It puzzled me why the killers didn’t care whether or not they were seen. Not to mention the fact we found no damning evidence against any of them once they had been identified. We must be missing some connection. We just must. I sat back in my seat and started once again at the beginning.
The three victims were all respected businessmen, with two of them being very well off, indeed. Fifty grand would be a drop in the ocean for them. That was supposing Malik had handed over any cash at all. It stood to reason he had. Katherine confirmed he normally kept cash on the premises, and yet they found none at all.
Chapter 15
Andrew waved as Amanda came through the double doors. She smiled and rushed towards him, relief flooding her face. He hated her having to visit him in this place, but without her he had nobody.
He waited until she’d shrugged off her jacket. “How’s Mary?”
“She’s fine. She wrote you a letter.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket.
The immature writing and butterfly stickers covering the outside made his mouth suddenly dry, and he licked and bit as his lips as he took the paper from her. He was too choked up to read it right away. He needed to wait until he’d composed himself.
“And you?” he continued. “How are you and the children?”
“We’re good, thanks. Emma starts school on Wednesday. She’s so excited. I left them with Sandra while I came here, but she made me promise to take them for pizza for tea.”
“And how’s the little tyke doing?”
“The same as always. Jacob is the easiest child in the world. He plods through everything totally laid-back, a complete contrast to the girls.”
“So what does that tell you?”
Amanda shrugged. “No idea.”
“Us boys are naturally calm and uncomplicated. It’s the females in our lives who cause all the stress and trouble.”
“Is that so?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Cheeky sod. Anyway, how are things with you, in here?” She glanced around.
“I hate it, but I guess being on remand is marginally better than being banged up in a proper prison. The rest of the inmates in here vary from petty criminals to total psychos spaced out of their minds on the drugs they pump into them.” He tipped his thumb towards Chester Blom, an inmate sitting to the side of them.
She glanced at the man and visibly shuddered. He had drool running down his chin and he appeared completely oblivious to his surroundings. A woman sat opposite him, crying into a hanky.
Amanda turned back to Andrew. “Have you seen your solicitor lately?”
“Not for a few weeks.” He took a peek inside the folded paper in his hands before closing it again.
“Hang in there. Maybe, with all the evidence against them, you might just get off.”
He snorted. “You think so? Because I don’t. The jury won’t give a toss, Mindy. They’ll say no matter what those disgusting creatures did to us, they didn’t deserve to die. It’s easy for people to judge when they’ve not experienced years of abuse like we did. You can bet your life none of them would have been forced to fuck their own sister while the sick, depraved bastards watched on. Not to mention being paraded like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop while they chose which one of us they would take next for their pleasure.”
“Shh!” Amanda panicked, glancing around to see who had heard. Nobody seemed to be listening.
“I wouldn’t mind, but it didn’t just affect me then. It’s still affecting me. I don’t know what my sexuality is! Am I gay? Am I straight? I can’t tell you because nothing turns me on, except abuse.”
Amanda gasped. “You mean ...?”
“No, of course I’m not one of them. But I can see how it could turn you into one. I just mean, after all that abuse, I honestly couldn’t tell you if I like men or women, as normal sex does nothing for me at all.”
“You must be straight. You were married to Judy for years.”
“Judy understood how messed up I was. She tried to help me. And yes, we made love, but I couldn’t ...”
“I get you,” Amanda cut in, not wanting the graphic details.
“The only good thing to come out of that awful time was Mary, and I often worry if she will develop some genetic disease with our DNA being so similar.
Amanda stiffened and looked away.
“What? Is there something wrong with Mary?”
“No. Not as far as I know, anyway. But ...”
“But, what? Just tell me.”
“Have you ever considered Mary might not be yours? There were a lot of men, and none of them wore protection.”
“Never! I’ve never thought about that, and I’d appreciate it if you never speak of it again. Not ever! She’s mine. Yours and mine. End of.”
“Okay, Andrew. Keep your hair on.”
*
After Amanda left, he made his way back to the cellblock, stopping briefly in the communal area. He motioned with a nod of his head for Doobie, the prison’s supplier, to follow him to the back of the room.
“Did you get the stuff?” Andrew asked.
“Said I would. Where’re the fags?”
Andrew pulled a packet of twenty Benson and Hedges from his pocket and handed them to the weasely man who, in turn, slipped him a small plastic zip-lock bag.
Andrew nodded and left the room, heading for his cell.
He found Dean, his cellmate, rummaging through his belongings.
“I can’t find my photograph, the one of Kelly and my son. Have you seen it?”
Andrew climbed onto the lower bunk. “Nah. Not since you showed it to me.”
“It was here last night,” he said, with a hint of hysteria in his voice.
Dean wasn’t bad as cellmates go. When things were going his way, you couldn’t wish to meet a nicer bloke. However, when agitated and angry, he could be a nightmare. Andrew needed to nip it in the bud before his mood escalated.
“Calm down, Dean. Nobody would nick your photo. Go for a walk, and when you come back, and after I’ve had a bit of a kip, I’ll help you search.”
“Will you?”
Andrew nodded.
