Martin Dixon
Author
SOME MUST DIE
A gripping crime thriller of murder, love and two warring drug gangs
A killer crept in through a downstairs window and came out rolled up in a blood soaked carpet.
London crime boss Joe Ricci speaks to his masters in Italy who dispatch Isabella Bellini to discover the identity of a man found shot in a hotel room.
DI Dave Simmons is tasked with locating the hitman responsible, bringing him into direct contact with Isobella and the London arm of the Italian crime organisation.
Who had arranged the hit becomes a deepening mystery as Dave’s investigation identifies potential new players putting his life in danger.
Unknown to Dave his enquiries are further complicated as a department headed by Judy Spangle pursues parallel enquiries.
As further shootings arise it becomes obvious more is at stake than a simple murder. An agreement between two London crime factions is reaching the point of no return as each suffers the impact of a deteriorating situation.
With the hitman still at large, two crime organisations tooling up, a rival department causing a headache, can Dave find a solution while at the same time preventing London descending into violent gang warfare?
A gripping crime drama that will raise questions all the way to a surprising ending.
FIRST TWO CHAPTERS
1
Knightsbridge, London three in the morning. One of the Regency mansions in a row around a neat small square. Around the back, behind the tall brick wall, a shadow beneath an open sash window shifted and slipped over the sill to crouch on the sitting room floor. Waited as the moon momentarily appeared from behind thick clouds casting enough illumination to show all he needed to know. Sliding the window shut, a slight breeze through the round hole in the glass beneath the lock shifted his hair then soft soled sneakers moved him towards the closed door. The handle moved but the door caught. He reached for his lock-pick and pushed the door not realising his mistake. He hadn’t noticed the minute electronic sensor located in a hinge screw hole as he crept towards the stairs.
In the main bedroom Joe Ricci immediately heard the triple ping from beneath his pillow. Instantly alert, the satin sheet crumpled as he slid to stand barefoot. Calmly grabbing the nine millimetre from the bedside drawer he screwed on the silencer. Flicked off the safety. Moved two pillows lengthways down the bed, shifted the duvet then silently stood behind the open door, gun pointing at head height.
The faintest sound. Single footsteps on the stairs. Not loud enough to have woken him but at this moment, in the darkness, in the silence, they sounded like elephant’s feet. Halfway up, he judged, and moving stealthily. Took a deep breath, lips slightly pursed as he exhaled and flexed his fingers. A subtle squeak from the slightly loosened floorboards on the landing. Firmed his stance. Adjusted his grip, finger poised as the shadow entered. Let the outstretched gun silently pop three holes in the pillows then squeezed the trigger. Immediately shifted as the body slumped and smiled at watering eyes staring up at him. Pressing his gun hard against the man’s forehead he growled, “Who sent you?”
Was that a grin, an attempted laugh? Whatever, the spluttering of blood told him a life had become irredeemable.
Across town two days later, in a hotel near Covent Garden, the man in the black suit shifted slightly as he listened to the receptionist’s soft smooth voice drift into the phone. Heard her say his name, Steven James. She glanced at him as she listened to the reply, blinked once then looked at the desk. Picked up the A4 manilla envelope with her left hand.
“Yes, that’s what I said, an envelope. A4.” Obviously, a reply to a question. “Yes, Steven James,” she repeated.
Steve glanced up at the camera behind the reception desk. The one directed over that immediate area of the foyer and smiled. CCTV held no concern for him but it did add a complication. His gaze returned to stare at the receptionist. Putting down the envelope she rested her hand on the desktop, index finger tapping. Glancing again her eyes caught his and immediately looked away. Her fingers started drumming the desk. His dark penetrating eyes she found stark and intimidating. Initially she had been attracted to this tall man as he pushed the entrance door and casually sauntered across the foyer. What was there not to like. Thirties, at the low end. Dark jacket undone and open. Pale blue shirt, no tie. Wide, strong, sturdy looking shoulders. Long swept back dark hair framed a handsome face that smacked of fun. Now though the way he stood, the way he looked at her, the way those eyes… A shiver slithered down her spine and that really surprised her. So out of character.
She glanced behind. Up at the camera. The other receptionist had disappeared out the back and on her own she suddenly felt vulnerable. Stammering into the receiver she asked, “Are you there?” and waited. Her left-hand fingers started to fiddle with a pen. Steve said nothing. Other than the initial, “Grant Henderson, please,” he had not said another word except, “I want to give him this,” as he had handed her the envelope and watched with those deep brown eyes.
