THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller)

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THE DOMINO BOYS (a psychological thriller) Page 10

by D. M. Mitchell


  The solicitor smiled patiently. ‘There is no will filed with us, or indeed anywhere. We checked thoroughly.’

  ‘You were his solicitor for twenty-five years – didn’t you think to raise the subject?’

  ‘On a number of occasions, Mr Craddick. It appears he didn’t want to make one.’

  ‘So I’ve not been left a single thing? What about the house, the cars, the place in Cornwall?’

  ‘Technically, in the absence of a will, it all belongs to the Crown.’

  ‘Like hell it does!’ he spat. ‘I’m his son, his sole heir – it belongs to me.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not quite the case, Mr Craddick. You see, your father had other children, by other women.’

  Donnie Craddick’s mouth hung open. ‘You’re pissing up my back!’

  The solicitor took out a sheet of paper from a cardboard file, carefully put his glasses on. ‘I anticipated this so found out details relating to payments made to the mothers of the children over the years. You have two sisters – a woman living in South Africa, another in Australia – both by different women.’

  Craddick shook his head, smiling disbelievingly. ‘The lecherous old sod,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t he ever tell me?’

  ‘Who knows, Mr Craddick. As we shall never know why he never made out a will.’

  ‘I know why,’ he said angrily. ‘He hated me, that’s why. Said I was too big for my boots, said I had to learn to get by in life under my own steam, not use his. He’s doing this to get at me, teach me some kind of perverted lesson. Well stuff the two sisters – they’re bastards. I’m his legitimate son. I’ll fight to get what’s rightly mine.’

  The solicitor sucked in a breath. ‘It’s not that simple, Mr Craddick. Your mother never married your father.’

  ‘Of course she did! She told me they did!’

  He shook his head. ‘What she told you wasn’t true. They never actually got married. Your two sisters have as much claim on your father’s estate as you, but getting your hands on your share will not be straightforward. It might be there are other siblings we know nothing about. We’ll have to carry out a thorough check.’

  ‘Screw that! How much will it cost?’

  The solicitor frowned. ‘How much will what cost, Mr Craddick?’

  ‘How much do you want to make it happen for me?’

  He smiled. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Name your price. Write up a will naming me as sole beneficiary.’

  He looked incredulous. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Mr Craddick. That’s unethical and illegal, and I could go to prison for it. There is no will and that’s that.’

  Donnie Craddick stared hard and unforgiving at the solicitor. The solicitor was equally adept at staring straight on back. Craddick reached into his pocket and brought out a small red book. He placed it carefully on top of the highly polished desk. ‘I’m asking you to reconsider,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t,’ he replied uncertainly. ‘What is that?’

  ‘This? Oh, this is your life!’ The solicitor’s frown deepened and Craddick saw an echo of the frightened kid that used to get beat up. ‘I’m not going to budge on this, Mr Craddick.’

  Craddick picked up the book and leafed through the pages. ‘You like men of a certain kind, don’t you? And you a married man.’ He shook his head, tut-tutted. ‘One, two, three, six, eight, twelve…’ he counted as the pages flicked by. ‘You have a very healthy sexual appetite, as far as stamina goes, though I doubt your wife and children would approve of your taste in partners. My father even provided a few of these, didn’t he? In return for favours. But what’s this? What happened here? Why, one of the men was found dead, tied to a bed. Sex games gone wrong. They never discovered who was with him that night. That anything to do with you?’

  The solicitor swallowed hard, his eyes betraying a shimmering of fear. ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock. I want what’s owed to me, do you understand?’

  ‘I can’t create a false will, Mr Craddick.’

  ‘Then I’ll see to it the details in this book go public.’

