Boss Girl: A gripping crime thriller of danger, determination and one unstoppable woman

by Emma Tallon

James pursed his lips and dropped it. ‘OK, well, I said I’d pop and see if Tanya needed a hand tonight now that Anna isn’t about, so I might not be back. I’ll let you know.’ James looked at his watch. ‘Oh crap, I’d better go, I’m late.’ He leaned up and kissed Paul on the cheek. ‘See you later.’

  James strode back inside to grab his jacket and set off. He nodded to himself firmly as a plan began to form in his mind. Paul always had his back – now it was time to return the favour.

  35

  Freddie watched as the door opened and a tall, slim woman with a deep tan and light brown hair that fanned out around her shoulders entered the room. Against Fraser’s advice he had decided to be present for the meeting. They had one shot at getting Helen Romano to agree to work this case; Freddie had to make sure that everything possible was done to swing her their way.

  Dan Jones, Fraser’s private-investigator friend, stood up and shook her hand.

  ‘Helen, thank you so much for coming to talk to us at such short notice.’ Dan’s whitened teeth glared out from his wide smile and his voice boomed around the room.

  He reminded Freddie of a used-car salesman and he’d taken an instant dislike to the man, but Fraser said he was good and could be trusted, which was all that mattered.

  ‘No problem. I understand it’s an urgent situation?’ Helen questioned, sitting down and crossing her slender legs. She turned her attention to Freddie.

  ‘Yes, very urgent,’ Freddie answered with a polite smile of greeting. The action felt alien and his cheeks twitched. He hadn’t smiled much lately.

  Dan sat back in his seat and took over. ‘Here’s the situation…’ He told Helen everything they had discussed so far, reeling off all the facts and timelines that Fraser had prepped him with, only leaving out the true nature of Freddie’s businesses and the matter of all the bodies turning up. When he had finished, he clasped his hands on the table and waited.

  Freddie watched Helen’s face as Dan spoke. She kept her expression neutral as she made notes in a small pad, but he could almost see the cogs in her brain beginning to turn, beginning to analyse the situation. He needed to know what she was thinking. Furthermore, he needed her to take the case.

  Her lips pressed into a firm line and her eyes dipped down. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Listen, this needs to go to the police. You’ve known this long that she’s been taken – if something were to happen to her you could already be charged with—’

  ‘Misprision of felony, I know,’ Freddie finished. She turned to him and Freddie leaned towards her. ‘Listen, please…’ Freddie took a deep breath. Her light brown gaze held his own, open to hearing what he had to say. Freddie had no idea whether what he was about to say was the right thing, or whether it was the worst idea he had ever had, but he made the decision to be honest. To a point, at least.

  ‘I can’t take this to the police. Who I am and what I do don’t matter right now, but they will most likely cause me to be detained, and if I’m busy fighting that, I can’t be focused on helping Anna. And I need to be able to do that. I’m running out of time. She’s been gone for five days. She’ll be scared and alone. I already have a team of people working on this who have access to everything the police do, though please don’t ask me how as I won’t be able to tell you.’

  Freddie’s gaze bored into hers intensely. ‘I know that this situation is not a normal one. But we need to understand this man on a level that we’re not equipped to do. It could mean the difference between Anna coming home alive…’ Freddie swallowed the lump that had caught in his throat. ‘All I need is for you to look at the case, look at what we have and tell me what you think. That’s all I’m asking for.’

  Freddie slid a small bag out from under his chair and unzipped it. Inside there was a thick stack of twenty-pound notes. ‘I know you can’t have this job on your record. In here is three times what you would charge for an average full-length case. It’s yours if you help me.’

  There was a silence as Freddie and Dan waited to see what Helen would say. She studied Freddie as she sat and he fought the urge to evade the soul-piercing scrutiny. Helen eventually looked away and down at the notes she had taken as Dan had run through everything.

