Head of the Firm

by Caz Finlay

  ‘It’s me,’ Leigh said. ‘I have a name for you.’

  ‘Okay. How sure are you?’ Grace Carter replied.

  ‘One hundred per cent.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Leigh said two more words before hanging up the phone. Removing the sim card and snapping it into two, she threw it into her log burner and watched it melt in the flames.

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Grace had thought about Leigh’s phone call on the long drive home from Lytham. She’d just signed the contracts on their new wine bar and had met with the architect that morning to talk through her plans for the place. It had provided a welcome distraction from her quest to find Paul’s killer, which continued to lead her down dead ends.

  Walking into the kitchen of her home, Grace placed her car keys on the worktop.

  ‘Mummy,’ Belle shouted from her seat at the table.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Grace said as she walked over and planted a kiss on her daughter’s head.

  ‘I’m eating all my sketti,’ Belle said with a big, beaming smile. ‘And so is Oscar.’

  Grace looked over at her son and smiled as he waved his chubby little hands, which were clutching fistfuls of spaghetti Bolognese, in the air with a huge grin on his face. Michael sat beside him with a spoon and bowl in his hands, trying, and failing, to contain the mess that their son was making.

  ‘I think he’s a bit little for that yet,’ Grace said as she planted a kiss on Oscar’s head too.

  ‘You okay?’ Michael said as he looked up.

  The look of concern on his face only confirmed that she must look as shell-shocked as she felt. Grace shook her head. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Placing the bowl of food out of Oscar’s reach, Michael stood up and rushed to her side. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Is your dad still here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah. He’s upstairs looking at the door handle in the nursery. You know how he likes to think of excuses to hang around and make sure I’m not on my own,’ Michael said with a roll of his eyes.

  ‘Do you think he’d take the kids to his for an hour or so?’

  Michael frowned at her. ‘Of course he will. But why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Let’s speak to your dad and then we can talk,’ she replied, while giving him a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Pat Carter had loaded Belle, Oscar and their essentials into the back of his Range Rover. Grace waved them all off as he drove down their driveway and out of the gates, while Michael paced anxiously in the background.

  ‘So, what is it?’ he asked anxiously as she closed the front door.

  She turned to face him. ‘I know who was behind Paul’s murder. I know who ordered the hit.’

  Michael Carter stared at his wife as she passed him a glass of neat brandy.

  ‘Drink that. You’re in shock,’ she said gently as she passed him the glass.

  He took it from her but didn’t drink it. She was right, he was in shock. He could hardly believe what she’d just told him. It didn’t make any sense to him. If it hadn’t been Grace giving him this piece of information, he’d wouldn’t have believed it. But Grace was sure, and he was sure of her. If she said her source was reliable, then it was.

  He shook his head. ‘You’re sure?’ he asked again.

  She nodded.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I can find out. I can deal with this if you’d rather not?’

  ‘No,’ Michael snapped as the anger started to bubble up inside his chest, as though it had been waiting for the shock to dissipate first. ‘I need to do this myself. I want to look into that treacherous fucker’s eyes when he’s begging for his life, and ask him why he killed my son.’ He’d almost forgotten about the glass he was holding, as the rage started to burn at his skin, until the thick crystal shattered in his hand. He placed the broken remnants on the coffee table and tried to shake off the liquid now covering his hand.

  ‘Michael,’ Grace said as she took his hand. ‘You’re bleeding. Let me go and get something to clean you up.’

  Michael sat on the sofa, waited for Grace to return and thought about the man who had so cruelly betrayed him. He thought about every single time he had saved that fucker’s life. Every single time he stopped him from getting a bullet in his head, and this was the thanks he got. Michael couldn’t connect the dots no matter how hard he tried. It just didn’t add up. But then, what did he know any more? Since Paul had died he hadn’t felt sure of much at all. But one thing he did know was that the man who had taken his son was going to pay. His days were numbered.

