To her surprise, a couple of them smiled. When she reached her door, she regarded the white guy. “Off the bonnet, please, sir. This is a police vehicle.”
Both guys jumped off the bonnet and stepped towards her and Hayes. “You just seen Reid’s mum in there?”
Miller glanced at her partner, then back at them. “Nope, but it’s really none of your business who we speak to, is it?”
“Come on, Miller, let’s go!” Hayes went to walk towards them.
The white guy put his hand up, stopping Hayes. “Hold on. You’re investigating her murder, though, right?”
“Don’t put your hand on me,” Hayes warned.
“That’s assaulting a police officer, right there.” Miller waited for her supervisor to make the first move, which she would; she could feel the tension in the air, everyone could. The teenagers moved back, giving her and Hayes room. To the right of her was the passenger side door. “What do you guys want? Trying to intimidate us?”
“We want to know where that worthless piece of shit, Dylan Oldham’s hiding, and we know you must have asked that fat bitch daughter of hers by now. If you tell us where he is, we’ll walk away–”
“And if not? If we refuse to tell you, what then?” Hayes was defiant.
Miller could feel the anger emanating from her partner. “Yeah, we know where Oldham’s at, but we’re not going to put him in harm’s way by telling you, are we?”
The white guy grabbed Hayes.
Hayes gripped White Guy’s hand, twisted it until he groaned, bent his arm and turned him round, almost breaking the guy’s arm in the process. She tripped him, and he went belly first on the ground, with Hayes kneeling on his back while she cuffed him. “What’re you waiting for, Miller? Stop playing with him; we haven’t got all afternoon.”
Black guy stared at his partner cuffed, then back at her. Miller gave him a “Well?” stare, and he put up his fists, like he was about to fight her. Going along with it, she raised hers, hearing the excitement from behind her.
Bored, Miller dropped her guard, lunged forward, grabbed his T-shirt, and brought her knee through. It connected with his genitals with a satisfying thud. He collapsed on the floor. “You see, boys? It never pays to pick on girls.”
Their mouths hung open. Miller grinned, as she crouched and forced Black Guy onto his belly while she cuffed him. She read them their rights to cheers from the teenagers. She noticed some teenage girls had come to see what the fuss was about.
“Now it’s your turn, boys. You’re going to tell us everything you know about Dylan Oldham, starting with why you want him, and who you work for.”
Miller yanked Black Guy to his feet and opened the back passenger door, while Hayes walked her collar to the opposing side. With the two suspects in the rear, she sat in the front passenger seat and waited for her supervisor.
20
“It was good of Inspector Gillan to offer to interview them for us.”
Hayes opened the front door of The Half Moon Wetherspoons pub on Mile End Road and held it open for Miller to walk through. “Yeah, they know we’re under the cosh. Besides, I think they’re repaying us for giving them a second chance with Helsey.” She followed her partner into the open plan pub.
“I bet they’re shitting their pants, though, right? How’s it going to look if they have the wrong guy in lock-up?” Miller huddled in towards her. “I know I would be.”
“It’s not just Gillan and Travis, though, is it? The CPS must’ve thought they had enough evidence. They’re lucky it hasn’t gone to trial yet. Can you imagine the shitstorm if they’d convicted the wrong guy?” She tried attracting the barman’s attention by holding up her warrant card.
Even at half four in the afternoon the bar was busy. Hayes leaned on the polished surface and scanned the room. There were two large groups of regulars. A group of fifteen heavy drinkers to her left and about a dozen to her right. The other tables were occupied by a mixture of older and younger punters. “My bet’s on her.”
Miller spotted the old woman. “Mine too. Excuse me!”
After Miller’s less-than-subtle attempt at grabbing the server behind the bar, the young lad excused himself from the couple he was serving. “Yes, I’m right in the middle–”
“Detective Sergeant Rachel Miller.” She held up her identification. “I just need to ask, is that Katherine Reid over there?”
“Kat, yeah, sure.” He apologised to the couple. “Is that it? Can I go now?”
