by Rob Ashman
Through the frosted glass I can see movement in the hallway. I check around one last time – all clear.
‘Can I help you?’ A woman in her early forties stands on the doorstep in jeans and a white blouse, carrying a hand towel.
Fucking hell.
For a second, I forget my lines.
Her Slavic beauty hasn’t dulled one bit.
‘I have a package here for Mrs Bowden at number four?’
‘Bowden? I don’t think there’s a Mrs Bowden living around here.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Can you hold this while I check my delivery sheet? It’s not heavy.’ I hand over the box, then look at my clipboard before scanning the area around me.
‘There are some new people who moved into–’ She gets no further.
I slam my hand into her throat and drive her backwards into the hallway where she spills the box and towel from her grasp. The door bangs shut behind me as the back of her head thuds against the hardwood floor. Her eyes are bursting from their sockets, her mouth gasping for air. I roll her onto her front. A half scream is cut short when I force the towel into her mouth. Her teeth sink into my hand.
‘Bitch!’
I rummage in the box for the rope and tie the towel in place, then bind her hands behind her back. She’s writhing beneath me. The serrated edge of the diver’s knife bites into her cheek.
‘I will cut you unless you do as I say.’ She bucks her knees in an attempt to throw me off. I press harder and draw blood. ‘You’re trying my patience.’
She freezes as the warm liquid runs down her face. I step off, grab hold of her collar and drag her into the lounge. Two minutes later she’s tightly bound to a dining room chair.
I crouch down at her feet and look into her eyes. Blood is smeared across her face. I put my hands onto her knees; she flinches at my touch.
‘Now all we have to do is wait.’
I go to the kitchen and fish a bottle from the fridge. My mouth is dry and the cold beer quenches my thirst. This is perfect.
‘Eddie will be home in an hour, just enough time to relax and get to know each other, again.’ I return to the lounge and switch on the TV, flicking the channels back and forth. ‘Nod your head when I come to one you like.’ Her eyes dart between me and the TV and back again. I raise the bottle. ‘Cheers, Natasha. You’re looking well.’
The clock on the mantelpiece reads 7.20pm when a set of car headlights sweep across the curtains.
‘He’s a bit early, maybe he knows you’re entertaining guests.’
Natasha begins to yell into the gag. I walk behind her and wind my arm tight around her chest, the knife pressing into her throat. She goes rigid.
I lean into her. ‘Shhhhh.’
The key twists in the lock and the sound of heavy footfalls fill the hallway.
‘Hey, love,’ Marshall calls out. ‘I’m getting a beer, do you want something?’ I hear him walk into the kitchen and the fridge door opening. There is a clink as the top comes off and bounces on the worktop. He comes into the lounge.
‘Stay where you are, Eddie, or I will slice your wife’s head off.’
The bottle slips from his grasp and lands on the carpet, spraying beer in the air.
‘What the f–’
I can see his body tense, ready to fight. I pull Natasha in close and dig the blade into her neck. She lets out a muffled scream.
‘Don’t be stupid, Eddie. I’ll open her like a Christmas present, I promise.’ The blade digs into her flesh and she shrieks, her eyes wide and teary. He holds his hands up in a sign of surrender.
‘Okay, okay. Don’t hurt her. What do you want? I have money in the house – if you want money, you can take it,’ he says.
I pull a set of handcuffs from my back pocket – another memento of a bygone life – and toss them over to him.
‘Put one on your right hand. Do it!’ He fiddles with the cuff and wraps it around his wrist. ‘Now, sit on the floor next to the radiator and attach the other end to the pipework.’
Marshall looks around bewildered. ‘Do it!’ I yell at him. He scurries across the room and plonks himself against the wall. The sound of the metallic ratchet informs me the cuffs are secure. ‘Okay, toss your phone over here.’ He rummages in his suit jacket with his free hand and the phone wings its way across the lounge. ‘Now remove your shoes and socks. Do it!’
Before long his footwear is lying on the other side of the room. I put the knife in my pocket and grasp hold of the back of the chair with both hands, tipping it backwards. I drag Natasha across the room and position her facing her husband, about five feet away. I take a seat on the sofa and remove the gun that’d been tucked into the waistband of my jeans. She lets out a muffled yelp.
‘Now you can see each other better. This is nice, don’t you think?’
‘What do you want?’ Marshall says, balling both his hands into fists. ‘I told you I got money. It’s upstairs.’
‘I don’t want your money, Eddie, because I already have it.’ I allow the sentence to sink in. I can see the cogs whirring.
‘You killed Tommy Weir.’
‘I did, so I already have more money than you keep upstairs.’
‘What do you want then?’
‘I want you to answer some questions.’
‘Questions? What are you, John Humphries? My guys are going to–’
I jump up and grab his wife. The tip of the blade puts a dimple in her cheek.
‘You fucking hurt her and I’ll kill you.’
‘I don’t think you will, Eddie.’ I draw the point of the knife down her face, beads of blood break the surface. She yelps and tries to struggle free.
‘Okay, okay. What do you want to know?’ Marshall says.