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Michael kissed Grace on her forehead and pushed back the covers of their king-size bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked sleepily.

  He looked at the digital clock beside the bed and saw it was just after midnight. ‘Can’t sleep,’ he replied. ‘I’m going downstairs, save me keeping you awake tossing and turning.’

  ‘Want me to get up with you?’

  ‘No. You go back to sleep. I’ll just watch some telly or something.’

  ‘Okay. Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he replied and watched as she lay her head back on the pillow.

  He slipped out of their bedroom and walked quietly down the stairs. His heart was racing in his chest, as it had been for the past few hours since Grace had told him who was responsible for Paul’s murder. He opened the door to the study, sat at the large oak desk and switched on the laptop. It came to life instantly and he opened his email account, searching for one message in particular. It contained the phone number of Mark Sullivan – a man whose services were not for hire to just anyone, but were exactly what Michael needed. Mark was very expensive, at least that’s what Michael had been told – not that he’d be paying.

  Michael dialled the number on the screen, wondering if Mark would be up, or would even answer. After a few rings, he did.

  ‘Yeah?’ he said.

  ‘Mark. It’s Michael Carter. Carrie introduced us.’

  ‘Michael,’ he replied. ‘I remember. You saved her arse that night, didn’t you? What can I do for you?’

  ‘Is it safe to talk?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t answer if it wasn’t,’ Mark replied.

  ‘I need you to monitor someone for me. I need to know his every movement. He won’t be on social media, but his wife will. I want you to concentrate on her too, because I want to know when she’s not going to be home. I also need to know where the CCTV is around his home. I need to get in and out, if not unnoticed, then at least unrecognised.’

  ‘I’m kind of busy right now,’ Mark replied, which Michael knew was no doubt true given his usual clientele. And when Carrie had offered Mark’s services, she had warned that he would take on a job only when he had the time or the inclination to.

  ‘I’d be surprised if you weren’t. You’re the best at what you do. But this job is a walk in the park for you, and you know it.’

  ‘Okay. How quickly do you want this done?’

  ‘Take as long as it takes, Mark. But as soon as there is a window when this fucker is going to be home alone for a couple of hours, I want to know. No matter what time of day or night it is, you let me know.’

  ‘Okay. Should be easy enough. I’ll get onto it tomorrow.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Just give me his name, and I’ll do the rest.’

  Michael provided the name, and the address.

  ‘I’ll be in touch soon,’ Mark said before hanging up.

  Michael put the phone down and closed the laptop. He’d been introduced to Mark a year earlier, when he’d organised the security for the premiere of a film set in Liverpool. He’d managed to ingratiate himself with the film company’s PR rep, Carrie Santangeli, when he prevented her from being caught snorting cocaine off the chest of the film’s main star, a well-loved A-lister, whose wife was at home nursing their six-
month-old daughter through croup. The company would have moved heaven and earth to cover for their star, and Carrie would have been thrown under the bus. As a thank-you, she had introduced him to Mark, who was also at the party, and who was regularly employed by Carrie and the production company to dig for dirt on anyone who might threaten the reputation of their stars, or to cover any tracks that needed covering. This introduction also came with the promise that should Michael ever be in need of such a service, Mark would be at his disposal. A one-time-only deal. At the time, Michael had shrugged it off, wondering when he would ever be in need of such a service, but now he realised it would be the key to getting his target alone at exactly the right time, and ensuring there would be no witnesses.

  While Carrie had been quite open about who she was, and what she did, Mark was an enigma. Michael wasn’t even sure if Mark was his real name. All Michael knew was that he’d once worked for the government – perhaps still did – and he was a tech genius. Give him a name, and he could give you their life story – from where their kids went to school to what they ate for breakfast. Give him an hour and he could find out where someone lived just from looking at their Facebook page. The thing was, Mark wouldn’t work for just anyone. They had to come with a personal recommendation, which Michael had been lucky enough to receive.

