by Anita Waller
King didn’t flinch at the gruesome sight of a faceless Anthony Jackson. ‘No face,’ he said. ‘How am I supposed to recognise him? And I don’t know who the slag is.’
‘She said you called her slag when she got out of the taxi you were driving. That was thirty seconds before you shot her.’
‘I shot nobody.’
‘We’ll find out when we find the gun. Your apartment is being torn apart as we speak, so I’m hopeful that the gun and the laser will surface by the end of today.’
‘Laser?’
Marsden knew she had him. Somewhere in his home was that laser. Maybe they wouldn’t find the gun; he would be stupid to leave that where it was easy to find, but the laser was there, the one to blind Peter Swift and likely Oliver Merchant, she’d stake money on it. She stood. ‘DI Marsden leaving the room. I’ll send coffee in. You could be here for a long time.’
‘Dave?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Have you found anything? Tell me it’s gun-shaped.’
‘No gun, but he sure keeps lots of paperwork here. I think it relates to drug shipments, but not sure they’re connected with Rowe.’
‘Have you found a laser?’
‘I haven’t personally, but let me get back to you. I’ll go check with the others.’
Dave Irwin disconnected, and headed upstairs. ‘Listen up folks, we’re specifically looking for a laser – oh, and the boss says anything gun-shaped.’
‘Just bagging a laser now, Dave,’ he heard from another room.
Irwin moved across to the second bedroom, and was handed an evidence bag. Inside it was what, at first sight, seemed to be a torch. It was unnerving to think that this small item had probably killed one man and seriously injured a second.
He took a photograph then sent it to Marsden. His text was brief and to the point. Found in second bedroom.
Marsden headed back down to the interview room, clutching a newly printed photograph of the one Dave Irwin had sent.
Olivia Jordan and King were finishing their coffees, Jordan making notes at the same time.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Marsden pressed the recorder and logged herself back into the room, then sat down. ‘Okay, Brian. As I said, we have a team of officers in your home, and I’d like you to tell me what this is.’ She pushed the picture across the table.
He looked at it for a moment, then turned to his solicitor. She too briefly scanned the print, then spoke directly to Marsden. ‘I’d like to speak with my client away from this room, alone please.’
34
Brian King was charged with the murders of Anthony Jackson, Isla Yardley and Oliver Merchant the following day. It was understood that other charges would follow.
They had statements from Caroline Boldock, Keith Lancaster, Michael Damms and Peter Swift, all telling the same story of witnessing the murder of Craig Adams aurally, and seeing Brian King and Leon Rowe dragging the young man along the riverside path.
King categorically denied shooting Adams, he said Rowe was responsible for that. Leon Rowe was the one Craig had upset, by withholding some of the debt.
He confirmed that Jackson had told him of the identities of the seven people who had witnessed the killing; Jackson had hoped by giving this information to King, and thereby to Rowe, that it would give him an in to their business. Instead, King had kept the long-time secret to himself, and had set about removing the problem, one death at a time. Leon Rowe would have been the final execution, leaving King with everything.
Tessa Marsden felt drained. It had been a long traumatising case. She had to admit to herself that Kat Rowe and Beth Walters had pulled out all the stops, although Marsden was convinced that some of the information they had gleaned had come about through the technical wizardry of a certain elderly lady and her granddaughter.
It seemed that Leon Rowe had disappeared. He hadn’t gone abroad, not in his own name anyway, and there had been no sightings of him despite lots of publicity in the media. He was currently the most wanted man in the UK, and there had been reported sightings, but nothing that produced anything to make them think the sighting was genuinely Rowe.
One day, Leon Rowe, Marsden thought, one day, and you’ll be behind bars for the rest of your natural.
Terry Vincent waited until midnight, then headed to the compound. He negotiated his way around two Corsas, a Land Rover and a Mondeo, reaching the taxi at the back of the lot without damaging any part of himself. He carried a petrol can in each hand.
The alcohol from the seven pints he had consumed earlier was causing his legs to work independently of the rest of him, but he climbed into the taxi and started it with the key kept in the ignition so the vehicle was always ready to go.
He did a three point turn in sixteen moves, and finally reached the compound gates. He climbed out, opened them and drove the taxi out on the road, before returning to lock up.
This was what Brian would want. Terry walked back to the idling black cab, and climbed into the back first. He felt around the seats and looked on the floor, in case any wallets or phones had been left, but the only thing he found was a house key. He climbed back out and into the driving seat, after throwing the key over the gate and inside the compound. He didn’t think anybody would be reporting it as lost property.
He drove the cab to a patch of land where other cars tended to end up in flames, and hoped he would be able to walk home without his legs giving way altogether.
Sprinkling the petrol around took no time at all, and he saw no one. He threw in the match and there was a huge whoosh. He staggered, then ran. Brian would be pleased with him, that would get rid of any evidence there might be in the vehicle. Another job well done. And hopefully another hefty bonus come payday.
Epilogue
Two months later
Kat and Mouse stood holding a pair of scissors between them, the points resting on the bright royal-blue ribbon that trailed across the double shop door and both windows. The paintwork gleamed in the bright late summer sunlight and the name of Connection sparkled, the blue of the name contrasting vividly with the white background.
