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

bag. Turning, she opened the barn door wide enough to creep back inside, closing it behind her.

“You told me I had a week to come up with the money. Please, I’ll get it.”

She nodded at Yasin, her cousin, who gagged Zuccari. “Everyone here knows you can’t come up with the cash. How can a police officer earn enough to save twenty-five grand, hmm? No, you got yourself in way over your head, and now you’re paying the consequences of your actions. It’s a shame, because I like you, I really do. I liked fucking you, too.” Her cousin, Unar, stepped up to Zuccari carrying a handheld electric circular saw.

With her captive lying on a bench, Melodi stepped up to him and grabbed his hair. “Lying to me about who you are, though, very stupid. Never lie to me, do you understand? I’m going to show you what happens to liars.”

Her voice was almost drowned out by the combined noise of the saw and Zuccari screaming. Yasin held Zuccari’s left arm out while his brother walked the saw closer to Zuccari’s hand. “Just take a souvenir, yes? A couple of digits will do.”

Added to the deafening mix of the saw and screaming was the sickening sound of metal going through flesh and bone. Melodi held Zuccari’s wrist, and before her cousin sawed off Zuccari’s little and ring fingers, she made sure he didn’t ball his hand into a fist.

A little blood sprayed over her face, which she enjoyed, it not being hers. “This will act as a reminder, won’t it? Don’t ever lie to me again, understood?” Her victim sobbed, bleeding heavily from his severed digits. “You know what to do.”

Yasin Inan, the elder of the brothers, stepped up to Zuccari with a red-hot poker, stabbing the stumps of his missing fingers with it, as Zuccari screamed, a feral, high-pitched sound penetrating the airwaves. “Such a drama queen. We don’t want you bleeding out on us, do we? No, I’ve got a special assignment for you. Something you can do to help me, and help you pay off your debt. You’re mine now, little piggy.”

Looking at the pathetic lump sobbing, Melodi wondered how she could have found him attractive to begin with. “What was I thinking? I must have been desperate, is all I can think.” But he had been good in the sack, fucking her on her desk that first time. He’d initiated it, the dirty pig. “Not the cocky guy now, are we? Look at you! It’s pathetic.”

Letting go of his wrist, she walked around the bench, stood in front of him. Crouching, she met his weeping eyes. “As part of repayment to me, you’re my new source inside the Met, do you understand? You’re going to keep me informed regularly on what’s going on in the Fisher case, yes?”

Zuccari nodded through the tears. “Whatever you want.”

“I hear one of your team is dating the taller detective woman.”

“Luke’s fucking Miller.” He nodded, trying to make her feel better about it. “I’ll do whatever you ask, but please can I have my fingers back. They might be able to save them.” He held out his other hand.

Spotting his fingers on the straw-bound ground, she picked them up, took out a handkerchief and wrapped them, putting the parcel in her bag. “These are my keepsakes, I’m afraid. Like I said, you need a reminder not to lie to me, or go behind my back.”

“I’ll get you whatever you want.” He sobbed again.

Melodi pulled a disgusted face, turned and left her cousins with Zuccari. “Make sure he gets home safely, okay?” She didn’t wait for a reply from Unar or Yasin. They knew what they were doing, the way she liked everything done.

Day 7

Monday, June 18th

43

“Show me what you’ve got so far.” Inspector Gillan sat on one side of the table next to Travis, while Hayes and Miller stood in front, working a projector. “Do you still think this is all about the Fishers?”

“We do, sir.” Hayes pressed the button on the remote control, as a picture of a bank account appeared. “We’ve highlighted interesting transactions in yellow, as you can see here. These are Melodi Demirci’s accounts, and as you can see highlighted is an amount paid into her account from Accord. It’s a hefty amount, that accounts for forty per cent of the company’s profit.”

Miller stepped up to the whiteboard. “And if you go back, month on month, you can see the amounts get smaller the further back you go.”

“Right, so we’ve established a link between Demirci and Henry Curtis. You’re not showing me anything I didn’t already know.” Gillan sat back and folded his arms.

“This is a copy of the agreement signed between Curtis and Demirci at the start of their arrangement. Demirci invested a cool million for forty per cent of the profits. And highlighted is the addendum, the added clause that stipulates once the debt has been paid back, one will have the right to buy the other out.”

“And you still believe Melodi had Curtis murdered for that extra sixty per cent, is that it? You think that’s a big enough motive to have him killed?”

“Sixty per cent of a growing, future multi-million-pound business is, sure. Think about it, sir, there’s no risk involved. With her casino, she has hundreds, maybe thousands of customers a week trying to break the house, right? It’s a risky business because luck plays a part. But not with the radio station – it has a massive audience, and it’s growing every day. They had a falling out, apparently, when Henry tried to buy her out.”

“I agree her DNA’s all over this, but we need more proof. Melodi even said to us in the interview that she wouldn’t have someone killed for owing her money. And Henry didn’t. What makes you think she went through with it? She thought he was the best man for the job of CEO.”

“Sure, that’s what she said, except that she knew he wanted