  As for the one-time deal, Michael didn’t care if he never got the chance to work with Mark again. If he came through on this occasion, Michael would consider the favour returned.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Michael Carter’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel of the stolen car. It had been eleven long days since Grace had told him who was responsible for Paul’s death. It had taken every ounce of his willpower not to drive straight over there and put a bullet in the fucker’s head, or break every bone in his body. But he’d known that he had to play this one very carefully. He had four children and a wife who were depending on him. If his intended target suspected he was about to be rumbled then he’d be ready with a small army. Michael had to do this cleanly and quickly. There could be nothing to tie him to the crime; he couldn’t afford to get caught by the police and lifed off. So he’d waited until the time was right, doing his research quietly and discreetly, involving only those on his workforce whom he trusted with his life. He had to be patient, and wait for exactly the right moment.

  Mark Sullivan had phoned him earlier that morning to tell him that precise moment was now. The house was dark except for a light in the front-room window. There was no one in there except for the bastard who’d ordered the murder of his son, and now it was time to make him pay.

  Michael took a deep breath as he opened the car door and stepped out into the cold street full of detached, gated houses. Thanks to Mark, he knew where the CCTV cameras were positioned, and he’d made sure he wouldn’t be recognised by keeping his head down and his hood up. He jogged over the road. Using the keycode for the electronic gate, which Mark had also provided, he entered the pin and slipped through the gate as it slowly swung open. As he jogged around the side of the house, he took the toolkit from his pocket. He’d put it together especially for the job, with the help of Murf, who’d been a first class burglar in a previous life and whose skill at breaking and entering was second to none. He turned the small scalpel over in his hand, the metal glinting in the moonlight, and closed his eyes. There were so many things he could do with a weapon like that, but tonight he intended only to use it to break in by the back door. He’d thought about bringing a wholly different type of toolkit with him. The kind he’d used a long time ago, before the twins were even born, when he was young and had nothing to live for.

  Whenever he thought about the man he was back then, and the pain he’d inflicted on people, it made him feel physically sick. It wasn’t that he’d enjoyed the job, but he’d been good at it, and had been able to detach himself from it in a way that, looking back now, frightened him. When Grace had been kidnapped two years earlier, that side of him had come to the fore again. He’d dealt with her kidnappers himself, ensuring that they had felt pain like they’d never imagined. Afterwards, he’d worried that going back to that dark place inside him was going to be the end of him. But then Grace had been there, waiting for him, with their beautiful daughter, and he’d found his way back to the light again.

  Less than six months later they were married and just over a year after that, Oscar was born. Michael had made a promise to himself that he would never become that man again. He couldn’t afford to. He had too much to lose. So, even though the thought had crossed his mind to make Paul’s murderer, of all people, suffer in the most unimaginable ways, he owed it to his other children, and to Grace, not to.

  Solomon Shepherd looked up at the man standing before him and suppressed a shudder. He considered himself a pragmatic man. Ever since the passing of his beloved daughter Chantelle years before, he’d not feared death in the same way he once had. He knew that one day he would meet an untimely end – it was a given for men like him, but he hadn’t counted on his demise being at the hands of the man now standing in front of him.

  Twenty-seven years earlier, when Michael Carter was a fresh-faced newcomer, he’d worked for Sol alongside his father, Patrick. They were two of the best enforcers Sol had ever encountered. They were a force to be reckoned with and with them by his side, Sol had been unstoppable. Patrick was a legend who instilled fear in anyone who crossed him. But Michael was different. There had been something very special about him. He’d had a talent that Sol had not seen before or since. Sol had no idea what it was, but if he could bottle whatever it was that had made Michael Carter so terrifying, he would have been invincible. But it all came to an end after Patrick got sent down for drug supply and extortion a few years later, and Michael set up with his brother Sean. Sol had been furious at the time, but there was nothing he could do. Michael had been a loyal soldier who had earned his right to strike out on his own.

