The Society by Karen Guyler (feel good fiction books .txt) 📗

Nor the one wearing such bright white trainers they begged to be looked at as welcome relief from the greyness of the sky and the water, the steel and concrete of the bridge.

There, Eva had him, the one Charles was drawing away from her. Dark trousers, forgettable black coat, so non-descript any of the field agents she’d worked with would have picked him up immediately, without the proof of him slowing his pace to keep the same distance between him and Charles.

It’s me you want, leave my husband alone.

St Pauls Cathedral loomed large in front of her, a sanctuary for many in its long history but a trap for them today. Charles was off the bridge, striding up the road away from it.

Eva dashed towards the man as they followed her husband in convoy. “Stop. . .thief, hey. . .that man, there. . .you. . .stop him.” He ignored her as much as the other pedestrians did.

She pushed herself harder to catch up. She wouldn’t let him hurt Charles. As they got off the bridge, she grabbed for his coat but he arched out of her grip, shoved her sideways and she crashed down onto another cold wet pavement.

Eva got to her feet, testing her leg, holding her knee. Nothing broken, her panicked explanation as she’d tumbled to the ground. Not even the ‘it might give way’ the Accident and Emergency nurse had warned her about. She was mostly obeying his ‘don’t stress it’ instruction. It was okay.

Charles. Out of her sight now, no warning could reach him.

It took too long for a black cab to stop, too many traffic lights on red while she got him to crawl the area in an expanding circle searching for Charles or his pursuer. No sign of him meant nothing awful, he could have found his own cab, got on the tube, taken a bus.

Fingertips pressed against the window, she scanned the streets a second time. No sign of anything terrible having happened, no blue lights, or sirens, no running away of people to suggest a stabbing. She’d cling to that for now.

Nothing more to do there, she directed the cabbie to Lily’s school.

The world was calm, quiet, everything as it should be on a weekday there. Buzzed through the main door to reception, none of Eva’s lies why she had to collect Lily right then would work.

Because none were needed.

“I’m sorry?” Eva’s mind couldn’t process what the receptionist was telling her.

The receptionist sighed, said it louder. “Lily Janssen has already been picked up.”

20

Luke knocked on the door of the morgue and went in.

A woman in her late twenties with bright auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail was leaning close over a body on her post-mortem table. The unfortunate person was missing both legs below the knees.

Luke walked around the other side of the table and waved in front of her. Last time he’d interrupted her with a tap on the shoulder, her punch had only just missed him. He was a quick learner. And he tried not to hit friends.

Georgia tapped one of her AirPods, then took it out. “Here about this one?”

“No, but I could give you a clue what killed him.”

She waved a gloved hand over the missing limbs. “You think that? Ha, you’d be totally wrong. How many times? Supposition is not our friend.”

“Looking for Tony Banks, he here?”

“Yeah, but not urgent, query heart attack.”

“Can I look at him?”

“Knock yourself out.” She waved in the general direction of the bank of doors behind which the dead waited to spill the secrets of what put them there. Replacing her AirPod, she peered into the cadaver’s mouth.

The card in the metal frame on the front of lucky door number five had Tony Banks written in Georgia’s swirling writing. She would have needed two if he’d been using his actual name when he died, she’d have embellished all those looping letters in Antonio Castillo. What had prompted his name change was one question on Luke’s growing list.

Even being the older brother didn’t explain how Tony Banks had aged so much quicker than his sibling. The younger Castillo’s head of slick black hair had faded on Tony to a thin comb-over that probably had fooled nobody. Luke thumbed the light on his phone and used a magnifier to inspect Tony Banks far closer than either of them would have been comfortable with if he were still breathing.

Nothing around, no swelling inside his mouth. Nothing in the nail bed, nor between each of his fingers. Luke moved to his feet. Nothing there either. He looked more closely at Banks’ chest, at a mole, larger than the two beside it, almost joined by the tiniest of discolorations. He zoomed in. The killer trying to be clever, but in the struggle, the injection had gone just wide enough that it had left the tiniest trace.

Luke repeated the ritual to get Georgia’s attention. She took her AirPod out as if she were a mother dealing with a demanding toddler. “You’re interrupting my flow.”

“You should push Banks up your list. Here,” he showed her the photo he’d taken of the injection site. “He struggled, might have some post mortem bruising developing. Can you let me know what the tox screen shows?”

“Could have been an empty syringe, using an air bubble to kill him. I’m about done here so I’ll get on it next.” She looked around the room. “You seen him in here? My assistant? Sneaky bugger keeps disappearing. What’s your interest in Mr Banks, then?” She shook her head, “I know, you can’t tell me. I’ll shout you if I find anything.”

“Thanks, I owe you.”

“You do, it’s about time I cashed in these favours. You can take me to dinner somewhere very posh.”

“Just name your time and place, I’ll be there.”

“Except this week?”

Luke laughed. She knew him well. “Except this week, I’m on assignment. When it’s over, I’m all yours.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“We’ll do it, bring your girlfriend.”

“Hoping to convert us?” Georgia was nothing