Deadly Obsession (8 page)

‘I loved Riley's father.' It was the first softening in Tommy's voice. ‘Cazwell was a good man, a major player. I worked with him as his equal. He treated me well and made sure that I was always on my feet financially. When he was on his deathbed, one of his wishes was that I looked after Riley, made sure that his prized son came to no harm. But the boy was a fool. Nowhere near as clever as his father. As soon as he took over the business he had no idea about what it took to keep all of the plates spinning. He would try and finance everything by the seat of his pants. Do anything that that bumbling fuckwit, Winston Curtis, told him to. As soon as Riley employed him things went downhill quicker than a fucking ski jumper at the Sochi Olympics. Good job he copped it too. There was no point Riley ploughing money into clubs, flashy cars, houses and a stupid wife who was more than happy to spend his cash if he didn't keep funding the pot. Riley could make a killing, no pun intended, with his work but if you earn less than you spend then you're dead in the water. He was nowhere near the man his father was and he never would have been.'

Tommy was enjoying his revelations. It was as if he had waited for the right moment to come along and suddenly the planets had aligned. The moment he could finally destroy Riley's perfect-husband image for good. Amy found his performance almost demonic in its drama.

'Cazwell had old school values and knew the art of survival. I had happy times with him.' Tommy lit another cigar. The deep pungent odour stung against Amy's eyes as the smoke looped into the air.

A pause. It allowed Amy to speak. ‘How can anyone who made a living killing people or feeding off others' misery have any kind of values? And what makes you any better? You're feeding off the carcass of my dead husband and sitting pretty on his hard-earned cash.'

‘Wrong again, Amy.' Tommy's voice rose to booming level, his anger mounting again. ‘Riley Hart was
never
profitable. I kept him afloat with money I'd earned with his dad. I did it for his dad. A few thousand here and there, it soon snowballed into seven figures. So I had him sign everything over to me, everything. I closed the business, no-one could hold a candle to Riley's father so I was buggered if I was going to try. I didn't want any further fucking damage to his reputation than had already been done by his cretin of a son. This is much more me.' He circled his hands around the room to convey his meaning.

A smile, heavy with spite, opened across Tommy's face. Whatever he was about to say, Amy knew that it would be pure venom. ‘Hate to say it, Amy, but Riley's life with you was a complete sham. Remember any paperwork you signed for him? What did Riley say it was for – business deals, money making schemes? That was the contract signing away any rights you had to any of his interests.'

A killer blow but a true one. One that hit hard. Tommy was right, Amy had signed countless forms during her time with Riley. She had never questioned any of them. No wonder it had all been so easy for Tommy to swipe everything away from her. It was all legal and binding. As tight as the ever fastening noose Amy felt wrapping itself around her neck. She'd heard more than she cared to. The truth was choking her.

But what was the truth? Tommy was ruthless and calculating but was he a killer? Would he kill the son of the man he'd obviously adored? He was never a fan of either Riley or Winston, that was for sure, but could he be a cold-blooded murderer? The thought of sharing a room with him any longer repulsed Amy. For her own sanity, she needed to leave and structure her thoughts. Work out what to do next.

She stood to go, tears threatening to fall again. As she turned to exit the office, the door opened and the stick-like frame of Jemima Hearn tottered in. Her skeletal cheeks were sunken and stained with rouge. Her entire face was caked in make-up. She stopped dead in her tracks on seeing Amy.

‘What in God's name is she doing here, Tommy?' Her lips, pinched and thin, hardly moved as she spoke.

‘She's come to see if I really believe that waste of space husband of hers is pushing up the daisies because she's not convinced,' snapped Tommy. ‘But we're done.'

‘She thinks he
might
be alive, then? What a ridiculous notion. No, he's dead ... best place for him in my opinion. Can't do any more harm. Now, why don't you sling your hook?'

Amy couldn't take it any longer. She pushed past Jemima and ran out of the office, through the casino and into the biting Manchester air.

‘
W
ell I can now add
wild boar to the list of things that I absolutely adore,' smiled Amy, wiping a chunk of bread around the rim of her bowl, mopping up the last meaty traces of the stew she had just devoured. ‘That was beyond gorgeous.' She reached out and touched Riley's hand across their restaurant table to show her appreciation.

‘On par with “Mucky” Maxwells, then? I thought their chips, cheese and gravy was the way to your heart. Don't I bring you to the best places?' asked Riley.