  In the following years, Michael had most definitely mellowed. Sol wondered if it had been the birth of his sons which had had a calming effect. Certainly, since he’d married Grace Sumner, he’d become even more of a family man. Sol had often wondered whether Michael Carter was still capable of the violence he was once renowned for. However, at that moment, he had absolutely no desire to find out.

  Michael stood before him for what seemed like an age, staring at him with a calm expression on his face. There was no hint of emotion. Not a trace of the rage that Sol knew must be coursing through every sinew of his body. Sol had seen that look on Michael’s face many times before, and it absolutely terrified him. The only thing that gave him some comfort was the glint of metal from the gun that hung loosely by Michael’s side. Perhaps that would mean a quick end? It was all he could hope for now.

  ‘Why?’ Michael finally said, his deep voice penetrating the oppressive silence of the small room.

  Sol blinked in response. He was very rarely lost for words, but what could he possibly say to this man, who he knew had come to seek vengeance for the murder of his son?

  ‘I asked you a question,’ Michael growled.

  Sol sat up straighter in his chair. He was alone in the house except for Jasmine, who was upstairs in bed after he had given her the hiding of her life because she’d been secretive with her phone. He’d checked and found nothing incriminating on it – but still, he wouldn’t put it past her to try and contact Connor. Sol had no weapons close to hand. His phone was in the pocket of the silk robe he was wearing but he would never get to it before Michael had a chance to act. He had no choice but to answer the question, or he would have the information forced from him. Sol considered himself a hard man. There were not many who could break him. But Michael Carter would. Of that he had no doubt.

  ‘The stupid prick got the wrong man,’ Sol shrugged. ‘Stupid little bastard.’

  Michael stared at him. His face remaining impassive. ‘You expect me to believe that? Mistaken identity? So, you didn’t mean to kill my son? That’s
poor even for a snake like you, Sol.’

  ‘Oh, I meant to kill your son, Michael. Have no doubt about that. But not the one who died.’

  Michael frowned at him and Sol saw the first flash of anger before the cool façade returned. ‘What?’

  ‘The bullet was meant for Connor, not Paul. Connor, who’d been screwing my missus behind my back for months and thought I was too fucking stupid to figure it out.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘No. You’ve got it wrong.’

  Sol laughed. ‘Don’t fucking tell me I don’t know who my own wife is fucking, Michael. Your son is still sniffing around her now, despite what happened to his brother. He’s a fucking liability. He should learn to keep his dick out of married women.’

  Michael stepped closer to him and much to his anger and annoyance, Sol flinched.

  ‘You’re telling me you murdered my son over a woman? Over a woman who obviously doesn’t even want to be with you?’

  ‘Not just a woman. My wife!’ Sol snapped. ‘You know I can’t have my wife fucking around with someone, Michael. Least of all some kid less than half my age.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘You always were too worried about what other people thought of you, Sol.’

  The next thing Sol saw was the metal barrel of the handgun moving closer to his face. He saw the flash. Heard the ear-splitting crack of the gunshot. Then there was nothing.

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Michael let his arm fall to his side, the gun in his hand nudging against his leg. He’d thought it would bring him some relief to kill the man responsible for Paul’s death, but it offered none. It brought some closure to the whole chain of events at least. No witnesses. The gun would never be found, he would make sure of that. He could have taken Sol somewhere and tortured him. The old Michael would have. But he took no pleasure in that sort of extreme violence any more. And when Paul had died, Michael had made a silent promise to his surviving children, and his wife, that he would be a better man. It was his fault that his sons had chosen the paths they had. They had simply followed in his footsteps, as he had his own father’s. Well, now was the time to break that cycle. It might even be too late for Connor, but there wasn’t a chance he was going to let Belle and Oscar go down that road. From this day forward, Michael was going to be legit. There would be no more blood on his hands.