Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1)

by Will Patching

  But then Leech’s naturally suspicious mind kicked in.

  ‘Who is he? Grove? And who picked him? Is this stolen?’ Leech jammed a finger on the passport photograph and scowled at Gruber.

  ‘Peter, relax please. The individual concerned is a, let us say, street person. Of severely limited means, and intellect, I might add. He has no need of a passport and has never applied for one in his life. Until now. For a relatively modest sum we have purchased his identity. No one will ever connect you to him. It is a genuine UK passport and will safely see you anywhere you wish to go.’

  Placated now, Leech just grunted.

  ‘You’ll be needing these.’ Gruber tossed two chequebooks across to him. ‘One in each name, although the funds are drawn from the same offshore account in the Turks and Caicos. You have cash accounts to the tune of one hundred thousand pounds, as you directed, and you can get money from an ATM at any time of day with this.’ He handed Leech a card and PIN number. ‘Your trust fund is held by the same bank, they have the original title deeds to your various investments, and all the details are in the documents I have just given you. As of midnight last night I no longer have Power of Attorney for you.’ He stood, held out his hand. ‘Good luck Peter. Call me if you need me.’

  Leech remained seated, ignored the hand.

  ‘You’ve forgotten something.’

  Gruber sat again. He heaved a weary sigh. ‘The addresses?’

  ‘I told you. I need my brother’s current home address. Judge Potter’s home address. Powers’ too. Finch I’ve got but I want Diarmud’s address as well. The bastard.’

  ‘Peter, you’ve been paying me very well for my services. Please take this piece of advice for free. Whatever it is you have in mind, leave it. Take a flight today, if you must. Put it all behind you.’

  ‘I won’t hurt them! I just want to write to them. Send them stuff. Like I was doing with my brother before you had to get involved.’ He did his best to look innocent.

  Gruber hesitated and then, as he handed the details across, he spoke the words that sealed his fate. ‘Okay. But if any of these people come to any harm, I would be obliged to speak to the police. Some crimes are outside my comfort zone and I will not be party to encouraging violence. Clear?’ He stared hard at Leech as he gave the warning, bringing to mind his trial and that superior bastard judge, Potter.

  Leech seethed, but hid it well as he replied, making a scribbling motion with his hand. ‘I told you, I just want to write.’

  ‘That’s your decision, but it is still a breach of your parole conditions. Think about what I said Peter. Good luck.’ This time Leech did shake his proffered hand.

  ***

  Leech was smouldering with hatred as he left Gruber. He should have topped the bastard there and then.

  After all the money he’s ripped off over the years, he threatens me! To snitch to the filth. What’s the matter with the man?

  He allowed his mind to run riot, thinking of different ways he could terminate his solicitor, calming himself in the process, and made his way to Tottenham Court Road to do some shopping. After an hour or so he was satisfied he had what he needed. He had planned to buy new clothes too, having dumped everything from prison except the outfit he was wearing, but he was not enjoying himself so he took a cab to his new home.

  It was a one bedroom, loft style apartment overlooking the Thames. It had been the developer’s show home, so he had managed to buy it fully furnished. As he strolled around, inspecting his purchase, he was well pleased. He did not expect to be staying there long, but, as it was held in the name of his offshore trust, he was sure he would be able to rent it out, even after he had finished his business in London...

  He unbundled his purchase and set it up on the balcony. The sky was cloudless and the day was one of those rare scorchers that made England seem almost exotic.

  He put his face to the eyepiece and focussed his new telescope on an office block on the opposite bank of the river, slightly downstream and just this side of Tower Bridge. The windows jumped into sharp relief and he scanned them, determined to find his target.

  Half an hour later, he decided to take a break. But he had learnt patience in prison, and he had all the time he needed. He would keep trying until he caught a glimpse of the person he despised most in the world.

  His brother.

  He went back into his apartment. He felt good inside here. It had upset him, being on the streets, surrounded by humanity. Inside was good.

