Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set Page 9

  “What’s he like?”

  “You mean other than slippery?”

  “Yes, what’s he like generally? Hard man, local mob, what?”

  “He’s one of the most politely spoken, well-dressed blond-haired blue-eyed thirty-something men you could ever meet. To look at him you’d say he came from money, probably a finance background or similar, complete with diamond-patterned sweater, chinos, and nicely polished brogues. Your typical hard man stereotype he’s not. Far from it.”

  “So why has he never been pinged?”

  “You mean apart from probably buying off everyone that he can? The juries he’s been in front of love him. He comes across as sweet-natured, funny, articulate, and they lap it up. Lap him up.”

  “And that’s not the real him.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement.

  “Correct. He might be baby faced and smartly dressed, but behind those blue eyes of his is a ferocious brain working overtime. Kneecapping and grunt work is not his style, but he’s clever, all right, and employs other clever people, of the technically clever type. Hackers and the like, those that can infiltrate bank accounts and data and hit the competition in their pockets rather than their balls. Less mess, less evidence, and probably gets results a lot quicker.

  “Sounds like a saint. And he operates in opiates in the main or something else?”

  “He’s like all the rest in that respect, running women and booze, but yes, drugs are his forte. I’ve not known him to deal with heroin and the like. Not for some time, actually. Maybe they’ve split the turf into substances instead of geographical area. Opiates attract a more discerning clientele than Skank and heroin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was bringing in fentanyl too.”

  “That’s a worry, then. It’s really hard to tell heroin and fentanyl apart. They’re almost identical to look at.”

  “Tell me about it. We have the deaths to prove it. It’s the quantity that causes the deaths. A lethal dose of heroin could be thirty milligrams, but with fentanyl, you’re only talking three milligrams to overdose and kill someone –barely enough to cover the bottom of a test tube. Mistakes get made, I know. I’ve cleaned up the bodies.”

  “Christ, let’s hope he’s not responsible for distributing that.” Amanda fell thoughtful for a moment, pondering her next question. “So, do you know how his distribution works, how he’s selling it?”

  “Typically, he’s had women mainly, that I know of – your stereotype ‘soccer moms’ looking to earn some money while they mind the kids all day.” Amanda could almost see him making speech quotes in the air with his fingers. He went on, “I daresay they are probably customers too. Getting high is the fashionable thing to do with their bored glamorous buddies. But I’m only talking oxy and codeine now, not fentanyl. And he’s had a few students working for him too, looking to earn beer money without doing much. Easy money until they get caught.”

  “How about food vans, perhaps?” Amanda wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be.

  “Not heard anything, but that doesn’t mean no. Ice cream vans and food vans have been used in the past for both booze and drugs distribution, but it did get cleaned up. So, have you got something going on down your way?”

  “Not sure yet. Just those empty packets testing positive. If the vans are dealing, it could be a lucrative outlet for someone, and if others get wind of it, it could get a whole lot busier around here.”

  “I’m afraid so. Well, thanks for letting me know what’s happening. Hey, keep in touch eh?” The pen was clicking again in the background.

  “I will, and thanks for the info. Say hello to Duncan for me.”

  “Will do.” Then he was gone.

  Jack was hovering like a spaceship.

  “That was interesting, what I could hear of it. What next, Boss?”

  Jack never called her Boss – unless he was feeling stumped and was hoping she had the next move.

  “No idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Duncan drove slowly past the park. The traffic behind him on the busy road was impatient; drivers gesticulated rudely as they cruised past in the adjacent lane, wondering who was being such a slow-moving dick. If they had known he was a police officer looking for missing children, they might have been a tad more forgiving, but everyone these days only cared for themselves. As it was, they were all in a hurry to get from A to B and he was in the way, holding them up from something pressing – like morning takeaway coffee.

  Another horn blared. He ignored it. Up ahead, he could see the main gates to the park and indicated to pull over. The clicking was almost hypnotic. A light drizzle was falling again, clinging to everything it touched. On a day like today, the park would be empty, dogs ‘in need’ having to make do with a quick in and out on a nearby grass verge or in their backyard. Duncan didn’t care about the dampness as he entered the park and paced down the main path. Finding his girls was more important. Up ahead he could see a uniformed officer who had joined in the search and he sped his pace up to a slow jog to catch him up. As he got closer, he called out to the officer.

  “Any luck?” He knew the answer – someone would have called him – but still he was hopeful.

  “Sorry, nothing yet,” the officer said. His badge said PC Daniels. Duncan knew he would be wanting to say something more reassuring but couldn’t. Adding your own comments like ‘I’m sure they will be fine,’ or ‘I promise we’ll get them back,’ was something police officers avoided at all costs. It always came back to haunt you if, in the end, things didn’t turn out to be fine. Daniels gave Duncan a sympathetic look. His radio chirped, neatly breaking the awkward pause.

  A scratchy voice said something he couldn’t catch.

  “Repeat that please, over,” Daniels said.

  “Call from a woman on Hyde Road. She has two young girls. Can you attend?”

  “What number?”

