by Emma Tallon
‘Nah, sorry – meant to say. It was a burner, not registered.’
‘What’s that?’ Paul asked Freddie.
‘Tanya had a few dodgy texts, wanted the number tracked. Nothing came of it though. Still getting them?’ he asked her.
‘Yeah, nothing serious though, just some dirty twat who clearly needs a shag.’ She shot Anna a glance, warning her not to say anything. Anna ignored it.
‘Actually, Freddie, it’s someone sending cryptic hate messages, but as usual Tanya thinks she can handle everything on her own without telling anyone. I only know because I saw one just come through.’
‘What?’ Freddie held his hand out for Tanya’s phone. ‘Let me see.’
Tanya huffed but passed it over. Freddie read them and handed it back, his expression full of disgust.
‘That’s fucked up. Who is it? Do you have any idea?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m sure I’ve pissed many people off in my time, but nothing too serious and nothing that stands out.’ She shrugged. ‘Ain’t bothering me. It’s probably a wrong number.’
Freddie looked concerned. ‘Do you want me to put someone with you for a bit, just in case?’
‘No, I bloody well don’t!’ Tanya replied indignantly. ‘Jesus, I’m a big girl who’s dealt with plenty of saddos and nut jobs in my time. A couple of texts ain’t nothing to worry about.’
‘Yes, but you don’t know who this one is, Tanya,’ Anna tried to reason.
‘I’m not talking about it anymore. It’s done; I’m fine.’ Tanya’s jaw set in a firm line, and she eyed them all hard.
Anna sighed and shook her head at Freddie. There was no point trying to push her – she was a stubborn mare when she wanted to be.
‘Come on then or we’ll be late to meet Irish Craig.’ Freddie turned to Anna and paused awkwardly. ‘Only popped home to grab a package on my way. I’ll see you later. Paul?’ Paul was looking at Tanya and chewing his lip, his expression unreadable. ‘Paul?’ Freddie repeated.
‘Yep. Bye, Anna. Tanya.’ He followed Freddie from the house and the girls found themselves alone once more.
Tanya watched Anna’s expression grow heavier again. ‘Things still not right between you two?’ she asked.
‘No. Not at all.’ Anna answered sadly.
Tanya squeezed Anna’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, mate. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Or at least not what you’re thinking.’
‘That’s the thing though, Tan. I don’t even know what to think anymore.’
They sat in silence for a few minutes until Anna took a deep breath and picked up the bottle of wine. She forced a smile.
‘Right, well. Let’s get back to having some us time, shall we? Lord knows we both need it!’
‘Indeed.’ Tanya smiled back warmly as she held out her glass to be refilled. Behind the smile though, her stomach began to twist in worry. The fact it was a burner phone meant that whoever was following her had thought this through. They didn’t want to be discovered. Things were beginning to seem more serious than she had originally thought.
34
Michael stepped out of the tall terraced house he had just been negotiating in and began walking down the street. He couldn’t get a parking space when he arrived, so his car was a few minutes away. He called Freddie to give him an update.
‘Hey, yeah, just got out.’ Throwing a cursory look over his shoulder, Michael mentally noted a young man in a hoody a few metres behind him. He was always careful to check no one was listening when he was discussing business, just like Freddie had taught him.
‘Nah, they wanted the higher margin but less stuff. I’ve told them they get both or neither.’ Checking both ways, he crossed the road.
The man in the hoody crossed the road behind him.
‘Yes, I told them that too. Gave them till five to confirm which it will be.’ Michael glanced sideways at the reflection in the windows of the cars he passed as he walked. The hoody was catching up. He frowned. Something looked off about the way he was walking.
‘I’ve gotta go, catch you later.’
Michael kept his eye on the reflections as he walked and trained his ears onto the soft thudding sounds of the other man’s footsteps. The hoody had his hands deep in his pockets, and his shoulders were locked up – tense.
