Condemned by R.C. Bridgestock (love books to read TXT) 📕

by putting her faith in him. Charley emitted an unladylike burp, the acidic taste of partially-digested cod and chips welling up from her stomach. Thankfully, she knew from years of eating fast food, usually cold fast food, that indigestion never lasted long, but that didn’t stop her feeling how she did. Legs tucked beneath her, she settled down and read on.

Chapter 27

Faisal Hussain, Charley read, was a career criminal. From quite a young age, the local criminal masterminds had his life mapped out, as his file showed her his quick succession up the ranks of the drug world. He was presently being investigated, believed to be one of the linchpins for a network which traded drugs from Birmingham to the Black Country, and to Oxford, London and Bristol. His drug-dealer customers were also believed to be acting as national co-ordinators, facilitating onward supply to other criminal gangs all over the UK. At thirty-two he was considered to be at the top of his tree on the West Midlands drug scene – far enough up the tree now to keep his hands clean. However, if evidence could be secured by the National Crime Agency whose radar he was under, he wouldn’t stay clean for long. Warning red text markers highlighted VIOLENT and KNOWN TO CARRY WEAPONS on his personal file. It appeared he wasn’t afraid to use them.

A few stretches in prison, notably for money laundering, possession of an offensive weapon and possession and supply of class A drugs, had resulted in a growing list of known associates.

It seemed Hussain had nothing to lose, living in the extreme luxury he was currently enjoying. He was in that world too deep to leave it alive.

However, if the corpse was involved with Hussain, there was no suggestion that he had ingested drugs, nor was there any evidence that the victim had been in possession of drugs when he was shot. That troubled Charley, because she knew that drugs, like rats, were never far from trouble, and you couldn’t get more trouble than a murder. Keeping an open mind in order to glean from the intelligence only the facts which could connect Hussain to her enquiry, she knew she couldn’t disregard him from her investigation, on the basis that he had links with firearms, coupled with the fact that he had been in the area within the timeframe that the experts had given her for the death of the male corpse.

If Mr Raglan wasn’t fazed by Hussain and his threats, he should have been, Charley thought, having read his profile. She had known people shot for no more reason than looking at the likes of him in a way that they thought was disrespectful. Deaths that occurred by means of an execution-type killing were nothing new when rival gangs decided it was time to expand their turf or to deal with someone stepping out of line. Word of this style of death taking place would be enough to spread fear, and silence the would-be grass for good. Not always for fear of recrimination on themselves, but for the threat of death or torture of their family members, whom on most occasions were a much easier target.

Elbow on desk, chin in her hand, Charley spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Who the hell was the male corpse? Why was the DNA result taking so long?’

Once again, Charley scanned the positive lines of enquiry. They had been lucky in as far as they had the teeth of the corpse, a metal plate used to mend a broken bone and DNA. ‘If only we knew who the victim was,’ Charley thought again as she sat back in her chair and let out a deep sigh. She desperately wanted to pick up the phone and chase everyone, but she knew once they had information to impart she would be the first to know.

Instead, Charley picked up a pen and started to list possible links to the Dixons, James Thomas, Raglan and Faisal Hussain. She could find only one – Crownest. How else could these people be linked in another way? She shook her head. Mobile-phone analysis may shed light on her enquiry, but first she had to find relevant phone numbers, and she knew this information wouldn’t be easy to come by, because some criminals used burner phones.

In the world that the likes of Faisal Hussain lived in, it didn’t make good business sense to keep the same number for long.

Charley could only see one way forward, and that was to keep enquiries tight and focused, at least for now. The ground beneath the team’s feet was still being cleared, which was necessary before they could change direction to follow up other possible lines of enquiry.

It was six o’clock in the morning, and still dark, when Charley set off for the police station the next day. As she stepped out of her door the icy wind was so strong it nearly took her breath away. Yet for once she was grateful for the cold air; it cleared her head of the nightmares that had plagued her all night. Now, she was left with a dull ache. There was a hard frost on the windscreen and on the ground. She breathed deeply to fill her lungs. ‘Today will be a good day,’ she told herself. Settling down in the driver’s seat, her teeth chattering, she started the engine. Mornings were Charley’s favourite time of day. There was a period of stillness between the time the night birds and criminals went to bed, and the morning people got up. Usually at this time of day she felt calm, but today she felt agitated. The pain in her head spiked when her phone rang.

She dug her mobile out of her pocket with her gloved hand, but the shrill tones continued to pierce the inside of the car, as irritating to her as nails being scraped down a chalkboard. ‘I’m not on-call,’ she wanted to scream as she tore her glove off