by Roger Hurn
DK offered me a drink but I declined. ‘I’m driving, DK,’ I said. He nodded absently and poured himself a strong one.
He sat back down in his chair and looked at me. ‘Aisha will do well in my employ,’ he said. ‘And I think on reflection it is better that Tomasz didn’t have his way with her. She needs to fear me, but I think perhaps her narrow escape will have done more than enough to convince her that she crosses me at her peril. It’s a valuable lesson for her to learn.’ He smiled at me. ‘And one I’m pleased to say I have never had to teach you, Ryan.’
I had a disquieting image of Tomasz teaching me the meaning of fear and I swallowed nervously. ‘You’ve no worries on that score, DK. But time’s getting on and if there’s nothing else I’ll be on my way.’
DK held up his hand. ‘Oh, but there is something else, so don’t be in such as rush to leave, my young friend.’
My heart sank, but I kept my expression neutral. ‘Yeah, what’s that then?’
‘Why, the matter of your remittance, of course. You’ve done well, Ryan and I am pleased with your performance. It was quite up to scratch.’ He was back to being jovial and that in itself made me uneasy. I had no idea what he was going to ask me to do next. ‘It’s a pity that you are not a relative of mine because I could make good use of a man like you in my organisation.’
I grinned. ‘Sorry DK, but I’m definitely no relation. I think my dad got my mum up the duff with me after a curry and a couple of Cobras in the Taj Mahal in Catford, but I don’t think that counts, does it?’
My attempt at humour passed right over DK’s head. Or maybe it just wasn’t funny. Anyway, he ignored it and carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘However, I think an independent spirit like yourself is happiest being a freelancer. And in recognition of your splendid freelance private investigating on my behalf, I’ve arranged for a deposit of ten thousand pounds to be paid into your bank account.’
It was more than generous, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it was dirty money and, as I was being paid off for “solving” the kidnapping, the young woman at the centre of it was dead while her killer was taking tea. But I forced a smile onto my face and thanked him.
‘No, no, no, there’s more.’ He walked over to a desk and opened a drawer. He took out some documents and handed them to me. ‘There you are. As a special one off bonus payment I’m giving you the deeds to your office. I’ve had them signed over to you. Now you are truly independent.’
I mumbled my thanks. I had no idea why he was being so open-handed. All I knew was that I never wanted to feel so grubby again and the sooner I was out of his house the happier I’d be. So, it came as a relief to me that as I went to leave he said, ‘Oh, and never forget, Ryan, that Tomasz still has your photograph.’
I decided I’d had enough. ‘DK, Tomasz has a photograph of me with a girl who doesn’t exist. There’s no crime scene and no body. You made it all go away, remember? Now, if we’re done I’m going home to take a long, hot shower.’
He smiled and bowed his head slightly, but said nothing. I walked away while I still could.
Chapter Twenty
I didn’t go home for a shower. Instead I drove all the way down to St George’s Hill. I had no idea as to what reception I’d get, but I owed it to Meena to make the effort. It was late when I arrived but the fact that Aunt Shukla regarded me as DK’s creature gained me entry. I told her I needed to speak to her privately about her daughter, Aisha, and she agreed reluctantly. We sat in a small room and not the main living room. She wasn’t wasting any time on offering me hospitality and I felt certain that she’d have made me use the servant’s entrance if she could.
‘What is it you wish to say to me?’
I adopted the persona I’d been trained to use for breaking bad news back when I was a copper. The trick is to sound sympathetic but to come straight to the point. It really doesn’t do anyone any favours if you beat about the bush. ‘I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs Kapoor, but your daughter Aisha murdered Meena.’
Her face didn’t so much as twitch. ‘You are a madman. Please leave my house at once.’