“By Kat, you mean Katherine, right?”
“I wouldn’t call her that – she’ll throw you out if you do. She likes to be called Kat.” He walked back to his paying customers. “And good luck, by the way, she hates cops.”
Hayes joined her partner and walked towards the group of fifteen drinkers, who looked like they’d started when doors opened. As soon as they headed in the group’s direction wearing their suits, the comments began. “Afternoon everyone, we would like a word with Kat, please.”
One of the men said, “You can have two words from me: fuck and off. Or is that three?”
Hayes laughed with the group, like she hadn’t heard it before. She encouraged Miller to join her in laughing. “Yeah, that’s really good. And you are?”
The craggy old guy seemed confused. “I am what? You asked me.”
Both tables of well-oiled drinking machines erupted in laughter, with a couple of heavy-handed old guys thumping the table, spilling drinks. “We’re not going to get much out of anyone here,” Hayes whispered. “Look at them; they’re wasted.”
“Let me try it a different way.” Miller took out her identification. “I don’t mean to break up this party, but you’re all under arrest, unless one of you tells us which one of you is Katherine Reid.” She made a point of emphasising Katherine.
“Ooh, Katherine! Toffee-nosed twat,” one old boy shouted.
An old woman, the one she’d pointed out to Miller, mumbled to herself.
Behind the tables, the woman mounted a mobility scooter.
Hayes ran to get in front of her. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, Mrs Reid. You’re going to answer some questions about your daughter.”
Katherine “Kat” Reid, drunk, pushed her, hard.
Hayes stumbled back as the old woman zoomed towards the glass doors.
“What’s the matter? Can’t you handle her?” Miller grinned, before sprinting after the drunkard on her scooter.
Hayes brushed herself off, straightened her blouse and suit jacket, and went after Reid and Miller. Her partner had no trouble stopping the batty old woman, and fought with her for the keys. “Here, Miller.” She caught the keys.
“Listen, Mrs Reid, Kat, we can either ask you questions here, or book you for assault and do this back at the station. It’s up to you.” Miller clicked her fingers in front of Reid’s face. “Hello? Mrs Reid? She’s not going to give us a thing, look at her!”
One of the drunkards from Reid’s table stumbled towards them, dribbling. He looked to be in his late fifties, early sixties, maybe. He almost fell into a table of empties on the way to her. “Leave Kat alone. She’s a good sort.”
Hayes glanced over at Reid sat on her scooter, whose face told her to take a sidestep away. “She’s going to puke.” The old guy kept on towards her. Bracing herself, the old boy clenched his fist, as he lunged at her, and fell flat on his face.
“Damn it!” Miller turned away as Reid vomited on the worn carpet.
“I’d call that assault, sir, wouldn’t you?” Hayes took out her cuffs and slapped them around the old fella’s thin wrists. She looked up at Miller. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way, back at the drunk tank. Why doesn’t anyone ever take the easy way?”
The pub burst out in clapping and cheering, Hayes walking the drunk man out while Miller directed Reid on her scooter. They received stares from shoppers and locals on their way back to the car. Hayes helped Miller with their passengers, making sure they didn’t hit their heads on their way
inside.
Hayes placed the scooter in the boot. “It’s lucky this thing folds up.” She walked round to the driver’s door and sat down, starting the engine.
Reid pitched forward and vomited in the footwell, the smell immediately cloying at the back of her nose.
“That’s just great!” Hayes held her breath as much as she could, and left the windows open as wide as they would go.
Forty minutes later, she pulled up near reception in the station car park. When she exited, Hayes took several deep breaths of fresh air, hoping the smell didn’t cling to her suit. She attracted the attention of two uniformed constables and asked them to help their passengers into holding cells. “I’ve got to go wash; I stink. And someone needs to wash this upholstery.”
Miller stood back, her hands up. “Hey! Don’t look at me. It’s not in my job description. I’m a detective, not a cleaner.”
“Yeah, and I’m not doing it by myself, so we’ll both do our fair share. How’s that? Go and get some hot, soapy water, would you?” When Miller went inside, Hayes took a look inside the car at the footwell behind the driver’s seat. “Great!”
