by Ernesto Lee
“While you were dozing, that idiot Potter called to say that DI Marchetti might be heading my way and that the boss – that’s you, Erin – had told him that if DI Marchetti made contact, he was to tell her to go to the office and wait for her.
“Now, why would you ask your number two to sit on her pretty backside when there has just been another brutal murder? Is it because you thought that she might somehow be involved?”
Shaking her head, Erin says, “I’m sorry, Terri. I didn’t know what to think.”
“Don’t,” Terri responds. “You’re not to blame for this. It’s this sicko.”
“Natural selection,” Tony reasons.
“Yeah, yeah. God’s work,” Terri says. “Justify it any way you want. You’re a twisted fuck.”
Diverting the focus away from Terri again, Erin says, “How did you know that Heather would be there last night?”
The answer dawns on her and shaking her head, Terri says, “How could I not have seen it? She paid for our drinks with a pre-paid card that somebody sent to her. It was expiring today.”
Sneering, Tony says, “You didn’t work it out, Terri, because your nostrils were full of the smell of pussy. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Distraught at the thought she could have prevented Heather’s death, Terri’s resolve breaks and she weeps unashamedly. Leaving her to cry it out, Tony turns to Erin. “Next question, Chief Inspector?”
“What about Derek Bannister and Danica Shevchenko?” she asks. “Did you know about their connection to Shreya?”
“Nope,” Tony replies. “I didn’t know about Shreya’s modeling until after I’d killed her, and I’d never heard of Bannister until Praneeta’s interview.
“In fact, I didn’t even know who Shreya was until the beginning of March. That’s why I didn’t do her until Paddy’s Day. I knew, of course, that Rhonda was seeing someone when she left me, but I think that was another girl. I haven’t found out who she is yet, but I will.”
“So, Bannister and Danica are entirely innocent?”
“I wouldn’t say Bannister is innocent, boss. At the very least, he’s guilty of being a sleazy bastard, but I don’t think that’s an indictable offense. But, yes, other than it being a happy coincidence that Danica is a tall, attractive blonde not averse to a bit of rug munching, then, yes, they are both innocent.”
“And Heather?” Erin asks. “Why her?”
Shrugging, Tony replies, “For no other reason than I remembered her from our visit to the studio and figured she was this bitch’s type.”
Then, with a smirk, he adds, “And, of course, because I’m enjoying this.”
Masking her revulsion, Erin tries to speak, but she is interrupted by a message on Tony’s cell phone. He reads the message, then, smiling, he holds it up for both women to see. “It’s from Potter. He’s asking if I have seen or heard from either of you and if we are coming soon. What should I tell him?”
“Tell him you’re a murdering piece of shit,” Terri sneers.
Nodding, Tony turns off the phone. “I admire your spirit, Terri, but enough now.”
Taking the hammer from the back of his waistband, he is only stopped from killing Terri there and then by a dramatic plea from Erin. “Wait, Tony. You haven’t finished. You didn’t tell us about Rhonda.”
“Yes, I did,” he snarls.
Massaging Tony’s ego and desperately playing for time, Erin says, “No, no, you didn’t. You only told us that you killed her. Not how or when. Tell us how you did it, Tony. Call it professional interest.”
Laughing, Tony says, “Stall all you want, but that message tells me that the cavalry are at least thirty minutes away. If, indeed, they’re coming at all. The tone of that message suggests not. But it’s of no consequence. You’re both going to be dead in ten minutes anyway.”
“Okay, so what have you got to lose by telling us?” Erin implores. Then changing tact, she goads, “Come on, Tony. You’re the big man killer. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
“Bored now,” Tony says fake-yawning and patting his mouth. “So let me give you the start to finish abridged version. Is that okay for you, boss?”
“Yes,” Erin says encouragingly.
“Good, well, listen closely and no interruptions.”
After waiting for both women to confirm their agreement, Tony sarcastically thanks them and says, “Okay, then. Let’s begin.”
