The Hard Way
Duncan Brockwell
Copyright © 2021 Duncan Brockwell
The right of Duncan Brockwell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-913942-44-1
Contents
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Also by Duncan Brockwell
Monday, June 11th
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Day 1
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Day 2
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Day 3
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Day 4
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Day 6
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Day 7
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Day 8
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Day 9
Chapter 76
A note from the publisher
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Monday, June 11th
1
Colin Fisher rose from his seat. “Great show, everyone, as always.” His co-star, the delightful Brandy Reid rose from her chair opposite him. It was midnight, and the Fright Night show was being broadcast at their sister building in Croydon. “I don’t know about you, Bran, but I need a shower. Kurt, I’m going to my dressing room, okay? You’ll be here for a while, right?”
Kurt Austin, the producer, used his microphone to confirm he was staying for a while. “Absolutely! Editing doesn’t happen by itself.”
Meeting the blonde bombshell he’d chosen as a co-star at the door, Colin opened it for her. She was delightful, a real charmer with a great personality, great sense of humour. If he weren’t gay, and married to Henry Curtis, the station’s owner, Brandy would be right up there as his choice of wife. “After you, my lovely.”
“That really was a cracking show, wasn’t it?” Brandy, in a short denim skirt and low-cut white top, walked with him along the corridor to the dressing rooms. She wasn’t a big enough name to have her own, so she used the generic dressing room on the right, while Colin used his own on the left. “I guess this is good night.”
Sensing that something was bothering her, Colin asked, “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you? I’m here to listen, as your manager, your friend. If something’s wrong, you would tell me?” She could hide behind her smiles and laughter all she liked, he’d worked with her long enough to know when something was wrong.
Even her face gave her away. “I’m fine, Col, really. My boyfriend’s being a jerk, but other than that, I’m perfect.” She opened her dressing room door. “Well, night.”
Something was definitely up. Brandy always kissed him goodnight; she’d not once gone without at least a hug. “Night, Bran. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.” By the time he finished his sentence, she’d shut the door. “Rude!”
Entering his own room, he closed the door behind him, undressed, putting his clothes on an armchair, before walking through to his luxury bathroom. Henry had spared no expense renovating the factory outlet into a radio station.
Colin loved his life now, which was a far cry from his former life. Meeting Henry had changed him for the better. Henry was the sole reason why Colin and his older brother, Richard, were on speaking terms, not that he could blame Richard for disowning him. Colin had done some vile things to his family over the years.
Naked, he stepped under the shower, bending to turn the taps, as the jets probed his back. Having a shower at the end of his late shift was the icing on the cake. It was so different to his old life, living on the streets, doing anything he could to get hold of some heroin.
All his life, he’d lived under his brother’s vast shadow. Richard was the brightest, the best, the first and only to go to university. Hell, he was the first to marry, the first to buy a house, have kids, the works. Colin had always looked up to Richard in so many ways, but he knew from a young age he was different.
Knowing he was gay was the hardest part of growing up. Colin had straight, very straight friends at school, who were forever talking about girls, about their bodies, the usual. Colin couldn’t comment back with any conviction, because the girls at school didn’t make him feel anything. It was unfortunate that one or two of the boys did.
Growing up pretending to be something he wasn’t took its toll on his mental health. When Colin was old enough to leave home, to leave the pressure his parents exerted on him to follow Richard’s example, he moved in with a couple of friends.
He still considered those days his best, until he found cocaine. His housemates introduced him to coke, which he fell in love with. It made him feel invincible. Coke helped him explore his sexuality. Colin went to his first gay bar high on the white powder, and had his first sexual experience on that same night.
Building it up in his head, he finally had the courage to tell his housemates that he was homosexual. They laughed an
d told him they knew, and that they’d always known. Relieved beyond words, he used his new-found confidence and confessed all to his parents. He made his mum cry. His dad ordered him out of the family home.
The black sheep of the family, Colin went in on himself. He started using cocaine more, which affected his performance at his office job. Out on the streets, meeting unsavoury people, he was introduced to his biggest love, and greatest enemy, heroin. He could only afford it for six months, before he couldn’t contribute his share to the house anymore. His friends threw him out.
Colin rubbed shampoo into his hair. Turning to face the door, his eyes closed, he thought he heard a scream. Stopping, he listened. He thought he heard a pop. Listening again, he turned back, shrugged, and continued washing his hair.
Out on the streets, he squatted for a couple of years with some unsavoury types. Who was he kidding? He was unsavoury himself, stealing to buy his heroin. Shoplifting, beating people up for their wallets and handbags. He hated himself for so long, he used that hatred to commit these vile acts.
If it wasn’t for his gorgeous sister, Charlotte, he didn’t think he would ever make it off the streets alive; they’d have swallowed him up. He finally reached rock-bottom when he beat his dad up, and stole his wallet.
Charlotte took him to rehab, where her husband, Samuel, paid for the best treatment available. It didn’t take one trip, but two to rehab to sort Colin out. He relapsed in between, back on the streets, until Charlotte came to the rescue again. Richard wouldn’t speak to him after beating up their dad, not that he could blame his brother.
After rehab, Charlotte and Samuel put Colin up in their guest cottage, which was really an annex on their house. For the first time in his life, he had a lovely place to live, and he wasn’t taking drugs anymore. On his first night out – with good friends – he went to a gay bar in the city, where he met his future husband, Henry Curtis.
Attraction was immediate. As soon as he saw the dashing radio station owner at the bar, Colin knew he had to have him. They conversed for hours that fateful night, laughing over drinks into the early hours of the morning. Henry invited him back to his house, which was more like a country manor, surrounded by an eight-foot wall topped with razor wire.
