The Hard Way

by Duncan Brockwell

  To his annoyance, they laughed. “What’s so funny?”

  “You! You’re whining like a bitch,” Vodicka said, sucking her drink through a straw. “Hey, Sarge, maybe we should’ve found a nice cosy pub for him, with a lovely open fireplace.” She laughed, then winked at him.

  “Yeah, how about it, Skywalker? Shall I bring you your slippers and dressing gown?” The Sarge took a gulp of his lager.

  “Or maybe he wants Miller to do that?” Vodicka winked again.

  Walker sat opposite them, playing along, taking it all in jest. “Fuck the both of you. Who really likes it in places like this anyway? Soho’s such a shithole.”

  “It wasn’t last week if I remember correctly. I seem to recall you getting some last weekend from a place just like this.” The Sarge picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one. “So, what’s she like, this Miller?”

  This was the part of the evening Walker dreaded. Every time he got with a woman, the Sarge would start asking questions. What’s she like? He was basically asking what she was like in the sack? With a woman he’d slept with and left, he’d go along with it, for the sake of keeping up appearances. Not with Rachel, though. He wouldn’t risk it. “She’s great. Thanks for the interest, Sarge. I appreciate it.”

  “Come on, man, have you sealed the deal yet, or what?”

  He had all eyes on him. “I’m not telling you that. Piss off.”

  “Ah, I get it, he likes this one, Sarge, he’s gone all coy on us.”

  “Fuck off, Voddy, and drink your drink, will you?” Walker took a big mouthful of beer, hoping they’d back off about Rachel.

  It was always like this; his team would rib him until he’d had enough, then roll it back. “And there’s something I need to discuss with you both anyway. The reason I suggested we meet up tonight.”

  “Wait! You mean it wasn’t for our scintillating company?” Sarge smirked.

  “I feel so used, so dirty,” Vodicka said with a grin.

  “You’ll get over it.”

  “I can tell it’s something serious, Walker, so what you got?” The Sarge lost all joviality, his craggy face serious. “This have something to do with Zuccari, by any chance? I saw him this morning and he looked like shit, worse than shit.”

  Walker nodded. “He’s in a bad place. He’s gone and got himself in way over his head. He’s in so deep, I just don’t see a way out for him. He’s talking about doing a runner, but I don’t see how that’s going to help.”

  “He’s gambling again?”

  Walker nodded to the Sarge, who shook his head in disgust. “And it’s bad.”

  “How bad? Who’s he owe money to this time?”

  With his head hung, Walker muttered, “Melodi Demirci.” He heard Vodicka gasp, and the Sarge groan. He lifted his head up to find his boss staring skyward, his hands on his head, exasperated. “And you don’t want to know how much he’s into her for.”

  “Whoa! Don’t even think about holding out on us,” the Sarge growled. “If we’re going to help Zuccari out of this, we need to know what we’re dealing with. You say it’s bad. How much is bad in your book?”

  “A hundred grand.” Walker waited for the frowns to appear. A few thousand was bad enough, but a hundred grand was not easy to come by.

  “How the fuck did he get that much credit in her casino?” The Sarge was confused, livid. “I couldn’t get half that.”

  “He lied to Demirci, told her he was some big shot investment broker, or something. He lost money and kept asking for credit. Oh, and he was fucking her. As it turned out, she knew he was a cop, and offered to stake him a hundred grand and he took it. Then he lost it all. Now he’s got a week to pay her quarter of it, or her cousins will take it out of him a piece at a time.”

  “Her cousins, Unar and Yasin Inan, they’re a nasty pair I hear.” Vodicka, face grave, stared at the Sarge, then him. “If they want their pound of flesh, they’ll take it.”

  Walker wanted the Sarge to take action, or at least tell him that he would sort it somehow. The thought of Zuccari getting beaten and tortured by the Inans filled him with dread. Rachel told him to involve his supervisor, that he would know what to do. “Sarge? What do you think we should do?”

