AllFreeNovel
Share Us
lackmailer had made the drop and the disguised bodyguard was following the culprit. She grabbed her kit bag without changing and scurried down the corridor to the main entrance.
Gemma stood on the pavement, looking up and down the row of parked cars that filled the kerbside alongside the parking meters. She was anxious to be out of sight. Martinson stepped onto the pavement about thirty metres down the road, and she saw the Jaguar, almost hidden behind a monstrous SUV. She dashed down the road and slipped into the back seat. She sighed with relief. Jason was there, just as he’d said he would be. She handed him the bag and slumped in the seat. As much as she liked the thrill of being involved in some kind of covert spy-film scenario, she was glad her part was finished.
“Well done, babe.” Jason gave her a warm kiss on the mouth, steadying her thrumming pulse.
He unzipped the bag and rummaged about amongst her clothing.
“Did the money go?” She assumed the envelope containing the £1000 in twenty-pound notes had been taken. Jason nodded an affirmation. He plucked out another envelope. She glared at it with distain; not a thank-you note, she guessed. Jason had been right. Once you paid, they would come again. How many times? While Jason read the new note, she questioned Martinson in the driver’s seat. She’d spotted the listening device inserted into his ear.
“Did Gibson see who took the money?”
“Yes, ma’am. A woman. About your own age. She took the envelope and joined an older woman in the cafe. They’re still there.” Martinson returned to listening to the quiet commentary humming in the background.
“Okay, Emma. You stay with her. Dave can cover the other woman.” He turned to speak again. “The target has left the woman and is heading towards the exit.”
“Both women? Well, that’s a turn up for the books,” mused Jason. A look of mild shock was evident on his face, as she digested the idea of a female gang intimidating her. Why had they assumed it would be a man? Did it matter about gender when it came to criminal activities?
Gemma peered out of the window. Torn between peering over Jason’s shoulder and reading the note or keeping an eye out of the window for the mysterious blackmailer, Gemma decided not to miss the opportunity of seeing the suspect in the flesh, especially as the privacy glass hid their faces. She rotated in her seat and peered out the back window. The pavement bustled with pedestrians. As if on cue, a space opened up, and she had a clear view of the dance academy’s frontage.
Gibson appeared, trotting down the front step, which meant the woman a little ahead of her had to be the money-snatching blackmailer. Gemma waited, wondering if she would turn to the left or right. From her vantage point, it was difficult to see the features of the woman’s face. She turned and headed straight for the Jaguar, with Gibson a few metres behind, tailing her.
Gemma now had a good view of the woman as she walked towards them. Light-brown hair and pale skin, which was almost unhealthily pasty. A slender build. She tottered on high heels, swinging a leather handbag over her shoulders. She wore white leggings and a black-leather overcoat—or was it fake? Gemma couldn’t tell from the distance. Several beaded necklaces hung about her neck, bouncing up and down on her chest as she strode along the pavement. Her face portrayed a look of quiet determination.
Gemma snapshotted the features and ran in through her mental list of faces, trying to match the features. Bingo!
“Emily,” she exclaimed. “I remember her. I haven’t seen her in years.”
Jason patted her thigh. “Good. Do you remember her surname?” His hand remained on her lap. She noted it lacked trembles, so unlike her own.
Blank. She racked her mind, but nothing came back. “Oh God knows. I didn’t bother with surnames back then. But that is Emily. Thinner, and, well, older, I suppose.”
Emily looked terrible, a ghostly figure with little substance and mangled hair, or perhaps Gemma remembered her looking happier, fatter, and certainly laughing. Emily walked past the car at a brisk pace and then crossed the road. Gibson kept following at a discreet distant.
Jason squeezed her leg. “Would she have photos of you?”
Gemma closed her eyes and re-created long forgotten parties, trying to imagine what Emily did. Hesitantly, she stated, piece by piece, what she remembered. “She is, or was, a photographer. Very talented and artistic. Everyone liked her. Quiet and polite in attitude with an eye for detail. For a while, she would take pictures at events and the like, always with permission, and sell them. Nothing too intrusive or revealing. You know, people in their fetish poses or dressed up with whips and the like. She made memorabilia for people. I can’t image she took them for blackmail. I just don’t see her as a blackmailer, but we didn’t speak that much.”
“A sub or Domme?” asked Jason.
“Oh, neither.” She settled in her seat, her nerves abating. Emily was no threat to her; she felt sure of that. She held her husband’s full attention. “Emily was interested in fetish stuff, you know the thing, latex, leathers, and bondage poses. Came one time with somebody and got hooked. But she didn’t do overtly sexual or physical things. It was an artistic hobby for her. She didn’t scene or go off with anyone. Once she realised, at certain events, she could make a little money from selling photos then she did. I think the photography was what she really loved.”
“Eight years ago.” Martinson frowned. “What sort of camera? Do you remember, Mrs Lucas?”
“Digital. Her granddad bought her one when they were still expensive, plus a small printer. Emily was very proud of her kit and her granddad’s generosity. She would bring them and print the photos straight off. Of course, this was before cameras on phones became common.”
“Why does she still have photos of you, after all these years?” ruminated Jason.
Good question. Why did Emily have those photographs?
“I don’t know. I never bought them off her. I didn’t consider myself photogenic. I didn’t even look at them. I assumed she destroyed them.” A wrong assumption on her part. Then an important memory re-emerged from the depths of her mind. “She’s a lesbian.”
Jason sat up straighter. “Sure?”
“Yes, I mean, she claimed she was, though, to be honest, she was pretty reticent about sharing her feelings.”
“Interesting,” said Jason with brevity, directing his comment at Martinson, who said nothing.
“Is there another photo with that letter?” Gemma nodded towards the contents of the envelope and held out her hand.
