Читать книгу Operation Paradise - Sarah Evans - Страница 6

The black mini skirt was cool. The red slut heels wicked. The scarlet top would have been tastier cropped, though not on DS Fox. Even the perp would have baulked at his hairy belly button.

`You're looking cute, Foxy,' I said into the transmitter.

Foxy slung a hip over one shapely, spangle-stockinged leg and pouted.

`All the boys are hot,' I added for good measure.

Foxy held up an explicit finger.

`And you should show more respect to a senior officer,' I said.

Even from this distance I could see his stance freeze, his lips working on a litany of silent curses. Fox then dipped his head and spoke into his cleavage. `Sorry, boss. I thought you were one of the team.'

`I am. I've just come aboard. DI Eve Rock.'

`Welcome to Paradise, DI Rock,' said Fox.

That could have been a slick one-liner but Fox was actually referring to `Operation Paradise', a police operation launched to apprehend the person or gang abducting young women from Perth's Paradise Nightclub. I'd been seconded to help head the operation. This was my first day.

`Thanks, Foxy,' I said. `Good luck and careful you don't snag a stocking.'

`Yeah, right.'

I terminated radio contact and leaned against the wall, gazing down at the street corner where DS Fox was strutting his stuff. I was in one of the top rooms of an office building that was directly opposite the purple-painted Paradise Nightclub. The guys had been camping in this room for a couple of days and it was already a festering tip. Fast food wrappers spilled over from the bins and half-drunk cups of cold, scummy coffee littered every available surface. The air was stale with sweat and old pizza. It made my blood zing, causing my heart to shift up a beat or three. I love surveillance. It's a buzz.

But the ultimate is catching the crooks. That's better than sex. Even better than chocolate, and that's saying something. But right now, a box of Belgian shells would've had the edge. We had nothing to go on and time was ticking on. DI Sodbury was the investigating officer but he'd hit dirt and I'd been seconded from the suburbs to lend a helping hand, much to his disgust. It was a Wednesday before the long weekend's revelry and the Chief didn't want any more girls going missing. Abduction took the shine off holiday jollies.

So far three women had disappeared in a fortnight. Thankfully no bodies had surfaced, though that wasn't to say they wouldn't. I'd read the case reports just that morning. There was, as yet, no common denominator between the women, except they were young. Whoever was abducting them didn't seem to mind if they were fat, thin, blonde or brunette.

I didn't hold out much hope of Fox leading us to the abductor. Neither did Sodbury. It was the one and only thing we'd agreed on since I'd met him at the briefing.

Sodbury was one of those precious dinosaurs who believed a woman's place was in the home, barefoot, pregnant and preferably wearing slinks. He was late fifties with thin sandy hair holding on to a balding scalp for dear life; small, beady eyes that continuously flicked back and forth; a cauliflower nose and slack-lipped mouth. No Mr Universe and not my type by a thousand-fold, but that didn't stop him being a good solid copper.

Sodbury and I were told that Fox was an excellent undercover officer who knew the seedier side of life. The deskbound superiors reckoned it was worth having him on the ground floor, saving them the hassle of having a woman cop in the firing line. I didn't agree. The firing line was why I'd joined the force, but who was I to argue the toss? I'd learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut on these smaller skirmishes. It was the overall war that mattered.

I trained powerful binoculars on Fox. He was getting some grief from the local tarts who thought he was poaching their punters. Some hope. He said something to them and the next minute the women were slapping their bare thighs and laughing loud. Fox turned slightly sideways and I zoomed in on his impressive bosom. It was firm and fruity. He must have borrowed a D-cup bra from a well-upholstered WPC and stuffed it with a lush pair of grapefruit.

`Damn but he makes a tasty chick,' said Burton, one of the surveillance officers. The brown-haired cop, who at a guess was in his mid-thirties, was already running to fat due to the lifestyle of too many stakeouts. `He beats those old broilers hands down.'

