Fallout: (A Blackbridge Novel) (The Blackbridge Series Book 1) Page 2

  Deep in his gut Travers had known there’d be others. Now it was a bank. That really was a step up, but maybe it would be the perpetrator’s undoing. The security would be better, perhaps better CCTV. The images they had so far were grainy and the man wore a mask. All they could gauge was his approximate height and weight.

  Other than that all they had was the bullet taken from the shopkeeper’s leg. They could match it to the gun, if and when they ever got their hands on it. As far as leads went they had nothing to go on; Max had nothing. He’d failed to find out a single useful thing.

  He swore to himself as he hurried to the scene, ploughing a trail through the morning traffic. He’d hit the tail end of rush hour but even so forced the speedometer up further, undeterred by the thick traffic flow ahead. He’d soon have to take the exit leading to the town centre. There, no matter how many flashing lights and blaring sirens he had, he’d be forced to slow down. He clung to a small ray of hope that by arriving soon after the crime he’d have a better chance of catching the guy, or at least of picking up some clue whilst events were still fresh.

  Ten minutes later he screeched to a halt outside Blackbridge Bank on Market Street. His mood didn’t improve when he spotted Lyle Banks leaning easily against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. The robberies were a thorn in the side of the police; they were being made fools of; everyone wanted to catch a break. Max and Lyle were two of the best detectives on the force, and they hated each other. They’d known each other for years, and had always competed, over everything; cases, sport, women, you name it. It didn’t help that Lyle had always been good buddies with Lorraine. Max could just imagine the two of them in the pub after work, feeding the fires of their ‘hate Max Travers’ club.

  “Anything?”

  Lyle blew smoke and flicked the cigarette to the kerb before shaking his head. “Staff arrived this morning to discover the break in.”

  “What? They didn’t see the thief?”

  Lyle shook his head. “Nope. All happened out of hours. Could have been anytime during the night. The bank closed five o’clock yesterday, first staff arrived an hour ago.”

  Max ran a hand through his hair and swore again. This was a totally different MO to the other crimes.

  “Not our guy then?”

  Lyle smirked. “Shock, horror, there’s more than one criminal soiling the streets of Blackbridge.”

  Travers didn’t respond to the sarcasm.

  “Strange thing, though,” Lyle continued in a more serious tone. “Only one safety deposit box is missing.”

  Max stared at him stupidly for a second. “That’s all? Why go to all the trouble of breaking into a bank and then taking just the contents of one box?”

  Lyle shrugged. “Suppose it depends on what’s inside the box,” he suggested. “Or maybe they just did it for the thrill of it. You know, Travers, for the risk.”

  Again Max didn’t respond. The way Lyle was glaring at him beneath lowered eyelids he suspected he wasn’t really talking about the burglary anymore, but about Max’s foolish affair. He’d taken risks then and had been caught out. Max still flushed with shame when he thought about Lorraine walking in on him with that girl. He could still see the betrayal sinking in until it was etched onto her features for all time.

  “Have you spoken to any of the staff yet?” he asked instead.

  “Nope, they’re all upstairs in the Manager’s office while the forensics team do their thing.”

  “OK, I’ll go and have a chat with them. You never know, maybe someone saw something.”

  Lyle looked dubious, lit another cigarette, and made no move to follow Max inside, which suited Max just fine.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The police were everywhere.

  Hugh Bishop felt the sweat gathering beneath his collar, had to keep wiping his clammy palms against his trousers. It was taking every ounce of willpower to stay calm.

  When he’d turned into Market Street that morning his heart had almost given out. Police cars had been pulled up onto the pavement, right outside the bank. His bank. Blue lights flickering madly in the morning air.

  His first thought; they knew! But, how could they? The temptation, no, the deep-seated primal instinct, to turn the car around and flee had been very, very strong. But he’d pushed down the panic and forced himself to face reason. If the police had discovered he’d killed Carol they wouldn’t be waiting for him at his place of work with the strobe lights flashing. No, they’d have come to the house. It had to be something else.

