Downstairs the night was young. At half ten, the doors only opened half an hour earlier, and this dirty pig was already into the house for ten grand. Instead of going straight to the cop’s table, she visited the bar and poured two glasses of whisky, one for him and one for herself. It would loosen him up.
“There she is, my girl, Melodi,” the cop said, his moustache twitching. He put his arm around her waist while sat on a high stool, his hand stopping on her arse. “The night started off well, and just keeps getting better. How about it, beautiful? Are you going to spot me fifty? You know I’ll pay you back.”
She smiled. “If my man says he’s good for it, I guess he is.” She smiled. “But before we get to that, I need to see you upstairs in my office.”
Taking his hand, she guided him up to her office, where she opened the door for him and followed him inside. He slammed the door and pinned her against the wood, kissing her neck, his hands all over her. She gasped.
With prowess, Melodi forced him onto the sofa in the middle of the room, where she pulled his jeans down around his ankles and sat on his lap, kissing him, deeper each time. His hands were under her dress, pleasing her. “This is the last time.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
Melodi rode him to the finish line, perspiration beading on her brow. She cuddled him, as she tried to regain her composure. Not being married had its perks. It meant she could take whoever she wanted up to her office. She had to be careful of her overbearing, psychotic cousins, who hated her sleeping with British guys; they wanted her to find a wealthy Turkish man. “What’s the matter with you tonight anyway? You shouldn’t be this drunk so early. How do you expect to beat the house like this?”
“I had a bad day on the stocks, nothing major.”
“Oh!” She didn’t care about him. Melodi used him for sex every now and then. He was a good-looking guy, fit, muscular. “What happened?”
“Ah, nothing for you to worry about. I’m still good for the fifty.”
If this pig clocked up a huge debt tonight, she would treat Zuccari the way she treated all customers indebted to her, harshly. If he couldn’t pay up, she would set her cousins on him, telling them he’d taken advantage of her. “Is fifty going to be enough? Or would you like to double it?”
22
Henry Curtis lay on his couch in his fabulous dressing gown, with the lights off and the huge television on in the background. He’d had it tuned to Sky News all day, in the hope of finding out more about his Colin’s murder. Formally identifying his husband’s body earlier was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
And now he was conflicted. He’d done nothing but argue with Colin since his husband had confessed to his gambling debts with that Turkish bitch, Melodi. There he was, about to extricate her from their lives by buying her out of Accord FM, and Colin went and got himself in the shit. Of course Henry bailed him out, yet again, but he told Colin it was the last time. Henry knew it wouldn’t be.
A news presenter came on talking about the murders. Henry looked over at the screen. Two female detectives were pictured walking to their white Peugeot. He would have still been there at that time. The shorter, tanned detective he met, and the taller white detective, but they had face masks on. He recognised the tanned detective as Amanda Hayes; she’d been on television a lot. If anyone could find Colin’s murderer, she would.
Henry cursed when he heard the buzzer go. Ignoring it, he lay back and covered his eyes with his arm, wanting to sleep yet unable. Even a tumbler of whisky had not helped. All he wanted was to fall into the abyss, never to be seen again. Life wasn’t worth living without his Colin.
The news turned to a drugs seizure in the capital, during which a dealer was shot dead. According to the news presenter, a member of SCO19 had been suspended, pending a review of the siege. The Metropolitan Police retrieved five million in cash, and blocks of cocaine with a street value of two and a half million, not to mention recovering illegal weapons and arresting those involved.
The front gate buzzed again. Henry sat up, took a mouthful of whisky, and set the tumbler back on the table, hoping whoever was at the gates would disappear. At the third buzz, he stood and listened. “Bugger off!”
After the fourth buzz, his temper frayed. Henry strode out of the lounge, into the hallway, where the control panel for the doorbell camera was located. He jabbed the microphone button. “What!”
“Metropolitan Police, sir.”
