One Dead Witness hc-3 Read online

‘ You’ve been avoiding me, Stevie.’

  ‘ I haven’t. I’ve just not got round to returning your calls.’

  ‘ Same as,’ she said childishly.

  ‘ And anyway, what earthly reason would I have to call you, Liss? As far as I’m aware, our marital business has been finalised. You stung me for more than you deserved, I paid up, we’re even, you married Bussola.’

  ‘ Aw, it’s not about money,’ she said with a flutter of her hand. ‘I got more money now than I ever had in my life. I’m rollin’ in the stuff.’

  ‘ In that case,’ Kruger cut in, not one to miss a chance, ‘how ‘bout giving me back that quarter of a mill your shyster lawyer screwed outta me?’

  Felicity snorted dismissively. ‘Spent it. Every last godamned cent — as a gesture to our short, momentarily sweet, then very sour marriage.’

  ‘ That figures,’ Kruger responded with a bitter tone, recalling a marriage that had been pretty much a shambles from day one.

  They had met at a point in time when both of them had been at a low ebb in their lives. Kruger was in a deep rough patch following the disappearance of his second wife with some creep of a Disney executive in Orlando. Kruger felt he had been struck by lightning because he had been truly, madly, passionately in love with the woman, worshipped the ground she glided over, even. For all that, she had dumped him with all the ceremony of taking the trash out, leaving a gaping hole in his heart.

  His response had been to throw himself into his work in a big way. Often he worked fourteen hours per day: never less than eleven. Then, because he had problems sleeping even after such exhausting hours, he found himself drifting through Miami nightlife; clubs, bars: strip-joints, often finding solace at four in the morning: clutching a half-empty bottle of bourbon.

  Since the age of fourteen, Felicity had been trying to make it big as a singer. She was always on the periphery of a big break and had been the backing singer for several big acts. She had released one single which sold a couple of thousand copies before sinking without trace.

  When she hit her thirties her agency dropped her like a hot fajita; it became apparent that despite her good looks and superb voice, she lacked that certain ‘something’ to set her apart from the crowd. And she had passed into that dangerous decade in life when women do not become stars.

  She gravitated south, following club and hotel work, hit the bottle, dabbled in dope, and managed to eke out a reasonable living as a hotel singer around. Miami and Fort Lauderdale. It was in a hotel in the latter town at three in the morning that she met Kruger, clinging precariously to a bar stool.

  After exchanging their tales of woe, the next logical step for two lonely people was obvious. That same night they booked into a suite, ripped each other’s clothes off, fell onto the bed and humped way past dawn. They emerged three days later, much the worse for wear.

  A whirlwind romance followed, with little thought for future compatibility. Marriage seemed the natural progression, though each soon discovered that a relationship based solely on mutually-attracted genitalia does not make for a lasting partnership.

  Living together as man and wife proved to be a horrendous experience for both.

  Felicity was naturally a slob. She kept late hours, slept all day.

  Kruger, on the other hand, was a well-ordered man who liked routine and tidiness. When he eventually got himself back on an even keel and out of the bottle, he realised that returning home to an apartment which looked like it had been burglarised and a wife who was still in bed — usually full of crumbs — was not what he wanted.

  The disputes between them were out of this world.

  Then one night Felicity was singing in a grotty hotel in Lemon City owned (although she did not know this at the time) by Mario Bussola. He happened to be in the audience and became smitten by her gravelly voice and curvaceous appearance. After her set, he summoned her to a private room and they almost immediately began an adulterous relationship; Bussola also gave her a fat contract to sing in his chain of six hotels.

  She fell in love with the overweight gangster.

  It was the end for her and Kruger. Though she was technically responsible for the downfall of the marriage, that didn’t mean she left the relationship without a fight for a huge percentage of Kruger’s stash.

  Kruger wasn’t sorry to see her go.

  Back in the present, Kruger glanced down at his gold Rolex. With a quick grin he thought maybe he was being too harsh. A few good things had come from the brief relationship: the London honeymoon, the Rolex, the sex — which had been tremendous — and he had recovered his self-esteem.