Pointing to Terri, he says, “So, this bitch ruined my Christmas by cheating me out of my promotion. I then spent the next two days getting pissed, which resulted in me butchering a fag.”
Pointing again to Terri, he says, “Still angry with this bitch and realizing that I can kill two birds with one stone, I took a drive to Manchester, where a contact gave me access to the robbery squad files, which, of course, led me to that dumb fuck Murray.
“My contact also tipped me off about Marchetti’s leaving party. So, no prizes for guessing where I was that night. It’s amazing how easy it is to change your appearance.
“Anyway, when I saw her flirting with Shelley Wilton – well, that was just a heaven-sent opportunity.”
Tutting, Terri says, “That must have been God’s work again, was it?”
Annoyed at the interruption but calm, Tony says, “I’ll ignore that. Your time is coming soon enough.”
Refocusing, he asks himself, “Okay, now, where was I? That’s right – a heaven-sent opportunity. It really was. I thought I was going to have to pick a victim myself.”
Winking at Terri, he says, “Thanks, Terri. You made it so much easier for me. Thanks, partner.”
“Fuck you!” Terri spits.
Laughing off the insult, Tony turns to Erin. “Now believe it or not, but I had every intention of calling it a day after burning Wilton’s face off. When nobody followed up Marchetti’s witness statement, I thought about leaving it… but then…”
Nodding, Erin says, “You found out who Rhonda’s current lover was?”
“Another gold star for you,” Tony trumpets. “I found out who my bitch wife’s current lover was. But you already know what happened there, so I won’t bore you with that story.
“So that takes us to the queen bitch herself and how and when I killed her. Do you remember me getting a call during Praneeta Singh’s interview and me excusing myself from the evening regroup?”
“It was then?” Erin asks.
“She called to tell me that her girlfriend had been murdered and asked if my team had been assigned to the case. Little did she know just how close to the case I was. She came here that night expecting to find a shoulder to cry on. Instead, she got the cold hard truth and my hands around her scrawny neck.”
Goading Terri, he says, “It’s not as easy as they make it look in the movies, but I think that’s how I’m going to do you. All that working out has given you quite a muscular neck, but I’m up for the challenge.”
“How about you uncuff me and make it a real challenge?” Terri retorts. “Or can you only kill when your victims are helpless?”
Still hopeful of an intervention, Erin tries to keep Tony talking. “So why not stop there? Why kill Heather Baxter? You could have stopped and it’s probable that no one would have ever caught you.”
“I haven’t been caught, have I?” Tony says, getting to his feet. “It’s not like you two are going anywhere. And in answer to your question – I killed Heather Baxter because I could. I killed her because I’m enjoying myself. I killed her because I’m damn good at it and getting better.”
Giving Erin the brush-off, Tony says, “No. No more questions, boss. I’m sick of your questions. It’s time.”
Looming ominously over them, he waves the hammer from side to side, sneering, “I saw this on Pulp Fiction. It’s the part where Bruce Willis and the black guy were trapped in the basement with the pair of rednecks trying to decide which one they were going to bum first.” Chuckling to himself, he starts to recite, “Eeny, meeny, miney, moe. Catch a—”
�
�Wait,” Terri shouts. “I thought I was going to be last.”
“You were, but I’ve changed my mind,” Tony chortles. “I’d rather decide it this way. Now shut the fuck up.”
“Eeny, meeny, miney, moe,” he chants again. “Catch a lezzer by the toe. If she hollers, le—”
From behind Tony, a wavering voice nervously takes them all by surprise and orders, “Let them go, Bolton.”
If the order is a surprise, the figure framed in the kitchen doorway giving the order is an even bigger one.
Lowering the hammer, Tony slowly turns and gestures dismissively toward the ancient-looking weapon pointed at him.
Sneering, he grunts, “And what do you think you are going to do with that, Malcolm? Do they even sell gunpowder anymore?”