  He wanted a drink but the fridge was empty and stank of plastic. The tap-water ran brown at first, before clearing. He slurped some, then, while checking things out, he discovered the shower, a pumping monsoon that sprang from the top and sides. He spent twenty minutes in there, unable to soap himself as there was none. When he finished, he had to dry himself on his tee-shirt – there were no towels – as he walked around naked, luxuriating in the freedom. It felt good.

  Diarmud had hissed in his ear as he was leaving prison. ‘You’ll be back. Scum like you always come back.’ Leech wished he had killed him when he had the chance, but just laughed in Diarmud’s face.

  Pathetic loser.

  Now, in his new home, he held his arms wide, turned through three-hundred and sixty degrees and yelled, ‘Just look at this place Dire Mud. Scum?’ He felt the laughter vibrating inside him, then it welled up, exploding out of him like an erupting volcano. ‘I’m never coming back!’

  The words echoed and bounced off the walls of his sterile home.

  He padded over to his telescope and, stark naked, resumed his vigil.

  ***

  Several hours later, he still had not seen his brother. No longer naked, having pulled on his jeans as the day clouded over and cooled, he felt restricted and pent up on the little balcony.

  The frustration and anger blasted out of him as the flimsy rein on his impatience finally snapped. He hefted the telescope, still attached to its tripod, and hurled it from the balcony. It bounced off the roof of a Porsche and shattered on the pavement. The honking and flashing of the car alarm was nothing compared to the bellow he let out at the building opposite. ‘Where the fuck are you?’

  For eighteen years he had looked forward to this day, anticipating his triumph. Seeing his shit of a brother for the first time since just after the trial.

  Nothing was going right. First off, he had felt weird this morning. Then that traitorous turd, Gruber, had threatened him. He had hated the shopping and, at the thought of the crowded streets and stores, he kicked the box containing the mobile phone he had purchased across the floor.

  He was starving but there was no food or drink in his apartment. He had been sucking water from the tap all afternoon, there was not even a mug in the kitchen.

  Why hadn’t Gruber sorted it for him? Useless toe-rag.

  And now, after spending all fucking day waiting, it was as if his poxy brother had deliberately not been in his office... As if he knew Peter was watching for him.

  Yeah! That’s it. He knew I was out today. Probably shit himself and poked off somewhere for a long weekend.

  Leech’s mood improved at the thought.

  He pulled on his damp, creased tee-shirt and stomped from the room. He slammed his front door so hard the new paintwork flaked around the jamb. His neighbour opened his own door as Leech walked past.

  ‘Oh hi... There’s been rather a lot of noise from your place today. I hope that’s not going to continue, otherwise I’m afraid I’ll – ’

  ‘Fuck off!’ Leech stopped, but not to pass the time of day. He stared at the man and snarled. ‘You useless yuppie twat.’ His lip curled, showing bare teeth at his new neighbour, like a dog ready to fight over its territory. He willed the man to respond. Just one cocky word from the lairy bastard’s mouth and Leech would knock his teeth down his throat. The man wisely decided it was not worth the hassle, pushed his door to with a gentle click. ‘Wanker,’ Leech growled at the door, then left.

  An hour later, fed and watered,
but still feeling exposed on the streets, he arrived at the house in Islington. It was a white stucco fronted Georgian style terrace. He checked the address on the paper he held, rang the bell and waited.

  Come on my little Birdy. Your man’s here.

  A grey-haired matron opened the door, peered down at him for a second as he stood on the steps below, then started to push the door closed again.

  ‘Not today, thank you.’

  Leech’s hand became a solid wall, the door wedged against it, ajar.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. I was expecting Judy Finch. Is she home love?’ He switched on his most winning smile, his voice gentle.

  The woman, initially dismissive, then fearful, now seemed relieved as he spoke the name.

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid the Finches no longer live here. They moved out two years ago. Are you a friend?’

  ‘Very close friend.’ He nodded, saw her frown at his answer and hastily added, ‘But I’ve been away. Working abroad and I’ve just got back. I’m not in London long. Do you have their forwarding address?’ The door opened fully, the old lady convinced. Leech kept smiling, refusing to let his temper loose.

