“Fuck no. I don’t agree with poking another man’s fire. My dad did that to my mum. You know, went behind her back with someone else. I saw how much it broke her.” Robby couldn’t imagine Starky being broken. He certainly wasn’t acting as though the recent news was upsetting him.
“Someone’ll be broken all right, but it won’t be me,” Starky said. “Catch my drift?”
“Yeah. Who’ll be doing the breaking?” Robby asked.
“Me and you.”
“Me?” Robby wanted to protest that he couldn’t take Damien on. Not unless he had a shooter, and how he’d pull the bloody trigger at the moment was a mystery.
“Yeah, you. Hence the muscles you’ll need. I can wait. Revenge is a dish best served cold anyway, in Damien’s case. A year, that’s what you’ve got, to get your body in shape. Then that job’s yours. Bit of payback for him chopping your fingers off, eh?”
“You’re prepared to wait it out for a year? Let him do your missus for that long?”
“Nah, he won’t be doing her again after today, I can assure you.” Starky paused. “She’ll be a good girl from now onwards, you mark my words. A whisper in her ear from yours truly, and she’ll be too scared to open those legs of hers to anyone but me again.”
Starky gave Robby such a dark look that Robby didn’t think he should ask any more questions. He got the gist. ‘Mind your own business’ might as well have been said.
“I’m just glad Damien doesn’t have any kids or a woman of his own,” Starky said on a sigh. “Would be awkward, dealing with things afterwards. Their grief and whatnot. Paying her a monthly amount to keep her mouth shut.”
Robby nodded. Jesus, it was all going to go down eventually. And a year had to pass before he could step into Damien’s shoes? It was too long for Robby. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“That’s it, son. You have a nap. The food’ll be here soon, then we can talk proper business.”
‘Proper business’. Those words, coming out of Starky’s mouth, were ones Robby had dreamed of for too long now.
Dreams. It paid to have them, after all.
Because sometimes they came true.
Chapter Three
Matt hadn’t expected to be standing in a bedroom inside The City Hotel quite so soon after he’d left earlier that morning. He’d been in the middle of catching up on paperwork when the call had come in. Damn near finished, he had, and he wasn’t best pleased at having to leave the job almost completed. Story of his sodding life, never being able to get work done in one shot. Always interrupted for one reason or another.
It boiled his piss.
A local doctor was on the farthest side of the bed, leaning over it. How he could lean when the bed stank to high heaven, Matt didn’t know. The scent of shit and piss, if he wasn’t mistaken. Aaron stood beside Matt, finger across his nostrils, and they stared down at the body.
Things had become a lot murkier.
Katrina Parky was naked, her full breasts in life nothing like they were in death. They sagged down beneath her armpits now, yet in times past, when Matt had seen her tottering around the city in her high heels or driving past him in her husband’s Merc, he’d received a bit of an eyeful of the buggers. She’d loved fashionable, revealing clothing from what he’d seen of her and he imagined she’d spent quite the sum in the more expensive shops on a regular basis.
Her hair was a mess—a far cry from its usual salon-styled standard. Bird’s nest was an understatement. Even the knots had knots. Her eyes, open and so disturbingly sightless, were wide and somehow had a touch of fear in them. Matt wished that eyes truly were windows to the soul, so that he could look through them and see inside her head. Watch her last memories so he could find out who had killed her.
“Didn’t realize she’s the Katrina who worked here,” Aaron murmured.
“No one mentioned her surname, we didn’t ask for it, and I haven’t checked in with Jacobs to know whether Catlow gave him her details yet. And her shagging such a creepy-looking bastard… Her being with Mr. Catlow, I mean. Why do that when you’re married to Starky, when you know damn well if he catches you, you could end up saying goodbye to your life? Or why do it at all? Was she unhappy with Starky? Did she go to Catlow for what she wasn’t getting at home? And I don’t just mean sex. Was she needing more? Like intimacy or a kind of caring Starky couldn’t give?” Matt frowned. “Come to think of it, why even work in a place like this when you’re married to Starky? It’s not like she needs to. The bloke rakes in a fortune.”
