The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1), Kim Knight [love letters to the dead txt] 📗

Dunne slowly placed the coffee mug on the corner of the counter, glanced over his shoulder at McDonald and the note on his desk.

“That’s what we need to find out.” He focused on the second empty mug, void of the bitter-tasting, department cheap coffee he had grown to appreciate.

Glancing at the half empty container in the cabinet, containing the emergency supply he used only when he ran out of his own special blend, he let out a heavy sigh. It would have to do for now.

McDonald got to his feet and picked up the mystery note. “All right, let’s pay a visit to his girlfriend, that’s if she’s not skipped the country by now.”

Dunne chuckled. “Hmmm, could you blame her? I’d swap London’s pollution for a beach any day.”

“Yeah, right.” McDonald let out a deep laugh. “You’re chained to the shackles of this place just like me. You love it. Don’t lie.”

Dunne joined in with his partner’s laughter. “Whatever, man.”

2

Money Talks

Lance

Lance glanced from under the bonnet of the old Ford he was working on. Through the engine’s smoke fumes, he noticed a shadow and sighed. “What now?”

He moved from under the hood of the car, turned around, and reached for the dirty rag on the ground, then wiped his grease-stained hands.

“Lance, it’s been a while,” a scratchy voice, with tell-tale signs it belonged to a heavy smoker, crept up from behind. “Where ya been hidin’?”

Lance rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“All right, John, yeah . . . I’ve just, well, been a bit busy, that’s all.”

He lied and wrapped the dirty rag around his fingers. His anxiety shot through the smoke-stained tin roof of the crammed garage he owned.

John let out a low whistle and took slow steps towards him from the entrance of the garage.

Lance eyed him with suspicion. A visit from the local loan shark always brought trouble along for the ride.

“Busy?” John walked around the side of the car, so he was toe-to-toe with Lance.

Of similar height, John looked him dead in the eye, then lowered his voice. “You must have my money then, aye?”

Lance stepped back and tripped over the toolbox on the floor. The screwdrivers flew out the box and scattered along the grease-spotted floor.

“Well . . . I, no. John, not yet just give—”

“No more time, Lance, the clock is ticking, son.” John tapped his Rolex. “Like I said last week, I ain’t gonna wait patiently for that money to be returned to me. You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

He spat food from between his teeth, then swept his hands around the garage. “And this here . . . your business—if that’s what you wanna call it—if ya wanna see it still standin’ an’ not burned to the fuckin’ ground, you’ll get that money to me quick.”

“John, please I—”

“No, Lance, we had a fuckin’ deal, son.”

John held out his hand as if ticking off a list, “I lent you the money you needed to get yourself out of the shit,” he ticked off one of his stumpy nicotine-stained fingers, “and you repay me.”

John ticked of his second finger, then raised it toward Lance, “if you can’t keep your side of the deal, we all know where you’ll end up, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, chill out, John. I’ll make a payment as soon as I can. Promise.”

“You fuckin’ better, or else.”

Lance watched closely as John lit a cigarette. He spun around on his heels, then made his way to the entrance of the garage. Cars whooshed past the main road, during the early morning rush hour traffic. With his back turned to him, Lance kept an eye on John as he stood there. He kept one hand cocked inside his smart trouser suit pocket and the other, he raised slowly now and then as he smoked his cigarette.

“John, please, I really—”

“Shhh.” John held up a hand and silenced him with his back still turned. “A deal’s a deal, Lance.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m one of the most understanding loan sharks around London, you ask anyone. But I don’t take too kindly to broken promises, fuck interest repayments.”

He flicked his smoke on the pavement, turned to Lance and raised a hand to his ear. “The penalty for late payment is what, Lance?”

“Death.”

Lance dropped his gaze to the ground and chewed on the inside of his lip. “I know John, like I said just give me—”

“Twenty-four hours Lance, you’ve been warned.”

John flicked his wrist and glanced at the time. “Don’t make me come back here cuz I don’t wanna hear any of your bullshit excuses.” He walked off towards his car.

Once he was out of sight, Lance let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. He shook his head, dropped the rag on the floor and headed over to his phone in his small back office. Hands shaking, he scrolled through his contracts, found who he was looking for, and then pressed call.

“Chelsea, it’s me.”

“Hi, Lance. What’s up?”

“I need some money and quick.”

“How much?”

“Hundred grand.”

“A hundred grand! Lance, what the fuck have you got ya self into now? I ain’t got that kinda—”

Lance moved the phone away from his ear and paced his office. After a few rounds, he headed to the door and glanced outside.

No one was there, just the old clapped-out motor he was working on.

“Chelsea, don’t lie,” he said through gritted teeth into the phone.

“That old man left you everything. You’ve got access to that kind of money and ya know it.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“What’s there to think about Chelsea. We’re together, we had a plan, I thought you’d help me out.”

“What do you need it for?”

“I can’t say right now, just do me this one favour will you?”

“I said I’d think about it, Lance, I need that money.”

“Need it? Need it? Don’t make me laugh, Chelsea, I need it in twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Chelsea. Chelsea!”

The line disconnected. Lance dropped the phone on his messy desk, filled with paperwork and tools.

“Little bitch!”

Later that night, Lance turned