  ‘Give me a moment.’ She reappeared a few seconds later. ‘Here we are. Good luck.’ She closed the door successfully this time.

  Yet another plan gone wrong today!

  Then he perked up. Thinking, that’s why Birdy didn’t reply to his letters. Of course! He checked the address the old dear had given him. His new destination. He decided he couldn’t be bothered tonight. It was getting dark already and the air had cooled.

  He needed a jacket. He wandered around until he came across a boutique with a selection of leather clothes, found what he wanted and paid with his new debit card.

  Warmer now, he set off to walk the streets, more comfortable in the dark, less vulnerable. A creature of the night.

  He walked for miles and eventually lost himself among some seedy streets, ignoring the peep shows and sex bars. He was not interested. Those places were for losers. A vision of his luscious Birdy was in his mind, and he wanted to sit in a bar, drink and think.

  He came across a traditional pub and ordered a pint. Before he finished it, he could feel its effect on him. He had not had booze for most of his adult life. Well, tonight he decided, he would get pissed.

  The barman made an attempt at conversation but backed away as Leech told him, ‘I’m here for a drink. Not to listen to some fat faggot barman.’ Leech inspected the other clients. A bunch of no-hopers. Social dregs. He spluttered in his drink as he thought to himself they looked as if they’d be equally at home in the nick.

  By his third pint he had concluded that today was not such a disaster after all. Then a toffee coloured girl, similar age to himself, settled on the stool next to him. She fiddled with her cigarettes and lighter, nodded as the barman held up a glass for her. He filled it and placed it in front of her.

  Leech stared at his pint, re-living his interview with Finch. She was such a minx, and his current version of their one and only meeting involved her giving him a blowjob while the dyke guard looked on. He wondered if he had fallen in love with her. She often interrupted his thoughts. And since that precious couple of hours he had spent with her, he had regularly fantasised about how he would fuck her senseless.

  Today.

  And here he was in this shit-hole. Alone.

  Just then he noticed the flash of trim tan legs on the stool beside him, became conscious of heady perfume. And something else. He let his eyes slide up her legs to her crotch, barely covered by the tight white micro-skirt. He already had a hard on from his daydream.

  Damn that Birdy.

  He shifted his attention to her breasts. She leaned forward to get her drink, tilting them at him, two deliciously rounded lumps, swelling with each breath, inviting him.

  She blew smoke at him. ‘See something you like?’ Her accent was rough, and he felt deflated – he had expected something exotic. Her face was a little too angular to be beautiful. Pretty enough though. She certainly made the best of what she had. Her cherry lips shone at him, pouting, head cocked, her straightened hair stuck to her head and held in a bun.

  Prozzie.

  ‘Piss off love. I don’t pay for pussy.’ And then he thought – why not? He had not had sex with a woman since his school days. In fact he had never been with a woman, only experimented with a couple of school girls. Yet now, with no immediate prospect of seeing his Birdy, what was holding him back? Only his pride. He swallowed some beer as she swivelled to face him.

  ‘What’s up tiger? Girlfriend meeting you?’

  ‘In this place? You havin a laugh?’ He turned on his stool, their knees now touching. She wasn’t so bad.

  ‘Too good for here then, is she? Hey Mike!’ She turned her back to Leech, legs still touching, as she twisted her shoulders toward the barman. ‘Prince Charmin’ here says your bar’s not good enough for his Cinders!’

  The barman, a fag perched in the corner of his mouth, scratched his belly and belched. ‘Yeah? In his dreams.’ He polished a glass, ignoring them again.

  She slurped her drink. ‘You just got out?’ She opened her legs shifted forward and trapped his knees with hers.

  ‘What did you say?’ How the hell did she know?

  ‘You just got out?’ She sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, eyes squinting as the cigarette, held between her fingers, almost singed her brows. ‘Prison.’ She pulled hard on the cigarette, opened her mouth allowing him to see her tongue in a grey cloud. She held it for a moment, then the smoke disappeared as she inhaled, leaving her wet tongue, pink on pink, as she touched it to her top lip.

