Hell to Pay

by Rachel Amphlett

Millard lifted his gaze to hers, and swallowed. ‘He’ll kill me.’

  ‘We can do our best to protect you.’

  ‘I-I’ve got a young family.’

  ‘Tell us what you know, Millard,’ said Barnes. ‘The quicker we finish this conversation, the quicker we can start the process to ensure their safety.’

  ‘My daughter’s only six. Can you imagine what he’d do to her?’

  He lifted a shaking hand to a scab on his jaw and ran his fingers across it, his eyes returning to the photograph of the dead woman.

  Kay leaned forward before he drew blood from the old wound. ‘Tell us, John.’

  ‘I – I think I drove it,’ he said, dropping his hand into his lap. ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘Whose car was it?’

  ‘Not sure. I had to pick it up from a lay-by outside Ashford, on the Tenterden Road. That’s all I know. Honest. Keys were hidden in the wheel arch.’

  ‘What did you use the vehicle for?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Elaborate, please John,’ said Kay.

  ‘That means tell us in more detail,’ said Barnes as confusion spread across the man’s face.

  ‘This and that. One time, I had to pick up some cheap booze from a supermarket at Calais. That sort of thing. Nothing illegal,’ he added, his eyes wide.

  Fifteen minutes later, and Kay and Barnes had gleaned no further information from Millard. Like his colleague, he was choosing to remain silent rather than implicate himself or his boss in any investigation.

  Frustrated, they ended the interviews, sent the men back to the cells, and trudged back to the incident room.

  Debbie handed them both a mug of tea as they took their seats and brought the rest of the team up to date with their findings.

  It didn’t take long.

  ‘Okay, well Carys had a bit more luck with the vehicle, so we’re not done yet,’ said Sharp. He tapped his finger on the licence plate in one of the photographs of the crash site pinned to the whiteboard. ‘The Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency have a record of this car being sold three months ago by a garage in a small village outside Hythe, but the buyer’s details have been entered incorrectly on the vehicle log book form.’

  ‘Classic,’ said Gavin, shaking his head.

  A murmur of agreement filled the room.

  If a car was disposed of under suspicious circumstances, or the buyer wanted to remain unknown, it was a simple enough exercise to forge documentation or complete required transfer forms in an illegible scrawl.

  The Licencing Authority dealt with so many documents on a day-to-day basis that it could be six months before one of their administrative staff found the time to query the discrepancy with the seller of the vehicle.

  ‘Kay, I’d like you and Barnes to go there first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t phone ahead – I don’t want to give the owner the chance to come up with an excuse.’

  ‘Or an alibi,’ said Carys.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kay turned her key in the lock, stepped into the warmth of the hallway and nearly tripped over the suitcase that had been left open next to the front door.

  ‘Sorry,’ Adam called from the kitchen. ‘Last minute packing. Nearly forgot spare razors.’

  Kay looped her handbag over the newel post of the stair bannister and hooked her jacket over the top of it before kicking off her shoes and padding along the hallway.

  Adam stood next to the sink, washing out a coffee mug. He glanced over his shoulder as she appeared.

  ‘I’m wondering whether I should go,’ he said, drying his hands on a tea towel.

  She frowned. ‘Why? What’s happened? Is there something wrong at work?’

  ‘No,’ he said, and crossed the tiles to where she stood at the centre worktop. He reached up and hooked a tendril of her hair behind her ear. ‘I’m worried about you. About this investigation with Demiri.’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’ She wrapped her fingers around his. ‘You can’t cancel. You’ve been looking forward to this conference for months. Think of all the networking opportunities you’ll miss out on if you don’t go.’

  ‘I know, Kay but there’ll be another conference next year.’

  She squeezed his hand before moving to one of the bar stools next to the worktop, and sitting. ‘Adam, you know as well as I do that if you don’t go now, you won’t meet the same people that are there this year. You don’t have to worry about me – Sharp was with me earlier today when we spoke to Demiri.’ Her lips thinned. ‘Demiri’s a lying bastard, but it went fine. No threats. No bluster. Nothing at all. Besides, I think it’ll be weeks before we’ve got anything to pin on him – he’s too clever. There are too many layers to his organisation we have to chip away at first. You’ll be back in, what, three days?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What time’s your taxi picking you up?’

  Adam checked his watch. ‘It’ll be here in twenty minutes or so.’

  ‘Go and get those razors, or you’ll forget them.’

  ‘Right.’

  She waited until he’d left the kitchen before she let out her breath.

  She could hear the note of fear in his voice, and knew he was still unsure about leaving her alone in the house now that she and the team were once more going after Demiri, but she couldn’t let the Albanian rule their lives.

  He’d already caused too much damage, too much grief, but she was determined that he’d pay for what he’d done to her.

  She slid off the stool and pulled open one of the cupboard doors, took out a wine glass and then selected one of the bottles of Shiraz off the rack built into the central worktop and poured out a measure.

  Adam’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and he grinned as he entered the kitchen.

  ‘I reckon I’ve got time for a small one of those,’ he said, grabbing a glass and filling it.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Kay. ‘Here’s to a successful trip, and lots of ideas for the business.’

