EXTRACT FOR
Revenge
(Author Unknown)

Chapter One

    

    The early morning rays of sunlight bathed Damien Palmer's bedroom in a pale, golden light, bringing the promise of warmth into the room. It was not yet six o'clock in the morning but Palmer was already awake, his troubled mind keeping him from the luxury of more than the few hours of sleep that his body had demanded. Even as he had been sleeping, his mind continued to work out the permutations of the case he was involved with. It needed to be resolved in the next few days, though the probability of a successful conclusion seemed bleak enough. With those first few rays of light penetrating the cool darkness of the late-summer night that was even now fading into history Palmer wondered where the light would begin to shine in the case he was working on. 

    It had all seemed so different a few months previously when the woman had telephoned him to ask his advice. He really had thought he would be able to help her. After all, missing people were one of his specialities and it was not as if her husband had been gone that long either. Admittedly two months would have been long enough for him to leave the country but his passport was still at home and it had not seemed that he had prepared for a period of time away from home. Palmer's first impression had been that the man, Stephen Green, had made absolutely no preparations to leave his wife. More likely it had been a spur of the minute decision. A close examination had shown none of his clothes were missing and neither were his personal effects. That had been six weeks previously when Green's wife, Dawn, had contacted Palmer. At first Palmer had thought the nervous woman was slightly paranoid. As time had elapsed his first impressions had, for some unfathomable reason, taken root in his mind.

    Now, nearly two months into the investigation, Palmer was on the brink of admitting defeat. Green had not been seen at work since the day he had disappeared and it appeared no one knew where he was. Moreover, it was becoming increasingly difficult to understand what he was living on, for the couple had a joint account and he had made no drawings on the meagre balance that had existed at the time of his disappearance.

    Palmer had considered many angles in the case. He'd interviewed friends and family and there had been nothing to help him. His good friend, Eddie Marston, was a somewhat short man, slightly overweight, with a chubby face and a squat nose on which perched a pair of wire-framed spectacles. Marston had spent hours watching people but to no avail. Even an article in the local papers had failed to draw a single response. As he lay in bed this particular morning and as the rays of light filtered softly into his bedroom, Palmer contemplated the next move. It was not a move he intended to make immediately for he had an arrangement with his lady friend, Karen Shaw, for a day out. He had plans to take a stroll in Richmond Park and then enjoy a picnic together. He considered such a day would be the perfect tonic after the rigours and demands of the past few weeks. First there was the meeting to face with Dawn Green, a meeting Palmer was not relishing. She would be arriving in just under three hours. Palmer lay there on the black, silk sheets and as he did so, the woman beside him stirred.

    Karen Shaw was an attractive woman. A few years younger than Palmer, she was a slender woman, standing some five feet and nine inches tall. What made her particularly attractive was her long, sandy hair. Her hair reached down to the middle of her back and flowed over her ample breasts. Now, as she stirred, the duvet fell away from her, revealing her lightly tanned flesh, naked on the black silk sheets. Palmer turned to the woman as she opened her eyes and stroked her leg tenderly.

    'Did you sleep all right?' His question was spoken softly.

    'Mmm, and you?'

    'Hardly a wink, I just can't get the Green disappearing act out of my head.'

    'What time is it?'

    'About six thirty, you can go back to sleep if you want.'

    As if by way of reply she turned away from the investigator and pulled the duvet back up over her body.

    'I'm going to make some coffee. Fancy a cup?' Palmer leaned over and kissed the back of her head.

    'No, just a couple more hours sleep.'

    'Okay, sweetheart, I'll be downstairs when you want breakfast.' Palmer slid out of his side of the bed and pulled on the boxer shorts that had been discarded during a passionate moment the previous night. The air was warm and he allowed the cotton bath-robe to hang over his shoulders without tying it with the waist height belt. Silently he padded out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. With care he almost closed the door and started to fill the coffee maker. A few minutes later the pleasing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. As carefully as he had closed the kitchen door, Palmer opened it and took the mug of steaming coffee into his study. 

    As he opened the door he looked with satisfaction at the shelves filled with leather-bound tomes, each one holding a memory for the sleuth. He turned to face the window and placed the mug on the coaster sat next to the blotter that occupied much of the top of his elegant, if somewhat ostentatious, oak desk. To the far side of the desk sat a black box, seemingly incongruous in the room, yet the laptop enabled Palmer to perform many of his investigative tasks from the comfort of the leather-upholstered swivel chair that waited for him in the space between the desk and the window. 

