STEALING POWER: A powerful psychological crime thriller (A Detective India Kane & AJ Colt Crime Thriller)

by Bo Brennan

  Chapter 55

  Bill Colt sat silently on the riverbank. He could feel his son staring at him from under the peak of his deerstalker, twenty yards away.

  Something was brewing.

  He'd been quiet all morning, mumbled something about a package outside his hotel room as his excuse for arriving so late. The other boys felt it too and were giving their brother a wide berth, the safest bet when he was brooding.

  Bill Colt was nobody’s fool, had a good idea what was troubling him. Knew damned well what was going on between his son and that woman before his son even knew himself. Warned the others this was going to happen too, told them they were wrong when they insisted it would come to nothing. Hated each other, they'd said. He knew every one of his kids better than they knew themselves. Even Karen. Knew she was lying through her teeth when she denied it was her that had sold her brother out and split the bloody family in two.

  Now the worst thing imaginable had happened – the man who had haunted his son for years had taken the woman he loved. And India Kane was already haunted enough. They all were. Questions were being asked, long buried memories and secrets at risk of resurfacing. James was like a dog with a bone when he got his teeth into something. Played off of hunches all his life, his intuition was good. Sharp.

  But he never knew when to stop, when to walk away and leave things be.

  “You boys go on ahead, Jim and I will catch you up,” Bill Colt said. “And for Christ’s sake, don't forget your mother wants you straight home for dinner, no pub or I'll never hear the bloody end of it.”

  One after the other the boys tentatively patted their subdued brother on the shoulder as they trudged back to Luke’s car laden with fishing gear. Today he'd been troubled, made no attempts at joining in with their banter. Today, his mind was far away from the riverbank. Whatever was coming, Bill Colt had a feeling it needed to be dealt with in private.

  “Whatever's on your mind, son,” his father said, watching Luke’s car pull out of the fishery gates, “spit it out.”

  “Tell me about India Kane.” Colt studied his father’s flushed face, and saw a resigned look of expectation in his eyes.

  “I might’ve known it was a woman making you miserable,” his father said. “Forget about her, son, you'll be back in London soon enough.”

  “Forget about her?” Colt said, jerking his head. “Is that what you and your mates did seventeen years ago?” He stared at his father as a shadow passed over his face . . . and he knew. Len and his dad stuck together like shit to a blanket, he was stupid to hope he was wrong about his own father’s involvement. “What you did is making me miserable, Dad.”

  His father frowned, set his jaw and stared right back at him. For a few moments they stood toe to toe in silence on the sodden riverbank, strangers sizing each other up. A blast of cold December wind ruffled his father’s hair and Colt remembered the picture on Len's office wall. It had to be at least thirty years old – Dad, Len and a third man. Pete. Colt sighed. That's why Gray Davies seemed so familiar; he was the image of his father in his younger days.

  “Tell me why you did it,” Colt said, hoping for an explanation that would make it all right.

  His father made no attempt to say anything.

  “For Christ’s sake, Dad, say something! Help me understand!”

  “Some things are best left alone,” he said, and turned to walk away.

  “You let a child abuser off scot free,” Colt said, angrily grabbing his father’s shoulder. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

  Bill Colt threw down his rod, grabbed his son by the throat and slammed him hard up against a tree. “You always think you know best, don't you? Well you know nothing. This is one can of worms that you do not want to fucking open. Leave. It. Alone,” he growled. “You have no idea what you're messing with, boy.”

  Bill Colt released his grip, took a deep breath and stroked his son's cheek. Taking a step back, he picked up his fishing rod, and said, “Make your choices wisely, son. I'll make my own way home. I need the air.”

  Colt stood stunned, still propped against the tree, breathing heavily through his gaping mouth. He raised a hand mechanically to his throat, and watched the man who had been his lifelong hero stroll out of the fishery gate.

  If he had to make a choice, he knew what it would be.