  He’d convinced himself he was still in the clear, but another fear had gripped him then. Why were they here? There was only one, logical, irrefutable answer; a robbery.

  Why else would the police be at his bank?

  His assistant manager, Kieran Banister, had called the police. He’d been gushing like a pop bottle when Hugh first arrived, overflowing with eagerness to help, pumped up with adrenalin at having discovered the break-in. The rest of the staff were less enthusiastic; some resigned to the delay in their morning routine, others wide-eyed at the drama, but mostly quiet, lurking in corners or keeping to the periphery.

  As soon as he could, Hugh stepped up and reined in Kieran. Hugh Bishop was good at taking control, but today, of all days, he dearly wished he could just melt into the background, fade into obscurity. That wasn’t to be.

  Kieran was like an overexcited child. It took a few moments for Hugh to get him to focus. He needed to get up to speed. Once the police had finished trampling all over the place, Hugh would have a lot to do, assessing the loss, reporting the details to head office. He had to physically hold Kieran’s arms at his side to get the young man to stand still in front of him.

  “Kieran, tell me what you know.”

  He got as far as discovering the theft involved the safety deposit boxes when another policeman arrived and interrupted.

  “Mr Bishop? I’m Detective Inspector Travers. I understand you’re the Manager here?”

  Detective Travers wore a dark suit, smart but inexpensive. His hair was short and dark, a little messy. Bishop supposed he was handsome. A glance at the female staff confirmed this, like predators on the Serengeti they’d become still but alert. Watching, with sideways looks but sharp focus. The man was young but looked weary, the lines in his forehead too pronounced for someone of his age.

  “That’s right, Detective. How can I help?”

  “Could you accompany me to the vault please.” It was polite but not really a request, the man left no room for discussion and was already striding towards the door. Kieran started to follow but Hugh halted his Assistant Manager with a look that pinned the young man to the spot. Enough hysteria. He’d been through this kind of thing before. He didn’t need Kieran, or any of the other staff, babbling and speculating and dragging the whole damned business out unnecessarily. He would handle it; calmly, efficiently, and as quickly as humanly possible.

  Rows of safety deposit boxes lined every side of the room. A fortress of dazzling hard steel glimmering behind a reinforced door. Everything about it was designed to make an act such as this as difficult as possible. Still, someone had found their way inside.

  Bishop had barely stepped across the threshold when he was brought up short by what he saw. He’d expected some degree of chaos; signs of a hurried scramble to steal as much as possible.

  The room though, was almost the same as usual.

  Almost.

  Either side of him were banks of small metal lockers which contained the safety deposit boxes. Their doors all firmly shut, neatly in place, proudly displaying the stencilled numbers across the front. All looked intact. All looked untouched. All, except one.

  The detective stood beside the only open locker. He watched Bishop, his expression expectant. Sharp eyes beneath dark brows narrowly watched the bank manager. Waiting.

  Hugh forced his feet to move, to take a step further into the room, towards the policeman and the empty box. He couldn’t see the num
ber on the front of the small door since it was hanging wide open. Instead he looked at those either side; 274 and 276.

  The stolen safety deposit box was number 275.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bert’s Café was perfect.

  Cramped and filthy. Stained linoleum tiles lifted from the floor, table tops tacky with old grease. The food was bad, usually cold. The woman behind the counter, who Aubrey suspected wasn’t called Bert despite the hint of a moustache floating on her upper lip, was surly at best. Even the tea was awful, somehow bitter and milky at the same time. Despite all of these shortcomings, the place was still perfect.

  Aubrey Davis sat in a corner near the fogged-up window. Before him was a half-eaten bacon sandwich and discarded cup of tea. He held a newspaper up in front of him but he wasn’t reading. Instead he peered over the top of the pages, his gaze pulled irresistibly to the view outside.