    Palmer walked behind the chair and looked out of the window onto the grassy area that mercifully broke up the urban sprawl in which he lived. As he looked out of the window, and not for the first time, he longed to return to the days when he had lived in the leafy suburbs of Dorking in Surrey. The memories of those days still remained - they always would. He'd been 21 years of age when he'd married Penny. She'd been a middle manager at the bank where he was a junior clerk, and the fact she was five years older than him had only become a problem after they had married. On reflection, the marriage had been impetuous, but they had been happy enough. It was only six months later he had discovered his wife, Penny, was having an affair with another colleague at the bank. Palmer was struggling with his job at the time and her expectations of the marriage far outweighed what he could provide, both financially and emotionally. She had little patience for a 'loser', as she often called him, and he had been numbed but not totally surprised when a few months later she had moved out. 

    The divorce had followed soon afterwards. She had no hesitation in admitting the adultery but as it was mostly her money that had gone into buying the house in the first place there was never any question she would end up receiving it back as part of the settlement. So Palmer had made a new life for himself. He'd quit his job as a bank clerk and taken to learning the skills of a Private Investigator. It had not been easy and his apprenticeship under the auspices of a somewhat arrogant and ageing experienced sleuth was far from happy. After some bungled cases, and one in particular that had nearly ended up with a teenager losing her life, Palmer decided to strike out on his own. 

    Moving from his home in Sutton to the more urban side of the Putney area he began 'DW Palmer Investigations' from the office in which he was now sitting. Before he'd done so, he'd already met Eddie Marston and their friendship, something Palmer never treated lightly, had continued and grown. Then, in one of the lull moments in his career, as he liked to call the frequent early periods when there was no work to do, Palmer had decided to learn more about the world of computer technology. The Internet applications course had been interesting and he'd started dating the seminar leader. That relationship had developed over the past couple of years and now it seemed he and Karen Shaw were becoming, what to Palmer was so loathsomely termed, an item. Perhaps, he now reflected, his desire to move back to leafy Surrey would become a reality if this relationship worked out, but that was one of life's imponderable questions.

    Palmer turned to his desk and sat down in the leather chair. He opened the top right drawer and pulled out the manila envelope that held the case notes relating to the disappearance of Stephen Green. Palmer instinctively knew there must have been something he had overlooked. With a flash of inspiration that sometimes occurs in the fresh morning light, he decided to re-check the copies of the bank statements Dawn Green had let him copy. He recalled from the previous times when he had examined them that most of the Green expenditure went on the usual household bills. As he scanned the half dozen sheets of the statements that covered the most recent three months, he began to make notes on the pad of paper in front of him. The regular outgoings were of little interest and were ignored. What Palmer focused on were the cash withdrawals and the cheques. In particular he noted the cheques that had been written. The cash amounts were small by comparison and he knew that twenty pounds dispensed from a wall-mounted machine was likely to be for immediate use anyway. The cheques, though, were more interesting. In the first month there were just four of them and Palmer calculated they came to about three hundred pounds in total. Again in the second month there were four cheques that came to a total of nearly four hundred pounds. Then, in the last month, there were eight cheques totalling well in excess of one thousand pounds.

    Palmer scratched his head as he looked at the notes he'd made. The details of the cheques were anonymous but it seemed odd that there were so many more of them in the weeks leading up to Green's disappearance. Palmer looked again at the statements as if seeking further assistance from them. Then, and again for no apparent reason, he began writing down the cheque numbers against the dates and amounts he had already listed. When he had finished he let out a low whistle. The cheques had not been cashed in sequence. 

    Indeed in the weeks leading up to the disappearance, there had been three cheques drawn on the account, two that were over two months old, and the third from the previous month. Palmer sat quite still for a few moments as he absorbed the knowledge he had just gained. It was the breakthrough he had been waiting for. It was nearly eight o'clock and Palmer absently reached over to the telephone sat on a small table beside his desk and dialled the number on the top of the manila envelope.

    'Good morning, Mrs Green, it's Damien Palmer.'

    'Good morning, Mr Palmer, what can I do for you so early in the day?'

