allowing her an early start down south – a journey she wasn’t looking forward to and a visit she was looking forward to even less.
But there was no choice if she was to keep suspicion at bay.
Inside Sam was fuming; not only had there been no reply to her message, but the website had since vanished and with no clue how else to contact ‘him’, it seemed that was the end of that. What a waste of £6000. And with Duncan still alive, she knew she’d have some explaining to do about the transaction in the first place. Could she be planning a surprise vacation for them? Could that be her excuse? It might work; after all, why would someone suspect her of being behind the shooting. She was simply an ordinary, loving housewife. As she made her way out to her car, the sun was climbing the Manchester sky slowly, but would the day stay so bright?
She hoped so.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Amanda and Jack were back at the station, rehashing what they knew over coffee.
Mrs. Stewart had put two slices of chocolate cake into another plastic tub for Jack, and Amanda was halfway through her piece, dark brown crumbs resting in her lap. Jack hadn’t yet passed comment, but who was he to talk about messy eating? She’d thought about banning him from eating sandwiches with mayonnaise in them, since it meant a greasy stain on his shirt every time. Still, he had someone to wash them now, she mused.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd we have virtually nothing to work with?” Amanda asked him, looking thoughtful as she ate.
“It’s not that uncommon, Lacey. There are any number of unsolved cases that never get solved. We can only follow the evidence.”
He was right, of course, but it did nothing to ease her agitation. “I’ll call Rick. He may have some news. And maybe as time goes on, Duncan’s account of what happened will clarify. It didn’t help him being so ill, either. Also, we never did talk about the food van drugs. Maybe Rick can help with that now, too.”
“I wonder what caused him to be so ill. Can a migraine really do that to a person, and so violently?” Jack licked his fingers clean of chocolate cream filling then wiped his hands down his trousers. Amanda glared at him disapprovingly.
“What?”
She stared pointedly at the napkin dispenser on the table before going on. “From my experience, severe headache, visual disturbances and vomiting are part of it, but it sounds like Duncan had severe hallucinations at the same time, and I’ve not heard of that before. I’ll double check with the doc; she’ll know for sure.” Thinking again, she asked, “Did she do a tox screen?”
“Doubt it. He’s not dead, so there’d be no reason to do one. Why? Do you think he ingested something to cause the hallucinations? He didn’t eat anything at the restaurant.”