TICK TOCK RUN (Romantic Mystery Suspense) (32 page)

I bit into my bottom lip and stared for several long seconds at the all-telling photo.  Although out of focus, it was unmistakably Laura and Daryl, outside a white front door with a stained-glass red rose detail.  Their faces were less than an inch apart at opposing angles.  Lips slightly parted, suggesting a kiss. 

Goddamnit!  Their private moment captured on film was being used against her. 

A white light flashed into the hall from the street.  I slid the photo into my dressing gown pocket, stuffed my feet into the nearest shoes - ridiculously high stilettos - and fumbled with the key to unlock the front door.  I stood on the path, which glowed orange from the street lamp, then stared left and right along the dark road.  I searched for a figure, headlights, movement, sounds, anything.  The absence of a moving vehicle suggested I was too late to catch the messenger. 

Undeterred, I dashed five steps into the middle of the dark road and looked again.  “Who the hell are you?”  My heart thumped hard inside my chest with lost hope while I stood alone in the black, foreboding stillness. 

My slow reaction must have allowed whoever posted the envelope through my letterbox sufficient time to disappear.  Cursing, I took another long look to both ends of the street, and then began walking.  I peered into car windows with feigned optimism that the blackmailer might be sitting in a vehicle, waiting to drive off.  The first few cars sat empty.

As I moved to the next car, an engine growled to life on the opposite side of the street. 

I spun towards the sound too fast and wobbled on my stiletto heel.  My foot toppled sideways, and I fell to the hard, rough road on my hands and knees.  I pushed myself up from the tarmac and heard an engine revving in spurts.  Tyres screeched.  I raised my head.  Faster than a heartbeat, two brilliant full-beam headlights shone in my face, blinding me.  For a second, I froze, gobsmacked.  I crouched in the road near the wheel of a parked car, squinted against the light, raising my hand against the brilliant beam.  The vehicle sped closer and the roar of the engine intensified.  Panic surged through me.  The headlamps filled my vision. 

The car’s not stopping!

I screamed and hurled myself sideways.  I banged a front bumper, and then rolled between two parked cars and curled into a ball.  Death blasted past me when a swift gust of cold air blew across my skin.  Only a lucky second separated the vehicle from clipping me. 

Panting like an overheated dog, I forced myself upright.  “Lunatic!”  I stared down the end of the street, hoping to glimpse a number plate or make of car.  The vehicle had disappeared.  I was in one piece, still breathing, although shaken. 

I darted back inside my house and locked the front door.  My stilettos crunched broken glass in the hall.  I felt disappointed with myself for being merely seconds late of discovering the blackmailer’s identity.  And angry I’d been so stupid as to wander into the road and nearly get myself killed.  The blackmailer had been right here at my door. 
Damn!
  His hand had touched my letterbox.  If I had walked downstairs a few minutes later, I could have seen his face.  But I’d blown it.

I whipped the envelope out of my dressing gown pocket.  So someone did indeed still have evidence, and I held it between my shaking fingers.  Hard to believe such a flimsy item could be as valuable as gold to Laura.

But why drop the photo on my doormat and risk exposure?  Why not give it to Laura, text or email it? 

I dashed down the hall, grabbed my phone and jabbed the call button.

“Laura, the photo’s here.  Someone dropped it through my letterbox a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, Jesus!” she said, in a strangled tone.  “So they weren’t lying.  Did you see who dropped it off?”

“I tried.  But no.”  I paced circles in my dining room, staring at the photo hoping something different would stand out.  “It’s definitely you and Daryl, on a street outside a house.”

“Hmmm… that’s not so bad.  Could be innocent, asking me for directions, finding out the time.  At least we’re not naked.”

A tickle in my throat came from nowhere and I coughed.  “Kissing.  You’ve been kissing.  Daryl’s hand is squeezing your bum and your hand is in his jean pocket.”

A gasp came through the phone sounding louder than I thought one could.

“Laura?”

“No way!” she said squawkily, as if something heavy squashed her dainty frame.  “This is bad.  This is really bad.”

“Is Mark still at your house?” I asked.

“No.”

“I’m going to phone Lee.  I’ll let you know what he says.”

The line went silent for some seconds.  “I’d rather you didn’t phone him.”

“Why?”

“Because Paul’s been grilling me over the things Lee said to Mark earlier.  He’s dropped me right in the dung.  If Lee can’t keep his mouth shut, I don’t want him knowing any more.  In fact, I don’t want him involved, full stop.”

“Well, he is involved.  Full stop that!  Laura, I know I keep saying this, but you need to give more thought to calling the police.  I won’t be able to stall Lee once he finds evidence.  There must be a way of keeping Paul out of it while getting the cops’ help.” 

“There isn’t.  They’ll question everyone.”

I raised my voice.  “I nearly got run over tonight!”

“No way!  Oh, Chelsea.  Are you all right?”

“Fine.  It was because of my own stupidity.  But still, this is already way out of hand.  Bye.”

I hung up, dialled Lee and while telling him about the photo, I rubbed my shoulder.  It stung where I scraped it on the tarmac.  And my knee felt bruised.  I let my dressing gown slip off my shoulder and noticed a grazed patch of skin.

