St George's Day
April 22nd
The desk sergeant turned and watched as the door opened and two people walked in. One was a tall, thin man in his late fifties, the other a young blonde haired woman in her late twenties. They stopped and flashed their warrant cards at the surprised man.
“DCI Grayson, DS Wayne, SCO,” the man said quietly. “Where is he?”
The uniformed officer stood up and took the new arrivals into the cell block, stopping at a door and sliding back the eyehole. Grayson looked in to see a slightly portly man in his late fifties sleeping on the bunk, his greying hair on a pillow.
“Gotcha,” Jack Grayson said as he looked at George Simpson, and turned away. Jennifer Wayne looked through, taking her first look at the man she had only briefly glimpsed before, before nodding to the officer to close the shutter. Inside the cell, George looked up as he heard the clang of metal, and a smile briefly crossed his face.
April 14th
The door to the room opened, and George turned from the coffee machine to see Penelope walk in, the red leather of her skirt rustling slightly as she walked over and sat down.
“Good morning, George,” she said as she sat down, “Can I trouble you for a cup?”
“No problem,” he said as he filled two mugs and brought them over. “So, did you talk to her?”
“I did,” she said as she accepted the mug and took a sip, “and we can do as you ask. In fact, if you wanted, we could do this a lot more discreetly and simply fly you from a private airport, but I presume you have a reason for what you want to do.”
“Don’t I always,” George said as she sat down and took a drink. “Incidentally, how’s Lily?”
“Doing extremely well – Madame is most pleased with her. Sadly, she’s on assignment elsewhere, or else...”
“No – she has to play no part in this. None whatsoever – I sent her to you to keep her safe. We have to do this to protect her – and her mother.”
Penelope nodded before taking another drink. “I understand. So, when do you wish to make your move?”
April 22nd
Grayson and Wayne were waiting in the interview room as George was brought in by a uniformed officer. As Jennifer turned on the tape recorder, Jack Grayson started talking.
“April 22nd, 12.30 pm, DCI Jack Grayson and DS Jennifer Wayne interviewing George Derek Simpson. Have you been informed of your rights?”
George simply nodded, and Grayson continued. “For the purposes of the tape, Mister Simpson has nodded in response to the question. I understand you have declined the presence of a lawyer, is that right, George?”
“For now – until you charge me with something, and we can have a little chat until then.”
“Charge... George, you escaped from a court house and have been on the run for nearly a year. I think we can move straight to the charges if you want, but firs t, I need to know a few things.
“If you’re willing to talk, that is.”
George shrugged and put his hands behind his back. “Why not – what do you want to talk about?”
Jennifer leaned forward. “Let’s start with how you managed to get yourself caught yesterday.”
April 21st
The early spring sunshine was trying to warm up the suburban street, but with little success as people pulled their coat collars up to keep out the chill. From across the street, the two men watched the front door of the end terraced house, with the neat little lawn in front, waiting to see what may happen.
“That uppity muck from SCO doesn’t really think he will show his face here, does he?”
“Who knows – the word I hear is he’s been obsessed with getting his hands on Simpson ever since he paid a visit to his wife.”
The first man looked over at him. “He didn’t...”
“No, he didn’t. He may be a crook and a criminal, but he’s old school and would never do that. No, it just got to Grayson, that’s all – so now we’re watching this house and getting paid for sitting on our butts to do it.”
The other man nodded. “Why this house?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s just a.... Now that’s funny.”
“What is?”
“The curtains are closed in the front room.”
“And? The woman inside may be playing a computer game and wants some shade.”
“The lady inside doesn’t own a computer. Actually, I haven’t seen her all day. Hang on a sec...”
He picked up a radio. “Control, this is Ketteridge. Can you get a woodentop to check out the address we’re watching – it may be nothing, but we need to keep them happy.”
“Understood – give me ten minutes,” a voice replied, and the two men went back to watching the house.
The two uniformed officers walked up to the corner house as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to do. As one proceeded around the corner, the other quietly slipped through the gate and walked up to the front of the house, pausing briefly before knocking on the door.
There was no answer, but he saw out of the corner of his eye the briefest of twitches of the curtain. Knocking again, he put his ear to the door and heard the sound of someone heading to the rear of the house. Standing back a few steps, he braced himself to take a run at the front door, but checked himself in time as it was opened by his colleague, standing behind a portly middle-aged man with greying hair and holding the man’s arm tightly against his back.