  From this vantage point he had a clear view of the bank, which had finally opened ten minutes ago. Most of the police had left; empty-handed he was sure. The few that remained would be picking over the bones of his handiwork, for all the good it would do them.

  He’d been at the café for nearly forty minutes now, almost time to move on. He’d become quite a regular over the last few weeks; always arriving early, dressed in his ‘work’ clothes. To a casual observer the scruffy jeans, heavy jacket, wool hat and scuffed boots marked him as a manual worker, someone who spent his days out in all weather. Stopping off for a hot breakfast before a hard day’s work was the ideal cover. Of course, Aubrey had no job; hadn’t for a while now. He also had no intention of getting a job, not now.

  Aubrey stood, waved to the woman behind the counter who ignored him, and headed for the door. Yes, Bert’s café had been the perfect place to watch the bank; the bank he’d just robbed.

  Out on the street he pulled up his collar and headed down the road, away from the object of his earlier attention, not even risking a glance in that direction. Even though his eyes looked straight ahead, his mind tumbled with thoughts about what would come next. He had a buyer lined up, someone he’d used before and could trust.

  Preoccupied he didn’t see the guy until they bumped shoulders. Aubrey didn’t check his pace, merely offered an unfriendly sneer. He wouldn’t normally give the encounter a second thought, but reaching the corner he paused, leant against the wall and lit a cigarette.

  Now he risked a look back down the road. Aubrey had seen this guy before, always hanging around the bank, but without any apparent purpose or destination. At first he’d feared he might have some competition for the break-in, but this guy was sloppy and obvious; far too conspicuous.

  In the end he’d decided he was nothing to worry about. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Aubrey taking precautions; a little insurance never hurt after all. Aubrey Davis wasn’t the sort to leave things to chance.

  He watched for a moment, now just out of idle curiosity, the threat no longer present. The guy was just standing still on the pavement, staring straight at the bank across the street.

  Aubrey watched for a moment more, deeply inhaling cigarette smoke. Just some weirdo. He flicked his cigarette into the gutter then turned down the side street where he’d parked his van.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The morning passed in a blur, a strange mix of frantic activity interspersed with periods of tedious waiting around. For a while the staff were shuffled here and there, herded like livestock. First into the manager’s office, then into the tiny kitchenette, at one point even out onto the blustery car park. The police wanted them on hand but made them feel like intruders, underfoot, perhaps even under suspicion.

  Jennifer Kim had always been the quintessential good girl; she followed the rules. At school her homework had always been on time, she’d obeyed her parents. As an adult she paid her bills, tried not to tell lies, kept her nose clean. Honest and law-abiding. Despite all this, every time one of the police officers looked her way she felt a flush of guilt. She found herself trawling through her memories of the week before, seeking for any unintentional faux pas, any slip up on her part, which might have allowed this terrible thing to happen. But she was new. She didn’t have keys or alarm codes; all the locking up was handled by Mr Bishop or the Assistant Manager. Finally the police were finished and a small degree of normality crept in.

  By lunchtime, for once, Jennifer couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

  She was just shrugging into her coat, standing in the narrow corridor at the back of the building, when the detective she’d seen earlier appeared again. His name was Travers; handsome, just a little rough around the edges. She found herself wanting to catch his eye, get his attention. She got her wish.

  Detective Inspector Travers headed straight for her. He was talking into his mobile, but his eyes were locked onto her, fixing her to the floor. His eyes were very blue, she’d noticed that earlier. As he stepped right up to her she could see the halo of dark lashes framing those eyes. He finished the call. Now she had his full attention.

  “Miss Kim?”

  “Jennifer.”

  She blushed beneath his smile; shame at her burning cheeks only deepened the blush.

  “Quite a morning! I understand you’re new here.”

  “That’s right.”

  He was standing very close, only inches separated them. Was this a habit of his job, or something else?

  “I just started last Monday.”

  Again he smiled, but didn’t seem to have much to say.

