The Hard Way by Duncan Brockwell (electronic book reader .txt) 📗

He did a circuit of the Fiesta, stroking the paintwork as he walked around her. The bonnet warm to the touch, he figured he’d given her a run. “You did it, baby. I always knew you would.” Standing back, he admired her ordinary appearance, and knew that beneath the hood, she was the most extraordinary car in the world. No other engine resembled hers. His phone rang.

“Go ahead, Richard; I’ll wait in the car.”

Taking his mobile out of his jeans pocket, he identified the caller: Lottie.

“He’s dead, Richard! Someone murdered our Colin.”

It took Richard a couple of moments to register the information. He smiled first, not believing it, waiting for the punchline. When his sister continued to cry, his smile faded. “What? That can’t be. I only saw him on Tuesday. He was fine.”

Charlotte explained that Colin had been shot at work, or so Henry had informed her. Colin’s co-star and producer were also shot and killed. Richard’s first question to her was “why?” Silly, really, how could his little sister know? He had to lean against the car to prevent himself from falling.

“Hey, are you all right?” Vanu got out of the passenger seat and rushed over to him. “What’s happened? Richard? Talk to me.”

“He’s gone!” Richard still couldn’t believe it. He dropped his phone and sank to the ground, numb. “Colin. Someone killed my little brother.” Even saying it aloud didn’t make it feel any more real.

Vanu helped him up. “I’m driving us back to the workshop. Here, let me help you. Let’s get you all strapped in.” He closed the passenger door and ran around to the driver’s side. “We’re on our way back now, peeps.”

Richard sat staring out of the window for the duration of the journey back. Someone had murdered his little brother. His Colin was dead!

9

Miller climbed out of her coveralls and left them in the tent. After brushing off her suit jacket, she binned the face mask and foot covers.

Hayes met her at the door to the tent and she followed her partner out to their waiting car. Journalists swamped the police cordon, the uniforms trying their best to keep them at bay. “They’re a lively bunch today.”

“Two local celebrities have been murdered. Of course they’re going to be eager. Must be a slow news day.”

“Except on the Brexit front.” Hayes pulled a distasteful face.

“Right!” She opened the passenger door. “They’re getting louder.”

“Hayes! Can you answer some questions? Is it true Colin Fisher was murdered? Was it a gangland hit?” A male reporter at the back of the fray stuck his microphone in the air. “He was into the Demirci family for thousands.”

“Inspector Hayes, can you tell us how many victims there are, and how they were murdered?” A female reporter stuck her microphone between two uniforms in front of her. “Is it true they were executed?”

Miller didn’t say a word, instead she left Hayes to speak to the press.

“Is it true Kurt Austin was shot, Hayes? Is his boyfriend a suspect?”

Getting in the car, Miller closed the door and waited for her supervisor to join her. When Hayes sat, she stared at the throng of journalists. “They’ve got theories already. How the hell are we going to play this? We’ve got three lots of suspects to chase down.”

Hayes sighed, starting the engine. “Tell me about it. We’re going to go through each suspect’s background with a fine toothcomb.” She reversed, turned and steered towards the cordon, the journalists clearing a path for them. “First, we’re going to interview the next of kin of each of the victims, starting with Fisher’s and Reid’s.”

“Do you still think Reid’s the intended target?”

“I’m not sure. The extra stab wounds suggest she’s special. The male victims got a bullet a piece in the head and chest, but Brandy also has stab wounds. My money’s still on her.”

At first, Miller would have bet on Brandy being the target. “But what about Fisher being into gangsters for thousands?” She stared at a brunette journalist through her window, as Hayes drove them off the plot’s car park and past the cordon.

“I think we’re looking for someone with a military background.”

She nodded in agreement. “Makes sense with how precise the entry wounds were, especially Fisher’s central forehead shot. I think the suspect stood over him and fired that kill shot. It was too perfect.”

“I was thinking that myself. Keep your eye out for cameras along this road, would you? I saw one on our way in, so I’ll contact the council and see if we can get a car type, or registration.”

“The neighbouring factory had one above their doors.” Miller received a surprised reaction from her supervisor. “What? First rule of studying the crime scene: look out for cameras. I’m surprised you didn’t see it yourself.”

“Well done. While I’m pratting about with the council, you contact the factory and ask for their footage. Then, we’re going to set up interviews for tomorrow morning with the families of the victims.” Hayes wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her suit jacket.

“I’ll make a start on Brandy Reid’s next of kin.”

“And I’ll contact Fisher’s husband. They’ll all need to identify their loved ones before we interview them, so we’ll ask to meet them at their homes. No need to make it too formal just yet, not until we’ve dug into their histories.”

“You think it could be a hired hit?” Miller pondered the hired assassin scenario. It wouldn’t be against the realms of possibility for someone to hire a hitman to murder a radio presenter.

“Anything’s possible. Like you said earlier, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

10

Charlotte Edwards pulled up outside Henry and Colin’s five-bedroomed palatial detached house. Surrounded by an eight-foot perimeter wall topped with razor wire, Henry’s home was an impenetrable fortress controlled by a remote in Henry’s charge. “We’re home, Henry. You need to open the gates, honey.”

Her brother-in-law reached into his pocket and pressed the “open” button on his key ring, as the wrought-iron gates opened.