Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) by Richard Harrington Page A

needs to get him to the hospital.’
    She stared at him, ‘Oh, the poor woman, lying there all alone at death’s door.’
    ‘Yeah. Oh well, I suppose I ought to do it.’
    She snatched his cup, ‘You certainly will, ‘cos that poor woman will be needing her son. I don’t know, you give birth to them, and they’re never there when you’re dying.’
     
    Pulling up to the meeting point, the driver saw a tall, blond young man, and in a moment was driving back to Cheltenham, and though he tried conversation through the journey, the creepy blond only wanted answers to the same questions he’d asked on the phone.
    Had his fare been a big man with brown hair? Did he have an army-style backpack? What time did he pick him up? Had he been alone? Where did he pick him up from? What time did he drop him off in Cheltenham? Did he say what his plans were? Questions, questions, questions.
    After a while the driver began to get a nasty feeling that something wasn’t quite right, after all, these two men couldn’t be more different, and how they could be best friends was just too hard to believe, and now there seemed to be no concern at all, or even any mention of his friend’s mother who was supposed to be seriously ill.
    The blond’s mobile rang just as they were coming into Cheltenham.
    ‘Hello? Ah, yes, good afternoon sir. Oh, not too bad, just a few minor problems, he’s a rather slippery character. No, he doesn’t, and it shouldn’t be too long now.’
    ‘Yes sir, I’m getting quite close. Cheltenham actually. Yes, it is rather ironic.’
    Giggling, he laughed callously at someone’s private joke.
    ‘I certainly will, sir, you can rely on that. No ... not at all. It will be a pleasure ... and believe me, the pleasure will be all mine. Yes sir, and goodbye for now.’
    Looking up into the rear view mirror, the driver saw the blond’s eyes staring into his, and they seemed to be warning, or threatening, like twin points of blue ice. Looking arrogantly away, the creepy blond stared coldly out through the window, his thin lips forming a sneering smile, confident and vengeful.
     
    The driver’s guts turned over. This was no friend, helping a friend, this was a bloody awful situation and somehow he’d got mixed up in it.
    Carrying on through town, the driver wanted this creep out of his car as soon as possible, but as he pulled up to the big man’s address, he couldn’t help feeling guilty.
     
    ‘Cabby, this is the right address, isn’t it? You’re quite certain?’
    The driver glanced down to his worksheet that settled any arguments with the taxman.
    It showed the pickup, cost, and destination address of all his fares, and with a shrug, passed it back to the blond.
    ‘Yeah, this is the place. Well you can see that for yourself.’
    The blond took the clipboard, and looking down the list, smiled as he ran his finger along the line of the last entry, but glancing to the meter, he frowned.
    ‘Yes, this would seem to be the right address, but why did you overcharge him.’
    ‘Overcharge him? What the hell do you mean?’
    ‘Well according to the excellence of your bookkeeping, both my friend and I have made an identical journey, and yet there’s a difference of £5 in the meter readings.’
    ‘Five pounds, but that’s impossible, there can’t be.’
    ‘Well it’s here, clear enough, unless you made a detour.’
    The driver remembered the florists, ‘That’s it, I had to wait while he bought flowers.’
    The blond smiled. ‘Flowers. And flowers for a woman no doubt.’
    Turning, he gazed up to the old house, ‘And did you see my friend, enter the house?’
    ‘No, I was too busy with the traffic.’
    ‘Indeed. And that, I fear, may be the pity of it.’
     
    The blond tried the house, but as expected it was a decoy and time was running out fast.
    When the syndicate discovered this Section man was to be the investigating officer at Thornley Manor, it was decided their only chance was to turn him into a