Steve moved closer. Leant on the front of the desk. His face less than a couple of feet from hers. As the phone came to life he could just make out, “Tell him I don’t want to see him. Tell him I don’t want it,” then a click.
Momentarily the receptionist held onto the phone before replacing the receiver. Took a couple of seconds to settle, to get her act together, to reset her composure. Pushing the envelope towards Steve she confidently said, “Sorry, he says he doesn’t want to see you or want the envelope,” the words framed with a tight-lipped smile.
Steve ignored it. “Phone him again.” he spoke so close she could smell lunch. Something oriental.
“But…”
Steve had no option, if Grant Henderson would not see him, he must at least leave the envelope. If he didn’t Judy would make his life a misery and he would spend a few more weeks in semi-darkness. Being demanding might do it, “Call him,” he snapped. That made her fume. Her frown directed at Steve, her head slightly cocked, “Do it,” he barked and her teeth pulled on her bottom lip.
Eyes smouldering, she stabbed out 233. Grant Henderson answered but before she could speak Steve snatched the phone, “You’ll really want to see what’s inside,” he said.
There was a pause. Then, “First I want to know how you found me.”
“Think about it, it was easy, your mistress, she likes money more than protecting you. All I had to do was tempt her and buy her sushi. If you want to hide, rule one, don’t call anyone. Now, do you want this, it’s dynamite.” There was nothing else he could say. He held his breath.
Another pause. Then, “Okay, leave it but I won’t see you. I don’t want to see anyone.”
Steven James handed back the phone. Pushed the envelope towards the receptionist, “Did you hear that?” he asked. Then seeing her fury, he slowed down, softened his tone, “Please, can you have it taken up straight away. I’ll wait.”
As the receptionist pressed a couple more buttons Steve gave her a half smile and moved to the set of four contemporary chairs around a low glass top table covered with a neat pile of newspapers and sat facing the street door. Glanced around the foyer. Smart, as you would expect in a top London hotel. Open double doors at one end. The bar with the entrance to a swanky restaurant. Five in the afternoon was a quiet time. People who had been out were back and people who were arriving had checked in so just a few hanging about. A couple chatted close to him. The guy suddenly glanced towards activity at the street door then sighed and looked away. A woman barged past a man going out as she rushed in heading towards the stairs. A man with a nondescript plump face, wire rimmed glasses and wearing a heavy looking dark blue jacket with a bulging pocket sat in the corner blankly staring out of the street window seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
The receptionist hung up and a porter appeared. Handing him the envelope she said something and nodded towards Steve. Glancing once the porter headed towards the stairs. Five minutes later he was back. Looked at the receptionist and nodded. Moving around the desk she stood in front of Steve. Waited a moment trying to collect some words together but, in the end, coldly said, “It’s delivered.”
Steve stood and smiled. She looked into his eyes as he handed her tightly rolled notes, “Thank you,” he said, grinning as he moved towards the street door. Standing for a moment she watched him leave thinking the threat she had seen had gone. He did seem nice, perhaps she had been premature in dismissing him.
Returning to the desk she unrolled the narrow tube and stared at five twenties as she shielded them from the camera trying to spy over her shoulder. Glanced around the foyer. No staff. The lady had disappeared up the stairs. Four guests coming out of the lift. The seated couple not looking her way. The man still sitting in the corner stared out of the window. Pulling off one note she put it in the gratuities box under the countertop and tucked the rest down the shallow V of her grey dress into her bra. Leant both hands on the counter and sighed long and hard. A new experience. He was the first person to ever get her flustered. She looked up and stood straight pulling her hands through her long dark hair as she smiled at the guest who had entered the foyer from the bar and was heading her way. This one she knew. He had been staying for a few days. An American, Theo Moroni. Nice man. Quietly spoken and funny.
“Hi Kate. Nice day, eh?” he said as he stood in front of her. He liked this girl, so beautiful but not so sweet, he was sure of that. Took in the slim figure that made her look fragile but that did not fool him. He suspected the exact opposite. Neat looking. A good luck face, a great natural look but he was one of the few who noticed the hard edge that, for him, gave her away. This was one deceptively tough cookie, he thought, one of those with charm who knew the ropes and how to make the most of them without getting wrapped up in knots.
“It is,” Kate smiled, “how can I help you?” She loved his soft American accent.
“I’m dining out tonight. I know it’s presumptuous but would you like to join me?”
Kate hesitated, a whole heap of questions and doubts instantly cropped up. Sure he was good looking but how old was he? The greying temples. She had to guess near fifty. Perhaps nearly twice her age. Did it matter? Not really. Did she know him well enough? No, but did she like him? Definitely. Was she attracted to him? Certainly. Rich? Probably. So, this might be an opportunity. Well then… “That would be lovely, thank you. My shift ends at eight,” she smiled.
