The Hard Way

by Duncan Brockwell

  “Fine, I’ll not make it an issue for now, but if it causes any problems in the field, you let me know. Understood?”

  “Of course. If it’s a problem, I’ll break them up myself, how’s that?” Hayes smiled, letting him know she was joking, yet serious at the same time. “Are you ready?”

  Inspector Gillan marched to the door and held it open for her.

  “Let’s go and introduce ourselves to Miss Demirci, shall we?” Hayes stepped out into the corridor and waited for her supervisor. As much as she promoted strength in her walk, she had butterflies in her tummy for the first time. Why should interviewing Melodi Demirci make her nervous?

  37

  “Remember what I said: do not antagonise her. Her lawyer’s a pain in the arse.”

  It seemed Inspector Gillan was terrified of Demirci’s lawyer, a guy in his fifties with a full head of white hair, not grey, white, wearing an expensive navy suit.

  When Hayes closed the door behind her, Melodi Demirci sat next to her oh-so-expensive legal man, with a smirk. Hayes took her seat, waiting for Gillan to commence proceedings.

  After making their introductions, Gillan started the camera, which recorded every nuance of the meeting. He asked Demirci’s criminal solicitor to say their names on film, which he did. Inspector Gillan introduced himself, then left it to Hayes to say who she was.

  Their interviewee was well-dressed, in a grey suit, not unlike hers, only more expensive, and tailored to her curves. With long, dark shiny hair tied back in a ponytail, Hayes thought Demirci pretty, in a bad-girl sort of way.

  “I’ve seen all your interviews on the news.” Demirci leaned forward. “You’re the bravest cop I’ve ever met going up against that suitcase killer. Shame we should be meeting over a table like this.”

  Hayes glanced over at Gillan, who nodded. “Why, thank you, Miss Demirci, I appreciate that.” Her nerves were getting the best of her. “Now, why don’t I start by telling you why you’re here this afternoon.”

  “I’ll save you the bother! I have a busy schedule, and in my line of work, Friday nights are the second busiest of my week. It’s imperative that I get back to the casino at a reasonable time.”

  “Be our guest.” Gillan took control.

  “It was terrible what happened over there at Accord, tragic. But you have a triple murder to investigate, and no doubt my name’s been mentioned a couple of times, am I right? So, you’ve brought me here to account for my whereabouts between ten o’clock on June eleventh and two o’clock on the twelfth.”

  “And can you? Account for your whereabouts?” Hayes knew an alibi would be established almost straight away.

  “Absolutely. If you give me an email address, I’ll have my man send over CCTV footage from inside my casino that will support my alibi. He’s waiting to send it. I’m seen walking the casino floor every hour, on the hour, as I do every night of the week. I would have my croupiers and pit bosses robbing me blind if I didn’t.”

  Giving Demirci her email address, Hayes took out her mobile, waiting for the message to ping. When it did, she pocketed it again. “I don’t suppose your cousins are on this footage, are they?” She said it in a nonchalant manner, an add-on, but judging by Demirci’s scowl, an unexpected comment.

  “My cousins? They don’t have anything to do with my family’s business.” Her eyes narrowed, a frown forming.

  “Unar and Yasin Inan, your cousins from your mother’s side. Not nice guys from our records. It’s not like you’re going to do the heavy lifting yourself, is it? So, if you were going to have, say two radio presenters and a producer shot and killed, you would need men like your cousins to do it for you, wouldn’t you?”

  The solicitor objected, but when Demirci shut him down verbally, he shrank back in his chair. “I really can’t speak for my cousins’ whereabouts, Detective Hayes. I know they weren’t at the casino because I’ve banned them from the premises.”

  “That’s a shame. Because until we can vouch for them, you’re still right at the top of our list of suspects. In fact, you’re our prime suspect.”

  “Prime suspect? Me?” Demirci didn’t laugh, or smile.

  “For one reason or another you knew each of the victims. Kurt Austin’s husband owed you money. You’ve had poor Fernando Linares scared out of his wits for weeks, frightened that your cousins would put the squeeze on him.”

