by Bo Brennan
“You can't just come barging in here,” the plump sweaty man with his trousers round his ankles shouted, his face purple with a mixture of rage, exertion and blood pressure.
“You’ve got the job,” Colt said to the young giddy brunette bent over the desk, “now would you mind stepping outside for a moment, please.” He took her elbow as she straightened her clothes and steered her out the door.
“This is outrageous,” Mr Purple protested, hastily doing his trousers up.
“I tried to stop them, Sir,” the receptionist whimpered as India lifted the polished brass name plaque from the desk.
“Call the police, Zoe!” Mr Purple raged.
Colt sighed and opened his jacket. The ID clipped to his inside pocket instantly calmed the compromised Zoe. Any chance they had of keeping their enquiries low key was now blown.
India thrust her warrant card in his face. “I'm so glad you want to speak with us, because we really want to speak with you – Mr Adrian Saddler, Managing Director,” she said, returning the pompous name plaque to its spot and slumping into one of the visitors’ chairs.
“What the hell is all this about?” Mr Saddler spluttered. Colt was amazed at his outrageously full head of hair, wasn't sure if it was his eyes, or the light in the office that made the top and sides seem slightly different in colour. He wasn’t feeling particularly confident of winning their wager just yet.
“I want a list of all your employees who were working at Basingstoke College on Thursday 9th December,” India said.
“Certainly, no problem,” he said, surprising them both with his ease of cooperation. “Give me the warrant and I'll happily give you the information. I take it you do have a warrant? You wouldn't want me to commit a criminal offence by breaching the Data Protection Act, would you officer?”
“Mr Saddler,” Colt said calmly, “two women are dead and several have been brutally raped. We have evidence to suggest the last victim was raped by a man employed by your company working at Basingstoke College on Thursday 9th December. Under the circumstances I'm sure you wouldn't want to delay the investigation by making us seek a warrant. We will be granted the warrant, Mr Saddler.”
Adrian Saddler rocked back in his chair and without taking his eyes from Colt, he said, “Ah, now I get it. You brought the eye candy along to play bad cop.”
India sat unflinching, staring at him. Colt guessed if she had a Taser the wires would be attached to Adrian Saddler’s balls right about now. “I see you like to party, Adrian,” he said with a grin, nodding in the direction of ‘the eye candy’ next to him who remained unfazed. “I bet a man of your means parties real hard.”
“In your wildest dreams you couldn't imagine how hard I party,” he sneered, “even when you were someone.”
Colt smiled at the vague hint of recognition. “That's some car you got out there, Adrian,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in like a sex starved teenager waiting to hear all the best bits. “I bet that baby's seen some serious backseat action.”
“And you'd be right,” he laughed. “That’s a hundred and forty grand pussy magnet, and worth every single penny.” He leered at India. “Fancy a ride? I like my fucks feisty.”
Colt felt a sudden rush of blood and something popped inside his head. Leaning across the desk, he grabbed Adrian Saddler by the lapels and lifted him clear of his seat, sending his chair crashing unceremoniously to the floor behind him. With his feet swinging two foot off the ground, Colt effortlessly carried him to the window, dropped him to his knees, and squashed his face against the glass.
“Feast your fucking eyes on that hundred and forty grand penis extension out there. I'll stake my career that cocaine’s detectable inside that baby. Have some fucking respect and give my colleague what she asked you for, or I'll call my friends in the drug squad and make damned sure you get that baby back in a fucking shoe box.” He pulled the sweating pig to his feet, smoothed down his crumpled lapels, and said, “Do we understand each other, Adrian?”
Adrian Saddler lifted his chair from its upturned position on the floor and dropped into it, shaking. His receptionist answered his intercom call on the first buzz. “Yes Sir?”
“Get me a copy of the Basingstoke campus work roster for Thursday 9th December and copies of the workers’ personnel files.” She didn't get a chance to respond before he cut the intercom without a word of thanks. “I'm at a golf lunch with your Chief Constable tomorrow. I'll have your job for this,” he spat.