Tutting at Miller, who stood watching her clear up Reid’s sick, Hayes carried the bucket back inside and threw the dirty water down the toilet. With Reid’s mobility scooter stored for the woman’s release, the pool car was prepped, ready for the next driver. “Right, let’s go and speak to Inspector Gillan, see what he has for us.” She washed and dried her hands. “What’re you washing your hands for? You didn’t do anything, except carry the bucket out.”
“I told you, I’m not a cleaner.” Miller left the room, waiting for her outside.
Hayes finished drying her hands and met her partner in the corridor. In the lift, she wanted to say something to Miller, but didn’t. She rolled her eyes when her partner started texting, with a grin. “Loverboy again?”
Miller said nothing but followed her while texting.
Hayes found her desk and sat with a slump. The smell of Katherine Reid’s vomit still lingered, either on her suit, or had it seeped into her skin? Either way, she wanted to take a long, hot shower to wash it away.
“Great, you’re back!” DS Travis Jackman joined her at her desk. “I know one of your guys, Inspector. You were lucky this afternoon. The white guy you arrested, he works for Melodi Demirci, one of her high-end enforcers.”
Hayes sat back in her chair. “Him? I had him on the floor inside two seconds.”
“Yeah, some enforcer if Hayes can have him like that.”
Hayes ignored Miller’s comment. “So, did you talk to him?”
“He wouldn’t talk. His lawyers made him keep things close to his chest, but I thought you’d like to know who he worked for. Melodi’s not above taking hits out on people. Just thought this might help, because I know you’re looking at a possible hitman taking out Fisher, Reid and Austin.”
She contemplated it for a moment. “But why would Melodi Demirci want to assassinate Brandy Reid? This guy’s after Brandy’s boyfriend, a Dylan Oldham.”
“And we had Demirci as a possible suspect for Fisher, not Brandy.” Miller frowned. “But Melodi has to be top of our suspect list now, doesn’t she?”
“With a connection to two of the three victims, yeah.” Something didn’t sit quite right with her, though. “Except why would she send her enforcers to murder Brandy, or Fisher? Either way, supposing Fisher was her intended target, and this guy kills all three. Why would Demirci order the hit on Fisher? If he owes her money, she’s not going to get it back by putting a bullet in his head, is she?”
“The same goes for Brandy Reid. If Brandy owed Demirci money, she wouldn’t get it back by killing her.”
Travis sat on the edge of Hayes’ desk and folded his arms. “What if shooting Brandy, or Fisher was a message?” He sat up straight. “Let’s look at it: you said yourself that he was after the whereabouts of Brandy Reid’s boyfriend, this Dylan Oldham, right? What if killing Brandy was a direct message to him to pay up?”
Hayes saw what he meant. “And that works for Fisher. As far as we can make out, Fisher’s not the wealthy one in the relationship, Henry is. Maybe offing Fisher was a message to Henry to pay up?”
“I’ll look up this guy’s record.” Miller went back to her desk. “Hey, Oldham’s ex-military. Spent ten years in the army, and took three tours, one in Iraq and two in Afghanistan. He was discharged in 2012, and since then he’s been on the Demirci payroll, as a security guard. He fits the bill.”
“I think we need to speak with the lovely Melodi Demirci, don’t you?” Hayes rolled her chair back before standing. As she fetched her suit jacket, Inspector Gillan joined them.
“Leave it for now. Try getting more information from your collar before you go all guns blazing for Demirci. She won’t appreciate being fingered for this, and she’s lawyered up. You’ll need more evidence.”
21
Melodi Demirci turned on the television to Sky News. The flat-screen TV on the wall of her office above the casino came to life, a brunette news broadcaster talking animatedly outside the radio station, formerly an old factory unit in a business park nearby.
The lovely-looking presenter pointed at the building behind her. Melodi noticed two women in suits the other side of the police cordon walking towards a white Peugeot. Taking a closer look, she noticed the tanned, shorter woman was the famous Detective Inspector Hayes, the one who’d rescued illegal immigrants from an abandoned factory fire.
