Boyd shook his head. ‘And, for your information, we had a very candid talk outside.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About the fact that she’s been asked, very politely, to make this stop... and about the fact that she’s not going to give them any opportunities to “ask” again.’

  Okeke’s jaw hung open. ‘Tell me you’re joking?’

  Boyd shook his head. ‘By the way, this is obviously between me and you only. Don’t even tell Jay. Do you understand?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘So this is where we’re parked right now, is it? We’re supposed to let this case quietly grow cold and step away from it…’

  ‘If we don’t, we’ll be kicking a hornet’s nest,’ Boyd said.

  Okeke tugged the collar of her leather jacket up against the needling cold wind and fumbled in her pockets for her cigarettes.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you…’ began Boyd. He could feel an echo of the terror that had come off Gerald Nix in waves as he’d talked about the Salikovs. They won’t simply kill me if they find me, Boyd… they’ll take their fucking time! For sure, Boyd understood. The Georgian Mafia, the Russian Mafia, they were all big on ‘messages’. And the best way to transmit what they wanted to say was with the grisly mess of a corpse that they left behind in a ditch or propped in a doorway.

  ‘I’m not after a medal for bravery here, Sam.’

  Okeke found her smokes, lit one up and blew out a cloud that was quickly whisked away. ‘What about Louie? What about what Jay heard? What if there is a murder… a hit being planned?’

  ‘Then hopefully it isn’t on our patch.’

  She turned to him. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if Hammond is doing Daddy’s dirty work. Clearing up the laundry trail? Planning a hit on another Gerald Nix in the area?’

  ‘That’s a big if… Sam. It’s easy to get the wrong end of the stick with only half of an overheard conversation.’

  ‘If…’ she agreed. ‘But what then? What if there’s another murder here that links to the Salikovs?’

  He knew what he’d like to say. Fucking go after them, of course. But that answer would have had to come from a different Boyd in a different world in which he’d lost his entire family in a crumpled car. Not this one where he still had a daughter at home.

  ‘They know where I live,’ he said.

  ‘So we’re not playing Caped Crusaders again?’

  He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Last time we had no bloody idea what we were stepping into. This time we do.’ He shook his head. ‘So it’s a flat no. Not on your life.’

  Not on Emma’s life, anyway.

  ‘You know, Jay’s really cut up about this,’ said Okeke. ‘Louie and him go way back. I’ve never seen him so…’

  ‘I know. I know. And I’m really sorry about that. Jay’s a good guy with a big heart. But –’

  ‘He thinks Hammond bribed his way out of the station,’ Okeke cut in. ‘He just wants to get his hands on him.’

  ‘Well, he needs to quickly unthink that,’ replied Boyd. ‘Seriously, Sam… these are not people that Jay wants to go and pick a fight with. You need to sell him on the we-don’t-have-enough-to-charge-him angle. Which we really don’t, by the way.’

  Okeke nodded, her face creasing into a worried frown. ‘I’ve tried that already.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I just hope he doesn’t accidentally bump into Hammond in the street.’

  Boyd closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. ‘Is there any chance you could keep him sedated and locked in a box for a few months?’

  18

  Jay had barely slept since coming in from his shift. He’d made a go of it, crawling into bed beside Sam – who was snoring like a diesel generator – and trying his best to switch his buzzing brain off. He must have got some sleep, he reasoned, because Sam had gone and a coffee was cooling on his bedside table.

  He lectured himself over his bowl of Rice Krispies that he needed to work on the La Rochelle armchair this morning. It really did need to be finished up and taken over to Mrs Patton’s and unveiled Repair Shop-style before her today.

  He reminded himself, as he pulled on his scruffy workshop roughs, that if he wanted to grow this fledgling upcycling and repair business – to drag his and Louie’s dream into reality – he needed to deliver on time, as promised and not get distracted. By anything. As he got into his van and turned out of Crescent Garden Road, he repeated Sam’s assurances that if something ‘firm’ came up linking the bastard to Louie’s death, they’d march Hammond straight back into the station.