Henry stared at the screen: two guys sat in a car outside his gate. The driver held up what looked like a police warrant card, not that he could read it. He introduced himself and his colleague. Henry didn’t listen to their names. “Where are the female cops? Hayes, where’s Amanda Hayes? She’s investigating Colin’s case.”
“Detective Inspector Hayes sent us to keep an eye on you, sir. It seems your husband might not be the intended target, you are. We’re here to see that no harm comes to you, Mr Curtis. Would you let us in, please?”
He had to think about it first. Something felt off. “Can you hold your ID closer to the camera, please? I can’t read it.” His visitor got out of his car and held the identification up close enough for him to read.
“Is that good enough?”
“Very well. Come in if you must.”
The driver returned to his Peugeot.
Hanging up, Henry pushed the green “Enter” button and the gates whirred to life. The detectives’ car drove into the compound and he closed the gates after them. “You’d better not need feeding,” Henry mumbled.
He waited at the door until they parked up and rang the bell. “Come in, detectives. You don’t need feeding, do you?” When he received confirmation in the negative, he showed them through to the lounge, where he lay back down on the sofa.
The two detectives sat on armchairs. After a few minutes of silence, he felt eyes on him. Sitting up, both stared at him. “Can I get you something? Tea, or coffee?” They shook their heads, not ones for talking, he guessed. “Something stronger?”
Henry stood, picked up his tumbler and sauntered over to the corner bar. He went behind it and poured himself another triple measure of the “good stuff”. The detectives’ eyes followed him wherever he went. “Are you sure you don’t want a whisky? It’s no bother.”
Coming out from behind the bar, he leaned against it.
“Sit down, Mr Curtis!” the driver said, stern, his voice non-negotiable.
Henry was taken aback by the man’s tone. “Hey! You can’t talk to me like that.”
The driver stood, reached behind him, and pulled out a pistol. Pointing it at Henry’s chest, the “detective” gestured at the sofa. “Over there! Sit on the sofa, be a good boy.”
His glass shook, his legs turned to jelly. “It’s you, isn’t it? You murdered my Colin. You murdered Brandy and Kurt.”
“Give this guy a prize. You’re sharp, Mr Curtis. Now sit on that sofa, or shall I force you to sit by blowing out your kneecaps? I don’t think you want that, do you.”
Henry felt sick. He was face-to-face with his husband’s killers. The room started spinning; everything went black. The last thing he saw before he fainted was the passenger getting up from his armchair. Henry fell to the carpet.
Big, strong arms pulled him up, before carrying him over to the sofa. Having the driver’s gun pointed at his chest made him want to cry. “Please, I don’t want to die. I’ve got money; if it’s cash you want, I can get you whatever you need, please. Put that gun away.”
Pleading didn’t seem to help. All he received for his troubles were angry scowls. “Whatever it is I’m doing, I’ll stop it. Please, tell me.”
“No dignity,” Driver said to his colleague. “You are going to die tonight, Mr Curtis. It’s your choice how you go.”
“I’ll find a piece of paper and pen,” Passenger said.
“In a drawer behind the bar, there’s a pad of paper in there.” Henry thought being helpful might stand him in good favour. “Please,
you don’t have to do this.”
Driver sauntered over to the coffee table and sat on the edge, the pistol still pointed at Henry’s chest. “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice, Mr Curtis. I promise, it won’t hurt, if you play ball. If you do as we say, it’ll be quick and painless. Mess us around, and, well–”
“I’ll go find the bathroom and get set up.” Passenger left the room.
Henry stared at the pad of paper Passenger had left on the table. Driver stood and handed him the pen. Henry looked up. “What’s this for?”
“It’s quite simple. All I need from you is to write the word ‘sorry’ on that pad of paper. Then sign it from yourself. If you do that, I’ll make this as quick as I can.”
“You want me to write my own suicide note?” He dropped the pen on the glass table in front of him. “I’m not doing it. You can’t make me, either. And besides, no one will believe it. Me? Kill myself? Why would I do that? I have a fabulous life.”
