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

matches a muzzle from a pistol. Someone forced him at gunpoint to write a sloppy suicide note, then marched him to his bathroom, where they sat him in his tub and slashed his wrists so deep the blade touched bone. You’re right about him bleeding out. That’s how he died, and you stand to gain sixty per cent more of a profitable enterprise. That’s some motive to want Henry Curtis out of the way, wouldn’t you say?”

Stunned silence.

Hayes waited while Melodi Demirci whispered with her lawyer. She was expecting the lawyer to say the meeting was over, that they’d answered enough questions. Demirci sat back and eyed her.

“I had no idea Henry was murdered, detective, and in light of this, I’ve decided to give you everything you ask for. Of course you can look at Accord’s accounts. It goes without saying. If these files can lead you to the killers, then I want you to use them. I will have my company’s accounts sent over this afternoon, along with the radio station’s.”

With her mouth hung open, Hayes felt a nudge from Gillan. Snapping herself out of it, she thanked Demirci. “Um, the sooner we get them, the sooner we find those responsible.” This was highly unexpected, like a confession from a cold case killer.

“If I’m prime suspect number one, I want you to find these bastards as much as you do. It’s not easy, you know, having people believe you do these horrible things when you don’t. I help people; I don’t hurt them.”

Hayes wasn’t buying Demirci’s holier than thou routine. What a load of bollocks. But was she telling the truth about not being Henry’s killer? Her fingerprints were all over the investigation, yet Demirci was giving her access to all the accounts? Puzzling. “If you say so.”

“It’s a stereotype, that’s all. People think because I own a casino that I have my cousins going around making collections for me. It’s all crap. The gambling industry’s so heavily regulated now that I can’t get away with anything. It’s not like the seventies, we’re not in Las Vegas. This is the UK. I run a tight ship, with a tight stranglehold over my employees. That’s how I’ve turned the casino around, not by hiring muscle to break legs if I don’t get my money.”

Hayes wanted to get started with the accounts. She questioned Demirci for a further half an hour, asking about her relationship with Colin Fisher. She got the impression there was nothing in it. Reluctantly, she and Gillan let Demirci and her solicitor leave.

38

Charlotte parked up outside the main office of Fisher Valves, the company her clever elder brother started all those years earlier. When God had been handing out brains, she and Colin were bypassed in favour of Richard. It wasn’t fair!

The receptionist was busy behind her desk. Charlotte couldn’t remember the last time she drove to the factory outlet to speak with Richard, but with how she’d left it with him earlier, Charlotte had to fix it.

After the detectives left her house, she argued with Richard about why he lied to them, and so brazenly. Her brother was a horrible drunk, which his ex would attest to as part of the reason she left him. The row grew until it reached critical mass, and Richard launched himself out of her front door.

Looking at the dash, Charlotte noted it was late afternoon. Some of Richard’s staff were leaving for the weekend, probably looking forward to after-work drinks. Gathering up her mobile and bag from the passenger seat, she opened her door and got out.

Why was she here? Would Richard even talk to her? Would he remember what happened earlier? With these unanswered questions, and more, she walked through the reception doors, and up to the desk.

“Hi there! Can I help you?” The receptionist was young, brunette, pretty.

“I was wondering if Richard’s in?”

“I’m sorry! We have four Richards here. You’ll need to be more specific.”

Charlotte felt terrible. She should visit him often enough for his receptionist to recognise her as his sister. “Um, Richard Fisher. Could you tell him his sister’s here, please?”

The receptionist smiled. “I didn’t know he had a sister. I’ll check his office.”

Way to lay on the guilt trip. The brunette replaced the phone and pulled an apologetic smile.

“He’s not in? I just came on the off-chance. Thanks anyway.” When Charlotte turned to leave, the brunette spoke.

“He’s at our other site. If you’re quick, you might catch him.” She scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “I knew he had a younger brother. I wonder why he didn’t mention you.”

She ignored the rhetorical question and read the address. “I didn’t know about another site. When did the company take this on?”

“A little over three years ago, I believe. I wasn’t here back then. I would’ve been taking my GCSEs. But as far as I know, they hired it for a special project. Everyone’s a bit excited around here, as Richard’s going to fill us all in next Thursday, before a press conference on Friday.” She made a funny, excited squeal noise, her hands pressed together.

Charlotte almost laughed at her exuberance. Bitch. So young, with the rest of her life in front of her. She thanked the whipper snapper and walked to her car, mumbling to herself about being ignored by Richard.

In Friday afternoon traffic, it took her forty mumble-filled minutes to arrive at the Croydon address the receptionist handed her. The units in front of her were closed, the metal shutters down. She hoped they had not all gone for the day.

“I wonder what your little project is,” she muttered, pulling up in front of the reception door. There was only one other car there. Richard’s wouldn’t be because his was still in her driveway from earlier. “What’re you hiding, Richard?”

Wandering up to the wooden door, she tried the handle and it opened. “Hello?” Charlotte found someone tinkering with a blue car in the centre of the