`You interested, Burton?' said Ely, a younger, thinner and darker officer. He grinned. `I could set you up.'

`Get out of here.' Burton slung a chewed apple core at Ely who ducked effortlessly. They'd obviously done this routine before.

`What's Fox like?' I asked them once the horseplay subsided and Burton had his eyes screwed to the binoculars again.

`Private,' said Ely with a shrug. `Keeps to himself. Spends most of his time undercover.'

`Trustworthy?'

`Absolutely. He's as squeaky as they come.'

The tarts were soon speeding off in customers' cars and Fox moved back into the shadows. He did the cleavage talk thing again.

`I'm going inside to have a look around.' His voice was crackly and distorted over the wire. `Don't contact me unless it's an absolute emergency.'

`Ten-four, good buddy,' said Ely sounding like some Yankee truck driver. He'd be wittering on about rubber ducks next.

Half an hour later Fox reappeared on the arm of a burly dark bearded man. The man dwarfed Fox as he steered him towards a sleek silver Rover. The car was one of those sporty types that make me salivate. Burton jotted down the number plate and called it over the radio for owner confirmation. Ely was listening to Fox through the earphones. His shoulders began to shake.

`Watch this,' he mouthed, waving us to the window.

We looked out. The passenger door flew open and Fox was tossed from the car. He tumbled on to the pavement, all sprawled legs and spangled stockings. One of the slut heels tumbled into the gutter. Poor Cinders. Prince Charming had bombed out. The Rover shot off and Fox cussed into his D-cups while scrabbling about on all fours, retrieving his dinky sequinned handbag and spike shoe.

`Bloody bloke thought I was a tranny!' he gibbered.

`No, really?' I said. `I wonder where he got that idea?'

`This is not working, boss. I feel too vulnerable like this.'

`Now you know how half the population feels, Fox.'

You could feel the simmering heat melting the radio contact as Fox fought to control his annoyance.

`Point taken,' he said finally.

`You can take five and change your stockings. We've a spare pair of fishnets up here.'

`I can't wait.'

`Nor me.' I couldn't resist a chuckle.

My mobile phone rang just as the show was getting interesting. I would've carried on perving as Fox peeled off his laddered spangles if the caller hadn't been my daughter, Chastity. Muscular male thighs and sweet sixteen daughters do not mix. Believe it or not, I do have some integrity.

`Hi Mum,' she chirruped. `Thought I'd better remind you about parents' night.'

Parents' night! Grief. I hated parents' nights. Half the teachers made me feel I was ten, and a complete moron, while the others avoidrd eye contact because they'd been nicked for something.

`As if I'd forget,' I lied.

Since my latest promotion, Chastity had attended boarding school, the theory being I wouldn't have to worry about getting home every night, keeping up with the laundry and putting hot dinners on the table. It also meant I didn't have anyone updating the calendar.

`It's tonight.'

It was? Damn.

`I'm in the middle of an operation.' It was a valid excuse. I didn't have to go. I had an abductor to catch. Infinitely preferable to sitting opposite a bunch of arrogant, smart alec teachers discussing my shortcomings as a parent.

`You had forgotten! You weren't going to come and this is my first parents' night at Saint Immaculata's.' Sixteen years of emotional blackmail punched down the line.

My heart sank. I was a sucker where my daughter was concerned. She knew which buttons to press, and how.

`You want me there, I'll be there.'

`I want you there.'

`So I'll organise something.'

Look, I'd named my daughter Chastity in the vain hope she'd be smarter than me. And actually she was. Hey, a win!

And my mother had named me Eve. Why? Because of the original sin. But that ploy hadn't been quite so successful. Like my mother, I'd fallen pregnant after a one-night stand. Though in my case it had been a torrid weekend, but same difference. It goes without saying I hadn't seen the worthless Romeo again. My luck with men was abysmal, unless they were crooks and I was banging them to rights. This adds up to a social life as barren as the Simpson Desert. But that didn't mean I'd rather attend a painful parents' night than stay at home twiddling my thumbs, so I said goodbye to Chastity, then cursed as I stashed away my phone.