  “Leave it with me. I’ll look into these Turkish thugs. They’ll leave Zuccari alone, don’t worry, but both of you be ready, in case I need help with them, okay?”

  40

  Miller lay on the sofa with the TV on, not that she was watching anything. It was a noise in the background keeping her company, nothing more. Luke sent her a text at least an hour earlier saying he was on his way over. If he didn’t hurry, she would go to bed without him. “Where are you?” She got up and went to the kitchen.

  She spent all afternoon on the computer, finding out as much as she could about Colin and Richard Fisher, and Charlotte Edwards. After hours of research, she and Hayes concluded Colin Fisher was the intended target, not Brandy Reid or Kurt Austin.

  Hayes filled her in about the interview with Melodi Demirci and her solicitor, telling her that Demirci agreed to give them access to all her accounts. She thought it odd that the prime suspect in this investigation would willingly give up so much information. Her partner still believed she ordered the murders, and the murder of Henry Curtis, although they were both stuck as to a real motive.

  According to Hayes, Demirci made a valid point: why hurt or kill people who owed her money? She would never see a penny out of them if she knocked off every non-paying loanee. Plus, the death count in the capital would be huge. Despite this, Hayes still believed Demirci was behind it.

  While sat at their desks, they discussed the interview with Richard Fisher and Charlotte Edwards earlier, and why Richard lied about Henry knowing Demirci. There was no need for it, although Richard Fisher could claim no knowledge of it through intoxication. That was how he would get away with it.

  At about four in the afternoon, Demirci’s accounts came through, and ten minutes later, Accord’s accounts pinged into Hayes’ folder. There was so much data, it would take days to check it all out. Inspector Gillan managed to speak to a judge about obtaining Henry Curtis and Colin Fisher’s accounts, both joint and separate.

  As a last resort, they would request to see Charlotte Edwards’ accounts, although they had no reason to suspect she was involved at all. If nothing came of it, they lost nothing. Covering all their bases was the important thing.

  Miller kept coming back to thinking it might not be anything to do with Richard Fisher, Colin Fisher, Henry Curtis, or Charlotte Edwards. It might still be about Brandy Reid, or Kurt Austin, or their other halves.

  Charlotte Edwards telling them about one of Richard’s employees dying in a car crash piqued her and Hayes’ interest. So far, they had three bodies in the radio station, Henry in his bathtub, and now Richard’s employee wrapped around a tree. If only they could find a connection between them.

  The doorbell rang. “About bloody time.” Miller strode into her hallway and up to the door. A peak through the peephole told her it was Luke. “Hey, you!” She gave him a long kiss before inviting him in. “Are you sober? I expected you to come home swaying.”

  “Nah, I wish. I was too busy trying to convince the Sarge not to go after Melodi Demirci and her arsehole cousins, wasn’t I? He and Voddy are talking about taking care of them, saying how the world will be a better place without them.”

  Miller took him through to the kitchen. “They’re kidding, though, right? I mean, they wouldn’t go through with something like that, would they?”

  “Yesterday I’d have said no.” Luke went into her fridge and took out a can of lemonade, rather than a can of Carling. He yanked the ring pull. “But now, I don’t know. You should’ve heard the way they were talking. They sounded serious to me.”

  “What did you say to them? Please tell me you didn’t go along with it.” Miller took out a lemonade for herself. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “What did I just say? I was too busy trying to
talk them out of it.”

  She could imagine him going along with his Sarge. Since getting to know him, Miller had noticed Walker’s lack of self-esteem, as hard to imagine as it was, given his looks. It took courage to go against the grain, to go against the status quo. “Well, good, because the last thing I want is you getting in trouble because a so-called mate can’t keep it in his pants, and lies about who he is to get credit in a casino. Remember, Zuccari’s in the wrong here.”

  She stepped up to Luke, put her arms around his neck.

