Cold Killers (14 page)

He screwed up his face. ‘I was hoping for something a bit more edible. I know a restaurant just a short drive from here on Upper Street. Would you be keen? Just to grab a quick
lunch?’

‘Can we make it back within the hour?’

‘Within two hours, anyway,’ answered Ross. ‘After all, it is a meeting, it’s work. It will take what it takes.’

‘Okay, sir.’

It was a short ride to the restaurant, but a long time between courses. Meanwhile Willis had all her notes on the table. Ross gave them his full attention and they achieved a lot. Willis happily
tucked into a pudding while Ross was sipping coffee.

‘You married, Willis?’ he asked. She shook her head while sucking the sticky-toffee residue from her spoon. ‘I was,’ he said, nodding knowingly.

Willis shovelled in the rest of her pudding and held her hand up for the waitress.

‘Coffee, please.’

‘No cheese board?’ Ross smirked good-humouredly. Willis considered it and then shook her head. Ross continued talking: ‘I was married for fifteen years. The job pretty much
destroys any chance of a happy marriage.’

Willis shrugged. ‘Lots of people manage it. Dan Carter’s not married but he has a long-term partner, it works for them. I guess it depends on choosing the right partner. Lots of
professions would be the same: doctors, nurses, explorers, Navy, Army, people who work on oil rigs . . .’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you want me to go on with the list?’

‘I got it, thanks.’ He lifted his hand for her to stop. ‘Absolutely, you’re right. Carter seems like a good bloke; you’re obviously close. Do you know his
family?’

‘Yes. I know them well.’

‘That’s a great thing. You know, I tried really hard to juggle it: family life, marriage, but working the hours we do – it was always going to fail.’

‘The affair didn’t do it, then?’

He looked up from his coffee a little surprised. ‘Ah . . . you’ve been doing a bit of research on me?’

Willis shrugged. ‘Basic stuff. I wanted to know about your career and I found out about your marriage problems along the way.’ She pushed her empty bowl to one side, and checked her
phone for messages. She turned her phone over and put it on the table in front of her. ‘We should get back, sir.’

‘You’re right. Sorry to take you away from your desk, or your colleagues.’

She held eye contact with him and shook her head. ‘I’m happy to work with you, sir. I’m looking forward to it. But I don’t need to know about your private life. I
don’t expect us to become best friends. I’m just hoping we work well together. That matters most to me.’

‘Do you think we can?’

‘I hope so. This job means an awful lot to a lot of people.’

‘We can agree on that. This is a big job. In the end, it could be massive, could affect all of our lives. I’ve spent my entire time in the NCA trying to bring Tony Butcher to
justice. I’ve been planning it for so long. He does so much harm in the UK. He’s responsible for so much of the drugs abuse on the streets. I want this to be the most significant arrest
of my whole career so far. I want my daughters to grow up knowing that their dad helped bring down one of the biggest villains the UK has ever produced.’

Willis was studying him. She’d learned about his career. He came in as an inspector; he was one of the graduate class: psychology degree. But he had earned respect.

‘I read that you were in the MIT before NCA was set up,’ she said.

‘That’s right. I loved it, but I’m not done changing departments. I believe everyone has a limited life in each specialist department, otherwise you become overfamiliar and you
stop seeing the opportunities. You need to keep a fresh outlook. You don’t want to go stale.’

‘I guess that’s true of some things. But I believe in continually striving for perfection and then hanging on to it. I don’t believe in spreading myself too thin. I’m
committing my career to being the best murder detective I can possibly be,’ replied Willis. ‘I don’t ever want to change departments.’

‘And what about your career prospects if you stay where you are? They are very limited.’

She shrugged. ‘If I make it to inspector, I wouldn’t want any more. I’m not a “people person”. I like the investigation more than I like talking to the
press.’ She smiled at Ross’s frown. ‘Don’t worry: I’m not the least bothered. I am gradually growing into my own skin and realising what I’m good at.’

‘Which is?’

‘Well, maybe you answer that for me at the end of this investigation. But I can tell you what Dan Carter says I’m not good at and need to work on.’

He smiled. ‘Go on.’

‘Making friends, or pretending to make friends in order to get information out of people. I’m always told I need to lighten up, too. Carter would like to see me dance on a few more
tables, let my hair down a bit.’ She rolled her eyes, embarrassed.