  “No, you’re right. Fernando does owe me money for his failed venture. I gave him a loan when he needed it the most, which is more than the banks would do. I consider myself a bit of a philanthropist, detective. I hand out loans when one wouldn’t be forthcoming through other, more mainstream avenues. A last chance saloon, so to speak. And nine times out of ten I see an RoI on my investments. But sadly not on this occasion.”

  “And you threatened physical harm on him if he couldn’t find your money, didn’t you?” Hayes’ hands were shaking, adrenaline spiking.

  “Of course not. Why would I? And what does all this have to do with the three murders anyway?” Demirci ignored her lawyer’s pleas for quiet.

  “Well, maybe shooting his husband, Kurt, was a way of making him pay you? Maybe if he thought you’re psychotic enough to have his husband killed to make a point, you’d get your money back quicker.”

  “You don’t have to answer that–”

  “No, it’s fine, Inspector Gillan. I’ll answer any question she has for me, and do you know why? Because I’m innocent of these crimes. And I know you don’t have any real evidence, or you’d have arrested me by now. So, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you access to everything. If you want to scour through my company’s accounts, or you need to interview my employees, just let me know and I’ll have the documents shipped over, and my staff available. You see, inspector, I need these murderers caught as much as you do.”

  Hayes decided not to seize on the words “these murderers”, for now. “Since you’re being so generous, would your generosity extend as far as giving us access to Accord FM’s accounts?”

  A look of confusion wedged itself between them. Demirci glanced at her lawyer, who shrugged. “Why would you ask for that? I don’t have anything to do with Accord.”

  “Oh, so you’re not currently in conversation with Henry Curtis’ solicitor regarding buying the rest of his shares of the company? We know you already own forty per cent, Miss Demirci. And now, after Henry Curtis’ untimely passing, you stand to gain a hundred per cent ownership.”

  “I don’t want it to be public knowledge, is all. And the way you’re talking, you make it sound like I wanted Henry to kill himself.”

  A quick look at Gillan, then back at her interviewee. “Did I? I didn’t mean to say that, because he didn’t commit suicide, did he?”

  “What? What do you mean? He slashed his wrists and bled to death in his bathtub. His PA told me.”

  “No, he was murdered. We found a mark on the back of his head that matches a muzzle from a pistol. Someone forced him at gunpoint to write a sloppy suicide note, then marched him to his bathroom, where they sat him in his tub and slashed his wrists so deep the blade touched bone. You’re right about him bleeding out. That’s how he died, and you stand to gain sixty per cent more of a profitable enterprise. That’s some motive to want Henry Curtis out of the way, wouldn’t you say?”

  Stunned silence.

  Hayes waited while Melodi Demirci whispered with her lawyer. She was expecting the lawyer to say the meeting was over, that they’d answered enough questions. Demirci sat back and eyed her.

  “I had no idea Henry was murdered, detective, and in light of this, I’ve decided to give you everything you ask for. Of course you can look at Accord’s accounts. It goes without saying. If these files can lead you to the killers, then I want you to use them. I will have my company’s accounts sent over this afternoon, along with the radio station’s.”

  With her mouth hung open, Hayes felt a nudge from Gillan. Snapping herself out of it, she thanked Demirci. “Um, the sooner we get them, the soo
ner we find those responsible.” This was highly unexpected, like a confession from a cold case killer.

  “If I’m prime suspect number one, I want you to find these bastards as much as you do. It’s not easy, you know, having people believe you do these horrible things when you don’t. I help people; I don’t hurt them.”

  Hayes wasn’t buying Demirci’s holier than thou routine. What a load of bollocks. But was she telling the truth about not being Henry’s killer? Her fingerprints were all over the investigation, yet Demirci was giving her access to all the accounts? Puzzling. “If you say so.”