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.” He kissed her, putting the can on the counter behind him. “I can handle the Sarge. And we have more important things to discuss.”

  “Oh really? And what might they be, hmm?” She loved his face, loved his dimples, and the way his left central incisor bent ever so slightly over his right, giving his teeth an almost-perfect appearance.

  “We’ve only done it in your bedroom, you know. How about we christen some other rooms?”

  “I think it would be rude not to.”

  Day 6

  Sunday, June 17th

  41

  Paula Lang dropped the cutlery into the dishwasher’s holder. Placing the plates in their slots, she closed the door and switched on the machine, listening out for the whir. On two separate occasions, she neglected to and ended up with dirty dishes in the morning for which her husband chided her. “Is there anything else out there that needs rinsing?”

  “A couple of glasses, I think.” Her husband went into the dining room, bringing them back for her to hand rinse. “I think that went really well, don’t you?”

  What her husband was really getting at, was that she hadn’t fought with her sister for once. Only because she’d been separated from her for the duration of the family barbecue. “Yeah, sure. It went okay.” Even with her German accent, her husband caught the sarcasm in her tone.

  He was such a turd. It defied belief sometimes that she married him. Looking at him now, with his massively receding hair, big cheeks and round glasses, he was such a pretentious arsehole. And a massive nerd. All she needed to do was sit him in front of Star Wars, Star Trek, anything with Star in its title, and he was happy.

  For the past year she’d been counting down the days until Fisher Valves went public with their project. Because as soon as Richard showed the world what they had to offer, the company’s coffers would be full, and her contract kicked in. She had her solicitor poised to start divorce proceedings.

  When they married, before they said their vows, he made her sign a prenuptial agreement so that she couldn’t touch his earnings. Another dick move, by a turd of a man, she thought, washing a wine glass by hand, just the way he liked. He actually thought he was the breadwinner. She omitted to inform him of the contract she’d signed when she started on the project at Fisher Valves.

  As and when the project went into production, she would start receiving a six-figure pay out, as stipulated in the contract. Paula wouldn’t need her husband anymore. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he opened the letter.

  Her five-figure salary during the project had helped, but she was certain he wouldn’t lay a finger on her money once her contract changed. Richard told her last week that the press conference was imminent. Now she knew it was on Friday. “Here, you dry.” She handed her husband a tea towel.

  The doorbell rang. “You’re not expecting anyone, are you?”

  He shook his head, said no, carrying on with the drying up.

  “I guess I’ll get it, then, shall I?”

  Honestly, sometimes she just wanted to lamp him, he was so lazy. Yanking a tea towel from the oven handle, she walked through the hallway to the front door. When she peered through the peephole, two guys in suits stood outside waiting. “Who is it?”

  Through the thick wooden door, she heard one of them say they were detectives. He held up an ID wallet that said he was with the Metropolitan Police. “We just want to ask you some questions about a colleague of yours, Mr Vanu Parekh. May we come in?”

  “It’s a bit late to be calling now, isn’t it?” She stood back, hoping these guys would disappear.

  “Who is it, honey?” Her husband stood behind her.

  “It’s okay, darling, they say they’re detectives.”

  “Then what the hell are you making them shout through the door for?” He unlocked it. “I apologise for making you wait out there. Please, come on in, detectives. What can we do for you?”

  All Paula wanted to do was scratch his eyes out. Those glasses made them appear twice as big as they really were. She smiled at the detectives, one taller and slimmer, the other shorter, butch, scary-looking. Both suited, both showed their ID. “Great! You’re in. Why don’t you come through to the lounge?”

  She led them through. “So, like I was saying, it’s a bit late for questioning people, isn’t it? I thought your lot would stop at a decent time.”

  “Can I ask what this is about, detective?” Her husband sat on an armchair, while the detectives chose to sit on the sofa.