“Give me a hand, will you?” he called out as his friend took the other arm of the captive and held him against the wall, waiting as a pair of handcuffs were slapped around the struggling man’s wrists. As they were clicked shut, the two detectives came running over from the other side of the street.
“I don’t believe it – is that him?” they said as they stood there panting.
“No bloody idea – but you need to hold him and call this in. We have work to do inside.”
The two detectives stayed there, one holding the man as the other talked into his radio, while the two uniformed officers went back into the house. In the darkened front room, they could see a woman lying on a long couch, her wrists pinned behind her back and silver tape around her ankles, legs and wrists. She was wearing a light blue capped sleeve top and striped Capri pants, and she stared back at them over the layer of silver tape that covered the lower half of her face.
“HLP M!!” she screamed as the two officers looked at her. As one of them went into the room, the other left to check the rest of the house.
“Are you all right?” the man asked as he gently peeled the tape away from her mouth and helped her to sit up.
“Thank god,” she whispered hoarsely as the officer started to release her from her bonds. “He broke in last night and held me hostage all night. He had done this to me and was about to leave when you must have knocked on the door and made him panic. Thank you, thank you so muchccchhhh....”
She started to sob, great big cries of relief, as the uniformed policeman held her in her arms. His colleague came back in, shaking his head to show there was no-one else, before calling for an ambulance.
Outside, a police car arrived and waited as the two detectives took their manacled guest and placed him in the back.
“Take him down to the station, throw him in a nice cold cell, and then call London and tell them we’ve got their man,” they said as they watched the door slammed shut, and the car being driven off into the distance.
April 22nd
“So, George, you could not resist the temptation to return home in the end?”
Jack Grayson sat back and looked at the man sitting opposite, as a smile crossed his face.
“Well, you do need to come home one last time before you leave, don’t you?”
Grayson looked through his notebook. “Well, you’ve had quite a journey, Simpson – criss-crossing the country, and attacking and robbing defenceless women as you did so, never mind two jewellery heists and that bank robbery you pulled off. By the way, where are the rest of your gang?”
“No comment.”
“And your niece, Lily – where is she?”
“No comment.”
Grayson looked at his watch. “Interview suspended at 4.30 pm.” Jennifer turned off the tape recorder, and watched as George was taken by the arm.
“Simpson?”
“Yes, Inspector?”
“We’ll start again in an hour or so – take the time to re-consider your decision about the lawyer.”
George smiled as he was taken out of the door, and Grayson stretched to yawn.
“Bite to eat, Wayne?”
“I’ll catch you up, Boss – I need to call home and talk to someone first.”
“Fair enough,” he said as they both left the room, Jack heading for the canteen while Jennifer left the building and dialled a number on her phone.
In her small detached house, Helen Grayson was looking in her mirror, adjusting her woggle so that the kerchief around her neck fell squarely around her neck and under the collar of her dark blue blouse. She turned her head as the phone rang, and walked over to the small table that the receiver sat on.
“Hello?”
“Oh, hi Mum, it’s Jennifer. I’m just calling to say I’ll be late home tonight, so I’m sorry but I’ll miss the ceremony at the hall. Congratulations anyway.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jennie. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah – we’ve had a breakthrough and I need to get a few things sorted out. So, how does it feel to be named Akela?”
“I still think Den Mother is a better name, but I don’t make those rules. It feels funny, but I guess that’s just how it works. Look, you take care of yourself, and I’ll talk to you later.”
“All right, I’ll talk to you later. ‘bye Mum.”
Helen put down the phone and straightened her blouse as it lay over the straight blue skirt. Turning round, she had intended to take her coat off the rack, but something else caught her attention, and she stood there transfixed as the light gleamed off the metal.
“Interview restarted at 6 pm. All right, George, will you answer one question for me?”
Grayson and Wayne looked over at George Simpson as he sat, arms folded.
“If it will help you pass the time, Mister Grayson. What’s your question?”
“Why did you go to the places you went – what was your plan?”
“You speak as if I had a plan – to be honest, most of the time I was just wandering aimlessly,” George said as he sat back.
“Oh come on,” Jennifer said as she leaned forwards, “you don’t just randomly go and hit one bank while simultaneously diverting attention to the other branch in that town. You don’t just decide to hit the four employees of a jewellery dealership that hold the security code. You don’t...”
