The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) by Phillip Strang (best classic romance novels txt) 📗

‘It’s empty, and as for Brett, he’s not my boyfriend.’

‘You’re sleeping with him.’

‘That doesn’t make him my boyfriend.’

‘Why the pills? The truth.’

‘Sure, I’m making a lot of money, flying around the world, living in great places, but it’s shallow. With Angus, it was fine. He kept me grounded, and he never let it go to my head. I’m lost without him.’

‘No help from Valentine?’

‘Testosterone-charged, drug-addicted man-child, what do you think? His career’s on the wane, not that he’s sober long enough to realise it.’

‘You could find another man.’

‘I don’t want another; I want Angus.’

‘Your future after here?’

‘My mother’s coming down to London. I’ll spend a couple of weeks with her.’

‘Valentine?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘You shouldn’t have slept with him,’ Isaac said, realising that he was close to lecturing the young woman.

‘On the rebound, don’t you see?’

Isaac thought it a weak excuse.

***

‘Your side of the story?’ Larry said to the man propped up in bed, a towel around his head, shivering from the after-effects of a wasted night out.

‘I came home, found her on the floor,’ Valentine said. ‘Nothing more to say, nothing to do with me.’

‘Aren’t you interested in how she is?’

‘I phoned for an ambulance. What more do you want me to do?’

‘How? You weren’t in a fit condition to phone anyone, let alone emergency services.’

‘I knew the number, used it before.’

‘The perils of a drug addict, overdosing?’

‘Not that I’ve done it myself, not yet, but I’ve friends who have.’

‘But you will?’

‘Inspector, you might not think very much of me, but I’m not stupid. Okay, you’re right. I’m not stupid when I’m sober or clean, but I’m addicted, and addicted people make bad decisions, go over the limit. You don’t need me to tell you, do you?’

‘You could get treatment.’

‘You’ve got the look of a man who drinks. Are you an alcoholic?’

‘Not now.’

‘Inspector Hill, once an addict, always an addict. Denial doesn’t count for anything. One day, when you’re down, and life’s kicking you in the guts, you’ll find the bottle, the same as I will with drugs.’

‘Did Maddox have any reason to commit suicide?’

‘You mean with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maddox is a good person, probably too good for the life she leads, the life she thinks is important. There are sharks and rogues out there, unscrupulous people who’ll bleed a person dry, and when there’s no more to give, kick them in the guts.’

‘You have experience of these people?’

‘Maddox does as well. Believe me, Inspector, she’s the homely type, happy to be at home with a good man, a budgerigar in a cage and a couple of kids.’

‘She’s not said that.’

‘She doesn’t know it herself, not yet, but she will soon enough. The pretty face doesn’t last forever.’

‘What do you feel for her?’ Larry asked.

‘We were thrown together, made to look as though we were in love, but we’re not. I agreed. Who wouldn’t? And Maddox is obliging, although at night she sometimes cries.’

‘For Simmons?’

‘Who else? If she’s got any sense, she’ll walk away from this life, find herself a steady man, pop out a couple of kids, throttle herself with a mortgage and be happy. Simmons would have given her that, but he got himself killed, damn stupid thing to do.’

‘Not something you’d do?’

‘My future’s mapped out. No long life for me. It’ll be drugs, drink and women. After that, when my time’s up, I’ll grow old disreputably.’

‘You’ve not made plans for the future?’

‘No point. My parents were losers, so am I. For a while, I made myself some money, had a good time, got to sleep with some classy women. It was as if I’d won the lottery. No regrets from me.’

Larry, believing there was no more to be gained, left the man and headed back to the police station, giving Isaac a call to join him for breakfast. He knew just the place in Notting Hill: full English, bacon, eggs, toast, the works.

***

As he looked at the woman beside him in the bed, Otto McAlister believed that life couldn’t get any better. Not only was Ashley Otway giving him money, but she was also giving herself. He knew she did not like the second part of the deal, but he didn’t care. He felt as little for her as she did for him.

The same hotel as before, one floor up from the previous visit, a view out over the countryside, idyllic to some, but McAlister was not interested, and it bored him. He had money; he wanted action.

‘Ashley,’ he said as he nudged her, ‘we need to talk.’

‘I thought that was why we’re here,’ the woman replied, keeping to her side of the bed, drawing the sheet in close to her. ‘Who fired the shot? Are you saying you’ve not got it, and I’m here under false pretences?’

‘No, not that.’

Sitting up in bed, the woman pulled a jumper over the top of her body. She didn’t want him getting excited again, not sure she could hide her disgust of him, of herself for what she was doing.

‘Then what?’ she said, moving further away from him, putting her feet on the ground, pulling on a pair of jeans. ‘We need to keep the story alive. You need to give me more.’

‘The slower this goes, the more money I get paid. Is your editor ready for this?’

‘The cost or the information?’

‘The cost,’ McAlister moved over near to her, put his arm around her. ‘We wouldn’t want to sour our relationship, would we? Not when we’re so near.’

‘Near to what?’

‘I want more money.’

‘Is this for the final proof?’

‘Not yet. In the meantime, you have to make a decision.’

‘Whether I continue to sleep with you or not?’

‘There