The Hard Way

by Duncan Brockwell

  She nodded at Yasin, her cousin, who gagged Zuccari. “Everyone here knows you can’t come up with the cash. How can a police officer earn enough to save twenty-five grand, hmm? No, you got yourself in way over your head, and now you’re paying the consequences of your actions. It’s a shame, because I like you, I really do. I liked fucking you, too.” Her cousin, Unar, stepped up to Zuccari carrying a handheld electric circular saw.

  With her captive lying on a bench, Melodi stepped up to him and grabbed his hair. “Lying to me about who you are, though, very stupid. Never lie to me, do you understand? I’m going to show you what happens to liars.”

  Her voice was almost drowned out by the combined noise of the saw and Zuccari screaming. Yasin held Zuccari’s left arm out while his brother walked the saw closer to Zuccari’s hand. “Just take a souvenir, yes? A couple of digits will do.”

  Added to the deafening mix of the saw and screaming was the sickening sound of metal going through flesh and bone. Melodi held Zuccari’s wrist, and before her cousin sawed off Zuccari’s little and ring fingers, she made sure he didn’t ball his hand into a fist.

  A little blood sprayed over her face, which she enjoyed, it not being hers. “This will act as a reminder, won’t it? Don’t ever lie to me again, understood?” Her victim sobbed, bleeding heavily from his severed digits. “You know what to do.”

  Yasin Inan, the elder of the brothers, stepped up to Zuccari with a red-hot poker, stabbing the stumps of his missing fingers with it, as Zuccari screamed, a feral, high-pitched sound penetrating the airwaves. “Such a drama queen. We don’t want you bleeding out on us, do we? No, I’ve got a special assignment for you. Something you can do to help me, and help you pay off your debt. You’re mine now, little piggy.”

  Looking at the pathetic lump sobbing, Melodi wondered how she could have found him attractive to begin with. “What was I thinking? I must have been desperate, is all I can think.” But he had been good in the sack, fucking her on her desk that first time. He’d initiated it, the dirty pig. “Not the cocky guy now, are we? Look at you! It’s pathetic.”

  Letting go of his wrist, she walked around the bench, stood in front of him. Crouching, she met his weeping eyes. “As part of repayment to me, you’re my new source inside the Met, do you understand? You’re going to keep me informed regularly on what’s going on in the Fisher case, yes?”

  Zuccari nodded through the tears. “Whatever you want.”

  “I hear one of your team is dating the taller detective woman.”

  “Luke’s fucking Miller.” He nodded, trying to make her feel better about it. “I’ll do whatever you ask, but please can I have my fingers back. They might be able to save them.” He held out his other hand.

  Spotting his fingers on the straw-bound ground, she picked them up, took out a handkerchief and wrapped them, putting the parcel in her bag. “These are my keepsakes, I’m afraid. Like I said, you need a reminder not to lie to me, or go behind my back.”

  “I’ll get you whatever you want.” He sobbed again.

  Melodi pulled a disgusted face, turned and left her cousins with Zuccari. “Make sure he gets home safely, okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply from Unar or Yasin. They knew what they were doing, the way she liked everything done.

  Day 7

  Monday, June 18th

  43

  “Show me what you’ve got so far.” Inspector Gillan sat on one side of the table next to Travis, while Hayes and Miller stood in front, working a projector. “Do you still think this is all about the Fishers?”

  “We do, sir.” Hayes pressed the button on the remote control, as a picture of a bank account appeared. “We’ve highlighted interesting transactions in yellow, as you can see here. These are Melodi Demirci’s accounts, and as you can see highlighted is an amount paid into her account from Accord. It’s a hefty amount, that accounts for forty per cent of the company’s profit.”

  Miller stepped up to the whiteboard. “And if you go back, month on month, you can see the amounts get smaller the further back you go.”

  “Right, so we’ve established a link between Demirci and Henry Curtis. You’re not showing me anything I didn’t already know.” Gillan sat back and folded his arms.