  “It’s a stereotype, that’s all. People think because I own a casino that I have my cousins going around making collections for me. It’s all crap. The gambling industry’s so heavily regulated now that I can’t get away with anything. It’s not like the seventies, we’re not in Las Vegas. This is the UK. I run a tight ship, with a tight stranglehold over my employees. That’s how I’ve turned the casino around, not by hiring muscle to break legs if I don’t get my money.”

  Hayes wanted to get started with the accounts. She questioned Demirci for a further half an hour, asking about her relationship with Colin Fisher. She got the impression there was nothing in it. Reluctantly, she and Gillan let Demirci and her solicitor leave.

  38

  Charlotte parked up outside the main office of Fisher Valves, the company her clever elder brother started all those years earlier. When God had been handing out brains, she and Colin were bypassed in favour of Richard. It wasn’t fair!

  The receptionist was busy behind her desk. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she drove to the factory outlet to speak with Richard, but with how she’d left it with him earlier, Charlotte had to fix it.

  After the detectives left her house, she argued with Richard about why he lied to them, and so brazenly. Her brother was a horrible drunk, which his ex would attest to as part of the reason she left him. The row grew until it reached critical mass, and Richard launched himself out of her front door.

  Looking at the dash, Charlotte noted it was late afternoon. Some of Richard’s staff were leaving for the weekend, probably looking forward to after-work drinks. Gathering up her mobile and bag from the passenger seat, she opened her door and got out.

  Why was she here? Would Richard even talk to her? Would he remember what happened earlier? With these unanswered questions, and more, she walked through the reception doors, and up to the desk.

  “Hi there! Can I help you?” The receptionist was young, brunette, pretty.

  “I was wondering if Richard’s in?”

  “I’m sorry! We have four Richards here. You’ll need to be more specific.”

  Charlotte felt terrible. She should visit him often enough for his receptionist to recognise her as his sister. “Um, Richard Fisher. Could you tell him his sister’s here, please?”

  The receptionist smiled. “I didn’t know he had a sister. I’ll check his office.”

  Way to lay on the guilt trip. The brunette replaced the phone and pulled an apologetic smile.

  “He’s not in? I just came on the off-chance. Thanks anyway.” When Charlotte turned to leave, the brunette spoke.

  “He’s at our other site. If you’re quick, you might catch him.” She scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “I knew he had a younger brother. I wonder why he didn’t mention you.”

  She ignored the rhetorical question and read the address. “I didn’t know about another site. When did the company take this on?”

  “A little over three years ago, I believe. I wasn’t here back then. I would’ve been taking my GCSEs. But as far as I know, they hired it for a special project. Everyone’s a bit excited around here, as Richard’s going to fill us all in next Thursday, before a press conference on Friday.” She made a funny, excited squeal noise, her hands pressed together.

  Charlotte almost laughed at her exuberance. Bitch. So young, with the rest of her life in front of her. She thanked the whipper snapper and walked to her car, mumbling to herself about being ignored by Richard.

  In Friday afternoon traffic, it took her forty mumble-filled minutes to arrive at the Croydon address the receptionist handed her. The units in front of her were closed, the metal shutters down. She hoped they had not all gone for the day.

  “I wonder what your little project is,” she muttered, pulling up in front of the reception door. There was only one other car there. Richard’s wouldn’t be because his was still in her driveway from earlier. “What’re you hiding, Richard?”

  Wandering up to the wooden door, she tried the handle and it opened. “Hello?” Charlotte found someone tinkering with a blue car in the centre of the workshop. The tinkering continued. “Erm, hi, I’m here to see Richard?”

  Up closer, she heard the faintest hint of music, and realised the woman in blue coveralls was wearing headphones. Right behind the woman, who had her head inside the engine, Charlotte tapped her on the shoulder.

  The woman screamed, making Charlotte jump.

  The short woman turned, letting out a huge sigh of relief, telling her not to sneak up on people like that, that she almost gave her a heart attack.

  Charlotte apologised for scaring her. “I didn’t think. Do you forgive me?” She gave the woman her most genuine smile. “I’m Charlotte, Richard’s sister.”

