by Conrad Jones
“You mean Slimy Steve?” Sue replied with a wicked giggle.
“Sue! You can’t call him that,” Kisha whispered.
“Bollocks,” Sue giggled. “That’s what all the girls call him. Slimy bastard he is. Anyway, he was in earlier.”
Listening to the banter, Smithy stopped and frowned. “Maybe he’s gone to see some of the people on your list. My advice is to ring him, Kisha. Then meet him somewhere.”
“Yes, I think I will.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Smithy got the message; she didn’t want to expand on the issue between her and her colleague in front of the cleaners. He pointed a finger to his lips and nodded.
“Say no more!” He said.
“Smithy!” Will shouted from across the office. He was pulling on his jacket in a hurry. “We have the warrant to enter Salim Oguzhan’s house.”
“Fucking hell,” Smithy put his brew down. “I’ve just made a brew.” He laughed and grabbed his coat. “Kisha, my dear, we’ll see you later.”
“Yes, see you later.” She felt her heart sink as she watched the team heading for the lifts. The rest of the team would be out there on the case while she sifted through a pile of crap. She took a mouthful of coffee and searched through the pile. Kisha sorted the five most recent key holders from the pile and then checked their addresses against the electoral role. Three of the names were still living at the listed address, and she decided to go and do some legwork. It would take her out of the stifling office for a few hours, and she needed some fresh air. If Stevie was out there knocking on doors and expecting her to sit there and input data like a secretary, then he had another think coming. She dialled his mobile number. It rang twice and then jumped to voice mail.
“Bastard has just busy buttoned me!” she whispered to herself. She grabbed her car keys, her handbag and the list with the three names on it. If he wanted to play silly buggers, then so could she. She decided to make a few enquiries on her own while she calmed down. The first name on the list was Patrick Floyd.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dean Hines
Dean Hines looked at his mobile phone and sighed. He had nine missed calls in total, shared between Leon and Jackson. They were stressing because he hadn’t answered their first calls. He looked up at the morning sky, tears rolling down his cheeks. There was a sick feeling in his stomach. It was the worst feeling he could ever have imagined. He felt like the situation was ripping his heart from his chest. His children were in a crisis, close to death. The night before, when he had arrived home, his wife, Denise, had been tired and in a mood. The kids – Kaylee, aged three, and Dean junior, aged five – were under the weather. They had been grumpy and unresponsive all day, but now they were feverish and floppy. When Dean had touched their hands, they had been cold despite the fever. When a rash had developed and spread quickly, he had placed a glass over the rash, but it hadn’t faded. Meningitis had struck his sister’s baby two years ago, and by the time they had diagnosed it, it had been too late. He was not about to allow the same thing to happen to his kids. Denise and his children were his life, the reason he lived and breathed. Dean had telephoned an ambulance and they had been in the hospital all night. The children had deteriorated in the ambulance and their condition had not improved since. Dean had turned his phone off the first time it had rung, and he hadn’t looked at it since.
Dean knew why Leon was calling. He was expecting a huge shipment of crystal meth to arrive and Dean was supposed to collect the cash from the ‘Crazy Computer’ store and pick it up. Jackson would be calling about the hit on Jinx. He wanted the blood money. Dean didn’t want anything to do with the hit. His kids were in a critical condition in the intensive care unit. Denise was hysterical one minute, and zombielike the next. His in-laws were doing their best to support them and offer encouraging words, but right now Dean was numb. He could never have imagined the fear he felt for his children right now. The pain inside him was unbearable, and he was helpless. He couldn’t do anything to make them well or to stop their suffering. They were in the hands of the doctors and nurses who were flocking around them. From the expressions on their faces and the whispered concerns, Dean could tell the prognosis wasn’t good at all. Their fingers and toes were turning black, which they told him was a sign of septicaemia. When the doctors mentioned amputation, Dean was physically sick. He ran to the gents’ toilet and vomited until there was nothing left inside him, and then he staggered outside in a daze to get some fresh air.