  He and Duncan ran together back towards the gate as the reply came back. When they reached Duncan’s car, he yelled at Daniels to get in. Duncan threw the car into reverse and hurtled out onto the busy main road towards the number they’d been given – and hopefully his two children.

  The house was only a couple of minutes from where they had been, overlooking the park.

  “There, on the steps!” Daniels yelled, pointing to an elderly woman on the front steps, and Duncan did a U-turn to get across. Angry motorists blared their horns but he ignored them, pulled up on the pavement directly outside and leapt from the car. He ploughed up the front steps two at a time, almost knocking the woman flying, Daniels on his heels.

  “Are they okay? Are they hurt?” he asked as he pushed past her. There in front of the fire, eating biscuits and drinking warm cordial, were his two little girls, faces still pink from the cold morning air.

  “Daddy, Daddy!” they squealed delightedly and leapt to their feet. Both girls flung their arms around his neck and he squeezed them tightly, then held them at arm’s length, swallowing back tears.

  “We got a bit far away. Have you come to take us home?” Victoria asked. Duncan took both their small hands in his big ones and squeezed affectionately.

  “I have, my darlings. But first, tell me what you’ve been up to.” He smiled encouragingly so they wouldn’t think they were in trouble, which they weren’t. But he wanted to know the story. The old woman stepped forward.

  “Perhaps I should tell you,” she suggested. “Won’t you sit down?”

  The other officer, who was standing to one side, took his notebook. Duncan sat on the old sofa with Victoria and Jasmine each on a knee. He gave them another joint hug and Jasmine giggled. For some reason, the woman looked familiar, though he couldn’t place her.

  “I saw them from my window upstairs,” the woman said. “Playing in the park they were. It was cold, so I went over. There was no one with them. So I said I’d make warm juice if they’d like some. And they did. And then I called the police. I figured they shouldn’t be out on their own.” Her voice croaked wi
th age and something more, something like emotion perhaps.

  PC Daniels put his arm around her and gently guided her to sit in the big chair by the fire. The crochet blanket on the back of it told him the chair was hers. Then she began to weep softly. A siren could be heard in the near distance, then car doors banging outside, so Daniels went out to the front door where more uniforms were arriving. Duncan could hear voices. One of them was Rochelle.

  He turned to his two girls. “I’m just glad you’re both all right. But we need to go home now, so say thank you to the lovely lady for the juice.” He forced a bright smile onto his face.

  “Thank you for the juice,” they both said dutifully, but the old woman had her head in her hands and was crying gently. Rochelle walked in at that moment and took the situation in. Duncan guessed that Daniels had briefly filled her in. She nodded at Duncan, indicating that he was to leave and she’d look after the woman and take some further notes. Together, he and his girls left the warm comfort of the lounge and headed out to his car. The cold, wet air suddenly didn’t seem so wet on his skin as he opened the rear door, helped them both in and fastened their seatbelts.

  Even though he was happy to have them both back safely, he knew that he now had to deal with Sam.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Driving the short distance home with the girls safely strapped into their seats behind him, Duncan’ thoughts tossed around his head like a tumble drier. Relief had flooded his system when he’d seen his daughters’ pink little faces, that his babies were indeed safe and well after their adventure, that nothing sinister had happened to them. He knew full well that, with two children still missing and a predator out there, that his situation could have turned into something devastatingly heart-wrenching. He gave silent thanks as he drove, raising his eyes for a moment to the sky as he did so.

  Now he had to decide what to do about Sam, though: be thankful or be angry? The only thing he felt right at this moment was thankful, but he knew when he saw her face his emotions would flash over to anger at her incompetence, her laziness, her sloppiness. To have allowed such a thing to happen in the first place was inconceivable. She had one job, and one job only while she was unemployed – to look after the children and the house – and it seemed she couldn’t even manage that. Honestly, lying in bed and oversleeping until 9 a.m.? What had possessed her to do such a thing, on a school day particularly? She wasn’t ill, so why? Why?

  It was true their relationship hadn’t been good in some time. They’d both changed over the last year or so. He had been working some difficult cases and staying away late, and then Sam had lost her job and been staying around the house most of the day. She’d appeared to enjoy the time initially, but things had gradually tumbled into disarray, and look where they were now. Yes, he still cared for her, but did he feel anything more towards her? he wondered. Did he still fancy her, find her attractive? He knew the answer was no. They hadn’t been close in many months; neither of them had wanted to make the move, and neither wanted to risk the rejection.

  As he turned into Clumber Road, Sam was stood out on the front path, still dressed in her pyjamas. Her friend Anika was by her side, arm draped around Sam’s shoulders for support, he assumed. Sam rushed forward as he pulled up, arms wide, wailing loudly. Victoria was already opening her door.

  “Thank God you’re both safe! Where have you been?” Sam buried her face into Victoria’s hair and, as Jasmine came around the car, grabbed her too and pulled them both close. Noisy, gulping sobs came from her mouth.

  At last Sam stood, and Duncan ushered the small group back inside towards privacy. He turned to Anika.

  “Thanks for taking care of her,” he said, and she nodded her understanding.