“I did say most of the time, didn’t I?” George leaned forward and smiled at Jennifer. “Sometimes I may have stuck around in one place for a while, and it may have been the same places where those incidents occurred. Mind you, there was one place I did enjoy visiting.”
“Oh, and where was that?”
George leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his face, and looked at Jack. “Your home town, DCI Grayson, a lovely place to visit – and I did so enjoy visiting the Oxfam shop in the town centre.”
Jack stared back at him, a red spot developing in his cheek. “So, you admit attacking the two women in that shop?”
“I admit nothing – I just say I enjoyed visiting that shop. Although, it was a very nice woman who helped me there – I do hope she doesn’t feel she’s tied down to that one line of work...”
Jennifer didn’t realise until it was too late how angry her superior was getting, but as the table flew up and Jack rushed to grab George by the throat she called out “I need help here!” before trying to restrain him as he reached for their suspect’s throat. For his part, George had shot out of the seat and stepped back, allowing the uniformed officer to hold him as she watched Jack Grayson screaming a string of obscenities into his face.
“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!!” Jennifer screamed as George was led away, and two other officers came in to hold Jack back. She turned and looked at her superior officer, still swearing and shouting at the retreating man.
“Jack, what the hell did you think you were doing? I know what he did to your wife, but you let him get to you! You may be my superior, but I’m telling you now – go home and calm down. We can start this again in the morning.” She walked over to where the tape recorder had been thrown when the table was upset, and spoke into the microphone.
“Interview suspended 6.30 pm” she said before turning the recorder off and removing the tapes, then turning to the two officers holding Jack by the arms. “DCI Grayson is leaving for the night – make sure he gets home,” she said as Jack slowly calmed down. “I want a word with Simpson in half an hour.”
April 20th
Patty stared in disbelief at the two people who had entered her front room unannounced. One was a middle aged man with greying hair, who was pointing a gun at her and smiling. The other was a young woman of about her height, wearing a long black coat, dark glasses and with a scarf tied over her hair.
“Well,” the man said, “What do you think?”
“No problem – a little make up, the right expression and we can do this,” the woman said as she removed her coat, scarf and glasses. For a moment, Patty felt she was staring into a slightly distorted mirror – she looked a lot like her, right down to the shoulder length red hair, but it wasn’t a total likeness.
“What do you want,” Patty stammered as she looked between the two people.
“I want you to tell me where your cellar is,” the man replied as he smiled, “And then I want you to turn round and put your hands behind your back.” As he finished this, he took a coil of rope from his back pocket and held it in front of her, and Patty’s eyes widened. “We just need you to be out of the way for a little while – that’s all,” the man said as he uncoiled the rope, doubled it over and passed it over Patty’s head, pulling her arms tightly to her side as he did so.
April 22nd
The shutter on the cell door clanged open, then shut, before the heavy iron was unbolted and George watched Jennifer Wayne walking into the cell.
“Not a formal interview then, my dear?” Jennifer stayed silent until the office left the doorway, then stood against the cell wall, her arms crossed and the bottom of her light grey suit jacket rising as she watched George.
“You really are a cool customer, aren’t you Simpson? I have to admit, I knew Jack was angry after that attack on your wife, but you managed to press all the right buttons on him.”
“Well, I have to admit I got some pleasure from that, but I won’t admit anything more than that. After all, I may have been lying, and just going on what the papers said.”
Jennifer uncrossed her arms and stood up, the heels of her leather boots clacking on the flagstone floor. “Come on, George – you know we’ve got enough eye witnesses to put you away for a very long time, even if we can’t get the rest of your gang. Your days on the run are over, your journey finished.”
George smiled as he stood up. “Jennifer – May I call you Jennifer – you are right in the last part of that. Whatever I may have done – and note I admit nothing at this point – my journey is indeed over. However, I think there is something that you should do before we talk anymore.”
“Oh – what’s that?”
Something about George’s smile was bothering her, but she wasn’t sure what. She looked at her watch to break the eye contact, noting it was 8 o’clock.
“If I was you, Jennifer, I’d call home and see what happened with the ceremony your mother was attending. Go on – I can wait.”
A knot started to form in the pit of Jennifer’s stomach, as she said “Why?”
“Oh come on – you missed her big day, and you don’t want to know how it went?. Oh – and just call. I’ll know if you try anything else.”