‘You’re as bad as your wife. You don’t remember me, do you?’ I return to the sofa.
‘Should I?’
‘Eighteen years ago, we worked in a nightclub together. The guy running things was called Rolo.’
‘Fucking hell, Billy.’
‘Bingo! Got it in one.’
‘You’re a copper.’
‘No, Eddie, I was a copper. But now as you can see, times have changed.’ I brandish the knife in the air. Natasha pants, sharp breaths.
‘What do you want to know?’ he asks.
‘Don’t you think it’s great we’re all together again?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Does she fuck you like she used to fuck me?’
‘What do you want!’ Marshall yelled at the top of his voice.
‘Steady on, I only asked. I need to explain the rules first.’
‘Rules? What fucking rules?’
‘I’m going to ask you two questions and you’re going to answer them. If you piss about I’m going to hurt your beautiful wife. Is that clear?’
‘You harm her–’
‘Is that clear?’ He glares at me. ‘Okay, here we go – first question: did you murder my brother three weeks ago and dump his body in the sea? Second question: were you part of the punishment squad that showed up at my house and murdered my wife?’
I can see Marshall weighing up his options. What’s he going to do? He was always one for bravado, always one for brassing it out. Will the fact that I have his wife at my mercy make a difference?
‘I’m waiting…’ I say. His face gives the game away.
‘Fuck you!’ he snarls. Natasha jolts in the chair, almost having a seizure.
‘Are you sure that’s the way you want to play this?’
‘You’re all talk, Billy. Always were.’
‘And you’re just the same, Eddie.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Do you know that when you stabbed my wife it took her nine minutes to bleed out and die? And that was with me trying to stem the flow of blood.’ I pick his phone off the carpet and hold it in the air. ‘Now, we’re not far from the hospital so I reckon they could get here in six minutes.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? You’ve not g
ot the bollocks for this.’
‘Let’s say seven minutes, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Seven minutes for what?’
‘So… nine minutes takeaway seven minutes is… You got two minutes to make up your mind. When you tell me what I need to know, I’ll call 999 and the likelihood is Natasha will survive. Paramedics are much better trained these days. If you delay much longer than that, it will be touch and go.’
‘Touch and go? Touch and go for what?’
I look at my watch and plunge the knife into her chest. ‘The clock’s ticking, Eddie, you’ve got two minutes.’ I reach for a cushion. ‘I’ll do what I can to stop the blood.’
Chapter 44
Kray watched as the morning dew soaked into the hem of her trousers, changing them from grey to black. The dark clouds threatened rain. She tugged her coat tight around her body to protect herself from the wind coming off the Irish Sea, then crested the hill until a carpet of flowers opened up in front of her.
It had been several months since her last visit. She had always hated this place with a passion, but on this occasion the walk to the graveside felt calm and peaceful.
She wandered up the row of graves, stopping at the black marble headstone inscribed with the name, Joseph Kray. She unfurled a blanket and knelt down, taking a tissue from her pocket.
‘Hey, how’ve you been?’ She always started her one-way conversations with her dead husband in the same ridiculous manner. Kray knotted the tissue and wiped the recessed writing.
‘I know I said I wouldn’t be visiting for a while but I need you to do me a favour.’ She cleaned the top of the marble, removing the grime. ‘You remember the last time I was here and I told you about Chris? And about how we were getting on… and I wanted to make a go of it? Well, we made a better go of it than I anticipated and I fell pregnant.’ Kray looked up at the sky, fighting back the tears.
‘I know! All those months we tried for a kid with no result and… well… it just happened. It wasn’t planned and it took me a while to get my head around it and then… and then… I fucking lost it. I had a miscarriage and that was it – no more baby.’ She wiped tears from her face.
‘I wanted to know if you would look after something for me?’ Kray pulled the scan photograph wrapped in a clear plastic bag from her pocket. ‘I got this when they checked me over at the hospital and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want to keep it because it hurts too much. I don’t want to throw it in the bin because that doesn’t seem right and I can’t give it to Chris because… because… I have no idea if he still wants to be with me. I feel kind of stuck – so I wondered if you would look after her?
‘That’s right. Don’t know why but I reckon it would have been a girl. Weird or what? God help her if she’d turned out anything like me, eh? She’d probably go and do something stupid, like get her husband killed.
‘Anyway, I thought you might…’ Kray fished a knife from her bag and plunged it into the soil at the base of the headstone. She cut an eight inch square of grass and lifted it away to reveal her gold wedding ring buried beneath. She picked it up, rubbed away the dirt and placed it back in the hole. She lay the photograph on top and replaced the square of earth, patting it down with both hands.
Kray swiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘I’ve got some serious shit going on in work and I need to focus if I’m going to bring this bastard down. I’ll focus a lot better knowing she’s with you. Will you do that for me?’ A breeze kissed her gently on the back of her neck. ‘Thanks.’ She patted the grass again and got to her feet. ‘I gotta go…’
Kray put the knife in the bag, gathered the blanket under her arm and strode away. She gritted her teeth.
‘And I am gonna take this bastard down.’
