“Mrs McGuire? The laptop?” Dave asked again.
Annette walked into the kitchen, grabbing the back of the sofa as she did so to steady herself. When she returned, Charlotte was examining the books on Annette’s bookshelf, mumbling something to herself.
“Thanks,” Dave said as Annette handed him the computer. He glanced at Charlotte. “Why don’t we nip into the kitchen? She’ll be happy there for a few minutes. Only time I get any peace and quiet is when she’s reading.”
“Bugger off and do your geek thing,” Charlotte said. “Just because you don’t read anything without pictures in doesn’t make me any less cultured for reading proper books.”
A moment later, Annette and Dave were in the kitchen. She watched him as he sat at the table and opened up the screen of the laptop.
“Do you want a drink?” Annette asked him. She didn’t care if he did or not, but she wanted one. “I’ve got some wine.”
“Go on then,” he replied, to her surprise. He nodded in the direction of the lounge. “Don’t tell her, though. She’ll go mental.” Annette grinned and crossed to the cupboard to get another glass. He would probably need all the help he could to get through the evening. She poured them both a glass, glancing at the lounge door as she put Dave’s down in front of him.
“Right, so, Mrs McGuire.”
“It’s Annette.”
“Annette,” Dave said, “Gareth said you deleted an e-mail by accident, and you want it back again. Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Annette replied. “From my G-mail account.” He swivelled the laptop round, and she could see the login page on the screen.
“Could you log in for me?”
She did so, quickly checking to make sure there weren’t any new e-mails in there.
“Okay, this won’t take long.” He looked up at her, and a look of concern crossed his face. “He also said I’m not to read it?”
“That’s right. All I need is the e-mail address of the person who sent it.”
Annette watched as Dave’s fingers flew across the keyboard so quickly she had trouble seeing them. A few seconds later, they stopped, and he looked again at the lounge door before picking up his glass of wine and draining it.
“Lovely, thanks for that,” he said, grinning at her. The smile took ten years off his age, and Annette was reminded of Gareth when he was younger. He used to smile like that when they managed to get hold of some illicit booze.
Dave swivelled the laptop round so that Annette could see the screen. “All done.” She peered at the screen, and could see an unread e-mail in her G-mail account.
“That didn’t take long,” she said, arching her eyebrows.
“Don’t tell Gareth that,” Dave replied, his grin broadening.
“Right, gotcha,” Annette said, a smile on her own face. “It took you ages, was really difficult and complicated, but you persevered and got there in the end.”
“That works for me.”
“Consider it done.” Annette wondered for a moment if she should offer him some money for his services, but decided against it. She didn’t want to embarrass the young man, and could check with Gareth the next time she spoke to him.
They walked back into the lounge, and Annette saw Charlotte perched on one of the armchairs with a copy of the latest Peter James book in her hand.
“Any chance I could borrow this?” she asked, holding the thick paperback in the air.
“Charlotte, we’re going clubbing,” Dave replied. “That’s not exactly going to fit in your handbag, is it?”
“Why don’t I give it to Gareth the next time I see him?” Annette said. “He can give it to you in the office?”
“Cool, thank you,” Charlotte put the book back, making sure it was perfectly lined up with the others on the shelf. “Right then, Mark Zuckerberg,” she said to Dave, linking her arm through his. “Let’s go and paint Norwich all the colours of the rainbow.”
Annette led them to the front door, thanking Dave for his help as she did so.
“It’s no problem,” he replied. “If you ever need any help with tech stuff like that, just let me know.”
She watched them as they walked down the path, a wry smile on her face. They were a strange couple, but oddly likeable. Charlotte snatched a kiss from Dave when they were almost at the gate and then stood back, swiping at him with her handbag.
“You’ve had some booze, you dirty bastard,” she shrieked. Annette laughed at the sound of her voice. “I get a double first round to catch up, and you’re bloody buying.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder and back at the house. “See you later, Mrs McGuire!”
28
Laura shivered as she and Gareth made their way into the car park. Partly because it was cold, partly because she wanted Gareth to put his arm around her. According to the app on Gareth’s phone, their taxi was only a few moments away.
“That was a lovely evening,” she said to him. “Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do seeing as you’ve helped my sister out so much.”
“I went through some paperwork with her, that was all.”
“Still, she really appreciated it, what with everything that’s happened.” Laura glanced at Gareth as he said this, realising that it was the first time he had mentioned it all evening. She hoped that it wasn’t going to bring the mood down and immediately felt selfish for thinking that. “Was it worth missing a girlie night out for, though?”
“Of course it was,” she replied, shivering again. Her original plans for the evening had been a few drinks on Riverside and then a club with some friends from the courtroom. One of them was getting married in a few months. It wasn’t a hen night, but probably not far off one. “They’ll probably all be ten sheets to the wind by now, anyway.” Beside her, Gareth shrugged his shoulders out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Here you go,” he said. “You look freezing.” Laura sighed quietly. Not quite the effect she’d been hoping for.