  “This is a copy of the agreement signed between Curtis and Demirci at the start of their arrangement. Demirci invested a cool million for forty per cent of the profits. And highlighted is the addendum, the added clause that stipulates once the debt has been paid back, one will have the right to buy the other out.”

  “And you still believe Melodi had Curtis murdered for that extra sixty per cent, is that it? You think that’s a big enough motive to have him killed?”

  “Sixty per cent of a growing, future multi-million-pound business is, sure. Think about it, sir, there’s no risk involved. With her casino, she has hundreds, maybe thousands of customers a week trying to break the house, right? It’s a risky business because luck plays a part. But not with the radio station – it has a massive audience, and it’s growing every day. They had a falling out, apparently, when Henry tried to buy her out.”

  “I agree her DNA’s all over this, but we need more proof. Melodi even said to us in the interview that she wouldn’t have someone killed for owing her money. And Henry didn’t. What makes you think she went through with it? She thought he was the best man for the job of CEO.”

  “Sure, that’s what she said, except that she knew he wanted her out of the business altogether, that he wanted Accord to himself. Knowing she would stand to inherit his shares, that’s one big motive right there. You wait, I bet she has someone lined up, willing and raring to go in Curtis’ place. Because she ordered his murder.”

  “You make a convincing argument,” Travis volunteered. “But like Inspector Gillan said, where’s your proof of all this? You can show us accounts, money exchanges, but there’s no plot to murder that I can see, just one person loaning another for a percentage of profits, and the other paying them back. I’m sorry, but I’m just not seeing it.”

  Hayes sighed, looked at Miller and handed her the remote. She was certain of Demirci’s guilt, even if they weren’t.

  “We did find something else interesting.” Her partner pressed the button, and another page of accounts came up. “Henry Curtis’ accounts here. The figure you see highlighted was transferred from his joint account with his husband, Colin Fisher, to Richard Fisher’s company account, Fisher Valves. Just a cool million jumping from one account to the other. We’d like to know what that cash injection was for.”

  “You know, it seems to me that Richard Fisher’s the epicentre of this case, not Melodi Demirci, as much as we all think she’s a villain. I’d like you to interview Richard Fisher, find out what’s going on. First his brother, and now his brother-in-law.”

  “And let’s not forget his employee dying in a car crash on Thursday night,” Hayes added for good measure. “Most probably a coincidence, but it could be something.”

  “It can’t hurt to look into it.” Gillan stood and stared down at her. “Go and find Fisher, bring him back here and interview him. If you can’t find anything on him, widen your search again. Focusing on the Fishers might not have been the best move after all.”

  “Uniforms have been interviewing people of interest over the weekend. And so far everyone’s alibis have checked out. They’ve spoken to Henry Curtis’ employees. They still haven’t located Dylan Oldham, Brandy Reid’s other half. He’s still out there.”

  Miller stepped up to the table. “We’re not dealing with some psychopath on the loose here, though, sir, are we? With how accurate the gunshots were, we’re dealing with someone in the armed forces, either present or ex-Forces. It could be that this was a guy, and we’ll find him through our investigation, but it’s more likely that someone hired him. It’s going to make catching him that much harder.”

  “You do what you have to do, of course, Detective Miller. But we’ve apprehended hired killers before. They often make as many mist
akes as common or garden shooters do. They almost always leave trace. How did forensics go with the footprints on Colin Fisher’s chest?”

  “Much the same as the glove prints found at the scene. They have records, but no match to any former crimes, sir. We have the suspect’s shoe size and print. Most of the trace came back negative. Demirci’s prints turned up in Colin Fisher’s dressing room, though, which we thought was strange.” Hayes turned off the projector, and began gathering her paperwork together.

  “There could be a hundred reasons why her prints were in his room. Follow up with the brother, interview him, see what you can get. In the event it’s nothing, we’ll widen our search. Let’s go!”

  Hayes picked up her papers, waiting for Gillan and Travis to leave. “I thought we had them on our side.”

