Sitting up, Richard grabbed the rucksack, holding on to it for dear life. No one was going to get their hands on his baby. Checking the surrounding area for signs of being followed, Richard sat staring out of the rear window. “I can’t see anyone following us.”
Once on Ampere Way, leaving Croydon Valley Trade Park, Richard breathed a little easier, beginning to relax, keeping an eye out for that transit van.
The final leg of the journey to Neelkanth Safe Deposit comprised two main roads, the A236 Mitcham Road and the A235 Brighton Road. “Pull up here.” He signalled for Paula to pull up near the Robins and Day Citroën showroom. The safe deposit centre wasn’t far away. “I’ll meet you where we discussed earlier, right?”
Paula agreed. Richard closed the door, secured the rucksack on his back, and began his convoluted walk to his destination, taking road after road, making sure he wasn’t followed. Eventually, he arrived at the centre.
Keeping an eye on his surroundings, which probably looked suspicious, he was allowed entry, having to wait for various security protocols. The measures of security made him feel more confident. Only those with deposit boxes were allowed inside. The building was guarded twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
After passing stringent security checks, Richard walked with a guard, and the manager to his new deposit box. The manager gave him a key, which Richard put in at the same time as the manager used his, opening the door together. Without hesitation, he crammed the rucksack inside the box and closed the door, locking it using his key. “So, only myself and my sister will have access to this? No one else has a key?”
“Relax, Mr Fisher, it’s all in hand. Your sister, Charlotte, and yourself are the only two people on your list. This building is so secure, even the owner doesn’t have access to the vault. This should make you feel better, yes?”
“All I need to know is that it’s a hundred per cent secure, that’s all.”
“Your belongings are safer here at Neelkanth than with any of our competitors, I assure you. So, when you go home tonight, I want you to unwind, and relax, knowing we have your security needs met. No one is getting to your locker, Mr Fisher, believe me.”
Confident his baby was safe, Richard asked the manager if there was, perhaps, an alternative exit to the front entrance. The manager nodded his understanding.
“You’ll be surprised how many of our customers ask the same thing.” The manager and guard walked him from the room full of lockers, to the rear of the building, where there was a fire exit, complete with digital security card technology. “Thank you for your custom, Mr Fisher.”
Richard shook hands with both men, stepped outside and turned to them, as the guard closed the door. With the locker key in his jeans pocket, all he had to do was to keep walking until Paula picked him up and drove him back to the workshop, where the rest of his team were waiting for him.
With his invention stashed where only he and Charlotte would know where it was, he felt safer. All he had to do was wait for confirmation of patent before he moved on demonstrating their revolutionary breakthrough. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the expressions on journalists’ faces when he showed them what they’d invented. It would blow them away, not literally, but figuratively. It blew his mind, and he invented it.
With how hectic he’d been at work, he’d almost forgotten about poor Henry. Charlotte called him earlier in the morning to inform him. She asked him to meet her at Henry’s place, but he’d been right in the middle of something. He regretted not going.
Joining the human race, walking along an actual high street, and not some dark alleyway, he mingled while he walked, meandering between groups. Richard took his phone out of his pocket and dialled Charlotte. “Honey, I’m so sorry about earlier. I would’ve come straight over, but I was in the middle of something very important.”
His sister let him have it, angry at him for not being there for her, again. He’d made a habit of disappointing her, it seemed, somehow missing everything important in her life. At least, according to her anyway. He made it to her second-born’s birth, and her christening. And he made it to a couple of family Christmases, obviously without Colin. “Well, if that’s how you feel about it, I’ll go.” He hung up.
Disappointed with himself, he thought about ringing her back, but decided to leave it for a while, to let her calm down. She was still getting over the shock of Henry killing himself. Poor bastard must have been heartbroken over Colin. Richard liked Henry. More than his own brother, actually. Which was why he went to Henry with his proposal, asking for money to invest in his project.
He sent Paula a text to meet him where she’d dropped him off. He made his way there and slumped in the passenger seat.
“Are we all good?” Paula put the Polo in gear.
“Exceptional.” He sat back, clipped his seat belt in place and turned the radio up a notch. Richard was in the best mood. Everything was in place. In less than a week the world would know his little Ford Fiesta’s secrets, and Fisher Valves would soon become a household name. In the years to come, every family and business in the country would own at least one of his groundbreaking inventions.
29
“One way or another, Reyna, you’re going to tell us where your brother is.” Hayes was growing tired of going around in circles. The interview room so dull, she wanted out of here. “Look, I’ve already told you Fernando’s not in any trouble, and if what you say is true, he’ll be safer here in custody than out there, hiding from Melodi Demirci and her cousins. How about it, hmm? Are you going to tell us where he is?”
When Reyna Linares folded her arms and sulked, Hayes turned away from her interviewee to Miller, who stood in the corner of the room, her arms folded as well. Her partner shrugged. Hayes turned. “At least tell us what’s going on inside his head.” She sat on a chair opposite Reyna.
“He doesn’t even know what’s going on inside his own head. Ever since his bike shop went bust, he’s been a nervous wreck, even after Melodi gave him more time to come up with the money. He and Kurt argued a lot about him going to her for the money, but he couldn’t go anywhere else.”
