Authors: Kerry Wilkinson
He had spent the past forty-five minutes bundling the notes into neat even piles to count the day’s takings, slowly drinking his way through a bottle of gin. Some of the people in the
circles he kept preferred to stick to one type of drink but he liked the variation.
When he was happy that everything added up from the bar, Nicholas walked through to the reception area to take the entrance money. Before doing so, he went along the corridor to the front door
to check that Liam had locked up properly. It was no surprise that he found the door secured as it should be; his bar manager had never failed him before in anything that had been asked of him, let
alone with menial things such as shutting the club up. When he was done, Nicholas would leave via the fire exit in the way he always did.
After emptying the final till, he pushed everything into a money bag and then, suddenly feeling out of breath, turned and sat on the sofa. Nicholas could feel sweat on his head and wondered if
he had eaten something dodgy. If it was Tia who had been at fault, he would make sure she knew about it the following day. He grinned at the thought of yanking her out of bed by the hair when he
got home, demanding to know what she’d done to him.
Grunting as he stood, Nicholas felt a sharp pain in his chest. His eyes were drawn to the blinking light underneath the security camera in the top corner of the room, angry at his awkwardness
being documented. Staggering as quickly as he could manage, he went back through the doorway into the main part of the club, using the edge of the bar to keep himself upright.
Nicholas’s mind wandered to the detective who had visited him a few days beforehand. He stared at the stool she had been sitting on, wondering what exactly it was that she wanted. There
was the obvious thing, that the police had been trying to take him down for years, but she had something about her. At first, his plan had been to see how far he could push her, although he had
been surprised at how she stood up to him. Still, that wasn’t anything that couldn’t be put right if it ever came to it. He always took much more pleasure from quieting those who
thought they could go toe-to-toe with him.
The pains in his chest began to fade as Nicholas tried to remember what she looked like. He let go of the bar and walked as steadily as he could towards his back office. As he passed through the
first door, he flicked the latch, locking it to ensure the main part of the club was sealed. The hallway felt colder than usual, although it had an almost sobering effect as Nicholas blinked away
the confusion.
As he entered his office, he suddenly felt a weight of apprehension. Constantly having to look over his shoulder, having to anticipate what might be coming, was something he had become used to
over the years but the recent spate of panic attacks was beginning to worry him. The biggest concern was making sure no one else got to see him in that state but Nicholas could feel something
building from his stomach as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. He was panting for breath, and grabbed at the bottle of gin on his desk, leaning back and swigging until he began to cough.
He could feel the effects of the alcohol going to his head, his heart continuing to race.
Nicholas had been telling himself that he should visit a doctor but he wasn’t the type to bother talking about anything. The useless bastard would probably instruct him to lose weight and
stop drinking anyway, as if that was the magic cure to everything. He’d take a pill over that any day, although he knew what he really needed was someone new and exciting to keep him
interested. There were a few girls in the club who were potential candidates but it wasn’t as if there was a shortage of others who would be happy with the initial money on offer to come and
work for him. That had always been the way.
Finally, Nicholas began to feel his body returning to normal, the gin apparently doing the trick in settling his nerves. He opened his eyes to take in the room and, as the small voice in his
head told him he shouldn’t be paranoid, he realised there was no one there.
He had been grasping the money bag tightly in his free hand and emptied it onto the table, concentrating as he stacked the notes into piles.
As he reached the end, Nicholas heard a banging from somewhere nearby. Holding his breath, he slowly opened the top drawer of his desk, sliding out the pistol he kept there. Although he had a
licence for it as part of his constant efforts to keep everything above board, he was supposed to keep it somewhere secure. Still, if he were ever raided, that would be something that could be
argued in court; he was more concerned about his immediate safety.
The noise had made Nicholas’s head clear completely, his vision as sharp and in focus as it had been forty years ago. He bounced the metal in his hand, feeling the weight of the gun as he
quietly slid his chair backwards and edged across the room towards the hallway. He put one hand on the doorframe and poked his head out, quickly glancing each way at the empty stretch of concrete,
before withdrawing back into the office.
His office was almost opposite the door which led into the club. On the left was a small cupboard where the cleaners kept their things, while on the right was one door which led into the
girls’ changing room and a second where the toilet was. At the far end of the corridor was the fire exit.
Nicholas peered around the corner again, noticing a crack between the fire door and the frame. He once more withdrew to his office, trying to think of any legitimate reason why it might be open.
He exited through it every night but, as far as he could remember, had closed it fully the night before.
As another bang sounded, Nicholas peeped around the frame to see the fire door clattering into place, seemingly blown by the wind. He stepped into the hall, holding the gun, flicking his eyes
from side to side looking for movement but reaching the end without noticing anything. Nicholas rested one hand on the fire exit and realised it had popped back into place. He pressed down on the
bar across the centre and pushed it open, instantly feeling the wind rushing across his face. Stepping out onto the path that ran along the back of his club, Nicholas checked both ways, but it felt
like a gale whipping through his clothes, making him shiver.
Realising he was holding a weapon outside the club and that he should be sensible, Nicholas stepped back inside, closing the door behind him, waiting and listening. At first he couldn’t
hear anything except for the wind, but then he realised his heart was pounding and the hairs were standing up on his arms. He straightened himself, and it dawned on him that the burst of adrenaline
had been refreshing – he hadn’t felt that edge of excitement since the old days.
Nicholas flipped the gun’s safety device back into place and pushed it into the waistband of his trousers before nudging the toilet door open with his shoulder.
He washed his hands first, something he had done since he was young, and then unzipped his trousers as he stood over the bowl, thinking about which of his girls would make a good Mrs Long the
third.
