by Lee Weeks
‘You’ve got a nerve.’ Sandra came to stand in the trophy room in her sweeping kimono-style white silk dressing gown, which was far too thin and silky to stay closed. She glared at the detectives as she lit a cigarette. All of Tony’s cocaine had been tidied away. It was now hidden in the cavity beneath the swimming pool. It was a feature Eddie had built in to the villa.
‘Is there anyone else in the property?’ Ramirez asked.
‘The staff,’ answered Debbie, who had said little since she walked into the trophy room seconds after Sandra, and seemed to accept the raid as part and parcel of life.
Willis called Ross aside and they went to a corner of the room to talk.
‘Something’s very wrong with all this,’ said Willis. Ross nodded.
‘The officers searching are just going through the motions. No one expects to find anything. They’ve quite obviously been tipped off.’ Garcia came across to talk to the English detectives.
‘I don’t think we are going to be lucky today.’
‘If we think Francisco is buried somewhere in this property, we need to bring the specialist forensic team in here,’ said Ross. ‘This isn’t going to get us anywhere.’
Garcia blinked a couple of times at Ross while he made sure he understood what Ross was saying.
He shook his head melodramatically from side to side. ‘Not without proof.’
‘What were you hoping to see here? Francisco nailed up next to the lion head or hanging over the giraffe’s neck?’
Garcia’s eyes took a narrow amusement. ‘Hah-ha! That would be just fine, wouldn’t it? We will always be in a delicate situation here, Ross.’
‘Okay, well that’s your business. We would like to interview the family about Eddie’s death, that’s why we’re here.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Garcia, a flash of anger in his manner as he walked off.
‘Mr Butcher, can we talk to you about Eddie’s murder?’ He nodded. ‘Can we talk in private?’
‘Office.’ He stood and came from behind the dining table as he strode back through the trophy room and Ross and Willis followed.
‘We would like to speak to you both afterwards, please,’ said Willis as they passed Sandra and Debbie. Debbie nodded, Sandra turned her back.
Inside the Don’s office Ross took stock as he walked in and stood looking at it all as if he were in a flashback situation.
‘This office?’ he started to say, looking around him. ‘This office looks very familiar, it’s like—’
‘Not like,’ said Tony, amused but irritated. ‘It is a replica of the Don’s office in the Godfather trilogy.’
‘Of course it is. Impressive,’ said Ross. ‘Can we sit down?’
‘Sit.’ Tony waved his arm in the direction of the leather sofa. ‘You come to make me an offer I can’t refuse?’
Ross smiled, Willis frowned; she’d never seen the Godfather movies.
‘Mr Butcher,’ she said, as she decided to sit on the chair rather than next to Ross, ‘I know that you were here at the time of your brother’s murder but, because of the nature of his death, I need to ask some questions.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I’ll ask some questions and hopefully you’ll be able to answer them.’
‘Don’t be a smart-fucking-arse with me, girl, you’re a long way from home.’ Tony swivelled on his chair as he glared at Willis.
‘Are you threatening me, Mr Butcher?’ Willis felt the anger solidify into a calm she had learned from Carter. She was grateful for it. The room had Tony’s testosterone bouncing off its walls.
‘Just stating the fucking obvious. In case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Can we turn up the lighting in here, please?’ Ross asked.
Tony thought about it but then reached down and touched a switch and the lights behind the pretend windows and their louvre blinds turned to full daylight.
‘There are questions about the way your brother died,’ continued Willis. ‘Given the nature of his line of work, does it seem strange to you that he was tortured and killed in the way he was?’
Tony shrugged. ‘Everything is strange to me about my brother’s death. Why kill a man who builds houses for a living?’
‘Except when he builds them for dangerous people,’ said Ross.
Tony nodded. ‘If I had been there, I might have prevented it.’
‘How?’
Tony breathed in through his nose and held the breath a few seconds then exploded with, ‘By killing them before they killed him.’
‘So, you admit his death had something to do with the people you know?’
‘I admit nothing. He was executed for some reason that had nothing to do with me.’
‘His death was made to look like an execution,’ Willis said.
Tony went into a blinking spasm as he thought about what she had said.
‘Made to?’
‘Yes, he was shot in the head minutes after he was actually already dead. His heart gave way, the toxins built up from torture. It would have been obvious he was dead. Someone wanted some information from him very badly. They wanted it to look like an execution.’
Tony’s eyes settled on Ross.
‘That’s right. We now know Eddie died from a heart attack brought on by the stress of the torture.’
‘Okay, that’s all we need, thanks,’ said Ross. ‘We’ll be here for a few days if you need to get in touch via the police station.’
Tony was still staring out into space when they got up to leave the Don’s office.
Willis held on to Ross as he walked forwards to where Sandra and Debbie were sitting on the white sofa, waiting their turn to be interviewed.
‘I want to go outside and have a look at the land around Eddie’s villa.’
Ross nodded. ‘I understand what you’re saying.’ He called Garcia over and told him what Willis wanted to do.
‘Why?’ asked Garcia. ‘We don’t have permission; we don’t have a search warrant for that villa.’