“I’m on my way,” Lee said.  “Lock up and don’t go outside.”

During my wait, I swept up the glass, dried the pool of water from the hallway, cleaned the scrape on my shoulder and curled on the sofa.  The photo lay face up on my desk. 

Fifteen minutes later, Lee rapped on the front door.  “Hey, gorgeous!” he called through the letterbox. 

We kissed in the hall and then headed to the dining room, arm in arm. 

“It’s on the desk.”

He pinched the corner of the photo and held it under the glow of my table lamp.  “Can’t see a fingerprint.  Unless this person’s stupid, they’d have used gloves.”  He stared so intently that his eyes must have traced every pixel. 

“It’s a bit blurred.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see a quality control sticker over the corner,” I muttered. 

Lee beckoned me.  “It was taken from outside Daryl’s house.”  He pointed at the top right corner.  “I think it was snapped from inside a car.  See that dark curve?  That might be the edge of a windscreen.”

I looked then backed up to the sofa. “Why drop it at my house instead of Laura’s, and why didn’t they just text the photo?”

Lee shrugged.  “Maybe they wanted her to have a physical reminder.  Besides,
you
seem to be the go-between person.  They used good quality photo paper and an inkjet printer at a guess.”

“How can you tell?”

“I work at a print shop, Chelsea.”  He rolled his eyes a half circle then looked at the photo again.  “Yes.  Digital.  Not photographed on the right setting though.”  Lee stepped nearer and sat at my side. 

I stared at the photo on his lap.  Kind of creepy knowing the mystery blackmailer had touched it themselves not so long ago. 

“Why choose that particular photo?” I asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.  Although...” he broke off.

“What is it?”

“I suppose because they’re not
quite
kissing, we can clearly see it’s them.  Perhaps other photos gave too much or too little away.  I don’t know, Chelsea.  I’m just guessing.”

“It’s a strange shape.”

“Yes.  The edge has been trimmed away.  It’s almost a square.  I wonder what they didn’t want us to see?”

“This photo doesn’t help,” I complained.  “Laura will see this as a reason to pay more money, rather than a reason not to.”

Lee’s hand brushed my thigh as he stretched across, groped my bottom and kissed me on the lips, re-enacting what the pose on the photo suggested.  “A kiss like this doesn’t prove she had an affair.” 

“It proves she... oh, my...  Proves she kissed someone passionately,” I managed to say, while blood sped through my veins.  “Paul would know that’s not her normal behaviour towards other men.”

Lee curled his hand round my thigh over my dressing gown, then pointed at the photo with his free hand.  “And see there, Chelsea?  It had rained.  Look at the drops on the windscreen and look at what Laura’s holding.  An umbrella.”

“How does that help?  Rain isn’t a rarity.”

“Maybe it’ll jog her memory about when it was taken.  She might remember seeing someone, Mark, in the street.  You should ask her about it tomorrow.  I need the original, but you could make a copy.”

“My printer’s out of ink, remember?”

“Well, describe it as best you can.  Or maybe I could email it.  I’ll scan the photo into the computer at work.  We’ve got software that might enhance the image.  I think it was taken from a couple of doors away, opposite Daryl’s house.”

“But what are you looking for?”  I searched his eyes.  “We now know they didn’t lie about having evidence.” 

“A touch of paint colour, a reflection in glass.  I might not find anything, but it’s worth chancing.” 

A moment later, he made a short humming sound, then popped the photo into his jacket pocket.  With a warm spot on my thigh where his hand rested, and knowing Lee brought logical thinking to the mix, I relaxed into my seat.

“There was a large withdrawal from Daryl’s current account before he died,” Lee said, trashing my respite.  “Unless some builders turn up at his house, he lent the money to a friend, or a new car or something gets delivered, then, I guess he was being blackmailed, too.  For having an affair with a patient.”

I touched Lee’s cheek.  Although it wasn’t the right moment, I gifted him with a smile.  “It must have been an awful time for Daryl.”

He took my hand and kissed my fingertips.  “We still need some hold over Mark, if it is him.  What’s his surname?”

“King.  Mark King.  Why?  And what should I tell Laura?”

He paused.  “Tell her to hold off paying the money and bluff about a fingerprint.”

I stood up, grabbed my mobile and sent Laura a text message:
‘Hold off paying the cash.  Say there’s a fingerprint on the photo.’
 

Re-tying the belt on my dressing gown, I walked into the adjoining kitchen and opened the fridge.  “Drink?”

“Sure,” he replied, from the sofa.

I pulled two cans of lemonade from the rack and closed the fridge door.  Startled to see Lee’s smiling face so close in the shadowy corner by the fridge, I flinched, almost dropping the cans.  “Oh! You scared the crap out of me,” I said, pressing the cold cans against my chest. 

“Sorry.  Well, you have just had the blackmailer at your door.  You’re bound to be on edge.”

He took a can and we cracked open the ring pulls. 

“I guess everything hangs on tomorrow.”  I swallowed a mouthful of lemonade, wishing it were vodka.

“Sure does.”  He made a popping sound with his lips.  “Ummm... I’ll make a move.  I know you want some time alone.” 

We shared an inquisitive look.