Driver’s expression wasn’t angry; it was confident. “Oh, you’ll write that note, Mr Curtis. I know you will.” He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved his mobile.
Taking the phone from his attacker, Henry stared at the photo Driver intended him to see. “You bastard! You wouldn’t.” His hand shook at the picture of his sister’s ten-year-old boy.
“You see? It’s not just your life you’re playing with. If you don’t follow our instructions to the letter, we’re going to pay your little nephew a visit at his boarding school. You don’t want anything bad to happen to him, do you?”
Henry welled up at the thought of these two thugs hurting his sister’s son. A tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away, took a deep breath and picked up the pen. “Just the word ‘Sorry’?” Driver nodded. He attempted to write it.
Putting the pen down again, he couldn’t do it. He angered Driver, who stood next to him and placed the nozzle of his pistol in the back of his head, hard, to the point of almost cutting him. Henry put his hands up. “I’m sorry! I’ll do it.”
“In the next thirty seconds, or we’re driving to your nephew’s school next. He won’t be a happy kid by the time we’re done with him.”
Henry could still feel the gun in the back of his head when he scrawled the word “Sorry” on the paper. He signed his name and looked up at his murderer.
“Are you ready up there?” Driver shouted to his partner.
Receiving the affirmation, Henry did as instructed and walked up the stairs followed by Driver, who nudged him a couple of times in his back with the gun. “I’m going.” He saw lights on in his bathroom and burst into tears.
The Passenger stood. “It’s all good. A lovely temperature for you.”
“Take your clothes off and get in the tub, Mr Curtis.”
Fighting back the tears, Henry untied his dressing gown belt, let it fall to the floor and stood naked in front of his guests. He lifted his right leg and put it in the warm water, then the left, before submerging his legs and waist. Shivering, petrified, he sobbed when Driver went into his pocket and took out a razor blade.
Passenger took the blade from Driver and squatted by Henry’s side. “This will only hurt for a couple of minutes, Mr Curtis.”
Henry tried to fight Passenger for control of his wrist, but Driver held out his phone with the picture of his nephew. Henry relented, giving Passenger his left wrist. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”
The blade sliced into his flesh, horizontally, but deep. So deep, a torrent of crimson erupted from his severed vein, turning the water red. Henry shrieked.
“Now the other one, please.”
What did it matter? He was a dead man. Henry gave his right wrist to Passenger, and his guest opened his vein. In less than a minute, he started to feel drowsy, the bath water turning a darker red. Instead of being tense, he let his arms fall in the water either side of him, too heavy to lift.
“Yeah, it’s me. It’s done.”
Henry closed his eyes, his heart rate decreasing. He heard the intruders talking, but their voices grew fainter by the second, further away. Everything around him turned dark. His breathing slowed. Each breath shallower, with a bigger gap between the last.
Day 3
Thursday, June 14th
23
“Oh shit! I’m late. I’m going for a run before work. Fancy it?”
Miller thought Luke would refuse. Instead, he rose out of bed faster than she did.
Ready in record time, Miller put her trainers on and opened the front door for him. Out on the pavement, she started off with a gentle jog, Luke by her side.
When they reached the fields behind her flat, she ran faster, seeing how fit he was. To her surprise, he barely raised a sweat. Cross-country wasn’t everyone’s forte, but it seemed to suit Luke, which pleased her.
Pounding the grass, she increased her speed when she saw the road they were heading for. Miller wanted to beat him there. Without telling him they were racing, he kept up, increasing speed with her. One final spurt was all she needed.
Just when she thought she’d won, Luke went soaring past her, jumping up and down when he arrived at the gate they needed to traverse. Trying to catch her breath, she bent over, hands on knees. “You barely… broke a sweat.”
“County cross-country champion two years in a row.” Luke wiped his forehead with his sweatband, not that he needed to, to Miller’s annoyance. “Did I forget to tell you? Sorry!” His chest rose and fell, but nothing like hers.