  He smiled at her and sighed. She did look good sitting there in her work-out gear, the spandex clinging tightly to the shapely outline of her body.

  ‘ So, c’mon, what’s all this about? I didn’t return your calls and you have me kidnapped by two extras from Goodfellas. It’s a federal offence, honey.’

  She shrugged and took a sip of her multi-coloured cocktail through a wiggly straw which looked like a piece of spaghetti. ‘So go to the fibbies, ya big cry baby.’

  ‘ Liss,’ Kruger said firmly, using the pet name he had always called her, ‘stop assin’ around and tell me what’s goin’ on.’

  ‘ How’s business?’

  ‘ Good to booming.’

  ‘ I wanna hire you for some detective work.’

  ‘ Such as?’

  ‘ I want somebody followed — to see what they’re gettin’ up to.’

  ‘ Is that it?’ Kruger growled. ‘You drag me here for that? Why in hell didn’t ya tell the fucking telephonist? She woulda sent someone round.’

  ‘ I don’t just want someone, Stevie… I want you.’

  His eyes narrowed, suspicion growing in him like a cancer. ‘I’ll send one of my best guys round in the morning. I don’t follow people any more.’

  She shook her head stubbornly. ‘No, honey. I want you.’

  Kruger leaned back in the cane chair. It creaked under his weight. There was the remnant of an ache in his back where he’d been punched.

  ‘ Why?’

  She pouted. ‘It’s Mario.’ Her eyelids flickered, eyes moistened. ‘I think he’s being unfaithful.’

  Kruger staunched a belly laugh. At last — something to brighten up his day again. ‘Expand.’ He interlocked his fingers around a knee and bowed forwards like a counsellor whilst trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘ Oh, it’s just — oh, I don’t know — something, y’know? The hours he keeps, the times he doesn’t come home, how we ever only seem to screw maybe once a month, if that. God, I feel so horny. I think he’s got someone else, Stevie,’ she concluded desperately.

  ‘ Felicity,’ Kruger stated. ‘Your husband, as you well know, is one of the biggest and most feared gang bosses in the United States of America. The fact that he has time to come home at all is a blessing. He’s a busy guy. He’s got fingers to break, debts to collect, people to blackmail and intimidate… and all those groupies hangin’ around. It must be very tempting for him. He’s only human — like you once were. And if you think he married you for any other reason than to have a good-looking woman on his arm, you’re kidding yourself.’

  ‘ You’re a son of a bitch, Steve,’ she said tightly.

  ‘ I tell the truth, that’s all. And to be completely honest with you, Liss, I hope he is seeing someone else. It’ll teach you a lesson.’

  ‘ Our marriage was over long before I slept with Mario,’ she protested.

  Kruger looked at her pityingly for a few moments, tutted, slapped his thighs and said, ‘Gotta go, babe.’

  ‘ I still want to hire you.’

  ‘ Naw — it’s company policy not to get involved in anything which remotely stinks of the mob. Mario Bussola is very definitely mob. I don’t like to find my operatives with their brains blown out, so the answer’s no. Now, if you’d be kind enough to beckon your human Dobermans back here, I’d like my vehicle keys.’ He stood up.

  ‘ Si
t down, Steve,’ she ordered him, a hard edge to her voice, an uncompromising expression on her face. Something made him obey. ‘You will work for me — and you wanna know why? I’ll tell ya — because if you don’t I’ll put, you out of business like that.’ She snapped her fingers with a crack. ‘I can ruin you, Stevie babe, because I know things about you, don’t I? Things you would hate the Feds to know.’

  A trickle of sweat rolled down the valley between Danny’s breasts. Her whole body was on fire, every nerve-end tingling, overloading her with pleasure. She could feel her toes against the sheets, the skin on her inner thighs holding and moving over the skin on the outer thighs of the man underneath her. His fingers kneaded into her backside, his hands then caressed her breasts, fingering and rolling her dark, purple nipples, tugging them gently, so they became long and hard. But above all she could feel every inch of him deep inside her and the growing sensation radiating out from her clitoris as she ground hard against his pubic bone.