‘What does he say you’re good at?’

‘Observing people’s weaknesses. Seeing beneath the bullshit. Carter usually does the talking while I do the watching. He also says I’m a magnet for anyone with mental-health
issues, which I don’t consider to be an asset, to be honest.’

He smiled, studied her. ‘You’re an interesting person. Probably a graduate, and yet you are still a sergeant, so you must have chosen to come in at the bottom of the ladder, unlike
me.’

‘You didn’t research me then?’

‘No, I didn’t. But I can take a guess. You took a degree in politics? Psychology?’

‘Criminal law and forensics.’

‘Very impressive. Middle-class, maybe single white mum, black dad? Your pronunciation of certain words, your use of the cutlery, your knowledge, or lack of, of the menu, you’re a
strange mix.’ She smiled at him. He continued: ‘There are gaps, things you didn’t learn in your childhood, despite your underlying middle-class accent. I can almost hear a Welsh
note in the way you pronounce certain words.’

Willis was fully focused on Ross now. She was intrigued by his appraisal of her: he was much more accurate than she thought he would be. She’d spent a lot of her childhood in
children’s homes. The three longest stints had been in Wales.

‘There’s a challenging childhood. There’s a bright child who struggled with her home life.’

‘Very good.’ She smiled across the table. ‘So, you’ve gone down the clichéd route of mixed race but well spoken and come up with: single white middle-class mother
deserted by her black boyfriend and all the stigma of being the only girl of colour in a posh school.’

‘Well, if the cap fits . . .’

‘It doesn’t. Hello?’ Willis turned and signalled for the waitress. ‘Bill, please.’

‘I’ll get this,’ said Ross. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘You didn’t. That’s one thing I’m good at – not getting offended.’

‘I didn’t find out about you, I’m at a disadvantage and you are obviously a much more thorough police officer than me; but I think we get on well enough. I mean, I think we are
both determined to get this right. I’m a hard worker. I don’t mind the hours. All I have is my work. I have heard you’re also driven by work. That’s great. I’m
completely focused.’

‘What about your daughters?’

‘Millie and Beatrice? Five and seven years old. I see them every other weekend. My ex, Belinda, is very accommodating. She and her new partner never mind changing things around if I need
to. Like when we go to Spain, to Marbella, it won’t be a problem.’

‘Excuse me.’ Willis looked at her phone. ‘DI Carter just sent me a message. It seems Harold and Laurence are booked on the flight back here this afternoon. They will be landing
at Gatwick. Shall we have them picked up?’

‘I think that’s a good idea. You have facilities in the station next to Fletcher House, to interview and hold them?’

‘Yes.’

Willis took the bill from the waitress and passed it across to Ross. ‘I’ll take you to somewhere better next time,’ she said. ‘Carter has introduced me to some great
Italian restaurants.’

‘He’s going to be a hard act to follow.’

‘I’m not looking to replace him, sir.’

Tony stood and shuffled off into his office, sliding his bare feet along the marble floor. Harold was sitting in the Don’s office, in an armchair, asleep. He looked
ashen.

Tony came to stand in front of him and nudged him, so that it brought Harold awake with a jolt. He handed him the orange juice Debbie had brought him.

Harold took the juice and drank it straight back. He shook his head awake and rubbed his face. His five-o’clock shadow sounded like sandpaper beneath his hand. His nails were dirty. His
hands were sore. He stared at Tony accusingly.

‘Don’t look so worried, Harold. I know what I’m doing,’ Tony said, watching him curiously.

Harold sat looking at the floor for a few minutes, then began shaking his head slowly.

‘Last night wasn’t right, Tony. If I hadn’t pulled Della out of that hole, Marco would have buried her along with Francisco or Mum would have burned her alive.’

‘Rubbish! Just a bit of fun, that’s all. She needs taking down a peg or two. Eddie should have done it long ago.’ Tony went to sit behind his desk.

‘I didn’t do right by Eddie. I should have stopped him going that day,’ Harold said, staring out into space.

‘But you didn’t, and neither did I, and we have to live with that,’ answered Tony. ‘All we can do is make them pay for it now. And we will, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Excuse me, Harold, I can’t hear you.’

