The Hard Way

by Duncan Brockwell

  “And let me guess: he can’t repay her. Am I right?”

  “You got it! He now owes Demirci a hundred grand, and it increases for every day he doesn’t cough up the cash. She’s a nasty piece of work apparently.”

  “I heard today that people think she had her own dad shot outside the casino, and even hired her psycho cousins to carry it out. Is there any truth to that, do you think?”

  “I guess anything’s possible with that woman. I just don’t get why she would get him in so much debt?”

  “It can’t hurt to have a cop in her pocket. You’d better watch out for him if he owes a ton of money. He’ll either do a runner, or top himself.” She held his hand. “I’ve seen it happen. One of my squad got himself into a ton of debt. He suffocated himself in his garage. He attached a hose to the exhaust and drifted off to sleep. Poor bastard only owed ten grand.”

  “Yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll keep an eye on him, as usual.” He leaned back, allowing Miller to lie on him. “The arsehole’s become a liability. It’s getting to the point where I don’t know if I can trust him anymore. And that’s not good when he holds my life in his hands every day on the job.”

  “It sounds like he doesn’t deserve to be a cop anyway.” Rachel stroked his arm. “Are you going to talk about it with Sarge? See what he says. And don’t forget, he might get suspended permanently after the shooting the other morning. Could be a blessing.”

  Walker nodded. “You’re right. I might broach it with Sarge, see what he says.” Walker didn’t want to rat his “friend” out to his sergeant, not in the slightest, but a firearms officer with mental baggage like this wasn’t a good combination. Would he trust Zuccari in a siege, or a roadblock, or anywhere? The answer was no.

  “You have to do what’s right for the unit, not one member.”

  He found the way she fussed over him endearing. Rachel was a protective lioness. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect her family, which one day might include him. He sat there, stroking her belly, wondering why he was thinking such silly nonsense. He was having fun with her, no more, he kept telling himself, knowing he was lying. He was smitten already.

  Day 4

  Friday, June 15th

  32

  Richard switched off the engine and opened his car door. He noted Vanu’s BMW’s space next to his was empty. He frowned. In the three years since he’d hired his second-in-command, he’d only beaten Vanu to the workshop in the morning a handful of times.

  Since they were nearing the end of their project, maybe Vanu was taking back some time? Or, God forbid, maybe he was sick? It happened, he guessed.

  Picking up his briefcase from the back seat, Richard closed the door and locked it. By the cars parked, Paula Lang was the only one in so far. He stepped inside and found her tinkering with the Fiesta, putting some finishing touches beneath the bonnet. “Morning! No Vanu?”

  “Not yet,” she replied from inside the engine.

  “He was the last to leave last night, wasn’t he?” Richard walked towards the iron steps up to his office.

  Paula said, “Uh-huh. I think so, yeah.”

  And he continued on up. “Do me a favour, would you? Find out where he is?”

  “I’m on it!” She came out from under the bonnet, her dark blue overalls covered in oil, and headed to Vanu’s desk, where the workshop’s landline lived. “He’s probably just running late.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose,” Richard conceded. “I need to know if he’s going grace us with his presence today. Thanks, Paula.”

  When he closed his office door, Paula was on the phone. The first thing he did was to plonk his case on the desk and step up to the closed blinds on the exterior windows. He parted a couple of slats and checked the transit van was still parked down the road. It was. “Bastards!” Of course, the van might have nothing to do with them.

  If he had the nerve, he would march over there and knock on the doors, speak to the driver. Of course, he didn’t, in case Vanu was right, and they were watching him.

  Closing the slats in the blinds, Richard sighed, turned, and noticed the answerphone screen flashing. The red digital display informed him he had eight new messages. At his desk, he pressed the messages button.

  He’d never had much to do with Vanu’s wife in the past, yet he instinctively knew it was her desperate voice asking for help, even before she identified herself. The first message was her asking if he knew where her husband was, that he was an hour late. The next two were angry additions, scolding him for keeping Vanu from his family.