For the first time in his life, Colin found himself in a loving relationship. He was with Henry a good couple of years, working in offices on the phones generally, before his partner offered him a spot on the radio once a week. Henry found Colin funny, all the time, so he thought the humour would translate well over the airwaves.
In time, Colin’s role within the radio station changed. He went from part-time to full-time, learning the ropes until he was the main voice of Accord FM. At the centre of his role within the radio station was inclusion. Henry wanted the listeners to be involved in every aspect of the broadcast. It was a radio station chosen by the people, for the people, with no playlists. All day, listeners sent in requests, and it was the presenters’ job to spin those tunes.
There was another pop. Colin turned off the taps, wiped his face with his hands, and stepped out of the shower. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist. A third pop, louder this time, made him jump.
Curious, he stepped out of the bathroom into the dressing room, where his clothes were waiting on his chair. Colin was about to reach for his trousers, when the door burst open and a thickset man in jeans and a leather jacket stood in the doorway, carrying a pistol with a long muzzle. Looking at it, Colin realised it was a silencer.
“Found him!” Leather Jacket said, stepping inside.
Swallowing hard, Colin tried to speak, but he was too afraid. His bladder made its presence known when Leather Jacket raised the pistol to chest height. “What do you want? If it’s money, I’ll get it for you. I’m married to Henry Curtis; he’ll pay you whatever you want. Please, don’t hurt me.”
A second intruder entered the room carrying a pistol. Colin noted he was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just a job.”
Wanting to run, Colin couldn’t move, even when Black T-shirt raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet hitting Colin in the chest lifted him off the floor. Landing with a dull thud on his back, the carpet burned him.
He thought maybe he was winded, unable to take a breath in, until he realised his lungs were shredded. Blood was pooling on his chest, dripping down his side. When he couldn’t breathe, panic set in.
Black T-shirt stood looking down at him. He placed a foot on Colin’s chest, aimed the pistol at his face. “This’ll be over quickly, I promise.”
Colin gasped for air, looking up at the smirk on his attacker’s face.
The last thing Colin saw was the muzzle flash.
2
“God, I’m bored.” Detective Sergeant Rachel Miller drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You see stakeouts on TV, and they make out they’re so exciting. No one tells you at the training centre how dull they are.”
“The clue’s in the name.” Detective Inspector Amanda Hayes sat in the passenger seat, watching the front door of the block of flats through binoculars. “It’s called surveillance for a reason.” A guy in a bomber jacket approached the building. “Wait! This could be him.” She sensed Miller’s excitement. “Oh, no, false alarm.”
“At least let me look through the bins for a bit.”
Hayes sighed. She handed her glasses over and sat back in her seat. It was just gone eleven and by rights she should be in bed, cosying up with a good book. Miller blew a bubble with her gum, as it popped and stuck to her lips. “You’re so annoying when you’re bored, did anyone ever tell you that?”
Miller smirked. “Nope. Just you. When are we going to see some action?”
“I keep telling you, soon. If our informant is right, our suspect should be visiting his girlfriend any time now.” Her partner was right: it was so boring being sat in a car waiting for something to happen. “She said tonight, be patient.”
She had been partnered with Miller for little over five years, having trained her from a detective constable, not that Miller had needed much training having been a uniformed police officer for eight years. Hayes was more than satisfied with Miller’s performance on the job, even if she did annoy her at times, like tonight.
Hayes and Miller had worked day and night to identify and apprehend the killer of a woman whose body had been found by the side of a motorway. For almost two weeks they’d interviewed potential witnesses, questioned CIs, scoured hours of CCTV footage – her favourite. All the man-hours they’d submitted culminated in them being in the car, backed up by an armed response unit hidden further up the road.
The radio crackled on the dashboard. “Please be advised possible sighting of suspect on his way to you.”
“Finally!” Miller turned in her seat and looked behind her. “Is that him?”
Searching with her binoculars, Hayes watched the tall, heavyset black man walking towards the block of flats. He had the right build and height. “It’s possible. He’s wearing a cap, so it’s hard to tell.”
Recently released ex-convict Eric Helsey stood six feet four, according to his sheet. A prolific drug dealer, who’d carved out a name for himself as the local kingpin by terrorising his enemies and threatening their lives, Hayes and Miller both believed he was responsible for shooting the thirty-year-old woman in the back and disposing of her body by the roadside.
Their victim was the girlfriend of the leader of Helsey’s biggest competitor. Helsey murdered her as a warning to all his rivals: mess with me and it’s not just your life at stake; it’s your loved ones’ lives, too. Hayes was sure his message had sunk in, for none of the locals dared talk to her or Miller. “You know what? I’m calling it. That’s him.”
Miller picked up the receiver. “That’s affirmative. We have a visual on our suspect. And it looks like he’s going inside the block of flats… Yes, that’s it. The operation is a go, I repeat the operation is a go.”
“Copy that,” the radio crackled. “We are a go.”
Taking the receiver from Miller, Hayes held the button down. “Hold fire. Let’s give him time to get comfortable. Hang back for three minutes.”
“Copy that. Holding back for three minutes.”
“We’ll meet you at the entrance. Miller will keep an eye on the rear exit, and I’ll keep tabs on the front. We know there’s no other way out.”
She replaced the radio and looked at her partner. “Time for the action you wanted. Let’s go!” She stepped out of the car and checked her pocket for her cosh. The extendable metal baton was her go-to weapon and it had saved her life on a number of occasions. “Are you ready?”
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