Hard Cases (A Ryan Kyd Omnibus)

by Roger Hurn

  Hard Cases

  A Ryan Kyd Omnibus

  Roger Hurn

  © Roger Hurn 2013

  Roger Hurn has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This edition published in 2013 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Special thanks to KH of the DPG for helping me to keep it real.

  And to MB for the support and encouragement.

  Contents

  Business is Murder

  Hand of Darkness

  Dead of Winter

  Extract from Below Zero by Roger Hurn

  Business is Murder

  Chapter One

  Deepak Kapoor was a big guy who could charm the birds out of the trees. The only trouble was he had a nasty habit of biting their heads off if they didn’t sing the tune he wanted to hear. He smiled at me and I knew a charm offensive was coming my way. That made me nervous. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but I prefer my head unchewed.

  ‘Ryan, I need a man like you.’ He gave me the full force of his sugar-coated razor blade smile.

  I smiled back. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, DK, but I’m happily married.’

  Deepak continued to flash his teeth at me. ‘That’s not what I hear, Ryan, old chum, but then who among us can put their hand on their heart and say that for them the course of true love always runs smooth?’

  DK was born in North West India in 1969, but he makes a point of talking like an English gentleman circa 1930. He thinks it makes him sound classy. It doesn’t. It makes him sound like a twat, but as he also radiates menace like a paraffin stove radiates heat, people aren’t exactly queuing round the block to tell him so – and I wasn’t about to buck the trend. Anyway, DK was right. My marriage was going through a distinctly rocky patch. Up until a year ago I’d been a copper with the DPG – that’s the Diplomatic Protection Group. But then a vicious bastard masquerading as a full back put a reducer on me and buggered my knee when I was playing football for All Nations United, my Sunday league team.

  Suddenly my career with the DPG was down the pan because a crocked copper is about as much use as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition. I got invalided out with a pension so miniscule you’d need an electron microscope to spot it. Not only that but as my injury wasn’t job related, I got stuff all compensation money. And, to add insult to injury, Sarah, my missus, didn’t appreciate having me at home all day any more than I fancied being there.

  I was going stir crazy and we were fighting like two cats in a sack, when I had the idea of setting up shop as a Private Investigator. Problem was, I couldn’t afford a fancy office, but that was where DK came into the picture. He’s a “businessman” with fingers in a whole lot of pies. Interestingly, when the London riots kicked off a year or so back, none of DK’s enterprises got turned over. But then I’ve seen some of the guys who work for him. They don’t seem the sort whose idea of fun is a quiet night in with a good book. They’re more the “let’s drop you from the top of a multi-storey car park and see how high you bounce” type of geezers.

  Anyway, DK also bankrolls the All Nations United football club. He says he does it because he’s a community spirited citizen just doing his bit to foster good local relations and keep what he calls “boisterous youths” off the streets. Well, maybe, but I guess it never hurts to have at your beck and call a pool of fit young herberts desperate to earn a few bob with no questions asked.

  As it happens, I’d told DK about my PI idea one night when I’d hobbled back to the club to do a bit of coaching. He said the office was no problem as he’d got one going begging in a property he owned in Deptford High Street. In fact, I’d be doing him a favour if I set up shop in it. Actually, it turned out to be a couple of rooms over the kebab joint he had an “interest” in. It reeked of chips and onions but it meant I didn’t have far to go if I felt hungry. Though when I saw the state of the kitchen I decided I’d do my stomach a favour and bring a packed lunch to work instead. That was one of my better decisions. Taking DK up on his offer probably wasn’t, but then beggars can’t be choosers. And it was either that or do time for murdering my missus – that is if she didn’t end up murdering me first!

  Anyway, I put my elbows on the top of my third-hand desk and steepled my fingers under my chin. I was going for professional but relaxed, even though I had a horrible feeling I wasn’t going to stay that way for long. ‘I didn’t know you were having women troubles, DK,’ I said.

  He chuckled and waved his hand airily as if the idea was absurd. ‘I’m not, my dear fellow, but a young cousin of mine has got himself into a bit of a pickle over the young lady he was supposed to marry.’

  I raised my eyebrows a notch. ‘Define “a bit of a pickle” for me, DK.’

  DK pursed his lips and sighed. ‘I’m afraid the poor unfortunate chap seems to have mislaid her.’

  My eyebrows ratcheted themselves up a couple more notches. He shrugged extravagantly. ‘Or, to put no finer point on the matter, the lady in question has vanished into thin air shortly after her arrival at Heathrow.’ He frowned. ‘And this is rather annoying because my business associate, her uncle, has stumped up a small fortune already in student fees for her in order to satisfy the tiresome requirements of the immigration services of this country.’

  ‘I thought you said she was coming to get married.’

  ‘She is dear boy, but my cousin has developed what is known as “yuppie flu” and is apparently now “too ill” to go out to Rajasthan and marry her so we had to go through a charade of pretending she’s coming here to study, otherwise she would never have been allowed into the country at all – and that would not have suited my plans.’

  I had no idea what plans he was talking about, but I had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn’t exactly be kosher. ‘And you’re telling me this because …?’

