“I even said we could get rid of it, but by then she was freaking out, angry, snorting line after line.”
“Did you try and make her stay?” Abby asked.
“Nah, didn’t see the point. I wasn’t looking to be a dad, she didn’t want to hang around…” his voice trailed off as he shrugged slowly.
“What was her name?” asked Scott
“Jackie…Jackie Taylor.”
“Date of birth?”
“That’s easy; it was 1
st
August. Can’t remember the year, but I think she was about nineteen when I met her.”
Scott concluded the visit knowing he’d gleaned as much as he could. “Mr Adams, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you for your time.”
***
As they walked back to the car, Abby paused by the passenger door and leaned across the roof. “Wonder why he never tried to track her down. He’s in there now, and in the space of five minutes, he finds out he has a son, and then his son is dead…and yet he remained pretty nonchalant?”
“I guess if he didn’t want a child and considering he felt it a
mistake
,” said Scott, “Then why would you?”
Chapter 22
Scott
had just enough time to head back to the station and approve the E-fit that had been created from the eye witness report. It was due to go out that evening to the Argus, Brighton & Hove Independent and BBC Sussex. Even though it would be two days until the E-fit and press appeal came out in print, Scott was hoping to leverage the power of their online presence to gain exposure immediately whilst the crime was still fresh.
The image offered an encouraging detailed description thanks to the witness. Scott was confident the appeal would generate the vital leads he needed.
***
Scott walked in to the Chilli Pickle, a popular and trendy Indian restaurant a few minutes before 7.30 p.m. He’d been munching through some poppadums when he looked up to see Cara approaching.
“You having difficulty closing your mouth,” she teased.
“Erm, yes...sorry. I mean no.” Scott was struggling to find the right words, and thought it easier to stand and greet her. He kissed her on the cheek, “You look fab.” Scott cursed himself.
You fucking idiot, is that the best you could come up with…fab of all words?
Cara was dressed in tight dark blue jeans, a white crocheted top and navy heels, her coat slung over her arm. The whole outfit accentuated her toned figure. Scott had to do his hardest to avoid glancing at her substantial breasts which looked magnificent in the top she wore.
“So do you, Detective.”
Scott glanced at his suit that was now somewhat crumpled having sat in the car. “Personally I would have come in jeans too, but I came straight from work, so didn’t have time to change. I feel a bit overdressed to be honest,” he said, pulling at the lapels on his jacket.
“Don’t be daft, you look smart and stylish, I like the way you dress. Formal and yet fashionable. I remember going out with a guy a long time ago who always wore trainers with trousers. He looked such a prat,” she winced as she described him. “He actually thought he looked really good.”
Scott crunched up his nose as he joined Cara in vilifying the poor sod.
“If you think that’s bad, you should meet my DCI. She’s the most uncoordinated person I’ve ever met. She always wears these big oversized cardigans that hang down to her knees. Bless her; she’s short anyway. They look like printed parachutes on her.”
Cara rocked back in her chair as she tried to muffle a roar of laughter.
They ordered drinks and shared a few small plates of Persian biryani, masala dosa and a tandoori chicken platter. The food was greeted warmly with approving groans of pleasure as they tucked in to the shared dishes.
Scott loved how easy the conversation flowed between them. He felt he could just be himself and relax without fear of judgement. He wasn’t sure if that was down to chemistry or due to Cara being so sociable. It was probably a bit of both he guessed.
Scott was sure the atmosphere helped too, with its bright cultural colours and decorative fixtures. The excited hum from other diners and the smell of traditional asian spices that filled the air, all added to the ambiance.
The conversation soon moved on to the case. Cara asked a lot of questions and seemed to be genuinely interested in its progress. In fact Scott thought she’d spoken so much, that he hadn’t asked her much in return.
Scott had told her about the developments and the E-fit construction along with his expectation that it would surely yield some results. He took a quick swig of beer, and was about to carry on when Cara interrupted him.
“You know the twenty pound notes thingy?” She said whilst moving food around her plate. ”I’ve got a theory, but promise you won’t laugh?”
“Oh really, I’m intrigued, Detective Hall,” Scott jested with a raised eyebrow.
“Promise? Or the chutney sauce goes over you,” she threatened in a playful tone, waving a small metal dish in front of him.
“Ok, ok, deal,” he conceded holding his hands in surrender.
“Well as you know, I’ve be interested in all things morbid, and I’ve got an idea.”
Scott watched, captivated by her animated style as she waved her hands around expressively.
“I’ve always been interested in the Mafia, or the
Cosa Nostra as they like to refer to themselves across the pond. I was thinking about your case this morning, and this whole money-in-the-mouth thing. Then I remember reading that the Mafia used to punish their own in a certain way based on the crime they had committed. So if it had been a sex crime or adultery, they’d cut off his cock.”
Scott’s shocked expression led Cara to laugh apologetically.
“Now here’s an interesting thing. People who had stolen, or embezzled, or had become too fixated on money, would have money stuffed in their mouths after being killed.” Cara paused for a moment to push that point home before continuing. “The money in the mouth was to reflect greed,” each word reinforced further as she pointed in Scott’s direction. “Greed,” she said nodding her head again.
There was a lengthy pause as Scott thought about Cara’s theory. Cara could see Scott processing it as he stared at the table deep in thought. She leant over the table and with a cycling motion of her hand tried to get a reaction of some sorts from Scott.
“Well?” She paused with raised eyebrows, “Credible or stupid?”
“Hmm,” was the only response Cara could muster from Scott as his eyes drifted off in no particular direction, to continue crunching through her theory.