  But, despite all the muttered promises in his head, Jay found himself parked up on the seafront road and peering up at the penthouse balcony of Sea View Apartments. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was sitting there or what his plan of action was. If he had to be honest with himself, there wasn’t actually a plan. None at all. He desperately wanted to put one of his big hands around that scrawny little twat’s throat and explain to him at length how Louie was worth ten million of him no matter how fucking rich he was. He also wanted to put the fear of God into him… to tell him that the police had info on him and they’d inevitably be coming for him sooner or later.

  Roland Hammond. Even the name sounded contemptible and entitled.

  Think smarter, bro. There it was again, Karl’s voice.

  ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ he muttered. ‘You’re right, Karl… this is totally stupid. Think smart, Jay. Think smart.’

  He was just about to drive off when a DPD delivery van pulled up right outside the apartment block’s entrance foyer.

  Before he could even think about what he was doing, he jumped out of his own van and crossed the road. He climbed the six steps up from the pavement to the main entrance, which was hidden under a greened-bronze portico, and made a show of patting himself down for keys. A moment later the driver was standing beside him with a parcel and buzzed for Apartment 3.

  ‘I’d let you in if I could find my…’ mumbled Jay apologetically to the driver.

  The intercom crackled with a female voice. ‘Hello?’

  ‘DPD for Maureen Webb?’ the driver said.

  ‘That’s me,’ she answered.

  The door buzzed and the DPD driver pushed it open. He glanced at Jay. ‘Coming in, mate?’

  Jay nodded and smiled. ‘Cheers.’ He stepped in with the DPD guy. ‘Is that for Maureen?’

  The driver nodded.

  ‘I’m going up,’ replied Jay. ‘I’ll put it outside her door. Save you the stairs.’ He realised, belatedly, that he hadn’t needed to do that – he was already inside the building.

  ‘Ah, cheers, man.’ The driver handed him the box and took a quick photo of the parcel in Jay’s hands. ‘Your surname?’

  ‘Statham.’

  The DPD looked at him. ‘Like the actor?’

  Jay gave him a smile. ‘Yeah.’

  The driver tapped it into his phone, waved a ‘thanks’ and was gone, hurrying back outside, the front door swinging shut behind him.

  Jay looked at the lift, then the stairs, and opted for the latter. He now had a frigging parcel to deliver first. ‘Great.’

  He made his way up the two flights of stairs, with Sam sitting on one shoulder, scolding him for being a bloody idiot, and Karl on the other, saying if he wanted to get even, this was a pretty stupid way of going about it. He emerged onto the landing, spotted the front door for Apartment 3 and gently placed the parcel at the foot of the door.

  ‘Now, go home, babes,’ Sam whispered in his ear.

  ‘She’s right,’ added Karl. ‘Another time, another day, bro, eh?’

  He paused as he stood looking at the stairs, one flight leading down to common sense; the other, up and a chance to get even for Louie. He paused. He knew his mate would be saying the same thing as the others. ‘He’s not fucking worth it, Jay.’

  He took the stairs leading upwards.

  The top-floor hallway was carpeted. Red carpet, of course. Just then the door opened and a young woman emerged. He recognised the escort Hammond had left the club with last night. Her hair looked dishevelled; her make-up smeared. She pulled the door shut behind her and headed towards the stairs, noticing Jay standing there at the last moment.

  He stood stock still as she brushed past him, muttering to herself. ‘Never again. Not worth it. Not worth it.’

  Her heels clacked down the stairs and Jay watched her go, so desperate to get out of there that she wasn’t bothering to wait for the lift. If his mind hadn’t been a red mist of anger, he might have heeded her wise words.

  Instead he approached the door. The only door on this floor. Apartment 6. The Penthouse.

  Okeke lit up and took a quick pull on her fag. She waited until the two PCs emerging from their patrol car had crossed the forecourt and gone into the lobby, then she pulled her phone out and dialled Jay’s number.

  It rang, unbeknown to her, in the glove compartment of his van, eventually switching to voicemail.