He was not sure why he turned on his phone. Looking at it was a habit, he guessed. As he looked at the missed calls, it rang again. Leon’s name was flashing on the screen. Dean looked at it as it flashed, debating whether to answer it. He had to explain his predicament to his boss, or he would assume the worst. Leon had looked after him for years and despite the recent issues, he was grateful to him.
“Hi, Leon,” Dean gasped into the telephone.
“Where the fucking hell have you been?” Leon ranted. He liked to rant. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”
“I’m at the hospital, Leon,” Dean shouted to stop the tirade. “The kids were rushed in with meningitis. They’re in a bad way, Leon.”
“How long are you going to be?” Leon moaned. He jabbed a podgy finger against the dashboard of his Bentley. He was calling on hands free from London. He made sure he was out of town when a shipment came in. The plan was to stay out of town while the drugs were sold on and Jinx was shot. He didn’t need any cock-ups.
“What do you mean, how long are they going to be?” Dean was incredulous. He felt like his heart was being ripped out. His children were close to death and he needed to be with them. He lost his cool and shouted into the phone. “My kids could die, Leon. They haven’t got measles. They could die!”
“Listen, Deano,” Leon growled. “I’m in London. You’re not answering your telephone, neither is that twat Jackson, and I’m not fucking psychic!”
“Jackson has been calling me, but my phone has been off.”
“Like I said, I am not fucking psychic,” Leon calmed his voice a little. “Look, I’m sorry about your kids. I’ll get Monkey and Gareth to make the pickup, but if I can’t get hold of Jackson, then I need you to get the cash from the shop safe.”
“Fucking hell,” Dean whined. He scuffed his white Adidas training shoe against the hospital wall. “I really do not need this shit right now, Leon.”
“Just remember that it’s this shit that has been feeding your kids since they were born.” Leon sounded like he had gravel in his throat. “I will keep trying Jackson. You ring him too just in case there’s a reason why he isn’t answering the phone with me, but if we cannot reach him, you have the only set of keys. I’m in London, Dean, and empty-head Jackson is nowhere to be found. I need you to get that money out of the safe.” There was no compromise in his voice. Dean had little choice but to do as Leon asked. The drug money was under lock and key, and the importers would not wait around.
“What time do they need the money?” Dean looked at his watch. He needed to get back to the ward.
“Twelve noon at the latest,” Leon replied. He grinned at his reflection in the mirror. This was a big deal. It would net him millions and it was low risk. “Drop the money off at the McDonalds on Queen’s Drive. I’ll arrange for Monkey to meet you there. Pass the money over and fuck off back to your kids, okay?”
“Okay, but keep trying Jackson, yes?” Dean kicked the wall again in frustration. “If I haven’t heard from him by eleven, I’ll leave here.”
“Sorted,” Leon grunted.
“Yes, sorted,” Dean replied sulkily.
“I hope your kids are okay, Dean,” Leon said.
“Thanks,” Dean said as the line went dead. He pulled up Jackson’s number and pressed dial, but it clicked straight to voicemail. Something told him that Jackson wasn’t going to show.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
MIT
Alec left Jessie to be interviewed and processed by his officer
s. It had taken most of the evening to debrief Jessie and he had taken them over the story of the nightclub multiple times before Alec had been positive that he hadn’t missed anything. It was late when they finished, and he grabbed a few hours of sleep on a saggy settee in his office. He was tempted to go home, but he didn’t see the point. The house was empty. Gail had left him. He felt his stomach tighten when he thought about her. The drive home would come soon enough and he would face that when the time came. The Parker murder was his priority for now. He would catch up with the hunt for Rose James once the formalities were completed. Jessie would have to go into the witness protection program for the remainder of his life, but Alec hoped that he could return his wife to him first. Then he would have to convince his own wife to return, too. That could prove to be the more difficult task, even though she was at liberty to go where she liked.