    'Yes,' Palmer sounded momentarily surprised at the time, 'I'm sorry it's so early but I wanted to catch you before you came to see me. Do you have the cheque stubs for your current and previous cheque books to hand?'

    'Yes, I think so. I know Stephen left them here.'

    'Good, would you mind bringing them with you?'

    'Of course, but how will they be of help to you?'

    'I don't know, but there may be something in them.'

    'Oh, I see, well I'll bring them. It was nine o'clock, wasn't it?'

    'Yes, that's fine, I'll see you in an hour, and once again I'm sorry for having disturbed you so early.'

    'That's all right, Mr Palmer, I was up anyway. The truth is I haven't slept much since it happened. I'll see you in an hour.'

    'Goodbye then.' Palmer replaced the receiver and went upstairs to get dressed. In the bedroom, Karen Shaw was stirring.

    'You look happy,' she said as she rolled over to look at him. 'Don't tell me you've cracked it.'

    'No, but I think I'm onto something. I'd bet right now that Green's been planning this for some time and he's gone off with someone. It's beginning to add up but we won't know for sure for a few days at least.'

    'Oh well, at least we can have our picnic without you worrying about the case the whole time.'

    'Yeah. Once Mrs Green's been we can go out. What say we go to Richmond Park, have a stroll and take the picnic there?'

    'Mmm, sounds fun to me. What's the weather like?'

    'It's already warm, and the sky's blue and clear. It should be pretty hot later on.'

    'Perfect. What time is she coming round?'

    'Nine. That gives us an hour for breakfast. She shouldn't be here for long, so I reckon we'll be on our way by about half past.'

    'Right, give me ten minutes to get up. I'll do the picnic while you're talking to your client. That way we'll save some time. I want to make the most of my day off.'

    'Yeah, me too.' Palmer had been dressing as he spoke. 'Coffee, cereals and toast, or something cooked?'

    'Coffee and toast for me.'

    'Jam, marmalade, or pate?'

    'Marmalade, and no fat.'

    'Yeah, I know you're on a diet.'

    'No, just watching the calories. There's no point in eating more fat than you have to.'

    'Okay, breakfast in ten minutes.' Palmer reached over, kissed the woman affectionately and then left her to dress. She heard him almost run down the stairs and as she began to dress, she heard the familiar sounds of Palmer at work in the kitchen. He was, she thought, a somewhat messy person in that particular room, though she had to admit he always cleared up afterwards and his culinary skills were better than most.

    Breakfast was an unhurried affair and the plates and cups had been cleared away some minutes before the doorbell sounded. Palmer walked down the hallway and opened the front door. The radio in the kitchen could just be heard from behind the closed door.

    'Mrs Green, do come in.' The woman crossed the threshold and shook Palmer's hand in greeting. 'Shall we go into my office?' 

    Palmer's smile was effusive and friendly. He closed the front door and ushered the woman into his study. 'Now, would you like coffee, or tea perhaps?'

    'No thank you, Mr Palmer, I've only just finished breakfast. Now, those chequebooks you wanted to see. I have the stubs here.'

    She reached into her handbag and was handing Palmer the counterfoils before he had reached his own side of the desk.

    'Please, take a seat. Ah, the cheque stubs. Now, if you don't mind, I'll just have a quick look at these.' Palmer sat down and took the stubs off the woman. He spent a couple of minutes examining them. Finally he looked up and smiled. It was supposed to be a disarming smile but Palmer instantly noticed it made the woman nervous.

    'Mrs Green, these are most useful. I noticed a couple of days ago,' Palmer lied, 'that some of the cheques drawn on your joint account had been drawn out of sequence and it puzzled me.'

    'But surely that is just down to when the recipient decides to pay them in?'

    'Sometimes and if the amounts were small I would agree with you. But the three cheques in question come to nearly a thousand pounds and two of them have been drawn almost two months out of sequence. It may be nothing but again, from my experience I would have to say it is odd.'

    'And those cheques, what do they tell you?'

    'There is very little to go on from the stubs. Of course it may be your husband doesn't always write his cheques from the top of the book but not many people write cheques from a book in a random sequence. I notice most of the cheque stubs contain the date and amount and details of the payee, but for the three cheques in question the details are blank.'

    'But that can't be. Stephen always wrote down the details. He checked them back every month to the statements. It was something he always insisted on and he was quite fastidious about it.'

    'Did you ever look through the counterfoils?' Palmer was leaning forward in his chair.