I didn’t move. ‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ I said and then proceeded to tell her the whole sorry story taking great care to emphasise Aisha’s contempt for her brothers. All the time I was speaking her face remained motionless as if it were made of marble, but her eyes stared straight at me. If she blinked I didn’t notice it. Then, when I finally finished, she said, ‘I care nothing about the dead girl. She was never good enough for my clever son Vikram, but I agreed to the match because it was what my nephew Deepak desired.’ Her cold eyes bored into me. ‘All mothers must make sacrifices in order to advance their sons and, as you are aware, my nephew is a man of considerable influence and power.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘I have always believed that if I acceded to his wishes then he would welcome my sons into his organisation and their future would be secured. But now you tell me that Aisha has usurped them and that my nephew has given her the position that should rightfully be theirs?’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid it’s a safe bet that your sons are out of the picture as far as working for DK is concerned. Trust me, Aisha will see to that.’
Aunt Shukla sat up ramrod straight. ‘She is an unnatural abomination and no longer my daughter.’
I figured this was the best I could hope for and left her to sit there in that little room and simmer with rage. I’d planted a seed, but I had no idea what the outcome would be.
As I drove home, I apologised to Meena’s ghost, even though I knew there was no such thing and that Meena was gone forever. ‘I did what I could to bring you justice. Now at least Aisha can never go home again.’ But even as I said it, I knew I was just whistling in the dark. This was no sort of justice. Aisha despised her family and she’d got what she wanted. But, worst of all, she had got away with murder.
Epilogue
A few weeks after my meeting with Aunt Shukla, I was sitting in my office wondering where my next client was coming from. Since the kidnapping case I’d got by on a steady diet of what we in the trade euphemistically call “matrimonial surveillance”. It was depressing work, but not as depressing as working for DK. I hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night and I was pretty sure Aisha was going to make sure it stayed that way.
I checked my mobile for the umpteenth time, but there were still no messages from clients begging to hire me. So, just for something to do, I picked up the copy of the local paper The Mercury that was on my desk. I’d started advertising in it, but so far the only person who’d read my ad and contacted me was an old lady who wanted me to find her missing cat. I’d given that job a polite swerve but, if things didn’t improve pronto client-wise I’d have to swallow my pride and take the next missing moggy case that came along. But thankfully I wasn’t quite that desperate, yet. So I sat back and glanced at the front page. The headline was stark: “Hit and Run Driver Kills Jogger.”
I read the story and nearly fell off my chair. A young woman jogger had been knocked down and fatally injured by some lunatic driving way too fast as she crossed the road near Pond Wood, Chislehurst. The report gave the jogger’s name as Aisha Kapoor. That knocked me for six but what really made my guts knot so tightly I thought they’d snap was that an eye witness to the incident said he couldn’t get the car’s number plate as it was obscured by a thick coating of mud. Maybe it was just coincidence or maybe somebody had learned a lesson. I hadn’t a clue and I wasn’t going to try and find out but the words “take care what you wish for” echoed in my head. But was that what I’d wished for? When I’d gone to see Aunt Shukla had I been hoping that something like this would be the result? I couldn’t honestly say. I think I just wanted that woman to know the truth about her monstrous daughter and that maybe she’d do something about it. But I had no idea that when I lit the blue touch paper, Aisha would end up dead. Though I guess every action has consequences whether we mean them to or not, and n
obody can predict how those consequences are going to pan out. ‘So, forget it, Ryan’, I told myself. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, mate. Hit and runs happen all the time, this really was just a coincidence – and even if it wasn’t, Aisha got what she deserved.’ But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself of the truth of all this, I couldn’t shake the feeling that two girls were dead because of me.
I was still sitting there stunned when my entryphone rang. Absently, I buzzed the person in and waited for them to come up to the office. I was too numb to even hope that it was a client. It wasn’t. It was a girl with dirty blonde hair and a ripe mouth. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d track you down rather than phone ’cos I figured you’d be impressed with my detecting skills and also ’cos it’s harder to give someone the brush off in person.’ I didn’t say a word, so she said, ‘My waste of space boss finally gave me the sack, so are you gonna give me that job you promised me or not?’
I stared at her open-mouthed. It was Carly from the car hire place. Who says fate has no sense of irony? Now, I’m not a man who believes in omens or stuff like that, but I know when I’m beaten. I needed an assistant like I needed another hole in the head, but I hired her anyway. I figured what was left of DK’s money would cover it until business picked up. And, truth to tell, I’ve always been a fool for girls with ripe mouths.
