Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

“Why?” Donnelly asked.

“We don’t want to panic the public,” Sean told him. “We want to use the press in a controlled fashion. We’re not out to make headlines here.

“Second, and more important, we don’t want the killer knowing we’ve made a link. If it is Hellier, then let’s leave him thinking we’re only looking at him for the one. Keep the pressure on him for our murder and maybe he’ll be distracted and make a mistake with the other. No point in showing him our hand. The next time I interview Hellier, I want to be able to take him to pieces, bit by bit. If we can get the evidence, then I’ll be able to break through to him and get him talking-and if I can get him talking, I can bury him. If I can get him talking, he’ll bury himself.”

“What about the other two suspects?” Zukov asked before the detectives scattered. “Paramore and Jonnie Dempsey?”

“Anything, anybody?” Sean asked.

“Paramore’s still missing,” said Donnelly, “but Fiona’s dug something up on Dempsey. Fiona. .”

DC Fiona Cahill, a tall, slim detective in her midthirties with short, neatly cut hazelnut hair, got to her feet, her slightly deep voice and cultured accent further setting her apart. “I’ve been working my way through Daniel’s friends one by one. I spoke to a guy called Ferdie Edwards who tells me that Dempsey did indeed know Daniel and that they were friends, but he also told me they were more than just that.”

“Lovers?” Sean jumped in, a flicker of excitement in his heart.

“No,” said Cahill. “Business partners.”

“What?” Sean asked disbelievingly.

“Apparently, Dempsey worked as a kind of middleman. If he heard of a customer in the club who might be willing to pay for sex, he’d steer them toward Daniel-for a cut of the money, of course. He’d also look out for Daniel, watch his back, so to speak.”

“This is all very interesting,” Sean said impatiently, “but where are we going with it?”

“Well, Edwards reckons that Daniel was getting a bit fed up with the arrangement.”

“You mean he was getting fed up handing over a share of his hard-earned cash to Dempsey,” Donnelly guessed.

“Exactly,” Cahill confirmed. “Edwards said they’d had at least one heated argument over it-Dempsey telling our victim he’d have him banned from the club if he didn’t keep paying up, and Daniel telling Dempsey he already had someone else in the club watching his back who would make sure he was never barred from entering.”

“Do we know who?” Sean asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Probably one of the bouncers,” Donnelly said.

“Probably,” Sean agreed. “What a bloody mess.”

“ ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we endeavor to deceive,’ ” Donnelly added.

Sean took over: “Jonnie the barman has just taken a significant step forward as a viable suspect, so let’s find him. And let’s find out who else had Daniel’s back at the nightclub. And while we’re at it, let’s find Paramore too. We need to speak to all of them-and soon.”

“All right, everybody,” said Donnelly, stepping on as soon as he judged Sean had finished. “You’ve all got plenty to be getting on with, so let’s hustle. And make sure you return all completed actions back to me as soon as they’re ready. You get the jigsaw pieces and I solve the puzzle, remember?”

The meeting broke up, the few detectives who had been there swiftly exiting the briefing room. Other than Sean, Donnelly was the last to leave. He nodded to Sean on his way out, moving a little faster than normal, but not so anyone would have noticed. Instead of returning to the incident room with everyone else, he headed for the fire exit and walked down two flights of stairs to the main part of the station. Still moving fast, he made his way to a small room that housed two old photocopying machines. It also had a phone. The room was empty. Donnelly picked up the phone and dialed.

DS Samra answered. “Hello.”

“Raj. It’s Dave.”

“David.” Samra sounded cautious. “What you after?”

“That little matter I discussed with Jimmy Dawson and yourself. .” He let it hang, waiting for Samra to respond.

“I remember,” Samra confirmed.

“Change of plan.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m not just interested in homosexual murders now. I need to know about anything nasty, and I need to know first.”

“How nasty we talking?”

“Stranger attacks. Lack of motive, lots of mess. Anything sexual too. I’m not interested in domestics, gang related, drugs, or drunks.”

“I’ll do my best,” Raj said.

“Same as before,” Donnelly continued. “Spread the word, but keep it quiet. Remember, I need to know first.” He hung up.

Raj looked at his phone for a moment, then he began to make some calls. He called DS Jimmy Dawson first. If Jimmy was happy to do as Donnelly said, then so was he.

Hellier stood by the window in the office of one of the other junior partners. They drank coffee and shared a few sexist jokes. Their perfect secretary was the subject of much of their posturing and sexual boasting. It was as well she couldn’t hear them.

Hellier meant little of what he said. It was important to engage in this sort of social discourse with his colleagues once in a while. Especially now, following his arrest. The innuendo that he was gay could be more damaging than being suspected of murder. Ridiculous people.

His mood was excellent this morning. He would have paid a considerable sum to have been a fly on the wall when Corrigan found out he’d slipped past them. They’d look like fools a few more times before he was finished.

And then, when the time was perfect, he’d disappear. Leave this God-cursed place and start again. But first Corrigan needed breaking. He’d sworn it. Corrigan had humiliated him and now he would pay a heavy price. The Italians say revenge is a dish best served cold. He didn’t agree. His would be served scalding hot.

The perfect secretary knocked on the open door. He shook the daydreaming from his head.

“What is it, Samantha?” Hellier’s colleague asked.

She looked at Hellier. “It’s actually Mr. Hellier I need to see.”

Hellier stood away from the windowsill. He smiled pleasantly. “Fire away.”

“I have someone on the phone for you, sir, but they won’t give me a name or tell me what it’s about.”

Fucking journalists. Fucking Corrigan. “Well, get rid of them then.”

Strangely, Samantha hesitated at the door, her obedience faltering.

Hellier saw the hesitation. “Well?” he asked.

“They sound quite desperate, sir. They claim to have very important information for you. They’ll only speak to you personally and in private.”

Hellier’s eyes narrowed. “Put the call through to my office.”

Sally walked to the headquarters of the National Criminal Intelligence Service, known as NCIS, situated in Spring Gardens, Lambeth, close to both the forensics laboratory and the nightclub where Daniel Graydon had spent his last night. NCIS remained low profile. You wouldn’t know they were there unless you were looking hard.

She had abandoned her car to the mercy of traffic wardens and small-time thieves. Life still functioned at the base level in Lambeth. Survival of the fittest was the nature of the game here. Any respect or fear the local population had for the police had long since disappeared. They lived by their own laws now.

Security was expectedly tight at the NCIS building. Sally buzzed the video intercom and waited. A soulless male voice eventually answered.

“State your business, please.”

“DS Jones, Serious Crime Group. Here to see DS Graham Wright. I believe he works in Counterfeit Currency.” She held her identification up to the camera. The door was opened after a slight delay. She walked to the reception desk. The security guard was already waiting for her. He gave her a visitor’s name tag and directions to the Counterfeit Currency section. She nodded thanks and moved toward the lift.