  DK frowned and tutted reprovingly. ‘You disappoint me, Ryan. I should have thought it blindingly obvious to a man purporting to earn his living as a detective. I need the services of a private investigator to find the damsel in question and return her to the bosom of her soon to be family without delay.’ He hit me with the full force of his smile. ‘And you, my dear fellow, are precisely the private investigator I had in mind. After all, one does not keep a dog and bark oneself.’

  It was when he spoke those words that I realised that, in this life, nothing ever comes for free – even if it is only an office in one of South East London’s more challenging neighbourhoods.

  Chapter Two

  Of course I knew there had to be more to this caper than DK was letting on. Women don’t just vanish into thin air when they’re a valuable commodity like the bride-to-be. DK’s family would have been all over her like a rash to make sure that she arrived in her new home unsullied and pure and ready to meet the guy she was going to spend the rest of her natural life with.

  ‘You’ve got plenty of dogs who bark for you already, DK, so why not use them?’

  DK looked at me the same way my teachers did at school when I was being particularly dim. ‘I fear that this matter calls for someone who has brains rather than brawn. And, despite increasing evidence to the contrary, you are a man with a reputation for being cleverer than the average policeman.’ DK glanced around the office. ‘Moreover, I can’t help but observe that clients are not exactly beating a path to your door to avail themselves of your sleuthing services.’ He flashed me a smile that was about as sincere as an undertaker’s in an old folks’ home before continuing. ‘So when my Auntie Shukla contacted me and asked me to help with resolving this matter I thought to myself, Ah-ha! Here is a perfect opportunity to give my esteemed ex-elite policeman friend a leg up in the pr
ivate investigating business.’ He paused for maximum dramatic effect before adding: ‘Was I wrong?’

  I rubbed my chin and realised that I hadn’t shaved for several days. I was already starting to let myself go. What I needed after nearly a week of smelling fried onions and staring out of the window at the street market down below was a case to get me up and running. So maybe DK was throwing me the life-line I needed. Then the words from an old Paul Simon song about a man hearing what he wants to hear and disregarding the rest surfaced from somewhere deep in the dark recesses of my brain and started waving in a frantic attempt to catch my attention. Naturally, I ignored them.

  ‘No, you’re not wrong, DK,’ I said with what I hoped sounded like a brisk and business-like tone. ‘But I’ve got a feeling that you’re not quite telling me everything there is to know.’

  DK clapped his hands in apparent glee. ‘Ah, already you show my faith in you is justified. You are as sharp as a needle in a haystack and you’ll soon be shining lights under bushels and finding this missing girl in no time.’

  God, I hated it when he did the mangled English proverbs bit. It was as fake as the designer gear the market traders were flogging. He did it to make people peg him for some harmless relic from the Raj but, in reality, he was a shark in a Savile Row suit and we both knew it.

  He pushed his chair back and stood up in one effortless move. For a big bloke he had a kind of feline grace that was slightly unnerving. Now I’m quite tasty when it comes to a ruck, but I didn’t fancy my chances against DK. As the saying goes, “A good big ’un will beat a good little ’un every time”. Okay, at a smidgeon under six feet, and twelve and a half stone, I’m not so little, but I had the feeling that DK wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty if he had to. Not that he ever had to. He had plenty of lunk-head muscle to do his dirty fighting for him. And anyway, he wanted me for my brains, so we were on the same side. I just wanted to be sure it stayed that way.

  ‘Come on, Ryan, my driver is waiting outside. I’ll take you to meet the family and I’ll explain everything you need to know whilst we are in the comfort of my car.’ He sniffed and gave a little shudder of distaste. ‘And, quite frankly my dear fellow, I suspect that both of us will be relieved to escape from that rather all-pervasive aroma of onions.’ He clapped his huge hand onto my shoulder as he ushered me out of my office. ‘How you can bear it day after day is quite beyond me.’

  Chapter Three

  DK settled into the luxury leather seat of his Mercedes S class limo like a dowager duchess snuggling down on a feather bed. As soon as he was ready, his skinhead Polish driver slid the motor out into the traffic as if there was nobody else on the road. It was like the car had an invisible exclusion zone around it.

  DK inhaled deeply. ‘Ah, I do so prefer the smell of leather to that of fried onions, don’t you old chap?’

  I thought about asking how he reconciled his Hindu religion with his love of leather, but then decided I didn’t need to know. It would have been a cheap shot and anyway, in my experience most people have no trouble at all with holding a mass of conflicting beliefs at the same time. I mean, I still believed, despite all the evidence, that being a PI was a sensible career choice. George Orwell called it double think and he was bang on the money in my opinion. Instead I asked DK where we were going.

  ‘St George’s Hill, in Weybridge. My Auntie and her family have a house there and it was where Meena, the missing bride, was to live until her forthcoming nuptials. But that was, of course, before the kidnappers took a hand and rather upset the apple cart.’

  I stared at him. This was the first I’d heard about kidnappers. It was a whole different ball game to some girl getting the wind-up and doing a runner because she was thousands of miles from home and going to live with a bunch of complete strangers and then get hitched to a bridegroom who apparently couldn’t be arsed to travel over to India to marry her. No wonder DK had been economical with the facts. He was doing a number on me back in my office and now I was in the limo I had no choice but to go along and meet the family. Well, I guess I could have tried to insist he tell the driver to pull over and let me out but I didn’t want to put it to the test. So I sat back and asked him to paint me the big picture – warts and all.

