Dark Game_A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked!

by Rachel Lynch

  She pressed play again. The girl was really going for it now and Kelly couldn’t help thinking that Colin Day must have been one happy boy when he carked it.

  She stopped the recording and rewound slightly. Mr Day had stopped moving, although the girl hadn’t. Kelly noted that it was eight forty-five p.m. She restarted the tape. About five seconds later, the girl stopped moving too, then climbed off him and rushed out of view. When she came back, she was carrying a glass of water, which she spilled slightly in her haste. She put on a discarded jumper – also not recovered; Kelly reckoned she was covering her shame now that things had gone wrong. Then she knelt down beside him and tried to get him to drink, touching his forehead tenderly.

  A thrill of excitement shot through Kelly and she rushed to pause again. She rewound a few times and finally got the frame she needed. There it was. She noted the time: eight forty-nine p.m. It wasn’t great quality, but for that split second, she could make out the girl’s face. She made a note to contact media forensics. She would need enhancement, authentication, reproduction, colour and brightness – the whole works. Her adrenalin was pumping.

  She finished watching the recording as the girl cleaned up and got dressed. She gathered various bits and pieces from around the bed and at one point took something from Colin Day’s groin area that Kelly reckoned must have been a condom. Nice. The old man stopped moving at eight fifty-three p.m., after which the girl went through his jacket and took out the large wad of remaining cash. She also removed something else from his jacket and stopped to look at it. Whatever it was gave off a spark of light and illuminated her face a little, giving a clearer view than the previous one. Kelly recorded the time. Finally she leant over the corpse and removed Colin Day’s watch before making what appeared to be a heated phone call at eight fifty-seven p.m.

  ‘Third party,’ Kelly said, out loud.

  The young woman left the room at eight fifty-nine p.m. Kelly fast-forwarded the recording but saw nothing else before the camera ran out of battery at just gone midnight.

  Her mind raced. She needed to talk to Anna Cork, the cleaner who had found Colin Day, and anyone else who worked at the hotel, but she also needed help with the baby Dale case. Now she’d really have to earn her badge. She wondered if Lockwood had seen Wade Maddox yet. She would deal with the mother of baby Dale first, who’d had protection since the breach of security. She needed to verify the woman’s nationality and then she’d have to find a translator. She also wanted to check staff records at the hospital to narrow down who might have access to her- this process had already been started. She wondered how much Carl Bradley had paid his source, or if they’d allowed themselves to be set up.

  She went back to Colin Day’s autopsy report and saw that there was sildenafil citrate in his blood – the drug used to treat erectile dysfunction – and several red hairs had been found around his wedding ring. The coroner had stated that they looked human but the unusual colour cast doubt. Kelly wrote ‘Hair dye or wig?’ on her pad and circled it. Then she turned her attention to the four boxes of papers by her desk. There was a lot to get through and she called Hide and Phillips back into her office.

  ‘I need help with this lot,’ she said. ‘I think it’s worth going through just to figure out why a hotel in the middle of one of the busiest tourist spots in the country had no guests.’

  The DCs looked at one another and pulled up two chairs, and the three of them began to read in silence. Occasionally one of them would get up and add a paper to one of the piles forming on the desk. They were running out of space. Hide was the first to speak.

  ‘Guv, I’m no accountant, but these aren’t the accounts of a struggling business with no clients.’

  ‘I know, I’m seeing it too. Have you come across payments from an offshore company called Tomb Day?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen several.’

  ‘Let’s google it.’

  The result was a shell company registered in the Isle of Man. It didn’t say who owned it.

  ‘It doesn’t have to, guv. That’s why they’re sometimes used to hide stuff.’

  Kelly shuffled through her papers.

  ‘I’ve got a payment here to HCCD Art Handling for twenty-five thousand US dollars. And here’s a deposit from the Westmorland Estate Agency in Ambleside for seven hundred and fifty grand.’ She looked at Phillips.

  ‘I’ve got payments to the personal bank accounts of Colin and Christine Day, guv. As well as the Thwaite Hotel.’