A short gap came up between two cars and Michael quickened his pace to the next one, losing sight of his follower. As he came up to the next car, the reflection came back into view, and just in time. Michael’s eyes widened and he dived sideways and watched the reflection of a blade plunge down towards his back.
He got out of the way just in time. The knife sliced down through the air just inches from his body. He turned to face the man who had just tried to stab him. His furious gaze locked onto the other man’s startled expression, and he leaped forward before the hoody had time to recover from his hesitation.
Grasping his attacker’s wrists, he tried to force him to drop the knife, but he held on with determination. They silently struggled against each other, fairly evenly matched for strength. Michael made a sound of frustration. He wasn’t getting anywhere like this. He rocked back and then bought his knee up into his attacker’s side as hard as he could, throwing all of his body weight into it. It worked. The man doubled over, winded.
Michael took the knife and twisting his attacker’s arm behind his back, held it against his ribs. He took a couple of deep breaths, his heart beating fast and swiftly checked up and down the street. There was no one around; no one had seen the short struggle. No one would have seen him bleeding out on the street either, had his attacker succeeded, he realised. It was a well-planned location at least – he would give him that.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ he growled, fuming. There was no answer. He twisted his arm harder, causing the man to wince. ‘No? No answer? That’s fine, mate. Not a fucking problem.’ His tone was furious. He began marching him towards his car, the knife pressed hard against his side. ‘I’d prefer to get it out of you the hard way anyway.’
An hour later, Michael’s attacker sat tied to a hard-backed chair in the middle of one of Freddie’s empty barns in Essex. They had various empty storehouses like this, dotted around for when things needed to be moved quickly or to hold any excess stock. This one was empty, other than a few pieces of furniture. Underneath the chair Michael had laid out a large plastic sheet, four metres wide and long. The Tylers kept plastic sheeting at most of their rural locations, to make clean-up easier on dirty jobs such as these. It was just practical, as it avoided any DNA traces being left on the floor.
‘So,’ Michael snapped as he paced back and forth in front of the now-bloodied young man. ‘Still not feeling chatty, sunshine?’ He pulled back his leather-clad fist and smashed it into the man’s face again. Blood spattered across the floor and he spat out a tooth, but still he said nothing.
Dean walked in and shut the big barn doors behind him. ‘Alright?’ he asked, frowning in concern. He put down his heavy backpack on a nearby desk.
‘Luckily, yeah. Wouldn’t be if this wanker had got his way.’
Dean shook his head in disgust and turned away to open his bag. Michael swung his attention back to the man tied up in the chair. He was seething with anger. Rather than calming down on his way over here, he had become more and more enraged at the audacity of this no-mark trying to kill him. He was ready to rip his head off right now, but he held back. He still needed to know who he worked for and whether this was a solo vendetta or whether there was a hit out against him.
He studied him. He was shabbily dressed in jeans, a shapeless T-shirt and an oversized, dark-green hoody. He was tall and fairly strong but thin, with bad skin and a short patchy beard. He was no one of note and no one Michael had come across before. Michael had a knack for remembering faces. And he definitely would have remembered this one.
‘I’m going to ask you again.’ He narrowed his eyes as the man smirked through the black eyes and dried blood on his face. ‘Who are you and why w
ere you trying to kill me? I suggest you start talking now, because I don’t think you’re particularly going to like being tortured.’
The man’s eyes widened and focused in on Michael.
‘Yeah.’ Michael smiled coldly. ‘My friend here is very skilled at causing a ton of pain with minimal effort. It’s beautiful to watch actually. Personally I’d like to just go ahead, but I’ll allow you this one last chance before we get to that.’
Dean turned on a small hand-held blowtorch and began heating the end of a small branding iron. The man in the chair gave them a panicked look before locking his jaw and straining against his bindings. Michael waited, his face emotionless. The branding iron glowed brightly, having reached maximum heat.