“Thanks, mate.” Dean tipped his invisible hat and left.
Once certain he was alone, Andrew got to his feet and slid a finger behind the photograph of Mary he had stuck to the wall, easing a paper clip free of the Blu-Tack.
After checking the corridor, he got back onto his bunk and pulled out the plastic zip lock bag Doobie gave him. He emptied the two vinegar sachets into the bag and closed the top off. Then he opened up the paper clip and scraped one end up and down the concrete wall a few times before testing the sharpness on the pad of his finger. A bright red bead appeared immediately.
Rolling up the sleeve of his sweater, he stuck the paper clip deep into the vein on his wrist and wiggled it about. The sensation hurt but wasn’t unbearable, and the blood began to drip out at quite a pace. He grabbed the bag to catch it and continued squeezing until he was satisfied.
After fastening a plaster onto the wound, he closed off the top of the bag and placed it down between the side of the mattress and the wall, sliding the paper clip back behind the photograph.
Chapter 16
Lynley Antonescu smiled sweetly as she placed two large white plates in front of the well-dressed couple. She tried to pretend the sound of raised voices, coming from the kitchen, wasn't really happening.
"Shut-the-fuck-up, you 'orreeeble woman." Her husband's voice reverberated through the dining room.
The male diner lifted one eyebrow at his companion, and the cutesy blonde woman covered her mouth with her hand and began to giggle.
Lynley glanced around the full restaurant. All eyes were on her. She smiled before taking a brisk walk towards the kitchen.
"What the hell is going on in here?" she hissed, as she rushed in through the swing doors. "Everyone out there can hear you two going at it."
Victor dropped a piping hot dish down on the worktop and threw the
oven mitt down beside it. "Don't look at me! It her!" he yelled, pointing a finger across the kitchen at Carly, his sous chef. "She done nothing but moan since gettink ‘ere three hours ago."
"Don’t blame me. You didn't buy enough ingredients."
"The ingredients not problem here, Ca'lly. You are!" Victor's Polish accent was always more pronounced when he was upset or angry, even though he'd lived in London for the best part of thirty years. "You're wasting far too much and not paying attention. In future, if you're going to drink on a work night, don't bother coming in. I'm better off alone."
"Shhhhhh." Lynley gripped Victor's arm and glared at him.
He shrugged her off and went back to preparing a garnish for the plate in front of him.
Carly's face went bright red. "It's nothing to do with my drinking. Every time you're in the wrong, you always find someone else to blame. I've had enough, Victor." She tore off her jacket and chucked it in his direction.
"Carly, Carly, calm down." Lynley squared up to the younger woman and gently placed her hands on the chef's upper arms.
"Tell him! He's a fucking nightmare," Carly shouted. "I'm outta here." She stormed around Lynley. Their shoulders bumped in the small kitchen.
"Carly, hold it right there," Lynley said, in her matronly voice. "We are in the middle of a service. Whatever differences you two have, put a lid on it, and we'll sort it out later when we haven't got a dining room full of hungry people.”
"I'm sorry, Lynley, but he's impossible." Carly grabbed her coat off the back of the adjoining staffroom door and left.
"Leet her go," Victor said as Lynley started after her."
"Oh, yeah, Einstein. How are you gonna manage alone?"
"She's a fuckin' liabeeelity."
Lynley shook her head as she reached into her trouser pocket for her mobile. She dialled the number of their son, Kelsey. It went straight to voicemail. "Why do you never answer your bloody phone, Kelse? This is an emergency. You're needed at the restaurant right away."
Lynley organised one of the waiting staff to help out in the kitchen in the hope Kelsey would show up soon. It was always the same. Victor had a bad temper and no ability to sugar-coat anything, which made for an explosive combination.
Kelsey finally arrived just before the dinner service.
“Managed to drag yourself out of bed, did you?” Lynley snarked.
“I wasn’t in bed!”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I wasn’t. I went with Gabe to visit his grandfather. He was telling us all about the war. I’ve decided, I’m going to join the army.”
“Interesting. We’ll talk later. Get through to the kitchen. Your father’s spitting tacks.”
“So what’s new?”
“Less of the lip, young man.”
With Kelsey’s help, they managed to get through the rest of the day with no major problems. However, Carly had done most of the day’s prep before she left. God only knew how they would manage tomorrow.
She could feel the tic in her eye again. All this added stress was playing havoc with her anxiety levels. She’d been doing so much better since last week, too. If Carly refused to return to work tomorrow, Lynley was likely to do a runner of her own.
*
Carly didn’t show up for work the next morning, and she ignored all of Lynley’s calls.
Angry, Lynley managed to convince Kelsey to fill in for her for one more day and, once he and Victor were busy in the kitchen, she snuck out.
She’d never been to Carly’s house before, but when she pulled up outside, she was shocked by the dilapidated building. She double-checked the address, certain Carly wouldn’t live in a place like this. It was the correct address.
Locking the car behind her, she entered the squalid, run-down property. Number four was on the second floor, and had no doorbell or knocker, so she slapped her palm on the door. Her rings made a metallic clinking sound. She was about to knock again when she heard a shuffling from within and then a bolt sliding open.