  She shuddered, threw back her head, arched her spine, rising and holding him there, the tip of his penis wedged at the entrance to her throbbing vagina. It was coming. They were coming. She could keep him positioned there and not move and know she would climax, but he was there too and she could feel he was hard and big and ready for his orgasm.

  She gazed down at him. They locked eyes.

  ‘ I think you’ve hit the button,’ she moaned.

  She rammed herself down onto him at the same time as, he thrust upwards and they collided in an intense, writhing, wild orgasm which seemed to go on for ever.

  When it was eventually over and Danny had got her breath back, she rolled languidly off him and reached for her cigarettes on the bedside cabinet. She lit two simultaneously and handed one across. He took it gratefully from her fingers.

  Danny inhaled the strong smoke deeply, held it in, then blew it slowly out. Her heart slackened its pace as the magical sensation of just having had great sex ebbed away.

  ‘ That was fantastic.’

  Danny sighed. She turned to look at him, brushing her hair away from her eyes. ‘I know, Jack… but it’s going to have to stop. This can’t go on. This is definitely the last time.’

  Words she had said many times before.

  The difference was — this time she meant them.

  Felicity’s mouth turned into a wicked smile of triumph. She sat back, took a long draw on her straw, and watched her ex-husband’s face turn deep red.

  She did not have to spell it out for him. He knew exactly what she meant. A shiver of fear rippled down his spine. He licked his dry lips.

  ‘ Things you would hate the Feds to know.’

  The words echoed around in his head.

  In truth, what she’d said was an understatement. Not only would Kruger not like the Feds to know, he’d be darned upset if the CIA got to know, absolutely desolate should the State Department ever find out, or for that matter any godamned person walking the streets.

  What Felicity was referring to was the time when he left the cops and started out in business, and the first six months of trading were hell on earth. He struggled to make any sort of living, was on the verge of giving up and becoming a security guard in a shopping mall.

  Then, out of the blue, he was approached by two different people on the same day.

  One had goods to sell.

  The other wanted to buy.

  Knowing that no such circumstances could be purely coincidental, Kruger sussed he had been targeted because the parties obviously didn’t want to be seen doing business directly with each other. They needed the buffer or an agent and Kruger, down on his luck, seemed the perfect man.

  He had wrestled with his conscience, his mind in a turmoil.

  It was possible he was being set up by the authorities for some reason. But if he wasn’t, it was just the piece of luck he needed. One which would kick-start his business to the tune of two hundred grand in fees.

  With both eyes wide open, conscious that if the deal went belly-up he would become an inmate of Dade County Correctional Institute, not just a visitor, he took the chance.

  He arranged to sell over two million dollars’ worth of I8-inch electric shock batons to a Middle Eastern buyer, knowing full well the end user was Iraq. Which, twelve months after the Gulf War, was a very naughty thing to do.

  Although he lived on a wire for several months after, there were no repercussions. No midnight raids by SWAT squads. No visits by men in black suits. Nothing. The surge of money was accounted for creatively and Kruger’s business went through the roof. He had never since, to his knowledge, made any illegal deals.

  All was well.

  Until now.

  Felicity, his ruthless, unfaithful ex-wife, had plucked it right out of the mist and slapped it across his face like a wet fish.

  Kruger rubbed his eyes. His knee began to ache. He recalled telling Felicity the story of his dubious deal one night early in their relationship, in the days when he confused lust with love. He had vowed her to secrecy. She had, of course, promised silence. Damn pillowtalk, he thought bitterly. It always ends up biting your ass.

  ‘ What d’you want me to do?’ he asked with an expression of resignation on his countenance.

  Danny looked directly into the eyes of Detective Inspector Jack Sands, the man who was her boss. The man who had become her lover.