Miller should’ve been annoyed. For whatever reason, she wasn’t. If anything, it made her appreciate him more. Luke looked after himself more than she did. Deciding she needed to stop the booze, Miller regarded her watch. “Time to call it quits. Got a big day ahead of me. You’re welcome to stay at mine, but I need to dash.”
Luke had a couple of days off to look forward to. Miller made him promise to cook at hers that night. The previous night, she had taken a spare key out of a drawer and given it to him. He’d promised to cook a healthy, wholesome meal from scratch, but wouldn’t tell her what he had planned.
After spending an age kissing him goodbye, Miller got in her car and drove to the station, where she parked in a staff bay. Hayes’ motor was already there. She cursed to herself, liking to be the first to arrive. Not letting it ruin her morning, she locked her car and made her way up to the office, where her partner was busy on her computer. “Morning!”
Her partner looked up at her with raised eyebrows. “Morning!”
Standing next to her supervisor, Miller grabbed her own chair and sat down. “How’s it going? Have you found anything?” She leaned in to find Hayes screening the CCTV film from near the factory outlet.
Hayes stopped the footage and flipped over to another set. “I’ve found their car,” Hayes pointed at the black and white footage, at the number plate, “but as you can see, they’ve taken it off. It’s a Rover of some description, but it’ll be nigh on impossible to make out the exact model and colour from this.”
“It adds to our theory about it being a hit, though, doesn’t it? They went as far as unscrewing the number plates. Are we looking for a burnt-out Rover now?”
“I’ve already flagged it. Oh, and Kurt Austin’s boyfriend, Fernando, is a ghost apparently. He’s not at home, and according to his manager, he hasn’t been seen since Kurt’s murder. I’ve managed to locate Dylan Oldham. I’ve asked for assistance bringing him in, so I thought we’d start by meeting Henry Curtis, and move on to trying Kurt and Fernando’s place. Does that sound like a plan?”
“What about the boys we picked up yesterday? Are they still in holding?” Miller believed they had something to do with it, although it seemed they were only after Dylan Oldham. One of them fitted their profile of being ex-military.
“Inspector Gillan and Travis are interviewing them. They’ve said they’ll help out where they can. And I’ve let Brandy’s mum go; she was stinking up the place.”
“I’d hate to be the next person in her cell.”
Getting up, Miller wheeled her chair to her desk and sat down. When her mobile vibrated, she studied the screen: Luke. Grinning, she sent a reply saying she would see him tonight, and not to keep texting.
“You ready?” Hayes put on her suit jacket.
Miller pressed “Send” before guiltily putting her phone in her suit jacket pocket. She could tell Hayes scorned her, not that she said anything. With her jacket on, she joined her partner and they walked to the lifts together.
On the way down Miller stood in silence, thinking about her night with Luke. She had to prevent herself from smiling, which was difficult. Hayes was about to say something. “I’m sorry!”
“What for?”
“Oh, yesterday when I snapped at you. I didn’t mean to. I was a bit crabby, so I apologise. It won’t happen again.”
Hayes nodded, hands behind her back. “Nice. No offence taken, by the way. I’ve got thicker skin than that. Nothing you can say will hurt me.”
It was a load off. She wouldn’t tell anyone, but she regretted snapping. “After you!” She let Hayes off first. Her partner handed her the keys to their requisitioned Peugeot in the car park. Miller didn’t mind driving.
On their way to Henry Curtis’ gated mansion, she thought about Luke again. The previous night he’d called on her about half eight, carrying a takeaway Chinese. Miller did not have the heart to tell him Chinese was her least favourite, being too greasy. She still ate her plateful.
“He came over to yours last night, did he?”
Miller stared at Hayes. “Huh?”
“You’re grinning away to yourself. Luke came to yours, or did you go over to his?” Hayes grinned, waiting.
“Fine! If you have to know, we’re seeing each other. And he came to mine with a Chinese. Any other questions?” Miller smiled, making sure her partner knew her irritation was only by half. “You never quit, do you?”
The Hard Way Page 9