A silver car pulled into the car park a few moments later, the illuminated sign on top of it advertising Canary Cars. It approached them and the passenger window whirred down.
“Thorpe St Andrew and then Dussindale?” a gruff female voice said.
“That’s us, thanks,” Gareth replied, opening the rear door for Laura to get in. As she made herself comfortable on the back seat, she took Gareth’s jacket off. He climbed in next to her, and she could feel the heat of his thigh against hers.
“Would it make more sense to do Dussindale first, and then Thorpe St Andrew?” the taxi driver said. Laura looked at the woman. She was mid to late fifties, stoutly built, and had hair that was shorter than Gareth’s.
“What do you think?” Gareth asked Laura. “I only went that way round so you could be dropped off first, but…” His voice tailed away as he glanced at the taxi driver. Laura realised that he was intimating that because the taxi driver was female, his need for chivalry was less.
“That makes sense,” Laura replied. It did, but it also meant that she couldn’t ask him in for a coffee because he would be getting out first. Gareth gave the driver his address, explaining the best way to get there. Laura giggled, thinking that as a taxi driver, she probably knew the best way already.
The driver nodded, and the car pulled out into the main road. Laura watched the houses flashing past, suddenly nervous. Gareth had made no attempt to move away from her. Even though the car was large enough to seat three across the back seat, she could still feel the heat of his leg next to hers. Was it going to be tonight? Laura asked herself. It was looking that way, and she felt like a schoolgirl all over again, going on a first date with someone. She laughed to herself, willing the butterflies in her stomach to bugger off somewhere else.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Gareth said, looking at her. She turned to face him and smiled. There was no way she could tell him exactly what she had been thinking when he had said that.
“I was just thinking what a nice evening
it’s been, that was all,” she replied.
“It has. Wonderful food.” He had a serious expression on his face. “Excellent company.” Laura had visited the bathroom just before they had left to re-apply her lipstick and check her make-up. Now, she thought, would be an ideal time to lean forward and kiss me. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.” Gareth smiled, leaned away from her slightly and turned to look out of the car window. Laura pressed her lips together in frustration.
“Is it this one?” the taxi driver asked a few moments later, pointing at the small block of flats where Gareth lived.
“Yep, that’s me,” he replied. The car pulled up outside the entrance to the block, and Laura took a deep breath.
Gareth opened the rear door.
“Thanks ever so much for everything, Laura,” he said, smiling at her. “That was a fantastic evening.” Her heart sank as he got out of the car and closed the door behind him. Gareth gave the taxi driver some money through the car window, and then he waved at Laura before making his way to the door of the block and disappearing inside.
Laura turned and looked in the opposite direction to the block, blinking back tears. She suddenly felt ridiculous, regretting buying the very lacy and very expensive lingerie from Jarrolds she was wearing under her dress…just in case. When she looked back again, the taxi driver was staring at her in the rear-view mirror.
“I’m guessing that didn’t go quite how you wanted it to, love?”
“You could say that,” Laura replied, her voice resigned.
“Why don’t you call him?” the driver said, a kind smile on her face. “Tell him you’ve had an argument with the taxi driver and want to come inside to wait for another one. I can wait here until you’re safely inside, if you want?”
“That’s a lovely gesture,” Laura replied, sighing, “but it’s complicated.” She looked at her phone, realising that her battery was almost dead.
“Are you both single?”
“Yes.”
“Do you work together?”
“No.”
“But you both like each other. I’ve been a cabbie long enough to be able to recognise that. So how can it be that complicated? You should be in there,” she nodded at the block of flats before turning to look at Laura over her shoulder, “getting to know him better. I mean, look at you. You’re a gorgeous little thing, and he’s a fine-looking man. Not my cup of tea, mind. If I brought him home, my wife would go bonkers.”
“His wife died,” Laura replied, sighing again. “It was over a year ago, but it’s got to be his call. I was just hoping that he was going to make it tonight, that was all.”
“Oh, I see what you mean then.” The taxi driver turned back to face forward. “That is complicated.”
Laura reached into her handbag to retrieve her phone. She stared at the screen for a few seconds, wondering whether to call Gareth or text him, before putting her phone away when she decided against it. As she closed her handbag, she realised that the taxi driver had turned back round to look at her.
“What do you want to do, love?” she asked. Laura thought for a moment before making a decision.
“Can you take me down to Riverside, please? Some of my friends are out tonight, and I think I’ll join them.” In front of her, the taxi driver smiled.
“Good girl,” she said, and Laura felt the lump that had been in her throat since Gareth had left dissipating. “Good girl. They’re all bastards anyway, men. I tell you something…”
Laura sat back in the seat, the taxi driver talking about nothing in particular as they drove back towards Norwich. She got her phone back out of her handbag, considered calling Gareth again for a few seconds, before thumbing a message with the last of her battery to her friend to find out which club the girls were in.