  ‘ No, Jack, I really mean it this time. There’s no future for either of us in this… unless you leave your wife, that is. You know how many times you’ve promised to do that and never kept your word.’ Her voice was shaking with emotion as she spoke, delivering a speech she had practised over and over again in the last few days, but which at that moment she struggled to remember. ‘You’ll never leave her, will you? I accept that now and that’s why this has to stop. Now. Whilst no one else knows, whilst we’re still in a position not to hurt people.’

  Sands stared blankly at her. Then he blinked rapidly as the meaning of the words sank in. As she finished, he sighed and closed his eyes. ‘But Danny, I love you,’ he pleaded pitifully. ‘It’s just the kids… you know? I can’t walk out on them.’

  ‘ In that case, you obviously don’t love me,’ Danny retorted rather cruelly. In truth she did not want to wreck a marriage, though on the other hand she thought she loved Sands deeply. It was a love that was tearing her apart. She knew it had to end now, once and for all. That was the best way for both of them. To be able to leave the relationship with some dignity, try to be adult about it, part as friends if that was possible in the circumstances. ‘So get dressed and go, please, Jack. It’s got to end now. It’s as good a time as any, with me getting promoted next week. We won’t be under each other’s feet all the time, won’t be in adjoining offices, won’t be able to look at each other all day, every day.’

  She clenched her teeth and hardened her jawline, feeling absolutely gutted by what she was doing.

  ‘ But…’

  ‘ No! Just get up and go,’ she said sternly. ‘It’s over. Accept it and then we can both get on with our lives.’

  Sands dressed silently and very, very slowly whilst Danny stood in one corner of the room in her dressing gown, cigarette in hand. It was all she could do to prevent herself grabbing him and dragging him back into bed.

  Dressed, he paused at the bedroom door, gazed back at her.

  She looked down at her fingernails, refusing to meet his eyes. That would have snapped her resolve in a second.

  Jack closed the door softly.

  Danny heard his footsteps descending the stairs. The front door opened and closed.

  She broke down and wept.

  And not many miles away, in a tiny bedroom in a sea-front hotel in South Shore, another female cried quietly to herself, but for a completely different reason.

  Claire Lilton was folded up into a tight ball, her arms hugging her knees, nightdress pulled securely around her. She rocked herself with the steady motion of a disturbed person. She had once seen Polar Bears in a zoo,
not long ago on a school trip. She had watched one of the huge great beasts rock backwards and forwards whilst it stood there, trapped in its tiny enclosure. She had looked on in empathy because all she could think was, That’s me. That’s just me. Rocking, and can’t get away.

  God, how she hated the man. The stepfather who abused her right under her mother’s nose since coming into their lives two years before. The man her mother loved so much, who could do no wrong in her eyes. The bastard, the fucking two-faced bastard. Claire’s mother would never have believed it, even if she’d been told right to her face that her stepdad was doing things to her, making her do things to him, forcing himself into her until he jizzed, sometimes up her bum. Claire didn’t even know the words for some of the things he did to her, but she knew she was being ‘shagged’ because she had heard other, older girls talking about it, describing it. Saying how some of the lads did it to them.

  But not their fathers.

  Claire stopped rocking. Her eyes stared into the darkness. The rain beat down against her window.

  She also knew enough to understand she might have a baby — because that was how people got babies, by shagging — especially now she had started her periods.

  The thought terrified her.

  But what frightened her even more was the threat that, should she ever tell anybody — anybody — her stepdad would kill her.

  Chapter Three

  Trent was awake long before the cell lights flickered on the following morning. He had watched the darkness of the night slowly fade to the dull greyness of dawn and eventually the brightness of day. He saw these changes take place through his cell window from 4 a.m. onwards, lying there on his bunk with his hands clasped behind his head.

  His mind was very clear by the, time the key turned in lock and the screws barked to the residents that the new day had dawned.

  Trent had reached two conclusions.

  The first was that if he stayed in prison, whichever prison it happened to be, this or any other, he would continue to suffer at the hands of mad bastards like Blake and his cronies. His miserable life would be continually made worse. Therefore, in order to make his existence tolerable, Trent knew he had to do something to make everyone acknowledge he could not be messed about with.