The Fashion Police (8 page)

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked down at the floor with an expression that I couldn’t quite work out. ‘I know, Foxy. Believe me, I know.’

‘I’m going to bed,’ I told him before the conversation ended up heading somewhere I didn’t want it to. ‘In the spare room,’ I added hastily, climbing up the open wooden staircase to the room next to Brad’s, with Marmalade hurrying along behind me.

I quickly got ready for bed and crawled in between the Egyptian cotton sheets, but I couldn’t sleep. I touched my lips. I could still feel Brad’s mouth pressed against them. A warm glow pulsed in my cheeks, not to mention other parts. I felt shaky with yearning. What would happen if he did something freaky in the middle of the night? Oh, no! Even worse, what if I enjoyed it? Would that mean I didn’t love Romeo? Or was it really possible to be in love with two people at the same time?

The rest of the night, I tossed and turned. My brain felt overloaded, and I didn’t sleep except for fits and starts. Giving up, I rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time and glanced at my watch with a groan. Five a.m.

This is pathetic, Amber, you’re a grown woman. Stop being so ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen.

Even so, Marmalade and I slipped out of the house at that point, heading back to my apartment to have a cold shower and tidy up before I lost all power to reason.

8

I sat at my coffee-table desk in the Hi-Tec offices, the financial spreadsheets from Fandango’s office scattered out in front of me. I sipped on a super-strength, caffeine-laden coffee, trying to make sense of what I was seeing in front of me. On first glance, the documents looked like legitimate records for sales of Fandango’s fashion collection.  The sales had been made to respectable, legal companies, but six months ago a new client popped up, referred to only as EF.

‘What do you make of these?’ I handed them to Hacker.

He studied them for a while, and then closed his eyes and did some deep breathing.   He stretched his arms out in front of him and cracked his knuckles.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m centering my chakra. You have to let it flow. It gives you better concentration.’ After a moment or two, he turned back to his computer, and his fingers whizzed across the keyboard.

I tried the deep breathing and knuckle thing, but it didn’t do much except give me a hand ache.

‘Mmm,’ he said as he brought up one program after another, scrolling down and studying them with intense eyes.

‘What’s that?’ I eyed his screen.

‘This is Fandango’s bank account.’

‘You can get into his bank accounts? Cool.’

‘This is just one of them. There may be more. I’ll keep checking, but look at this.’ He pointed to the screen.

For the past six months, a company called Longshore Holdings had been making payments into Fandango’s account. There were hundreds of them, each for ten thousand pounds, and they matched up with the payments filed under EF on the spreadsheets.

‘Smurfing,’ I said, nodding and smiling.  It all made sense now.

‘Huh?’ The Hacker looked over his shoulder at me like I was mad.

‘It’s a kind of money-laundering scheme. If transactions go over a certain amount, there’s a statutory limit that requires banks to report the transactions. It’s basically a way of monitoring international financial transactions for the purpose of investigating money laundering,’ I said. ‘Anything over that limit gets reported to the government. Guess what the limit is?’

‘Ten thousand pounds?’ he asked with a smile.

‘You got it in one.’ I grinned. ‘The bad guys keep the payments to ten thousand pounds instead of making larger payments, and they can get away without setting off alarms, and therefore an investigation.’

Hacker stared at the screen, stroking his goatee. I half expected him to break into an excited rap.

‘So, Fandango is into money laundering?’ he mused.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know yet. It’s possible that someone in Fandango’s organization is using him as a blind. Longshore Holdings probably are money laundering, but who are they?’

‘I don’t know. But give me some time, and I’ll find out.’

‘Can you try and find out who this EF is, and look to see if you can find out what CB means?’

‘No problem. I’ll let you know when I come up with something.’

As he bent back over his keyboard, Brad silently crept up behind us like a Stealth Bomber. ‘Hi.’

I jumped and bit my lip, feeling hot and flustered as I remembered what happened in the kitchen last night.

‘Yo,’ Hacker said, engrossed in his work.  Brad answered him back and then turned to me.

‘What have you found out?’ he asked.

‘Smurfs,’ I said.

‘What?’ Brad looked at me like I’d just been let out of a mental home for the day.

‘You know – little blue creatures who live in Smurfsville and wear white trousers and itsy-bitsy white caps. Some of them have funny little–’

‘Foxy, have you lost it completely?’

I fought the urge to whack him over the head and filled him in.

‘So, Longshore Holdings is laundering money by paying Fandango for a fashion collection?’ Brad asked.

‘That’s certainly how it looks, but if you really think about it, something about the whole situation just feels off. Because if that was the case, why steal the collection and kidnap Fandango?’

Brad frowned, looking as puzzled as I felt. ‘Did you find anything on the computers in his office?’

I pulled a face. ‘They’ve been wiped.’

‘Mostly people just think they’ve wiped off the files, but usually the information is still stored on the hard drive somewhere. If there’s anything on it, I can find it,’ Hacker said. ‘I’ll go back with you later, and we can check.’

‘OK, it’s a date,’ I told him, impressed.  I turned to Brad. ‘Have you got any night vision goggles?’

‘No, I’m fresh out of them this week. Why?’ Brad asked.

‘I need to check out the Cohens’ warehouse at night, and it would be easier to see things with some goggles.’ Then I had a sudden flash of genius. ‘It’s OK, though. I know someone who might have a pair.’

****

I had three choices, none of which were particularly appealing. I could go back and hassle Callum Bates about his far-fetched insurance claim, I could stake out the Cohens’ warehouse, or I could try and find Paul Clark. I didn’t fancy another run-in with a tin of paint, and I figured that nothing much would be going down at the warehouse during the day, so I decided to go with Clark. That way I could pick up something to eat, as well, and kill two birds with one stone.