The robbery at the nightclub puzzled him. It was a conundrum indeed. There was a link between what had happened at the nightclub and Salim Oguzhan. There was also a link between Salim Oguzhan and the Louise Parker murder, but he couldn’t see it yet. Will Naylor and his team were about to enter the Oguzhan residence. Alec decided to wait for his call before following him. If the house was deserted, it could be a waste of his time.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Oguzhan Residence
“Nice house,” Smithy said as he climbed out of the car. “Upside down, but nice.” The house had a long sloping roof and white rendered walls. The living room was on the first floor, and full-length picture windows offered a panoramic view of the landscaped gardens. The daylight was fading and shadows were creeping up the walls. The occupants had drawn the thick drapes closed. “Are we just going straight in?”
“That’s the plan,” Will replied. He pulled on a black stab vest and tossed a large one to Smithy. “Does this fit?” he laughed.
“Fuck off, with respect,” Smithy laughed and pulled his body armour on.
“Let’s go and see if Salim is in, shall we?”
The detectives walked across a neat lawn to the front door where an armed unit was waiting. The lead officer was holding a red battering ram over his shoulder, ready to smash the front door open. Will held the warrant in his right hand, but he had a feeling that no one would ask to see it.
“Let’s get in there, please.” Will waved to the lead officer. As he spoke, he noticed a movement from one of the bedroom windows to the left. “Hold on!” he shouted.
“What is it, Will?” Smithy asked, following the inspector’s gaze. “Did you see something?”
“That curtain moved,” Will pointed. “The black one.”
“That will be one of the bedrooms.”
“Okay,” Will said to the armed officers. “Take the bedrooms first, please, we’ll move upstairs when they’re cleared.”
“Will!” Smithy shouted. He had walked toward the window. There was a narrow flowerbed between the lawn and the house. Winter pansies smiled up at him in a uniform pattern.
“What is it, Smithy?”
He was staring at the curtain. It seemed to be moving slightly, as if a breeze was causing it to ripple slightly. At first, he thought someone might be looking through it or the owner might have left a window open, but then he realised that the curtain itself was moving. “That’s not a curtain.” Smithy banged on the glass. A clear space appeared in the curtain, then it covered the glass again. He banged again. “They are flies, Will.”
Chapter Thirty
Jinx
Jinx checked his scanner program to confirm the whereabouts of Dean Hines and Leon Tanner. Leon’s Bentley was clearly on the way to London, which made sense if Leon had put out a hit on him. The first thing he would do was leave the city. Jackson was the priority to Jinx. He was a mercenary and he was dangerous. Jinx had acquired the services of David Lorimar to neutralise the threat against his life. If all had gone according to plan, Jackson and Dean should be dead already. Dean’s tracker had been stationary outside the Royal Liverpool hospital all night. Jackson didn’t drive, so Jinx couldn’t tag his vehicle. Maybe Dean had been shot, or maybe Jackson had been shot. He had not heard from Dava since the contract had been placed, that was just the way it worked. There would be no contact between them until the he had completed the job. Telephone records were evidence, which could connect them to the murders at a later date. Silence was essential.
Jinx wanted to know what the state of play was. He searched for the contact details on the internet and decided to phone the hospital. He clipped a prepaid sim card into his phone and rang the general enquiries number.
“Hello, Royal Liverpool, how can I help you?” the switchboard answered.
“Hello, I’m trying to find out how my brother is. I think he was admitted last night,” Jinx lied.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Dean Hines.”
“Hold the line; I’ll transfer you to the children’s ward.”
Jinx took a breath. The children’s ward? His brain tried to compute the information. Dean Hines was in a children’s ward. Why?
“Hello, ICU,” a female voice answered abruptly.
“Hello,” Jinx was struggling to think straight. “I am enquiring how Dean Hines is.”
“Are you a relative?” the voice answered impatiently.
“I’m his brother.” Then it clicked in his brain. Dean’s son was called, after his father. His kid was in hospital. Dean’s car had been there all night.
“I see; I’m afraid that the children are very poorly. I can’t say any more than that.”
