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

of different tyre tracks. I think that says it all, don’t you?” She slid the key in the ignition and turned over the engine.

“Let’s see what Ms Lang has to say, shall we?” Miller looked at her.

As she drove away from the kerb, Hayes mused, “So, I wonder what they’re working on. It can’t be just a new valve, surely. How can a valve be society-changing?”

“No, it has to be something bigger than that.”

“Let’s hope Charlotte Edwards finds something good in that deposit box.” Hayes turned into a road on their right.

“Fingers crossed, huh!” Miller stared out of her side window.

Hayes drove them to Paula Lang’s huge, secluded house. It was surrounded by acres of land, its nearest neighbour a quarter of a mile away. “Nice digs,” Hayes said to Miller, who whistled at the decadence. “Look at the garden. Wow!”

“If she’s been bumped off like Parekh, we can’t hope for neighbours to have seen anything, can we? Look around.”

Ignoring her partner’s negativity, Hayes got out and joined Miller as they walked along the gravel to the front door. There were two cars on the drive. She stepped up to the wooden door and knocked.

Nothing.

She tried a further three times, each knock louder than the last, until she smashed the knocker. Trying the handle, it turned, the door opening. Hayes checked with Miller, who stood to the side and let her take the lead. Her cosh was in her hand extended before she realised what she’d done. An automatic reflex. Miller also had her metal baton out. “Paula Lang? I’m Detective Inspector Amanda Hayes. Please shout out if you’re here.”

Nothing.

Stepping inside, nerves on edge, Hayes walked through the house room by room. With no sign of life, no sign of a struggle, she cleared the downstairs, proceeding up to the bathrooms and bedrooms, where she expected to find someone, dead or hiding. Miller followed her upstairs.

Upon clearing the fourth and final bedroom, bathrooms included, Hayes breathed a sigh of relief at not finding Paula Lang and her husband dead. She’d found victims this way before. “There’s something not right about this. Their cars are here, the front door’s unlocked, her handbag and phone are on the kitchen counter, and I saw a wallet and mobile on the coffee table in the lounge.”

“Shall we call it in?” Miller retracted her cosh and put it back in her suit jacket. “Although, what do we call it in as?”

That was a good question, Hayes thought, putting her own cosh away. “I don’t know. Maybe we should look at their phones, call some of their friends and see if they’ve heard from them, but I don’t think they will have.”

“Do you think they’re dead?” Miller asked.

Staring at the huge unslept-in double bed, Hayes agreed with Miller’s question. “Like Mrs Parekh said, they’re clearing house. They’ve tried to make Parekh look like an accident, and Richard Fisher look like a paedophile. Personally, I don’t think we’ll ever find Paula Lang, or the others. They’re erasing all connections to the project.”

“We’re going to have to bypass their passcodes somehow. We need a tech head in here who’ll open the phones for us.” Miller led their way back downstairs, where Hayes picked up Mr Lang’s phone with gloved hands.

Two hours later, Miller joined her in the kitchen after the IT guy they called in opened both phones in no time at all. SOCOs were busy dusting for prints in their coveralls. “Nothing?”

Miller said, “Nope.”

“I managed to speak to Paula’s sister, who said she was here yesterday afternoon having a barbecue with the family. She last saw or heard from her sister in the evening, but she did say they weren’t close.”

“Most of Mr Lang’s contacts are work related. Although, when I spoke to one colleague, he did say he’s not expecting to see Mr Lang until next Monday. He’s on holiday this week. Is there any chance they had three vehicles and are on holiday?”

“Wishful thinking, Miller,” she said. “Who goes on holiday and leaves their front door unlocked, and phones and wallets on tables? Nah, they’re missing. If only this place had CCTV, or something.”

51

“What the fuck are we doing here, Sarge?” Walker sat in the driver’s seat of the black VW van. He knew full well what Sarge had in mind but didn’t want to acknowledge it himself. “We’ve been here for hours. They’re obviously not coming.”

“Ah, they’ll be here all right.” Sarge leaned back in his seat.

Vodicka leaned in between them, sat on her knees in the back. “This is where they come every Monday night. I trust my guy. If he says they’ll be here, they will. Be patient. I know how much you want to pay them back for Zuccari.”

In front of them, on Walker’s right, was a kebab shop, the owner of which owed protection money to Yasin and Unar Inan, Melodi Demirci’s cousins. Being quiet on a Monday night, very few people were out walking along the high street, which was fortunate.

“Of course I do, but it doesn’t look like they’re coming, does it?” He wanted to be anywhere but here. Walker had no intention of getting involved in giving the Inans a beating; it wasn’t why he joined the police force. He tilted his head back. If he had the balls, he would tell Sarge and Vodicka he was out.

“There they are!” The sarge was excited. “I brought these along.”

Walker stared, dumbstruck, at the balaclava his superior handed him. “What the fuck’s this? I’m not wearing a mask.” He threw it back at Sarge, who glared at him.

“You’ll wear it if you want to be a part of this, Luke.” He handed it back. “I’m not going in that shop showing them my face and making myself and my family targets. No, we’re going in there, we’re going to bundle these pricks into the back of this van, we’re going to drive them out to a farm I know, beat the shit out of them, and