Looking at him, Jennifer slowly walked out of the cell block, the door slamming shut, and walked back to the outside of the building, the knot growing bigger with every step. Trembling, she took her mobile phone and dialled her mother’s number.
Helen stared as the telephone started ringing, trying desperately to raise her hands from where they were secured down to the heavy wooden arms of the chair. She tried to call out as the answering machine kicked in, and she heard her daughter saying “Mum? Please, Mum, if you’re there pick up the phone and answer.”
The masked woman smiled as she walked over, picked up the receiver and said in a clear voice with a slight North-Eastern accent “I’m afraid your mother cannot talk to you right now, DS Wayne – but I’m glad to see you got our message.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Why don’t you ask your mother,” the woman said as she held the receiver to Helen’s mouth. She wanted to warn her daughter, but the kerchief that was tied tightly into her mouth, and the sponge ball behind it, meant all that Jennifer heard was “Jnfr, pls hlp m, pls d s t sy.”
The intruder smiled, and took the phone back to say “As you can see, DS Wayne, we have your mother quite comfortable in our presence. Now, if you want to see her alive again, you will go back and do exactly what George tells you to do – and no arguments. We will be watching, and we will know if you raise the alarm at all.”
Helen looked at the woman as she stood there, dressed in a black tight fitting jumper and leggings that were tucked into knee length black leather boots. Thin leather gloves were on her hands, and a black balaclava over her head obscured all except her heavily rouged lips and sparkling blue eyes. After she had been surprised by seeing her, the woman had quite forcibly taken her back into the front room of her house, made her sit down on an old wooden armchair and tied her wrists down to the armrests with a length of rope, that passed around each wrist, between it and the wood and around her upper thighs to hold them together as well. Her ankles had been tied together and pulled back so that only the tips of her brogues touched the floor, and secured to the rope that held her waist firmly against the back of the chair. Finally, her legs were tied together below her knees, and her mouth filled with a sponge ball that was held in place by her own kerchief.
“Do you understand me, DS Wayne,” the female intruder repeated. “Hang up, go back and talk to George – he will tell you what to do next.”
Replacing the handset, the woman sat down and looked at Helen. “Don’t worry, Mrs Wayne,” she said as a smile played on her lips, “I’m sure you will get over this inconvenience.” Helen screamed at her as she still struggled to free her wrists from the ropes holding them tightly down to the chair.
The cell door clanged open, and George looked up to see Jennifer Wayne walk in, a grim look on her face.
“We’ll be all right – close the door,” she said, and as the uniformed officer closed the door to she turned to look at the smiling prisoner.
“You fucking bastard – what the hell are you doing paying someone to hold my mother hostage?” she whispered with a real sense of venom. George smiled and said “Who said I’m paying anyone? But, so long as I have your attention, here’s what I think you should do....”
It took ten minutes before the duty officer heard a bang on the door, and opened it to let Jennifer out. She looked back at George, then turned and walked down the corridor.
April 23rd
1 am
The duty sergeant looked up and was surprised to see DS Wayne coming towards him, accompanied by two female uniformed officers. “Can I help you?” she said as she looked at the party.
“I’ve got orders to take Simpson back to London,” Jennifer said as she gave the sergeant a sheaf of paper. She looked the closely typed sheets over, before picking up a set of keys.
“These seem to be in order,” she said as she unlocked the cell door. “Up you get, Simpson – you’re been moved.”
George rubbed his eyes, looked at Jennifer and the three women officers, and smiled. “Oh well, a night drive can be good for the nerves,” he said as he stretched and stood up. “Can I ask one favour before I go?”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to struggle too much while my friends restrain you,” George said with a smile as the WPC’s took the custody sergeant by the arms and forced her into the cell, Jennifer watching helplessly as she was forced to lie down on the bunk and her arms pulled behind her back.
3 am
The unmarked car was waved out of the station, with DS Wayne in the passenger seat and one of the WPCs in the back with George Simpson. As it made its way through the town, the driver smiled and said “You’re doing very well, DS Wayne – your mother will be very proud of you.”
“Where is she?” Jennifer said through her closed mouth, and as if in answer the radio came to life in the car. “Thank you, DS Wayne,” the voice she had heard earlier in the evening said, “Your mother is safe and well, but staying with us until this night is over.”