  He sat in his parked car admiring the new glass in his wing mirror – the miserable old bastard had done a good job. He slunk down in his seat and dropped the driver’s tinted window a couple of inches when the reflected image showed the Colt family’s front door finally open.

  The rest had swaggered home thirty minutes ago, Daddy Bear and the Meathead weren't with them, maybe those two hadn't gone fishing after all, maybe they were holed up inside discussing his gift. That would be a refreshing break from the norm.

  He smirked as he watched Karen emerge with that snooty black bitch she was banging in tow. Karen would be easy to do in, problem was he'd be doing fuckface a favour if he took her out. For god’s sake girls, have a bit of decorum. The fucking rug munchers had no shame, hands all over each other in the front garden, putting on a nice little show for the neighbours. Oh I see. It's for Daddy Bear’s benefit. Here comes old Bill now. Judging by the look on his face he wasn’t over enamoured with the rug munchers either. He was also alone.

  He tilted the mirror slightly to get a better view as the sex show spilled onto the street, just feet from the car.

  “Lacey,” Bill Colt said curtly. “You off?”

  “She's got work to do, Dad. There's a sadistic sex maniac on the loose, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Karen said, with a well-placed hand on her lover’s arse.

  And what a fine arse she had. Mama's got junk in her trunk. He'd never really noticed before. Never had a bit of black snatch before either, and from the sound of things – he was just what she was looking for.

  “No James?” she cooed, peering round him, like the meathead could be hiding behind the old man's lanky, withered legs.

  “He had stuff to do,” old Bill said, shaking his head.

  “Well, he's in the room next door. I'll catch up with him back at the hotel.”

  “I doubt he'll be back tonight,” Bill Colt mumbled.

  “Oh, right,” Karen spat. “He gets his leg over, and Lacey gets to work all night, again. He's so bloody selfish, Dad, it’s unbelievable.”

  Bill Colt wearily trudged up the path, ignoring the on-going lesbian love fest. It was no wonder he'd walked off. That particular daughter of his had always had a vicious tongue. God only knew what the arse saw in her. His tongue was so much more sophisticated. He figured those big red juicy lips of hers would look great around his cock, too.

  He inclined his head and frowned in the mirror, had always found it strange that the meathead got on so well with her, when there was obviously nothing in it for him. AJ must’ve being trying to get inside that for years. Shagging her would no doubt be the ultimate payback for his sister’s loose lipped indiscretion.

  And she was in the hotel room next door.

  How close to home could he fucking get?

  India Kane stood back, bandana round head and paintbrush in hand, admiring her handiwork. The cutting in around the ceiling was a bit wobbly in places, but it would do. The room looked completely different, and that was good enough for her. When the knock at the door came she looked at her watch; the uniforms were probably due a fresh brew about now.

  She frowned when she saw Colt standing on the deck. His layers of casual winter clothes couldn’t hide the angry marks creeping upwards from out of his sweater. “What you done to your neck?”

  “Shaving rash,” he said, running a hand down his throat.

  She beckoned him inside with a tilt of her head. “Looks like someone's tried to throttle you.”

  “The cold weather makes it worse. What you painting?”

  “Bedroom,” she said. “Just finished, want a coffee?”

  He silently watched as she lined up a r
ow of mugs on the worktop. From the corner of her eye, India eyed him curiously. Something wasn’t right, the way he was studying her made her feel uneasy. “Make yourself useful and chuck a log in the fire,” she said.

  He did as she asked, and then resumed his position leaning back against the worktop, silently observing her. Stirring the drinks, her apprehension increased with every clang of the spoon against pottery.

  “Go sit down,” she said, handing him a mug. “You're making my kitchen look untidy.”

  “You and I need to have a serious conversation,” he said, setting the mug down on the worktop.

  “Do we?” If he was going to ask her about the attack, he was wasting his time. She couldn’t remember a thing. And she didn’t want to either. When he reached out and ran his hand along her jaw, he caught her unawares. Disconcerted she jerked away and frowned.

