“I’ll look up this guy’s record.” Miller went back to her desk. “Hey, Oldham’s ex-military. Spent ten years in the army, and took three tours, one in Iraq and two in Afghanistan. He was discharged in 2012, and since then he’s been on the Demirci payroll, as a security guard. He fits the bill.”
“I think we need to speak with the lovely Melodi Demirci, don’t you?” Hayes rolled her chair back before standing. As she fetched her suit jacket, Inspector Gillan joined them.
“Leave it for now. Try getting more information from your collar before you go all guns blazing for Demirci. She won’t appreciate being fingered for this, and she’s lawyered up. You’ll need more evidence.”
21
Melodi Demirci turned on the television to Sky News. The flat-screen TV on the wall of her office above the casino came to life, a brunette news broadcaster talking animatedly outside the radio station, formerly an old factory unit in a business park nearby.
The lovely-looking presenter pointed at the building behind her. Melodi noticed two women in suits the other side of the police cordon walking towards a white Peugeot. Taking a closer look, she noticed the tanned, shorter woman was the famous Detective Inspector Hayes, the one who’d rescued illegal immigrants from an abandoned factory fire.
She’d read quite a lot about Hayes. About how she and her partner had been instrumental in catching the Suitcase Killer, who had left the capital in fear after he abducted and butchered half a dozen sex workers over the course of eighteen months. The killer dumped the bodies in suitcases in the River Thames.
No, one thing she didn’t want was Hayes sticking her oar in. Her business with Henry Curtis needed to stay quiet. Melodi picked up her desk phone. “Yeah, it’s me. I think it’s time. You know what to do. Look, I don’t care how you do it, just make sure it doesn’t come back on me, understood? I don’t know, use your imagination.”
Slamming the phone down, she spun in her chair. “I have to do everything around here!” She was sad about Colin Fisher and Brandy Reid; they were great presenters, had good chemistry.
When Henry Curtis had come to her asking for investment in his broadcasting station, she’d been reluctant at first. The thought of a radio station aimed at the LGBTQ community didn’t seem like a viable business proposition to her. But when she saw the forecast for Return on Investment (RoI), pound signs flashed in her eyes. Demirci had no idea how under-represented the LGBTQ community were in local, regional or national radio.
For the past three years she’d had a good working relationship with Henry Curtis. Being a silent investor was an easy win for her. Handing over the money to him was the extent of her involvement, and she was receiving her forty per cent of the profits, which had grown exponentially over the years. The problem she had now: Henry was getting greedy, trying to buy her out of the company she helped establish. If anything, she would buy his shares, not the other way round.
Being the figurehead of a family dynasty had its perks and pitfalls. She held people’s livelihoods, and ultimately their lives, in her hands. The casino was a huge burden on her, but with cunning and ruthless business acumen, another cash cow. Her father had almost run her birthright, and inheritance, into the ground. It didn’t surprise her to find him riddled with bullets in the casino’s car park.
As much as she wasn’t surprised to find her father filled with lead, it still hurt. The police even suspected her of hiring hitmen; they took her in for questioning and everything, not that they had any proof. She was more careful than that. He deserved everything he got, the alcoholic prick that he was. In the end, they collared a business associate, a dealer he’d double-crossed.
Now Melodi was in charge of the casino, and guided her family’s fortunes. The first thing she did when she took over was to fire the pit boss and cage manager; it was clear they were skimming. She made sure they received her message not to steal from her. Neither would use their left hands again.
Next on her list of priorities was to hire trustworthy dealers and inspectors, which meant screening existing staff. Those who failed were beaten by her security team in the cellar, and told never to return. The lucky few retained their jobs, and she hired only those she trusted, or those she thought she could scare into behaving. Inside six months, she had a working casino taking more money on a daily basis than her father had.
Yeah, she knew what she was doing. Melodi acquired quite the reputation for business, so much so that small business owners approached her for loans. She took this as a compliment. One bicycle shop owner asked her for a loan, to which she obliged. But when he couldn’t front the repayments, she had her security visit the shop, steal the bikes, and when the insurance money came through, made him pay her. He folded.
Melodi turned the TV off when a knock came at her office door. She shouted for the visitor to enter and one of her security team came in. “I’m coming. Wait outside.”
She walked over to her corner bar and poured herself a whisky, not a high street brand. She only drank decent whiskies. Feeling the liquid warming her insides, she took a deep breath and headed towards the door. “What’s so urgent? I said no interruptions.”
“There’s some guy downstairs, says you’ll spot him.”
Melodi knew immediately who the guy was. The useless piece of shit lied to her that he was some hotshot stockbroker. She’d had him checked out, and was pleasantly pleased to find out he was a member of SCO19, a unit of the armed police.
If there was one type of person