  DK chewed his bottom lip for a moment then said, ‘My cousin Vikram, a rather withdrawn and, as it now appears, delicate boy – though his mother assures me he is a genius and quite the brightest student in his class at UCL – is the one about to be married. His bride is a well brought up girl from a very respectable Rajasthani family. Her uncle Danvir is, as I believe I mentioned, a business associate of mine here in London, so it made sense for us to bind our two families a little closer by arranging this match.’ Then his eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘However, Dan’s fortunes seem to have taken a turn for the worse lately. Some of his investments have not gone so well – or so rumour has it.’ He raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. ‘Though of course I never pay heed to the gossip mongers. Their malicious tongues will always wag about something.’ His mouth turned down as if the bitchiness of the world was a trial to him. ‘And anyway, Dan has assured me that his ship will soon be coming in.’

  ‘What ship’s that?’

  DK frowned. ‘I have no idea. I believe it is what is called a figure of speech. But the point is, he is as upset as the rest of us that his niece has been kidnapped on the eve of her wedding.’

  I shrugged. ‘Well, I’d think he would be, but you still haven’t told me how it happened.’

  DK’s lips squeezed together into a thin line and his brown eyes were as cold as a witch’s tit. ‘It occurred in the car park at Heathrow. A man wearing some sort of face mask suddenly appeared from behind the family’s SUV and snatched the girl. In the blink of an eye a car screeched to a halt next to them. The masked man wrenched open the door of the car and bundled her inside. Then he leapt into the front passenger seat and the vehicle raced off. Apparently it was all over in less time than it takes to tell the story.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Sounds like a job for the Met’s kidnap unit. They’ve got the resources to …’

  ‘No! No! No!’ DK sounded exasperated. ‘The family has no wish to involve the police in this matter. We do not need Scotland Yard detectives poking their noses into our private business. That is why I have entrusted the affair to you, Ryan. You still have contacts in the Met so I’m sure you can call on them “off the record” for help if need be.’ He leant across and squeezed my dodgy knee in an apparently friendly gesture that was just a fraction too hard. He beamed at me while I gritted my teeth. ‘And I know I can be assured of your complete discretion at all times.’

  I rubbed my knee and gave him a look that could have peeled paint but he seemed blissfully unaware that he’d hurt me. But then again, maybe he was just being matey and unaware of his own strength. I decided not to press the issue. Instead I figured I’d better start earning my corn by asking some questions. I thought I’d kick off with the obvious stuff and see where it took me. I had a gut feeling that the kidnap was most likely down to some other “businessmen” of DK’s acquaintance looking for leverage over him.

  ‘So, have you got any idea why the girl was snatched?’

  DK barely glanced at me. ‘I imagine they did it for a ransom. Isn’t that the usual reason these desperadoes pull stunts like this?’

  I sucked on my teeth and nodded. ‘Has the family received a ransom demand?’

  DK sighed. ‘Not as far as I am aware, but then it is early days, isn’t it? The girl was only taken yesterday afternoon.’

  I carried on my nodding dog routine. ‘True, but these characters like to get their demands in fast. For them, speed is the key factor. They want their money asap, plus they don’t want the bother of keeping a victim hidden away any longer than they have to.’

  DK turned to face me. He raised one eyebrow. ‘Do you think she’s still alive?’

  For all the emotion in his voice, he may just as well have been
asking me my opinion of the price of fish.

  I pulled a face. ‘Probably. They’d figure a guy like you would want proof she was still in the land of the living before you coughed up any dosh. And the usual way of doing that is to text you a picture of her holding up the daily newspaper. It’s less risky for them that way than letting you speak to her on the phone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cos you might hear something in the background that gives a clue as to where she’s being held or she could blab something. Or you could get a trace on the call or record their voices or whatever. There are just too many variables that they can’t control. And a kidnapping is always about control.’

  DK stroked his chin and looked as if he was digesting this.

  ‘Yes, always being in control is important. It’s something I pride myself on.’

  I stared at him. ‘OK, DK, here’s the million-dollar question. Are you involved in any shenanigans with any rival firms whereby kidnapping your cousin’s bride is going to give the opposition the upper hand?’

  He gave me a “you’re a dead man walking” stare but it didn’t faze me. Back when I was in the DPG I had to face down a couple of home grown wild-eyed would be jihadists who thought they’d take out the PM. As it turned out, if brains were Semtex those two wouldn’t have had enough to blow their hats off, but I nearly shat myself in the stand-off. So, although DK was a ruthless bastard, he wasn’t quite in their league when it came to scaring me.

  ‘Give the hard man act a rest, DK. I need you to be straight with me if you want me to sort this mess out for you.’

  Suddenly, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, smiling DK was back.

  ‘Fair enough, Ryan. So let me hasten to assure you that, as far as I know, this kidnapping is not related to any of my “shenanigans” as you so delicately describe them.’