  ‘Jay, love… it’s Sam. Listen, I know you’re still messed up about Louie. I know you know it’s this guy from the club. But look…’ She paused for a moment, wondering how much to share with him right now. The mafia connection – if he was thinking clearly – would seriously give him pause for thought. If he was lying in bed still and fantasizing about roughing up Hammond next time he showed his face at CuffLinks, knowing that he’d be messing with the same people they’d faced nearly a year ago, would surely cool him down a little. Jay wasn’t an idiot. But then…

  ‘Jay, we’ve got this, all right? Me and the guv. We’re going to bring the bastard back in again when we’ve got enough evidence to send him down. I promise you.’ She pondered again whether or not to say anything more. Better in person, she decided. Phone messages were damning evidence-in-waiting and right now he was probably still sleeping.

  ‘Love you, babe,’ she added, and ended the call.

  19

  Jay knocked on the door and waited. He couldn’t hear a thing from behind it. He tried again and finally heard a muffled voice muttering. A bolt snicked, the door opened wide and Roland Hammond appeared before him wearing a red silk kimono and nothing else.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, you silly bitch…what did you for–’ he was saying as he jerked the door open, but he stopped mid-word, not out of shock or surprise – there wasn’t the slightest glint of recognition in his eyes – but out of sheer irritation. ‘Who are you?!’

  Jay had hurriedly concocted some bullshit about maintenance on the apartment’s heating to get him through the front door, but seeing Hammond standing there, looking up at Jay yet somehow managing to look down his nose at him at the same time, the balance tipped and the heating maintenance bullshit went out of the window.

  Jay pushed Hammond roughly backwards and stepped into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Hammond began to scream. Which meant Jay had to shut him up quickly, a step he hadn’t considered he’d need to take this soon. He charged forward and rugby-tackled him, landing on top of Hammond and knocking the wind out of him.

  But the scrawny little kid – and he did look just like a kid, like some A-level student playing dress-up with Mummy’s wardrobe – continued screaming. Jay slapped a big fist over his mouth.

  ‘SHUT UP!’ he hissed. ‘Shut up, you little piece of arse-shit.’

  Jay planted his knees on the man’s spindly arms and sat on his bare chest. His bulk was more than enough to hold him in place, but the muted screaming was surely going to bring someone knocking soon. He looked up and saw that he was in the apartment’s main lounge. French doors opened onto the grand balcony – and of course… they were bloody well wide open. Added to that, he could feel the little fucker was trying to get a purchase on his palm with his teeth. He scanned the room for something to gag him with and saw a balled-up sock within reach on the floor. He grabbed it and quickly forced the sock into Hammond’s mouth before he could let rip with another ear-splitting scream. Then he tugged at the silk belt that dangled from the loops of his silk robe to get it free, flipped Hammond over onto his belly and hog-tied his wrists and his ankles behind his back.

  ‘There.’ Jay smacked Hammond’s bare, bony arse hard and sat back, satisfied the scrawny whelp was constrained and muzzled for now. ‘Hah. You look like a trussed-up turkey.’

  Hammond’s jaw was working on the sock. He was trying to push it out with his tongue.

  ‘You spit that out… and I’ll piss on it, then shove it right back in your mouth,’ snarled Jay.

  Hammond stopped immediately.

  Jay took a few moments to get his breath back and gather his thoughts. The elephant in the room was blindingly obvious to him. What the fuck do I do now? He’d compiled a menu of options in his head as he’d climbed the stairs that ranged from harsh words to minor physical harm. He’d ruled out killing the little bastard because that would be dumb. It wouldn’t bring back Louie and he wasn’t prepared to serve time for this scumbag.

  Scare him. That was probably the best way forward. Scare the crap out of him. Let him know that Jay knew he’d stabbed Louie and that justice was eventually going to catch up with him, no matter how fucking rich and powerful he thought he was.

  Jay got up off the floor and sat down in a leather chair. ‘I know you did it…’ he began. ‘I know you killed my mate.’

  Hammond’s eyes swivelled his way.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Recognise me now, do you?’ Jay sat forward and clasped his hands together like he was getting ready to tell a bedtime story. ‘See… it wasn’t just Louie who heard you on the phone, you dickhead. I heard you too.’