  Hesitantly he bowed his head towards hers, cautiously edging his mouth closer until their lips gently brushed. India closed her eyes and marvelled at his slow and gentle caresses that left her body yearning for so much more.

  “I’m in love with you, India,” he whispered.

  Her body tensed and she stood rigid in the ensuing silence, unable to breathe. The sound of her gulp seemed to swallow the room as she forcefully pushed him away with both hands. He stumbled back across the kitchen and straightened himself up to his full 6'6” height. She fixed him with her stare and saw the instant regret in his dark fretful eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.”

  “What exactly were you expecting?”

  “Not to feel like a total fucking idiot for starters.” He dragged his hands down his face then thrust them in his coat pockets, frowning hard. The line she found so attractive carved its way deeper through his forehead.

  India dropped her eyes to the floor and picked at her nails. She’d experienced love. It had ravaged her body and destroyed her soul. How could she explain that to a man who barely knew her? And if he did . . . wouldn’t want her anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I'll probably see you at work first thing tomorrow morning, but I won’t hang around. I don’t want to make it awkward or uncomfortable for you. I promise I'll be gone before you know it.”

  His long legs took him swiftly to the door and before her feet could even move, he was gone. Her body shuddered as she desperately tried to draw air into her lungs. It had been a long time since she'd seriously struggled for breath, panic attacks were a long forgotten symptom of the past. Slumping down onto the sofa she scrambled for her phone.

  Dr Lacey Fox stepped out of the elevator on the third floor, humming along to Beethoven’s 5th being piped throughout the hotel.

  The symphony had always held a special place in her heart. It was a bewitching, passionate recital of it that first introduced her to the charms of a woman. A brief but intense affair with the female cellist followed, and she’d never wanted a man again.

  Half way along the corridor, she hesitated. Thought about going back to ask the restaurant manager what CD they'd been playing through dinner this evening, and then glanced at her watch. 9.45 pm. She really had stayed in the bar far later tonight than intended, hoping James might've joined her at some point – she owed him a long overdue apology. She was too good at psycho spotting, she wouldn’t apologise for that, but she would for interfering in his love life.

  Her interference had made things strained between them lately. And tonight he was ignoring her calls. James wore his heart on his sleeve. A dangerous combination for a man with money and good looks; it left him susceptible to getting hurt. She sighed. Just had to stand back and let him make his own mistakes. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d helped him pick up the pieces, only hoped one day he and Karen could do the same.

  Rummaging through her handbag for the room key card she wished Karen could be more musical, more cultured. Her idea of a good night out was getting bladdered at an Elbow gig. Still, what she lacked in refinement she made up for in the bedroom, the sex had become a glorious symphony all of its own as lust had given way to love.

  Lacey could kick herself. If she hadn’t been so harsh in her assessment of his love life, he would’ve told her of his intention to be a definite no show tonight and she could have wined and dined her woman in four star luxury instead.

  She smiled with relief when her phone buzzed with a text from James. Dinner, tomorrow, 9 pm, it read. Promise? she keyed back, and hit the send button. Lacey was still smiling as she slid the card through the mechanism and her hotel room door clicked open. So did the door to the stairwell behind her.

  Colt was ordering his third beer when Gray walked into The Nag’s Head. He cut a sorry figure hunched over the bar drinking alone.

  “Quiet in here tonight,” Gray said, pulling up a barstool. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Feel free,” Colt responded, absently texting. Promise, he wrote. “Want a beer?” he said.

  “I’d love one. Rest day tomorrow, I haven’t had many opportunities to kick back lately, the watch is two men down.”

  “Well you've picked a good night ‘cos I'm planning on kicking back with both feet, mate.”

  “You ok?” Gray said.

  “Been better,” Colt mumbled in response.