  The solicitor steeled, leant forward. Steepled his fingers on the desktop. ‘Go ahead, Mr Craddick. You do that. It’s your father’s word against mine. There’s no proof I was ever with that man on the night he died, a man who, by the way had a history of a weak heart. The coroner’s verdict was accidental death in the end. It could have happened at any time, on the bus home, at the supermarket. And for the record my wife found out about my past and we’re divorced. It’s old hat, Mr Craddick. So, continue to pursue this and I’ll go straight to the police and tell them you tried to blackmail me. Do you really want the police putting their noses into your affairs right now?’ He raised a brow, angled his head. ‘No, I rather thought not. Your father was right; you are too big for your boots. You think you’re some kind of Mr Big, but you’re not. Your move, Mr Craddick.’

  Donnie Craddick was fuming inside. Was he calling his bluff? In the end he threw the book across the room. ‘You bastard!’ he said. ‘You people are as bad as my father!’

  ‘I won’t take that as a compliment,’ said the solicitor, his composure returned. ‘Good luck with trying to get your hands on your father’s estate.’

  Donnie Craddick gave a squeal of frustration and rose to his feet, knocking over the chair. He stabbed a finger out at the solicitor. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet! I’ll be seeing you again!’

  ‘Be sure to make an appointment,’ he said. ‘My secretary has a list of the charges I make. Good day, Mr Craddick.’ He put away his spectacles.

  In the back of the car, Barry Stocker driving up front, Camellia leaned close to Craddick. ‘Is everything all right?’

  He could hardly string two words together without getting all heated up. ‘There’s been a problem,’ he said shortly. His phone rang. It was Steve Roche. ‘Yeah, what is it?’ he snapped. His face paled. ‘Pull over, Barry, pull over!’

  Barry did as he was told. Donnie Craddick leapt out of the car before it had even come to a halt by the side of the road. Barry saw Craddick pacing the pavement, his voice raised, his face turning puce. He came to the car window knocking at it for Barry to join him outside.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  He pulled him close. ‘I’ve got a problem at the lockup.’

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘I dunno exactly – Roche sounded all worked-up, said he’d tell me when he gets here. Cut the bloody questions will you? Take Camellia shopping.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I don’t care!’ he said. ‘Take her anywhere she wants to go. Keep her out of my way. I can’t deal with her at the moment. Take her to Sheffield Meadowhall, she’ll like that.’

  ‘Sure. How’re you gonna get back?’

  ‘Roche is going to pick me up.’ He looked at Camellia, her face at the car’s window looking concerned. He smiled and waved. ‘Get rid of her, will you? I’ve got serious business to attend to.’ He stormed away down the busy high street.

  Barry got back inside the car. ‘Something urgent has come up,’ he apologised on Craddick’s behalf.

  ‘Oh…’ she said. ‘We were going to spend the day together, after visiting the solicitor.’

  ‘Change of plan. He says you might like to go shopping, a bit of retail therapy. Bet you’ve never been to Sheffield Meadowhall.’

  She shook her head. Shrugged. ‘OK, I guess we’ll do that.’

  ‘He got some bad news in the solicitor’s, I’m guessing,’ he fished, fastening his seatbelt.

  ‘His father didn’t make a will, that’s what the man said.’

  Barry smiled to himself. ‘Oh dear. That’s a shame,’ he said, driving away. ‘Meadowhall it is.’

  Steve Roche’s car pulled up and Donnie Craddick launched himself inside.

  ‘This had better be worth it, Roche. I’ve had to send Camellia packing,’ he said.

  ‘Boss, the crates have gone.’


  ‘Crates?’

  ‘The money in the lockup, it’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘Like I said, they’ve been whipped, stolen, taken…’

  ‘Tell me this is a bad joke, Roche.’

  ‘No joke, boss; someone’s gotten wind of the notes and they’ve broken in and taken it all.’

  Donnie Craddick thumped the dashboard. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘How’d they find out? Someone blabbed. Did you blab?’

  Roche held up a hand. ‘No, boss, it wasn’t me.’

  ‘Stocker, then? It had to be him. You were the only two people who knew.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘I’ll kill him. And the bastards who took my money. Christ, it’s all I’ve got left of the twisted old man. So who did it? Any idea?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea, but you’ll have to let me dig a bit.’

