Part 5 (1/2)
”Hey, hey, easy,” the man responded, holding up his hands in surrender. ”I just wanted to..., to...”
”What?” she snapped.
”I just thought that...”
It was then that she suddenly placed him. His name was Alan and he had come into the store a few days ago. He had lost his wallet and she'd helped him find it, only for her to spook him with her actions. ”Oh s.h.i.+t, it's Alan, isn't it?”
”Yeah,” he stammered, regaining a little of his composure.
”I'm sorry, it's just that..., that..., I was chasing a shoplifter,” Jane managed at short notice, offering the best smile that she had in her a.r.s.enal.
”It was just that I felt bad about rus.h.i.+ng out of the store the other day after you found my wallet and I didn't thank you properly.”
”Oh that's okay,” Jane said, finding herself blus.h.i.+ng slightly. She remembered the look that he'd given her when she'd freaked him out.
”I was wondering..., well I was wondering if I could take you to dinner?”
Jane opened her mouth to turn him down politely, but found herself saying, ”Maybe.”
”Great. Let me give you my number,” Alan said, quickly reaching into the glove compartment for a business card and scrawling his home number on the back. ”You know it's weird, but I don't remember telling you my name,” he pondered as he wrote. ”My ex-wife always used to say that I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on.”
Jane mentally kicked herself for the slip. She knew his name, but he hadn't given it to her. She took his card and smiled warmly.
”Give me a call when you'd like to get together,” he said shyly. ”No pressure, but I hope you'll call.”
Jane watched him pull away. He was certainly cute but her mother hadn't raised any fools. A new man pops up into her life just as there was a killer on the prowl? She tapped the business card between her fingers and decided that perhaps Danny might be able to pull a few details on Alan Holmes that she couldn't.
CHAPTER SIX.
A GROWING GUEST LIST.
Donna Moss' bedroom was small and depressingly cheerful. Danny poked through her shelves gently, respectful of the woman's belongings in spite of her death.
She had worked as an au pair for Winston and Sheila Spencer and their daughter Emily. The house was large and expensive and the Spencer's were a family of means and taste. Winston was an investment banker for a large firm in London. Most of his work was done from home but he did have to commute several times a month. He was a tall, practical man with an iron reserve that kept his questions in the moment and pertinent. His main concern was whether or not it had been his family that were being targeted and not the au pair. Danny couldn't blame the guy -he had a family to think of.
Sheila Spencer was as cool a customer as Danny could ever remember coming across. She'd sat in the plush kitchen, smoking elegantly and exuding calm while Danny had questioned them. Her face was pinched thin from her unnatural skinny weight and her age was exaggerated on her features due to it. Her clothes were fas.h.i.+onably tailored and her spiked heels tapped out a gentle, almost bored, rhythm. Her life appeared to be all about maintaining appearances and position within her exclusive enclave. She sat on multiple committees - all reportedly for the better of others -, appeasing a little white suburban guilt.
The facts and figures of the Spencer's were coming in fast and as yet nothing had set off any alarms in Danny's well honed mind. He was almost certain that it had been Donna Moss that had been targeted and not her employers, but he still made sure that every avenue was checked, and then checked again.
Donna had been 21 years old and a little ray of suns.h.i.+ne. Little Emily simply adored the woman, as did all of the neighbours that Danny and his team had spoken to. The American had come over to experience a different culture and see a little of the world. She had worked a post in Amsterdam before moving over to the UK around 3 months ago. She had made a few friends locally and Selleck had been dispatched to garner any info. Her friends described her as friendly and outgoing, but never enough to give a guy the wrong impression. She had been single and more interested in getting a university place than finding a man.
Danny picked up a small framed photograph on Donna's shelf. The image showed the young woman pus.h.i.+ng Emily on a swing, the two of them laughing broadly. The sudden unfairness of her death hit Danny like an expert hook to the solar plexus. She had just been a young, happy woman minding her own business and not bothering anyone, until some lunatic had battered her face into oblivion for his own twisted reasons.
He felt eyes on him and spun around to see little Emily staring at him with wet eyes. Her face was a picture of sorrow and confusion at the fact that her friend had gone. Danny had never made the mistake of making futile promises to the dead. There were just too many vagaries and variables within any investigation to guarantee any sort of result. But in that moment, standing in the room that would never again feel the sunny warmth of its resident, he came awfully close.
Randall reached out blindly and tried to silence the phone that was ringing incessantly, shattering his deep slumber. His head throbbed monstrously and he didn't dare open his eyes into the brightness of the afternoon.