  No longer needed, Anika called to Sam that she’d call later and left, though whether Sam heard her or not, who could tell? She didn’t respond. Once Anika had left, Duncan closed the door behind them and headed into the lounge where Sam was now taking the girls’ coats off. Her face was red from crying, her eyes swollen; she looked terrible. Duncan stood for a moment and didn’t say a thing; he just looked at her. When had she last washed her hair? he wondered. That was old dirt and grease, meaning Sam had missed more than just today’s shower. And why wasn’t she dressed? Had she gone back to bed after she’d called him? Surely not.

  She looked up at him and caught his eye, gave him a weak smile that he tried hard to return. Tears were starting to well in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. He stepped over to her and pulled her in close for a hug. Her face was hot against his cheek as she sobbed again, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Automatically he brushed her head with his hand to soothe her as she tried to tell him that she was sorry. He’d loved Sam once, even if he wasn’t sure he did now. They had a history, a family together, but as he held her close waiting for the tears to stop, the ball of disappointment sat heavy in his gut. Finally, she pulled away a little.

  “Here,” he said, handing her his handkerchief. He caught the strong smell of old sweat and tried not to wrinkle his nose. Instead, he stepped away and began to turn towards the kitchen – away from her.

  “I’ll make some tea. Why don’t you go and have a shower, get dressed and we can talk? I’m not going back to the station just yet.”

  Sam’s face morphed into a mask of hatred so suddenly that he stepped back.

  “You’re going back to work!? Really? What a wanker!” she screamed.

  Duncan stood stock still, aghast. Her face was a deep purple, her lips drawn back in a snarl. Sam looked nothing the woman he’d married.

  She carried on, filling Duncan’s surprised silence. “Have you no time for your own children, Duncan? Because perhaps if you did, they wouldn’t have gone walkabout this morning, now, would they!” Sam picked up a mug from the coffee table and threw it across the room. Brown liquid splashed up the wallpaper as shards of china dropped to the carpet. Duncan watched, mesmerized, as cold tea ran in rivulets towards the floor. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes or his ears.

  Sam was blaming him for the girls’ disappearance.

  He finally found his voice.

  “I don’t fucking believe you’re putting the blame on me! You were the one looking after them. You were the one that lay in bed oversleeping. You were the one with the responsibility of keeping them safe! You, Sam, you! You have one job! One job! And you can’t even manage that,” he screamed at her. He could feel that his face was almost as red as hers.

  But Sam was in the mood for a fight and wasn’t about to back down. With crazy in her eyes, she screamed back at him. “They’re not always my fucking responsibility. They’re yours too, though you’d never know – you’re never fucking here!”

  Duncan opened his mouth to respond and was horrified to hear the sound of a child crying. Oh God. Victoria and Jasmine were still in the room. His heart in his mouth, Duncan went over to them and bent down, clasping them both in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam looking on.

  “I’m sorry for arguing,” he said, ashamed. “You aren’t meant to hear us shouting. That’s wrong of us.” As calmly as he could, Duncan suggested they both go upstairs and play for a while until their mummy and daddy had finished talking. And as a special treat for being good girls, they could choose what they ate for dinner later. He and Sam watched as the girls left the room, and then Duncan turned back to Sam. At least the girls had taken the wind out of her sails for the time being; she no longer resembled something possessed.

  “I work Sam, to feed this family. That’s my job. Your job is to look after this family while I’m not around. When you get a job, that role is split between the both of us, with probably some outside help like other families manage. But since you don’t have a job, you’re it. Can I make it any plainer? Do you get that?”

  “Oh, I get it, all right. I’m at fault again,” she said snidely.

  “In this instance, yes, you are. While you were lying in bed, they,” he pointed up towards the girls’ bedro
oms, “they managed to get out and walk to the park. With a suspected child abductor running loose, I might add. So yes, it was your fault. What were you thinking?”

  “Fuck off,” Sam shot back as she turned and headed up the stairs. Duncan heard the slamming of their bedroom door above and rolled his tired eyes at the ceiling. He flopped into a nearby chair to think. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. Something had to change. Sam had to change. When she’d calmed down, he’d talk to her again and spell out their future together.

  If they had one.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was over an hour later when Sam finally made it back down the stairs, though she still hadn’t cleaned herself up. In her absence, Duncan had picked up the smashed mug and wiped the wall down, and generally tidied the room up while the girls quietly watched cartoons on TV. The depressing rain had finally stopped and a weak sunshine was trying its best to warm the front room. At least it was brightening, if not heating. Duncan stayed put on the sofa. His shoulders sagged wearily with the weight of the day. He waited for her to speak.

  “I thought you’d have gone by now, back to work.” She sauntered over to the vacant chair and slumped down on it, gathering her feet up beneath her, not really looking his way. He could see her face was still red and blotchy from the tears, but he had stopped feeling sorry for her. He let her comment go without rebuff.

  “You were sleeping, I assumed, so I couldn’t leave them.” His voice was steady and even, with no amplification. Just the facts.

  “Well, I’m up now, so why don’t you go? I’m sure you’ve plenty to be doing.”

  Duncan watched her as she pretended to be watching cartoons, looking anywhere rather than at him. “I’ll perhaps go in later. But now you’re up, I want to talk to you properly, without either of us shouting.”