“No idea. Maybe she was trying to get away from the gang side of things. Act like an independent woman in her own right by having a job. Maybe she wanted a bit of normality. Although having an affair isn’t exactly normal. Who knows? Perhaps, like you suggested, Catlow offered her something Starky didn’t. Sometimes, those we might find unattractive are highly attractive to someone else. Catlow’s married—his wife must have fancied him, surely.” Aaron shrugged.
“I suppose you’re right. You’re with me. And I’m an ugly bastard so…”
“No, you’re not—not to me. And that’s my point. Same goes for Katrina being with Catlow. You think he’s creepy to look at, she didn’t.”
Matt’s mind was a whirlwind. What the bloody hell was going on here? The recently discovered fingers belonged to some kid from The Jugulars, and now the wife of the boss of The Hardarms had turned up dead. Was it as Aaron had heard? The Jugulars wanted a bit more of the action? Robby Zeus’ fingers had perhaps been cut off by The Hardarms as a warning, so had another warning from The Jugulars been sent right back?
Fucking big warning, going for Katrina Parky. Jesus.
“We’ll have a war on our hands, you know that, don’t you?” Matt asked. He didn’t need an answer and wasn’t surprised when Aaron didn’t give him one. “Fucking hell!” He turned from the body, unable to look at the mussed-up brunette hair, the smeared red lipstick, and the mascara tracks on her cheeks where she’d undoubtedly cried in her last moments. “Remind me why I do this job again, because it certainly isn’t to see scenes like this. That poor woman…”
“There are too many reasons why you do this job, and we both know the number one reason.” Aaron cleared his throat. “But we won’t go into that.”
“No, we won’t.” Not while the doctor’s listening, anyway. Not ever if I can get away with it. “Starky’s going to have a fit. A murder-spree kind of fit, although I’d bet the man himself won’t be doing the murdering.”
“Of course he won’t. Getting his hands dirty isn’t his style. I heard he doesn’t even lift a paintbrush these days. Times change when you’ve climbed up the ladder. It’s like us. We no longer have to do all the things we started out doing as constables. It’s the way things go in all aspects of life, not just gangs. Everyone’s got their level and they tend to stay on it, unless they’re ambitious. Seems someone was overly ambitious here, killing Katrina.”
Aaron was right. The gang boss had managed to keep himself looking squeaky clean all these years, running a legitimate building firm and keeping his dodgy shit in the background. Although it wasn’t in the bloody background at all. It was on the faces of so many people in the city—fear of Starky and what he could get done. No one with any sense did anything to piss Starky or any members of The Hardarms off, and whoever had killed his wife had better be good at checking over his shoulder or fast on his feet. They’d be doing a fair bit of running in their future.
“Rigor hasn’t set in yet,” the doctor said, “so she hasn’t been dead long.”
“I already gathered that.” Matt faced the bed again, ashamed he’d snapped somewhat. It wasn’t the sodding doctor’s fault Matt was facing a veritable cluster fuck. “She was here earlier…working, just before eight.”
“Strangulation marks on her neck. Petechiae in the eyes and around them. Also on the cheeks,” the doctor said.
Intimate, personal violence. Had she been strangled while her killer had looked her in the e
yes? Or had the attack come from behind and she’d been placed on the bed after?
“Signs of sexual activity,” the doctor went on, being obvious in not touching the body. “Although there’s no visible semen.” He flushed.
Poor sod. He’d been summoned by Mr. Catlow, who’d apparently been in a panic when two uniforms, searching all the rooms as procedure regarding the finger being found in reception this morning, had discovered Katrina. Catlow hadn’t seemed to care—or maybe he hadn’t taken it in—that the police would deal with calling forensics and a coroner.
Why hadn’t the shift manager done what people usually did and called for an ambulance? Unless he’d heard the uniforms saying she was dead. In that case, what good was a bloody doctor?
Matt sighed at himself for going off on a tangent.
“Um…” The doctor glanced up from the body and looked at Matt.