  ‘So he made money from art and property to prop up a failing hotel where he just so happened to be entertaining prostitutes? Are you buying it?’

  Hide and Phillips looked at one another.

  ‘I think it’s worth checking the companies out.’ Kelly stood up. ‘Selling sex isn’t illegal, but arranged prostitution and owning or running brothels is. Something is bugging me, and it’s not just the girl robbing him; it’s the sheer wealth of Colin Day. These are huge amounts of money. We need to know exactly who he was connected with. If the hotel was failing, why not sell it? It doesn’t seem like he needed the money; it looks like he wanted to keep it as a shell – but literally. I wonder what his tanning salons are worth; can we find out?’

  ‘We’d have to find out who his accountant is. Maybe it’s in his will,’ Hide suggested.

  ‘Let’s start a list of transactions coming in and out of the offshore company. Anything about Tomb Day, put it here.’ Kelly indicated a pile of papers.

  By the time they had gone through all four boxes, the Tomb Day pile was by far the largest on the desk. Kelly skimmed through a few bank statements from Colin Day’s personal account and saw that in three months alone he’d been paid over seventy thousand pounds from the company.

  ‘Emma, I want you to come to Ambleside with me and start making enquiries in the immediate area of the Thwaite Hotel about a young woman, about five foot seven inches tall, slim, and with bright red hair. We’ll pay the Westmorland Estate Agency a visit too. Will, I want you to set up a meeting with the Serb-Croat expert to interview the mother of baby Dale at the hospital, then try and find Colin Day’s accountant or at least get one of our own to start on this lot. It’s mumbo-jumbo to me. Great work, guys, we’re getting somewhere,’ she added.

  According to the coroner, Colin Day’s death wasn’t homicide, but it was a robbery. In addition Kelly had clear evidence of payment in cash for sex, so there was suspected prostitution as well, and prostitutes almost always worked for someone. The young woman might have re-dyed her hair by now, or taken off her wig, but she might also be completely unaware of the tape, and Kelly had to make sure it didn’t leak to the press. She’d be keeping the information strictly within Eden House. A plan was forming and she turned her attention to her next immediate task. If she and DC Hide set off for Ambleside now, they’d be back in time for a five o’clock briefing, when she would play the tape to the team.

  Colin Day’s widow was available to talk, and Kelly grabbed her jacket and handbag. They could stop for coffee on the way.

  Chapter 19

  Christine Day answered the door herself, her expression remaining unchanged when Kelly greeted her. Unsurprising, given the news she’d had. The house was a generous detached property made of local stone. A large ramp led up to the front door and another round to the back. Two new-looking BMWs sat on the driveway. Mrs Day wheeled herself backwards in a gesture that beckoned Kelly inside.

  ‘Please close the door behind you.’ Her voice was monotone. No one had told her about the tape yet; that treat had been left to Kelly.

  She led the way into a large reception room at the front of the house that allowed in a beautiful stream of sunshine. It was light and airy, and had been decorated to a high standard. Mrs Day appeared to favour large, bold prints, and fresh flowers wafted an aroma around the room. She seemed like a woman who had achieved just what she’d wanted in life. Kelly calculated that she was in her seventies, but reckoned she’d had some work done. It was the way her smooth skin
disappeared effortlessly into her hairline, as if gravity had passed her by. Kelly knew enough to spot a face lift, and it shaved years off the woman. She also noticed that Mrs Day wore a lot of jewellery, and it wasn’t costume jewellery either; rather a collection of hefty items sporting gold and jewels. The woman stank of money.

  But her face was etched with sadness and all the material wealth seemed insignificant now.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said Kelly.

  ‘I don’t know you. We… Colin and I… know our fair share of police and I don’t recognise you.’ The woman waited for a suitable response.

  ‘I’m new, Mrs Day. I worked in the Met in London for ten years, but I grew up here.’

  ‘Please call me Christine. London, how exciting. But not as beautiful as here. I’m not surprised you came back.’

