LOVE AND JUST

CHAPTER 11 : YES! I’VE SEEN THEM TOO

At the dinner table, Mrs. Rachel and her husband Mr. Sam sat at both ends of the table, facing each other.

It was a dark mahogany table, polished until you could see the yellow light from the chandelier in it. Six chairs, with cream cushions. In the middle, a small glass vase with fresh white lilies — Andrew's mother clearly wanted to impress.

The table was set for four.

For each person: a large white dinner plate, a smaller side plate for bread on top of it, and a folded deep-red napkin under a silver fork on the left. On the right, a silver knife and spoon, perfectly lined up. A tall water glass and a shorter wine glass above the knife. All sparkling.

Andrew sat on his mother's left-hand side. Hilary sat beside Andrew and Freda sat opposite him, which was on the right-hand side of Mrs. Rachel. The only one who sat far from the gathering was Mr. Cole. Though he was also at the table, he sat at the far end while empty seats stood on both sides of the table.

Then Mrs. Rachel asked, "So Freddie, when should we be expecting you?" She looked at Freda, who seemed lost. "I don't get you, please," she said, looking at Mrs. Rachel. "I mean you and Andrew, when will you guys be ready?" Freda was still lost and while she hesitated, Andrew interrupted.

"Ready for what, Mom?"

"To settle down, you know, to get married."

"Mom!" Andrew's voice was louder than he had expected. He was astonished at his mom's statement. Freda started coughing. "Are you okay, dear?" Mrs. Rachel probed. Her words made Freda choke.

"Yes, please," Freda mumbled when she found her voice.

"You know your mother is right. You're not getting any younger," Mr. Sam said and Andrew couldn't help but shake his head.

"Dad, when I'm ready I'll bring a woman home," Andrew assured him.

"When she's already here?" Mrs. Rachel asked and Freda's face flashed and turned red instantly. A mixture of shyness and blush. She was shy around his parents.

"Freddie, we're still working on the case, right?" Andrew asked, trying to deflect, and Freda got the hint quickly.

"Oh yes, I really need to leave now so I can start working on it," she lied and dropped the cutlery in her hands. Hilary and Mrs. Rachel shared a look and giggled.

"I'm sorry but I'll take my leave now," Freda said and Mrs. Rachel nodded.

"Alright dear, goodnight."

"Goodnight ma'am, Hilary..."

"Sure, rest well," Hilary cut her off with a mischievous smile.

"Will take my leave now, Dad. Thanks for the dinner," Freda said and stood up.

"I'll see her out," Andrew said and followed Freda as she left the table.

"Two love birds," Hilary muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something?" Andrew asked.

"I said... I think Freda should come for dinner more often. You finally know how to use your cutlery, Andrew." Hilary grinned and winked at Freda.

"Goodness, Hilary!" Andrew's face flushed with embarrassment. He scratched behind his neck. Freda could only bite her lower lip, trying hard not to laugh. He followed her out.

"Thanks for the dinner," Freda said, avoiding his gaze.

"My pleasure," Andrew said, looking at the slides he had on. They both felt awkward after what happened in there.

"Tomorrow, work. Don't be late," Andrew said to her before she left.

At 7:30 a.m., Andrew and Alfreda were already at the Sterling City Bank. The bank doors were still sealed with faded police tape, flapping weakly. Inside, shattered glass crunched under their boots, the counters empty and dusty, chairs overturned. The air smelled of old gunpowder and stale money — silent, cold, already forgotten by the town. They went to the nearby shops, made enquiries, and requested forensics. Freda and Andrew stared instinctively at the desktop screen, their piercing gaze making the surveillance officer's fingers tremble on the keyboard.

Andrew leaned closer to the monitor, his brows snapping together. His eyes narrowed, sharp.

"Wait — pause it. Right there," he said, his voice suddenly low and tense.

Then louder, almost a snap:

"Zoom in! There they are — you see the criminals?!" he asked Freda.

His finger was shaking a little against the screen. His jaw clenched. He wasn't blinking anymore.

"Yes! I've seen them too!" she gasped, her voice urgent and sharp, leaning in so close her hair brushed his shoulders.

The CCTV footage was black-and-white, grainy, time-stamped 10:56:16 at the top corner. No sound, just jerky movement.

The bank's glass doors burst open.

