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The Hunted Page 18


  “He did, but he won’t be anymore.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Ruth headed over to Amanda’s, a takeaway from Wong’s in her hand, a bottle of white in the other. While they both abstained from drinking during the week normally, self-imposed rules were there for the breaking when the need arose. And the need had arisen. When Amanda wasn’t working on a taxing case, it was easy, but throw a murder into the mix, and a glass or two of wine was a decent crutch on which to balance the crap of her day. And who liked drinking alone? The bag of Amanda’s favourite, sweet and sour pork, was heavy in her hand, the pleasant smell of tasty food wafting invitingly into her nostrils as she unlocked the front door and went inside.

  “Hi hun, I’m home! And I’ve been out gathering and came across dinner! Hope you’re hungry,” she called.

  “Be down in a minute,” Amanda called back. “And yes, famished.”

  Ruth could hear water running in the bathroom and helped herself to wine glasses and plates in the kitchen. A moment later a damp-looking Amanda stood in the doorway wearing track pants that never saw the track. She was rubbing the side of her wet head with a towel. Her short blonde hair was at all angles.

  “Hey,” was all she said. They never needed much more than that after a long day, except a hug.

  “Hey back. I’ve brought wine, too,” Ruth said, handing her a glass. “I know it’s technically a school night, but I thought you’d appreciate a glass, so sit down and I’ll serve up. Got your favourite.” Amanda stepped forward from her spot in the doorway and landed a light kiss on the back of Ruth’s neck as she got to work filling two plates.

  “What did I ever do to deserve a woman like you? You spoil me rotten and I really appreciate it, you know. Thank you.”

  “As you do me, too, when I’m working hard. It works both ways. Here, eat it before it goes cold,” she said, passing a plate to her. Amanda took it and sat down at the kitchen table. Taking her first mouthful, she groaned in pleasure.

  “That. Is. So. Good!”

  Ruth waited a moment before tucking in herself, watching as Amanda chewed ravenously on crispy pork balls now covered in sticky sauce. “I met Dad for coffee today. He still seems so lost on his own.”

  Amanda stopped chewing and waited. Ruth wasn’t one for talking much about her family, but since her stepmother had passed, she’d been making more of an effort to get to know her father better. After all, she hadn’t known him growing up and had only found out about him as a teenager. As a young woman used to looking out for herself, she’d paid him little attention, but that was changing.

  “That’s only to be expected, hun,” she said. “They were together a long time. A death takes a lot to get over, particularly one that wasn’t expected, like your mum’s.”

  “I know, but it got me thinking. You know, about us. We’re solid as a rock, I know, but anything could intervene and destroy it. Your job can be dangerous. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. And we’d each have not much left. Like Dad. And he’s rattling around in that big house on his own. That can’t be helping.”

  Amanda watched while Ruth finally took a forkful of food and chewed slowly. Her features were all deflated somehow. Ruth rarely showed her emotions. Amanda spoke first.

  “We should invite him round for dinner one night after work, or go round there and take him something nice.”

  “Yes, and we can do that, but he’ll still be on his own when we leave. He’ll still be lonely that night. And he’s not keen on selling up, either. He says the house and gardens remind him of her too much.” Tears started to fill Ruth’s eyes as she struggled to stop the emotional spillover. She was normally so controlled.

  Amanda was at her side kneeling on the floor in an instant. “Hey, this isn’t like you. What’s brought this on?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. I know you want more, but the truth is, I’m scared.” Tears dripped off Ruth’s jawline into her lap, salty blobs dampening her jeans in small patches.

  “Come here.” Amanda wrapped her arms around Ruth and pulled her close, Ruth’s wet cheeks brushing against her own. “Shh. Let’s not worry about that now. I’m not going anywhere either way. And time always heals, and it will eventually be okay again for your dad. It just takes time.” Amanda rubbed her back soothingly as the tears started to subside. “And in the meantime, we need to look out for him and include him more than ever. And so do his boys. Maybe give them both a call tomorrow and fill them in. They probably aren’t as aware of how he’s feeling as you are, being that bit further away.” She handed Ruth a serviette to dry her face with.