  Richard ignored these messages, moving on to the next, recorded at 12:30 in the morning. Gone was her anger, replaced with sorrow. She informed him that the police had arrived on her doorstep, asking if she was the wife of Vanu Parekh. Her husband had crashed his car into a tree.

  The final message was recorded at seven-thirty, asked him to meet her at the East Surrey Hospital, where Vanu’s body had been flown to after cutting him out of the wreckage. There was no anger, no animosity in her voice, only sorrow. Richard sat on his chair, his head hung.

  “Richard, are you all right?” Paula entered the office, gingerly approaching him. “I’ve tried every number I have, including his home, but nothing. His wife didn’t answer.”

  He didn’t want to say it out loud. “Something’s happened.” He kept his head down, not wanting to look her in the eyes. “He’s gone, Paula.”

  Without looking at her, he only heard her approach. “What do you mean? Gone where?” She held his hand, knowing something was very wrong.

  “His wife says he wrapped his Beamer around a tree.” Richard could probably have told Paula in a nicer manner, but he didn’t believe it himself. He only saw Vanu the previous night. “I need to get to East Surrey Hospital, now.”

  Paula offered to take him, saying he was in no fit state to drive. Why was she acting so normal? When he looked at her, she was pale, her eyes wide.

  Downstairs, he expected to find the rest of the team. They were nowhere to be found. He followed Paula out to her VW Polo and found himself cramped in the passenger seat. Moving it back, he put his seat in a comfortable position and waited while she prepped for the half-hour journey to hospital. “Thanks for taking me.”

  “What’re friends for?” She reversed out and drove in silence.

  On the way out, Richard checked the van. No one in it. And when they passed, he checked the transit van didn’t follow. “You don’t think–”

  “What? That van had something to do with Vanu’s crash?” Her expression was incredulous. “Do me a favour, of course not. The driver probably leaves the van there in the daytime, or something. Vanu’s so paranoid since we tested it successfully.”

  “What, you don’t think there are people out there willing to kill for it?” He smiled when he said it, letting her know he was joking.

  Paula kept her eye on the road. “Don’t get me wrong, it is pretty special, a game changer and all that. But who would want to stop progress? It’s the future. Sure companies will wish they’d invented it, but do you really think they’d kill people to prevent us from building it? Give me a break. Vanu should’ve taken his pills, I mean no disrespect.”

  “I know, I told him to remember them. And he was worse recently, especially the last couple of days.” The more Richard spoke to Paula, the more she eased his mind. If Vanu had crashed into a tree, it was an accident, not because of some demonic transit driver out to murder him for the Fiesta’s secrets. “Thanks. I feel a lot better.”

  It wasn’t long until they arrived at the hospital. He exited the Polo while Paula found a parking space. Inside, he spent ten minutes trying to locate Vanu’s wife, whose name escaped him, again, even after hearing it on the recording earlier.

  Greeting her with a kind word, he enquired after her well-being, which was pretty stupid, given that she’d just found out that her husband had died in a car crash. The problem Richard had: he didn’t know what to say to
her. As luck had it, she had an ulterior motive for calling him earlier, for inviting him to the hospital.

  After all the civilities were done, she pulled him to the far side of the visitors’ lounge and forced him to sit next to her. “What’s going on?”

  “I think Vanu was right. I think someone drove him into that tree.”

  To Richard, she was an attractive Indian woman, not yet forty, he reasoned. “What? Why? What’re you talking about? You said he crashed into a tree. What makes you so sure he didn’t, hmm?”

  “Because of where he crashed.” Vanu’s wife leaned in closer. She told him exactly where her husband died, the name of the road, everything. “He had no reason to be there. I phoned him, and he said he was on his way home. Why would he take a detour like that?”

  “I don’t know, but there must’ve been a reason.” Richard wished he knew why. Dealing with her was becoming a pain; she kept gripping his arm and leaning in closer each time. “Let’s see what the police say, shall we? If they think something’s amiss, I’m sure they’ll tell us, don’t you think?”