“Children?” Jinx asked as the line went dead. He took the back from the phone and swapped his sim card into it, scrolling through his contacts list. One of his business associates was related to the Hines family through marriage. He pulled up his number and pressed the dial button.
“Alright, Jinx,” a broad scouse accent answered. “How’s it going, kidda?”
“Hiya, Jason,” Jinx replied. “Listen, I’ve heard Deano’s kids are in hospital. Have you heard anything?” He stood up and paced the room as he spoke. There was a hit out on him; he couldn’t afford to let his guard down, but this changed things.
“Yes. They’re in a bad way, lad.” The scouse drawl sounded like he had phlegm in his mouth. “Meningitis. I’ve heard they might not make it. Who told you?” Jason asked curiously.
“Just one of the lads at the gym mentioned it to me. Thanks for that,” Jinx said.
“No problem, mate,” Jason said. “That was bad news about the Nelson brothers, eh?”
“Yes, bad news,” Jinx was distracted. “Listen, I’ve got to dash, mate, thanks again,” he cut the call short. Jinx looked out of the window of his riverside apartment. It was located in one of the many new developments along the River Mersey. It was in walking distance to the city centre, but far enough away to use as a retreat. He liked the river and the tranquil feeling it gave him as he watched it flowing slowly by. Jinx didn’t have kids, but he knew how precious they were. He wanted them, someday, with the right woman, just not yet. Jinx had a lot to think about, but he had to do it quickly. David Lorimar did not waste time, and he had the contract to kill Dean Hines.
Chapter Thirty-One
Oguzhan Residence
After three hits of the big key, the armed unit moved into the Oguzhan residence. Will and Smithy waited until they heard the first calls of ‘Clear!’ before following. They could hear the armed unit pounding up the stairs and slamming doors open. If there was anyone home, then they were in for a rude awakening.
“Will!” a muffled call came from the corridor to the left. “You need to see this!”
Will walked into a wide kitchen diner. It was a modern design, lots of white units and chrome fittings. There was a dining table in the centre and something had upended two of the chairs on to the floor. A large church candle was lying on the black tiled floor, and Will decided that it had been the centrepiece of the table, obviously knocked across the kitchen during a strugg
le. He looked around. Then the smell reached him. It was the unmistakable stench of death. There were bluebottles on the ceiling and walls. A small squadron of them flew past him towards the open door. Will used a gloved hand to open a door to his left. It was dark inside and much cooler than the kitchen.
“It’s the garage.” Will turned the light on. “No white Porsche in here.”
“I didn’t think there would be, to be honest,” Smithy said, wrinkling his nose at the smell.
“In here, Will!” A muffled voice called from the hallway, which led from the kitchen.
“This isn’t good.” Smithy said. He pulled a scarf from inside his vest and put it over his nose but it did nothing to stop the rotting smell from invading his nostrils. “I’ll call SOCO and the coroner. I don’t have to look any further to know this is a murder scene.”
“You’d better call the governor too,” Will nodded. His face was stern as he walked through the kitchen. There was blood smeared across the floor tiles where the kitchen met the hallway. Smithy followed as he called for the science teams to attend.
As they moved down the hallway, one of the armed officers ran past them with his hand over his mouth. They heard him retching as he reached the kitchen door. Two corridors led away from the kitchen and a carpeted staircase gave access to the upper floor. They could hear the armed unit stomping about as they conducted their search. Will walked toward the hallway and spotted bloody handprints on the magnolia painted walls. The bloodstains smeared the paint as if someone had clawed at it. Finger marks covered both sides of the hall. Whoever was bleeding had not wanted to go down the corridor to the bedroom. They had put up a fight on the way. The first bedroom door was on the left, an armed officer blocking the way. He stood staring at the scene, transfixed.
“Excuse me,” Will touched his elbow. “Let the dog see the rabbit.” He smiled despite the nervous tension he felt inside. Keeping calm and emotionally unattached from the scene was important at a murder scene. Any sympathy for the victims had to be shelved while they worked on the evidence before them. Personal feelings didn’t matter here.