“Is that it?” she asked, startled by his lack of enthusiasm for her theory. Deep down she hoped he would have at least agreed, or thanked her for giving him a bit more food for thought. She sighed, feeling a little deflated after initially being so excited to tell him.
Scott’s attention drifted back to the table as he stared at Cara for what seemed an eternity, but in reality was just a second or two.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Have I got food on my face?” she said curiously, a napkin poised in her hand.
“Do you know Cara, you may have hit on something there?” with an approving nod. “We could have a motive, it’s certainly plausible.”
The smile returned to Cara’s face. “See, not just a pretty face.”
He had to agree, brains and beauty wrapped up in a delightful package, is what sprung to mind.
Scott and Cara ended their night sharing a Kulfi and Gulab Jamun for dessert, the cold of the ice cream and the sweetness of the Jamun refreshing their palates. Cara found the Jamun way too sweet for her liking leaving Scott to mop up both desserts.
***
The cold air bit into them the moment they stepped out. Their clothes offering little in protection, as Cara stamped her feet to keep warm.
“We should have stayed in there,” said Scott as he rubbed his hands together.
“I had a lovely evening, Scott. You’re really easy to get on with, the next one’s on me, ok?”
“Deal…it was good fun,” he smiled.
“Why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?” she laughed.
“Don’t know, just had a cracking night, I guess. I’m heading back to Regency Square, where are you parked?”
“I got a cab here, so I’ll call for one now.”
Scott didn’t want the evening to end; the thought of going back to an empty house didn’t exactly fill him with excitement. He knew he had to do some work, but it could wait till later. Sensing Cara wasn’t wishing the evening to end either, both hesitant to say what they were no doubt both thinking, Scott broke the silence.
“Well do you fancy walking back to the car park with me, and I’ll drop you home? I know it’s a bit chilly but if we walk fast…” he left the suggestion hanging.
“In these bloody heels, are you for real?” she laughed lifting her foot off the ground to show him her four-inch heels.
“Fair point, well then a slow walk to the car park, and if your feet hurt, I’ll give you a piggy back,” he said. Teasing her with a quick wink.
“Hey listen, you try and carry me and you’ll be in A&E with a slipped disc by the end of tonight,” a full belly laugh exploded from deep within her.
Scott stuck out his elbow to suggest she feed her arm through. Cara willingly accepted and they headed off into town to cut through onto West Street and towards the seafront.
They remained silent for the majority of their walk, just enjoying the vibrancy of the town and the sounds emanating from the various pubs, restaurants and bars.
Cara’s heels
tapped quickly over the pavement, creating a hypnotic beat as they walked along the promenade past the Grand Hotel, its illuminated, imposing white frontage adding to the majestic and opulent feel of the hotel.
“Have you ever wondered why you do your job?” she asked.
“Every day,” he sighed.
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Probably both to be honest. It can sometimes feel like a thankless task.”
“What do you mean?” her questioning eyes fixed on him.
Scott pulled up the collar on his jacket to shield himself from the cold night air that was whipping around them. “Well, generally you join the force to make a difference, but sometimes you feel like you can never win.”
“Go on,” Cara nudged him.
The public are quick to criticise when crimes go unresolved, but full of praise when you come to their rescue. Then the support you usually hope to get from within the force doesn’t always materialise. The bosses want results on the one hand, but take away your resources and cut budgets on the other hand.” To demonstrate that point Scott was using his hands as old-fashioned weighing scales to show the delicate balance.
“I can see what you mean about thankless,” she said consolingly as she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.
Scott was beginning to realise that Cara was very tactile by the way she had her arm wrapped in his which was pulling her closer to him. It was a closeness that he hadn’t had for a long time. It felt both alien and comforting.
“To add to that you have officers who are completely stressed. I end up doing at least one welfare home visit every few weeks to officers signed off with stress, depression, drinking problems, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Scott sounded stressed as he blew out through his lips.
“Well if things ever get too much for you, you do know you can talk to me anytime?” She nudged him again with her shoulder.
Scott looked at her with an appreciative smile. He knew there was sincerity in her offer and it was gladly welcomed even if he didn’t tell her.
Chapter 23
Scott was striding through the station with purpose, his case file in one hand, the remains of his double espresso in the other, and a large smug grin. He was waiting for the caffeine to kick in and charge through his body. His eyes were heavy, the muscles around his eyelids totally fatigued, his body doing its hardest to fight the urge to find a dark corner in the office just to curl up and fall asleep for a few hours.
After dropping Cara off, he’d worked late into the night researching the suggestion that Cara had come up with. At the time he partially dismissed her idea putting it down to her wonderful and often weird, creative imagination. However, having had time to look at its plausibility, he had to admit that it warranted further exploration.
It had paid off, as he pushed through the doors of CID; he felt renewed energy spurring him on. He barked at no one in particular, “Drop whatever you’re doing and get your arses in the briefing room now, we’ve got a new line of enquiry.”
Mike and Abby looked up just to see the back of Scott disappearing through the double doors at the end of the office that led up to the briefing room. They exchanged a curious glance as Abby raised her brows to suggest
here we go again
.
The team came through the doors at pace, all of them exchanging curious glances with Scott, before grabbing a seat. Raj was still munching on his chocolate croissant whilst gingerly balancing his mug of tea on his notepad.
“Where’s mine, you fat pig,” Mike demanded looking hungrily at the warm croissant.
“Erm, pot and kettle and black spring to mind,” Raj retaliated with an annoying wink.
Mike just glared at him with a menacing look, their eyes having their own gladiatorial battle.
“Ladies when you finished having your handbag fight, if you could pay attention,” Scott tipped his head to one side, his expression letting them know that their verbal joust was over.