Amy laughed at the reference to the tiny chip shop that she loved in the backstreets of Manchester's gay Village. She couldn't count the number of times she and Laura, or indeed she and Riley had ended up in there, ordering the calorific trio of treats at the end of a boozy night out. It could be the swankiest of clubs or the most celeb-filled of VIP areas but no night would be complete without a final visit to the best fish‘n'chip shop that Manchester had to offer.

‘I think the oldest restaurant in … where was it?' She picked up the menu on the table and stared at the wording across the top of it. ‘… in Catalonia, is a cut above that, don't you? This place is amazing. Wine, food, the sexiest husband on the planet. What more could a girl ask for? Except for a dessert of course. I'm thinking cinnamon ice cream may be on the cards although doubtless it will head straight to my hips. I might force you into working off those extra pounds for me later if you don't mind.' Amy's voice was steeped in sexy suggestion, a fact not lost on Riley as he felt his cock stirring between his legs.

‘Not a problem, I'll give you a workout that will see those pounds dropping off faster than the speed of a charging bull. Not that you have any to lose, you're in perfect shape,' winked Riley.

‘Right answer,' said Amy, squeezing his hand once more.

‘So, coming to Barcelona with me is agreeing with you then?'

‘
Si, Señ
o
r … me encanta
.' Amy's pronunciation of the Spanish tongue for ‘I love it' may not have been spot on but Riley didn't seem to care.

‘Now that's sexy. When did you start speaking Spanish?'

‘Ever since you left me alone all afternoon with a guide book on La Rambla and told me to amuse myself while you dealt with your business. I thought I'd better learn a few phrases in case a handsome passing Spaniard decided to ask what a beautiful young girl was doing by herself in one of the prettiest cities in Europe.'

Riley punched his hand to his chest in jest and took a loud and deep intake of breath. ‘Dagger to the heart! Husband scolded and out of action. Mayday, mayday!'

Amy couldn't stop herself laughing at her husband's display of mock injury. ‘Well, that's what you deserve for leaving me on my lonesome. You missed a treat, though. The credit cards have taken a serious bruising and I made a visit to the Parque Güell, which you would have loved. It's beautiful up there overlooking the city, you can see for miles.'

‘Yeah, I'm sorry work duties got in the way. I would have loved to have seen it with you. Mum and Dad saved up to go there years ago, it was somewhere they had always wanted to go and one of their few foreign holidays, and I remember seeing photos of them in albums sat amongst the colourful broken stones and the ceramic pots. Was it the architect Gaudi who influenced it all?'

‘Now who's impressed?' said Amy. ‘It sure was. You're not just a chiselled face and a heaving six pack are you, Riley Hart? Under that matador façade there's a pretty smart brain going on too isn't there?'

‘One tries,' mocked Riley. ‘I am sorry about leaving you though, but you knew this had to be a business trip. I just wanted you here with me. Work is always more pleasurable with you by my side.'

‘So how was the world of plastics compared to my visit to the broken tiles and mosaics? Riveting as ever?'

‘Deathly dull, but business is business and it looks like I might have won a lucrative contract. I just need to sign some papers and the gig is ours. Which reminds me …'

Riley reached down into the black nubuck leather messenger bag that was placed alongside his feet at the restaurant table. ‘I need to have these witnessed and given back to my contact here before we fly back home in the morning. It's just terms of business for the contract about supplying pipes and fittings for local hotels and shops here. Could you sign them for me?'

Riley pushed two folded sheets of paper across the table towards Amy. The section showing had a few words visible and space for a signature. ‘Could you just sign it here?' He pointed to one sheet before lifting it up and revealing another identical folded sheet. ‘And here.' He pointed to the second.

‘Am I allowed to, being your wife? Shouldn't it be an independent witness?' Amy went to unfold the papers but Riley grabbed them before she could. The action was pretty forceful but after a few glasses of red wine Amy didn't really pay much attention.

‘That's what I thought but apparently Spanish laws are different. It seems they are perfectly happy for you to sign it. It makes sense to do it now and then I can deliver it while you pack your things in the morning.' There was a slight fluster in Riley's voice. ‘Sooner it's done, the quicker the money rolls in. More cash to spend on the latest Prada or Gaultier.'

‘Now you're talking. Pass me a pen.'

Riley did so and watched as Amy signed her name across the two sheets. There was a sadness in his eyes.