“I know. I’ve booked a table for nine-thirty. Nice place, Italian. Only a fifteen-minute walk. You’ll like it. Say, is that enough time for you to get ready?”
She knew the place and it was good. Very authentic. “Certainly,” she replied, “I live in the hotel while I’m working.”
“I know. Shall I meet you down here at eight-forty-five?”
If she had noticed she did not seem to be concerned he had appeared to have done some homework. Nor did she ask herself if that was the case how much did he know about her. Instead, she said, “The cocktail bar around the corner. Could we meet there? The hotel, well, you know.”
“Sure, I understand. There’s nothing like a bit of discretion.”
Kate smiled, “Thank you for understanding. I’ll be there by eight-forty.”
“No problem, we’ll have time for a drink. Already looking forward to it,” Theo said as he turned towards the stairs but stopped to look at the information board leaving Kate watching the back of his expensive tailored grey suit with an amused smile. She sighed again. What a day. First a difficult, sinister encounter that had momentarily unnerved her and now an offer of hopefully first-class and lucrative entertainment. All within the space of thirty minutes. She pondered for a moment. Forty minutes, that was enough, shower, change and… the phone rang breaking into her thoughts about what to wear. It didn’t even occur to her to consider what Theo wanted. She just assumed company and, of course sex, both of which she had no doubt would be enjoyable.
2
As Steven James hit the pavement the blue jacket in the corner stood, took a final glance out of the window at the back of the black jacket striding towards the Strand and moved towards the lift. The arrow light pointed up but he headed to the stairs which had always been his intended route. Walking past Theo, he climbed two flights and through the fire door, along the corridor to stop outside room 233. Knocked and waited.
Muffled footsteps from inside, “Who is it?” drifted through the door.
“The porter again. Sorry, I forgot, there’s a second package for you,” The man glanced each way down the corridor.
“I’m not expecting anything.”
“The man, Steven James, was insistent. My job, you know, I just do what I’m told.” He took time to look along the corridor again.
Heard the lift whir. Stared at the lift doors. Then the stairwell door judging the distance. The lift carried on up.
“I’m not sure,” came the reply.
“Okay, no problem, I’ll slip it under the door.” The man pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and slipped the corner under the door so it would protrude into the room. Wiggled it back and forth. “It’s too fat,” he said, “it’s stuck.”
There was a pause then, “Okay, step back and I’ll open the door.”
As the door moved the man suddenly lunged forward. Barged inside. Slammed the door against the wall as he shoved Grant Henderson hard. Kicked the door shut and with both hands pushed Grant Henderson along the short entrance hall to fall onto the bed next to the manilla envelope.
“Hey,” Grant shouted. “What do you want?” An understandable statement but meaningless. He saw the man glance at the envelope.
The 22 slipped neatly out of the man’s jacket pocket and he took a long few moments to slowly screw on the silencer, all the time grinning at the pale face staring up at him as he moved closer. Henderson’s protests were loud as he backed across the bed crumpling the covers. Rolled over onto the floor. Shuffled on his back towards the window. The man slowly followed, still grinning. Henderson ended up half-sitting with his back leaning against the wall. The man stood over him, legs astride, ignoring the, “Please don’t,” plea as his grin widened. Three phuts. Two tightly grouped into the heart and one in the exact centre of Grant Henderson’s forehead.
Staring until the body gave one final twitch, he unscrewed the silencer. Replaced the gun in his pocket and picked up the envelope. Opened the door and glanced each way. Quickly pulled the door half-shut as the lift pinged. The lift door whirred shut. Another glance. Quickly out, shut the door and towards the stairs. Stopped, cursed, realised he had left his envelope laying by the door. The lift whirred and stopped. Too late, he would have to leave it. Back through the fire door as the lift pinged and down the first few steps. Theo Moroni, on the way up, nodded a friendly hello but the man barged past, slightly dipped, and squashed Theo against the handrail ruffling his jacket then took the stairs down two at a time until the ground floor door slammed shut.
Thinking nothing of the rough treatment Theo glanced at the stairwell camera and climbed to the third floor, took his keycard from the ticket pocket of his suit jacket and entered suite 340. Slipped off the jacket and carefully hung it in the wardrobe by the en-suite. Loosened his blue silk tie. As he moved into the room, he casually tossed the manilla envelope onto the dressing table, smiled and grabbed the bottle of fifty-year-old bourbon that had been patiently waiting for his return. That girl, Kate. She was one of the reasons he had checked in. He had an offer for her that involved getting to know Steven James. Meeting in the cocktail bar was what he had always intended; it was simply better she made the choice. It was never a problem, though, he had known she would and that’s why he had chosen her. He suspected she was that professional.