  Finally she spoke. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s going on here. Dan, you’ve clearly had no involvement with this case so far – I can tell by the way you delivered the information.’ She held her hand up to stem his protest. ‘Please, I have a Masters in Psychology; I read people for a living.’ She turned to Freddie, biting her lip in thought. ‘I think I get the gist of the basic situation with regard to you, Freddie.’

  Freddie could see Helen warring with herself. His hopes began to lift. She hadn’t dismissed it out of hand. He pressed forward.

  ‘I know you’re fighting your conscience on this one. It’s not an official case and you usually stand by the law, but this is an unusual situation. Doing things this way is the best chance Anna has of us finding her, of there being no delays or setbacks. Please. All I need is your professional opinion.’

  Helen pushed her hair back and closed her eyes. There was a tense few moments where Freddie began to think he had lost her, but then she nodded.

  ‘OK,’ she said heavily. She took a deep breath and stood up. She paced back and forth slowly as she talked. ‘The biggest motivator for someone to kidnap an adult victim is control. Whatever other reasons that may have triggered it – money, politics, sexual intentions – it all boils down to an in-built need for absolute control. Control of the situation, or of the person or geographical area they are holding. Kidnappers also have a lack of empathy. It’s how they’re able to go through with it. I’d say that someone who embodies this distinct lack of empathy and need for control, along with the cool, logical thought process involved in a complex kidnapping like this, is most likely a psychopath. The abduction was well planned and the organisation meticulous. If you’re sure that it was the same person who broke in, leaving no fingerprints and who’s been methodically trying to trip you up professionally, then this all adds to that theory.’

  Freddie cast his eyes away as she studied him, unnerved by her professional skills. It was as though she was reading his thoughts when she spoke again. ‘It’s OK, Mr Tyler – I’m not interested in probing any further into your personal life than I have to.’

  Freddie cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. ‘So you think he’s a psycho, that much isn’t exactly a surprise. What else?’

  ‘The jacket isn’t in keeping with his normal style. Obviously it was meant to taunt you, but that’s odd in itself. There’s been no ransom demand, so it wasn’t sent to hurry you up. If it’s game play that this person likes, they would have sent some version of a set of rules. There would be a task of some sort, or a goal they require you to fulfil. This would serve as a motivator for you to go along with it. This person wants to hurt you with no particular agenda, but despite that, they don’t want to hurt Anna.’

  Freddie’s head shot around at the last sentence. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘If they wanted to hurt her or if they were even indifferent to her, they would have spilled her own blood on the jacket. They wouldn’t need to kill her, just cut her. A psychopath wouldn’t care about spilling a little of Anna’s blood – it would be the logical first choice and much easier than spilling someone else’s. There’s something stopping him. More than just a need to keep her alive. He has an emotional connection.’

  ‘But I thought psychos didn’t feel emotion?’ Freddie said.

  ‘Not at the same level as the rest of us, but yes, they do. They feel things on a sort of lower frequency. So they can go around doing things mainly uninhibited by things like fear, guilt, remorse, self-doubt… but when things don’t go as planned, they can feel genuine anger and resentment. One of the core personality traits in a psychopath is narcissism. They often feel greatly entitled and self-righteous. It can overpower everything else, consume them almost.’

  She
took a breath and sat back down in her chair. ‘Not all psychopaths are bad people – there are a lot of decent, well-functioning psychopaths out there. They’re all around us, actually. But in this situation, we can assume that we are looking at one who sports some of the darker personality traits.’

  ‘How does this knowledge help us work out how to find her?’ Freddie’s tone was short. He was getting tired of the analysis. He didn’t care how the inner mind of the arsehole who had taken Anna worked; all he cared about was getting her back.

  ‘Right, so, humans are creatures of habit. Non-psychotic people tend to form those habits following emotional triggers. For example, if you had good customer service in a sandwich shop one day and the warm colour on the wall made you feel at home, you’d be likely to go back there again and again, forming a habit. A psychopath has the same in-built tendencies to be drawn back to places they know, but for more logical reasons. For example, they will habitually visit a sandwich shop because it is seven paces closer to work than the next. They will remember somewhere because it made their lives run more efficiently, not because of a past emotional response. So, wherever he’s taken her will likely be somewhere he knows, which would be efficient in holding someone hostage and all that this entails.’

