Free Cucumber Coolie by Ryan Casey Page A

eyes. He moved his fingers across his closed lips, zipping them shut, then mumbled something.
    My heart raced. The taste of menthol clung to my tongue. No amount of it would be enough to calm me today. “Have you… have you got any news on the first two girls? Like, anything? Witness reports, anything like that?”
    Lenny mumbled. Kept his mouth shut.
    Martha punched him on the arm. “You can open your mouth now, sugar.”
    He unzipped his mouth. “So when I come to you for help with my promotion, you go all popstar on me and throw a diva fit? But when you need my help…”
    “Lenny, don’t play this game. You owe me big time.”
    “I think it’s you who owes me, Blake. And that goes for you too, Martin—”
    “Martha,” she said.
    “I gave you your career breaks. Paid you a million quid to share. And what do I get in return? Sidewards glances and… and pure rudeness.”
    Martha went to speak, but I interrupted.
    “This isn’t a game, Lenny. Someone I care about a lot has been taken. And I… every second we waste bickering about who the frig owes who is a second she—she spends in pain.” I took in a deep breath to stop my voice shaking. “I want your help. I’ll repay you with a bloody cake or something. Just please. Is there anything you can tell me about the case?”
    Lenny squinted. “Lemon cake?”
    “Five bloody lemon cakes if that makes you happy.”
    He smiled. “Got yourself a deal. Right, the case. The old case…”
    I felt the first smidgen of relief I’d experienced all day.
    “Denise Scotts kidnapped early hours of Thursday. Hubby tries to solve Hose’s little cryptic clues himself. When he gets the second tape through showing his wife’s murder on Friday morning, he tops himself. Meanwhile, a second girl is kidnapped early hours Friday, probably after Hosey-boy murders Denise Scotts. Janet Wilding, she’s called. Pretty girl, actually. Nice ginger hair. Perky tits—”
    “Ditch the details, babe,” Martha said.
    “Sure. Anyway, her husband Dave, he decides to pay the police a visit. We look at the tape. Look for DNA on the tape, look for prints, CCTV outside their house, things like that.”
    “And?” I asked.
    “Nothing. Well, of course we see a guy dressed all in black wandering into the Wilding household around 1.30 a.m. Friday. Then leaving with a very heavy looking bin bag. But nothing on the DNA front. No prints. Nothing like that.”
    I sighed. Squeezed the bridge of my nose. “So you’ve absolutely no idea what’s going on.”
    “Oh we have an idea what’s going on. Judging by the two tapes, Hose likes… what was the fancy way Officer Bates put it? Ah yeah. Physically torturing his victims, psychologically torturing the victims’ other halves. Poetry, right? Pure poetry.”
    “So he’s a game player, in other words,” Martha said.
    “Game player. Yeah. I like that. Good one.”
    Martha winked at Lenny.
    He looked away and blushed.
    “So nothing on the clues?” I asked. “Nothing on… on all this about the answers being nearby, and about ‘looking around’?”
    Lenny shrugged. “Not really my department. We took swabs and blood from Dave Wilding, though. Pathologist took them from James Scotts’ body too. Figured we’d take a look what Hose injected into them. So that’s something you might wanna think about having done down at the station too.”
    “No chance,” I said. “I’m not coming near the station. Not with Hose’s threat. Bad enough you being here.”
    Lenny raised his eyebrows. “Compliments accepted. But hey, you’re a clever bloke. As are you, Mart… Martha. You’ll figure something out I’m sure.”
    He stood up and walked across my lounge and to the door.
    “So that’s it?”
    Lenny stopped. “Well I don’t have anything else for you right now. And it’s nearly 12, and my stomach’s rumbling like mad for a Meatball Marijuana sub.”
    “Marinara,” Martha said.
    “That’s what I said. So yeah. Don’t fret. Take a