“What’s the matter?” Matt asked. His pulse rate sped up.
“Um… It appears she has a finger poking out of her vagina.”
What?
Matt took a step closer and, much as he hated to, what with the woman clearly losing control of her bodily functions while being murdered, stared at the place in question. There was indeed a finger there, only the tip and nail visible. Matt was itching to have it removed so they could get it printed as soon as possible, but the police photographer who had been here to take snaps of the other finger had left about an hour ago. He was on his way back now to take pictures of Katrina. The coroner was also en route, so the doctor had thought it best he study but not touch—other than to check for a pulse and confirm death had occurred.
Matt had thought things had become murkier, but murkier wasn’t the word now. Something akin to ‘shit storm’ would be more apt. Matt looked at Aaron, whose eyes were wide, his brow lined.
“I dread to think what we’re dealing with,” Matt said, walking toward the door to the bathroom, needing to put space between himself and Katrina, as though the action would mean his mind would be less cluttered.
Aaron followed. “I wonder if that finger…?”
“Yep, I thought the same. Robby Zeus’? And if it is? What does it even mean? Robby can’t have been the one to kill her, unless he’s damn good at coping with pain and can strangle a woman with only two fingers and his thumbs left—because with that finger in her, it means he’s only got two left plus his thumbs. Providing this new finger is his. No, absolutely not possible for him to do this—his hands would be so painful at the minute. Besides, if it is Zeus’, it’s like we thought this morning. He has to still be being held by whoever is chopping them off.”
“Unless they were chopped off a while ago and have been frozen—and he’s in hiding, or worse, dead,” Aaron suggested.
“No, I forgot to tell you, sorry. I got a report back on that this morning. None of them have been frozen. All fresh each time they’re left wherever they’ve been left.” Matt shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “We’re going to have to pay Starky a visit.”
“Shit. I can’t stand that smarmy bastard.”
“Me neither, but needs must. I’d send someone else but I want to see his reaction to this news. His expressions. In this situation, if he didn’t kill his wife, I have sympathy for him. We’ll be going to tell him his wife’s been offed, then asking him where he’s been the past few hours. No matter who and what he is, I can’t see him murdering his own wife. You know how he keeps himself clean in these matters. Always someone else doing these kinds of jobs for him. And she’s—she was—his trophy. A woman to show off. No man in his right mind would kill a woman like Katrina. She always gave off such a sexy air—or was that just me who noticed that?”
Aaron sighed. “Yes, I noticed it, and I know what you mean. There was something about her. Whoever did this was angry with her. Crime of passion? Catlow?”
Matt laughed. “Can you see that damp-handed pissant being capable of murder? Even I don’t think he’s desperate enough to do that. He doesn’t want his wife knowing about his affair with Katrina, but come on.”
“Hmm.” Aaron glanced at the doorway.
The ME came in, nodded—standoffish wanker—and made his way toward the bed with brisk, I-think-I’m-better-than-everyone strides. Matt didn’t want to speak to the bloke, and it would be pointless anyway. Nigel Unwin didn’t entertain detectives at a scene. Matt would have to wait for the results of the autopsy before having the local doctor’s speculation confirmed.
“We’re leaving,” Matt said.
He led the way out of the room then down the stairs to the dining area, where Mr. Catlow sat hunched over a coffee, PC Jacobs opposite him at a table filled with breakfast paraphernalia. Mr. Catlow shook, his skin bleached of all color, a lock of his comb-over dangling down the side of his face. The end of it almost reached his jaw line.
Christ, what was Katrina doing tapping that? He’s way out of her league. Still, it takes all sorts, and opposites attract.
Matt nodded at Jacobs, who got up and went to stand beside the dining room door. Aaron dragged a third chair to the table then sat, while Matt remained standing. Mr. Catlow gazed up at him, eyes as red-rimmed as Olivia Anderson’s had been, and a trickle of mucous oozed out of one nostril. Thankfully he wiped it away with a tissue and not his sleeve.