29
Ronnie kept the whoop of excitement down to an almost silent Yes! when he saw the unread e-mail in his Protonmail inbox. The account had only been set up to communicate with one person—Annette McGuire—and the e-mail company’s spam filters were pretty much military grade. This was the most exciting part of what he was doing. The first proper contact with a fresh mark.
In his experience, his targets went one of two ways when they got in touch for the first time. The more common reaction was for them to go on the offensive. That they would find him and kill him, like they were Liam Neeson in a film or something. Ronnie’s usual response was just to raise the amount he took them for, for being arseholes.
The second, and the one that Ronnie thought the slut would go for, was much simpler. They would just ask him what he wanted. Targets that asked that always paid up in the end. It was as if they knew they had been found out. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the almost empty Internet cafe, he clicked on the unread e-mail.
Who are you?
That wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. Ronnie sat back in the chair, thinking. It wasn’t an unreasonable question, given the circumstances, but the usual non-offensive response was to ask what he wanted, not who he was.
Ronnie tapped out a reply on the keyboard. It took him a few moments—typing had never been one of his strong points—and he had to pause to think a couple of times to make sure he’d got the sentiment right.
Annette,
It’s not who I am that concerns you. I am just a man with needs, exactly like Philip was. Except my needs are financial, not sexual.
I have a comprehensive collection of photographs and videos featuring your husband in a variety of different compromising positions. In some cases, quite literally. But his penchant for younger partners is not something that’s very popular. He had been helping me with my finances with a modest monthly contribution to my meagre savings, but now that he’s dead, he’s no longer in a position to do that. So, I’m turning to you.
Imagine a scenario where his penchant was exposed. How would that affect you? Your job? Your standing in the community? You would, no doubt, find yourself a pariah.
But this can be avoided. I am prepared to negotiate an amount of money in exchange for the permanent destruction of your husband’s personal mementos. This will be a onetime payment, and then we can go our separate ways.
So, let’s negotiate.
Yours, R.
Ronnie sat back in the chair and re-read the e-mail. He didn’t want to come across too strong in the opening salvo. He could, if he wanted, utterly destroy the slut immediately. But if he did that, he would have nowhere to go in the future. There could be no further requests for assistance, no little top ups along the way. He didn’t want an ongoing relationship with her, but a big hit straight away. Time was not on Ronnie’s side. The further in the past Philip’s misdemeanours were, the less impact they would have. So, Ronnie had to go in hard and go in early.
He sent the e-mail and decided to stay in the Internet cafe for a while longer. Ronnie got to his feet and walked over to the bored man behind what passed for a reception desk. He gave him a handful of rupiahs for another hour and returned to his terminal to open up TOR.
The Onion Router, to give the dark web browser he was using its proper name, wasn’t like it used to be a few years ago. These days, the chances were that the people using it would be more likely to be law enforcement officers than fellow enthusiasts like him. He was pretty good at sounding them out, though, and far down within the dark web was a service known only to a select few. Like the nature of its host, it was concealed under layer after layer of security.
Ronnie navigated his way through these layers, providing answers to various security questions. They were designed so that even if they were looked at together, they would give no clue to the user’s identity, but at the same time, they ensured that the only people who reached the bulletin board he was visiting were genuine.
The bulletin board he was making his way toward was for a tiny group of individuals. It nestled among a variety of other boards in a part of the internet only inhabited by very nasty people. People like Ronnie.
Thi
s board was different to the others, though. It didn’t look to trade paedophilic images or videos, weapons, or drugs. It traded people, in a sense. Ronnie reached the board and looked through the recent postings. There weren’t that many new listings. Several in America who had already been bought by another board user, and a man in Chester in the United Kingdom who looked like a possibility for Ronnie. The only problem was if he wanted the man’s details, he would have to buy them. It was a Catch-22 situation—to purchase the details of a suitable target cost money which he wouldn’t have until one of his other targets paid up and, with Philip McGuire gone, that cash stream had dried up until his slut of a wife paid up. The seller was promising a full identity. Name, address, personal details, and photographs. Everything Ronnie would need to turn the screws on him so hard he would be screaming.
How much for the one in Chester?
30
Laura looked at herself in the mirror of her bathroom and groaned. She had a painful tight band running across the nape of her neck, just like she did when she’d had too much to drink the previous evening. Which she had. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there were shadows underneath them. Why hadn’t she left when she was planning to? If she had, she wouldn’t be hungover or full of regret.
“It was only a kiss, for God’s sake,” Laura muttered at her reflection. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Laura reached into her bathroom cabinet for some paracetamol, washing them down with cold water straight from the tap, and thought about what had happened last night. She had been just about to leave for the evening and, as her phone was dead, had got the bar staff to call her a taxi. Then she’d bumped into someone who’d persuaded her to have one for the ditch, so she had asked the barman to cancel her cab. One had turned into two, and then one more after that. The next thing she knew, she was hiding in a dark corner of the club, being kissed. The next thing she knew after that, she was kissing back, enjoying the feel of a muscular body pressed against hers. The inevitable question had been whispered.
Single Handed (Gareth Dawson Series Book 3) Page 11