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

by Bo Brennan

  India Camille, D.O.B: March 9th 1982

  Sahara Constance, D.O.B: August 15th 1985

  Liam Colm, D.O.B: June 12th 1990

  There was another sibling. She had a sister who was eight years old when the father disappeared. Where the hell was she? Further down the page the mother's address appeared: The Rectory, Twyford. He wondered if the younger sister still lived with the mother, wondered if there was any hope for her if she was. Liam had been renting a bedsit in Southampton, and his mind was still seriously warped. Maybe he'd get to pay the woman a visit at some point, talk to her about her parenting skills.

  Colt lay back on the bed and turned to page four, reading about the events surrounding her father’s death. Tiredness had him confusing the dates. He read the final paragraph again concerning the obituary and the missing report. Nope, Maggie had definitely made a mistake – she had two different dates, three months apart, for when he disappeared from The Sea Princess. August 15th ’93 and November 13th ’93.

  Colt closed his eyes, where had he heard that name before?

  Chapter 65

  Thursday 23rd December

  “I don't think so, Jim,” Len said, ushering him into his office. “Take a few days off, keep a low profile. Go home.”

  “I can't, I've got a job to do.”

  “You drove your car through a High Street shop,” Len said, glaring at him. “That had one of my officers and our prime suspect – who is now dead – inside it. Your little stunt has generated a shit storm of paperwork.”

  “India's alive,” Colt said. “I'm happy with that result, aren’t you, Len?”

  “Of course I am.” He sighed. “But I'd be a lot bloody happier if Ray Quinn had lived to stand trial.”

  Colt shook his head and gazed absently around the room as Len went off on one about the victims being robbed of their day in court. Ray Quinn would never have seen the inside of a prison cell, he’d have entered an insanity plea and done a few years dribble time in a high security hospital. Within ten years he'd have been declared rehabilitated and would be enjoying unescorted weekends out, preparing for release back into civilised society. No court in the land could deliver the justice his victims deserved. India Kane had.

  And then his eyes fell on the photograph of the three wise monkeys on the wall behind Len's head. Colt stared at it, narrowing his eyes to visualise the bottom half of those cropped letters just visible at the foot of the frame. In his mind’s eye the full name of the boat materialised. The Sea Princess.

  “You're boring me now,” Colt said, cracking his knuckles and rising from his seat.

  Len cocked his jaw. “You have been spending way too much time with Kane.”

  “You reckon?” Colt walked behind the desk and snatched the framed picture from the wall.

  Len recoiled as he smashed it against the corner of his desk, shattering the glass. “What the hell are you . . .”

  Tugging the photo free, Colt unfolded the edge to reveal a fourth man holding the tail of the cod. He slammed it down on the desk. “Why don’t you tell me something I do give a shit about, Len? Like the whereabouts of your missing, child molesting mate, Doozer Kane. Imagine the fucking shit storm I could generate there.”

  Colt leant on the desk and fixed him with his stare, watched as good old Uncle Len turned an ashen shade of grey. He wanted this woman, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to get her. He'd take them all down, his own father included, if he had to.

  Firman swallowed hard and silently reached for the office phone. Colt banged his hand down on the receiver. “Make your choices wisely, Len,” he said.

  “Well isn’t this cosy,” Colt said, stooping to get through the door of the dimly lit back room of The Nag’s Head. “What's up Billy boy? You don't look too pleased to see me joining the old boys club.”

  “Sit down son,” his father said.

  “I'm no son of –” Colt started.

  “Abel,” his father spat fiercely through gritted teeth. “Sit down.”

  Colt glared at him, only his mother ever called him that. He wanted to lift him from his seat and shake him violently. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to channel his mother’s presence to these despicable proceedings? She was a good woman. Colt wondered if she had any idea what sort of man she'd given her life to.

  “Please,” Pete said. “If you want the truth, you'll get the truth, but you need to sit down.”

