26
Luke Walker paid for his pint of Fuller’s London Pride and leaned against the bar. The Round House, on Garrick Street was busy enough with daytime drinkers. Walker rarely got a chance to drink during the day with his job, but he enjoyed being able to on the odd occasion.
Half an hour earlier, he received a call from Zuccari, asking him if he would meet him for a beer, that he had something he needed to talk to him about. Reluctantly, Walker agreed, on the proviso that it was only for one beer. He had a date with Rachel.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Walker placed his pint on the bar. “In your own time, mate. Are we having a chat, or are you going to keep playing that twat machine?” He had no idea why people played fruities. They were designed for players to lose. Even when players won jackpots, they lost, because they ploughed their winnings straight back in. That was where the addiction came in. “Let’s find a table, or something, yeah?”
“I’ll be with you in a sec, mate.” Zuccari continued pressing buttons.
Spotting a free table at the side of the pub next to a blackboard, Walker picked up his pint and meandered through the bar. One girl caught his eye. She smiled, he smiled. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t a patch on Rachel. “I’ll be over here, when you’ve wasted all your money.” He was going to add, “mug” but refrained.
He’d known Zuccari for a couple of years. Walker wanted to like him, wanted to be a good friend to him. There was only one problem: Zuccari. Since his girlfriend left him a few months earlier, his colleague started unravelling. Walker had stopped Zuccari getting into two fights in pubs just like this one.
It was hard watching someone self-destruct. Zuccari had everything going for him at one time. Since the girlfriend left him with a mortgage to cover by himself, though, Zuccari seemed to have given up on life. He started smoking, both cigarettes and weed, not that he objected to the latter, it might calm his mate down.
His friend was sleeping around as well. Alcohol and pubs, chatting to people, girls, invariably led to sleeping with women. Zuccari took it to extremes, though. In January he slept with two women, who turned out to be prostitutes, unbeknownst to his friend. Zuccari threw them out of his flat, so they called in their pimp.
Zuccari ended up putting the heavily set pimp in the hospital, breaking the guy’s arm, and cracking two ribs. He was arrested, but luckily the powers that be, the top brass, took it easy on him and put him on probation. The pimp was a notorious thug and hustler, so no big deal putting him in a hospital bed.
Fifteen minutes Walker spent nursing his pint, sat by himself at the table. The brunette at the bar kept checking him out. “You coming, or shall I go home, mate?”
“Keep your knickers on, bitch. I’m coming.”
When Zuccari finally tore himself away from the fruit machine, Walker saw how awful he looked. Dishevelled, unshaven. “What the fuck happened to you? Did you get kicked out of bed and come straight to the pub? You look like shit, and smell like it.” He grimaced at the sweat patches under Zuccari’s arms.
“I need to talk to you.” Zuccari wouldn’t look at him.
“Yeah? So talk! I’ve been here quarter of an hour already. I’m supposed to be at Rachel’s flat cooking her dinner.” He probably shouldn’t have said anything.
“Not here, somewhere quieter,” Zuccari whispered. “Please?”
What’s he done now? It was becoming a regular thought. “Come on, then.” He said it in almost a huff. “Let’s go outside and talk. You know you’re a liability, don’t you!”
“You don’t know the half of it.” His friend followed him outside.
Out on Garrick Street, Covent Garden, Walker found a low wall to sit on away from everyone. Zuccari sat next to him with his beer in his hand. “What’s up?” He had to wait a minute for his colleague to start talking.
“I’ve fucked up, mate.” He took a gulp of beer. “I’m not talking a small fuck-up here, either. I’m talking a gigantic dump on your own doorstep, going to get my head caved in kind of fuck up. I’m in deep shit, and I don’t know what to do.”
Walker knew it! Being friends with Zuccari could end up being hazardous to his own health. There would come a time when he would have to walk away. “What’ve you done? Talk to me. I’ll see if I can help.”