Carly seemed shocked to see her boss on the doorstep.
“Can I come in?”
“What are you doing here?” She stepped backwards allowing Lynley to enter.
“More importantly, what are you doing here?”
“I told you. I’ve had it with Victor. He’s a nightmare.”
“I meant what are you doing living in a place like this?”
“We can’t all live in a luxury apartment, you know. I’m broke,” Carly slurred.
“Have you been drinking?”
“So? What is it to you?”
“I want to help you. You’re a good girl and a great chef.
I’ll tell you what—sleep it off. Kelsey’s covering for you, today, anyway. But, please, promise me you’ll turn up tomorrow. We’ll sort out Victor together, and then we’ll look for a way to get you out of this flea pit.”
Carly seemed to be considering her words.
“Deal?” Lynley pressed.
“Deal.”
*
Lynley’s mobile rang as she got to her car. Moments later, she shot off in the opposite direction.
Over the other side of town, she parked her yellow beetle and reached underneath the driver’s seat. She pulled out a purple bag, which she stashed inside her jacket. She entered the town’s cemetery on foot. Another woman loitered by the back fence. Lynley approached her.
“Pop goes the weasel,” Lynley said.
The woman handed her a large satchel. Lynley produced a handgun from the purple cloth bag and fired three bullets into the woman’s chest before sauntering back to her car.
*
The burger joint in the high street was busy. Lynley ordered a cheeseburger and slid into a booth, placing the satchel at her feet.
*
Twenty minutes later, she returned to the restaurant.
“Where the hell you been?” Victor barked.
“Trying to clear your bloody mess up,” she spat back. “I think I convinced Carly to come back tomorrow, but you’re gonna need to control that temper of yours.”
“I don’t know why you bothered. She’s waste of space who thinks more about party than putting in honest day work.”
“Nobody’s going to put in the hours you do, Victor. Why should they? It’s your business, not theirs.”
The buzzer sounded. Lynley took off her jacket and straightened her black shirt before heading into the restaurant. It was only Norma, their waitress.
“You’ll never guess,” Norma said, as though ready to burst.
“Guess what?”
“There’s been another shooting. In the cemetery this time.”
“Oh, my goodness! Where is this all going to end?” Lynley shook her head in disgust.
Chapter 17
The eleven-year-old girl sobbed into her mother’s shoulder, clearly distraught by what she’d discovered while running on ahead to place flowers on her grandfather’s grave. They were sitting on a bench just inside the entrance of the cemetery, and my heart went out to her. I knew this kind of shock could go one of two ways. It would either leave her traumatised and fucked up for life, or she would shrug it off and only bring the story up in a social gathering. There was no way of telling which way Samantha Quinn would go.
“There, there, Sammy. It’s all right now. The nice policeman will find out what happened to the poor lady,” her mother said, in soothing tones.
I glanced at Frances and motioned we leave.
“Okay, Mrs Quinn. You can take your daughter home now. Thank you for your patience.
We walked a bit further along the path to the cordoned off area, and ducked under the police tape.
“Appears the same as before,” Frances said. She bent over the once attractive young woman who now lay with her head and upper torso on top of a grave, legs up and over the gravestone. One of her hands had settled against a vase of carnations and, from my position, it looked as though she was holding the flowers out to us.
�
��I’m guessing she fell backwards, so the shooter would have been standing over here.” I walked towards the railing.
“Any witnesses?” I asked the uniformed officer who had been first on the scene.
“Nobody up to now. And the victim has no ID on her, although I’ve since been informed that a car had been blocking the entrance and was towed away. It still had the keys in the ignition.”
“Did you run a PNC check?”
“Yes. The car belongs to twenty-eight-year-old Fiona Mills. Her last recorded address is 908 Santana Towers, Pinevale. They’re the new apart ...”
“I know where they are,” I cut in. “Anything else?”
The officer shook his head and closed his notebook.
“Where did they take the impounded vehicle?”
“Bond Street.”
I nodded and dug my mobile from my pocket. I hit redial.
“Cal, I need a favour. Go to Bond Street pound and get any ID or details from a car towed from outside the cemetery this morning. Then bring the keys and anything else you might find, and meet me at 908 Santana Towers.”
“You got it, boss.”
Another group of people had arrived by the time I hung up the phone. Frances was deep in conversation with the medical examiner. I waved to her and nodded towards the exit.
*
At Santana Towers, a flash new apartment complex in an upmarket part of town, I pressed 908 on the outside keypad. The buzzer went unanswered. I tried once more before pressing another couple of random numbers.
“Yee-es?” a snooty sounding woman said.
I glanced up at the camera and held my ID in place. “Detective Inspector Adam Stanley, Madam. I need to access the building. Would you ...”
The door buzzed, and I pulled it open. Then I gave a thumbs up to the camera before allowing Frances to duck under my arm.
“Wow! Flash,” she said, as she glanced around the grand foyer.
I couldn’t help but compare the building to the high-rise concrete block of flats I’d lived in as a child. The plush décor and warm colours couldn’t be further from the cold, grey, pissy-smelling tower block I remembered.
Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender Page 47