  ‘But we don’t have a clue who he is, so how could we work out what’s emotional or efficient for him in the first place?’ Freddie was perplexed.

  Helen shrugged. ‘You asked for my professional opinion based on very little information. That’s all I’ve got for you.’

  Freddie stared across the room at Dan, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. He didn’t see much hope in the other man’s eyes either.

  ‘OK,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Thank you, Helen. I appreciate your time.’

  Helen nodded soberly and stood up to leave. Freddie held the bag with the money out towards her but she shook her head. ‘No, keep it. I’ve not been able to give you much to go on and I can’t take your money for a ten-minute conversation. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’ She gave Freddie a long, serious look. ‘Because if you don’t…’

  ‘I know. Anna will be dead,’ Freddie said.

  ‘No, I don’t think she will. Like I said, he doesn’t want to hurt her. But that might not be a good thing, Freddie. We have no clue what he has in store for her.’ She watched as Freddie flinched. ‘Good luck,’ she said as she left the room.

  Helen walked out the door subdued and vowed firmly to herself never to speak of their interaction. Whatever the outcome, some things were just better left buried.

  36

  Paul walked past the bouncers on the door of Roar with a nod. They nodded back respectfully, unclipping the rope for him to pass without question. They knew who he was. He was one of the bosses.

  Bouncers who could keep their mouths shut when it counted and were loyal to the right people were rare and in demand, so Freddie and Paul had spent years building up a security firm full of only the best. Now, all the other clubs that served as fronts for their owners’ more nefarious businesses hired their security through them. They didn’t need to worry about the level of loyalty they were getting when it came from the Tylers.

  Paul made his way through the throng of people on the dance floor to the end of the bar where a small raised, cordoned-off platform held one table with four men seated around it. The two men in the middle were around sixty and were not ageing gracefully. Both rounder than their frames should really allow around the middle, one was bald with jowls that hung low, making him resemble a bulldog, and the other sported numerous scars across one side of his face and a thin comb-over, as he desperately displayed his last few strands of hair. Chunky gold rings adorned their fingers and matching chains glinted up through the open tops of their designer shirts.

  Business partners and lifelong friends, they looked every inch the hard, has-been gangsters that they were. Now, their businesses were smaller than in the days when they had thrived under the permission of Vince and Big Dom, but they still did well enough for themselves and used the two clubs for money laundering.

  Paul ignored the two other men there. They were no one he knew, clearly just guests of the proprietors for the evening. As he approached, the one with the comb-over curled his lip and gave him the hard eye. Paul walked into their private area without waiting for permission. He knew he was unlikely to get it. Keeping a cool expression he approached the table.

  ‘Ron, Jimmy.’ He nodded in greeting.

  Ron looked him up and down, the curl not leaving his lip. ‘Where’s Freddie?’ he finally asked.

  ‘Busy,’ Paul responded.

  Ron turned and exchanged a look with Jimmy. ‘We only conduct business with him,’ he replied rudely.

  ‘Well, this month you’ll have to settle for me. Like I said, he’s busy,’ Paul repeated, his tone clipped.

  Jimmy leaned forward, anger in his expression. ‘We don’t deal with faggots in ’ere, boy. So sling your ’ook and tell your brother to get his arse down here if he still wants to continue our agreement.’

  Paul silently boiled with fury, but he kept it contained. It wouldn’t do him or Freddie any favours to publicly fall out with some of the old-schoolers. He smiled coldly and stepped forward so that he towered above them.

  ‘I’d watch your tone if I were you,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Why’s that then, nancy boy?’ Ron jeered. ‘Gonna set your brother on us like you did to Tim Clancy last year?’ The pair laughed.