  Craddick’s frame was shaking with his barely suppressed rage. ‘I’m going to kill them. They don’t know who they’re dealing with. Take me there, and make it fast.’

  Roche drove quickly away. ‘I went to the lockup this morning to check up on things. I’m in negotiation with a buyer and needed to get a few things straight before the deal went ahead. The place was stripped bare, Mr Craddick.’

  ‘Ask at the site office, see if anyone noticed anything unusual.’

  ‘I reckon it was lifted on Sunday. Nobody at the site office on Sundays.’

  ‘Someone’s got to have seen something! Ask around!’

  ‘It’s a sprawling place, Mr Craddick, and trucks come and go all the time. The units that adjoin yours are empty. Nobody there to see anything.’

  ‘Then we’ll get the site office to check the CCTV footage.’

  ‘No go, Mr Craddick. The CCTV hasn’t worked for years. The cameras on the gate aren’t real. Cost-cutting exercise by the owners. Maybe they didn’t want snooping cameras. It was one of the reasons your father must have chosen the place. I reckon it’s a hotbed of dodgy dealings and shady comings and goings. My guess it’s the kind of place nobody sees anything, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘I’ll sue them!’

  ‘For loss of counterfeit notes?’

  He shrieked as if in pain. ‘Oh Jesus!’ he said. ‘A million pounds! Do you know how much that lot was worth to me? I can’t believe this is happening. Not twice in one day.’

  ‘Twice?’

  ‘None of your bloody business.’

  ‘Look, don’t worry. Leave it with me for a day or so. I’ll find out who took your money. I’ve got connections. I’ll put out the word.’

  Donnie Craddick sank his face into his hands and groaned. ‘They don’t know who they’re messing with,’ he mumbled. ‘Do they think I’m a soft touch or something? Do they think I’m not as hard as my old man?’ He pulled out a gun, waved it at the windscreen. ‘I’ll blow their bleedin’ heads off!’

  ‘Put that away, boss!’ said Roche. ‘Someone will see you.’

  ‘It’s got to be Stocker. He must have told someone.’

  ‘Maybe. It makes sense.’

  Craddick studied the handgun. ‘I can’t trust him, Roche. I don’t like to be around people I can’t trust. I’ll speak with him later, but when we get the money back I want him removed.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Very dead. No one double-crosses me.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘They think I’m not like my old man, but what they don’t know is that I’m worse. Far worse. You know I killed a man, Roche.’

  ‘I know that, Mr Craddick. You told me already.’

  Craddick lifted the handgun. ‘I put a gun against his head and pulled the trigger – blam! – now he’s dead. Just like in the old Queen song, huh? His head exploded like an egg with a firecracker stuck in it. I could have gotten someone else to do it, but I did it myself. There are times a man has to prove himself. See if he’s truly got the balls.’

  Roche nodded slowly. ‘That’s true, Mr Craddick. You’ve got balls a-plenty.’

  Craddick eyed him. He almost said it like he didn’t believe it. ‘When I see something I want then nothing gets in my way.’ He stashed the gun. ‘Find them, Roche,’ he said. ‘Find whoever took my money. I’ll make it worth your while. And I’ll make them sorry they ever crossed me.’

  ‘Leave it with me, Mr Craddick.’

  ‘And I’ve another job I need doing sometime in the future. A certain solicitor badmouthed me today. I need him taken care of.’

  ‘I’m going to be kept very busy, Mr Craddick.’

  ‘That’s business for you,’ he said, resting his head and closing his eyes. ‘That’s business.’

  Roche resisted the urge to grin. And business is looking good, he thought.

  ‘So where do you come from, Miss Lucas?’ Barry asked as they entered Sheffield and he took the road to Meadowhall shopping centre.

  ‘Forget the Miss,’ she said. ‘Plain Camellia will do.’

  He smiled. ‘Anything you say. You’re not from round these parts, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Cambridgeshire.’

  ‘That figures. You’ve got a nice posh accent.’