  “He died because of that thing you’re all working on, and you know it. He told me about the white van outside the workshop, Richard. You can stop pretending. I suggest you watch your back from now on.” Her Indian accent grew stronger the angrier she became.

  He sat back, taking her hand from his lower arm. “You and Vanu are like two peas in a pod, aren’t you? You’re starting to sound just like him, twitching, looking over your shoulder, always thinking someone’s out to get you. I’ve got news for you: they’re not. Only people with huge egos believe people are after them.”

  Her voice quiet, yet angry, she said, “You know, just because he was paranoid, doesn’t mean people weren’t following him. You and I both know the ramifications of your project. If I were you, I’d grow eyes in the back of my head. These people are obviously serious about keeping it hidden.”

  Paula arrived, hugged Vanu’s wife, and sat next to him. “Everything all right?”

  He smiled, nodded and stared ahead. “Yeah, everything’s fine. We’re waiting to speak to the police and doctors.” His poker face left a lot to be desired. Why was she so insistent it was the van driver’s fault. What evidence did she have?

  Vanu’s location when he crashed did pose a mystery, he had to admit. Not to Vanu’s wife. What was his friend and colleague doing all the way over there? If he was on his way home like his wife said, Vanu had gone in the opposite direction. Having said that, Richard didn’t want to countenance the obvious: he and his team were being watched.

  33

  “Linares is in interview room three when you’re ready,” Travis told her, before walking off with Inspector Gillan.

  Hayes was still going through CCTV footage of Accord FM’s premises. She’d tried to zoom in on the van’s number plate, but it didn’t appear to have one, just a blank space. “We could look for burnt out transit vans in the area, I guess.”

  “That’s not such a bad idea. I’d burn a vehicle I used in a crime, especially a triple murder. I’m on it.” Miller turned to her computer. “What about Fernando Linares?”

  “Let him sweat for a bit. There’s no rush. Let’s face it, we both know who our prime suspect is.”

  “I can’t believe Inspector Gillan talked her into coming in.” Miller stood and stared down at her over the partition. “Are you nervous about interviewing her?”

  “Nervous? No, why?” Hayes stared back with incredulity. “We both know she’s as guilty as sin. If not for these murders, she’s guilty of lots of other things. Nah, she’s a villain through and through. I’m looking forward to sparring with her. She’s not going to give anything away, I know that much. But confident suspects almost always slip up, eventually. We’ll have to make sure we’re there when she does.”

  “She’s going to have the best lawyers.”

  “Yep. They’re who I’m worried about, not her. This afternoon will end up being a match between us and the lawyers.”

  “I wish I was going in with you.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Not that there’s much point, but I’ll carry on looking at other suspects.”

  “You never know, she might not be the one we’re after. I mean, it’s highly unlikely, given how she’s all over this case, but it’s possible someone else killed Fisher, Reid and Austin. Why don’t you start looking into Brandy Reid’s fella, Dylan Oldham? He’s bound to have form, having heard what we have about him. Do a background check on him. Like I say, weirder things have happened.”

  Miller agreed and sat back down at her computer.

  Giving their interviewee a half hour wait in the most depressing room she’d ever set foot in, Hayes exited out of her computer and stood. “Let’s go and find out what he has to say, shall we?” She put on her suit jacket. “He should be ready to crack about now, I’d say.”

  Her partner stood, tucked her chair under her desk and put on her jacket.

  “This’ll be interesting, though. With no alibi it’s no wonder he did a runner,” she said on the way to the lift.

  “Plus he’s on the run from Melodi Demirci. Sooner or later he’s going to come a cropper. Guys like him always do.” Miller pressed the button. “I’ve known dodgy guys like him my whole life. They can’t help themselves, always getting in trouble they can’t handle.”

  Hayes agreed. “You and me both. I’ve met my fair share of guys like him. Mostly victims through the job, mind.”