  ‘Nah,’ Paul replied, ‘I’ll just wipe the fucking floor with you, before asking your – sorry, my – security guards to clear up the mess.’

  Both men fell silent for a second. Jimmy suddenly began to leap forward, but Ron stopped him with his arm. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘There’s your money, Tyler,’ he spat, kicking a full bag across the floor towards him. ‘Take it and fuck off.’

  Paul picked up the bag and smiled. ‘That weren’t so hard, was it? Now, before I go, we got your message about upping the vodka. We’ll start sending the additional load next month, from the fourth. You’ll need to send an extra guy to the pick-up point from then on.’ Without waiting for an answer, Paul turned on his heel and left.

  He didn’t notice James sitting on the end bar stool, with his back to them all, listening.

  James watched Paul retreat and anger flowed through his veins. It had taken all his strength not to walk over and punch those idiots in the face.

  ‘Sandra,’ Ron barked at the barmaid from behind him. ‘Get us a bottle of whisky. Now!’

  James saw Sandra purse her lips and shoot her boss a hateful glare. As she looked away, she clocked James watching her and her expression turned immediately to one of guilt. Her eyes darted back and forth, as if working out if James knew her employer.

  James laughed lightly. ‘Boss giving you a hard time tonight, sweetheart?’ he asked with a sympathetic smile.

  She visibly relaxed. ‘He can be a little… difficult, shall we say!’

  ‘Oh, tell me about it, my boss is a total arse,’ James replied, rolling his eyes. ‘Bless you, though, you look so stressed. And that’s not good for anyone. How about after you’ve got him his whisky, you pour yourself a drink and tell me all about it…’

  Tanya poured herself another vodka and stared out the window. It had been another long, hard day running both the clubs and worrying about Anna non-stop. She had no idea how she was still functioning; she felt like an absolute mess inside. She had stayed behind well after closing at the comedy club and had a few drinks with Drew. He was actually quite good company, to her surprise. She was aware that he was an alcoholic, but she didn’t care. He worked his shows and didn’t cause any problems. He was clearly a functioning alcoholic and Tanya didn’t have the energy or the will to go around saving people from themselves. At least he was one person who didn’t shoot her loaded looks whenever she took the edge off.

  She knew she was drinking and self-medicating too much at
the moment, but she wasn’t about to change that. She’d have a detox when Anna was home safe and sound again. When she could finally breathe without anxiety piercing her heart.

  It was nearly two in the morning, but she didn’t want to go to bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep well, and aside from that, Tom was here again. In fact he hadn’t gone home since Anna disappeared and it was irritating her beyond belief. She had purposely not asked him to move in with her so that she could keep her space and independence. But since Anna had gone, it was like he didn’t want to leave her alone.

  In the back of her mind Tanya knew that this was a normal reaction from someone who loved you, but this in itself was new to her. She had spent her whole life looking after herself and getting by without love and without anyone carrying her through the hard times. It was difficult to change her natural reactions now, especially at a time like this.

  Tanya rubbed her head. The stress of Tom continuously trying to help her was just getting too much. She stared out of the window, unseeing. Sipping her vodka, she rolled her neck around, trying to ease the knot that had formed.

  A noise sounded behind her and she tensed, knowing exactly who it was. She turned to find Tom standing at the doorway, bleary-eyed with messy bed-hair. His chiselled face was covered in short stubble, just the way she liked it. She raked her eyes up and down his impressive physique. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers, his tanned, muscular body on show. Her eyes rested on the tattooed sleeve on his right arm. The patterns curled around his biceps.

  The sight of her handsome partner standing there in all his glory like this would usually have excited her. In normal circumstances she wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off him – she’d feel a heady mixture of lust and love and would have dragged him off to the bedroom within seconds.

  But tonight she felt nothing. She felt cold and empty and flooded with a dark anxiety that someone like Tom couldn’t possibly understand. She watched his eyes flicker towards the vodka in her hand. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell what he was thinking. A stab of irritation shot through her and her anxiety increased.