Murder on the Hill (14 page)

Leadbetter and the group just nodded.

“Please,” Smythe-Johnson said, “d-d-don’t tell anyone. We meant no h-h-harm.”

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll keep your secret, but you owe us a favour if we need one.”

“Anything,” Leadbetter said. “We’ll lose our jobs if this comes out.”

“Fine.” I turned to Cordi. “You ready to get out of here?”

Before Cordi had a chance to reply, we heard a scream coming from inside the care home, the crash of a window being broken, and a few seconds later, the roar of a motorbike speeding away from the home and into the night.

Leadbetter and the others ditched their robes to reveal their regular workwear underneath and ran to the door that led into the main building. Cordi and I followed. More screams came from down a hall. A high-pitched wail, full of pain.

My skin prickled with the sound.

We burst out through a pair of double doors at the end of a hallway. We had come into what looked like a common room with a couple of dozen armchairs arranged around tables with various games of chess and dominoes in progress.

Four of the chairs were pushed onto their sides. The large glass window that looked out across the front grounds was smashed. And lying among the debris of glass and chess pieces, Winkle’s body.

“Oh my god, it’s Winkle,” I said. “Is he okay?”

Leadbetter dashed to him. I walked closer slowly, a pit opening up in my guts. He looked so very still. Leadbetter pressed her fingers to his neck and then to his wrist. A heavy silence descended as we waited.

“He’s gone,” Leadbetter said after an eternity.

I stifled a choke and kneeled down closer. I saw a patch of blood on the back of his head. “He’s been killed,” I said. “Someone’s done this to him. Someone’s murdered Winkle.” Tears welled up in my eyes. Cordi helped me up and held me.

He seemed like such a sweet old man. How could anyone do this?

A buzz of activity went on around me, but I wasn’t really paying attention to it all. The adrenaline of the earlier surprise and now this had left me numb as care home workers fussed around the scene, clearing us out of the room.

It was when I stepped out into the hallway that I saw the security guard propped up on a plastic chair, his head in his hands, covered in blood.

“What happened?” Cordi asked him.

He looked up at us, confusion in his eyes. “I… don’t really know,” he said, slurring his words. “One minute I was doing my rounds, the next minute I wake up with a pain in my head and all hell’s broken loose.”

Looking around, I saw a couple of security cameras up in the corners of the ceiling. “Do the cameras work?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He raised his arm and pointed to an open door across the hall. “In there.”

We helped him inside, and he worked the controls for the security camera footage. Scrolling the video back a few minutes, we watched it all play out.

Two shadows, mine and Cordi’s, passed by the camera as we walked past one of the windows. A second later a third shadow entered the frame. Someone was following us. But before they could reach us, the security guard’s bulky form came into view and the shadow dashed away.

The footage showed the guard walk down the hallway, looking into each room as he went. When he approached the double doors that led into the common room, the shadow appeared behind him. A figure in all black clothing struck him on the back of the head, knocking him to the ground.

The figure turned back, presumably to head for Cordi and me.

But just a few steps after they were coming for us, one of the doors the guard had looked into opened and Winkle stepped out. He raised his hand to point at the figure and he said something. The figure turned, and Winkle shuffle-ran into the common room, the figure quickly chasing him down.

The security guard moved the footage over to another camera.

I looked away as the intruder attacked Winkle and smashed the window with whatever weapon it was they had in their hand. They jumped through and sped off on a black motorcycle.

I sat heavily down on a computer chair, trying not to throw up.

In the distance I heard the wailing of police sirens and knew I was in trouble. And worse, Winkle was dead.

CHAPTER 15

For two long hours, the police interviewed me in a small, hot room in Notting Hill’s station.

They had grilled me on what Cordi and I were doing at the care home. In a rare occasion of my dealing with the police, I had been completely honest and told them everything right from the very first incident that started all this off: The break-in at Bellman’s.

Two officers sat opposite me, sipping from plastic cups of disgusting coffee. The interview was being recorded. I felt like a perp in one of those cop dramas like
Law & Order
. Or perhaps
CSI: Notting Hill
.