The man wearing the dark blue jacket, the one who had sat watching the street looking like a bookworm, the sort with his face always stuck between the pages chewing on jam doughnuts, appeared from the stairwell. He had swept down the stairs in full view of the cameras. Slammed through the ground floor door but immediately slowed. Composure, he thought, always think composure. As he casually sauntered across the foyer heading towards the street door, he glanced at Kate staring at a computer screen as she talked to a customer. A few people had appeared but no one of concern. He could always tell; he had developed an instinct to instantly identify a threat. Nobody took any notice as the plump man rolled through the door.
Onto the pavement he headed left to slow-walk what he estimated to be one hundred yards. Did not deliberately check behind but turned to stand on the kerb. Glanced both ways innocently checking traffic but almost immediately noted and absorbed the faces all the way back to the hotel. Saw no one of interest. Stepped onto the road behind slow moving traffic, slipped past the next car and through the gap in the other lane to the opposite pavement. Turned right and with the impression of a natural stoop amongst a crowd of sightseers, shuffled back past the hotel letting his peripheral vision do the work. Doorman, taxi, door open, lady in a grey jacket, hotel door opening, couple racing out to grab the now empty cab. Nothing else.
After he had passed the hotel there was no need to look again. CCTV? He wasn’t bothered. Turning the corner, he took the route towards Bond Street tube. Into a newsagent and stood in-line holding a bottle of water watching the street. Out and into the shopping centre close to the station to find an empty cubicle in the convenience. Dumped the bottle. From the side pocket of his jacket he removed a lightweight shopping bag with a brand logo on the side. Took off his shirt and slipped the inflatable t-shirt over his head. Pulled the plug. Air hissed as he rolled it up with the gun and silencer. Left his normal white t-shirt on, his shirt unbuttoned and draped over his trousers. Took off the fake specs. Pulled off the balding wig and ruffled his thick blond hair, hanging the fringe down his forehead. Lastly, removed the cotton wool pads from his cheeks. Everything into the bag then out to stand in front of the mirror. Water running. Waited until a couple of guys were leaving and slotted in behind as they moved into the shopping mall.
Walked casually, looking cool, dark shades hiding his eyes. with his loose fit shirt covering his slim lithe figure and his two sizes too big jacket hanging inside out over his shoulder. Finger through the hanging loop, his hand secreting a cardboard tag. Swung the bag shopper style. Stopped twice to look into shop windows. Suddenly swerved into a clothes shop and flicked through a few rails. Hung the jacket on the suit rail making sure the price tag, still secured to the hanging loop, dangled in full view. Stared through the window at the walkway. Waited a couple of moments then back outside and disappeared into a crowd of tourists before continuing towards the tube station.
He took the stairs down at pace, abruptly stopping at the bottom next to the right-hand wall. Fished the burner phone out of his right-hand trouser pocket, making a point of looking at the screen but all the time watching the crowds coming down the stairs. Satisfied, he pressed a few buttons and pressed send. The reply was not what he expected. Returned the burner to his pocket, slipped out his phone and sent a simple text, home soon, love you.
He moved, scanned his ticket and through the gates. Stopped behind a pillar and slipped off the shirt. Screwed it up and threw it into a waste bin. Northbound platform for a train to Wood Green. Found a seat on the next train. Took in all the passengers in one glance then tried to relax but beat himself up about leaving the envelope. Sat watching the girl opposite picking nail varnish and looked at his fingers and the flaking clear lacquer on his fingertips. Thought about the text message. Just a few hours to prepare - he had not expected to work again so soon.
His scowl deepened as Steven James strode towards Embankment Station to head home. Too many thoughts consumed his mind. Problems, problems. Leaving the envelope was not ideal but better than nothing. He had been instructed to talk to Grant Henderson but the guy had obviously cracked. The pressure bad enough to spook the one man they needed to provide them with a link. But he was in a hotel, a place of high visibility.
The CCTV was not an issue but could he have used his authority to force a meeting? That was not his brief, though. Low profile, low noise, was the instruction. Now he would have to explain but that would be difficult. He could simply be evasive, say he had delivered the envelope but he knew that would not work. Tomorrow when he had to face Judy, he was not confident he would hold up to scrutiny. One thing that cheered him, though. That girl Kate, the receptionist, something about her intrigued him. She gave the impression of being tough but underneath he saw a softness, deep down but it was there.