  “Thanks,” she said, sniffing. “And sorry… I’m not sure where that all came from. Maybe I’m getting soft.”

  “Hey, no need for apologies. We’re friend,s remember?” She paused for a moment, then continued. “Well, a bit more than friends, actually. And you’ve always been soft.” Amanda beamed her best smile and Ruth couldn’t help but return it. “Now, eat your pork balls. They’re getting cold. And if you don’t want them, then I’m having them.”

  “Oh no you don’t, Amanda Lacey. Keep your hands off!”

  “That’s better. Now pass the fried rice and let’s lighten the mood a little, eh? And later, we’ll plan some days out where we can take your dad—if he doesn’t mind being in the company of a couple of women.”

  Ruth doubted he’d mind their combined company at all. And as for herself, she was finding she wanted more of it. A lot more.

  Chapter Sixty

  “We’ll pull in and get coffee at Watford Gap services. Let’s get out of London first,” Amanda said with authority. “You can wait until then, can’t you?”

  Jack was useless at making his own coffee, even with a pod machine in the station, and had almost given up trying to learn the simple action of water, pod, button, milk, stir. Nine times out of ten he got a cup of hot milk, without the coffee. And now he was looking petulant. Amanda groaned at him in desperation. Watford Gap services wasn’t exactly around the corner. She grabbed a paper cup, slammed a pod in the machine and pressed the button for him. The familiar steam-engine sound erupted and thick brown coffee gently poured into the cup, the smell always a welcome one at any time of the day.

  Amanda spoke affectionately but with an exasperated edge. “Now I’m going to have to have one!” She handed the first cup to Jack, who smiled like a young boy who’d just got his own way and knew it.

  “No sense in making us both wait,” he said. “We can take these with us, so cheer up, Amanda. It’s only delayed us by two more minutes, not really enough to get all huffy and puffy about.”

  She knew Jack was right, but there was so much going on in her head it was a struggle to cope with it. Not getting enough sleep wasn’t helping either; she was dog tired but had no hope of getting a good night in with a murderer on her patch and upset in her personal life. Ruth’s tears last night had come out of the blue, and Amanda thought back to her touching comments.

  Solid as a rock. They were.

  She tipped a sugar into her paper cup and stirred it.

  “Since when do you take sugar?” Jack asked as they headed out to the car.

  “I don’t, but I’m running on fumes at the moment,” she said curtly.

  “I’ll drive,” said Jack. “No point you doing it if you’re tired. First stop, Watford Gap. We’ll grab a bite there and be in Manchester centre for about two o’clock if the M1 isn’t too bad.” Jack flicked the indicator and pulled out of the yard at Croydon, headed north. After a few seconds of quiet, he piped up. “Here’s a fun fact for you. Did you know Watford Gap is the oldest service station in Britain? It opened when the motorway did in 1959 and because it was open at all hours, it was a common meeting point for bands in the early hours of the morning, travelling after their gigs.” He turned towards her and saw her watching him so he carried on. “They’d meet for a bit of supper and hot chocolate. Hendrix, The Beatles, Pink Floyd and a bunch of other rock bands were regulars when the re
staurant opened a few months later. Then it went downhill in the 70s and was refurbished again some years ago. Probably time for another, really. The food got so bad in the 70s, there was even a song written about it—can’t remember who sang it now—but Watford Gap had become synonymous with crappy food. A bit like British Rail had with their god-awful sandwiches.” At his own mention of bands, he turned a CD on low. ELO’s “Mr. Blue Sky” played quietly in the background.

  “Good to know, Jack. You’re full of useful info, aren’t you?” she teased gently. “And I’ll add a little more: it’s nowhere near Watford, and it marks the north–south divide of the country.”