  “Even Luke’s friend’s having trouble with Demirci,” Miller confided.

  Hayes, surprised at her partner’s candidness, glanced at her. “How’s that?”

  “Sleeping with her apparently, she stakes him a hundred grand and he loses the lot. Now he can’t repay her because he lied to her about who he is, stupid bastard. He’s worried her psycho cousins are coming after him. And Luke’s the one who has to look out for the guy. I swear the sooner they ban gambling the better. No good comes of it.”

  Hayes waited for her partner to exit the lift first. “Yeah? Tell Luke to watch his back. Guys like his mate will do anything to get themselves out of trouble, including dragging their friends down with them. I’ve seen it time and again. And the government will never ban gambling, ever. There’s too much money at stake.”

  Outside interview room three, Hayes opened the door and let Miller enter first. As expected Fernando Linares was wide-eyed and practically crying when she entered, protesting his innocence, about how he loved Kurt, and wouldn’t hurt him. “Relax, Mr Linares, please. We know you didn’t have anything to do with the murders.”

  “Really?” He seemed to calm. “When I saw the pigs, oh er, I mean police, I thought–”

  Miller waved his comments away. “We’re here to help you, Mr Linares, not trick you, okay? If you work with us, we’ll be able to eliminate you from our enquiries, do you understand? It’s our job to investigate every suspect, and right now you fall into that category, being married to Mr Austin, and having no alibi. Oh, and having a blazing row in front of a group of onlookers. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t look good for you, but you’re in luck. It looks like we have our prime suspect already.”

  Hayes found Fernando’s relief interesting. “You seem surprised. Why is it so surprising that we have a prime suspect?”

  His eyes opened wide. “You aren’t normally this quick, are you? I’ve been in police interviews where I’ve been grilled for hours, and you lot, I mean police officers, haven’t had a clue who the suspect is. I thought I was in for more of the same. That’s why I ran.”

  “And how many police interviews have you been in, exactly?”

  “A few, but you should know all that. You have my record, although for most of them I was only questioned, never charged.”

  “But trouble does seem to follow you, doesn’t it?” Hayes had been a cop long enough to know a career criminal when she met one. “And we have read your record, yes. We already know so much about you. But, you see, Mr L
inares, we’re not interested in your past, are we, Miller?”

  “Nope. We have to ask as a formality: did you shoot and kill Colin Fisher, Brandy Reid, and your husband, Kurt Austin?”

  “No! I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Then we need to know where you were at the time of their deaths.” Hayes caught his attention. His eyes widened.

  “And this is why I ran. I was home alone on the night.”

  When he started to panic, Hayes put her palms out on display. “Shh! It’s all right. We have ways around this kind of scenario.” He stopped panicking and stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “Is there anyone who saw you in the flat around that time?”

  “No! I thought of that. No one.”

  “Okay, no problem. Did you visit any shops that night? Maybe a convenience store or off-licence, to buy a pack of beer, or anything like that?” Nothing. “Do you have a dog, Mr Linares? Did you go for a walk around the block?” A shake of his head. “Order a takeaway?” Nope. “Did anyone call you that night?” No, no one. “Are you a big computer user? Were you on the computer at the time?”

  He shook his head. “How will that help?”

  “If we can prove you were at home between, say, ten o’clock and one in the morning, we can prove you’re not the shooter. And if we can prove you were on a computer, for example, that can still count as an alibi. Just anything that proves you were at home at the time, so not a mobile phone, but if you were typing on a PC, it would work.”

  “Why can’t it be a mobile? Each phone can be traced, can’t they? You can use GPS on it, or whatever. If you did, you’d find mine was at home at the time.”

  “The problem with mobiles is just that, Mr Linares, they’re mobile. You could leave yours at home, drive to the radio station, shoot your husband, Mr Fisher and Miss Reid, and drive home, all the while your mobile tells us you’re in your house. Do you see where I’m coming from? That’s why mobiles can’t corroborate a suspect’s whereabouts, but a PC can, because it’s stationary.”