Cold Killers Read Free Page B

Park.’
    ‘It’s a pretty low-key affair,’ said Willis. ‘Only the immediate relatives and close friends are invited. The family are staying the night there.’
    Robbo looked at Carter. ‘Are you going out there?’
    Carter shook his head. ‘I have no intention of driving out there. Plus, we’ve spent enough taxpayers’ money on policing the funeral. I don’t care if someone wants to
shoot the lot of them.’
    ‘I think that’s interesting,’ said Willis. She had walked back across to the photos of Eddie Butcher’s injuries. ‘Someone killed him first then pulled the tongue
through afterwards. It was as if they were slightly uncomfortable with killing him like that, so they dispatched him with a bullet.’
    ‘They might have run out of time,’ said Robbo as he walked across to join her.
    ‘But they definitely wanted us to know this had to do with the cartels. Cartels on British soil. Or British cartels?’

Chapter 4
    Tony was still shaking with rage. The television screen was frozen on the anguished face of his mother Sandra cradling his brother’s corpse. Tony hadn’t moved from
the spot for thirty minutes, then he heard the sound of the main gates opening. He took long slow breaths as he forced himself calm. He turned the television off and walked out to greet the people
he was expecting. Two men got out of the car. One was Marco, a tall, blond mix of Dutch and Colombian: big-boned and sallow-skinned, with a man-bun and low-slung pinstriped trousers, a big-buckled
designer belt and a black, open-chested shirt. The other was a Spaniard and shorter, dressed in a dark-blue business suit and tie; he was carrying a briefcase. Tony was watching from the hallway,
his bare feet on the mosaic sundial.
    ‘Señor Francisco, thank you so much for coming.’
    ‘Not at all, Mr Butcher. It is my pleasure,’ the Spaniard answered Tony while staring at Tony’s bare feet and his scratched legs.
    ‘Marco?’ Tony said, by way of greeting the tall, ashen-haired man whose body proportions were all wrong, massive shovel-like hands, and a neck that was too spindly-looking to support
such a big head. He had been working for Tony for the last six months. He was fast becoming indispensable: a feeder for Tony’s ambitions. No job was too dirty or too outrageous. No limits or
boundaries that they couldn’t cross over together.
    ‘Drink, Señor Francisco?’ Tony asked.
    ‘We’ll go into my study,’ Tony said to Marco, who nodded his understanding.
    ‘Just some water, please.’
    They walked towards the trophy room but turned left and entered an office, which was made to be as close to the Don’s office from the Godfather films as possible. Some of the props
had been obtained straight from the set. Besides Tony’s oversized desk, set at an angle in the corner opposite the door, there was another, smaller desk, a drinks trolley, cabinets and
bookcases, a leather sofa and two armchairs. The second door in the Don’s office, behind Tony’s desk, led down to the basement of the villa.
    Tony closed the door behind them and poured some water from a decanter and passed it to Francisco. Beads of sweat had begun to appear on Francisco’s top lip and forehead.
    ‘How can I help, Mr Butcher?’ Francisco asked, sipping on the water and looking uneasy. ‘This is about your brother’s estate, I believe.’
    Tony went behind his desk and sat down.
    ‘I have to be honest with you, Señor Francisco.’ Tony pointed to a seat and Francisco reluctantly accepted. Marco stayed where he was, standing between Francisco and the door.
‘I have asked you here for two reasons. One is my brother’s will and the other is a more delicate matter.’ Tony rested his forearms on the desk and breathed deeply as he smiled at
Francisco.
    ‘You work for the Mendez cartel, don’t you?’
    Francisco shook his head. Shocked, flustered, he turned to look for help Marco’s way. Marco smirked.
    ‘I don’t know that name, I’m sorry.