muttered. 'Look-'
She stopped herself and looked straight ahead.
'What?' asked Sam.
'I was going to say, if you still have research to do, you can come round mine and use my laptop.'
Even in the dimly-lit car park, Sam could see Lucy was blushing.
'Er, I think I've got everything I need, but thanks, anyway.'
Lucy didn't appear to have heard him. Reaching into the glove compartment, she pulled out a notepad and scribbled something on it, then ripped the page off and handed it to him.
'Well, the offer's there, anyway. Good-night, Sam.'
He watched her pull away. The tail lights swept out of the car park and disappeared from view.
Mystified, Sam gazed down at the scrap of paper in his hand.
Lucy had written her name and phone number on it.
He shook his head and smiled.
Chapter 14
Half a bottle of vodka.
Holding the remaining half up to the light, Sam was pleasantly surprised at how little he had drunk last night. It was the least he had consumed for a long time. One minute, he had been sat down sipping the vodka, giving Carl Renshaw more thought. The next, he was spark out in the chair. He reminded himself how eventful yesterday had been. Far busier than any day he had experienced recently.
He hauled himself up off the settee and winced. Sleeping on there had done his neck no favours. Still, his dream hadn't been quite so horrendous last night. A vast array of faces had visited him, blending seamlessly into one another. Faces from the past, such as Richie and Walters, mingling with others he had only seen for the first time yesterday. Some had asked reluctantly for help. Others had simply sneered at him. He couldn't remember which image had done what. It was all too much of a blur now.
What he could recall with clarity was the end of the dream. Perhaps it had stayed with him because it had been so different. The expressions on the woman and girl had been ones of nervous apprehension this time, rather than complete terror. Their pleas quiet and controlled, in marked contrast to the frantic, hysterical screams that regularly haunted him.
That hadn't been the only difference.
His dreams always ended with those two particular faces staring back at him. Last night, however, they transformed into those of Carl's two daughters. The girls looked anxious, with slight concern etched onto their fresh faces. There was no doubt something was scaring them, but they asked for help while still retaining a certain measure of calmness.
Then fear began to creep into their eyes.
And the dream suddenly ended.
For the first time in two years, there had been no screams. No tears. No horror and no terror.
***
No answer.
That was strange. Carl had said ten o'clock and it was exactly that now. The Range Rover wasn't on the drive, so perhaps he had taken Molly out and they were running late. Sam decided to give it a few minutes before he tried Carl's phone.
With nothing else to do, he sauntered over to where Peter Canning was loading objects into the back of a transit van. Sam had clocked Peter watching him knock on the front door of the house. Sam could understand why he gave Molly the creeps.
'Morning, Peter. What are you up to?'
Peter was struggling with a large framed painting. Having lifted it onto the van's bumper, he was now trying to guide the artwork into the rear of the van.
'Hold on,' said Sam. 'I'll give you a hand.'
As he got nearer, Sam could see why Peter was having so much trouble. The van was already crammed with an assortment of paintings, large ornaments and various works of art. Together, the two men managed to squeeze the painting in.
'That's quite a collection you've got in there,' said Sam.
Peter slammed the van door shut.
'I'm moving it for the boss,' he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
Sam studied him. There was something about the man. A familiarity Sam couldn't explain.
'Where are you taking it?' he asked.
Sam hadn't meant to sound so blunt.
'I'm not nicking the bloody stuff, you know!'
She stopped herself and looked straight ahead.
'What?' asked Sam.
'I was going to say, if you still have research to do, you can come round mine and use my laptop.'
Even in the dimly-lit car park, Sam could see Lucy was blushing.
'Er, I think I've got everything I need, but thanks, anyway.'
Lucy didn't appear to have heard him. Reaching into the glove compartment, she pulled out a notepad and scribbled something on it, then ripped the page off and handed it to him.
'Well, the offer's there, anyway. Good-night, Sam.'
He watched her pull away. The tail lights swept out of the car park and disappeared from view.
Mystified, Sam gazed down at the scrap of paper in his hand.
Lucy had written her name and phone number on it.
He shook his head and smiled.
Chapter 14
Half a bottle of vodka.
Holding the remaining half up to the light, Sam was pleasantly surprised at how little he had drunk last night. It was the least he had consumed for a long time. One minute, he had been sat down sipping the vodka, giving Carl Renshaw more thought. The next, he was spark out in the chair. He reminded himself how eventful yesterday had been. Far busier than any day he had experienced recently.
He hauled himself up off the settee and winced. Sleeping on there had done his neck no favours. Still, his dream hadn't been quite so horrendous last night. A vast array of faces had visited him, blending seamlessly into one another. Faces from the past, such as Richie and Walters, mingling with others he had only seen for the first time yesterday. Some had asked reluctantly for help. Others had simply sneered at him. He couldn't remember which image had done what. It was all too much of a blur now.
What he could recall with clarity was the end of the dream. Perhaps it had stayed with him because it had been so different. The expressions on the woman and girl had been ones of nervous apprehension this time, rather than complete terror. Their pleas quiet and controlled, in marked contrast to the frantic, hysterical screams that regularly haunted him.
That hadn't been the only difference.
His dreams always ended with those two particular faces staring back at him. Last night, however, they transformed into those of Carl's two daughters. The girls looked anxious, with slight concern etched onto their fresh faces. There was no doubt something was scaring them, but they asked for help while still retaining a certain measure of calmness.
Then fear began to creep into their eyes.
And the dream suddenly ended.
For the first time in two years, there had been no screams. No tears. No horror and no terror.
***
No answer.
That was strange. Carl had said ten o'clock and it was exactly that now. The Range Rover wasn't on the drive, so perhaps he had taken Molly out and they were running late. Sam decided to give it a few minutes before he tried Carl's phone.
With nothing else to do, he sauntered over to where Peter Canning was loading objects into the back of a transit van. Sam had clocked Peter watching him knock on the front door of the house. Sam could understand why he gave Molly the creeps.
'Morning, Peter. What are you up to?'
Peter was struggling with a large framed painting. Having lifted it onto the van's bumper, he was now trying to guide the artwork into the rear of the van.
'Hold on,' said Sam. 'I'll give you a hand.'
As he got nearer, Sam could see why Peter was having so much trouble. The van was already crammed with an assortment of paintings, large ornaments and various works of art. Together, the two men managed to squeeze the painting in.
'That's quite a collection you've got in there,' said Sam.
Peter slammed the van door shut.
'I'm moving it for the boss,' he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve.
Sam studied him. There was something about the man. A familiarity Sam couldn't explain.
'Where are you taking it?' he asked.
Sam hadn't meant to sound so blunt.
'I'm not nicking the bloody stuff, you know!'
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