  “One of your wife’s colleagues was involved in a fatal motor vehicle collision, Mr Lang. We’re just carrying out routine questioning.”

  When her husband glanced up at her, asking her what this was all about, she had to get away from him. “I was about to make a cup of tea. Would you both like one?” She received two nods from the detectives. “Great! Let me go and get them.”

  “I think I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind,” the taller detective said, standing. “I’ll give you a hand bringing them in.”

  In the kitchen, Paula busied herself preparing four mugs of tea. “So, this is about Vanu? It’s such a shame. He was the nicest man I ever met, and the smartest.”

  “We’re after any information you may have, Mrs Lang. Between you and me, I don’t believe he lost control of the vehicle. My partner and I believe he was run off the road.”

  The thought had occurred to her, although she poo pooed any assertion by Vanu and Richard more recently. Paula wasn’t stupid; she knew the ramifications of the project she had spent three years working on. There would be people, companies, governments out there who would pay large sums of money to prevent its existence, such was its global environmental impact. “You think he was murdered?”

  “It’s a possibility, yes.” He stood back, his arms folded, as he leaned on the kitchen table. “I don’t suppose you’d know why someone might want him dead, do you?”

  There was something about these detectives she didn’t trust. It was too late to do anything about it now. Putting the milk and sugar into the four mugs, she spoke without looking at him, while placing the mugs on a tray. “No, I have no idea.”

  “What is it you do over at Fisher Valves?”

  “We’re working on a revolutionary car valve,” she replied, hoping she hadn’t said too much. She picked up the tray and turned to him. “Shall we go back to the lounge?”

  Paula heard a noise in the distance. She carried the tray through the hall and turned in the doorway. “Here we are, four mugs of–”

  She gasped at the sight of the squat detective holding a bag over her husband’s head. Her husband was desperate to breathe, but the bag sucked in and out, preventing him.

  Dropping the tray of mugs, Paula made a break for the front door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Managing to open it, she found herself running along the gravelly driveway in bare feet, the stones cutting into her flesh.

  A bang preceded a force so great it knocked her to the ground.

  Sucking in, trying to breathe, her back and legs felt numb. Her biggest fear was being unable to get a lungful of air. She sobbed.

  Strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her along the gravel to her house, up and over the step into the hallway, and along the carpet into the lounge. “There! We wouldn’t want you to miss this, Mrs Lang.”

  The taller intruder lifted her into one of their dining ro
om chairs.

  In front of her, the squat intruder put a plastic bag over her husband’s head again, only this time he didn’t take it off.

  His body thrashed about as much as the rope tying him down allowed.

  After a minute and a half, her husband’s head dropped. “You bastards. Why are you doing this?”

  “You know why, Mrs Lang. You’re not working on ‘some valve’ in that workshop. You know it, we know it. But you won’t be around long enough to see the rewards.” He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.

  “Wait! Please.”

  He let go of her hair, and a moment later she couldn’t see through the plastic bag over her face. Panicking, she thrashed about with her arms, but they were held back by something, hands. Squat guy must’ve come over to help. She couldn’t move her legs.

  She couldn’t breathe. Everything was getting dark around her. The bag kept sucking in, blowing out, with every breath. When she called for help, it came out muffled.

  Paula Lang didn’t want to die; it wasn’t her time. She had so many memories to make, people to meet. Tears rolled down her cheeks inside the bag, as she thought of all the opportunities that life had to offer, cut short by these two killers, her killers.

  42

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, while I take this.” Melodi Demirci smiled at her captive before stepping outside of the barn. Out in the blackness, she put the phone to her ear.

  “It’s done,” a male voice said. “We had to go ahead and punish the husband.”

  “Too bad for him. Make sure they’re never found, like we discussed.” She hung up, smiled, and put her mobile in her bag. Turning, she opened the barn door wide enough to creep back inside, closing it behind her.

  “You told me I had a week to come up with the money. Please, I’ll get it.”