38. NICO
38
NICO
T he following morning, I wake to the brutal sound of my phone ringing. I’m still on the sofa, fully clothed.
I smack my hand across the coffee table until I reach it. I don’t even look at who’s calling before I pick up.
“What?”
“Good morning to you too,” Matt’s gruff voice barks down the line. “Let me up. The security down here is nuts.”
A few minutes later, Matt is standing in my apartment with one small overnight bag, which he drops to the floor. He casts a glance over the place, taking in the wreckage of last night’s fight. “What the hell happened here? Have you been to bed?”
I perch on the edge of the sofa and roll the sleeves of my crumpled shirt up. “Fuck,” I mutter.
Matt squints at me and lurches forward to inspect my face. “Is that a bruise? That’s going to look very unprofessional. Did you have a brawl in here or what?”
“Long story.” I drag a hand over my face, wincing as I skim the tender side of my jaw. “How was your flight?”
“Tedious.”
“You haven’t been home?”
“No. Where’s Charlie?”
“With Seb.”
Matt kicks a piece of broken glass with the toe of his shoe. “You cleared him out so you could have a fisticuffs session with someone?”
I groan. “Not exactly. I had something much better planned, but it didn’t work out.” Even the oblique reference to Kate makes the acid in my empty stomach churn. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s do your shit first.”
Matt eyes me suspiciously. “I want to know everything you know before I see my wife .” He snarls the last word. “I’ve already got the lawyer drawing up divorce papers.”
“Isn’t that a bit sudden?”
“No. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Had him on notice. The house is bloody miserable. I don’t want to raise the kids in a home where Gemma and I are constantly at each other’s throats. Charlie’s endured it too long already, but maybe there’s still time to save Lucie from it. Give her a happier home. And you know cheating is an absolute deal-breaker for me.” He inhales so deeply his already broad chest doubles in size, then blows it out in a harsh gust. “Who the fuck is the chap she’s been sleeping with?”
I jump to my feet, immediately recalling that I’d meant to ask Kate about the picture on her phone of the graffitied van. How the hell did I forget? I cup the side of my face, touching my bruised jaw. Pain erupts and the chaos of last night floods back. It’s no surprise I fucking forgot about it.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But Seb got Elliot Maxwell on the case. Let’s get him up here.”
“Great. I’m making coffee. You look like you need one. A shower too. Go. Get your sorry arse into the bathroom. I can’t look at your miserable face any longer. You’d think you were the one whose wife was cheating on him.”
By the time I get out of the shower, Matt and Elliot Maxwell are sitting at the kitchen table. Elliot greets me with an expressionless nod. We never make small talk. It’s easier that way. Elliot’s a law unto himself. Everything between us is on a need to know basis only. He’s fucking good at what he does, and that’s enough for me.
Matt has swept up the broken glass and made coffee. The picture of Gerard Lansen has been removed from the broken frame and propped up on the sofa.
Matt doesn’t ask about it, thank goodness. I don’t want to think about last night if I don’t have to.
“You’ve got an epic view up here,” Matt says, gazing out of the floor to ceiling glass windows as he pushes a steaming mug of coffee across the table towards me. “Makes me wish I could sell up and move into one of these bachelor pads.”
Matt’s eyes are unfocused, like he’s imagining an alternative version of his life. He shakes his head, presses his lips into a line, and takes a sip of hot coffee.
Elliot grunts like he agrees and hunches over the table, his bulk making even Matt look small. Six foot six, and thick with muscle; wide as a barge, biceps that threaten to burst through his sleeves of his worn leather jacket. If he wasn’t so huge, his rugged jaw would be the biggest thing about him. Today, it's concealed beneath a tidy, dirty blond beard.
On the table, beneath his thick, tattooed fingers, is a manila envelope.
Matt keeps eyeing it like it’s a nuclear warhead about to launch.
I grab the mug of coffee Matt gave me and sit opposite them.
“This is a mighty unpleasant business,” Elliot says. “I’m dead sorry about it, Mr. Hawkston.”