My goal set, I entered Asda from the end opposite the produce section, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. I grabbed a basket and stuffed it with custard doughnuts, cinnamon doughnuts, and chocolate doughnuts. I was of the firm opinion that a girl could never have enough doughnuts. I had just approached the large deli counter when I saw Clark.  He was straight ahead of me at the opposite end of the store. I had a clear line of sight as he worked stocking shelves. As I watched, he moved, twisting sideways to the big pallet of canned corned beef that sat next to him, and back again to load the cans on the shelves. If he had a bad back, then I was a chocolate teapot.

I grinned to myself, rummaging around in my rucksack for the camera. It was about time.

One minute, I was standing there, camera in one hand, basket in the other, inching my way toward Clark with the element of surprise and a guaranteed slam dunk in my sights. The next thing I knew, a boy of about twelve ran around the corner of the aisle and bumped into me. The collision sent me flying head-first into a cardboard display stand that was crammed to the brim with condoms.

Aagh! Condom explosion. Packets shot everywhere.

I gasped as the ‘
Are you having safe sex?
’ banner sailed through the air, landing face up on the floor next to my head with a loud slap. As I lay there, sprawled among the condoms, I closed my eyes and desperately hoped it was all some kind of bizarre mind-trick. I was really fast asleep, tucked in bed, just having a very peculiar dream, wasn’t I?   

‘Are you OK?’ a voice said over the mutterings of nearby shoppers.

I pried one eye open, gazing up at Paul Clark, who was looming over me with his huge bug-eyes.

Shit. Not a dream.

I breathed out a heavy sigh. So much for the element of surprise. I could hardly catch him out now, could I?

‘I think so,’ I mumbled.

‘Here, let me help you up.’ He held out his arm for me to grab onto as I maneuvered myself up, much to the entertainment of an audience of shoppers and store workers alike.  They started clapping when I gained my feet.

A hot glow of embarrassment crawled up my neck.

‘Er…thanks.’ I stood up, wobbling slightly, and pushed away the hair that was now matted to my sweaty face.

‘Do you need any more help?’ Clark asked. 

‘Doughnuts,’ I said, and headed, somewhat dazed, through the crowd of people, straight to where my basket now lay, in serious need of a sugary doughnut rush.

****

Well, Amber, that went just brilliantly, didn’t it?
How hard could it be to take a bloody photo, for God’s sake?

I sat in my car, cramming doughnuts in my mouth until I felt better. It took four, which was pretty high on the sugar scale. I wiped the crumbs off my top, cranked the engine, and motored toward my parents’ house. It was definitely time for some unconditional parental love.

I spotted the white Ford Explorer SUV in my rearview mirror, as soon as I left the parking lot. This time the tail was more covert, sitting a few cars behind me as I drove around the industrial area, the town, the hospital car park, and then headed toward the A10. It stayed with me all the way, growing bolder the further I drove. Now it was right behind me. Two mean-looking guys sat in the front, glaring out. One was bald, and the other had bushy, black hair. 

After driving up the A10 to Ware and back again, I turned off at the Hertford exit, drove around the roundabout six times just to piss them off, and headed down the hill with them sitting on my bumper. I swung a nifty right into the police station parking lot and watched as they sailed past me and carried on down the road.

I parked and stared at the large building, wondering if Romeo and all my ex-colleagues were inside cracking drugs rings and investigating murders, instead of traipsing around, being attacked by paint tins, condom displays and large arachnids. I fought the urge to go inside and look for Romeo, but stayed put since I didn’t particularly fancy a run-in with Janice Skipper. I was buzzing on sugar, and there was no telling what I might do.

I sat tight a little while longer, making sure the ugly goons had well and truly gone before I edged out of the parking lot, keeping an eye out for the SUV the entire drive to my parents’ house.

****

Dad opened the door wearing a baggy, flowery blouse over black leggings, his head topped with a long, blonde curly wig. I had to do a double-take to make sure he wasn’t Mum, until I noticed what I hoped was a gun stuffed down the front of the leggings.

‘Amber! What do you think of the outfit?’ He did a twirl.

My jaw hung open. It didn’t quite hit the floor, but it was close. How strange. All my life people had commented on the fact that I looked so much like Dad. I had his small ski-slope nose, his huge cow eyes, and the same color uncontrollable hair. Not now, though. Now, Dad looked a lot like Mum.

‘Impressed?’ he asked, hopeful.

‘That would depend on what you’re trying to achieve,’ I said slowly, following him into the living room.

‘Surveillance disguise.’ He sat down, crossed his legs, and squashed his gun between his thighs with a grunt. ‘The neighborhood watch group is lapping it up. They didn’t have a clue what they were doing before I got involved. And now there won’t be a crime within a five mile radius of my patch. I can guarantee it.’

I heard the front door open, and Mum’s dulcet tones echoed down the hall. ‘Amber! Are you here?’

‘Yes,’ I shouted.

‘How are you, hon?’ She came in and gave me a hug, then moved to stand next to Dad. The resemblance between them now was uncanny, apart from Dad’s bowed legs.

Sabre, Dad’s giant German Shepherd, an ex-police dog with slightly schizoid tendencies, bounded into the room and jumped up on me, knocking me to the floor.

‘Get off!’ I tried pushing him away to avoid being licked to oblivion, but he didn’t feel like moving. After what felt like an eternity, he finally gave up with the licking and just lay on me instead.

‘Sabre, come,’ Dad said.