Kat, Mouse and Doris had sent out three hundred invitations to the opening, and Kat was convinced everyone had arrived, complete with a plus one. She hoped there was enough wine and cheese to go around.
Mouse grinned at Kat and whispered, ‘Go on then.’
Kat half turned to face the people gathered around, many of them spilling on to the road, and smiled.
‘Welcome to our grand opening, everybody. Thank you all for coming, and please come in and grab something to eat and drink. I now declare our new shop, our new investigative agency, Connection, well and truly open.’
Kat and Mouse cut the ribbon, and everyone cheered. They walked through the door holding hands, followed by a beaming Doris.
For the next hour, it was bedlam, but slowly the crowd dispersed. Doris had made five appointments, and Mouse looked ecstatic. Kat was happy, but didn’t have the glow about her that infused Doris and Mouse. DI Marsden, taking the afternoon off to attend the opening, had confirmed that still nothing had been heard of Leon’s whereabouts, but they wouldn’t stop looking.
Kat missed the Leon that she had known, but definitely didn’t want the Leon that she now knew, to return.
Enid Silvers linked her arm through her husband’s and looked at all the people milling around. ‘I’m so proud of her. She was devastated when Leon left, I know she was, but look how she’s holding herself together. I remember saying I wanted to have grandchildren, but really, it’s a good job they didn’t, isn’t it?’
Victor squeezed her arm. ‘She’ll meet somebody else, there’s plenty of time.’
By seven o’clock, they were locking up. All the leaflets had been handed out, and the next day the serious side of the business would begin.
They had decided to eat at Kat’s after the opening, and as they entered the kitchen, all three collapsed onto the chairs, exhausted by the long day.
‘Shall I dig some beef burgers out of the freezer. I’ve plenty of bread cakes in,’ Kat said.
‘Fine by me,’ Mouse said.
‘And me,’ said Doris. ‘I’ll do the onions.’
Kat went through to the garage and rummaging sounds could be heard coming from the depths of the big freezer. She returned with a box of burgers and a chicken. ‘I’ll defrost this and have it tomorrow, I think,’ she said. ‘You’re both welcome to join me.’
‘You have to put the chicken back, Kat,’ Doris said.
‘Why? It’s ages since I cooked a full chicken.’
‘Don’t ask questions, young lady. Just put the damned chicken back. I’m in charge of your freezer supplies.’
Kat stared at Doris. ‘What’s wrong with this chicken? Why can’t we eat it?’
Doris grinned. ‘It’s got a gun and a bullet up its arse.’
‘What?’
‘I had to get rid of the gun, didn’t I, just in case Marsden clicked on I’d shot Leon.’
‘So you inserted it in the chicken, and froze it?’ Mouse’s eyes were huge as she took in what her nan was saying.
‘Yes, I thought it was a good idea at the time. Do you think it’s safe to get it out now?’
Kat and Mouse looked at each other, both trying not to laugh. Doris said everything in such a matter of fact way, and she had no idea how funny it was, this chicken with a gun up its bum.
‘I think it’s safe now,’ Mouse said, and took the chicken from Kat to inspect the hiding place. ‘She’s right; there is a gun up its bum,’ she said. ‘I can feel the end of it. Smart idea, Nan. I never worried about what you’d done with it. What do we do with it now it’s re-surfaced?’
‘We’ll defrost it overnight,’ Doris said, ‘and I’ll have a look at it tomorrow – the gun, not the chicken.’
Mouse moved to the fridge and lifted out a bottle of champagne. She took out three champagne flutes from the cupboard and placed them on the kitchen table.
‘Time for our own celebration,’ she said, and picked up the bottle, preparing to pop the cork.
‘Before we do that…’ Kat held up a hand. ‘I have something to tell you.’
Mouse stared at her friend. ‘I hope this is good, not bad. You heard from Leon?’
‘No, I haven’t. This is kinda apropos of nothing, in the grand scheme of things. It’s a little bit of news for you two to digest, and work out how this is going to impact on the business.’
Mouse groaned. ‘Are we going to like this?’
Kat gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t know. Remember when I had that really sore throat and Neil gave me some antibiotics to help me with it?’
Mouse clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘You’re ill?’
‘Not really. Antibiotics have this strange effect on contraceptive pills. I’m pregnant.’
THE END
Follow Kat and Mouse’s next venture in part two of the trilogy.
Acknowledgements
I have two people to thank for allowing me to use their names in the book: Caroline Boldock, who threw a proper wobbly because it had taken me until book number nine to include her, and Sarah Hodgson, a top class fan and beta reader. Thank you so much you two, and Caroline, I’m sorry I turned you into an escort! At least you didn’t become a corpse.
I also owe thanks to Kirsty Waller, my youngest daughter. She sets me straight on legal issues, and she teaches me such things as how to roll a joint, what goes in a joint and what a roach is, all fascinating stuff, I’m sure. She also gave me two phrases to use in the book. She was in pain after a boxing injury, and when I rang her to check if she was okay, she said she had taken enough painkillers to floor a baby kangaroo. That definitely was included. The second phrase came via a text message that said, Mum, I like apropos of nothing. Can you put it in your book? I did.
