by Jay Gill
HARD TRUTH
A DCI James Hardy Thriller
Jay Gill
Copyright © Jay Gill 2018
The right of Jay Gill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or transmitted into any retrieval system, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design copyright © Jay Gill
BOOKS BY JAY GILL
Knife & Death
Walk in the Park
(A short thriller)
Angels
Hard Truth
Inferno
A free bonus chapter is available for each book. Don’t miss out, visit www.jaygill.net
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
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Chapter One
Kelly Lyle swam a final length of the pool and climbed out. It was late evening, and the heat from the Italian sun felt exhilarating on her naked body.
The villa, with its mountainous backdrop, overlooked Lake Garda. Lyle stood for a moment to take in the warmth of the evening and gaze down at the shimmering lake. The scent of lemon carried on the fresh mountain air. This was currently her favourite retreat. As well as its beauty it had many benefits, not least of which was its seclusion.
Leaving her robe and shoes on a recliner, Lyle crossed the warm tiles and entered the rear of the house through large sliding doors.
Scooping crushed ice into a chilled glass, she added gin and tonic. Sipping her drink, she sat for a while watching Carlo as he slept. Lyle let her eyes wander over his firm, tanned body. She smiled at the thought of their many evenings together.
His conversation was interesting and the food he’d cooked her had always been exceptional. He was also a very thoughtful and attentive lover.
It was a shame their time together had to end so abruptly, but it was important she return to England and get her plans underway.
Drink in hand, Lyle walked over to the sleeping Carlo. Drugged, gagged and bound to a dining chair, his body slumped forward. Lyle lifted his head and kissed his eyes.
“Carlo. Carlo, my prince, it’s time to wake up.”
Lyle took some ice from her glass and ran it over his broad, tanned shoulders. “Sveglia, sveglia, sorgi e splendi!” she said. “Wakey, wakey, Carlo.”
Carlo opened one eye and then the other.
“There you are,” Lyle said. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” She chuckled at her little joke.
Puzzled, he looked around wildly. His foggy mind was trying to figure out what was happening. He tried to move. He tried to speak. He started to rock back and forth, almost toppling over in the process. His eyes widened further, and his face grew fierce with anger.
Lyle poured herself another gin and tonic to give Carlo a moment to simmer down and accept his predicament. “I am sure you have lots of questions, and I wish I had more time to go into all the details of why this is happening to you, but the truth is, I don’t. I have a flight booked to England first thing in the morning, and between now and then there is a lot that must be done. So, forgive me if I gloss over the niceties. What I will say is that, despite how this is going to end for you, I’ve had a lovely time. I think it’s important you understand that what’s coming next isn’t about you. It’s about me. Although, in reality, I’m sure that offers little comfort.”
Carlo watched as Lyle pushed a hostess trolley up in front of him. On the bottom shelf sat a few marble coasters, some napkins, a roll of cling film, an ice bucket and a pair of silver tongs. It was the top shelf that caused him to strain at his ties. From behind the gag he let out a long, pitiful moan. His pleading eyes were met with a coldness he hadn’t seen in her before. Fingers that had once caressed him now danced over a range of glistening surgical tools.
With a look that suggested the choice was of vital importance, Lyle said, “Perfect. This will do.”
She held up a surgical scalpel. Carlo pressed himself back in the chair. Lyle started to smile as she showed him the scalpel.
“This? This is just my little joke. You’re so jittery. I’m not going to use this on you, Carlo.”
With a flourish, she lifted a napkin off a lime and said, “This is for the lime. A gin and tonic just isn’t the same without lime, wouldn’t you agree?”
Carlo attempted a smile. Perhaps, this was all just a sick prank. Maybe he would be okay after all.
“Carlo, look at me.” Lyle snapped her fingers. “None of these are for you. I don’t have time for blood and body parts scattered here and there. Do you understand?”
Carlo nodded.