‘Right, Tony, okay? Right, bloody right.’

‘That’s it, Harold, get that anger stoked. We’re going to need plenty of it. Heads are going to roll when you get home.’

Tony walked past Laurence on his way out onto the veranda muttering to himself while smoking a cigarette.

Laurence drank his coffee and watched him. He was wondering just how mad Tony could get before a meltdown. Tony turned and stopped at that moment and he looked straight through the glass at
Laurence, as if he knew his thoughts. Then he came scurrying back into the room and came to stand in front of Laurence at the table.

‘Talk?’

‘Sure.’ Laurence picked up his coffee and followed Tony into his office.

‘Where’s Harold?’ Laurence asked. He hadn’t seen Harold pass.

‘Harold’s gone to pack.’

‘Okay.’ Laurence sat in one of the armchairs and waited for Tony to get settled behind his desk. He studied his brother. Tony’s eyes looked sore. His face had a strange fierce
blush. He smelled of stale sweat, bonfire and dirt.

‘What happened last night?’ Laurence asked as Tony seemed to be fiddling with something in his drawer. ‘Mum looks really ill today.’

‘Uh . . .’ Tony rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he pretended to struggle to recall. ‘Nothing, few drinks too many, that’s all, but we needed to let off steam. No, Mum
is fine, Mum is grand.’

‘You going to be okay here when we’ve gone?’ Laurence asked.

Tony’s eyes opened wide as he thought about the answer to the question.

‘Have to be now Eddie’s gone. There are going to have to be big adjustments. We’re going to miss him. The world has to carry on.’

‘Of course, but we need to know why he was murdered. We are all at risk until then. Harold and I are heading back to the UK knowing
full well
that we face the same death as Eddie,
unless we find out who did it.’

‘Is that all you care about?’

‘I care about what happened to Eddie the way he would care about it if it happened to me.’

‘Hey, lighten up – you won’t be a target. Eddie meddled in something he shouldn’t have and it all went badly wrong.’

‘You know what went wrong?’

‘He pissed off the wrong people. In this world, you can’t afford to do that. We all know that. You know that, don’t you, Laurence? Even in your world, you know there are people
to be avoided, villains who you really don’t want to do business with?’

‘I have to choose my clients carefully, it’s true.’

‘We are proud of you. Proud of the start we gave you in life. I never minded giving you my share of what the old man left us. Lucky the old man bought up the properties he did. He was a
shrewd old bastard and you’ve done well with the property-management company. You’ve become quite a businessman now with it all. Is it all going well?’

‘Yes. It could always be better. What do you mean I won’t be a target? Eddie was a legitimate businessman, wasn’t he? His only mistake was belonging to this family and perhaps
living half a mile from you.’

‘Well, I’m not saying anything. But, Eddie was a lot of things to a lot of people. Maybe he spread himself too thin, made promises he couldn’t keep. It has nothing to do with
you; you will be safe.’ Laurence was churning things over in his brain. Tony continued: ‘I saw you bought up a place in Bethnal Green. What are you going to do with it? Why is it still
empty?’ Tony had worked his face into a picture of concentrated interest but one of his eyes had developed a tic in the last twenty-four hours and he kept trying to stop it by pulling at his
eye. It was swollen and sore now.

‘I thought it was a good investment. The area is getting gentrified. I’ll go for change of use if no one wants to make it into a gastro pub. I can turn it into flats.’ Laurence
was distracted, annoyed. He was exasperated, talking about his business as if it were a normal day at the office. He didn’t like any of the others interfering in his world of legitimate
business. He saw them as naive to the real world of people earning proper livings.

Tony’s face was starting to turn into a mask of boredom and the tic was intensifying.

‘Don’t worry about my business, Tony. When you’re in the legit world you take some knocks. I don’t mind being patient. Okay, I’m going,’ said Laurence.
‘I can see you have a lot on your mind,’ he added sarcastically, replacing his coffee cup in its saucer as he watched Tony snort a large line of coke.

Tony smiled at Laurence’s intended slight.

‘I’m not worried, far from it. I want you to take over Paradise Villas.’

Laurence was taken aback. He sat down again.

‘Really? Why? I presumed that it would stay as it is. That Della would at some time step in to keep it profitable, or that it would be left to Billy Manson to manage it for her.’