Jennifer pulled at the handcuffs that held her left hand to the car door, before turning and looking at George. “All right, you’ve forced me to do this, but can you at least answer my questions now?”
George smiled back.
“Why not? Ask away.”
“The two jewellery raids and the bank robbery?”
“Guilty as I would have been charged.”
“What about the raids before that – Maidstone, London, the hotels?”
“Well, I was broke and hungry – I had to fend for myself, didn’t I? At least I treated those women with a little respect.”
Jennifer looked at George in the rear view mirror. He was relaxed, smiling, safe in the knowledge he was going away – and she hated him for that.
“The raids on the surgery in the North?”
“Not me. On that you have my word – and my word that if I ever find out who targeted my sister...”
“That business in Newcastle?”
“Hmm – well, you did fall for it, didn’t you?”
“The estate agent and her daughter at Christmas?”
“Ah – that one really was a spur of the moment visit. I was visiting old haunts one last time, took a temporary job, saw her there and – well, it put you off the scent again for a while.”
Jennifer was taken aback by his casual admittance of the events of the last year, and yet admired his open honesty about all he had done. She decided to ask one last question.
“Did you deliberately target DS Grayson that day?”
George looked back to her for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not, but it made the game more exciting. It also allowed me to make some arrangements for my getaway, as you have plainly seen.”
Jennifer turned round and stared out of the windscreen. “Everything – every random step, or what we thought was random, was planned. Hang on – what about Canterbury?”
“Honestly? I went to lay flowers on the grave of my mother.”
Jennifer turned round and looked at him. “Your mother? I never knew you were from Canterbury.”
“You really should read the files,” George said as he looked out at the black countryside. “Oh, before I forget, the arrest yesterday? All part of the plan – I knew you were following and watching my old stomping grounds, so I decided to use it to my advantage.”
“I figured as much – what must that woman think to be a patsy in your schemes?”
“I don’t know,” George said as he looked out of the window, “I don’t think they’ve asked her yet.”
Jennifer turned round and looked at George as the two WPCs started laughing.
6 am
The man was woken by the constant banging on his back door. Mumbling under his breath, he got out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown, the banging continuing.
“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he said as he went down the wooden staircase. There was a silhouette against the glass door in his kitchen, and he walked cautiously in.
“What the hell,” he said to himself as he saw the outline of a woman against the door, her face pressed against the glass and something obscuring her mouth. Opening the door, he was shocked by the sight of his next door neighbour falling in, her body encircled in white rope that was stained with dirt and grubby tear strained cheeks visible around the silver tape that covered her mouth.
“Patty?” he said as he caught her and held her, her body shivering. “What the hell – have you been robbed again?” He reached down and peeled the tape away from her mouth.
“What do you mean again?” she croaked, “I’ve been like this since the day before yesterday. Call the police – quickly.”
7.30 am
Jack Grayson stared at disbelief at the sight that greeted him in George’s cell. The custody sergeant was lying face down on the bunk, her wrists secured together behind her back with her own handcuffs and her ankles lashed together with her belt. A white cloth had been stuffed into her mouth, stopping her from raising the alarm. As her colleagues struggled to free her, eh turned and looked at one of the uniformed officers.
“Tell me again,” he said slowly, “how they managed this.”
“Two female police officers arrived and asked to speak to DS Wayne,” he stammered. “She took them into an office, then went down to the cells. Next thing, they’re taking Simpson to a car and driving off. We at least have the car number, and have an alert out to all forces.”
“I don’t understand it – we didn’t release his capture to the press, so how did they...”
His thoughts were interrupted by the cackle of a radio. The uniformed officer listened, his face paling with every second, before he turned to Jack.
“Sir?”
“What now,” he cried out angrily.
“Sir, we’ve had a call from the address next to where Simpson was arrested. Apparently the owner has just unlocked his door to find a young woman bound and gagged, claiming to be the owner of the property and saying she was held hostage in her garden shed for two days.”
Jack Grayson stared at the officer, before mumbling “The cunning little bastard, but how did he...” He looked up at the police constable.
“Get onto the Met, fast, and ask them to send a squad car round to the home of Helen Wayne, DS Wayne’s mother. NOW!!”
April 14th
“How long? Let’s see...” George put his mug of coffee down. “We need some time to take care of whoever is living in the one house they must be watching, find if the delightful sounding DS Wayne has any family, and make preparations for my trip.”