‘I don’t need one to look at the outside of it.’
‘No, of course not, but we don’t want this raid compromised. We have been planning this for a long time. You go where you are not supposed to and that’s it. Everything is wasted.’
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ said Ross. ‘Let me understand what you’re saying here. My colleague is asking to walk out on a piece of no-man’s-land and look for the missing man and child and you’re saying that Tony didn’t give us permission?’
‘No, I’m not saying that.’
‘Good, because, I have a lot of questions about this raid.’
Garcia went across to Debbie.
‘This British policewoman wants to look at the grounds between here and Eddie Butcher’s villa.’
Debbie looked from one officer to another. Sandra stared on, cigarette in hand. She’d been given a coffee. ‘There is no one occupying my brother Eddie’s villa at the moment,’ Debbie replied. ‘His widow has gone away for a short break. I don’t have a key.’
‘But I can walk from here to there, right?’ Willis asked.
‘Sure, if you want to you can, but you need to be careful: there are dogs roaming sometimes in the early mornings. You need to take a stick.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
‘I’ll send Sheena, our housekeeper, with you,’ said Debbie.
Willis took Ross aside.
‘Is that okay, sir? We’re only being shown what we were supposed to see. I need to look further. We’ve had some intelligence from home and I need to go and check it out.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘This is a sham. All the computers were gone. They’ve left just enough evidence to make it look like they were caught unawares, but they weren’t. Be careful; stay on your phone. I’ll talk to Debbie and Sandra while you’re gone.’
‘Ma’am?’ Sheena was waiting for Willis when she walked out to the front of the villa. Willis left Ross and followed Sheena.
‘Are we going via the almon
d grove, the land at the back of the house?’
‘No, ma’am, it’s better by the road.’
‘Can we get to it by going this way?’ Willis pointed away from the road; she had already seen the route, between the two villas, on Google Earth. She knew the route was straightforward.’
‘Very poor ground underfoot, ma’am. You cannot see what is there.’
‘That’s okay. I’d like you to take me via the back of the villa, please.’
Sheena stopped and turned and looked behind Willis, as if looking to see if they were being followed.
‘Follow me, please, ma’am.’ Willis followed Sheena along to the side of the lane and the path that led off, across the wasteland.
‘Is that Eddie’s place?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Sheena, it’s just us here. Nothing you say will go further, can you tell me what has been happening here?’
‘Sorry, ma’am? What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘Okay, I’m looking for something here.’ The light had reached the day now and the sky was full of soft, blushing peach, and slithers of gold and purple. The ground, the olive and almond trees were like an impressionist oil painting in the softest of lights.
Willis looked at the stone hut that came into view on her left.
‘Can you just wait back here, Sheena? I just need to get my bearings.’
‘Ma’am.’
Willis walked forward with the crunch of dried undergrowth and chippings beneath her feet. As the light came rapidly to the day there was a perfect stillness. Somewhere a rooster crowed. A fire glowed from beside the stone hut. A man was standing by it. He stared at Willis as she approached. He didn’t look like a farmer to her. He looked like the photo of one of Tony’s staff, Danny Miller.
Willis approached. The early-morning breeze was gusting the sparks.
‘Is that dangerous?’ she asked. ‘I mean there are sparks flying.’
‘I’ve got it under control.’
Willis held up her warrant card.
‘UK Metropolitan Police, investigating the murder of Eddie Butcher. What’s your name, please, sir?’
‘Danny Miller, I’m the gardener here.’
‘For this villa?’
‘Mainly for Tony Butcher’s, but I help out anywhere I’m needed.’
‘What’s your job helping out here?’
‘Just burning rubbish.’
‘Whose is this piece of land?’
‘It’s nobody’s.’
‘But you’re allowed to come and bring your rubbish to burn on it? Is that legal?’
‘It’s legal enough.’
Willis walked nearer.
‘What exactly are you burning? The smoke smells pretty nasty.’
‘Just some old unwanted bits of furniture and things that have been dumped on the land here.’
‘Like what?’
‘There was a dead dog. It was attracting all the scavengers. I thought it best to burn it. I didn’t realise how long it would take or how much heat I had to get in the fire to do it.’ In the red glow of the ashes bursting, Willis’s eyes smarted as the smoke drifted her way. She walked around to the hut and peered inside. Just then Miller poured on more petrol and the fire exploded into a balloon of flames.
Chapter 42
Ross stood in the Don’s office and stared at the fake windows, the three choices of lighting settings to appear behind them: bright, afternoon, and evening sunset. The only thing wrong with the authenticity of the office, in relation to the Godfather films, was the smell, or lack of it. What smell there was was of new leather and cleaning polish. It smelled like a set. It didn’t feel real.
‘This is great.’ Ross grinned at Tony. ‘It’s a nice touch. Is that what they call you around here? Don Corleone? Or just the Don?’
Tony sat down behind his desk as he waited for the officers to finish their cursory look around the rest of the place.
‘Ha-ha. What they call me is Mr Butcher. You like this room; you’re going to love what I got downstairs. You want to see the original car from the film, a 1953 Buick Special?’