Zuccari put his glass between his feet on the pavement and shook his head. “Not this time. You’ve got me out of a lot of scrapes, and I love you, I really do, but this one’s above even your head. I owe money, lots of money.”
“I figured. How much are we talking?”
“A hundred.”
Any normal person might think he meant a hundred, but Walker knew his friend and colleague meant a hundred thousand. “What?” It was staggering. “How? How did you manage that? How’s that even possible? Who staked you?”
With his head down, Zuccari paused for a moment. “Melodi Demirci.”
Walker almost spat out his beer at the mention of Demirci. “You what?”
“I’ve been fucking her up in her office for weeks now. After being suspended yesterday, I went and had a few drinks. I ended up at the casino and she staked me the full hundred. I thought I was on a winning streak, finally.”
“And you lost it all? A hundred thousand?” The amount was too much to comprehend. “Why? Why would she stake you so high? She knows what you do for a living, right? Or did you lie to her?” It dawned on him.
Zuccari hung his head. “I told her I’m an investment broker in the city.”
It was Walker’s turn to hang his head, but for a different reason. “Jesus Christ. You’ve gone and fucked yourself now, royally. You know who her cousins are, don’t you? You’ll be lucky if they only cut your hands off, you dumb bastard.”
“Hey! Don’t you think I know that? I know exactly who the Inans are. Having you point it out isn’t helping. I’m in so deep, I can’t see a way out. I’ve got a week to come up with the cash, or I’m a dead man.”
His friend was right: pointing it out wasn’t helping. “What do you want me to say? Does she still think you’re a broker?”
“That’s just it, she knew all along what I did, even before I fucked her for the first time. She played me like a right twat, and I walked straight into it.”
Walker thought for a second. “But that makes no sense. Why get you so far in debt you can never pay her back? What good does that do her? She’ll never see that hundred grand, not in a million years.”
“I don’t know. Whatever she’s planning, I don’t want any part of it.” Zuccari stood holding his beer. “I’m doing a runner. It’s the only thing for it. I want to keep my hands. I need them.”
Hearing the fear in Zuccari’s voice, Walker stood and put a comforting hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Don’t do that! It’ll only make things worse. Sleep on it. I’ll see what I can come up with, okay? Just promise me you won’t do a bunk on me.”
With glazed eyes, Zuccari nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I do these things. I’m such a fuck-up.”
Walker pulled him in for a man-hug, catching glances from passers-by. “It’s all right. We’ll get you out of this, I promise.”
He managed to convince Zuccari into staying put but how would he be able to get his friend out of this? Walker wasn’t stupid with money, not by a long shot; he had a few thousand saved up, but he didn’t want to waste it on Zuccari. He’d done it now. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I think you could use another beer.”
27
“Why are we even bothering with this? We know he won’t be here.” Miller pulled into a space in the residents’ car park outside Fernando Linares’ block of flats.
“Because it’s worth a go,” Hayes replied. “It’s good to know where a potential suspect comes from, don’t you think?”
Unclipping her seat belt, Miller checked out the block of flats through her window. “Maybe, but I thought Kurt Austin was getting paid. Look at this shithole.” And she was being nice about it. The walls we
re covered in graffiti. Any paintwork was cracking.
Stepping out of their Peugeot, she closed her door and locked it, suspecting someone might try to nick the car if they left it for long. “A quick in and out, right? They’ll have the wheels off this in no time.”
“You can stay here with the car if you want? I don’t mind checking it out by myself.” Her partner smirked.
“And let you get all the action, forget it.” She hated that Hayes knew her so well. At no point would she let her supervisor take the credit for apprehending a suspect. Having brothers forced a competitive streak in her. Miller would never change. “Let’s get this over with. I might suggest wearing a peg on your nose, though.”
Walking next to Hayes, she reached the main door first, wanting to use her sleeve to hold the handle. After wiping her hand on her trousers, she joined her partner at the lift and waited. The foyer smelt of piss, as she imagined it would. “Told you.”