  Len pulled out the chair next to him and slid a cut glass whisky tumbler towards him. Colt took a deep breath and sat down eyeballing his father, and pushed the tumbler away when Pete began to pour the whisky. He was only here for the truth, had no intention of drinking from their poisoned chalice.

  “It's not what you think,” Len said.

  “Oh well that's good, because here’s me thinking you three arseholes – two cops and a fire chief – covered up the fact your friend was raping and beating his own daughter on a daily basis. And the only reason I can think why you would do something like that – is if you were doing it too.”

  “How dare you!” Bill Colt’s face twisted in disgust. “We had no idea he was . . .”

  “Save it,” Colt said. “Where is he now – holed in Twyford with the mother spending the life insurance money, or did you exile him abroad so he could terrorise as many kids as he wants?”

  “He's dead,” Pete said.

  Colt shook his head, he knew the cover story. “A bit fucking convenient no body was ever found.”

  “It won't be,” his father said, downing his whisky. “We weighted it down.”

  Colt peered at him, allowing the words to sink in during the silence that ensued, for the first time in his life his father looked old. “You killed him?” he said, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

  “No, Jim.” Firman shook his head. “We just disposed of his body.”

  Colt sat back in his chair, head spinning, absorbing the silence in the dingy cramped room. “What happened?” he finally said.

  “We don't know.” Pete shrugged and swilled the whisky in his glass. “The kids have never said.”

  “Which kids?” Colt said, “India, and her brother and sister?”

  “India and Gray,” his father said. “Pete found her in an empty house, with her father’s body decomposing in her bedroom.”

  Colt closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. ‘Came home from school one day and they were gone’ she'd said. Was it humanly possible that she could've blocked such a massive trauma as her father’s rotting corpse from her mind? God he wished Lacey was here. “You were a fucking copper for Christ’s sake, you’re supposed to investigate dead bodies not dump them!”

  “It didn’t need investigating. He was in her bed with his trousers round his fucking ankles, and her little nightdress was caked in blood,” his father viciously spat. “It was pretty self-explanatory!”

  Pete covered his face with his hands as though trying to block the image. “He was covered in small puncture wounds, bled out from the femoral artery in his groin,” he said, softly. “It was no end for a decorated man.”

  “And that’s why you covered it up?” Colt said incredulously. “Because he was fucking decorated?”

  “No, because we were his friends,” Len said.

  “And shit sticks,” his father added.

  Colt shook his head. “You took care of yourselves.”

  “We took care of India,” Pete said. “She spent three months kipping in a sleeping bag on the lounge floor, surviving on stolen scraps of food. The girl had been through enough. She would have been institutionalised for life.”

  “So we did what we had to do,” Len said. “We cleaned up the mess and dumped his body at sea.”

  “You protected his reputation and made the black widow rich,” Colt said, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his head.

  “We protected the children,” his father said, refilling his glass. “When you have kids of your own, you'll understand. There's nothing any of us wouldn't do to pr
otect you kids, each and every last one of you.”

  “You didn’t do a very good job of protecting her brother and sister,” Colt said.

  “They were safe with Belinda,” Len said. “She had no idea what was going on.”

  “India told her!” Colt slammed his fist down on the table. “That’s why the bitch broke her fucking jaw.”

  Colt hung his head in his hands and concentrated on his breathing, then reached out and dragged the only remaining empty glass towards him. Pete duly poured.

  Nobody spoke for a very long time.

  India watched from the window as the giant removal lorry turned up, amazed it had managed to negotiate the pot holed dirt track. She watched the four blokes in matching clothes climb from the cab, unlock the doors, and start unloading furniture. They weren't wasting any time, the cleaning team had only left an hour ago, and she wished they’d taken the sodding guard dogs with them – she wanted to go for a swim.