Lyle said, “All that would mean a lot of cleaning up. I’ve told you, I’m on a tight schedule. For that reason, I intend something far less messy for me, and you’ll be pleased to know it means next to no discomfort for you.” Lyle reached into the ice bu
cket and took out an ice pick.
Carlo started to scream.
Lyle stepped close and, after a brief hesitation – she was undecided as to which eye to stab – she changed her mind entirely and plunged the ice pick through Carlo’s temple and deep into his brain. She quickly wrapped his head in kitchen cling film, ensuring his nose and mouth were covered.
“There; we’re done.”
Lyle kissed Carlo’s broad shoulders and ran her fingers over his tanned, muscular, still-warm body one last time. It would have been nice to keep him a little longer, she thought.
After a long, comforting shower, Lyle finished packing and checked the flight times. Later, she would drive to the lake and take a short boat trip. Carlo would then join the others at the bottom of the lake.
Chapter Two
“You’re twisting my words. I didn’t mean that. That’s not what I said.” David Howes was feeling pushed into a corner. From the moment Emma Cotton had stormed through the door, he knew he’d picked the wrong day for this job. He had seen ‘bad mood’ written all over her face.
It was too late to back out, so he pressed on and blurted out his story, which was, broadly speaking, the truth. Naturally, he couldn’t tell her everything. If he told her what was really going on it, would immediately escalate this whole shit storm from a category 2 to a category 5. He knew she’d find out the truth eventually. He hoped just he’d be long gone by the time the cat was out of the bag.
Dave thought he understood how this would play out. He’d gone over and over it in his mind. Rebecca had even helped him rehearse what he was going to say, but somehow, Emma still had him going round in circles. Emma had him doubting what he’d said and what he’d meant by what he said.
He was ready to leave, but she wasn’t about to let him just walk out the door. Not yet. His problem was, the longer he stayed, the deeper the hole he dug for himself. He was terrible at lying. Feeling nervous caused him to ramble.
He could picture the storm forming in her head. The storm she’d soon unleash on him if he stuck around. Menacing grey clouds full of buzzing electricity waiting to release deadly verbal lightning bolts. He tried staring at her breasts to calm his nerves. She was still hot. That was never the problem. The problem was she was hardly ever home anymore, and when she was, she was either sleeping or a real super bitch. He stopped staring. She’d seen him looking and not listening. He cleared his throat and pretended he had a tickly cough. She looked like she was ready to punch his lights out. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Could she?
“Let me get this straight. Look at me. After being together for over five years, engaged for almost two, you wait for me to announce the date of our wedding before deciding this isn’t what you want. You wait until I’ve told all my friends and all my family and every bloody person at work before making your grand announcement. And where do you choose to tell me about this change of heart? You make me trek to a shitty little pub in the arse end of nowhere.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dave in a hushed voice. He hoped Emma might lower her voice. He could see people looking.
“How does this make me look? I’ve sent out the fucking invitations. Do you understand that? You even bought the sodding stamps. To top it all off, this isn’t just cold feet over the wedding. Oh no – poor little Dave is feeling ‘trapped.’ He wants to spend time apart. I believe you said, ‘It would be good for us both.’
“And on top of that, you want to move out. You suddenly have the urge to go ‘travelling.’ Yet, the furthest I’ve ever seen you travel is to the fucking freezer to get a fucking pizza. Finally, and imagine for one second I’m not a complete idiot – not that I’d need to be; any fool could see through your bullshit – you want me to believe that you’re not seeing someone else. Is that right? Let me know if I missed anything.”
“I don’t want to argue,” said Dave, weakly.
“Argue? You’re so pathetic. We haven’t even started.” Emma glared at him.
“Let’s take some time. Space will be good for both of us. Give me an hour, and I’ll get some stuff from the house. I’ll call you in a day or so.”