Kray walked into the small kitchenette at the station. Tavener had his back to her, making his first coffee of the day.
‘Morning,’ she said, touching him on the shoulder.
‘Bloody hell, Roz. What are you doing in work?’
‘Nice to see you too.’
‘No, what I mean is–’
‘I’m not going to sit on my arse at home given what you showed me last night. And besides, I need to keep busy.’
‘Are you well enough? Shouldn’t you be–’
‘Yes, thank you for your concern, I’m fine. Now do you have enough for two in that fancy coffee maker of yours?’
‘Sure.’ Tavener pulled a second mug from the cupboard and depressed the plunger on the cafetière. He filled two cups.
Kray sipped at the hot liquid. She recoiled from the rim. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Coffee.’
‘Really?’
Tavener picked the packet off the counter. ‘It says – Lazy Sunday morning, gentle and easy-going.’ He looked impressed with his new purchase.
‘Next time you go shopping, look for the one that says – Kicks you in the arse, almost undrinkable.’
‘Not strong enough?’
‘It’s got no coffee in it.’
Tavener glowered at her. ‘You’re feeling better.’
‘Yeah, well, I can’t mope about the house.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘We, Tonto, are not going to do anything. Leave it to me for now, I will shout when I need your help.’
Kray walked to her office considering whether or not to call Chris. She decided against it. He needed time to get his head around what had happened and her ringing him was not going to help the process. She was deep in thought when Bagley intercepted her.
‘Bloody hell, Roz. What are you doing in work? Shouldn’t you be–’
‘You’re the second person to say that to me this morning, sir.’
‘Have you seen Occupational Health? I mean only yesterday you had a…’
‘I’m fine. I want to be at work.’
‘I’m not sure this is right, you know?’
‘Oh, and how many miscarriages have you had, Dan?’ She purposefully used his Christian name.
‘Err, well, that’s not the point.’
‘I think it’s precisely the point, so if you don’t mind…’ She brushed past him.
‘I’m now Senior Investigating Officer for the murder cases. We have new lines of enquiry.’
‘That’s fine, let me know what you want me to do.’ She disappeared into her office and closed the door.
Kray flipped open her laptop and started searching every database she could find. It was a little like trying to find a needle in a haystack but she was good at finding needles. The next hour went by in a blur.
Bagley poked his head around Kray’s door. ‘I’ve got a job for you. Tavener just got a call from the bloke who runs the boat club – apparently, you had a chat with him a few days ago. Commodore something-or-another – anyway, he wants to talk to someone and I have Tavener working on something else. Can you see what he wants?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ replied Kray.
‘We’ve deprioritised that line of enquiry but we need to be seen to follow up anything that lands in our laps. It will be nothing, but I want you to take a look.’
Deprioritised? How can I say no?
‘I’ll finish up here and I’ll take a run out.’
‘No need for that, he’s downstairs.’
Bagley disappeared. Kray logged out and picked up her notebook and pen, her head spinning with possibilities and conjecture. Her database search had only been a partial success and the burning question as she waited for the lift was… How?
She found the Commodore at the front desk and tried to drown out the song, ‘Three Times A Lady’ playing in her head.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Bateman, you asked to see me.’ Kray greeted him and shook his hand.
‘I hope you don’t mind me calling unannounced but I may have some information for you.’ He was standing before her, every inch of him screaming, Captain Birdseye.
‘Please, let’s take a seat. How can I help?’
�
��I had a conversation with one of your officers about the Blue Lagoon, which is the vessel owned by Delores Cross. He seemed very interested in knowing its movements.’
‘Yes, that’s right, he mentioned it.’
‘Well, I have to tell you that since you guys paid us a visit the whole club has been talking about nothing else. It’s turned the place into a Miss Marple appreciation society with everyone playing the role of detective. Rumours and conspiracy theories are rife.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘No, don’t be – quite the opposite. The club bar has never been so full, no one wants to be left out of hearing the latest scandal.’
‘But there’s been no scandal.’
‘I know, but that doesn’t stop them making it up.’
For fuck’s sake!
‘You said you had some information, Mr Bateman?’
‘A couple of our members, who own a boat called Sea Breeze, had an altercation with the crew of the Blue Lagoon.’
‘An altercation?’
‘Yes, we have strict rules about how boats manoeuvre in and out of the moorings, and on this occasion they almost collided. The Blue Lagoon was well out of order and a shouting match ensued, followed by a formal complaint.’
‘Have you investigated the complaint?’
‘We have.’
‘And…’
‘That’s why I’ve come to you. Delores Cross isn’t responding to any of our letters or emails and she is steadfastly refusing to engage.’
‘I’m not sure that is a police matter, Mr Bateman.’
‘I know that.’ Bateman shook his head and his hat wobbled. ‘What might be of interest is that the people crewing the Blue Lagoon were not members of the club.’
‘They weren’t?’
‘No, the people from the Sea Breeze had a right stand-off with three men on the Blue Lagoon, shouting and bawling, they were.’
‘When was this?’
‘A little over three weeks ago, just before that poor man washed up on the beach. The talk in the clubhouse is about nothing else.’