Suddenly the barn door was flung open and hit the inside wall with a bang. They all jumped at the unexpectedly loud noise. Freddie flew across the room towards them with a roar, deep red rage written across his face. He swiped the branding iron out of Dean’s hand, and before any of them knew what was happening, grabbed the man by the throat with one hand as he slammed the iron down hard onto the top of his thigh with the other.
The man screamed out in agony. Freddie bellowed at him. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you can try to take out my brother and get away with it?’ Spittle flew out of his mouth onto the man’s face as he shook with anger.
The man screamed again, his face turning white in shock and pain. Freddie squeezed his neck one last time and reluctantly let go, flinging him backward. The chair fell over and he hit the floor.
Freddie sniffed and ran his hand back through his hair, fixing it back into place again. He took a deep breath and straightened his jacket, regaining his composure before he spoke. He turned to his brother.
‘Michael,’ he said curtly. ‘You alright?’
‘Yeah, good thanks,’ Michael replied.
‘Good. What have you got so far?’
‘Nothing yet. Dean just got here though, so hopefully something soon.’
‘Right. OK.’ Freddie nodded, his lips set in a hard line.
He had been furious when he received Michael’s call. Freddie wasn’t someone who allowed his emotions to get the better of him. His cool head was what had helped him rise to the top and stay there. But his one weakness was his family.
Dean hoisted the chair up so that the man was once again upright. He was sobbing and shaking, blood running down his leg from the big, red burn now on show through the hole the iron had made in his trousers. Freddie handed the iron back to Dean, who once again began to burn it with the blowtorch.
‘No, please,’ the man begged shakily. ‘I’ll tell you. Please don’t do it again.’
Freddie tilted his head to the side at the sound of the accent. He swung around. ‘You’re Albanian,’ he stated.
‘Yes.’ The man lowered his eyes away from Freddie’s intense gaze. Freddie quickly pieced things together.
‘Do you work for Viktor Morina?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
Freddie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ‘Well, you weren’t hard to crack. Not very loyal to your boss, are you? Any one of my men would have shown more balls in your place.’ He shook his head. ‘What is the world coming to… OK then, why?’
‘Why he ask me to kill your brother?’
‘Yes, why did he ask you to kill my brother?’ Freddie confirmed, his patience wearing thin.
‘Because you had him kidnapped and his arm broken. He had to repay you.’
‘He had to repay me?’ Freddie shrugged at Michael. ‘He had to repay me. Right, OK. Well, thank you for that and better luck in your next life.’
‘Wha—’
Before he could finish his sentence, Freddie pulled his gun from his inside pocket and shot him in the head.
‘Hey, hang on,’ Michael protested. ‘I wasn’t finished!’
‘He isn’t a toy, Michael.’ Freddie wiped down his gun with the bottom of his jacket before taking it off. ‘We got what we needed out of him.’ He unbuttoned his shirt and threw that on the floor along with the jacket. ‘Dean, get my gym bag out of the boot.’
‘On it.’ Dean disappeared.
‘But he tried to kill me,’ Michael persisted.
Freddie stopped and looked him in the eye. ‘And he’s paid for that. Like Viktor will, for ordering the hit. Now burn those’ – he pointed to his clothes – ‘along with the rest of this shit. And get rid of him. Dean, you help him.’
‘’Course.’ Dean had reappeared with the leather holdall Freddie used as a gym bag.
Reaching into it, Freddie pulled out a white T-shirt and shrugged it on over his head. He slung the bag over his shoulder and put his gun into one of the inner pockets.
‘I’ll have someone pick Morina up.’
Without further discussion, Freddie left. He stepped out of the barn into bright sunshine and blue skies. It was a beautiful day, but he didn’t notice. He drove away with a grim expression. Viktor Morina had stepped way beyond the line. It wouldn’t be a broken arm and a warning this time. He had just signed his own death warrant.
35
Freddie’s phone rang, and he closed his eyes in annoyance when he saw who it was. He let it ring a few more times before resentfully picking it up.