“Couldn’t he have gone to a bank for a loan? Why go to a loan shark?”
The interviewee snorted. “You think people like us can go to banks? I am a whore, and he’s married to a gay radio producer. What chance do you think we have of getting loans? No, Melodi was his only shot at achieving his dream of opening a bike shop. Stupid, having dreams in this country.”
Hayes could feel Miller’s temper rising. “Miller, why don’t you go get us some drinks.” She got up and winked at her partner. “And take your time.” The last bit she whispered. “Reyna, another coffee? Tea?”
After Reyna accepted her offer of a tea, Miller sloped off.
She sat again. “I get you. I understand what you’re saying. I have to confess, this country annoys the crap out of me, too. I get shit from people all the time. I get it from my colleagues, from witnesses, suspects, strangers on the street.”
Reyna’s face softened. “Really? Why?”
“Being a police officer. I get grief from people out on the street, even my own family and friends. I’ve lost friends because I chose this career. So, while it’s just us, why don’t you tell me why he thinks we’re after him for Kurt’s murder?”
“Because your lot always look to the husbands and wives first. It don’t look good that he had big argument with Kurt the night before. And he was alone the night it happened.”
“I see. I understand. But here’s the thing, Reyna: we have to speak to him to rule him out. For every day that he remains hidden, the guiltier he appears. Please, you have to help us bring him in for questioning. Look at me, Reyna! I’m not the bad guy here. I want to help your brother. Please let me help him.”
The Spanish prostitute took out her phone. “Don’t know why, but I trust you. I saw you on TV not long ago; you seem like a good person.”
Hayes reached out and squeezed Re
yna’s hand as she passed the phone across the table. “You’re doing the right thing, believe me. The sooner we bring him in, the sooner we can rule him out. And we’ll pay Melodi Demirci a little visit on his behalf. Nothing bad’s going to happen to him, I promise.”
“His address is in the book on my phone. He’s staying in a derelict house not far from here with a bunch of, how you say… squatters, is it?”
“Yeah, squatters. People who move into a house with no legal right to be there.” She lifted the address from Reyna’s phone and jotted it down on a piece of paper. “Thank you, Reyna. You’ve done the right thing. Your brother won’t thank you straight away, but when we sort everything out, he will, I’m sure.”
“He’d better. I don’t want him to hate me.”
“He won’t.” Hayes passed the phone back across the table, as Miller entered with three mugs of steaming hot tea. She showed her partner the address and smiled.
30
Vanu Parekh turned off his laptop, folded it up, and shoved it in his rucksack. His team had all left the workshop for the day, having pulled an all-nighter the previous night. Because they had a demonstration on the horizon, a real-time demo, he and his team had to make sure it ran smoothly. Everything was at stake: his reputation, and the company’s. If the demonstration failed, all was for nothing.
Since their successful fifteenth test, every further stress test had succeeded. He was as certain about its readiness as he could be. Vanu strolled over to the blue Fiesta and stroked the paintwork, admiring her, loving how to the outside world she looked like an ordinary car. But on the inside, she was extraordinary, a game changer no less. And Fisher Valves were set to become the Game Master.
Shaking himself out of his daydream, Vanu answered the call, taking his mobile out of his pocket. His wife knew he was on his way home, so why call him now? Since he’d increased his hours getting closer to completing the project, they fought, a lot. About every little detail of their lives. Their poor kids had to put up with so much.
Once the demonstration succeeded, and when everyone knew what his team had created, he would step back and give his wife the attention she deserved. He’d told her this on so many occasions, he couldn’t tell her again. “I’m on my way back now.” It came out irritable, which he had not intended. “I’ll see you in forty minutes or so.”
Didn’t she realise the longer she kept him on the phone, the longer it would take him to get home? Sometimes he forgot how intelligent she was. His wife was a GP. Annoyed with her, he hung up and pocketed his phone.
Taking one last look at the Fiesta, he smiled, turned off all the lights in the workshop and left via the front door, remembering to activate the alarm. Satisfied that he’d left everything secure, he walked up to his own BMW, unlocked it and slumped in his seat.
Before he left, Vanu peeked through the closed blinds in Richard’s office, only to find the van still sat there. When he reached the end of the courtyard outside the workshop, instead of turning right and heading for the van, he turned left, away from it.
With the radio playing “We Will Rock You” by Queen, he drove around Croydon Valley Trade Park, expecting a relatively fast journey at half eight in the evening. There shouldn’t be much traffic on the road. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
He checked in the rear-view mirror, and there it was: the white transit van. “Oh wait! No! Don’t do this to me, please. Come on! Why now?” He had not been physically followed by the transit van before.
He had to be sure. At the first left available, he slowed and turned, followed closely by the van. There were two guys in the cab he could see clearly in the mirror. The driver was taller and slimmer, and wore a kind of smile. “This is how you want to play it, huh?” Vanu stepped on the accelerator.
Out of the trade park and onto a main road, he ramped up the speed, which the van matched. Every time he slowed, they slowed. Even when they could have overtaken on the outer lane, they didn’t, choosing to remain behind him. Vanu was under no illusion: these guys were following.