  ‘Sticks out like a sore thumb in Overthorpe, you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘You come from a posh family, then?’

  ‘You could say that. My father is considerably wealthy. He’s been in the oil business for years – an executive for one of the major companies, a minor player really, but it’s still made him a relatively rich man.’

  ‘And you a rich man’s daughter,’ he said meaningfully.

  She detected the sour note in his voice. ‘What are you getting at, Barry?’

  ‘Women like you must attract all sorts of people, that’s all.’

  ‘People like Donnie, you mean?’

  He smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

  Barry shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Not for me to say.’

  ‘But still you wonder how I ended up with someone like Donnie, right?’

  ‘Like I say, none of my business.’ He glanced at her. ‘Look, I don’t want to interfere, but there are things about Donnie maybe you don’t know and should know…’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said shortly, her face falling serious. ‘I know all about Donnie. ‘And I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I’m sure you do.’

  ‘What was all that about back there, with Donnie?’ she asked. ‘What was the call? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can’t say.’

  ‘He’s in trouble, I’m guessing.’

  ‘It’s his middle name.’

  ‘So why do you work for him if you can’t stand the man?’

  ‘I have my reasons. Do you love him?’

  She smiled at his audacity. ‘That would be telling,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t, do you?’ He pointed to his eyes. ‘I can tell when someone feels something about someone; the eyes give it away.’

  She gave a light laugh. ‘How very astute, Barry.’

  ‘So why have you agreed to marry him?’

  ‘I have my reasons too,’ she said.

  ‘If it’s not for money and it’s not for love, and you’re obviously a decent sort of woman, why are you here with him?’ He frowned. ‘See, that’s really got me stumped.’

  She laughed again. ‘I have my reasons, like I said.’ She stared straight ahead, her bright eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

  * * * *

  13

  Expectations

  The phone rang. Barry Stocker was reluctant to pick it up these days; it always seemed to be bad news. Today was no exception.

  ‘Hi, Barry – have you seen Duncan?’ It was Alfie Parker.

  ‘Not since…’ Barry stared hard at the wall. ‘Well, not since we had words.’ There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘What’s wrong, Alfie?’ he asked.

  ‘Dunno. Nothing, maybe. I don’t know. How was he when you left him that night?’


  ‘We’d had words. Not very good. And he was still in pain after his beating by Donnie.’

  ‘You’ve not seen him since?’

  Barry cleared his throat, shuffled uneasily. ‘I meant to go round. I’ve been busy.’

  ‘I went round to see him. The door was unlocked and he wasn’t in.’

  ‘Maybe he popped out for something.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alfie, ‘that’s what I thought. But I waited till late and he never came back. Then today I got a visit by a police officer.’

  ‘The police?’ he said, a slight tremor to his voice. ‘What the hell do they want?’

  ‘It was a guy called Inspector Lavery. Seemed he knew Duncan from way-back-when. They were supposed to meet up but Duncan didn’t show. He was concerned when I told him he’d been beaten up.’

  ‘You never told him who did it, though?’

  ‘Not that daft, Barry. Thing is he went round to his place. The door was still unlocked and Duncan is still missing.’

  Barry’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s happened to him? Where’s he gone?’

  The silence popped and cracked. ‘You sure he was OK when you left him? What happened exactly?’

  ‘I told you; we had words.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘What are you saying, Alfie?’ His voice hardened.

  This time it was Alfie who was clearing his throat. ‘You seemed upset, that’s all, when you spoke about it. Was it over Sophie?’

  ‘That’s none of your business, Alfie.’

  ‘Duncan’s my friend. If something is wrong that makes it my business.’

  ‘He’ll turn up. He’s a big boy.’

  ‘Look,’ said Alfie, ‘I just wanted to warn you that Inspector Lavery is on his way over to your house. He wants to speak to you.’

  ‘What have you told him, Alfie?’

  ‘Nothing. Only what I know. What’s going on, Barry? Are you in trouble?’

 

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