Hand of Darkness
Chapter One
I was throwing rolled up bits of paper into my waste basket and trying not to notice how short and tight Carly’s skirt was. Carly is my assistant, though she calls herself my associate. That’s fine by me. She’s a bright kid and decorative with it, but I try not to mix business with pleasure because, in my experience, it’s a toxic cocktail. And anyhow, I’m a married man. Not a happily married man, but that’s my problem and I wasn’t about to try crying on Carly’s shoulder. Unlike her arse, her shoulder looked a little chilly to me and I didn’t need grief at home and at work. I mean I may not always be the sharpest tool in the box, but even I’m not dumb enough to crap on my own doorstep. Well, at least I’m hoping I’m not. Anyway, my name’s Ryan Kyd and I used to be in the Diplomatic Protection Group, but now I run a Private Investigations business out of two rooms above a kebab shop in Deptford High Street. It’s not exactly Pinkerton’s, but I get by.
I finally got fed up with throwing paper at the bin and missing, so I decided to up the stakes and take my life in my hands by asking Carly to nip out to Café Bianca and get me a coffee and a chocolate muffin. Carly thinks her job is to work with me on cases, not to be a gofer. She’d have a point if we had any cases, but we didn’t. Business had been worryingly slack of late. Then, just as I was about to risk putting my authority to the test, the entry phone buzzer sounded and I was saved by the bell.
The client, when she finally made it up the stairs, was an overweight woman with a face the colour of putty and eyes that were raw and puffy from too much crying. I pegged her as being in her late thirties, but I had the feeling she was one of those people who are born looking middle aged.
She clutched her handbag nervously to her chest and smiled weakly. ‘Are you Mr Kyd?’
I stood up and offered her my hand. ‘Yes, but please call me Ryan.’ I indicated the chair in front of my desk. ‘Have a seat Ms …?’
‘Walker … Susan Walker.’
I beamed at her reassuringly. ‘Right, Ms Walker, welcome to my agency.’ I waved my hand in Carly’s direction. ‘This is my assistant, Carly.’
Carly shot me a look so radioactive it would have fried a lesser man, but I didn’t let it faze me – even though I knew I’d get an ear bashing later. However, she gave Ms Walker a smile that transformed her sulky face into something out of a Botticelli painting. ‘Hi, I’m Carly Bloom, Ryan’s associate’.
Ms Walker nodded at her then turned her attention back to me. ‘Mr Kyd, my sister has joined a religious cult and I want you to get her back for me.’
My heart sank. I’m not a big fan of religion at the best of times and anyone who gets involved in some whacky cult was obviously going to be more trouble than they’re worth. The only question was; did Susan Walker have enough cash to make the job a bit more attractive? I did a quick stock take. Her clothes were from Marks and Sparks, but had a well-worn, slightly shabby look that was in no way chic. Her sensible shoes were scuffed and she wore no jewellery – expensive or otherwise. Her hair was straggly and, given the state of her chewed fingernails, it was obvious she didn’t squander her money on manicures. In short, I doubted that she was going to have the wherewithal to pay for anything more than a couple of days of my time. OK, I know this sounds heartless, but I’ve got bills to cover, and I don’t do charity cases. Then a thought hit me. Maybe this was a job for my “associate” Carly. It would get me back in her good books and, with luck, it might just cover the cost of her wages for the week. I cleared my throat and looked suitably concerned.
‘Tell me what happened, Susan.’
She opened her handbag and took out a photograph of a surprisingly pretty red-headed girl of about eighteen. ‘This is Angela.’
I took the picture and studied it. If Susan was a shoe-in for frump of the year, her little sister was more in line for babe of the week in one of the lads’ mags that Frank the newsagent next door keeps on his top shelf. Carly sashayed over and took a peek at it. ‘She looks lovely,’ she said.