“Send my regards won't you,” Colt said. “I presume the head of the council will be there too, seeing as you have all the educational cleaning contracts in the county. It must keep you pretty busy stuffing all those brown envelopes full of cash.”
Adrian Saddler swallowed hard. Colt couldn’t help but notice his full head of hair had crept forward and was now resting on his forehead an inch from his brows. Zoe noticed it too, her lips twitched as she entered the room and handed Colt the information.
“Thank you very much, Zoe.” Colt smiled. “We’ll be leaving now, he’s all yours.”
Colt idled in the motorway traffic jam, deep in thought. He wasn’t sure what had happened back there, why the red mist had descended and he'd overstepped the mark. Again.
He was used to dealing with perverts. He’d put away some of the most devious and vile individuals that crawled the face of the earth. But none of them had ever got the better of him and made him lose his temper. Not once. He couldn’t get his head round it. Adrian Saddler wasn’t even in their league. He was merely a deeply unpleasant moron. Colt needed to be careful. This case was testing his limits and turning him into a thug. Temperament was everything in his unit. Without self-control, it would be easy to find yourself on the wrong side of prison bars.
Of course, there was another factor here . . . and it seemed to go hand in hand with his recent lapses in both self-control and sense.
He turned towards India, rubbernecking out the open window at the frozen queue of vehicles, and wondered if Saddler’s, or indeed his own behaviour, could be viewed as stealing power. He hated uncomfortable silences, and she wasn’t one for starting conversations. “I know I was wrong back there,” he said sheepishly.
“Yeah, you were. The arsehole played golf, you owe me dinner.”
Colt laughed, it wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, and not strictly true, but a result all the same. “I guess I do. Tonight?”
“Nope, busy,” she said, slumping back into her seat and giving him a once over. “You're a bit hands on for a DCI.”
He wet his lips, preparing to justify the indefensible. “I know you can handle yourself, India,” – he was still sporting the faint bruise as proof – “but sometimes that's the only language people like him understand.”
“I meant getting out and about, mucking in with the dirty work,” she said dully. “All the DCIs I've come across have their chair moulded to their arse.”
“That’s because the paper pile gets bigger the higher you go.”
“You manage it,” she said.
“I've got someone who does it for me. Never been big on paperwork. Besides, it's easy to lose touch with what's going on if you're desk bound.”
She raised a brow. “You've got a PA? My, my, you are special.”
Colt slipped the car into gear as the traffic slowly edged forwards. “I've got a DI with post-traumatic stress disorder. She’s shit hot and loves the job, wants to stay in even though she's incapable of making an arrest right now. She does all the paperwork, I make all the arrests,” he said flatly.
“Huh. Didn't know that was allowed,” she said, as his phone rang out from the hands free.
“It's not, so keep it to yourself.” Colt reached to take the call. “Lacey, you’re on speaker, what’s up?”
“Well, you two are certainly very persuasive today,” she trilled, her omnipotent voice filling the car. “Your two male college cleaners are sitting downstairs being interviewed.”
Colt frowned and flipped
a switch, closing India’s window. “What? They can’t be. We only got the information an hour ago and neither of us has phoned it in.”
“They were dropped off twenty minutes ago by company transport, boss’s orders apparently. Like I said – very persuasive, James.”
“Shit,” he spat. “The traffic’s a nightmare. We’re still at least thirty minutes away.”
“Don't panic, I've just come up from observing,” Lacey said. “Neither one is our man.”
“Are you sure?” Colt said, looking to India. She huffed and took her jacket off, inadvertently smacking him in the shoulder as she slung it in the back.
“Subject one weighs at least thirty-five stones and is of Afro-Caribbean descent with dreadlocks to his waist, and the other is a sixty-three year old China man,” she said. “Satisfied?”
