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

their introductions, Gillan started the camera, which recorded every nuance of the meeting. He asked Demirci’s criminal solicitor to say their names on film, which he did. Inspector Gillan introduced himself, then left it to Hayes to say who she was.

Their interviewee was well-dressed, in a grey suit, not unlike hers, only more expensive, and tailored to her curves. With long, dark shiny hair tied back in a ponytail, Hayes thought Demirci pretty, in a bad-girl sort of way.

“I’ve seen all your interviews on the news.” Demirci leaned forward. “You’re the bravest cop I’ve ever met going up against that suitcase killer. Shame we should be meeting over a table like this.”

Hayes glanced over at Gillan, who nodded. “Why, thank you, Miss Demirci, I appreciate that.” Her nerves were getting the best of her. “Now, why don’t I start by telling you why you’re here this afternoon.”

“I’ll save you the bother! I have a busy schedule, and in my line of work, Friday nights are the second busiest of my week. It’s imperative that I get back to the casino at a reasonable time.”

“Be our guest.” Gillan took control.

“It was terrible what happened over there at Accord, tragic. But you have a triple murder to investigate, and no doubt my name’s been mentioned a couple of times, am I right? So, you’ve brought me here to account for my whereabouts between ten o’clock on June eleventh and two o’clock on the twelfth.”

“And can you? Account for your whereabouts?” Hayes knew an alibi would be established almost straight away.

“Absolutely. If you give me an email address, I’ll have my man send over CCTV footage from inside my casino that will support my alibi. He’s waiting to send it. I’m seen walking the casino floor every hour, on the hour, as I do every night of the week. I would have my croupiers and pit bosses robbing me blind if I didn’t.”

Giving Demirci her email address, Hayes took out her mobile, waiting for the message to ping. When it did, she pocketed it again. “I don’t suppose your cousins are on this footage, are they?” She said it in a nonchalant manner, an add-on, but judging by Demirci’s scowl, an unexpected comment.

“My cousins? They don’t have anything to do with my family’s business.” Her eyes narrowed, a frown forming.

“Unar and Yasin Inan, your cousins from your mother’s side. Not nice guys from our records. It’s not like you’re going to do the heavy lifting yourself, is it? So, if you were going to have, say two radio presenters and a producer shot and killed, you would need men like your cousins to do it for you, wouldn’t you?”

The solicitor objected, but when Demirci shut him down verbally, he shrank back in his chair. “I really can’t speak for my cousins’ whereabouts, Detective Hayes. I know they weren’t at the casino because I’ve banned them from the premises.”

“That’s a shame. Because until we can vouch for them, you’re still right at the top of our list of suspects. In fact, you’re our prime suspect.”

“Prime suspect? Me?” Demirci didn’t laugh, or smile.

“For one reason or another you knew each of the victims. Kurt Austin’s husband owed you money. You’ve had poor Fernando Linares scared out of his wits for weeks, frightened that your cousins would put the squeeze on him.”

“No, you’re right. Fernando does owe me money for his failed venture. I gave him a loan when he needed it the most, which is more than the banks would do. I consider myself a bit of a philanthropist, detective. I hand out loans when one wouldn’t be forthcoming through other, more mainstream avenues. A last chance saloon, so to speak. And nine times out of ten I see an RoI on my investments. But sadly not on this occasion.”

“And you threatened physical harm on him if he couldn’t find your money, didn’t you?” Hayes’ hands were shaking, adrenaline spiking.

“Of course not. Why would I? And what does all this have to do with the three murders anyway?” Demirci ignored her lawyer’s pleas for quiet.

“Well, maybe shooting his husband, Kurt, was a way of making him pay you? Maybe if he thought you’re psychotic enough to have his husband killed to make a point, you’d get your money back quicker.”

“You don’t have to answer that–”

“No, it’s fine, Inspector Gillan. I’ll answer any question she has for me, and do you know why? Because I’m innocent of these crimes. And I know you don’t have any real evidence, or you’d have arrested me by now. So, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you access to everything. If you want to scour through my company’s accounts, or you need to interview my employees, just let me know and I’ll have the documents shipped over, and my staff available. You see, inspector, I need these murderers caught as much as you do.”

Hayes decided not to seize on the words “these murderers”, for now. “Since you’re being so generous, would your generosity extend as far as giving us access to Accord FM’s accounts?”

A look of confusion wedged itself between them. Demirci glanced at her lawyer, who shrugged. “Why would you ask for that? I don’t have anything to do with Accord.”

“Oh, so you’re not currently in conversation with Henry Curtis’ solicitor regarding buying the rest of his shares of the company? We know you already own forty per cent, Miss Demirci. And now, after Henry Curtis’ untimely passing, you stand to gain a hundred per cent ownership.”

“I don’t want it to be public knowledge, is all. And the way you’re talking, you make it sound like I wanted Henry to kill himself.”

A quick look at Gillan, then back at her interviewee. “Did I? I didn’t mean to say that, because he didn’t commit suicide, did he?”

“What? What do you mean? He slashed his wrists and bled to death in his bathtub. His PA told me.”

“No, he was murdered. We found a mark on the back of his head that