Matt’s shoulders draw closer together, body contracting. He’s always struggled to accept sympathy. It’s only when Elliot unclips his gun from his holster and lays it on the kitchen table that there’s a glimmer of response in Matt’s eyes; an alertness, as if he thinks there’s a chance Elliot might turn the weapon on him. Elliot’s fingers linger on the weapon, which looks out of place against the clean marble surface.
“I’ll happily blow his brains out for you and clean up the mess,” Elliot murmurs, so low that it’s almost inaudible. “If that’s what you want.”
“Put the gun away,” Matt replies, voice toneless. “This isn’t the fucking mafia.”
Elliot tilts his head in a manner that communicates, ‘have it your way, but if it were up to me I’d put a bullet in his temple’ before holstering the gun again and sliding the manila envelope across to Matt. Somehow, it feels more dangerous than a loaded Glock. We fall silent as Matt flicks through the contents.
Matt sighs, his eyes flickering closed for a moment before they lock on Elliot. “How long ago was the most recent photo taken?”
“Yesterday,” Elliot says.
“Even after Charlie found out, she’s still seeing the guy? Un-fucking-believable.” Anger vibrates in his voice.
“Can I see?”
Matt shoves the pictures at me, and I flick through them. There isn’t a decent image amongst them, with several being taken from outside the house through the windows.
“Pictures aren’t the best,” Elliot says. “The guy’s on high alert; scurrying around like he’s already being hunted. Made it impossible to get a clear head shot. He turned up to see Gemma in a balaclava. I’m surprised she opened the door to him.”
Matt shoots me a ‘ what the fuck ?’ look, but says nothing.
I lay the photos down and Matt pushes them back at Elliot, standing up so fast his chair nearly tips backward. “We’re going round there. We’re getting Lucie out of that house.”
“Let’s hear what Gemma has to say before we rush into anything,” I suggest.
Matt’s jaw hardens. “What the hell are we expecting her to say? ‘Oh, the sex is good, thanks. We like to role-play with balaclavas’?”
Elliot puts the photos back in the envelope, a muffled groan sounding from deep in his throat. He keeps his eyes down, but his fingers strum the table like he’s itching to pull a trigger.
“I’m urging caution,” I say. “We don’t want to spook her.”
Matt grits out, “Fine.”
He sits as Elliot begins the rundown. “His name is Daniel Hunter. At least that’s who the van is registered with, and that’s the name on the title deeds of the house where your son was arrested. Absolutely no social media or online presence. He appears to run a removals company. He has a couple of vans, and a few men working for him. A small outfit. Casual. Not particularly professional. His accounts aren’t in order, and I suspect he takes a lot of payments in cash. Two priors. Theft and domestic burglary.”
“He’s a fucking criminal?” Matt raises both hands as though he wants to crush the man’s head between them, and his gaze flits from me to Elliot, like he’s hoping one of us might contradict him. When we don’t, he lets his hands fall, and continues more resignedly, “How did he meet Gemma? How did she even get to know him?”
Elliot rolls his lips inwards, thrusting his chin out further. “Can’t be sure. I haven’t had enough time to observe their patterns of behaviour, but so far it looks like he comes to her. She doesn’t travel to see him. She may not even know where he lives. We don’t know how truthful he’s been with her.”
“And the van,” I ask. “The one with the graffiti?”
“It’s been scrubbed.”
“Kate Lansen had a picture of it on her phone,” I tell them.
They both look at me in mute surprise for a few seconds.
“Why?” Matt asks.
“I don’t know. I meant to ask, but I didn’t get a chance.”
Matt’s eyes narrow, and I can see by the way he’s looking at me he’s trying to piece this shit together, but can’t quite make it fit.
“What did it look like? Was it a random photo she took on the street?” Matt probes further.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it. Charlie did.”
Matt winces at the mention of his son, then wipes his expression clear. “Ring her. Ask her why the hell she had a photo of the van my son scrawled all over. The van that belongs to the bloke Gemma’s fucking.”
Elliot’s face is immovable. His repeated throat clearing is the only suggestion that he has any thoughts about this scenario. “Did she have any removals recently?” he asks. “Any cause to hire a van?”
“Yes. Her mother’s boyfriend had all their paintings put into storage.”
