‘Perhaps we’d get more out of him by bringing him in for questioning,’ Grace said. ‘A proper cognitive witness interview out of the comfort zone of his home.’
‘I don’t think he’ll make that easy, chief,’ Potting replied. ‘Just to give you a heads-up on him, he’s like a lion who reckons he’s king of the jungle.’
‘So we should be afraid of him, Norman?’ the Detective Superintendent quizzed. ‘Are you scared of him, is that what you are saying?’
Potting mumbled, awkwardly, ‘Well, no, not exactly, no, chief.’
Grace replied, ‘Norman, it’s a very dangerous world if police are ever afraid of a criminal, and that will never happen on my watch, OK? A lion might be king of the jungle. But throw him into the shark tank and he’s just another meal.’ He paused. ‘Do you understand?’
‘I do, chief.’
‘Good. After you and Velvet have spoken to Hegarty, I’d like you both to invite Stuart Piper to come in voluntarily for questioning. But in case he doesn’t want to do that willingly, suggest you may return with a search warrant. I’ve a feeling he’s the kind of guy who might not want his house searched.’
Potting looked at Wilde and saw her complicit smile. ‘With pleasure, chief,’ he said.
In her Belfast accent, DC Wilde said, ‘When I was a child, Sundays were a day of rest. The Lord’s day. Not yesterday, though.’
‘The Lord works in mysterious ways, Velvet,’ Grace retorted.
‘You’d like to think, wouldn’t you, sir, that even murderers turn up for Holy Communion?’ she said.
With a wry smile, Grace said, ‘That’s the problem. Far too many of them do. It’s something my old mentor said, many years ago. Do you know what a murderer looks like? I’ll tell you. He looks like you and me.’
72
Monday, 4 November
Daniel Hegarty, reacting to the terrified scream from his wife, made a desperate lunge for the doorway of his man-cave. Kilgore blocked it, startling Hegarty by pulling out a gun with a silencer attached as he did so. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d stay right there,’ he said icily, pointing the small black weapon straight at him.
Hegarty hesitated.
Moving the gun closer to the forger, Kilgore said, ‘My employer doesn’t like vermin, as you’ve already seen.’
The two men stared at each other with hatred in their eyes.
‘My employer also doesn’t like being cheated, Mr Hegarty. And I can assure you no one will hear a gunshot in here.’
Hegarty debated charging the old man but hesitated at the deadly serious expression on his face — he looked like he really would pull the trigger. An instant later, another man appeared behind Kilgore. A tall, muscular hunk, dressed in black, with a face that looked tough enough to break a sledgehammer.
‘Would you mind turning around please, Mr Hegarty, and putting your hands behind your back.’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
Unfazed and still consummately polite, Kilgore said, ‘Mr Hegarty, we really do not want to have to hurt your wife, but if you don’t do what I ask you, I’m afraid we will.’
As if on cue, Natalie screamed again in terror. ‘Daniel — Daniel!’
Again, Hegarty stiffened, preparing to lunge. ‘You do not touch my wife,’ he yelled at him.
‘We’ll do whatever the hell we want, Mr Hegarty. If you do not cooperate we will hurt her real bad. Now turn around.’
Very reluctantly and slowly, Hegarty obeyed. He heard footsteps, then rough, powerful hands seized his arms, forcing his hands together, palm to palm, then sharp wires cut into his wrists. He tried to move his hands, but they were bound together as if he had been handcuffed.
A massive hand on his shoulder spun him around until he was face to face with the hulk in black, breathing in a reek of last night’s garlic only faintly masked by mint gum. ‘Follow me, yeah?’
‘Where’s my wife? What have you done to her, you bastards?’
Behind the hulk, he now saw Kilgore standing in the middle of their living area, still with the gun in his hand. ‘Fuck you, Kilgore.’
‘There’s really no need for bad language, Mr Hegarty,’ he said calmly.
‘Not in your twisted fucking mind,’ Hegarty retorted.
Before he could duck, Kilgore swung at him. The force of the gun striking his cheek sent him flying; dazed, he lost his footing and fell painfully on his back, on the floor.
The henchman hauled him to his feet. His face was stinging.
‘Let’s have some manners and some decorum, Mr Hegarty,’ Kilgore said, his Southern drawl sounding totally out of place here. ‘And let’s all calm down before someone gets hurt bad.’
‘My wife,’ Hegarty said. ‘If you touch—’
He stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Natalie, a gag tied across her mouth, her eyes a picture of terror, hands cable-tied in front of her, appear at the bottom of the stairs, with another big thug, also all in black. The two men could have been twins. They were twins, he realized. The right hand of the one with Natalie sported a ring with a massive, vulgar-looking ruby-coloured stone. His twin wore a similar ring, with an emerald.
Elbowing the henchman beside him hard in the groin and hearing a satisfying grunt of pain, Hegarty hurled himself towards his wife. But before he’d got close, he received a massive punch in his stomach, which sent him staggering back, completely winded, and crashing into the pine dining table. He reeled off it, unsteadily, lost his balance and fell, painfully, back onto the floor.
‘Just calm down, Mr Hegarty, and take a seat,’ Kilgore said, pulling out one of the wooden chairs while still steadily holding the gun in his other hand.
Before he could react, a powerful hand hauled Hegarty back up to his feet, propelled him towards the chair and pushed him down onto it. An instant later, a tie-cord was pulled around his midriff and secured behind the chairback. Then the thug similarly secured his legs. All the time Hegarty looked impotently and helplessly at Natalie, who stared pleadingly back at him.
Kilgore stepped into centre stage. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ he asked.
‘Very funny.’
‘My friends and I are not here on any laughing matter, Mr Hegarty.’ He nodded at the henchmen in turn. They were standing on either side of Natalie now. ‘I’d like you to take a look at your wife, Mr Hegarty. She’s a very attractive lady, wouldn’t you say?’
Hegarty glared in silence, thinking hard, desperately, about what he could do.
‘Oh,’ Kilgore frowned. ‘You don’t agree.’
‘Touch her and I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all three of you.’
Kilgore smiled. ‘Nice sentiment, but I don’t think any of us three are too worried right now about that. What I would say is that your wife has very elegant hands. Beautifully slender fingers. My mama would have called them pianist’s fingers. Or maybe more appropriately right now, surgeon’s fingers.’ He walked over to her, dragging another wooden chair behind him, and raised her cuffed hands in the air, as the two henchmen forced her down onto the chair. Then he dropped her arms, dug into his inside jacket pocket, and produced a small pair of bolt-cutters.
Fear coiled in Hegarty’s stomach as he saw them.
‘Here’s the thing, Mr Hegarty. My employer and I originally thought that threatening to cut off some of your fingers would be a good way to get what we want from you, and you know exactly what that is. Then we thought about it some more and figured that would prevent you from painting further copies for us. Not smart, right? Not smart, because you are one stubborn son-of-a-bitch.’
Increasingly terrified for Natalie about where this was going, Hegarty said, ‘Do what you want to me, but please don’t hurt my wife. She’s got nothing to do with you people.’