  “Well, everyone knows that. That’s not news, unlike my rock band connection, so no points to you in this pop quiz” He was smiling.

  “Just drive, would you?”

  “Yes m’lady!” He saluted in mock-Thunderbirds style.

  “Changing the subject, have you ever come across the two detectives we’re going up there to see? I only spoke to Duncan.”

  “No, never come across either of them but someone, and I can’t just remember who, said that Rick Black is on a fast-track program, one of them that should make him Inspector within two years. Must be bright enough.”

  “Here’s hoping. And here’s hoping the two murders will give us something useful to work with because we haven’t got much to go with on the perp at the moment. No missing drug at the vets that use it, no sightings of anyone coming or going, and no real enemies, though the hunting debacle could have rousted someone. The reference to being a trophy is the only thing that links it to hunting, and the extra-sharp blade our victim’s throat was slit with. The picture was loaded by her own phone and that’s gone, probably forever. So, here’s hoping they have a bit more.”

  Amanda nodded her head in agreement, and let her mind pick over the facts they did have. The gentle rumble of the engine soothed her tired head. “Mr. Blue Sky” changed to “Scarborough Fair.” and after twenty minutes of listening to Jack talk about nothing in particular, she was sound asleep.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Amanda felt the car come to a standstill and opened one bleary eye. The familiar sight of a red coffee chain store logo and people milling about told her they were at Watford Gap already, and she looked over at Jack somewhat sheepishly. Slithering back up her seat where she slumped down she said, “Oh, sorry, Jack! I must have fallen asleep.”

  “And that’s why you’re a detective, DS Lacey—your ability to figure these things out.” He was smiling as he added, “You’re obviously tired out so don’t apologise. No big deal. I won’t tell. Didn’t know my company was that riveting though.” He opened the driver’s door, then turned back to her. “You coming for a bite to eat?”

  Amanda didn’t need asking twice and opened her own door. The sound of nearby motorway traffic assaulted her ears, and she followed Jack inside the building and headed for the food court. As they waited in line to be served, Jack began to reminisce again.

  “I’ve not been up to Manchester in a long time. Used to live up north for a while, not far from Old Trafford actually. MUFC country.”

  “I never knew you supported the Red Devils.”

  “I don’t, really, don’t support any football team, but I used to go to the odd game with my granddad sometimes, though it was a bit different back then. Have you ever been to the grounds?”

  “No, never had a reason to.”

  “Well, if we have time later, we might drive over and grab some fish and chips from Lou Macari's. He used to play for MUFC, among other teams, and opened a chippy when he retired. They’re legendary, though it will only be open if there’s a match on. I’d have to check. Not much else down there to be open for but worth battling the crowds for a piece of hot fish in crispy batter.”

  Amanda smiled as he carried on talking. She’d worked with Jack for long enough to love him like a father, and she affectionately linked her arm through his and squeezed it gently. They knew each other so well, had been through a lot together both with work and their personal lives. He’d been a shoulder to cry on and someone talk to when she’d eventually come out, though even now, she wasn’t exactly telling the world. It was nobody’s business but hers, but Jack had understood and had been the support she’d needed as word at work got around. And the jokes and innuendos had begun.

  And Amanda had been there for Jack, too, when his marriage had gone through the wringer, something that happened to many of the best detectives. Jack was one of the lucky ones, and his marriage had held. Their job was hard on spouses, and often relationships frayed at the edges, or in some cases, ripped right in half. She looked across at him now, smiled fondly at his deep-wrinkled face. He was unaware she was watching him, somewhere deep in thought and oblivious to her caring gaze. She knew he thought of her as the daughter he had never had. When the day came for Jack to finally retire, Amanda knew it would be a sad one. And it was not that far away, either.

  “Let’s hope there’s a game on then,” she said, and squeezed him again.

  They ordered sandwiches and drinks and made their way through the busy food court to a cluttered but empty table nearby. Jack watched as Amanda pilled dirty plates and mugs into a pile and shifted them to the edge, wiping the top clean with a serviette.

