Hayes brushed herself off, straightened her blouse and suit jacket, and went after Reid and Miller. Her partner had no trouble stopping the batty old woman, and fought with her for the keys. “Here, Miller.” She caught the keys.
“Listen, Mrs Reid, Kat, we can either ask you questions here, or book you for assault and do this back at the station. It’s up to you.” Miller clicked her fingers in front of Reid’s face. “Hello? Mrs Reid? She’s not going to give us a thing, look at her!”
One of the drunkards from Reid’s table stumbled towards them, dribbling. He looked to be in his late fifties, early sixties, maybe. He almost fell into a table of empties on the way to her. “Leave Kat alone. She’s a good sort.”
Hayes glanced over at Reid sat on her scooter, whose face told her to take a sidestep away. “She’s going to puke.” The old guy kept on towards her. Bracing herself, the old boy clenched his fist, as he lunged at her, and fell flat on his face.
“Damn it!” Miller turned away as Reid vomited on the worn carpet.
“I’d call that assault, sir, wouldn’t you?” Hayes took out her cuffs and slapped them around the old fella’s thin wrists. She looked up at Miller. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way, back at the drunk tank. Why doesn’t anyone ever take the easy way?”
The pub burst out in clapping and cheering, Hayes walking the drunk man out while Miller directed Reid on her scooter. They received stares from shoppers and locals on their way back to the car. Hayes helped Miller with their passengers, making sure they didn’t hit their heads on their way inside.
Hayes placed the scooter in the boot. “It’s lucky this thing folds up.” She walked round to the driver’s door and sat down, starting the engine.
Reid pitched forward and vomited in the footwell, the smell immediately cloying at the back of her nose.
“That’s just great!” Hayes held her breath as much as she could, and left the windows open as wide as they would go.
Forty minutes later, she pulled up near reception in the station car park. When she exited, Hayes took several deep breaths of fresh air, hoping the smell didn’t cling to her suit. She attracted the attention of two uniformed constables and asked them to help their passengers into holding cells. “I’ve got to go wash; I stink. And someone needs to wash this upholstery.”
Miller stood back, her hands up. “Hey! Don’t look at me. It’s not in my job description. I’m a detective, not a cleaner.”
“Yeah, and I’m not doing it by myself, so we’ll both do our fair share. How’s that? Go and get some hot, soapy water, would you?” When Miller went inside, Hayes took a look inside the car at the footwell behind the driver’s seat. “Great!”
Tutting at Miller, who stood watching her clear up Reid’s sick, Hayes carried the bucket back inside and threw the dirty water down the toilet. With Reid’s mobility scooter stored for the woman’s release, the pool car was prepped, ready for the next driver. “Right, let’s go and speak to Inspector Gillan, see what he has for us.” She washed and dried her hands. “What’re you washing your hands for? You didn’t do anything, except carry the bucket out.”
“I told you, I’m not a cleaner.” Miller left the room, waiting for her outside.
Hayes finished drying her hands and met her partner in the corridor. In the lift, she wanted to say something to Miller, but didn’t. She rolled her eyes when her partner started texting, with a grin. “Loverboy again?”
Miller said nothing but followed her while texting.
Hayes found her desk and sat with a slump. The smell of Katherine Reid’s vomit still lingered, either on her suit, or had it seeped into her skin? Either way, she wanted to take a long, hot shower to wash it away.
“Great, you’re back!” DS Travis Jackman joined her at her desk. “I know one of your guys, Inspector. You were lucky this afternoon. The white guy you arrested, he works for Melodi Demirci, one of her high-end enforcers.”
Hayes sat back in her chair. “Him? I had him on the floor inside two seconds.”
“Yeah, some enforcer if Hayes can have him like that.”
Hayes ignored Miller’s comment. “So, did you talk to him?”
“He wouldn’t talk. His lawyers made him keep things close to his chest, but I thought you’d like to know who he worked for. Melodi’s not above taking hits out on people. Just thought this might help, because I know you’re looking at a possible hitman taking out Fisher, Reid and Austin.”
She contemplated it for a moment. “But why would Melodi Demirci want to assassinate Brandy Reid? This guy’s after Brandy’s boyfriend, a Dylan Oldham.”
“And we had Demirci as a possible suspect for Fisher, not Brandy.” Miller frowned. “But Melodi has to be top of our suspect list now, doesn’t she?”
“With a connection to two of the three victims, yeah.” Something didn’t sit quite right with her, though. “Except why would she send her enforcers to murder Brandy, or Fisher? Either way, supposing Fisher was her intended target, and this guy kills all three. Why would Demirci order the hit on Fisher? If he owes her money, she’s not going to get it back by putting a bullet in his head, is she?”
“The same goes for Brandy Reid. If Brandy owed Demirci money, she wouldn’t get it back by killing her.”
Travis sat on the edge of Hayes’ desk and folded his arms. “What if shooting Brandy, or Fisher was a message?” He sat up straight. “Let’s look at it: you said yourself that he was after the whereabouts of Brandy Reid’s boyfriend, this Dylan Oldham, right? What if killing Brandy was a direct message to him to pay up?”
Hayes saw what he meant. “And that works for Fisher. As far as we can make out, Fisher’s not the wealthy