“Guessed as much. Would’ve been too easy,” he said, fiddling with the air-con until the tropical temperature in the car plummeted. “I thought you were going home for the weekend?”
“I am. Well, your folks place anyway. We have the children, won't that be fun,” she said, voice brimming with sarcasm. “Anyway must dash, I’m on the clock. We’ll catch up tomorrow at lunch.”
“Great.” He ended the call and leant across India’s lap, rooting in the glove box as his nose began to twitch. Pulling out a tissue he caught the mighty sneeze before it rocked the car. “You got a cat?” he muttered. India nodded and Colt sniffed. “What's it called?”
“Cat,” she said dully.
“Must've taken you ages to pick that,” he laughed, wiping his streaming eyes.
She shrugged. “I didn't, it picked me. Came home from work one day and the cheeky bastard had moved in. Left a window open.”
“I'm allergic to cats.” Explained why he'd felt like shit the morning he'd crawled off her sofa. Hadn't seen any sign of it, not even a bowl.
She shrugged again. “Guess you won't be coming back to mine after dinner then.”
He shifted in his seat, smiling as the traffic finally began to move, and made a mental note to pick up some anti-histamine tablets along with a pack of three when he knocked off this afternoon.
Chapter 31
With India Kane off the menu, for tonight at least, Colt had found himself in pursuit of pleasure and good company. The familiar flutter of anticipation welled in him as he approached the glass facade of the small High Street shop that had for years immortalised the peaks and troughs of his life.
An electronic beep sounded as he crossed the threshold. Ray was going up in the world. The old fashioned bell that had hung above the door, announcing new arrivals for years, had no place in this now sleek and ultra-modern environment. Oversized black leather sofas provided cutting contrast to the stark white clinical walls and floor tiles. A highly polished black table displayed neatly arranged stacks of glossy folders, overflowing with visual stimulation and spiritual inspiration.
The man he'd come to see was on the phone, standing behind an expertly crafted curved counter, giving appointment dates and times well into the New Year. On the wall behind him, rows of simple black frames displayed a myriad of certificates, awards, and magazine covers. His gifted friend had earned every accolade.
Colt smiled when he recognised some of the classy artwork adorning the two main walls; he himself had provided the canvas for a couple. They looked good in black and white. Powerful, more poignant and striking, sensual even. They showed off his friend’s talent to maximum effect. Just seeing them caused a pleasurable sensation to wash through his body like the serene afterglow of good sex. He loved that burn, found immense comfort in pain’s warm embrace.
“Welcome home, Big Man,” Ray said, with a smile as broad as Colt's shoulders as he came around the counter. Colt winced at the stretching rings his earlobes were sporting. The holes through each piece of flesh were now large enough to get one of his giant index fingers through.
“Jesus, Ray, what happened?” Colt said, stepping back and admiring his friend’s form.
His best mate’s newly chiselled jaw broke into laughter. “A wakeup call, that's what happened. Bad bout of indigestion – thought I was having a bloody heart attack, didn't I.” Colt shook his head, a daily diet of McDonalds and a sloth like existence would do it. “I'm officially half the man I was, a hundred and seventy pounds lighter, and the one-seventy left is pure muscle,” he laughed, patting his stomach.
“Suits you,” Colt said. “I warned you all those Maccy Ds would get you in the end.”
“I should’ve listened sooner,” Ray said. “As you well know mate, the chicks dig a bit of muscle. So what brings you here, buddy, business or pleasure?”
“Bit of both. I'm in the area for work and . . . well, you know how it is.”
“What's the occasion my friend?”
“New beginnings,” Colt said, handing over the picture from his back pocket.
“Nice.” Ray nodded approvingly. “Where's she going?”
Colt lifted his shirt and stroked his torso, “Here.”
Ray inclined his head, studying his flesh canvas. “Good choice,” he said. “You got a spare five hours?”
Colt grinned. “I've got the rest of the day, and tonight if you're up for a beer.”