  With the pleasantries over, Christine got down to business.

  ‘So why has my husband’s death been passed to a detective? He had a heart attack.’ She was clearly no pushover.

  ‘Christine, there was a video tape.’ Kelly let the information sink in. Colin Day’s death had been captured on camera. It was an unusual detail; not everyone was privileged enough to watch their loved ones pass.

  Christine looked perplexed. ‘What tape? Why would there be a tape?’

  ‘It was set up to record a meeting.’

  ‘What kind of meeting?’

  Here we go, thought Kelly.

  ‘With a woman. A woman we have evidence to suggest was being paid or looked after by your husband. The whole encounter was recorded and your husband’s heart attack occurred during the, erm… appointment.’ She allowed the news to sink in; she’d say no more until Christine responded.

  ‘Encounter? Can you be more specific?’ Christine asked.

  ‘They were having sexual intercourse, Christine. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Christine, but it was half-hearted.

  Kelly felt for her; it was a shocking legacy to have to deal with. She stayed silent.

  ‘Why…’ Christine’s mouth opened and closed and finally she looked away. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ It was scathing. Christine Day was in pain and needed to lash out.

  ‘She disappeared after your husband’s death; she panicked and left. The video is dark and we haven’t been able to identify her yet,’ said Kelly.

  ‘You’ve watched it?’ Christine swallowed hard.

  ‘Yes.’

  Christine wheeled herself to a large window and looked out to the garden beyond. Her mouth was pursed tightly, holding back a deluge of emotion desperate to get out.

  ‘Christine, what kind of watch did Mr Day wear? We believe it was taken, along with a large amount of money and perhaps a valuable ring.’

  Christine shot round. ‘A ring? The bastard, he said he’d taken it to fix a claw. It was meant for her, wasn’t it? Other bits have gone missing too. Perhaps he had a different girl each week.’ She looked away again; her cheeks burning.

  ‘Did he make a habit of staying at the hotel?’

  ‘Oh yes. So she took his Rolex as well, did she? Good. Good luck to her, she deserves everything she can lay her hands on. I hope she gets away with it.’

  Christine was becoming angrier. Kelly had to get as much from her as she could before the woman lost focus.

  ‘Could you describe the ring?’ she asked.

  ‘Rose gold, worth a fortune, a ruby the size of my thumbnail. It was my mother’s. Bastard.’

  ‘Do you have a joint bank account, Christine?’

  ‘No, don’t be stupid. He knew better than that, didn’t he? We have separate accounts and now I know why. I wonder how much he paid them.’

  ‘Do you think you could give us a descriptive list of the valuable items you think he might have taken?’

  ‘Of course I can, I’ll do it right now.’ She wheeled herself towards the door.

  ‘May I take a look around? Did Mr Day have a study, perhaps?’

  ‘I’ll show you. You can take what you want. The press have been on the phone already. What do I tell them?’

  ‘I can’t tell you what to say, but we would certainly like as little as possible to get out until we find the girl.’

  ‘Done. My husband being serviced by a whore isn’t something I’d like my daughters to watch. With the internet how it is, it would only take five minutes for it to get out. Follow me.’

  They entered a large study that boasted a beautiful oak desk with a red leather top. Christine wheeled herself up to it and found a sheet of paper, then began scribbling furiously. After a minute she stopped and turned round.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said, and went back to her list.

  Kelly began opening drawers and cupboards. She found a file calling itself ‘Bank Accounts’ and another titled ‘Hotels’. There were more, all labelled neatly with different names. She scanned through them: ‘Connor Temple’, ‘HCCD Art Handling’, ‘Real Estate’… It looked as though Colin Day ran a tight ship. From her cursory glance at his background, she had him down as making his wealth from tanning salons, so whatever she was looking at here could possibly be further investments. Christine had told her to help herself, so she did, flicking through the files and taking out pages that contained addresses, codes, transactions and anything else that caught her eye.

  ‘Did he have more than one phone?’ she asked.