Having signed, Amy rose to her feet. ‘Now, I just need to head to the little girl's room. If the waiter comes over I'd like the ice cream and the largest glass of Spanish liqueur this restaurant has to offer.' She bent down to kiss Riley on the lips and wandered off across the restaurant. ‘
Te quiero, Señor!
'

‘And I love you too, Amy Hart. I truly do.'

So why had he just made her sign away all rights to any interest in his financial dealings? It was not an act that made him feel good about himself. But it was something he had to do. Just another lie to add to the mix. She didn't need to know why they'd really come to Barcelona. What business really needed to be attended to that afternoon while she played happy tourist.

By the time Amy returned the signed papers were back in the messenger bag and the ice cream ordered. It arrived a few minutes later.

‘Ow. Brain freeze. That is so cold,' stated Amy as she took a large mouthful of the dessert.

Riley couldn't help but wonder if the body of the man whose throat he'd slit that afternoon and dumped in a large recycling bin in a secluded backstreet of Barcelona's Gothic Quarter had gone cold yet. What would Amy say if she knew the truth about his reason for coming to the Spanish city? He silently prayed that she would never have to know.

A
my had never felt more
alone. Her parents were dead, her husband apparently so and her memories of him shattering into sharp, painful shards of heartache with every single fact of his deceit she was learning. It was at times like this that Amy had always turned to Laura. She could always be relied on in any crisis to speak sense, see reason and stomp her high-heeled way towards a solution. But, of course, she was dead too ... Amy had felt her best friend's last drop of life taper to nothing as she held her in her arms that night at The Kitty Kat Club.

Lying back on the stained sheets of her Manchester hotel room bed, Amy couldn't help but think of her departed friend. She would have thrown some much-needed light onto the murky depths Amy found herself wallowing in. She'd also have told Amy to check out of the sub-standard hotel she was staying at and book into somewhere half-decent. But with no real income coming in and her money from selling jewellery and clothes dwindling away she knew that economising was the best idea. She didn't intend to stay in Manchester any longer than she needed to, just enough to try and find some clues to lead her to Riley, and she would hardly be at the hotel if she kept herself busy, so splashing out on five star luxury seemed pointless. It wasn't that long ago that Riley would have insisted on her settling for nothing less than the best. For now, being frugal was the sensible option.

The stains on the bed sheets ranged from, as far as Amy could make out, faded blood through to indubitably ancient splashes of tea and coffee. Flea-pit was not even close. In Amy's fuzzy-headed state of mind on her arrival in Manchester she had booked herself into the first hotel she could find. The façade and the Reception area had looked okay – window frames painted, Christmas decorations in place, no smashed bulbs on the illuminated sign – it was only once Amy had let herself into her room that she'd realised just how vile the place actually was. The carpet was a mass of cigarette burns, the edges of the curling wallpaper a distressed brown. It was a million light years away from any of the luxurious places she had ever stayed with Riley. But Riley wasn't here now, was he? She was alone ... with no-one to talk to. God, she missed Laura ...

L
aura Cash and Amy Barrowman
had first bumped into each other at a glam rock tribute concert in Manchester's town centre. Literally bumped into each other. Amy had been walking back from the bar with two full glasses of Jägerbombs balanced between her fingers ready to lose herself in yet another slab of the thunderous beats of her favourite glam rock tribute act – Sweet Treat. In an era where dance music from the likes of Gwen Stefani, Beyoncé and Shakira ruled the airwaves, Amy was still proud to love music from days gone by. She was all about the tribute and had often thought that she must have been born in the wrong era. Seventies and eighties tunes were just so cool.

Her fringe, straight, long and teased as far down her face as possible, fell across one of her eyes and momentarily caused her to stumble on her platform heels. Glam nights meant dressing up top to toe. Amy adored a theme and the chance to create an outfit for the night. She would happily sit down with her mother's old Singer sewing machine and work her magic with a stack of fat quarters and cotton jelly rolls until a couture era-befitting creation had been born.

As she tried to regain her footing both drinks went sailing from her clutches, one cascading down her own homemade outfit, while the other landed across the ample cleavage of Laura Cash, poured into the tightest bright purple cat suit Amy had ever seen. A triangular expanse of flesh ran from Laura's neckline, narrowing its way between her large, round breasts and ending at her belly button. The entire area of skin was decorated with glitter, which started to run in rivulets as it mixed with the Jägermeister/Red Bull cocktail hurtling down Laura's curves.