  Shaking her hand, the woman introduced herself as Paula, one of Richard’s team. “It’s funny, but I’ve been here three years, and haven’t seen you before. I almost forgot Richard had a family. I always thought he was a robot.”

  With a laugh, Charlotte agreed with Paula. “You’re not the first person to say that. That’s one of his ex-wife’s biggest complaints, that he’s always working.” Charlotte took a good look around the workshop. “So, what’s the big secret? What exactly are you doing here? I’ve just come from the factory, and the receptionist told me there’s this big reveal next week, or something? Is it big news?”

  Paula nodded. “Oh, the biggest.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me, are you? Have you invented some new valve, or something?” It was the only thing she could think of.

  “Something like that, except this ‘valve’ will literally change the world as we know it. Let’s put it this way, over the next year or so, Fisher Valves will become a household name. This valve is so big, it’s going to change the automotive trade forever.”

  “A valve can do all that?” Charlotte hid a disbelieving grin. “Wow!” Cuckoo sprang to mind. “Is he about?”

  “Richard! Your sister’s down here!” Paula bellowed, making Charlotte jump.

  She thanked Paula and stared up at the room on the mezzanine level. “There you are! Surprise!” Richard stood at the top of the iron stairs glaring at her.

  “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you find this place?” He started walking down the steps.

  “I went to the factory, but the receptionist informed me you were here. It’s okay for me to drop by like this, isn’t it?”

  “Not really, Lottie, no.” He met her by the car, took her arm and started walking her towards the front door. “You shouldn’t be here. Go on home. I’ll call you later, but you can’t be here, okay? It’s not safe.”

  She took one last look around the workshop, before stepping outside. “What do you mean it’s not safe? It looks plenty safe to me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “No! Really? What gave you that idea? You’re out in the car park, now please go home, would you! I’ll call you later. Oh, and turn left when you leave. Whatever you do, don’t turn right.”

  Stood by her car, Charlotte opened her door. Her brother turned to walk towards the workshop. “You’re such an arsehole sometimes, do you know that? And to think I actually came here to apologise.” She stuck two fingers up at him.

  With his back still to her, he said, “Go home, Charlotte. I’ll call you later to explain.” At the door, he turned. “A
nd remember what I said, left out of here. It’s not safe to turn right.”

  Wanting to ask him more questions, her brother disappeared inside. Charlotte put her car in gear and reversed out. At the end of the car park, she looked both left and right. Remembering Richard’s order, she turned right and set off on her journey home.

  Who was he to be throwing orders around? He wasn’t the boss of her. Almost immediately, she came across two white transit vans, which she noticed because she had to wait for cars coming the other way. They weren’t on the pavement enough for her to pass. She beeped at them, and when ready, passed them, extending her middle finger at the two vans, even though there were no occupants. “Wankers!”

  At the roundabout from Beddington Farm Road onto Ampere Road, she was surprised to find one of the two transit vans behind her. Or at least she thought it was one of them. Charlotte tried to get a good look at the driver. Two men sat in the front.

  On her way home, she kept studying her followers in the rear-view mirror. For forty-five minutes the van was there, the driver and his passenger watching her. The transit drove past her house when she turned left into her driveway.

  39

  Luke Walker took his pint from the bar. He tried to make his way through the throng of customers waiting to buy a drink and bumped into a guy who made him spill a bit. It went over his T-shirt. “Don’t worry about it, mate.” Sarcasm oozed over every syllable.

  The guy who’d bumped him shot him some daggers. Instead of rising to the bait, which would have been so easy, Walker continued on his way to the Sarge and Vodicka, who already had drinks. Friday nights in Bar Boho were packed, manic affairs that Walker hated.

  Wanting nothing more than to spend the evening with Rachel, he was intent on getting this chore over with. He carried his pint outside, where the Sarge and Vodicka were sat on a pub bench. “It’s fucking packed in there. I could’ve twatted some guy who spilled beer over me.” He placed his drink on the bench and wiped his T-shirt with his hand, like it would somehow help.