  “Same here.” Miller met her at the door and walked with her. “Let’s go get Fisher and see what he says. You never know, he might still be the key to all this.”

  44

  Richard was the first person to arrive at the workshop for the second day in a row. He shook his head, unable to believe Paula wasn’t there. After Friday, he hoped she was okay. Taking his mobile out of his jacket, he phoned her landline, which went straight through to an answer machine. “Where the hell are you?”

  Figuring she must be running late, he tried her mobile, which also went to voicemail. He hated leaving messages, so he hung up, thinking she must be in her car on her way in. By the dash clock, it said: 09:36. She really was running late, abnormally so.

  At the wooden door to the workshop, Richard let himself in, disabling the alarm on his way, which he so rarely had to do, he was surprised he could remember the code. After switching on the lights, the Fiesta sat there, glinting in the bright white overhead lights. “Morning, baby,” he said, stroking her paintwork with affection. “Friday’s the day. Everyone’s going to know what you are.”

  With Vanu gone, and Paula currently AWOL, he wondered where Yurika and Nathan were; they should be there by now. He strolled over to the main PC on Vanu’s desk and switched it on, readying the workshop for productivity later. They still had some last-minute checks to run through before the press conference.

  According to Vanu, the normal day saw Yurika arrive shortly after Paula, at around half eight. Then, at quarter to nine Nathan would arrive. It was now 09:45, so even Nathan was a full hour late. Where the hell was everyone?

  After trying both Yurika Ishii and Nathan Stewart, Richard gave up. Straight to voicemail every time. Richard hated leaving voicemails, so instead he hung up and made himself a mug of coffee. While he drank it, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter, he wondered where they were. Paula, Yurika and Nathan, none of them stressed they were going to be late that morning.

  Up in his office, he turned on his own computer and sat in his chair, waiting for it to load, when his mobile went off in his jacket pocket. Looking at the caller ID: Yurika. “I’m sorry! They know everything. If you are in the office, get out now!”

  Richard blinked twice, the information not registering in his brain. The second he read the message, police sirens, multiple, rang out in the courtyard below. When he jumped up from his chair and went to the window, there were five pandas and two plain police cars down there. “Oh shit!”

  In that second he realised he was screwed. Vanu was right to be paranoid; they were here to destroy his project. Whoever hired them never wanted it to see the light of day. His blue Fiesta, with its secret to tell would be silenced forever, his company discredited somehow. Sweat ran down his forehead.

  He had to do something. Richard needed time to think, damn it! As he watched uniforms exit their vehicles, he remembered the key. He ran to his desk, yanked the drawer out and picked it up. “Now, where to hide you.”

  In a Eureka moment, he decided the best place to hide the key to the safe deposit box was down the drain in the centre of the workshop. “Perfect.” With sweat pouring down his face, he took a white envelope out of the drawer, then ran down the iron steps, his feet barely hitting the stairs, until he was on the ground floor.

  Outside, he heard voices calling his name.

  Richard had seconds before they came flooding in and arrested him on some fictional charge. He ran to the Fiesta, opened its driver door, took out the key and bunged it in the envelope with the locker key.

  With seconds to spare, he ran back to the drain, scooped down, and struggled to open the small lid, placing the envelope inside. He then replaced the lid and stood.

  Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sent Charlotte a quick text saying, ‘Key in drain in workshop. Being arrested. Come get key. Important!’ Then he sent it, with his back to the front door.

  “Mr Richard Fisher?” a voice called.

  “Yes?” He deleted the message to his sister, before turning to find a workshop full of mostly uniformed cops in front of him. His hands shook with adrenaline. The two suits who spoke were detectives by the look of it. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my workshop?”

  The taller of the two detectives explained that they were National Crime Agency officers, and he was under arrest for being in possession of offensive images of children. They were investigating a huge child exploitation case, and they had evidence he was involved. In addition, the suit told Richard that every computer in the workshop, office at the factory, and his home would be checked for images of child pornography.

