Read The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Online
Authors: Geraldine Fonteroy
I did it.
Removing the disguise in the car – something Frieda said not to do – she congratulated herself on a job well done. Of course, it was only the first part of the plan, but at least she was on the way to that much needed one thousand pounds.
The feeling of confidence lasted until Jessica got home, and went to take the bags out of the car to hide them from Ronald and the kids. Halfway up the path, she heard a voice.
‘Excuse me?’ The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Thinking it was the son of her neighbour, she cast a glance next door. Nope. No one there.
Then a horn bleeped, and there, standing on the other side of the street, was the AD store detective. Lean, tall and seemingly really, really pissed off. Seeing that he had her attention, he pressed his key fob, and the lights of his car flashed as they locked, illuminating his form as he strode towards her.
‘Aren’t you the . . .’
‘You know who I am.’ Up close, he was better looking than she recalled from the store. Not that how he looked should be a consideration.
Pay attention. This could be serious.
‘What was with the old lady’s suit?’
It took a moment to dredge up a suitable reply. And when it came, it was moronic. ‘Oh, I was dressed for a play. At my daughter’s school.’
Why? Why say that? Idiot!
The guard stared at her, disbelief clearly etched on his face. ‘And you chose to walk out in public as if you were in the play?’
‘I like to get in character.’
It was total bollocks and he knew it. Left eyebrow raised, he shook his head as he said, ‘Your daughter lives in Birmingham with six kids, doesn’t she? A bit old for school plays.’
Great. He’d somehow spoken to the boy at the counter. How? When? AD was running a pretty slick operation.
Thinking quickly, and not thoroughly, Jessica said, ‘That’s another daughter. I’m, um, going there tomorrow.’
‘You have
two
daughters, one with six kids? How old are you? Thirty? That must be a medical impossibility.’
Shit.
‘They’re not hers . . . her husband had kids before they got married . . . and I had her young.’ Jessica tried to do the math as she spoke.
The guard scowled. ‘Let’s have a little chat somewhere, shall we? What’s your name?’
‘You can’t make me tell you that. You’re not the police, and I haven’t done anything.’
‘So, let’s call the police, shall we? Ask them?’
The kids were due to be picked up from school soon – there was no time to deal with being arrested. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. My name is Jessica Maroni.’
‘So, let’s talk, Jessica Maroni.’
Not in my house.
‘There’s a pub about a mile down the road.’
‘Fine, see you there in a minute. I wouldn’t bother running off if I was you. I’ve got your numberplate and suspect this is your house.’
‘I haven’t done anything. My husband is a lawyer, you know. I am fairly confident you could get into trouble for this.’
‘Shall we involve him in our chat?’ The amusement was evident.
So glad he finds this funny.
‘No. That won’t be necessary,’ she repeated. ‘See you at the pub.’ Jessica got back in her car, tucking the bags into the boot first. The guard waited until she’d reversed down the drive and then jumped into his own car – a standard Ford Mondeo – and followed closely behind.
No chance of outrunning him, even if she was driving a Ferrari and not a twenty-year-old Fiat.
This was grim.
How could I have been so stupid?
Somehow, he beat her to the pub, and had ordered two glasses of water.
Last of the big spenders.
If she was going down, Jessica figured the least he could do was buy her a large glass of red. Or a vodka straight up. No ice.
Not that it seemed possible, but the moment the guard began to speak again, Jessica’s future took on decidedly grim aspect.
‘So, the first thing you should know is that I am not a store detective.’
‘What!’
Great. Semi-relief. If not working in AD, who was he? Some fiend who was halfway to kidnapping her?
‘I am DCI Gerry Courtauld. With the Met.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica’s shoulders slumped. She was done for.
The shortest criminal career in history – what a pathetic individual she was.
A disgrace as a thief, and a mother.
Choosing not to notice the dismay obvious from her demeanour, Gerry Courtauld continued with the questions. And this time, there was no point for Jessica to prevaricate.
‘What were you doing in that store?’
As if he didn’t know – his job was catching criminals, like her.