With sweat trickling down his temples, he decided to get off the A road and travel a more scenic route home. The transit driver was trying to put the wind up him, and it was working.
When he went off the A road, the transit went left at the same time, following him onto the one-lane country road. Vanu had to shake them somehow. But how? How could he lose his BMW? It wasn’t dark yet.
The road he chose was quiet. He hadn’t seen another car in at least two miles. Behind him, the transit van accelerated and pulled up alongside him.
The passenger leered down at him.
Looking up, Vanu saw the passenger wind down his window.
Vanu gasped, holding his breath, when the passenger pointed a pistol at him. It had a long snout, which he realised, at the first muzzle flash, was a silencer.
There was no loud bang, merely a pop.
At first, he couldn’t see. The driver’s side window splintered, then shattered over his lap. Vanu had no time to think about it; he had to get away from the van, quick, before the passenger fired a second time.
Looking up at the passenger, who smiled and withdrew his gun, Vanu breathed a small sigh of relief, until the van drew closer. “No! Please!”
The BMW put up as much of a fight as it could against the heavier transit van. Vanu felt the tyres going. He didn’t want to drive into the woods on his left, but the van had the power.
Trees kept whizzing past at sixty miles an hour. If he didn’t slow down, his Beamer would hit one of them.
He jammed on the brakes, but the van nudged him to the left a bit more.
Vanu screamed, a tree on the outer edges of the woods speeding towards him.
He held on to the steering wheel until he knew it was too late, at which point he covered his face with his arms, bracing for impact.
His airbag failed to deploy, forcing Vanu’s head to hit the steering wheel. Slamming into the tree at fifty-six miles per hour was the killer blow, not the failure of the air bag to launch. Vanu’s BMW wrapped itself around the tree, crushing him to death.
31
“Cheers!” Walker clinked glasses with Rachel, happy that she enjoyed the shepherd’s pie he made from scratch at the last minute. He had to apologise to her for being late, having played nursemaid to Zuccari. He didn’t know how his mate got himself into such trouble; it was like he had a knack for it. “Shall we take this into the lounge?”
“You don’t get out of washing-up that easily, mister.” Rachel took a sip of her red wine. She smiled at him, letting him know she was joking. “That was delicious, though.”
“I’ll put the plates through the dishwasher for you, how about that?” He picked up their plates and carried them from the dining area to the kitchen. He scraped off the leftovers and put the plates in the machine. “All done.”
“A man of many talents. What else can you do, huh?”
“That’s for you to find out. I’m not giving away all my secrets.” He pulled her closer. “I’ve got to keep you interested somehow.”
He had not been seeing her for long, but from what he already knew, he liked her. Walker wanted to see where their relationship went. It might turn out that they were incompatible, but he doubted it. So far, they were very well-suited, intellectually, physically, and sexually.
In the lounge, he sat on the sofa and Rachel lay on his lap. “You didn’t get to finish telling me about your day. Did you catch that guy?”
“What guy? Oh, Fernando Linares.” Rachel stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how, but Hayes managed to get his sister to talk, and she gave us the address of an abandoned house. We went, but he wasn’t there. So, we stuck the local uniforms on it. When they find him, they’ll bring him in.”
“You don’t sound too bothered,” he said, stroking her belly.
“We’re almost certain it’s not him.” Rachel leaned forward and put her wine glass on the coffee table. “We’ll only be crossing his name of
f the list. We think we know who it is anyway. Her name’s all over this case.”
Walker tilted his head. “Her name? Anyone I know?”
“You might do. She’s fairly well known around these parts.” Rachel let it linger, for dramatic effect. “Have you heard of Melodi Demirci?”
He sat up, disturbing her, making her follow suit. “Really? Demirci?”
With a look of confusion, she nodded. “Uh-huh! Why? What is it?”
“That’s who I’ve spent all afternoon and evening talking about.” He piqued her interest. Walker turned slightly to face her a bit more. Her expression said, “Tell me!” “This isn’t to go any further. If the top brass find out, they’ll go bananas. I’m not kidding, Rachel. Not one word, you promise?”
He was half expecting her to crack wise about him calling her Rachel. She either overlooked it, or didn’t mind. Rachel said she would keep the promise.
“You know I met Zuccari this afternoon… Well, when I got to the pub, he looked like shit. He spent the first half hour playing those poxy fruities, until I threw my dolls out my pram, threatening to go home. When I got him on his own, he let me have it.”
Rachel couldn’t wait. “And? What was it?”
“He’s only been sleeping with Melodi Demirci, hasn’t he? The silly bastard. He’s a member of SCO19, and shagging a notorious gangster, the stupid prick.”
“Really?” Rachel picked up her glass and took a sip. “Is that it? So he has a terrible choice in women. He can’t help that.”
“I haven’t finished yet.” He saw Rachel smile in apology. “So, he’s been sleeping with Demirci in the office of the casino he goes to as much as he can. Zuccari’s getting all comfortable, until Demirci agrees to stake him a hundred grand, which he sets about losing.”
The Hard Way Page 12