  He was being set up. Richard knew that Vanu wasn’t in any car accident; he was run off the road, murdered for his involvement in the project. Suspecting foul play had befallen Paula and Nathan as well, he turned and allowed the suits to cuff him while they read him his rights, just like in the TV programmes and movies he watched.

  From her text, it sounded like Yurika had made a deal. Bitch!

  Oh bugger! He hadn’t told Charlotte what the key was for, or what locker it opened. He figured he would use his one phone call to tell her. It was risky, though. He didn’t want to get her in trouble, because whoever wanted him out of the way was dangerous. They’d already murdered his brother, Henry, Vanu, and possibly Paula and Nathan, too. If he went to prison, there would be no one left to carry on his work.

  45

  Hayes pulled up outside the Fisher Valves factory office. “I preferred the Accord office.” It wasn’t the most pleasant of buildings to look at, although the receptionist she saw through the glass seemed attractive and smiley.

  “Let’s hope he’s in.” Miller unclipped her belt and opened her door. “I know he was lying. He knows more than he’s letting on.”

  She had to agree. There was something off about Richard Fisher, something, dare she say, fishy about him. “I’m with you on that.” After opening her door, Hayes climbed out and leaned against the car. “I know he was drunk, but his lie was so blatant.”

  Meeting Miller on their way to reception, she held the handle of the glass door, and let her partner through first. They were greeted by a set of perfectly straight white teeth in the form of a huge smile.

  “Welcome to Fisher Valves. How may I help you this morning?” The youngster, no more than twenty studied Miller, then her.

  Holding up her ID wallet, Hayes smiled back. “Hi! We’d like a word with Richard Fisher, please. And before you ask, we don’t have an appointment.”

  “He’s not here, I’m afraid.” She picked up a scrap of paper from her desk and scribbled on it. “This is the address of a workshop we own in Croydon. He spends most of his time there these days. I don’t know, maybe I should be there, not here. Shall I let him know you’re coming?”

  On a TV at the back of reception, Sky News’ crime correspondent stood in front of a car park full of police cars, the lights still flashing. Miller noticed it first. “What the hell?” Underneath the picture, words scrolled horizontally, ‘Fisher Valves Boss Arrested in Child Pornography Ring’.

  Hayes heard the receptionist pick up her desk phone. “Is that Richard being taken to a car?” In the distance she
saw a man who resembled Fisher being escorted by uniforms. “Oh shit! It’s an NCA bust.”

  “So? What does that mean?” Miller awaited her answer.

  “It means they won’t give us the time of day. If it falls under National Crime Agency jurisdiction, we can all go swing as far as they’re concerned. They won’t let us speak to Fisher now.”

  The young receptionist put the phone down and came out from behind her desk, walked up to the TV and stared at it. “This is bullshit! Richard didn’t do this. He’s not a paedophile.” She burst into tears and ran into the ladies’ restroom next to her desk.

  Turning to face her partner, Hayes sighed. “I’ll go and talk to her.”

  “Don’t take too long. We need to get over there.”

  Hayes opened the restroom door to find the young receptionist crying, sat on a toilet in a cubicle with the door open. “Knock, knock. Do you mind if I come in?” She pulled a roll of toilet paper, broke the link and handed it to the teary-eyed girl. “Here.”

  “They’re lying. He didn’t do any of those things. I know he didn’t.”

  “I don’t believe it either,” she replied, stroking the girl’s hair. “I met him the other day, and he didn’t strike me as the type.”

  “He’s not. He’s kind and gentle, not like they’re trying to make out.”

  This wasn’t a girl crying over her boss; she was crying for a much more personal reason. “But then again, can you ever truly know someone?” And her comment raised the girl’s mascara surrounded stare. “I’m not saying anything here.”

  Standing abruptly, the receptionist stormed over to the sink. “What would you know? Richard wouldn’t do those things they’re saying. He’s a lovely man, perfect. He’s smart, funny, kind and generous.”