‘Oh, for fuck's sake. I spent all evening getting that glitter just right in the hope that the lead singer might cop an eyeful,' screamed Laura. ‘And now it's sodding ruined. I was hoping that working these beauties might get me backstage after the gig. It worked for one of the boarders in my school last year. She had a whale of a time. Now I just look like I've wet myself. Thanks a lot, I'll have to dry myself off in the toilets now.'

Amy was mesmerised by the vision of glorious femininity standing in front of her. She had never met anyone like this girl before. There was no chance of any red-blooded rocker not noticing the body Laura possessed. She was perfection. Amy was determined not to let her new discovery disappear just yet.

‘I am so sorry, it's these bloody heels. I lost my footing. Please let me buy you a drink to apologise,' she said, calculating just how much money she had on her. ‘And for what it's worth, you still look amazing. Seriously, I would kill to look like you.' Amy couldn't divert her gaze from the symphony of colour in front of her.

Laura obviously appreciated the compliment and visibly softened as she answered back. ‘I suppose it'll dry out, especially in this place. It's so bloody hot and rammed in here. I've never seen so much eye-shadow and lip-gloss in one place ... and I thought I had most of it on my dressing table.' She paused before adding, ‘I'll have a pint of lager, but I'll get it. I have wads of cash with me. The name's Laura, and as it happens, you're rocking that outfit too. I adore your lilac bellbottoms. And it's no wonder you fell over on those heels, they're at least a couple of inches higher than mine. I am beyond deeply jealous.'

‘I made the outfit myself,' said Amy, pleased by the compliment from the goddess in front of her. Why weren't there girls like this at Stephen Hague Comp?

‘Shut the front door,' squealed Laura. ‘It's amazing. And the boots?'

‘Charity shop.'

Laura held her hand up to high-five her new fashion icon. ‘Respect. You and I need to shop together. I never go in charity shops normally.'

Amy bought the drinks using a twenty pound note Laura had given her and the two girls continued to chat, mainly about their love of music and all things fabulous. ‘My friend actually managed to kiss Jake Shears from the Scissor Sisters last year when she saw him at some swanky Manchester hotel. She said his skin felt like the softest leather handbag you've ever touched. She wouldn't wash her face for weeks, silly cow, because she reckoned she could still smell him on her. She's with me tonight but I don't think I'll see her again as she wants to shag the bassist from the group and is probably backstage. Lucky bitch. I hope to join her later. What about you, you here alone? I assume not, unless you were binge drinking when I met you. You had two Jägers, right?'

‘Yeah,' smiled Amy. ‘One was for my mate's boyfriend. Well, I say mate, she's not really. She's just the only person I know who likes this kind of music and to be honest I don't really know her that well. It was just an excuse not to come on my own. Why don't more people like glam? I was glad to get away from them to be honest as they've spent most of the night with their tongues down each other's throats. It can become a bit off putting when you're trying to sing along. I suppose I should go back, they'll be wondering where I am.'

Laura began to scream at the top of her voice. Virtually all of the bar turned to look at her. ‘Oh my God! You hear those sirens? It's fucking “Blockbuster”. Only one of the best glam songs ever. Come on, down that drink ... you and I are going to dance. If one of the band doesn't spot me looking like this then there's
sweet
chance for anyone else!' She giggled at her own wordplay. ‘Now, move it sister, let's hit the floor.'

The two girls had spent the rest of the gig together, dancing wildly to the band on stage. Amy had never met anyone with such a cocktail of personalities before. Laura was happy, adventurous, fun, wild, and reckless and she made Amy want to feel just like that too. Laura did catch the attention of one of the musicians and before heading off into the night with him, the two young women swapped numbers and arranged to meet again. They did, the following week, on a quest to try and track down Brandon Flowers.

They'd never found The Killers' frontman, but the two girls had found a deep friendship, which saw them share so much – from their taste in music as it twisted its way from glam rock via disco to the edgier sounds of the eighties they'd been listening to on the night Laura died – to their varied experiences with men, even though Laura's experience with the opposite sex eclipsed anything that Amy had ever tried. Most nights out ended up with Laura leaving Amy to her own devices as she headed off after yet another man. But Laura had always been there, the naughty to Amy's nice. And Amy found her thrilling.

But now she was gone. The thrill was over. Someone had made sure of that when they'd fired a bullet into Laura's back at the Kitty Kat Club. And even if Amy wasn't sure about anything to do with her life with Riley anymore, she knew that somebody needed to pay for taking away her perfect existence with her best friend.