`Problems, chief?' said Burton.

`Nah.' Rule number one in the professional battle of the sexes: never admit weakness. Never tell them when the Achilles heel of family life is pierced. `Did you get a fix on the bloke with the Rover?'

`Yeah, he's a divorce lawyer. Leo Stark. Clean as far as a criminal record goes.'

`I doubt if he's the one we're looking for,' said Fox.

I turned to the young officer. He was taller than I'd calculated when seeing him on the street. Probably six foot without the red heels. He was rail thin, blond and cherubic and he easily cast Brad Pitt into the shade. Dreamy blue eyes were skilfully made-up with black eyeliner and mascara. Cherry lipstick emphasised his curved, full lips and made them look extremely kissable. I involuntarily licked my own. As Burton had said, Fox made one tasty chick.

I reached out and ran my fingertips over Fox's chin. It was firm, smooth and sleek. Not a hint of stubble, but I felt like teasing.

`Better shave,' I murmured. `Don't want you giving the punters bristle rash.'

His blue eyes, no longer dreamy but deliciously steamy, held mine for a spine-tingling second. A pulse jack-hammered at the base of his exposed throat. I resisted, just, the temptation to place a finger there too, because, hey, it wouldn't have been professional.

`Yes, boss,' he said and spun away to rummage in a black sports bag for his razor.

`Why don't you think the Rover bloke is our suspect?' I asked, admiring the view of to his scarlet, lurex-clad back.

`Didn't have the right smell.' He drew out a razor and clicked it on, running it over that dimpled jaw while he twisted back to face me.

I raised my brows and flicked a glance at the other two officers. Ely was eyeballing the street, but Burton had been watching our exchange. He shrugged and didn't offer an opinion. I turned back to Fox.

`Can you expand on that?'

`Not really. Just my gut instinct says he's clean.' He kept shaving.

`And this instinct has been honed how, exactly?'

Fox snapped off the razor and gave me a bland stare. `From my years on the street,' he said.

`Spare me. You haven't been a cop that long. You still reek of baby powder and teething rusks.'

He offered a tight, humourless smile, as if I'd hit a nerve. `For your information, DI Rock, I did have a life before I joined the police force.'

`And it's this previous life that honed your sense of er…smell?'

`Yes.'

`I see.' My curiosity was piqued but now wasn't the time to pursue the subject. `So we go with the smell?'

I wasn't convinced.

`Don't forget my gut instinct.'

My eyes automatically dropped to his flat belly shown to beauteous advantage in the scarlet stretch top. It was perfect, but did it mean it was a foolproof crime-o-metre? Hmm. But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.

`Okay. You're entitled to your opinion. But we'll do a follow up on him anyway.'

`Yes, boss.'

`Get back to your beat as soon as you're done.'

`Yes, boss.'

My eyes narrowed and I stared at his mild, angelic countenance. I wasn't sure if there was a lot going on behind that sweet face. Perhaps I'd been landed with a dud.

Or perhaps not.

It struck me that I could have a lot of fun finding out, now that Chastity wasn't home to cramp my style. I might miss having her around since she moved to St Immaculata's, but there was an upside to the arrangement. It meant I could indulge my addiction for red wine, Indian takeaways and cigars without Chastity - my very own Jiminy Cricket - ticking me off for my bad habits. Now there was a little ray of sunshine on an otherwise bleak home front.

The school hall was already packed. I was late by a good thirty minutes. Not bad considering my usual track record.

Chastity was nowhere in sight. I scanned the crowd. It teemed with Stepford Wives and my heart sank. I'd come straight from the stakeout in my bomber jacket, jeans and sneakers, still reeking from the chicken tikka and chapattis I'd shared with the boys. But perhaps I should have made the effort because the other mums were wearing classy clothes, high heels and expensive jewellery. Hair was coiffed, nails buffed and teeth were dazzling in their perfection. I ran my tongue over mine and hoped there were no lurking tikka spices lodged between the pearlies.