  They sat in uncomfortable silence, full pint glasses in their hands. “Nice tat,” Colt said, seeking common ground aside from the obvious subject.

  “Thanks.” Gray rolled up his sleeve to show the inside of his arm in all its glory.

  Colt studied the Arabic writing closely, it was crisp and clean, beautifully done. Three segments and a little squiggle, possibly three words. Ne Cede Malis, he thought. “What does it say?” he said, glancing up at him.

  Gray burst out laughing. “Now there’s a story!”

  Colt smiled, he couldn’t wait to hear it.

  “It was supposed to say ‘Property of Cara’, but the bloke who did it convinced me having that for life was tempting fate. He was right. She dumped me a couple of weeks ago.” He lifted his pint and sighed. “Turns out short, fat, used-car salesmen earn more money than firemen.”

  “Been there, got the t-shirt,” Colt said. “Skinny, floppy haired investment bankers earn more than coppers too. So what does it say?”

  Gray grinned. “Play up Pompey.”

  Colt spluttered on his pint as he laughed. “You owe that man a drink.”

  “Next time I’m in the High Street, I’ll drop him in a crate,” Gray said.

  Colt glanced at the artwork again. If the quality of the work didn’t give it away, the story certainly did. “Quinntessential?” he asked, and Gray nodded. “Ray Quinn’s a good friend of mine. I’m a bit partial to the needle myself.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Gray said, and casually sipped from his pint. “I've just spoken to India.”

  Colt let out a stifled half-laugh half-sigh. “Great, you’ll know what a twat I am then.” He lifted his pint and took a long satisfying slug.

  “You scared her, buddy,” Gray said.

  Colt cocked his jaw, offended by the suggestion that he or any other living person was capable of scaring India Kane. “I told her I loved her, but then you already knew that.” He stared at Gray and downed his pint.

  “The L word scares her.” Gray took a swig of his drink, trying to keep up as Colt gestured to the barmaid. “Bad memories from her childhood, family shit,” he said, wiping his mouth.

  “Family shit? I know all about that.” Colt laughed and ordered two more pints followed by double tequila chasers. “In a spectacular double whammy I also fell out with my dad today.”

  Gray smiled. “I'm sure it's nothing serious.”

  “Now I come to think of it, you’re right,” Colt said, lifting his pint and staring straight ahead at the mirrored back bar. “The way the three wise men covered up what happened to India isn’t serious at all. It’s criminal.”

  In the reflection he watched the colour drain from Gray's face as h
e stared at the drinks lined up on the bar. Colt raised his tequila glass, smiled, and said, “Drink up, buddy, we’ve got lots to discuss.”

  It all happened so fast. One second she was standing outside the hotel door the next she was face down on the bed, a dead weight on her back, struggling for breath through the plastic covering her face.

  Lacey felt the knee between her shoulder blades as her hands were bound so tightly she could feel the flesh of her wrists being cut away from the bones as she struggled. Each desperate gasp for air found nothing but clammy taut plastic. God help me. He's here.

  He flipped her onto her back, ripping open her shirt with such force buttons ricocheted around the room. Her chest pumped rapidly, body labouring for air. Terrified, she tried to close her eyes, but her lids were pinned open by the tightness of the plastic suffocating her.

  She needed to stay calm, if anybody could talk this man down it was her. And she needed to concentrate. If she made it out alive, every little detail would be critical. Lacey forced her eyeballs downwards, could see the top of his head, the black wool hat, as he wrenched her skirt up around her waist. As her breaths became infrequent pants against plastic, her vision began to blur. Today there was no ski mask when he raised his head and smiled at her.

  That was the moment she knew with absolute certainty she was going to die.

  She thought about Karen and the kids. How they'd all had dinner with him just weeks ago. He was their friend, they trusted him, welcomed him into their home. They were all going to die, every last one of them, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  Dr Lacey Fox's last thought was that she had failed them all.

  Chapter 56