“Already in hand,” Penelope said. “We will have the details within 72 hours. So, when do you want to really get under the police force’s skin?”
George looked at his watch. “One week – and again, thank those two for getting me here safely. I never knew John cared that much for my welfare.”
“I’m not sure he does,” Penelope said as she placed her cup on the table. “He does care for professionals like himself, and their welfare. You do know you can’t come back to the UK again – not after this.”
“I don’t want to – I have plans for a long and happy retirement. Just have everything on the boat when I get there.”
Penelope smiled “It will be done. Good day, George – I will see you some time?”
“It will be a pleasure, Penelope,” George replied as he stood up and watched her leave the room. “A real pleasure...”
April 23rd
6 am
The small Dorset coastal village was barely stirring as the car pulled up at the dockside. The driver got out of the car, looked round and then opened the passenger door, taking Jennifer by the arm and leading her into the small boathouse as George and the other woman climbed out. Inside, a small powerboat was waiting as George picked up a coil of white rope.
“Please, Jennifer,” he said with a smile as he stood there, “put your hands out in front of you. I would like the pleasure of making sure you cannot raise the alarm before I leave.”
“What about my mother,” she said as the rope was pulled tightly around her wrists, forcing her hands together palm to palm.
“Oh, she’ll be released soon enough – once I have a chance to make a clean getaway. These two lovely ladies will keep you company for a while as well.”
Passing the rope between her wrists, George pulled them up and passed the rope through a ring hanging from the ceiling. As her arms were pulled above her head, and the rope passed down and around her waist to secure her to the pillar she was standing beside, she asked “Do you honestly think you will be able to get away with this?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
8 am
The two officers broke open the front door of the detached house and called out “Police!! Mrs Wayne, where are you?”
The muffled calls led them to the front room, where they found Helen staring at them over her tape gag, her eyes red from the tears that stained her cheeks and her blouse opened at various places from her struggles. As one of them peeled the tape away, pulling the cotton wool out that had been pushed into her mouth, the other started to untie the ropes that held her down.
“Who did this,” they asked Helen as she caught her breath, but her only words were “Where’s Jennifer? Where’s my daughter?”
10 am
The flashing blue lights caught the attention of everyone in the village as they raced towards the dockside and parked outside one of the boathouses. Jack Grayson jumped out and ran to the door, accompanied by several officers.
Pausing only briefly, he pulled the door open to be greeted by teh sight of Jennifer Wayne lashed to a pole, her hands tied above her head and her ankles tied tightly together. A knotted scarf was pulled into her mouth, and as Jack untied it she spat out a gent’s handkerchief.
“Simpson?” he said as he looked at his junior officer.
“Gone – my mother?”
“Safe – he played us all, didn’t he?”
Jennifer nodded as her hands finally were allowed to drop to her front.
“You do know what today is, don’t you?” Jack said as they both sat down.
“It’s the 23rd of April.”
“Yup – St George’s Day, and George Simpson must feel as if he just slew the biggest dragon of them all.”
Epilogue
The two women walked past the tavern, their eyes hidden by large sunglasses. The older one had a long chiffon scarf tied in her greying blonde hair, while the younger had her blonde hair hanging in a ponytail behind her back. Both were wearing light sundresses that billowed in the slight breeze, their D&G handbags at their sides and their Jimmy Choo shoes clicking on the cobbles.
The young woman turned back to the grey haired man she had bene talking to.
“So, Uncle, where are you living now?”
“Mainly in Basel – so convenient for the markets and the continent – but I travel a lot as well.”
“Keeping out of mischief?”
George looked over at Lily and smiled. “You know me, my girl. Look, I have to go – it’s been lovely seeing you, and give my best to Penelope.”
Lily smiled as her uncle left some notes on the table, and walked down the street past the shoppers and holiday makers. “Take care, George,” she whispered as she sipped her drink.
Half an hour later, the two women climbed into the driver and passenger seat of their car. As the older one put the key in the ignition, she turned and looked at her daughter as a gasp escaped her mouth.
“Mellina?”
“Your daughter gasped as I pressed my gun into her back,” a male voice said from behind the chair. “Just act casually, drive off and go back to your house, and you’ll be just fine.”
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I just want to visit a while – now, nice and casual, drive home.” George smiled as the car reversed back.