“Is it true? Is it really Katrina? I mean, I saw it was her, I just hoped…” He rubbed his brow, creating Klingon-type crinkles. His forehead resembled a walnut shell. “Oh, God. My wife’s going to find out for sure now, isn’t she? She’s going to find out I was having an affair.”
The man’s self-absorbedness wasn’t a shock this time.
Matt glared at him. “Your wife finding out is the least of your worries, Mr. Catlow.”
“What do you mean?” Catlow wiped away more nose dribbles.
“As far as we’re aware, you were the last one to see Katrina Parky alive.” Matt let that dangle in the air for a moment, purposely leaving his sentence unfinished.
“No. No!” Catlow shook his head and smacked the side of his fist on the table. A fork leaped off a plate.
Angry at being caught out, or angry at this situation and the accusation?
“No,” Catlow said again. “She always left here after. After we… I don’t know… Why would she come back?”
“You do know who she’s married to, don’t you?” Matt asked.
“Katrina isn’t married. Do you think I’d have sex with a married woman?” Catlow asked, eyes big and round.
Something about his immediate response smacked of lies to Matt.
“I don’t see why not,” Matt said. “It’s not as though you have an aversion to married people having sex with others. You’ve been doing it yourself, after all.” He ought to stop trying to rile the man, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Something about him rattled Matt’s cage. “And she is married. To Starky Parky.”
“She can’t be…”
Something about the expression that flitted across Catlow’s face told Matt the man knew this already.
Why is he lying?
“Katrina’s surname isn’t Parky.” Catlow appeared confused as hell.
Good acting skills.
“What is her surname, then?” Matt asked.
“Livingston.”
“That what she told you, was it?” Matt grimaced. “So, there’s possibly another thing for you to worry about. Was Katrina on the official payroll?”
Catlow’s cheeks filled with a red blush. “Oh, God… She said she’d get her National Insurance number to me as soon as she could.”
“How long had she been working here, Mr. Catlow?” Matt was perversely enjoying seeing Catlow under pressure.
“Six months or so.” Catlow bit his lip.
“And you allowed her to do so, paying her a wage all that time? Cash, I presume? Naughty…” Matt sat then, fixing his gaze on the pitiful sight before him. Why the hell hadn’t anyone been checking on the running of things here? How had Catlow managed to pay her ca
sh without being caught? “So many things for you to fret over, Mr. Catlow. Your wife. You being our number one suspect in a murder. Paying a woman cash in hand. Having sex with a gangster’s wife. Deary me.”
Catlow started crying. Matt waited, the sobs reaching a crescendo as he glanced at Aaron, who looked up at him, mouth in a pout of admonishment. Yeah, Matt had gone a bit far, given the circumstances, but Catlow irritated him.
Once Catlow was done with crying, he said, “Starky, you say?”
“Yes.” Matt held his breath.
“Oh, God. I can’t do this anymore. There’s something else I should tell you,” Catlow said. “I may as well. I’m in enough shit already. I can’t keep pretending. This is too big for me now.”
“Go on.” Give us something. Tell me what I want to hear.
“I…ah…I had a visitor a while back. Got to be about seven months or so, give or take a couple of weeks.” Catlow glanced around nervously. “Will this be kept just between us?”
“Depends on what you tell me.” Matt didn’t add that if he was about to tell him what he thought he was about to tell him, Catlow may well get himself out of several holes in one go. Witness protection might be in his future, and the hotel shift manager could lie to his wife until he was blue in the face that their moving somewhere secret was to do with the finger being left on the reception desk.
Lucky sod.
“I need to know I’ll be safe,” Catlow said.
“Got any children?” Matt asked.
“Yes. Two. Ages five and eight. What have they got to do with this?”
“It’s just that you said ‘I’ll be safe’, and I wondered why you didn’t say ‘we’ll be safe’, considering you have a wife and children.”
Catlow had the grace to look abashed.
You selfish bloody git!
“Yes, you’ll be safe,” Matt said. “Your wife and children, too.”
Although why the hell your wife sticks with someone like you is beyond me.
Like Father, Like Son Page 4