A warm smile suddenly lit up Susan’s doughy face. ‘She is,’ she said. ‘She’s my baby sister and I love her so much.’ Tears began to roll down her cheeks. ‘And I’m so scared because she’s got herself into something dangerous that she can’t get out of.’
Carly pulled out a tissue from the box on my desk and gave it to Susan. Susan wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, blew her nose and then smiled gratefully at Carly before launching into her tale of woe. ‘Mum and dad had Angela quite late in life. I was their only child until Angie came along a bit unexpectedly – but I was thrilled when she did!’ Her plain face glowed at the memory. ‘You see, she was a bit of a handful for mum and dad and so they relied on me to look after her. I’d already left school so it was no trouble and I was chuffed to bits when people thought she was my daughter. In fact, Angie was the best thing that ever happened to me.’ She grinned ruefully at Carly. ‘A girl like you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be overweight and plain as a pikestaff. But take it from me, it’s lonely.’ To her credit, Carly didn’t try and deny it. She just looked sympathetically at Susan. ‘Well, my miserable existence ended the day Angie arrived in my life. But now she’s gone!’ She glanced up at me and burst into tears again.
To be honest I was a bit out of my depth here; I’m not great at coping with wailing women – or women in general for that matter. In fact, my missus says I’m so shallow emotionally that she’s stepped in deeper puddles than me, but then she’s not exactly my greatest fan. Anyway, I needn’t have worried because Carly came up trumps. She gave Susan the box of tissues followed by a sisterly cuddle, and then made her a cup of tea while Susan babbled on about how great Angie had been as a kid and how much fun they’d had together.
Apparently, their mum and dad had both died while Angela was still at infant school and so, when they did, Susan became Angie’s de facto mum. She was so happy telling us this that I wondered for a second if she hadn’t bumped them off just to get her sister all to herself. But then I’m a cynical, heartless bastard. However, I wasn’t quite so cynical when she told us that her parents had left them a nice little nest egg, so paying my fee wouldn’t be a problem. I figured that maybe this was a job that required my input after all. But it wasn’t just the money, there was something sort of mumsy about Susan that I quite liked. I don’t get too many clients that I feel sorry for, but Susan was an exception. She seemed like she genuinely loved her sister and was scared witless about what the kid had got herself mixed up in. And when I looked across at Carly I could see she was willing me to take the case.
‘OK, Susan. If you’re comfo
rtable with our fees, we’re more than happy to accept you as a client.’
Carly grinned at me and Susan looked so pathetically grateful it nearly broke my heart. I knew from my time in the DPG that some of these whacky cults are experts in brainwashing and manipulation and they can turn an intelligent happy new recruit into a zombie in a few days. The convert then totally rejects their family and no amount of arguing with them makes any difference. Some parents are so desperate they resort to kidnapping to try and get their kids back. However, I wasn’t into kidnapping, so I wasn’t at all hopeful that we’d be able to get Angie out of the cult’s clutches and into her sister’s loving arms, but I was determined to give it a go.
‘So, what’s the name of the cult that’s taken her?’ I asked.
Susan looked at me with terrified eyes. ‘The Church of the Dark Light.’ She whispered the name as if she thought they might overhear and come jumping out of the cupboard like bogeymen.
I pulled a face and shrugged. ‘Never heard of them.’
‘I have,’ said Carly. ‘Some guy from the Dark Lighters approached a couple of my girlfriends on the estate. They said he was a creepy sleazebag so they told him to piss off.’
Susan nodded. ‘They are very creepy, Mr Kyd, and I think they mean to harm my Angie.’
Chapter Two
During the course of downing several cups of strong tea, demolishing a whole pack of chocolate digestives and, more importantly, signing a cheque as a retainer for our services, Susan told us everything she knew about the Church of the Dark Light and why Angela had run off to join them. Sadly, it didn’t amount to much. Apparently, Angela had suddenly switched from being a bright, bubbly eighteen year old who loved life, to a surly, uncommunicative girl who Susan barely recognised. I didn’t exactly need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the catalyst for this change was probably a boy. And I was right: it was.