“You don’t want to talk about it now? Why is that? Are you just going to leave? No proper explanation?” She stared at him. “Of course you don’t want to talk about it. You’ve already planned this out. That’s why you arranged to meet here in public. You think I won’t make a scene. And if I do, you don’t know anyone. You must have mistaken me for the world’s biggest idiot.”
“I’ve tried to talk to you. More than once. You won’t listen,” said Dave.
“When? When did you last try to have a proper conversation? You’re so full of shit, David.” Emma reached for her purse and said, “I need another drink.”
Dave got to his feet. “I’ll get it for you.”
“No, you won’t. You sit right there. We haven’t finished.”
Dave watched as Emma walked to the bar. He flicked through messages on his phone before sending Rebecca a text.
Chapter Three
Emma Cotton stood at the bar and gestured to the barman. She put their empty glasses down in front of her. “One pint of phlegm and spit for him and one large house white wine for me.”
The barman smiled.
Beside her, she could feel the appraising eyes of the man sat on a bar stool beside her. His dirty white t-shirt had a rip down the side, and his shoes and trousers and fingernails suggested he’d been painting; he was possibly a painter and decorator by trade. His glazed eyes told her he needed to go home and sleep off one drink too many. He looked around Cotton to his friend, who was perched on a bar stool the other side of her. The friend looked older and was also dressed in working clothes. In addition, the friend had fine speckles of paint on his face and arms, suggesting he had recently been using a paint roller.
The first man spoke to his friend, loud enough for Emma to hear. “Lovers’ spat? What do you reckon, Scotty?”
“Looks that way, Johnster.” Scotty twisted on his barstool and leaned back. He looked over at Dave, who was spinning his mobile phone on the table. “Look at that poor sod. He looks like he’s hoping the ground will open and swallow him up. He’s got his hands full with this one.” He looked Cotton up and down.
Cotton said nothing. She looked over at the barman, who was on his way back with her drinks but had stopped to chat.
“If he’s not making you happy, love, perhaps I could give it a try,” said Johnster, a wide grin on his face. Pint in hand, he slid off his stool and leaned against the bar. He pressed his leg against Cotton’s leg. Scotty sipped his pint and looked on with amusement.
“No. I’m not interested,” said Cotton. She handed the barman the money, thanked him and, picked up her drinks.
“I guess you’re not her type,” said Scotty. “She sounds a bit posh for you.”
Johnster put down his pint and stepped in front of Cotton. “So what is your type? The wee man at the table obviously isn’t. Perhaps it’s time you tried a real man. A big man, if you know what I mean. They don’t call me Johnster for nothin’.” He stuck out his arms and wriggled his hips. “It’s because of this monster between my legs.”
“And there was me thinking you were nothing more than good looks and charm,” said Cotton with more than a little fire.
Scotty laughed and nearly spilt his pint. Johnster continued, oblivious. “Come on, gorgeous. Wouldn’t you like a bit of rough? I hear you posh types like that.” Johnster looked past Emma to Scotty for backup. “I bet she’d like it. Deep down they want a bit of rough. Especially these good girls. And she definitely looks like a good girl.”
Cotton looked Johnster in the eye, “No. Go home. Or finish your drink. Just leave me alone. I’ve had a shitty day, and you’re making it worse. I just want to get my drinks and go back to my friend. I’ve asked you nicely, and I won’t ask nicely again.”
Cotton held up her drinks and tried to push past Johnster. He moved in front of her and placed his hands on her hips, t
hen started to slow dance.
“Johnster’s just being friendly. He wants to know if he’s your type, darlin’, that’s all. We both do, for that matter,” said Scotty.
“What’s my type? It might be easier if I tell you what my type isn’t. Your wedding rings tell me that, surprisingly, you’re both married. Lucky ladies. Sorry, boys. Married men are a no-no for me. I’m also not keen on men who drink themselves stupid after work, or have bad breath, bad manners, body odour and the obsession of a squirrel.”
Scotty and Johnster looked confused, so Cotton added, “Squirrels? They’re obsessed with just one thing – burying their nuts.”