‘Not stealing.’ At least that was true. ‘Do you work there too?’
‘No, I was conducting a sweep of the local area. Trying to round up shoplifting rings; bloody menaces.’
‘As you can see, I’m not local.’
‘No, but I recognised your disguise. We’ve been keeping you under surveillance.’
‘What? Me?’
‘Yes. That CCTV does record something you know, even if it’s not the real you. You’ve been a naughty girl, swanning about in that suit, nicking things.’
‘Don’t patronise me. I haven’t done anything.’ Jessica wondered how the BIBs could have been so insane as to think they’d gotten away with their thieving all this time. At least they should have got some new disguises.
And I should have asked more questions.
Combining a bored scowl with a sigh, the DCI reached into his coat pocket and took out a photograph from the leather store. ‘I’d recognise those pins anywhere.’ He pointed to her legs, the one feature that Jessica actually liked about herself.
The leather jackets!
If he knew about those, it was all over. Bursting into tears, Jessica slumped face down on the grubby pub table and sobbed. Now what? Rachel would probably be institutionalised at the news of her mother’s theft and probable jail term. Ronald would divorce her and take the kids. Paul might not even remember her in a few years’ time.
She heard the detective get up, but there was no point in moving, or running away, he’d find her in about a minute.
A second later she heard a thud. ‘Here, drink that.’
It was a red wine. How had he known? Letting the tears fall, she sat up straight and drank down half the glass.
‘So, I hate to have to continue with a conversation you find so distressing, but how to you explain these?’ He fanned out another eighteen photographs, all of someone in the Lady Muck disguise. Looking hard, Jessica worked out that most where Rita, because she was shorter than the others. A couple were Frieda, because she had wide calves. One or two might be Hailey. None were Chelsea – at least, she didn’t think so.
‘They’re not me.’
‘Oh, I know that. Far inferior pins.’ The detective, deep green eyes boring into her own, wasn’t smiling. ‘So, who are they? And don’t say you don’t know, because the coincidence of all of you in that same suit won’t put you beyond reasonable doubt, as far as a court is concerned.’
Shivering at the reference to court proceedings, Jessica drew her arms around her body.
‘Shouldn’t I get a lawyer or something?’
Yes, I’ll call Ronald. He’ll love that.
‘That depends on what you want to happen here?’
‘I don’t get it?’
‘You’re part of some sort of gang, right? We’ve been trying to catch your little group for a while now. Clever, but not clever enough, it seems – given we’re sitting here.’
‘I’m new. And obviously not cut out for this sort of work.’
Gerry Courtauld leaned over and took the wine glass from her grasp, so that she had nothing else to focus on but him. ‘Between you and me, there is a way out of this.’
Jessica snorted. ‘I should try my daughter’s way out of things and throw myself off a building.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s what started all this.’ She knew she shouldn’t be blabbing like a lunatic to the policeman, but she couldn’t seem to stop once the words began tumbling out. ‘My eight year old purposely jumped off a building at school because we couldn’t afford to send her to Paris with the rest of her class. My husband is a lawyer but earns less than the checkout woman at the local cash and carry, because he believes charity begins everywhere but at home. I honestly feel as if my life is no longer mine, but that of a stupid, ignorant being who just lets things happen to her without comment.’
The DCI was staring at her, his own glass (still water) now half way to his mouth. ‘Well, that all sounds, um, quite nasty.’
Pull yourself together Jessica, you may be a criminal but have some pride. Falling apart in front of this man is pathetic.
‘Look, sorry, this is all a shock. I only stole because we couldn’t afford to pay for proper plastic surgery when Rachel, er, fell off that building. Her face was torn up. My husband doesn’t know that I paid for a private consultant on Visa, and now I have to pay it back without him discovering what I’ve done.’
‘He didn’t want to spend money on your daughter’s face?’ The cop’s tone was one of astonishment.
‘No.’ There was nothing more to say. ‘So, what happens now? Do we go to the police station?’