    'No, I always left the financial things to Stephen. He was so good at that kind of thing and I'm useless at it.' The woman seemed more nervous than ever. 'What are you saying, Mr Palmer?'

    'Well, I can't be sure, but it is at least possible your husband has moved at least a thousand pounds out of the account shortly before he disappeared. If that is the case then it is good for us.'

    'Why is that, Mr Palmer?'

    'Because we can find out where he paid those cheques in and it will give us a clue.'

    'I see, and how do you do that?'  Palmer was flicking through the counterfoils of the second chequebook. When he had done that he looked up.

    'Please be candid with me, Mrs Green. When I first met you, you said you were struggling financially. How long has this been the case?'

    'About two years I would say. Stephen was always going on about high interest rates and things and how we couldn't afford to go away on holiday.'

    'I see. Now then, this is what I would like you to do. Go to your bank manager and ask him to retrieve the details of these three cheques.'

    'Can he do that?'

    'Oh yes. I want you to say it is important he does it today if possible because you need to find out where they were cashed. I notice that you bank at the Midshires branch on the High Street. Ask for David Carstairs, he's a friend of mine. Tell him you need the information for me. I'm sure he'll help you, only you must really stress it is of the greatest urgency.'

    'Very well, Mr Palmer and then what do I do?'

    'Well, I am out today, but when you have the details if you telephone and leave a message on my machine I'll call you back when I have a chance. Of course it may take a few days for you to get the information we need, it just depends on how busy the bank is.'

    'I see. Well, Mr Palmer, thank you for your time. I'll keep you informed.' The woman stood from her chair and took back the counterfoils Palmer waved in her direction.

    'Not at all, Mrs Green, and believe me, we will find your husband and soon.'

    'Let's hope so, Mr Palmer.'

    'Please, allow me to show you to the door.' Palmer stood up and in a moment was ushering the diminutive Dawn Green out of his study. As he closed the front door behind his client, the kitchen door opened.

    'Well?' It was all Karen needed to say.

    'Well, I reckon he's been siphoning money off the account for the past couple of years at least. God knows where it's going, just small amounts each month mostly. You know, I think he's been planning this for some time. I reckon he's got another woman somewhere. The question is - where?'

    'So do we get to go on this picnic? Incidentally it's a good job we didn't opt for Epsom Downs. The local radio news is warning of traffic chaos up there this morning. Apparently a woman's body was found near the gallops first thing and the police have cordoned off the entire area.'

    As she spoke, the phone rang. Palmer was about to reply concerning the picnic when he heard the first ring. By the third intrusion he was standing behind the desk.

    'Damien Palmer, good morning, how can I help you?' His voice sounded almost monotone, if not slightly impatient. As he spoke, Karen joined him in the office.

    'Good morning, Mr Palmer, I'm David Hartley-Brown of Castle Point Systems.'

    'Good morning, Mr Hartley-Brown, how are you?' Palmer wrote the name and the company name on the pad of paper. Karen was standing by the desk and looked with interest at what he'd written.

    'I am well, Mr Palmer, and yourself?' Hartley-Brown sounded somewhat impatient.

    'I'm very well, thank you. Now what can I do for you?'

    'I have a problem, Mr Palmer, a problem of the utmost urgency.'

    'Go on,' Palmer's interest was increasing if only because his girlfriend had written on the notepaper, the three words "I know them".

    'Well, Mr Palmer, I am the Managing Director of Castle Point and I have an employee, quite an important employee, who has gone missing. Not only that but she appears to have taken a very valuable piece of equipment with her. I was wondering if finding her was the kind of work you involve yourself in?'

    'That depends, Mr Hartley-Brown. Ordinarily it is the kind of work that comes my way, but I take each case on its own merits.'

    'I see, so it's down to money is it?' Again the man on the other end of the phone sounded somewhat abrupt, as if he were under a good deal of stress.

    'No, Mr Hartley-Brown, you misunderstood me. It is not just about money. It is more to do with what I consider to be the chances of locating the missing person. After all, it's your money and despite what you may read in the press about private investigators, I would not wish to mislead you into spending a lot of money if I thought the case was hopeless.'

    'I see, well in this case, Mr Palmer, money is no object. What is of vital importance to me is that I find the woman and the piece of equipment in the next seventy-two hours. Now, can you help me or not?'