  His erection subsided. His paranoia ratcheted up a notch. He checked the faces in the bar, thinking back to his original impression that the customers would be at home inside prison. Not one face he recognised. How could she know?

  She must have seen his frantic scanning of the clientele. ‘It’s alright babe.’ She rested her cigarette hand on his thigh, the drink hand propped up by an elbow on the bar. ‘I can always tell.’

  ‘How?’ He wanted to know. Did he stand out so much. Was it that obvious?

  ‘Do you want the truth, or a white lie?’

  ‘You daft cunt. What are you on about?’

  She ignored the insult, looked him up and down. ‘You look like a big boy. Think you can handle the truth?’

  What? ‘Course I can.’

  ‘I sometimes tell you lot I can see it in your eyes.’ She finished her drink. Once again barman Mike filled it without a word. ‘That’s bollocks of course. All men look at me like that.’ She used the end of her cigarette to light a fresh one, crushed the used one, the tips of her red nails digging in the filth of the ashtray. She placed both hands on his thighs, the cigarette dangling from her mouth, leaning in to him as her hands crept upwards. ‘Don’t take it personal. Okay? But I can smell it. Even with a fag in my face.’

  ‘You cheeky cow – ’

  ‘Serious love. It’ll take you two or three weeks to get rid of it. Bet you were wearing those clothes this morning, when you got out.’ She drew back from him then, hands busy with drink and fag.

  Leech felt sick. This filthy stinking whore had told him he smelt! Christ, he’d showered only a few hours before. He picked up his beer mug, ready to smash it in her face, wanting to rip her flesh open. His arm started the motion, just a fraction, a twitch.

  No! I am in control here.

  Instead he fought her off with words. ‘Piss off you slag. You’re just winding me up.’

  ‘Fair enough. I didn’t say it bothered me though, did I? If you fancy a quickie, it’s fifty quid.’

  He bought another pint as she waited. He did not look at her as he said, ‘I told you. I’ve got a girlfriend.’

  ‘Bullshit! Where is she then? First night out in how long? Years, I bet. You ain’t got fifty quid.’ She slid back on the seat, pulling her knees from his, swung the stool to face the room, her back propped against
the bar. Making a point of looking for other punters.

  He pulled out his wallet, paid for his drink and waved the notes, crisp and fresh from an ATM, at her. She turned back, clamping his knees again, placing a hand at the top of his thigh, the tips of her fingers touching his crotch.

  ‘Sorry darlin. It’s just you boys sometimes don’t have a pot to piss in. So, finish your drink and let’s go. I’ve got a room two minutes round the back.’

  ‘No thanks.’ He quaffed a good half pint in one go, wiped his mouth with his palm, and said, ‘I don’t want AIDS.’ He put a hand on her leg and slid it to her skirt hem, groped her inner thigh and added, ‘Anyway. You aren’t worth fifty quid.’

  ‘AIDS?’ She dropped her fag hand over his, trapping it on her leg. ‘I always use a rubber darlin, and I get checked every couple of months. If anyone’s got AIDS it’ll be you.’ She tugged his hand, slid it further under her skirt, letting him feel the heat of her. ‘I don’t do Greek, rubber or not. But I bet you took it up the arse in the nick. Without a condom.’

  Leech twisted his wrist, grabbing her hand, clutched her fingers hard, feeling them click. For a second he saw fear in her eyes and it started his balls tingling. He let her go. ‘I’ve got a classy woman. Works for the government. My Birdy. I’m seeing her tomorrow.’ He could see she didn’t believe him, though she nodded, clearly relieved that he was no longer crushing her hand. ‘So tell me, why would I go with a dirty slapper like you for money?’

  She let her hand slide over the inside of his thighs, then she hefted his balls. ‘I’m here now darlin.’ She pulled her hand back, fiddled with her lighter. ‘For fifty quid you could take your bird out for a meal. Get invited in. For a coffee. Maybe more... With me you get no meal, no coffee, and no complaints.’ She went back to eyeing other customers, her pitch made.

  Leech needed to wipe her smug face across the bar, could feel himself hammering her head on the solid wood, mashing her nose and shattering her teeth on it, using her bun as a handle.