  Her eyes narrowed when the unknown silver Vauxhall pulled up on her hard standing and one of the uniforms leant in to speak to the driver. She pulled on her boots and stomped to the door, the new neighbours were going to get a shock if they thought her hard standing was shared. She wrenched open the front door to find AJ Colt on her deck, holding an official looking brown envelope. She peered past him to see the squad cars making their way in convoy towards the track. “Thank god they're finally going.”

  “Surplus to requirements,” Colt said, staring at her humdinger of a black eye. “That looks painful.”

  “Can’t feel a thing,” she said, wringing her hands. “I've got new neighbours.”

  Colt smiled. “I know.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Can I come in please?”

  She shrugged, and stepped aside. Hadn't anticipated he'd be stopping, in fact, she hadn't anticipated seeing him ever again. There were only two reasons AJ Colt would be here – to reprimand her for bringing his entire investigation crashing down around their ears, or, to make sure the Rubber Heel Squad, who would be investigating the whole shebang by now, didn't find out they’d shared a bed. Either way, India Kane was a loose end that needed snipping.

  Judging by the hefty envelope he was clutching to his chest, it was option one. A reprimand was warranted, she had skipped off to get a tattoo done on work time. Option two was already buried, she had no intention of broadcasting that.

  He stood awkwardly in her lounge, the look in his eyes somewhere between admiration and sympathy. Whatever it was she didn’t like it, it made her feel ashamed.

  “Let me have it then,” she said, holding out her hand for the envelope. “What is it, three months suspension?”

  Colt laughed and handed it over. “It’s Caroline Connor’s thesis. She dropped it off at the front desk for you this morning.”

  India gave a little chuckle as she took it. Power had been officially restored. “Is that it, not even a written warning?”

  He gave a gentle shrug. “It’s out of my hands, India; I’m not your boss. But I can’t imagine Len Firman ever giving in to evil.”

  She frowned and jerked her head up to meet his eyes.

  He raised his brows and slid a hand to the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a DVD. She held her breath as he offered it to her. “It's up to you what you do with it,” he said. “Only you and I know it exists.”

  Cautiously, she took it and stared at the familiar innocuous branding. Tilting it to see her name printed neatly on its spine. “Have you . . .”

  “No,” he said.

  With a shudder of silent gratitude she placed it on the coffee table. “Do you want to sit down or something?”

  “Thanks, but I've got a home to go to.”

  She nodded and followed him to the door. The traffic would be a nightmare getting back to London now. They stood on the threshold momentarily regarding one another; she would've shaken his hand had he not thrust them in his pockets with lightning speed. India Kane was a loose end well and truly snipped.

  “I almost forgot,” he said, holding his clenched fist out to her. “This stays between us too.”

  She stared at his hand as he slowly unfurled his fingers. Happiness flooded her body when she saw her battered little Swiss Army knife, looking tinier than ever in his giant palm.

  “Thank you.” She glanced up at him as she took it from his hand and hugged it to her chest. “It was an eleventh birthday present from Gray. You really have no idea what this means to me.”

  “Oh, I think I might,” he said, stepping out onto the deck. “By the way, you're welcome to pop round anytime you want, day or night.”

  He looked back at her and grinned as he walked away. India frowned when he sauntered right past his hire car and up the steps of the houseboat next door. She stood wide eyed on the deck staring after him, long after he'd disappeared through the front door.

  AJ Colt was languishing in the bath – wondering if he’d need to get the floor reinforced to install a bigger one – when the alarm sounded on his laptop. There was movement. Clambering from the tub, he wrapped a towel round his waist and hurried to the lounge to check the live feeds. On the screen, camera 4 was flashing. He hit the zoom button and frowned.

  They weren’t supposed to be invasive. Outside areas only he’d stipulated. He sat down and smiled as she stared at his place from her lounge window, wearing just a robe with her hair clipped up. When she turned and disappeared into her bedroom, Colt sighed and shook his head. Hovered the cursor over the ‘x’ to close the screen and then withdrew his hand. Leaning his head back against the sofa he stared at the ceiling, biting his lip. So he could see into her lounge, was it really such a big deal? It wasn’t her bedroom or anything.

