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

whole life. They can’t help themselves, always getting in trouble they can’t handle.”

Hayes agreed. “You and me both. I’ve met my fair share of guys like him. Mostly victims through the job, mind.”

“Even Luke’s friend’s having trouble with Demirci,” Miller confided.

Hayes, surprised at her partner’s candidness, glanced at her. “How’s that?”

“Sleeping with her apparently, she stakes him a hundred grand and he loses the lot. Now he can’t repay her because he lied to her about who he is, stupid bastard. He’s worried her psycho cousins are coming after him. And Luke’s the one who has to look out for the guy. I swear the sooner they ban gambling the better. No good comes of it.”

Hayes waited for her partner to exit the lift first. “Yeah? Tell Luke to watch his back. Guys like his mate will do anything to get themselves out of trouble, including dragging their friends down with them. I’ve seen it time and again. And the government will never ban gambling, ever. There’s too much money at stake.”

Outside interview room three, Hayes opened the door and let Miller enter first. As expected Fernando Linares was wide-eyed and practically crying when she entered, protesting his innocence, about how he loved Kurt, and wouldn’t hurt him. “Relax, Mr Linares, please. We know you didn’t have anything to do with the murders.”

“Really?” He seemed to calm. “When I saw the pigs, oh er, I mean police, I thought–”

Miller waved his comments away. “We’re here to help you, Mr Linares, not trick you, okay? If you work with us, we’ll be able to eliminate you from our enquiries, do you understand? It’s our job to investigate every suspect, and right now you fall into that category, being married to Mr Austin, and having no alibi. Oh, and having a blazing row in front of a group of onlookers. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t look good for you, but you’re in luck. It looks like we have our prime suspect already.”

Hayes found Fernando’s relief interesting. “You seem surprised. Why is it so surprising that we have a prime suspect?”

His eyes opened wide. “You aren’t normally this quick, are you? I’ve been in police interviews where I’ve been grilled for hours, and you lot, I mean police officers, haven’t had a clue who the suspect is. I thought I was in for more of the same. That’s why I ran.”

“And how many police interviews have you been in, exactly?”

“A few, but you should know all that. You have my record, although for most of them I was only questioned, never charged.”

“But trouble does seem to follow you, doesn’t it?” Hayes had been a cop long enough to know a career criminal when she met one. “And we have read your record, yes. We already know so much about you. But, you see, Mr Linares, we’re not interested in your past, are we, Miller?”

“Nope. We have to ask as a formality: did you shoot and kill Colin Fisher, Brandy Reid, and your husband, Kurt Austin?”

“No! I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Then we need to know where you were at the time of their deaths.” Hayes caught his attention. His eyes widened.

“And this is why I ran. I was home alone on the night.”

When he started to panic, Hayes put her palms out on display. “Shh! It’s all right. We have ways around this kind of scenario.” He stopped panicking and stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “Is there anyone who saw you in the flat around that time?”

“No! I thought of that. No one.”

“Okay, no problem. Did you visit any shops that night? Maybe a convenience store or off-licence, to buy a pack of beer, or anything like that?” Nothing. “Do you have a dog, Mr Linares? Did you go for a walk around the block?” A shake of his head. “Order a takeaway?” Nope. “Did anyone call you that night?” No, no one. “Are you a big computer user? Were you on the computer at the time?”

He shook his head. “How will that help?”

“If we can prove you were at home between, say, ten o’clock and one in the morning, we can prove you’re not the shooter. And if we can prove you were on a computer, for example, that can still count as an alibi. Just anything that proves you were at home at the time, so not a mobile phone, but if you were typing on a PC, it would work.”

“Why can’t it be a mobile? Each phone can be traced, can’t they? You can use GPS on it, or whatever. If you did, you’d find mine was at home at the time.”

“The problem with mobiles is just that, Mr Linares, they’re mobile. You could leave yours at home, drive to the radio station, shoot your husband, Mr Fisher and Miss Reid, and drive home, all the while your mobile tells us you’re in your house. Do you see where I’m coming from? That’s why mobiles can’t corroborate a suspect’s whereabouts, but a PC can, because it’s stationary.”

“Oh hang on, what about a games console?”

Hayes shrugged at Miller. “They’re connected to your broadband, I guess they can. I don’t see why not. Were you playing on a console at the time?”

His face lit up. “You bet I was. From about ten until two in the fucking morning. And I played with other players. You know, with a headset, chatting and stuff.”

Miller was excited as well. “Really? You talked to real people?”

“Why the fuck didn’t I think of this before? Of course! Yeah, I was beating the shit out of some arsehole Yank at Call of Duty: WW2 at the time. And we got into a bit of an argument. He’ll remember it.”

“Will your system record all this?” Hayes knew next to nothing about video games consoles, and staring at Miller, neither did she.

“It won’t record our verbal chat, but it records everything else. My console will tell you when I switched it on and off, where I paused