  The young man’s eyes widened a little more.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Jay grinned. The fear on Hammond’s face was going to be way more satisfying than planting a few bruises on it. The thing was… Jay didn’t have much to play with. He and Louie had heard something about a hit. Possibly a poisoning.

  Keep it vague, he told himself.

  ‘I know…’ he continued. ‘We heard it all – we heard what you’re planning, fuckwit. Every little bit, sunshine. And I’m sorely tempted to tell the cops. They’re already on to you, aren’t they? Or maybe… I dunno, I’ll just plaster it all over social media. I’ve not decided yet.’

  Hammond mumbled and rolled over onto his side. Jay noticed a little spurt of darkly coloured piss jetting out and couldn’t help a chuckle of glee. ‘Heh… that’s right. You go piss yourself, little man. You probably should.’

  This felt good. This felt right, actually. Not slapping him up, but just letting him know his Sam and her guv were on to him and no amount of bribe money was going to save his scrawny rich arse. No punching required.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, still grinning. ‘Everyone’s going to know what you’re up to, Hammond.’

  Keep it vague, bro. But also… Give it some convincing little detail, right?

  ‘Louie wrote it down. The name you mentioned. The stuff you’re planning. The blue tea.’ Jay tapped his head and pulled what he thought was a menacing grin. ‘You’re so fucked, mate.’

  20

  Boyd had been kept busy with all the to-ing and fro-ing on the Stephen Knight case with the CPS’s case preparation contact, Lesley Lloyd. She had a comprehensive list of items for which she wanted guaranteed evidence-chain documentation, things that had been retrieved from Knight’s house after the arrest. Knight had enough money to afford a decent defence barrister who was pretty hot on spotting police procedure gaffs.

  Ms Lloyd wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  He stopped work at midday to check his phone. There was a brief message from Charlotte and a selfie of her walking Mia with her elderly parents and their dogs. She looked relaxed and happy. He felt a mix of emotions. Pleased that she was reconnecting after being isolated from them for so long; pleased that the haunted look on her face had been erased, for the duration of the selfie at least. But he also felt a selfish prickle of concern that things would be different between them on her return.

  Not that they’d stepped over any lines together – they were both still firmly planted in each other’s ‘just good friends’ camp. But there’d been some tiptoeing going on, he thought. Tiptoeing to the very edge of that boundary.

  He was mulling over the idea of taking himself up to the top floor to grab one of the canteen’s notorious mega-bacon baps when Okeke arrived in front of him, blocking his view.

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘Uh?’

  She dropped a printout on his desk. ‘It’s the ping data on Louie’s missing phone.’

  Boyd looked down at various road maps of Hastings and mobile-phone-mast radius markers all superimposed on top of one another. ‘It was active for just over thirty hours after his stabbing.’ She pointed at a cluster of ping-location pegs. ‘It was bobbing around here for a while, just by the pier, before it went off for good.’

  Boyd studied the location markers for a few moments.

  Okeke bent over the desk. ‘Roland Hammond recently rented the penthouse flat at Sea View Apartments.’ She pointed to a spot on the map, her fingernail bang in the middle of the cluster of printed pegs.

  Boyd’s heart sank. He looked up at her and he could see her lips pressed firmly together, her brows raised like a drawn bow. ‘The evidence all points his way, guv,’ she said quietly.

  He looked around the office. Warren was busy gophering up the details Lesley Lloyd had been badgering Boyd for. Minter had headphones on and was tapping away at his keyboard, and the half-dozen other misfits and rejects from Team Flack were all distracted with their own mundane tasks.

  He pointed at the double doors. ‘Pier? Chips?’ he suggested.

  ‘The choice, Okeke, is pretty stark. Hammond may well be our man,’ said Boyd, ‘but he’s a Salikov.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ She shrugged, then leant against the railing and blew a cloud of smoke out to sea. ‘Is Hastings their turf now? Their stomping ground and they can do what the hell they want?’