She’d read quite a lot about Hayes. About how she and her partner had been instrumental in catching the Suitcase Killer, who had left the capital in fear after he abducted and butchered half a dozen sex workers over the course of eighteen months. The killer dumped the bodies in suitcases in the River Thames.
No, one thing she didn’t want was Hayes sticking her oar in. Her business with Henry Curtis needed to stay quiet. Melodi picked up her desk phone. “Yeah, it’s me. I think it’s time. You know what to do. Look, I don’t care how you do it, just make sure it doesn’t come back on me, understood? I don’t know, use your imagination.”
Slamming the phone down, she spun in her chair. “I have to do everything around here!” She was sad about Colin Fisher and Brandy Reid; they were great presenters, had good chemistry.
When Henry Curtis had come to her asking for investment in his broadcasting station, she’d been reluctant at first. The thought of a radio station aimed at the LGBTQ community didn’t seem like a viable business proposition to her. But when she saw the forecast for Return on Investment (RoI), pound signs flashed in her eyes. Demirci had no idea how under-represented the LGBTQ community were in local, regional or national radio.
For the past three years she’d had a good working relationship with Henry Curtis. Being a silent investor was an easy win for her. Handing over the money to him was the extent of her involvement, and she was receiving her forty per cent of the profits, which had grown exponentially over the years. The problem she had now: Henry was getting greedy, trying to buy her out of the company she helped establish. If anything, she would buy his shares, not the other way round.
Being the figurehead of a family dynasty had its perks and pitfalls. She held people’s livelihoods, and ultimately their lives, in her hands. The casino was a huge burden on her, but with cunning and ruthless business acumen, another cash cow. Her father had almost run her birthright, and inheritance, into the ground. It didn’t surprise her to find him riddled with bullets in the casino’s car park.
As much as she wasn’t surprised to find her father filled with lead, it still hurt. The police even suspected her of hiring hitmen; they took her in for questioning and everything, not that they had any proof. She was more careful than that. He deserved everything he got, the alcoholic prick that he was. In the end, they collared a business associate, a dealer he’d double-crossed.
Now Melodi was in charge of the casino, and guided her family’s fortunes. The first thing she did when she took over was to fire t
he pit boss and cage manager; it was clear they were skimming. She made sure they received her message not to steal from her. Neither would use their left hands again.
Next on her list of priorities was to hire trustworthy dealers and inspectors, which meant screening existing staff. Those who failed were beaten by her security team in the cellar, and told never to return. The lucky few retained their jobs, and she hired only those she trusted, or those she thought she could scare into behaving. Inside six months, she had a working casino taking more money on a daily basis than her father had.
Yeah, she knew what she was doing. Melodi acquired quite the reputation for business, so much so that small business owners approached her for loans. She took this as a compliment. One bicycle shop owner asked her for a loan, to which she obliged. But when he couldn’t front the repayments, she had her security visit the shop, steal the bikes, and when the insurance money came through, made him pay her. He folded.
Melodi turned the TV off when a knock came at her office door. She shouted for the visitor to enter and one of her security team came in. “I’m coming. Wait outside.”
She walked over to her corner bar and poured herself a whisky, not a high street brand. She only drank decent whiskies. Feeling the liquid warming her insides, she took a deep breath and headed towards the door. “What’s so urgent? I said no interruptions.”
“There’s some guy downstairs, says you’ll spot him.”
Melodi knew immediately who the guy was. The useless piece of shit lied to her that he was some hotshot stockbroker. She’d had him checked out, and was pleasantly pleased to find out he was a member of SCO19, a unit of the armed police.
If there was one type of person she despised it was dirty cops. Unfortunately, there were a lot of them in the capital, and they all seemed to want a piece of her action. They came by her place frequently, threatening this and that if she didn’t comply with their needs. This guy was acting more like an undercover though, a real scumbag.
The Hard Way Page 8