“Hit the third floor, would you?”
Miller obeyed, hitting the button three times before the metal doors slid across. “You know, we could be interviewing Demirci by now.” She was a bit annoyed at wasting their time here, when their prime suspect was out there, waiting to be pulled in for questioning. “You don’t think the inspector’s going to give us crap, do you?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I guess it depends if we can get her to open up. If not, her lawyer will shut us down before we even start. She’ll have crazy-good lawyers.”
“Arseholes, more like.” And she wasn’t wrong. Miller was yet to meet a solicitor or barrister she liked. There she and Hayes were trying to put criminals behind bars, and along came these bastards, whose sole job it was to free them. No, she would never get on with a lawyer. “Here we are.”
Miller let her supervisor out first. Along the hallway, it still smelt of piss, only mixed in with stale cigarette smoke and body odour. Not a great combination, she thought, wrinkling her nose. “How could anyone live here?”
She felt guilty when a door to her right opened, and a young mother, probably in her late teens to early twenties greeted her pushing a buggy, two children under the age of five clinging on to the bars in front of her. “Afternoon, ma’am,” was all she could say to alleviate the guilt. Not everyone had a choice of where they lived.
“Here, number twenty-six.” Hayes stood to the side of the brown wooden door. She moved closer and stuck her ear against the wood. “I can hear movement inside.”
Not believing her partner, Miller followed suit, listening through the door. “Definitely someone in there. We’ve got probable cause, right?”
Hayes nodded. “It could be Fernando Linares, and he’s wanted in connection with the murders. Try the handle first.”
There was shuffling coming from inside the flat. Miller held the handle, expecting it to be locked, but it turned. “What do you know?” She turned it all the way, then pushed the door open.
A woman appeared in the hallway carrying some clothes.
Miller put her in her mid-thirties. She had long brown hair and wore jeans and a vest top. “Oh shit!”
Miller held out her hand. “Stay right where you are, ma’am.”
Before she could finish, the woman dropped the clothes and sprinted further down the hall to a door on her left, which she slammed shut and locked.
Without waiting, Miller ran after the woman, arriving at the door as it locked. She cursed and started rapping on the wood. “Open this door, ma’am. We just want to talk to you. You’re not in any trouble.” Listening through the wood, the woman was making a move.
“Stand back, Miller!” Hayes ordered, slamming her foot against the door.
The wood cracked and the door swung open. Miller rushed into the bathroom, where the woman’s leg could be seen outside. “I’m going after her.”
At the open window, Miller saw the woman running along a roof. She climbed out and jumped onto the roof below. The landing stung her ankle. Hayes stared down at her from inside the flat’s bathroom. “I’ll get her, don’t worry.”
The woman ahead of her was slow, probably wondering how she was going to get out of this. Miller used it to her advantage, running at full velocity towards her. “Stop! I just want to talk to you.”
At the end of the roof, the woman stopped and stared at the ground. Miller came to a halt a few feet from her, hands out in surrender. Catching her breath, she tried to reason with the woman. “Please, you’re not in any trouble. We just need to know where Fernando is, that’s all. We need to speak to him about Kurt.”
“He didn’t do it. My brother is innocent.”
Instead of turning round to face Miller, the woman bent her knees and jumped.
“No!” Miller ran to the edge, expecting to find the woman injured on the ground.
To her amazement, Fernando’s sister landed on a patch of grass and ran off. “Damn it! Wait!” She took the challenge and jumped herself.
Landing into a roll, Miller got to her feet and chased Fernando’s sister behind the block of flats along a path. Her quarry ahead, Miller turned right into an alley beside the block of flats. “Don’t make me chase you. It won’t end well.”
Up ahead, the alleyway’s exit growing closer, Miller had to apprehend her before she made it into the open.
The woman was too close to exiting the alley for Miller to catch her.
A white car blocked the alleyway from the right, parking across it, as Linares’ sister ran into it, sprawling over the bonnet.