  “You always do play mother, don’t you?” He placed the tray of food down and she took the contents off before sliding the tray down the side of the table.

  “Somebody’s got to look after you. If I hadn’t been here now you’d have a big greasy burger rather than a healthier option. Stop griping.”

  They both sat down and tucked into the rather average sandwiches and lukewarm coffee.

  “Things haven’t got much better then, food-wise, I mean.” Jack grimaced, a blob of mayonnaise dropping onto his napkin in front of him. “You had any more thoughts on getting hitched yet?”

  “No, not really, though maybe subconsciously, which is adding to my lack of sleep. Hardly time to think about it when I’m awake.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Do you think Manchester will let us interview those close to the victim?”

  “Who knows. Not our case strictly, or jurisdiction. Depends on the boys in charge. Why?”

  “Well, since they are two blokes, I thought I might ask if I could interview some of the women. There’s bound to be some. Stevens was a player, after all. Perhaps play the ‘woman-to-woman’ angle.”

  “Be good if you could, though don’t get your hopes up.” Jack wiped his mouth with his serviette, smearing the mayo blob from earlier across his lower lip.

  Amanda pointed to her own lower lip, motioning that he needed to wipe his again.

  “Gone?”

  “Yes, all gone. You’re good to go. Finish your sandwich and let’s take our coffee’s and get going. I’ll drive this time.”

  “Like hell,” Jack retorted. “I don’t want you dropping off again and killing us both. I’m driving.”

  “Yes, Dad,” she said, and saluted. Still chewing, they put their rubbish into the bin by the exit and headed back to the car. As Jack pulled back onto the motorway, Amanda’s phone buzzed.

  “DS Lacey.”

  “DS Lacey, it’s DS Rick Black here, GMP. You still en route?”

  “Yes, just left Watford Gap. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m off to chat to the victim’s PA later and I thought you might want to come along? Woman to woman? Might get a better result. She’s extremely distressed, apparently, so I just thought it might be best.”

  Amanda smiled into the phone. Perfect! “Good idea, Rick. Happy to. I’ll text you when we hit Manchester, shall I? We can go together.” Rick agreed and Amanda hung up. Turning to Jack, she grinned. “Great minds think alike, eh? He wondered if I wanted to sit in on the interview with the PA, a woman. Do my woman-to-woman routine. Bloody good idea, Rick, even though I say so myself.”

  Jack turned and beamed at his partner. “Sounds like these boys are a good sort. You know how some are a bit ov
er-protective of their cases, and if you want info, go get it yourself and all.”

  “It makes sense to share and be decent about it,” Amanda agreed. “Perhaps more women would still be alive today if the Yorkshire Ripper had been caught earlier. Nine sodding times they interviewed the killer, nine times by five different forces. Can you believe that? And none of them picked it up.” They both fell silent. Policing had changed in recent years because of cases like that one. When Peter Sutcliffe, aka the Ripper, had finally been arrested, convicted and imprisoned, the nation had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  At length, Jack piped up again. “It will be good to see what HOLMES2 spits out.”

  Thinking, he added, “Here’s another fun fact for you, Lacey. Did you know that the original HOLMES database was actually named after Sherlock Holmes?”

  “I didn’t. I thought it was an acronym for Home Office Large Major Enquiry System.”

  “Well, yes, it is, but the stories were the motivation for the name first, then the acronym fitted it. It got upgraded back in 2000.”

  “Well, it will be good to see what spits out now with the two victims and what leads they are following up here in Manchester.”

  “I guess we’ll soon find out. It’s not far now.”

  Jack and Amanda slipped into the healthy peacefulness that close friends and colleagues can share without the need to fill the silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. It was almost 2 pm when they finally parked up by the police station working the case in Manchester.

  “Let’s get moving then, Lacey,” said Jack, “and see if we can’t get those fish and chips later if there’s time to spare.”