I sighed. “I’ve told you everything,” I said, trying to get this over and done with. They had asked me the same questions over and over. This was so they could make sure I was consistent. That’s the good thing about truth: as long as you don’t lie, you’ll never make a mistake.

Liars need amazing memories.

Mine wasn’t bad, but I had no need to lie about this.

I wanted Winkle’s killer found. The old guy had made quite an impression on me in the few short minutes we had spoken. I suppose it’s because I never knew my grandparents, so I kind of look at older people like him with fondness—it’s probably psychological projection or something.

“Tell me again what you and your accomplice were doing at the care home at that hour,” Officer Salassi said. He had a hint of a Nigerian accent mixed in with his broad cockney.

“Again? The story won’t change,” I said. “And Cordi is no accomplice. She’s my employer.”

“Humour us,” Officer Kava said. She was the good cop so far of the duo. A young Scandinavian blonde woman with cheekbones that could kill, she provided a stark contrast to Salassi’s dark-skinned rounded face. Neither seemed particularly enamoured with me, though.

I just hoped that Cole’s ID checked out.

I told them the whole thing again. They made more notes and looked at me impassively.

“Well, that’s it,” I said. “If you lot were doing your jobs properly with regard to Mr. and Mrs. Bellman, Cordi and I wouldn’t have had to investigate this ourselves. You guys have put up quite the reward. I guess it’s cheaper to pay for a result than looking into it yourselves. If anyone here is to blame, it’s the police,” I said, exasperated and wanting to get the hell out of there.

“We’ll be cross-checking your story with the residents and Ms. Leadbetter,” Salassi said. “In the meantime, we’re holding you on suspicion of intent to break and enter.”

“The door was open!” I said. “We were only going there to check it out with no intention of breaking into anywhere.”

Kava raised an eyebrow and checked her notes. She reeled off all the tools that were in the bag. “You were going there with those tools to do what exactly? Carry out building maintenance?”

I shrugged. “It’s not a crime to buy some screwdrivers. Cordi’s car needs a lot of work.”

The door opened, and Kava stopped the recording.

Alex entered, carrying a brown manila file in his hand. He looked at me, but I couldn’t read his face. I feared he was going to expose my past.

“Officer Kava, Salassi,” Alex said, “sorry to interrupt. I’ve brought the statements from the residents and staff, including Ms. Leadbetter.”

He ran off the names of three other staff members, and I assumed these were the others in the robes. Interestingly, he didn’t mention Mr. Smythe-Johnson.

“Thanks, Cobb,” Salassi said, taking the folder.

Alex stood behind the two officers, his arms folded across his chest. He looked at me as though I were the murderer. “Harley,” he said, “do you have anything else to tell us?”

“No,” I said.

“Did you slash Cordelia Silvers’ car tires?” he asked. “A box cutter was found by one of the wheels.”

“No! How could I? I was with her all the time. Just ask her.” I gritted my teeth, hating where this was going and not understanding why he was acting like this. He knew it wasn’t me.

Kava looked up from the folder. “It says here that you spoke with Mr. Foswinkle a few days ago. Given that both Mr. and Mrs. Bellman are dead—after you agreed to look into their break-in—and now Mr. Foswinkle is dead, don’t you find that a little odd? You and your friend are the one consistent element here.”

I shook my head with disbelief. “Are you lot for real? You could see a figure run through the smashed window and ride off on a bike. It’s clearly not me. I’ve got nothing to do with all this.”

“We’re just following the evidence and logical chain of events,” Salassi said.

They started asking me questions about my time before meeting Cordi. That was not an area I wanted the conversation to go down. In a panic I tried to think of a way out when I looked up into Alex’s eyes and remembered—Abigail’s!

“I’m done here,” I said. “You’ve kept me in for ages, nothing to eat and just this awful coffee. If you want me to answer anymore questions without lawyering up, I suggest you bring some—bananas.”

“What?” Kava asked.

I looked right at Alex. “Bananas.”

His cheeks flushed, and he broke eye contact with me.