The hotel was far more luxurious than what he was used to but he felt like he could stand a little more. The girl at reception had eyed him suspiciously as he'd walked into the lobby late last night, no doubt wondering whether or not to call security to inform them that some tramp had wandered in off the streets. But when he'd checked in under Ms Ramsey's reservation, her att.i.tude had changed dramatically and the plastic smile had magically reappeared.
The Globe's editor and chief had provided him with the accommodation and an expense account stuffed into a large envelope in readies that he had already dipped into for a bottle on the way to the hotel. After finis.h.i.+ng that, he'd proceeded to empty the contents of the mini bar down his gullet caring little for flavour or taste, only strong alcohol percentages.
He grabbed the telephone handset at the third attempt as it threatened to slip from his greasy grasp. He lifted it delicately to his ear and braced himself for the volume of the voice. ”h.e.l.lo?” he croaked.
”Ah, Mr Zerneck. We're back in the land of the living are we?” Marion Ramsey asked in a cool voice.
”Yeah.”
”Good, then shall we get to work? I have a meeting with Superintendant Chalmers in about an hour. Would you like to attend?”
”Well, guessing at how loud he's likely to be, I'd like to say no.”
”That's as maybe but now that you're on my payroll, I wasn't really asking.”
”What happened to Barrett?” Randall asked.
”Who?”
”Jeffery Barrett ... used to run the cops here in my day.”
”Oh, he moved up the line; he's a commander now.”
Randall pictured the guy and remembered an officious p.r.i.c.k who only cared for his next promotion. He hoped that the new superintendant would be an improvement. ”Is it wise for me to be there? I mean, if I'm going to be working on the story then I need a little anonymity.”
There was a long pause as the woman confirmed his suspicions that while she might be an excellent manager, she was clearly no journalist.
”No, you'll be there at 5pm sharp, my office at The Globe,” she bristled in reply.
Randall started to argue but found the line dead as the woman hung up. In truth, he didn't mind her manner as at least she was easy to read and her motives seemed fairly clear. He was useful to her so she would be useful to him.
He kicked off the blankets from the bed and recoiled as his own pungent aroma wafted upwards with the flap of the bedding. He was pretty ripe and determined that a shower was his first port of call.
There was a bag on a chair opposite the bed and he remembered that he'd actually managed to purchase a few new clothes from an all-night supermarket that he'd pa.s.sed late last night. He inspected the contents and was pleasantly surprised that his choices were okay and looked to be about the right size. As he undressed, he noticed again how thin and frail he was growing. His ribs were protruding like a wannabe model's wet dream and his appet.i.te was non-existent, at least as far as solids were concerned. Also in the bag was a plastic bowl of salad made for lunches, complete with its own plastic fork. His drunken self was obviously more concerned with his health than his sober one.
He showered quickly and thought about the case. He thought about Tom Holland and the guilt that he himself carried for leaving his once friend behind after the original Crucifier case had come to an explosive end. Tom had been left with a dead partner, a stomach full of anger and a finished career, as his bosses were more concerned with public perception than justice. His friend had to sit on his rage as Jane Parkes was ushered aside after getting his partner Karl Meyers killed, while the suits above dangled Tom's pension and health benefits above his head.
He thought about the police cover up of Jane Parkes' involvement and how she had just walked away without a blemish on her character. He also wondered bitterly just how much money she would have made out of her deception. And he thought about how much money he was going to make for his own estranged family. But he had to be honest; this was going to be about bringing down their house of lies, as much as building up his own son's future.
Alan Holmes drove home with a satisfied grin stretched across his face like a cat that had just found the keys to a dairy.
He thought about the woman from the pet store and knew that he had played that one just right. He had been charming and a little befuddled. She was a fierce woman who looked like she could handle herself and he was certainly up for the challenge. He had subtly managed to work in a line about having an ex wife, letting her know that he was single and available. In fact, just because he wasn't married anymore didn't exactly make him single.
Ever since his own divorce, he had discovered a whole world of lonely women eager to rediscover their youth and s.e.xuality after a lifetime of boring marital chains. The internet dating world was a hotbed of divorcees keen to take out their frustrations at being replaced by a younger model. But he had soon grown tired of shooting fish in a barrel - women with too much hair dye, make-up and bitterness. He had also discovered that the best wingman in the world was his young daughter. Her angelic face attracted more fish than his ever could.