  He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Oh, I’ve got plenty of those,’ he said. ‘It’s the implementation that has my head spinning.’

  ‘Do you have anyone in mind you’re going to employ to give you some spare time?’

  ‘There’s a young graduate over at a practice near Paddock Wood I’ve got my eye on. Met him at that function we went to a couple of months ago. I know he’s keen to move into a larger surgery environment and take on more responsibility.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll give him a call next week once I’m back.’

  The sound of a car pulling onto the driveway reached them, and Kay craned her neck as headlight beams bounced off the hallway wall.

  ‘Taxi’s here.’

  ‘He’s early.’

  Adam drained the dregs of his wine glass and put it on the worktop before pulling her into an embrace.

  ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, too.’

  The taxi driver honked the car horn.

  ‘Someone’s in a rush.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d imagine the interchange with the M25’s a nightmare this time of evening. Best not keep him waiting.’

  He pulled away, and Kay followed him out to the hallway before opening the door for him as he wheeled his case over the step.

  The driver popped the boot, and for a fleeting moment Kay thought of the woman who’d been brutally murdered.

  She tried to clear the thought as Adam lifted his case into the back and slammed the lid shut.

  He bent down, spoke to the driver, then returned from the car, his eyes serious.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, be careful, okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she smiled, and kissed him. ‘I’ll still be here when you get back.’

  ‘Make sure you are.’

  He gave her arm a squeeze, then jogged round to the passenger door of the taxi and climbed in.

  Kay waved as the car reversed out the driveway and into the lane, then shut the door as it powered away.


  She slipped the two large bolts across the top and bottom of the panelling, then walked through to the kitchen and did the same for the back door.

  She realised with a jolt that this was the first time she’d been alone in the house for any length of time since the Professional Standards investigation the previous year.

  And the first time since she’d discovered someone had been spying on her.

  Suddenly, the house seemed incredibly empty without Adam’s presence.

  As she pulled the blinds down over the window, she peered out into the darkness.

  Was Demiri watching her now?

  She gave the blinds a final tug, and realised her hands were shaking.

  It was only three days.

  ‘I’ll be okay.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kay pulled the seatbelt across her body and settled into the passenger seat of the car for the drive down to the coast the next morning.

  While she checked her emails on her phone, Barnes manoeuvred the vehicle through the town centre, overtook a slow-moving truck and then turned down the radio once they were speeding through the Kentish countryside heading south.

  ‘Any information on the garage owner?’

  Kay dropped her phone into her bag and pulled out a bundle of papers that Debbie had handed to her on the way out the door. She flicked to the third page and skimmed her eyes over the contents.

  ‘Reg Powers. Sixty-two years old. He’s been the owner of the place since 1991. Before that, it belonged to his father-in-law, who passed away in 1993. Divorced, no kids. Tax records show he employs two part-time staff.’

  ‘Business doing well?’

  Kay shrugged. ‘It’s getting by. He’s not going to break any records with his income, but that’s not surprising given the location – he’s not in a very built up area, and Debbie said there’s a large new car dealership in Hythe that has a state of the art servicing business on the side, so a lot of people probably go there.’

  ‘You think most of his customers are repeat ones, then?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon. Probably people that knew his father-in-law or have had their car serviced by him for years.’

  ‘Does he sell many second-hand cars?’

  Kay flipped the page. ‘No – about eight a year.’ She dropped the bundle into her lap and stared out the windscreen. ‘Probably does it on the side as a bit of extra income if one of his customers wants to sell a car, or something like that.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out.’

  Barnes changed down a gear and slowed as they approached the first in a line of villages they had to pass through to reach their destination.

  ‘I haven’t been down this way in years,’ said Kay as she took in the small post office to her left and a corner shop that appeared to be struggling for business.

  ‘We used to bring Emma down this way when she was little,’ said Barnes. ‘Not a great beach there, but she used to like paddling in the water when she was a toddler. Plus, there was always a decent pub on the way back to stop for a late lunch and she could play in the garden.’

  They fell into a companionable silence for a few more miles, until Barnes cleared his throat.

  ‘Have you seen Larch lately?’

  Kay frowned. ‘Actually, no. Maybe three weeks ago?’

  ‘Doesn’t that seem unusual to you? He’s normally sniffing around the incident room on a daily basis waiting to have a go at someone.’

  ‘I suppose there might be meetings and things happening we don’t know about?’

  Barnes grunted. ‘I heard the Joint Intelligence Unit had an undercover operation going on. Maybe that’s got something to do with it. You think he’d be involved in that?’

  ‘Honestly, Ian – I don’t care as long as he’s leaving me alone. I’ve quite enjoyed the last few weeks without him breathing down my neck, quite frankly.’

  Barnes grinned, and then jerked his chin over the steering wheel as he swung the car to the right. ‘This is the place.’

  Kay eased herself out of the car when Barnes parked, stretching her back while she waited for him to lock the doors.

  The small garage had been built on a corner block on a road that led off from the main street of the village. Four cars were parked on the oil-specked concrete apron, all in various states of antiquity and disrepair.