With an injured knee, Fernando’s sister writhed on the pavement in agony. Miller stopped in front of the Peugeot. Hayes swung out of the driver’s seat, ran over to the woman and rolled her onto her front, cuffing her hands behind her back. “Don’t ever run from the police. We’ll always catch you in the end.”
Miller bent over, hands on her knees. “Good one.”
“Lucky break, more like.” Hayes forced the woman to her feet and put her in the back of the Peugeot. “Come on, get in. We’ve got an interview to do.”
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Miller sat in the passenger seat. When they were on their way to the station, her mobile vibrated in her pocket. Retrieving it, she smiled at Luke’s text. Using both thumbs, she keyed a reply. I’m looking forward to seeing you, too. xxxxx.
“Luke?” Hayes glanced over at her with a grin.
Miller nodded, smirking. “He’s cooking us dinner tonight. He’s over at mine prepping.” She could imagine him in only an apron slicing vegetables. Or at least that was how she liked to think he cooked.
“Very nice. What’s he cooking?”
“He won’t tell me. Says it’s a surprise, his family recipe.”
Hayes glanced at her again. “Good. I’m glad you’ve found each other.”
28
Richard Fisher closed the blinds in his office. “Shit!” The white transit van Vanu showed him was still there, seemingly with no one occupying it. His second-in-command informed him that the driver stays in the back. At first he believed Vanu was just being paranoid, but now he wasn’t so certain. The van had been sat down the road from their workshop for days.
No one could see into his office from outside, or internally. His staff were all downstairs working on the Fiesta. This was the perfect time to protect his invention. At his PC, Richard clicked on the website for Neelkanth Safe Deposit. Having reserved his box, and given his nominee, Richard made the final adjustments to his application and powered down.
Vanu suggested increasing security around the workshop, which he declined, saying Vanu was paranoid, as usual. His second-in-command always thought there were people out to get him, which there weren’t. Just his paranoia. However, having seen the van outside the workshop, and following him around town, Richard was beginning to think otherwise.
Picking up his mobile, Richard dialled Paula Lang’s number. “Hey! It’s me. Is the car in the workshop?” When he received a positive confirmation, he pulled out his desk drawer. “Good. I’ll be down in a
couple of minutes.”
Having hung up, he pocketed his phone and turned his attention to the contents of his drawer. He took out his invention and wrapped it in a white T-shirt he brought with him that morning. All wrapped, he picked up the rucksack under his desk.
Once the cargo was safely zipped up in his bag, a knock came at the door and Vanu walked over to the blinds in Richard’s office. “If the van moves after you disappear, I’ll call you straight away. Remember to keep your head down.”
“I will.” He dipped his head in thanks to Vanu, who nodded the gesture to him.
“Good luck. If they follow you, move around a lot, okay? Throw them off the scent. It takes longer, but at least you’ll know you’re safe.”
He felt like an agent at MI5, or something, except he had no training. “You got it. And thanks, Vanu, I appreciate the heads-up on this.”
“I have as much invested in this project as you. It has to work; the world needs it to work. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these bastards win. Now get going.”
Leaving Vanu in front of the blinds, Richard opened the office door and walked down the iron stairs to the ground floor, where Paula sat waiting for him in her Volkswagen Polo. He opened the rear passenger door.
“Lie down in the footwell until I give the all-clear, okay?”
Richard did as ordered, placing the bag in the footwell and covering it with his body, almost hugging it. With the passenger door closed, Paula started the engine and accelerated outside, after the workshop door lifted. “Nice and easy. And mind the bumps.”
“Relax, I know what I’m doing.”
He felt every bump along the way, until he received confirmation that they’d passed the transit van. Paula told him it appeared the van had not followed them. “Think I’d like to hear this from Vanu, to be honest.” Picking up his mobile, Richard sent a text, every bump hurt. “Excellent!” He smiled at Vanu’s text, saying the transit van remained outside.
The Hard Way Page 11