“Fine,” he said, and to the two officers, “I think we’ve got as much as we can out of this one. The chief says to let her go—for now. We need to focus on tracking that bike.”

Kava nodded and terminated the interview. She arranged all the papers on the table into the file and followed Salassi out of the room. I stood up to leave when Alex barred my exit with his arm. He stepped closer and closed the door.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“I don’t think so. You know Cordi and I have nothing to do with all this. You could have stopped all this questioning, but you didn’t do anything until I had to play the banana card.”

“About that,” he said. “No one can know, you understand me?”

I looked him in the eye. “Did you ever cheat on Cordi with your mistresses?”

“No,” he came back, quick as a flash, and I believed him. “But I mean it. Don’t you ever think you can blackmail me with this. I know some secrets about you too.” And then with a breathy whisper, “I can link you to a whole string of high-end robberies, Samantha.”

Crap
!

“I guess that leaves us at an impasse,” I said.

“You keep quiet, and I will too,” Alex said. “But if you pull a stunt like that again when you get into trouble, I will bust your cover story wide open. You hear me?”

“I hear you. Now let me and Cordi get out of here, it’s been a hard night for both of us.”

“One more thing before I do,” he said. “I’m leading the case now. I’ve officially been transferred to homicide, so I’m sure we’ll see plenty of each other, but if you get in the way of my investigation, I won’t hesitate to arrest you. I’ve wanted this job for a decade, and this case has just got high profile. If you find anything out, you come to me and only me first.”

“What’s happening about Winkle?” I said.

“We’re following up on leads, but that’s not your concern. Stay out of trouble.”

I left the police station and waited outside for Cordi.

That was a big mistake.

Despite now being 2:15 a.m., I wasn’t the only one outside.

A sleek black Rolls Royce was sitting there, looking all expensive and sinister in the police station’s car park. A window rolled down. A silhouette turned to face me.

“Get in,” the voice said.

And that was one voice you didn’t ignore.

Ivanov.

Like my night hadn’t been bad enough. The balls of this guy to accost me outside the station told me all I needed to know about Ivanov’s influence with the authority. The rear door opened, and despite my flight response telling me to just get the hell out of there, I stepped inside and sat down on the plush leather seat.

Ivanov was sitting opposite on the bench seat. He wore a sharp bespoke black suit and silk black shirt. A red tie glimmered in the low lights of the Rolls.

The car smelled of pine needles and tobacco. The door clunked closed, and I felt like I had entered a void. I doubted anyone would hear my screams.

I smiled sweetly. “Anton, so good to see you.”

Ivanov reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol with a silencer attached.

Crap
!

CHAPTER 16

The gun was huge. I was no firearm specialist, but I knew it would make a terrible mess of my head if he pulled the trigger. My guts were doing that horrible twisting thing again.

I opened my mouth to plead, but Ivanov wagged his finger, silencing me.

“No time to speak now,” the gangster said.

I looked around the car to find a way out or something I could use to defend myself, but there was nothing. A smoked-glass panel behind Ivanov obscured the two large shadows of his goons.

I waited until Ivanov continued. He took a long, slow breath, his great barrel chest expanding, and then out with a deep sigh. “Harley, Harley, what am I to do with you, eh?” he slurred in his thick Russian accent.

“Let me go?” I asked. It was worth a shot.

“You owe me five grand for this month,” he said. “I’ve been lenient, but I will only remain patient for so long before I snap. You wouldn’t like me when I snap, Harley.”

To be fair, I didn’t like him now, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Next month, that will go up to ten grand. The month after, twenty grand. You see how this works? Of course you do. You’re a smart girl, no?”

I shrugged.

“Here’s what I will do,” he said, placing the gun on his tree-trunk thigh, the barrel still pointing to me. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper the size of a Post-it note. “I will give you a gift. For old times’ sake.”

He held his hand out, passing the paper to me.

I reached for it, but he snatched it away. I dropped my arm, feeling stupid. “What’s the deal, Anton?” I said, impatient for him to get to his point.

“On this paper is a phone number. It’s yours if you do something for me.”