A lady came out first — small, fast, black hoodie pulled low, but her braids swinging out. A big black duffel bag over her shoulder, so heavy she was leaning to one side. In her other hand — something dark, a gun.

Behind her, two men dragged two more duffels, masks half-off, breathing hard. The bags were stuffed, zippers open, wads of cash almost falling out. Caleb was shouting at someone off-screen, his mouth wide open.

Then the white van was parked outside. The thieves rushed towards it.

The lady yanked it open wider and shoved the first bag in. She grabbed the driver through the window — you could see his terrified face on the CCTV, hands up on the steering wheel, shaking his head.

A man slammed his fist on the driver's window, then pointed the gun straight at his head through the glass. On camera, the driver flinched so hard his whole body jerked.

The lady didn't wait. She jumped into the front seat beside him, grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward — screaming at him to drive.

For two seconds, the driver didn't move. Frozen.

Then a guy threw the last bag in, jumped into the back, and kicked the door shut.

The van's tires smoked.

10:57:02 — it shot off-screen, leaving one bundle of cash on the road, pages flying.

On the monitor, the picture froze on the girl's face — just for half a second — her hoodie slipping, eyes looking straight up at the camera.

Freda pulled out her pen and notepad. "Write down the number plate and every other detail." While Freda scribbled the details, Andrew held his waist, ordering the surveillance officer, "Replay, a bit slower, capture this." He needed evidence and wanted to see the driver's face but it wasn't visible in the footage.

"Print these," Andrew ordered the surveillance officer. Photos of the criminals getting in the van, pointing a gun at the driver and forcing him to drive away. Number plates and every little evidence. When they left the shop, they had a little hope of finding the criminals. It all begins with a single step.

"At last, we found something," Freda said, exhaling deeply. They were in front of the bookstore. Andrew's car was parked outside and they got in.

"I'm not the only one who was worried, huh?" he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess," Freda replied.

They enquired from the subsequent shops on the same stretch and got forensics. They added all the footage and it correlated perfectly, from when the van took off and its journey. They were able to trace the direction and got to a main junction. They searched around but there were no shops.

The junction was bare — no shops, no buildings, just open tar, traffic lights, and dusty weeds at the edges. Wide, hot, and oddly silent. No CCTV too.

"Let's move a little further, maybe we will find a shop that has cameras that were able to capture the van," Freda suggested.

"Right," Andrew agreed and they got back into his car and drove off. While in the car, Freda looked closely at the photos they had printed from the CCTV footage.

"Are you sure this driver was forced to drive?"

"Yes, don't you think so?" Andrew asked with his eyes glued to the road.

"Not really. From the footage we've got so far, it's only in the first photo that he looks frightened," Freda stated.

"What do you mean?" Andrew said, turning to look at her.

"In the other three, he looked comfortable with the criminals in the van." Freda justified it, showing Andrew the three subsequent photos from the other shops they visited.

Andrew pulled over to pay attention. Freda handed him the photos and he looked closely at the pictures.

"You're right, let's get to the office and see the footage better."

"You have the pen drive, right?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she answered.

"Could it mean that the driver is also amongst the criminals?" Andrew probed and Freda only shook her head.

"I'm not certain about that." They both remained quiet for a while. Freda wrote statements in her notepad and Andrew glanced around the streets.

They drove a little further past the bare junction, and there it was — parked behind an old, rusted workshop with a half-collapsed roof.

The same dirty white van from the CCTV, its side dented and smeared with dust, one side mirror hanging loose.

The back door was slightly open, just like in the footage, and the license plate was caked in mud, barely readable.

Andrew's foot slammed the brake.

"Freda," he said sharply, his voice low, his grip tightened around the steer . "Look — there. That van. That's the one from the footage!"

The car had stopped so abruptly that dust rose around them in a thick cloud. Freda's seatbelt pulled hard against her chest. Her heart was pounding.

It was parked just off the road, behind a workshop that looked like it had been abandoned for years. The roof was half-collapsed, sheets of rusted zinc hanging loose and creaking in the wind.

On top of the workshop, a wooden signboard swung slowly. The paint was faded and peeling.

RICHARD & SONS - AUTO REPAIR & WELDING

The letters were almost gone, eaten by sun and rain.

Weeds had grown wild around the tires of the van. The back door was slightly open, just as they had seen on the CCTV, swaying a little.

No one was there.