  “One week in and this happens.” She gestured around vaguely, even though she didn’t have much of an idea of what actually had happened. She only knew that someone had broken in and something had been stolen.

  “I suppose it’s an occupational hazard.” She felt like she was talking too much, foolish and flustered, whilst he just stood there, watching her, cool and unruffled.

  Jennifer decided to play his game for a bit. She pressed her lips together to stop the babbling and smiled up at him, waited him out.

  For a second or two nobody spoke. She thought she detected a spark of amusement in those eyes.

  “Actually,” he finally broke the silence. “This sort of thing is pretty uncommon. I’d like to think your time here will be hazard-free.” Again there was a pause. Jennifer could hear a phone ringing upstairs and the clatter of keyboards nearby.

  “Miss Kim. Sorry, Jennifer. Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  When she stepped out onto the street it didn’t look quite as drab as before. The rush of humdrum humanity didn’t quite wash out the touches of beauty the world had to offer. Jennifer felt alive, relished the cool breeze prickling against her skin and ruffling her hair. Even the overcast skies and dead leaves rustling along the gutters seemed charming. She couldn’t quite fight the smile that crept onto her face as she strode down the street; she had a date!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Joseph Myers was very good at waiting.

  He’d always been patient, even as a child. Most people were always in such a rush, scurrying around busily, noisily, often aimlessly. They felt the urgency even when they really had nowhere special to be.

  Joseph enjoyed quiet.

  Perhaps it stemmed from being raised on a farm. As a boy he would spend hours following his father around, helping out when he could, or just watching the old man work. He’d marvelled at those strong, gnarled hands as they operated machinery, handled livestock and worked the land. The Myers family eked out a meagre existence thanks to Joseph’s father, who toiled endlessly and tirelessly, wringing every last drop of life from the farm. To Joseph’s young eyes it had been like a battle with nature itself. His father strode their little corner of the earth with sure-footed steadiness, every sense attuned to his surroundings. He’d been sure his father was invulnerable, unstopped.

  Until the day he dropped dead.

  They’d found him in the upper field. Several cows grazed indifferently nearby. The doctors said it was his heart; Joseph hadn’t even realis
ed it was weak. Weakness wasn’t what came to mind when he thought about his father.

  He and his mother hadn’t been able to keep the farm going after that. Most of the land was sold, which gave them enough to find a small house in the suburbs of Blackbridge.

  The town had taken some getting used to for Joseph, so many people crammed together. He was used to rambling fields and sweeping skies. Unhappy with the outside world he withdrew more and more, coiling into himself. Nothing really replaced the contentment he’d known as a boy. Nothing, that is, until Jennifer Kim had smiled at him one day. She filled the hole in his heart, even though she might not realise it yet. But he could be patient.

  Yes, Joseph really was very good at waiting.

  Lunchtime at the bank; Jennifer was a bit unpredictable, sometimes 12pm, sometimes later. It was a pity he didn’t have a car, it would make things much easier if he could park up discreetly, to watch but not be seen. But he couldn’t afford a car, not even an old banger. He’d looked around for something, of course. Standing out in the cold for hours, fingers numb, pelted by freezing rain, will motivate you to check out something like that. But he was skint. Losing his job had made his situation worse, but that couldn’t be helped.

  The café on the corner proved invaluable. Here he could linger over the local paper and a cheap cuppa for as long as he needed.

  She was later than usual, but finally there she was.

  Joseph slipped out of the café, slotting into the flow of human traffic. He caught up easily, even though she was moving quickly today. The lunchtime crowd concealed him well, enabled him to get close.

  When she turned into a sandwich shop he went inside too, kept close.

  He found himself standing right behind her in the queue, just a few skimpy inches of air between their bodies. As she tilted her head up to read the sandwich options written over the counter, Joseph caught a whiff of sweet scent. It was too delicate for perfume. Shampoo? Perhaps body lotion? He’d have to check that out.