Testing him, Tony inches forward, forcing a trembling Gladwell to back away. He levels the weapon at Tony’s chest and warns, “I will shoot. Don’t think I won’t. Now put down the hammer and lie down on the floor with your hands on your head.”
Smirking, Tony moves another pace closer.
“Get back,” Gladwell orders shakily. “Get back or I’ll shoo—”
Tony edges another step forward and raises the hammer. He is now too close to miss and it is too late for Gladwell to move. Tony flings the hammer and it glances off Gladwell’s shoulder.
Shocked but still upright and holding the weapon, Gladwell pulls the trigger, only to have his efforts rewarded with a barely audible metallic click.
While he struggles to understand the significance, an experienced firearms officer like Tony Bolton understands instantly and is prepared to take full advantage of the misfire.
Barreling forward and using all his weight and rugby skills, Tony sends the slightly built Gladwell hurtling backwards into the kitchen, where he narrowly avoids smashing his head on the countertop. As Gladwell lies flat on the floor, Tony calmly follows him into the kitchen, growling menacingly, “You are fucked now, my son. I’m going to use that piece of shit blunderbuss to smash your fucking brains out.”
Ignoring the desperate cries of the women still trussed and helpless on the sofa, Tony purposely straddles his prey and places a hand around his throat.
Easily avoiding a weakly aimed swipe of the butt to his head, he seizes the barrel with his free hand and violently wrenches it back and forth to free it from Gladwell’s grip.
Choking for breath and struggling to focus, Gladwell fights as he has never fought before. His sole purpose now is to keep a hold on the weapon long enough for the right moment to present itself. With hope and strength fading fast, it is Tony himself that gifts him that right moment.
In a final effort to wrestle the weapon from his hands, Tony lurches backward, extending Gladwell’s arm to its full length.
Tony’s error leaves the barrel pointing directly at his own chest. Fumbling blindly for the second trigger, Gladwell knows that this is the only opportunity he is going to get.
The room explodes, and Tony is hurled through the air by the force of the 84 caliber, 1600 grain shell.
. . . . . . . .
Gulping for air, Gladwell is in no rush to inspect his handiwork nor is he immediately able to reply to the cries of his colleagues.
He pauses while he struggles to process what has happened and then, rallying his strength, he struggles to his feet and stares down with shock and horror at the fist-sized hole punched through Tony’s chest. From the other room, Erin frantically shouts again, “Is he dead?”
“Yes, I should think so,” Gladwell says quietly.
He carefully steps over the bloody corpse in the doorway, and uses the box cutter to remove the plasticuffs from his colleagues’ ankles before uncuffing them.
Exhausted and beaten, he switches on Tony’s cell phone and uses it to call 999 before wearily taking a seat and asking, “Are you both okay?”
“We’ll live,” Terri says quietly
“Thanks to you,” Erin adds. “What about you, Malcolm? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I think so,” he says, forcing a smile. “That was my first ever fight, ma’am,” he continues with a hint of wonder in his voice. “Can you believe that?”
Grimacing through her injuries, Erin half-smiles and says, “Yes, I can, Malcolm. But you did well, and I’m glad it was for a good cause. You got here just in the nick of time.”
Sensing something is amiss, Terri asks, “What is it, Malcolm?”
His reply is hesitant and he seems wary of their reaction. “I was… I was actually in the kitchen for ten minutes before I made an appearance.”
“You what?” Terri stammers. “You let us—”
“You needed to hear the whole story,” Gladwell interrupts. “And I managed to get most of it on tape.”
To further exonerate himself, he reaches into his coat pocket and places a digital recorder onto the coffee table. “You’ll thank me for this when it comes to inquest time.”
Laughing with relief, Erin says, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, DI Gladwell? Tell me this, though – how did you know to come here, and why didn’t you call it in rather than risking your own life?”
Hesitant again, Gladwell shakes his head and says sheepishly, “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I can’t believe how bloody stupid I’ve been. But during my initial investigations, I somehow overlooked to check our own database. I am so sor—"
“Which one?” Terri asks.