  Kay’s eyes caught a glimpse of a tell-tale rainbow of oil sparkling in a puddle, before she turned to Barnes as he snorted loudly.

  He wrinkled his nose at the vehicles. ‘Christ, that one on the left looks exactly like the heap of rust Emma tried to get me to buy her last week.’

  ‘Driving lessons going well?’

  ‘Yeah – takes her test next week. I’m not buying her a pile of crap though, that’s for sure.’

  ‘These look like they’re being butchered for parts.’

  ‘I bloody hope so. Look at the rust in the wheel arches of that one, for goodness’ sake.’

  Two faded blue corrugated iron doors had been pegged open, the garage space beyond lost to a dust mote-heavy gloom.

  Kay and Barnes moved closer to the threshold, a pungent mix of aromas assaulting their senses – oil, grease, cigarette smoke – all vying for attention amongst a pervading stench of body odour.

  Kay opened her mouth to call out, and then jumped at a phlegmy cough from behind them.

  She spun round.

  ‘Help you?’

  The man before her pushed a dirty black baseball cap up his forehead and narrowed his eyes, his top lip curling.

  ‘Police. I should’ve guessed, the way you’re dressed. You stand out a mile.’

  Kay flicked open her warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Hunter. This is Detective Constable Barnes. And you are?’

  ‘Reginald Powers. I’m the owner.’ He pointed at a rusting logo nailed to the wall of the building alongside a rusting MOT accreditation sign.

  He stalked past her, brushing her sleeve as he went, and pointedly ignored Barnes.

  ‘We’d like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ he muttered over his shoulder.

  ‘Enough.’ Barnes stormed into the garage after him. ‘Mr Powers, we’d appreciate some cooperation. I’m sure you’ll understand we’re busy people, like you, so unless you want me to call the DVLA and the tax office to request an immediate audit of your business, perhaps you’d afford my colleague here the attention and respect she deserves?’

  The man held up his hands. ‘There’s no need for that.’ His eyes shifted to Kay. ‘I’m very busy, that’s all.’

  She cast her gaze around the garage, its double bay taken up by a solitary vehicle and the work benches along one wall covered with a variety of tools, all discarded haphazardly.

  ‘Busy. Right.’ She turned back to Powers and held out a copy of a vehicle registration certificate. ‘Tell me about this car. Who did you sell it to?’

  Powers snatched the document from her, extracted a pair of reading glasses from the pocket of his overalls and perched them on the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Can’t remember,’ he said.

  ‘Try harder,’ said Barnes, and folded his arms across his chest.

  Powers swallowed, glanced down at the page in his hand, and then back to Kay.

  ‘Oh, that’s right. A bloke from Maidstone way. A few months ago.’ He held out the registration document. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Where’s your copy of the receipt?’

  He shrugged. ‘The office was broken into six weeks ago. A lot of paperwork was taken.’

  ‘Did you report it?’

  Another shrug. ‘No. They didn’t take anything of value. Any cash is kept in the safe. Probably just kids. Some of the tools were taken, too. Only the cheap ones, mind.’

  ‘Did the car belong to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who did you buy it from?’

  ‘Auctions at Sittingbourne.’

  ‘Got the paperwork?’

  ‘No
– it got taken—’

  ‘When you were burgled six weeks ago. Right.’

  Powers shifted from foot to foot before wiping the back of his hand under his nose. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  ‘If that’s all, I’ve got to get this vehicle’s MOT sorted out today.’

  Kay forced down her frustration, fished out one of her business cards from her bag, and handed it to the garage owner.

  ‘If your memory returns, give me a call,’ she said, and turned on her heel.

  ‘And here’s my card,’ said Barnes. ‘I’ll expect a phone call from my colleagues at Hythe by the end of the week to tell me you’ve presented them with a full set of your licencing authority documents.’

  Kay smiled as she made her way back to the car, Barnes’s footsteps close behind.

  Unlocking the car, he stabbed the key in the ignition and glared at the front of the garage.

  ‘Lying bastard,’ he spat.

  ‘He is,’ said Kay. ‘Now all we have to do is find out why.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jozef Demiri folded his enormous frame into a large leather armchair and swirled the brandy around in his glass as his eyes flickered across the screen in front of him.

  The exclusive club had had an invitation-only policy, and right now he was watching a replay of three of his more lucrative clients enjoying a private viewing. The woman who paraded in front of them was young, hand-picked, and had been one of his favourites.

  He sighed, leaned forward and switched off the monitor as the phone at his elbow began to vibrate.

  ‘What is it?’

  He listened to the caller, and took a sip of the light brown liquid, savouring the flavours that caressed his tongue before he swallowed.

  ‘Show him in.’

  He ended the call, placed the crystal glass next to the phone and eased himself out of the chair.

  Ignoring the boxes that had been placed against one wall, he made his way across to a desk at the centre of the room as the door to his private office opened, and Tavender appeared, his face thunderous.

  ‘Well?’ said Demiri.

  ‘Millard and Hudson’s prints were found on the car. They’ve been arrested.’