  Christine looked tired. ‘Yes, he had two: one he called his work phone, although he didn’t work anymore, or maybe he did, what would I know? Then he had a personal one. He carried them both at all times. Were they taken too?’

  ‘No, two phones were recovered. We’ll let you know if we find anything on them.’

  Kelly came to a drawer that was locked, and the noise of her pulling it caught Christine’s attention. She turned around.

  ‘He called that his private drawer. Said he needed somewhere to keep surprises from me. The key was on his key fob. I’ll get it; it was among the things given back to me after…’ She tailed off and left the room.

  She was back in under five minutes.

  ‘Here you go.’

  The drawer clicked as Kelly turned the key. Inside were three USB sticks and a large envelope marked ‘Onchan Island Bank’.

  ‘Christine, have you heard of the Onchan Island Bank?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. What have you got there?’ Christine looked nervous, as if she wished she hadn’t been so hasty in giving Kelly the key. But Kelly could see that she was angry with her husband and had perhaps had a lapse of judgement because of it. She showed her the USB sticks.

  ‘Do I have your permission to take these, Christine?’

  ‘I want to see what’s on them first.’

  ‘Are you sure? I could check them first if you’d prefer.’ Kelly couldn’t stop Christine watching them: they were on her private property, and she had no authority to remove them.

  ‘I’m made of strong stuff, Detective. I want to know.’

  Half an hour later, they’d both seen enough to know that Colin Day was meeting prostitutes regularly, and he wasn’t the only one. Christine looked pale and Kelly felt for her. She wondered what else they were going to find out to torture this woman.

  ‘I want them destroyed.’ She was shaking with renewed anger.

  ‘I’m sorry, Christine, they contain evidence and I have to add them to the inquiry. I do have one more question. Have you ever heard of a company called Tomb Day?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll see myself out.’

  * * *

  With the door closed, Christine Day made an urgent phone call to the only person she could trust. She couldn’t stand the woman, but she had no choice.

  Chapter 20

  Darren waited outside the door. It was non-descript except for the graffiti: a peace sign sprayed in blue and a few m
essages scrawled in ink. One said, ‘Fly me to the moon’, another ‘No way back’. Darren had already read them a dozen times. He leant against a ladder that stood up against the cement wall. The small balcony smelled of piss, and dogs barked incessantly from within the building. His stomach was in knots and he’d needed to take a dump twice as his guts churned and liquefied the contents of his bowels. He bit his nails, even though his mother always told him not to. She said he’d get worms.

  He looked at his watch; it was five thirty-five p.m. Marko would keep him waiting for as long as he felt like. Darren had received a message while he’d been driving around deciding what to do with the bodies in his boot. It had been to the point and uncompromising; an answer wasn’t required, just his presence, and he was out of alternative ideas. So here he was. He hadn’t even had a chance to check Nush’s room for the cash. But he had got rid of the bodies.

  The door opened and a large man appeared. Curtis, one of Marko’s thugs. He wore a dark shirt tucked into jeans and his long hair was scraped back into a ponytail. If he’d been one of Darren’s mates, he’d have had the piss ripped out of him for looking like a girl, but no one would dare suggest such a thing to Curtis. His hands were the size of Darren’s head and his eyes saw everything, so much so that Darren thought he could even see that he needed another shit.

  Curtis nodded and beckoned for Darren to follow him inside. The barking was louder here, and Darren knew that the dogs were being wound up and baited to kill, ready for a big fight tonight. He had seen a couple of the fights – he thought they were awesome – but he wasn’t invited often because he couldn’t afford to bet. His mother still thought their Jack Russell had just wandered off out of the garden one day, but Darren had brought her here for training purposes. He’d watched as she’d had her paws tied together and her muzzle taped so she couldn’t fight back. She’d hung in the air, whining, as two fighters, one an Irish Staff bull and the other an American Staff bull, tore her apart. It was mind-blowing to watch. Marko had once told Darren that if he ever screwed up, he’d tie him up too and throw him to his favourite bulls. Darren believed him.