I then wondered about the state of my hair. When had I last brushed it? Not since this morning's shampoo and shower? Maybe. And that was hours ago. Best not think about it. Anyway, no one would notice in the scheme of things.

`Mum! Oh no, what have you done to your hair?'

There again, there's always Chastity to keep one grounded.

`I haven't done anything to it.' I went to give Chastity a hug but she held me at arm's length.

`That's obvious.'

`Don't be rude. It's clean. What more do you want?'

`For you to be properly dressed for once. You look like that seventies cop.'

`Starsky? Great. I'll take that as a compliment. So what's the problem?'

Chastity did an exasperated eye roll. `And you reek of garlic and something else…?' Her nose twitched. `You've had a curry. And a smoke! You said you were going to stop. Honestly, Mum.'

`Hey, can it! Are you glad to see me or not? I had to move mountains to get here tonight. I came straight from work.'

`Sorry, Mum. Of course I'm pleased to see you. Look, I've booked which teachers we have to see so we won't waste time.' My super-organised daughter handed me a printed list.

`So we do this thing together?'

`New policy.'

`Excellent.' At least I could hide my inferiority behind her straight-A brilliance.

First cab off the rank was Chastity's chemistry teacher. She was an attractive woman and would've been stunning if ever Sister Immaculata relaxed her stance on habit wearing. But she wouldn't. That wasn't the Iron Nun's style. Other church schools had slung out the habits and put a more hip spin on proceedings, but Sister Immaculata ran this joint with ramrod efficiency and discipline hailing from the dark ages. Which was one of the reasons why her school was so popular.

In her serene, low voice, Sister Mercy praised Chastity for her diligence and flair and mentioned all the extra time my daughter spent in the laboratory.

`Since when did you develop a love of science?' I whispered to Chastity as we moved on to the mathematics teacher. She just grinned, her eyes gleaming. Was I missing something here?

A schoolgirl crush maybe? It could be worse, I suppose. Drugs, rock and roll, disastrous boyfriends. But no, she wasn't me. Chastity was far too smart for that.

We were about half way through a particularly bad grilling by Sister Immaculata, the Iron Nun herself, about my lack of moral example when there was a stir at the entrance.

A tall willowy blond stood in backlit splendour. His jeans were scruffier than mine and he was shrugged into a battered American Air Force jacket I coveted instantly. I'd swear there was a collective sigh from all the women in the hall, including my prudish daughter.

Good, there was hope for her yet.

A cloud of schoolgirls hovered in muted hysteria around the golden Raphael angel. He ignored them and silently, methodically scanned the hall until his gaze fixed on me. Heat suffused me in all the interesting places as I suffered a jolt of recognition: Fox.

Grief, what was he doing here?

He began to walk towards me, using the same slow, measured stride Clint Eastwood had used in the Spaghetti Westerns. Very macho. Very effective. I went from feeling like the mother from Planet Disaster to the high school belle in a nanosecond. My kudos rose with every deliberate step trod by Fox.

His face remained beautifully bland as he apologised to Sister Immaculata for the unavoidable interruption. She actually simpered and blushed. Yuk. It wasn't pretty. Fox then smiled sweetly at Chastity before turning his attention to me.

`Can I have a word, DI Rock?' he said.

I vowed there and then he could have whatever he wanted. He'd made my night by establishing my street-cred and shutting-up the steely-spined nun who'd been reading me my rights as a parent.

Let me explain about Sister Immaculata. She'd founded the all-girls school after having a vision to educate girls in an environment of high moral calibre. And she didn't let you forget it, not for one single, sinful second.

How do I know this?

Because she's also my mother.