‘What?’ he asked angrily.
‘He’s been back to the house.’ Riley’s excitement seemed to override the usual tone of disdain she used with him.
‘And?’
‘And he’s left a voice recorder, with a message from her on it. I’ve got it in the lab now, being analysed.’
Freddie quickly thought over his plans for the evening. There was nothing pressing that wouldn’t wait.
‘Bring the recorder and the results to my office at CoCo in an hour.’
‘I’ll see you there,’ she replied.
Freddie clicked off the call and looked at the picture of Anna staring up at him from his screen. He sent her a text.
Dinner tomorrow night? Zafferano 8 p.m.? X
He pressed send and waited for her response. It came through a minute later.
OK. X
A warm smile temporarily replaced the stress and worry on Freddie’s face. She loved that restaurant. They had spent their first Valentine’s Day there, which had not been long after they had both finally escaped the wrath of Tony Christou. It had been an amazing night, their first proper romantic date with no need to hide and no more secrets between them. Perhaps the reminder of happier times would help bridge the gap that was widening between them.
Freddie wished there were still no secrets between them now. He knew Anna deserved the truth, but he couldn’t give her that. Not yet. He couldn’t put the worry and fear of being locked up and murdered on her head. He just couldn’t do that to her. He had to fix it first. He was just hoping that her belief in him was strong enough to hold out until he could. But at this point, he really wasn’t sure it would be.
An hour later, Sarah Riley walked into Freddie’s office, not bothering to knock. Freddie hid his annoyance and ignored her childish attempt to get under his skin. Sarah sat in the chair opposite him.
‘Please, sit down,’ he said sarcastically. He took a breath and sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward. ‘So what did they find?’
Sarah slid an evidence bag across the table to Freddie. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He put them on before opening the bag.
‘Oh please.’ Sarah snorted. ‘I’m hardly going to put it back into evidence now, am I?’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ Freddie replied.
He pulled out the recorder and pressed the play button. There was a crackling noise, then a weak, shaky voice began talking.
‘This is a message for my father. I’m still alive. I’m not dead… yet.’
The woman on the tape gulped and began to cry.
‘I am very ill. I’ve been given medication to keep the infection from spreading, but this won’t save me if I’m down here much longer.
You have to… you… I can’t!’
The sobbing grew louder, and a deep, strange voice murmured something quietly in the background. A louder noise sounded which Freddie couldn’t identify, but it seemed to scare the girl into continuing through her tears.
‘OK, OK! Dad… he says you have to trade William’s life for mine. He says…’
She gulped and sobbed again.
‘William must sacrifice himself by his own hand. He must kill himself within the next seven days. He is allowed this week to get his affairs in order and when that time is up, if William hasn’t done as requested, I… I will be mutilated and killed. And my body will never be found. Oh God…’
Freddie heard her voice move away from the microphone and her desperate sobs take over completely. There was a muffled sound and then the recording ended.
Freddie blew out the breath he had been holding and raised his eyebrows in shock. ‘Fuck me.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought listening to the threat of mutilation and murder would unsettle someone like you, Mr Tyler,’ Riley replied caustically.
Freddie stared at her levelly. ‘Which goes to prove how little you actually know of me, Miss Riley.’
Freddie dismissed her barbed comment. Someone like her would never be able to understand the complex life he led. Yes, Freddie was known as someone not to be crossed. He had tortured and he had killed, but he’d had good reason every time. It wasn’t something he enjoyed and something he never carried out lightly. Was he a killer? Yes. But he wasn’t sadistic. He would never harm an innocent. DCI Riley would never understand the vast difference between him and Katherine Hargreaves’ kidnapper.
‘What did your squints find?’ he asked, moving on.
‘A couple of things. The kidnapper was careful not to leave anything we could use last time, but this time some pollen made its way into the bag. Possibly carried in on his glove.’
‘Pollen?’ Freddie looked sceptical.