  Glancing back at the screen, he sat up when she reappeared barefoot in a slinky red dress, the black eye gone. He shifted uncomfortably and swallowed hard when she perched on the edge of her sofa to roll a black stocking up each leg in turn. Ok, it was a big deal. He should be slamming the laptop lid shut . . . but he couldn’t. Instead he watched as she rose, slipped her feet into heels and smoothed her dress around her hips, gasped when she unclipped her hair and shook her head, sending a cascade of dark curls down her back.

  Colt peered at the screen, ducking his head as she crossed to the kitchen, frustrated he couldn’t see her anymore, and then shrank away from the monitor when she walked straight towards the camera and stood at the window again. This time she was sipping from a wine glass. Watching, deciding. Her shoulders rose and fell as she heaved a breath and downed her drink. She’s coming.

  Colt set the laptop down and ran to his bedroom, pulled on a pair of shorts and made for the kitchen. Grabbed the bottle of wine and freshly unwrapped glasses and placed them on his side table. Threw a couple of logs in his wood burner and straightened out the sheepskin rug underfoot. Slumping down on his oversized sofa in just his underwear, he checked the security cameras for her progress. He was just in time to see an incredible looking India Kane climb into the back of the taxi. He stared at the screen as the monitor flicked from camera to camera, and saw her safely all the way to the main road.

  That's ok, he thought, as he filled his glass with her favourite wine. She’d get used to the fact he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d even started dance lessons for Christ’s sake. AJ Colt was playing the long game. Playing for keeps.

  The End.

  Thanks a million for spending a little time in the world of AJ Colt and India Kane reading STEALING POWER http://bit.ly/1k34UFQ. If you enjoyed it, please consider taking a moment to leave a review – I know they’d greatly appreciate it!

  Need more Colt & Kane? Please read on for an exclusive peek at the next instalment, BABY SNATCHERS . . .

  Thanks again!

  Best wishes,

  Bo Brennan

  BABY SNATCHERS

  BY

  BO BRENNAN

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday 12th July.

  Royal South Hants Hospital, Winchester
.

  Her trainers squeaked against the highly polished floor as she hurried along the corridor. The incessant squeak turned to a screech as she nimbly dodged a collision with the breakfast round trolley exiting a ward on her left. Under normal circumstances she would have been embarrassed by the noise, but not today. Today it was anxiety and haste reddening her cheeks.

  Rounding the corner, the change in decor from stark clinical walls to a brightly painted underwater scene, did little to ease her anxiety. She pressed the intercom on the secure unit door and waited. A giant yellow cartoon octopus smiled down at her as she caught her breath.

  A friendly face appeared at the glass panel and with a click and a buzz the door finally opened. “Can I help you?”

  “I'm Lisa, Billy's mum,” she blurted. “Billy Lewis.”

  The nurse's eyebrows bunched together forming deep furrows above the bridge of her nose.

  “Oh no, it's serious isn't it,” Lisa cried as tightness gripped her chest. Her face filled with panic, her eyes stung with tears. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Please. Please just tell me he's ok,” she pleaded.

  “I'm sure he's fine,” the nurse said, ushering her into a side room. “Take a seat. I'll be back in a moment.”

  Lisa paced the small brightly coloured room. Her heart clenched at the sight of the plastic toys almost identical to the ones in the corner of her lounge. Of course, they were far too old for Billy to play with yet, but the gifts were well intentioned and gratefully received. It had been a long time since her flat had been littered with such paraphernalia.

  Lisa chewed at her nails. The nurse seemed to have been gone for an eternity. She took a calming breath and reminded herself that new-borns were demanding enough when well. The hospital unit, full of sickly babies, would be incredibly busy first thing in the morning.