This book is the first in a trilogy, and I extend my grateful thanks to Bloodhound Books, my publishers, for commissioning me to write the series. I also want to thank Sarah Hardy, Alexina Golding and Sumaira Wilson, Bloodhound staff members, for their helpfulness at all times.
My editor, Morgen Bailey – I hope you know how much I appreciate your work. Thank you so much for sorting me out. You’re a star.
Eyam deserves a mention in these remarks – our beautiful Derbyshire plague village. Everyone should visit Eyam, steeped in a history that is tangible; residents wiped out over a period of around fourteen months because they selflessly gave up their own lives to stop the spread of this dreadful disease. Take a walk around the churchyard, the plague cottages. Everywhere you go you can imagine the despair as the villagers buried their children, their spouses, their parents, leaving others to bury them when their time came. Heartbreaking history.
And last but not least, my readers deserve all my thanks. Your reviews, your personal comments to me, and your support make this author one very happy lady.
Anita Waller
Sheffield UK, August 2018
For Cerys, for being my constant.
My helpful assistant.
My love.
My granddaughter par excellence!
Many men would take the death-sentence
without a whimper, to escape the life-sentence
which fate carries in her other hand.
T E Lawrence (1888-1935)
The Mint, pt 1 ch 4
If you would be known, and not know, vegetate in a village;
if you would know, and not be known, live in a city.
Charles Caleb Colton
Lacon (1820) vol 1, no.334
1
Doris wasn’t convinced. ‘Did the doctor actually say those words “your blood pressure is a little high”? And he didn’t say you had to stop working, put your feet up and rest?’
‘He did not,’ Kat confirmed, ‘because he didn’t mean your blood pressure is a little high, you need to do something about it. He just meant my blood pressure was a little high.’
‘Really?’ Doris peered over her glasses, staring at Kat as if she was a little girl at school. ‘Well, Katerina Rowe, I’m pretty sure he meant you have to take care of yourself, and that involves you staying at home with your feet up.’
‘I’ve still got two weeks to go. I’m not doing any of the physical work, but I can still produce reports, and work on that contract we’ve taken on for background checks.’ Kat felt, and knew, that she was grasping at anything to save going home to that empty house.
Doris sighed. ‘Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re changing roles. You can be on reception, and I’m moving into your office. It’s temporary, and it’s only till you come back after the baby’s born.’
‘On reception?’ Kat looked aghast at the small grey-haired woman laying down the law. In her sixties, Doris tended to do that a lot, saying she was the senior boss. ‘I can’t do that! You told me off for messing up the diary.’
‘Kat, I didn’t tell you off. I merely pointed out that if someone wanted an appointment for the seventh of the month, it was a bit daft putting them in for the fourteenth.’
‘It’s a new diary,’ Kat said sullenly, tucking her long blonde hair back behind her ears. ‘I can’t help it if the page turned over while I was picking my pen up off the floor.’
Doris grinned. ‘Kat, go home. Please. You have no appointments from now on, so go home and take it easy. Go and knit some bootees.’
‘I can’t. I’ve tried, and then went out and bought some. Me and knitting needles don’t seem to belong in the same world.’ Kat looked crestfallen, and Doris tried desperately not to laugh at her.
The door at the back of the room opened. ‘Kat, get your coat. I’m taking you home. You’re sacked.’ Mouse looked at Kat, her face set as sternly as she could make it, considering the laughter trying to bubble out of her nan. She had screwed her long dark curls up into a ponytail on top of her head, and it added height to her already impressive almost six feet. She stood at the side of Kat, towering over her.
�
��You can’t sack me,’ Kat explained. ‘I own half the business. And I’m pregnant. You’re not allowed to sack pregnant people, ladies.’
‘You’re temporarily sacked.’
‘But it’s lonely in that big house. I’ve nobody to talk to.’
‘Then it’s time for us to move in.’
Kat’s face brightened. ‘Thank goodness for that. I’ve missed you since you moved in here.’
Doris had temporarily moved in with Mouse in her new flat, while she was looking for a property in the area, but it had been said from the very start that when Kat was getting near her due date they would move back in with her; if she went into labour during the night, they would be on hand.
Doris realised how lonely Kat must be feeling; an absentee husband who had spent most of his life murdering people, dealing drugs and money laundering, and then an absentee Mouse and Nan moving out of Kat’s home must have left a huge void.
‘Kat,’ Doris said gently, ‘why didn’t you say? I could have stayed with you instead of Mouse. I thought you would welcome the peace and quiet of being in your home on your own.’
‘No, it’s rubbish. Tibby’s vocabulary is limited to miaow, I can’t master casting on the stitches, and I can’t seem to settle to reading or watching tv, so I mooch around like a lost soul.’
‘Make the most of it,’ was Doris’s dry response. ‘In a couple of weeks you’ll be pleading for time out. Luckily your baby comes with ready-made babysitters. Now, if you don’t want to sit on reception and twiddle your thumbs, go home. We’ll move back in with you tonight, so you won’t be lonely anymore.’