The Hard Way Duncan Brockwell (romance book recommendations .TXT) 📖

for the police officers. “Shall we go upstairs? He’s probably in his bedroom, or his bathroom.”

Time dragged out as they searched each room in turn. The master bedroom happened to be the furthest from the stairs, so naturally it was the last one to be searched. Holding her breath, Charlotte stepped inside her late brother’s bedroom. “Through there, the en suite bathroom.”

Hayes and Miller walked through first. “Oh shit! Don’t come through here, Mrs Edwards. You don’t need to see this.”

She wasn’t about to let a detective dictate to her. Charlotte barged past Miller first, then pushed Hayes out of the way, until she saw Henry’s peaceful body floating in red water. His eyes were closed, his skin pallid, but apart from that he appeared serene, like he was lying in the water, having a soak. “Oh no! Please, not Henry now too.”

With strong arms around her shoulders, Charlotte was escorted downstairs and out onto the patio, where a chair was pulled out for her. The detectives left her alone while they carried out their professional duties. She delved into her bag and took out her packet of cigarettes. Lighting one, she drew in a lungful of smoke.

Why Henry? Why Colin for that matter? Why hadn’t she put Henry in her car and driven him home to stay with her? Because she was selfish. The smoke made her feel nauseous, but it didn’t make her put it out.

She should be crying. Why wasn’t she sobbing? Her brother and now brother-in-law were both dead. All she felt was numb. Nothing. Stubbing out her cigarette, Charlotte popped a mint in her mouth. “Do you want one?”

Both detectives declined. “We’ve had to call in a crime scene unit, Mrs Edwards, just so you’re aware. It’s standard practise in cases like these, where the obvious cause of death is suicide. But we must be cautious here, okay? So, to be on the safe side, we’re going to treat this as a crime scene. Do you understand?”

Charlotte nodded her understanding. “Do you think something else happened?”

Hayes shook her head. “No! It looks like Mr Curtis committed suicide, but we must be a hundred per cent sure. Our Scene of Crime Officers will be here shortly to process the area. They’re going to go through the motions, just like they would at an obvious crime scene. It’s called due diligence. We need to be certain.”

Detective Miller grabbed a chair, sat down, and took a small notepad out of her pocket. “Mrs Edwards, we were due to discuss your brother’s case with Mr Curtis this morning. Because you and your elder brother didn’t know him well enough, is there anyone you can think of who knew Henry well? Maybe someone he worked with?”

“Ilya, Henry’s personal assistant. You should talk to her.”

25

Processing Henry Curtis’ suicide took most of the morning. Hayes spoke to the coroner and asked her to carry out a full autopsy, which was routine in these kinds of cases. Chances were high that he’d sliced his own wrists, grieving over the death of his husband, but she wasn’t convinced, especially in light of finding the “suicide note”.

By the time her partner pulled up at the official offices of Accord FM, it was a little after two in the afternoon. She and Miller bought sandwiches and ate them in a nearby park half an hour earlier. As she opened her door and stood, Hayes saw a crumb drop to the floor. She flicked her blouse, making sure all crumbs were gone.

“Not bad for a local radio station, huh!” Miller stood admiring the glass frontage of the offices.

She wasn’t wrong. There was little in the way of brick to the building, the vast majority being tinted glass. Still, it was more sophisticated than its tiny factory-turned-radio-station sister building. This was the main broadcasting station.

Hayes met Miller at the front of their Peugeot and walked towards reception. At the doors, they had to be buzzed in. “Ilya said she’s around all day.”

Finally, after a couple of minutes a voice answered. The doors buzzed and Miller opened the door for her. Having a boyfriend agreed with her partner, she thought, thanking her. Inside, the doors clicked shut and Hayes sauntered over to the unmanned reception desk, which she leaned on. “This really is nice.”

Everything inside the building screamed sophistication; the carpets were brand new and springy. Hayes enjoyed walking on it. The desktop was marble, the wood dark brown. There were two computers. She would be forgiven for believing it to be the reception of some high-end telecoms company.

Ilya Yashnikova opened a door and greeted Hayes with what looked like a forced smile. She stepped behind the reception desk, pressed a couple of keys on the computer and gave Hayes all the attention she could muster. “I must look a fright.”

Hayes shook her head. “I think you look lovely, actually.” Apart from the slight redness to her eyes where she’d been crying, Ilya brushed up great, wearing a smart suit, white blouse, and her hair up in a gorgeous display. She noticed how big and appealing Ilya’s eyes were. And to top it all off, Henry’s PA had beautiful, straight white teeth.

There was the slightest twang of a Russian accent when she spoke. “Oh, you are too kind. I have not stopped crying since Lottie called me. I still cannot believe he’s gone, and Colin. They were both so kind to me. I would not be where I am now without them. I owe them everything I have.”

“Ms Yashnikova, we’d like to talk to you about Mr Curtis, if we may. As you know, we’re investigating Mr Fisher’s murder, and since we can no longer speak to Mr Curtis about him, we were hoping you might have some background information for us.”

“First, please call me Ilya. My surname’s a mouthful in my own language. And of course, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Is there an office, or somewhere a little more comfortable?” Hayes waited for their interviewee to