“Call Kate and ask her about it then,” Matt snaps.
I grimace. “I can’t do that. I can’t call her.”
Matt looks at me, baffled. “Eh? Why the fuck not?”
“It doesn’t matter, but they’re gone. All the paintings. Everything that supposedly went to storage didn’t go to storage at all.”
“What do you mean?” Elliot leans toward me like this is crucial information. “Where did they go?”
“We don’t know. The boyfriend disappeared, along with all the art. Supposedly jewellery too. Anything of value is gone.”
Suddenly an idea bursts into existence, burgeoning with so much hope it’s almost painful. Maybe there’s a connection between Daniel and Curtis. I direct my focus to Elliot. “Find him. The guy with the removals company. Daniel. If he’s involved in some scam like this, we need to know. Dig out what he knows about a man called Curtis Bellamy. That’s Mrs. Lansen’s boyfriend. It’s possible this guy with the van is connected with him in some way... maybe they’re even working together. If we move fast, we might be able to locate the paintings. We might even be able to return all their stolen belongings.” I turn to Matt. “And at the same time, get Gemma’s man locked up. And whoever else is involved.”
“You sure it’s the old lady’s boyfriend?” Elliot asks. “That makes this sound like a targeted and planned scam.”
I nearly laugh at Elliot calling Debbie Lansen ‘the old lady’. She’d die if she knew.
“As far as I’m aware, Curtis arranged to have the artwork removed,” I confirm. “Never told Mrs. Lansen where it was being stored. She trusted him to deal with it, and now the house is empty and he’s vanished. I’d say the chances of it all being connected are high.”
“To pose as a boyfriend and let Mrs. Lansen believe he cares about her… That’s bleak,” Matt adds. “Who’d want to punish the Lansens like that?”
“These scams aren’t necessarily emotional,” Elliot says. “But when someone is particularly vulnerable, it’s the easiest way in.”
I hardly hear him because Matt’s question has the back of my neck prickling. There’s one man who does want to target the Lansens. “If you can find any link to Martin Brooks, I want to know about it,” I tell him.
Matt stares at me, looking confused. “Martin Brooks, Gerard Lansen’s old business partner?”
“Exactly. He’s after the Knightsbridge spa project. Says he doesn’t want the Lansens getting any more glory. He’s pissed that we bought the company.”
Matt pinches his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What the hell?”
“Shall I contact the police?” Elliot asks.
“Not yet,” I tell him. “If this has anything to do with Martin Brooks, I want to know before the police do. Keep me informed. I want everything done properly, so all evidence is admissible in court if needs be. Don’t fuck this up.”
Elliot nods and stands from the table, bids us farewell, and heads to the door.
After he’s gone, I call Jack. He answers on the second ring. “Your mum hasn’t called the police yet?”
“No. She’s sleeping. Kate’s on her way down here, too.”
A pinch of a beat occurs in my heart at her name. That better stop happening some time soon or I’m going to end up with an arrhythmia.
“Let me handle it,” I reassure him. “We’ve got a lead I want to follow up before we involve the police.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have to get your hands dirty over this.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll sort it.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. One more thing. Kate had a photo on her phone of a white van. Had a load of obscenities sprayed on it.”
“Oh yeah, the dick on the side of the van that dropped off Curtis’ shitty art collection.”
“Exactly. Was it the same van that picked up your dad’s stuff?”
“No idea. Kate and I weren’t there when Mum had it all collected from the house.”
“Hmm. I’ll find out. Just keep the police out of it until I’ve run a few checks. Oh, and Jack?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t mention it to Kate. Not yet.”
He agrees, and I hang up, feeling more settled than I have since Kate left. All the while, Matt is still sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair and staring at me. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you and Kate Lansen, then?”
I bury both my hands deep in my pockets and look at the floor, running my tongue over my bottom teeth.
“Oh, my God.” Matt’s jaw drops wide, and then a smile contorts his mouth. “You like her. I never thought I’d see the day that someone pinned you down.”
“She’s not even talking to me at the moment.”
“I’m sure she will. You’re Nico fucking Hawkston. We Hawkstons always get what we want in the end.”