“The one where we store the prints and DNA of any officer that has been in close contact with a piece of significant evidence or crime scene. The database is used to—”
“Yes,” Erin says. “It’s used to eliminate any of our own prints and DNA.”
“That’s right,” Gladwell says. “It only came to me this morning. I’m so sorry. If I’d checked it sooner, we could have avoided all this.”
“That’s okay,” Erin reassures him. “You’ve more than made up for that error. But back to my other question – if you knew that Tony was the killer, why not call it in or call for backup?”
“There wasn’t time, ma’am. He’d just killed a few hours previously. And, well… my phone was dead, and I suppose I just panicked when I heard DI Marchetti say that you were coming here.”
“You panicked and decided to come here toting something from the Battle of Waterloo,” Terri finishes his sentence with a laugh. “What was that thing anyway?”
“It’s an elephant gun. It was my father’s. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if it still worked.”
“It nearly didn’t,” Erin tuts. “Thank God for second chances.”
Nodding, Terri says, “Amen to that.”
The approach of sirens brings the party to an end, and the three battered and bruised detectives painfully shuffle toward the front door.
Armed and plain-clothes officers swarm around, but before Erin can be led away to get checked over, Gladwell stops her and says quietly, “Ma’am, that wasn’t just my first fight. It was also the first time I’ve ever fired a weapon… and the first time I’ve killed anyone.”
Nodding, Erin asks sympathetically, “And how do you feel about that?”
Failing to suppress a faint smile, Gladwell nods and replies, “Surprisingly good, ma’am. I never did quite like that bastard anyway.”
Then as they are being led away to the ambulance, he asks, “And why the hell was he wearing a blonde wig and make-up?”
Turn the page for an extract from the 2019 Chatelaine Awards for Romantic Fiction Finalist
Walk With Me
One Hundred Days of Crazy
By Ernesto H Lee
“Walk With Me, One Hundred Days of Crazy is a novel with a powerful tale of romance and one that explores the deep longings of the human heart.” Ruffina Oserio for Readers Favorite.
“Walk With Me, One Hundred Days of Crazy by Ernesto H Lee is a fascinating book packed with craziness, emotions, family, and love (lots of love).” Ankita Shukla for Readers Favorite.
At forty years old, Mark Rennie was the man th
at appeared to have it all. As a successful commodities trader with one of the leading London trading houses, he was happy, healthy and, engaged to be married to the woman he loved. Then came the devastating news that would change his life forever. Less than two years later, his health is in tatters, his fiancée is gone, and his life is reduced to nothing more than a series of difficult choices and harsh realities. In search of answers and, in search of a drink, he walks an unfamiliar part of London. He doesn’t find the answers he is looking for, but he does find Karen. With Karen, he finds hope. With Karen, he finds love. With Karen, nothing is ever going to be the same again.
Available Now
Walk With Me
One Hundred Days of Crazy
By Ernesto H Lee
Preface
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I hope you all had a pleasant flight and were able to get some rest during the night. For your information, we will shortly begin our descent, and we expect to be on the ground by 11.42 am. If you would like to adjust your watches, the current local time is seven minutes past eleven and the weather is a crisp twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. For any passengers that are visiting for the first time, I would encourage you to open your window blinds to take in the breathtaking scenery of the Alps as we pass overhead. It really is a sight to see. Finally, on behalf of myself and the rest of the crew, I would like to thank you for choosing to fly with us and we hope to see you onboard another of our flights soon. Thank you, and please enjoy your stay in our beautiful country.”
. . . . . . . .
Usually, what I enjoy most about flying Business Class on a long-haul flight is the ability to turn my seat into a fully lie-flat bed. My usual routine is to eat, have a couple of drinks, watch a movie and then sleep until just before landing.
On this occasion, however, I have struggled to concentrate on sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. After trying unsuccessfully for more than an hour, I resign myself to a sleepless night and turn my attention back to the inflight entertainment system.