“Argi Bargi?” Ray said, raising a brow. Colt nodded. “Then you’d better come through and fill me in on these new beginnings. Five hours of exquisite pain coming right up.”
“Made you a bacon butty,” India called from the kitchen as Gray emerged from under the duvet on the sofa bed. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not really,” he mumbled, stretching as he slumped down at the table in his boxer shorts and poured himself coffee from the pot.
She slid the sandwich in front of him and took the seat opposite. His hair was ruffled through restless sleep and his red rimmed eyes showed he’d shed more tears after she’d gone to bed. It made her feel sick to see him in so much pain. If this was love they could keep it.
“I thought you were going into work today,” he yawned.
“Been,” she said, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall. He should have got married four hours ago. She should be making her way to the knees-up at the posh reception by now.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
India shrugged. “What are you going to do?”
“I've got a week off,” he mumbled. “Thought I'd start by painting the hull.”
India sighed. There would be no last minute reconciliation between him and Cara. No honeymoon either. What a lucky escape, she thought. “Terri phoned,” she said.
“I don't want to see anybody, Ind,” he said quietly. “I just need to be left alone.”
“I know.” This wasn't a problem his sisters could help him with, they'd just add to the mess with all their fawning. Gray wasn’t a man who went in for fuss, he’d always found the best therapy in keeping busy. And there were enough jobs here to keep him busy for a lifetime. “I said I'd meet her for lunch tomorrow,” India said, taking his empty plate.
“You still got my overalls here?”
“In the airing cupboard with the rest of your shit,” she said. “Wrap up warm it's freezing out there today.” Gray tutted and slouched off to the bathroom when she laid her work files out on the table. If he wanted to talk he’d know where to find her, but right now they both had plenty to keep them busy.
Chapter 32
Sunday 12th December
The small bistro off the main Southampton drag was an interesting choice of location for a girly lunch. They’d bypassed the window seat, decorated with its garish threadbare tinsel that had seen better days, and opted instead for a secluded corner table away from prying eyes. A classy woman like her was probably too embarrassed to be seen in public with the friend, she had an unpalatable dykie look about her.
He seated himself at the intimate table for two behind theirs, taking the chair with his back to them. They wouldn't even notice him. He knew how to blend, considered hims
elf well practised. Most of his life he'd been in the shadows going unnoticed.
He ordered a sparkling mineral water and lifted the menu, hoping they wouldn't add food to their order of two coffees. He'd eaten less than an hour ago, sitting up the road from that god awful dirt track of hers. Watching and waiting.
After much indecision the dyke finally went for the ‘Roast of The Day’. Tits went straight for a Vegeburger, chips and a side order of onion rings – specifically requesting they be extra crispy. The woman had an appetite and she knew what she wanted. He admired that.
He learnt something new about India Kane every day – a dancer, a pool hustler, a vegetarian. The most wonderfully secluded abode. And she fights like a man. She was a complex character with hidden depths. Learning about her was proving to be a much more pleasurable experience than most, and the most divine of her pleasures was yet to be experienced.
He'd never poked a pig before. He anticipated she'd have handcuffs and like it rough.
“Are you ready to order, sir?” His fantasy was interrupted by the screechy breaking voice of a poisoned, pustule-faced youth holding a pad and chewed pen.
He recited her order verbatim from memory, snapped the unread menu shut, and sat back comfortably to continue his education.
“How's Gray?” Terri asked, her voice low with concern.
“Keeping busy,” India said.
“I've got a good mind to go round there and give the bitch a slap,” Terri said.
India rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that would really help.”
Terri drew a deep breath, feeling useless. “How long's he staying at yours for?”
India shrugged. “As long as he wants.”
“Hmm. Well, don't let him mope about too long, he’s got to go home and face her at some point,” she said, pointing her fork in India’s direction. “Why didn’t you want to eat at Mum and Dad's today? Wouldn’t be avoiding someone yourself, would you?”