Having second thoughts about her capacity to deal with the situation unaided by alcohol, DCI Courtauld handed the wine glass back. ‘No, now we do a deal.’
Jessica was flummoxed. ‘What?’
‘I can give you immunity from prosecution if you help me catch the others in your little group.’
‘You mean, tell on them?’
‘Exactly. Testify, more accurately.’
‘What? No way. I’d have to move house. Or country.’ Jessica couldn’t help but think of Chelsea’s threat. The kids of the BIBs and associated hangers-on could make life hell for her kids. And there weren’t any other schools nearby – at least none they could afford.
‘Think of the alternative. Surely your husband won’t be impressed at having to come down to the station and hear what you’ve been up to?’
‘No, but the reason my daughter jumped off that roof was because of the kids of my accomplices.’ She groaned. ‘There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say out loud.’
‘Your daughter jumped off a roof because of bullying? I thought it was because of Paris?’
‘Both. One led to the other.’ Jessica hadn’t verbalised it, but suspected that Rachel wasn’t being entirely forthcoming about what was going on at school with that little Sienna Jordan.
The tears began flowing again, and Jessica couldn’t seem to control them. Opening her purse, she searched desperately for a tissue, but the fact that there were none made her cry all the more.
Get a grip. You’re not five years old!
The detective took pity on her. ‘Look, maybe you can help us indirectly.’ When she looked at him blankly, he continued. ‘Be an inside informant. Help us catch them at it.’
Jessica felt sick. ‘I couldn’t. They’d guess what I was up to. I am a hopeless liar – you already know that.’
‘We’ll give you a crash course and besides, you don’t really have much choice, do you?’
Good looking or not, DCI Gerry Courtauld was a right bastard. ‘If they find out it was me, then it’s the same as testifying. My children will suffer. It would be easier just to admit to the jackets.’
‘There are ways to make sure they don’t discover it.’
‘How? They let me into the group, then the next minute, after years of successfully avoiding the cops, they get arrested, one by one? They aren’t exactly brain surgeons, but even so, they’ll figure out it’s me.’
‘Well, then, catching them all at once would be ideal, wouldn’t it?’
‘They don’t do the same job, for that reason.’
Gerry Courtauld considered the information. ‘Maybe, for a large enough payoff, they would.’
Jessica shook her head. ‘I doubt it. And even if that was possible, I’d have to be part of it, wouldn’t I?’
The detective smiled, and Jessica noticed it was one of those smiles that was comforting – wide, accessible, honest. It had been a long time since she’d seen Ronald smile properly – like he meant it.
‘You would be part of it. But at the last minute, you could slip away. Or get injured. Or have a family emergency.’
‘Unfortunately, the family emergency is a highly likely occurrence, if the past few months are anything to go by.’
He didn’t seem to give a dman, and didn’t invite further explanation. ‘Look, Jessica Maroni, why don’t we meet back here tomorrow, and work something out? There’s got to be an item or items those girls would love to steal. Something worth group collaboration.’
‘The Crown jewels?’ Jessica suggested.
The DCI shook his head. ‘No one would be that stupid, but you may be on to something.’ He pulled out his BlackBerry and pressed a series of buttons then typed some sort of note. ‘Let me make a few calls, and we’ll go from there.’
The tears had finally subsided, and Jessica wiped her face on her sleeve. Inelegant but she was without other options. ‘And you won’t tell my husband about the jackets?’ Her eyes were wide with hope.
‘As long as you cooperate with the apprehension of your crime syndicate, you’ll be fine.’
‘Crime syndicate? We’re just a local school mother’s club. That’s what they call it. The Club.’
‘How do you think the Italian mafia started?’ Gerry Courtauld winked and stood up, indicating that he’d walk her to her car. ‘Now, you should know that if you choose to tell your friends about our little conversation, all bets are off and you will be prosecuted.’
‘Is it legal to blackmail me like that?’
‘Blackmail? I thought we were giving you indemnity against prosecution for help and information. If you refuse your part of the deal – well, that’s not blackmail, Jessica Maroni. That’s just plain stupid.’