She'd had me before the call to sainthood, while she was still working the streets. Falling pregnant with me put a stop to her nocturnal career and made her do some serious reality checking. It was so serious she turned her back on the dozen-men-a-night habit to embrace celibacy and a totally different sort of habit. I should be grateful.

I think.

Anyway, Sister Immaculata now reluctantly agreed we could use her office. Fox and I followed her stumpy, penguin-like figure. I was conscious of a hundred envious eyes as Fox and I walked side by side, both in our tight jeans and creaking leather. Eat your hearts out, Stepford Wives.

`Well, Fox, this better be good,' I said, acting tough as the disapproving nun closed the door on us.

A slight smile hovered around his lips, lips that were now free of lipstick and still extremely kissable. His eyes held traces of mascara, which I confess I found deliciously attractive, especially when they crinkled at the corners.

`You've had a long day, guv. I thought you could do with an early night,' Fox said. He didn't bat one angelic eyelid. He was acting cool to freezing. And I was goose-bumping everywhere to prove it.

But his baby blues were hot.

The smell of tikka, cigar smoke and leather clung about us. I decided on a rapid assessment.

`What sort of car do you drive, Fox?'

`Spitfire.'

That swung it. I love fast cars.

And leather.

And hot, hot, HOT baby blues.

`Give me half an hour,' I said. `And we'll shoot through.'

`But you can't go yet,' wailed Chastity. `You've only just got here. It's because of that cute guy, isn't it?'

`He's a police officer and I have work to do.' I tried not to focus on the statue of Our Lady just behind Chastity's head. I was already feeling guilty as hell. I didn't need anything else to prick my shaky conscience.

`I don't believe you.'

`Chastity!'

`And you haven't even seen my room.'

`Let's do it now, but make it quick.'

We jogged down the corridors, my sneakers squeaking on the highly-polished tiles while her neat low heels clickety-clacked.

Her room was tidy. No surprise there. Chastity was always tidy. I sometimes wondered if I'd picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. If it weren't for our replica mops of red hair, I'd go for a DNA match.

Chastity tries to tame hers into a civilised style. I let mine corkscrew to kingdom come. We also have similar wide, brown eyes. Not a lot you can do with those, except mine are sometimes a little bloodshot after a bender and hers sparkle all the time. She puts it down to the huge quantities of water she drinks. That wouldn't suit my system in a fit. I need the roughage of red wine and tobacco to bolster me for the job.

Chastity's walls were a jarring note in the clutter-less room. They were covered in a multitude of slogans. Some were about healthy living, such as giving up smoking and drinking and saying no to drugs. Others stated the body was a temple of Christ and to treat it accordingly. There was a lot about celibacy and the like.

Okay, I was proud of my little girl and wished I could be as morally highbrow. But not yet. Not with a leather-clad Fox in a Spitfire. Some things were just too, too tempting.

`Are the other girls into all this?' I asked, waving at the notices. Some had a red and gold double `V' emblem stamped on them.

`Pretty much. We thought we would launch a crusade to encourage other girls to think twice before using drink and drugs,' said Chastity, her eyes glazing with fanatical fervour as she beheld a vision of her own making. I recognised that look. I got it too, but for other, more earthy reasons.

`What do the two V's stand for?'

`You don't want to know.' She giggled, blushed and then hustled me out. `You'd better go before that yummy young cop comes searching.'

`Hey, not so fast. When did you go in for black sequins?' I held up a little black, sparkly dress that'd been hanging on the back of the door next to Chastity's chaste pink fluffy dressing gown.

`It belongs to my room-mate.' She held my eyes, daring me to call her bluff. As if I would. I trusted my daughter. Most of the time.

`I'm surprised Sister Immaculata allows outfits like these. She didn't in my day.'

`It's just for dressing up,' said Chastity. `No big deal.'

I should've known better. My daughter doesn't deign to undertake anything that's not important. But my sensors didn't pick up the discordant note. Blame the hormones. They were focusing on something completely different.

And that something was waiting outside…