‘That’s impressive.’
‘You want to see?’
‘Love to.’
Tony opened up the door at the back of the office and led the way down the corridor, towards the garage. He opened the door into the forecourt.
‘How many cars have you got here?’ Ross asked as the halogen strip lights illuminated the corners of the large garage and rows of vehicles under covers.
‘Fifty-three last time I counted,’ Tony said as he flicked on more lights.
‘Where can you drive them round here?’
‘I take them around my grounds. I have a driver who keeps them ticking over. I can’t actually take them that far myself, at the moment.’
‘But you could leave this villa if you wanted, couldn’t you? We both know security is pretty lax here. I mean how often do you go for drinks with these guys, Ramirez and Garcia?’
‘I told you, never. They visit me from time to time, of course, in an official capacity, like today.’
‘But you knew they were coming.’
‘I don’t know what you’re implying.’ Tony grinned.
He stripped off the cover from one of the cars to show Ross a shiny red Mustang beneath.
‘No that’s not the one,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to go and look at the floor plan. I can’t remember where the Godfather film cars are.’
‘That’s okay, I can wait.’ Ross watched as Tony walked across between the cars and opened a door. He switched on a light inside. Ross stepped back a couple of discreet paces so that he could get a look inside. It was a simple control room, but the smell coming from it was unmistakable. Someone had spilled a lot of bleach on the floor.
Ross started walking towards the entrance; the smell was eye-watering.
‘Did you find it?’
‘Still looking. The floor plan’s a bit confusing. Come and see for yourself.’
Beneath the smell of bleach there was a thick musty smell of turned meat.
Ross inched forwards and felt that prickle in his skin that was his fight-or-flight mechanism waking his nerve endings. It pricked at him like needles as it said, Don’t go near that door. He could no longer see Tony and there was just the faint orange and red glow coming from lights on a switchboard inside the room. Ross heard the click of a revolver.
Chapter 43
Della awoke early and lay in her bed listening to the noise from the road outside. She’d seen Marco and Harold in the early hours of the morning. Some ground rules were established. Both men seemed to be in sombre mode. The reality seemed to be hitting them all. The enormity of what was happening. More could go wrong than right.
She checked her phone as she lay there: she had a message from Laurence. It made her skin prickle – made her anxious, seeing Laurence in this new light. Eddie had always joked about his kid brother being in love with Della, but she hadn’t taken it seriously. Complications of that sort were the last thing she needed, but, on the other hand, she thought to herself, it could be useful for staying alive. He might be a help to her, in the end.
Della thought about seeing her mum and dad. She ached to see them. She hadn’t properly given in to tears about Eddie, and she longed to be hugged by her warm loving family. But, she must get on with the job first. She’d be going down that way, towards Ramsgate, soon enough. She was going to pick up the hire car and meet Carter, but there was someone else she wanted to see first. She sent a text to Carter to tell him she’d be in touch mid-afternoon. Della decided to get up and get out before the other two stirred and she might have to answer questions. She’d catch breakfast on the move. She showered in her en suite and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt as well as a parka to keep out the bitter cold. When she got outside, she hailed a black cab to take her to Tower Bridge and the car-hire company.
She took the lease on a white VW Up, a small town car, and then drove to
Islington Upper Street and pulled up on a side road, paid at the parking metre and walked back along Upper Street. She found what she was looking for: a smart-looking, black-fronted beauty salon: Visage.
A blonde woman in her forties walked towards her as Della waited by the reception desk. The woman was smiling, holding out her arms.
‘Hello, Della, it’s so good to see you.’ She gave her a hug.
‘It’s good to see you, too, Tracy. How is my favourite cousin?’
‘I’m good, thanks. Come on, let’s go and grab a coffee and you can tell me what I can do for you. It was lovely to get your message.’
They walked up the road to the small café and ordered coffee.
‘When did you get back from the cruise ships?’ Della asked. ‘And how’s your grandson, Jackson?’
‘Jackson is wonderful, thanks, and I’ve been back a year now. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to Eddie’s funeral. I know we weren’t supposed to go, but I was going to just stand in the crowd. In the end, Jackson was ill and I couldn’t make it. I ended up having to take a week off work to look after him. He’s living with me now. I’m looking after him full-time. My daughter hasn’t been doing so well recently.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Tracy. It looks like you’re working in a nice salon?’
‘Yes, feels like I’m getting somewhere again. The owner of Visage has been really good to me. I pay to use the place. It feels more like I’m my own boss.’
‘Is that what you want to do, own your own beauty salon?’
‘God, yes. I’ve got so many ideas, Della. There’s so much I want to achieve.’
‘You still love it?’ Tracy nodded. She had toned down her look in the last couple of years. She had gone from ageing porn star to a soft, older beauty that saw her lose the heavy eyebrows and the long lashes in favour of the natural look. ‘Do you still help out in theatre make-up?’ asked Della.
‘I do, now and again, to keep my hand in. I’ve always loved it. But Jackson takes a lot of my time. He’s a gorgeous little boy but a handful.’
Della smiled, nodded. She sipped her coffee.