Lost in his thoughts, Nicholas didn’t hear the steps of the intruder rushing behind him. Before he knew what was happening, there was something wrapped tightly around his face as he gasped
for breath. He swung his elbows back, but the person shoved him sideways, smashing his skull against the side of the sink.
Nicholas felt his head spinning as he hit the ground but the impact had at least given him a moment when whatever was around his face came loose, allowing him to take a breath. He was still
facing down, desperately trying to turn around, but could feel the person’s knee hard in his back, the material tightening around his mouth.
He tried to kick his way free but Nicholas knew he was beaten. Pink stars formed around the edges of his eyes, leaving him with the sole thought that someone was going to have a good laugh when
they found him dead in a puddle of his own piss.
Jessica stared at Rowlands not knowing what to say. She took another step backwards, nearly tripping over the outstretched leg of a chair.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dave mumbled, staring at his own feet.
Jessica tried to reply but her thoughts weren’t clearing quickly enough for her to process any words. Before she could compose herself, the silence was broken by her phone ringing. She
collapsed backwards into the chair she had almost fallen over and pulled it out of her jacket pocket.
‘Hello.’
At first, she couldn’t register who was trying to talk, the person’s words a cluttered mismatch of stops and starts. Jessica stood and stepped back towards the window to get a better
reception, physically pushing Rowlands away from her.
‘Can you repeat that?’ she asked.
After hearing Cole tell her the news that had just come through, Jessica dashed across the room, grabbing her coat and shouting over her shoulder as she fumbled for her keys.
‘Nicholas Long is dead, let’s go.’
Jessica couldn’t remember the last time she had driven so recklessly. She broke every speed limit and eased through every traffic light, green or not, as she sped from
Worsley towards the centre of the city. The rain wasn’t helping but she was as focused on the road as she possibly could be, looking for gaps in the traffic and opportunities to gain a few
seconds, using the concentration to block out the double hit of information.
Dave Rowlands loved her.
It was no wonder he’d been so awkward over the past few months. Those knowing looks from Izzy suddenly made sense. Jessica didn’t know how she had missed it.
If that wasn’t enough, Nicholas Long was dead; the man she had spent the past few days hearing horrific stories about, the person she had vowed would be taken down one way or the other.
Someone else apparently agreed with her.
Aside from swearing under her breath, the journey to Nicholas’s club was completed in silence. If Rowlands had dared say a word, she would have stopped the vehicle and made him get out,
rain or no rain.
By the time they arrived, half of Albert Square was cordoned off, along with the streets around the club. Jessica parked behind one of the marked police cars and got out, not waiting for
Rowlands to follow. She took out her identification and was waved towards the scene by an officer in uniform she didn’t recognise. There were four officers standing outside the front of the
club, but they let her through. Jessica knew the inside layout all too well, walking along the dark corridor towards reception and then cutting through into the main area. A few officers were
milling around and one pointed her towards the back offices.
Cole was standing in the hallway as Jessica entered, panting for breath. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, but Jessica didn’t know if he was referring to her breathlessness or if
he somehow knew what else had been happening.
‘Is he really dead?’ she asked.
‘Definitely.’
‘You saw the body?’
‘He’s still there if you want to.’
Jessica wouldn’t usually go out of her way to see something so morbid but after everything she had heard recently, she felt an irresistible urge. The chief inspector stayed where he was as
Jessica edged forward. At the far end of the corridor, there were people working in white paper suits and hair nets. One of them noticed Jessica but the look in her eyes must have told them that
she was coming to look at the body regardless of what they thought.
The Scene of Crime officer nodded towards her and turned. Jessica stepped carefully along the hallway, being careful not to touch anything, as she was led to the entrance of a toilet at the end.
From the doorway, she could see the unmistakeable shape of Nicholas Long’s body on the floor, a pistol lying next to his hand.
‘He was on his front when we arrived,’ the officer said.
‘Was he suffocated?’
‘Probably.’
Jessica treaded forward gently, glancing from side to side. She saw a chip had been taken out of the sink, a piece of the white ceramic on the floor next to Nicholas’s hand. Jessica
crouched and leant forward to see the contorted look on his face as the officer said ‘steady’ over her shoulder. She looked down at a pool of liquid on the floor she had somehow missed.
All of a sudden the smell hit her and she didn’t need to ask what it was. Jessica stood again, stepping backwards carefully, having seen everything she wanted to. She took no particular
pleasure from viewing the corpse but couldn’t deny there was a definite feeling of satisfaction he couldn’t hurt anyone again. Facedown in a puddle of his own making seemed just about
right too.
Rowlands was hovering uncomfortably next to Cole but Jessica ignored him as she spoke to the DCI. ‘It seems like it’s the same person who killed Oliver and Kayleigh.’
‘Yep.’
‘Can we have a quiet word?’ Jessica glanced sideways at Rowlands to indicate that meant without him. Cole nodded and pushed the door open to the main part of the club, walking across
to the long sofa where Jessica had seen the girls lounging on her first visit to the place.
The red velvet material felt cheap and uncomfortable as Jessica slid in next to the chief constable, before telling him everything she had found out over the past few days from Eleanor,
Leviticus and Ruby. If he was angry, he didn’t show it, instead replying with a simple: ‘So what you’re saying is that we have a few suspects?’
He smiled thinly at her.
‘I’m sorry for going around you.’
Cole scratched his head and laughed slightly. ‘I’m not as out of the loop as you might think.’
‘Oh.’
Jessica waited for him to elaborate but he said nothing, the knowing smile fixed on his face. Jessica broke the silence. ‘Who found him?’
‘The bar manager – Liam someone or other. He’s off being spoken to now. He says he came to open the place up and found his boss where we did, then called us straight
away.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘No, we’ll get a statement today, then you can read it through and go back to him tomorrow to see if anything has changed.’
Jessica narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you suspicious of him?’