Closer Than Blood: An addictive and gripping crime thriller. Paul Grzegorzek

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      “What happened to mutual respect?” I asked, squaring up so that Eddie would have to go through me to reach the door. “You’re lying to me, Eddie.”

      The heat seemed to drain from the room as the big man looked up at me from beneath his eyebrows, chin lowered like a bull about to charge.

      “You what?” The words were soft, laced with menace.

      “You’re lying. I saw your face when I said his name, you know him. I also know that you’ve been seen at his office on at least three occasions, so don’t treat me like a mug.”

      “You come into my house and call me a liar? I should put you through the fucking window!” He roared the last, bringing Greg out of his own chair to loom protectively behind his brother.

      I pulled my pepper spray out and began playing with the catch, keeping my eyes locked on Eddie’s.

      “I don’t think that would do either of us any favours, do you?”

      “Get the fuck out!”

      “Fine.” I shrugged. “Barry, we’re wasting our time, let’s go.”

      I heard the door open behind me and Barry’s hand landed on my shoulder, guiding me backwards so I could stay facing the angry brothers as I left. Eddie edged forwards in time with me, keeping just out of reach as Barry pulled me down the hallway and through the front door. I reached out and closed it behind me, almost in Eddie’s face, then turned and hurried back to the car, ignoring the frown Barry was throwing at me.

      “What the hell?” He demanded once we were in the car. I started it before he had his door fully closed, then spun it around and shot out of the close. I tore up the road about a hundred metres then swung it around again, parking up behind a van.

      “Tactical goading.”

      Barry’s frown deepened. “You what now?”

      “Just trust me, OK?”

      “You can be a real pain in the arse, you know that?” he asked, shaking his head.

      “I know,” I grinned, counting out the seconds silently in my head. I had got to forty-seven when a battered Ford Focus pulled out of the close. I pointed towards it as it shot towards the town. “But I’m a pain in the arse who’s good at his job. Now, let’s go see where our good friend Eddie is off to in such a hurry, shall we?”

       Chapter 13

      Simmonds’ office was in the basement of a seedy hotel on the seafront in Kemptown, the area of the city that started out full of trendy bars and shops and gradually bled into Whitehawk. It was about five minutes’ drive from Eddie’s house, but he made it in half that, ignoring red lights and give-way signs with equal abandon.

      It was hard to keep up without being spotted, but as he pulled into the tiny car park in front of the hotel I was only a couple of cars behind him. I parked on the seafront opposite, just far enough down that we couldn’t be seen from the building itself, then we got out of the car and crossed towards the hotel, Barry still glaring daggers at me.

      “Was it really that bad?” I asked as we approached the dirty white building, its neon sign almost obscured by bird shit and black gunk from the traffic on the busy road.

      “You went into Eddie Baker’s home and called him a liar. People have died for less!”

      “We were never in any danger.”

      “Really? It looked pretty dangerous to me.”

      “No.” I shook my head. “They wouldn’t have risked a scrap with us, not today.”

      “Why not?”

      “You saw the clear sideboard next to the kid, right?”

      “Yeah, so?”

      “Was there any other place in the entire room that wasn’t littered with crap?”

      “Not from where I was standing, no.”

      “They wouldn’t have fought us,” I assured him. “Greg is a burglar, which probably means whatever was on that sideboard when we knocked on the door was stolen property. They probably bunged it in the kitchen or upstairs while Eddie held us at the door. No way are they going to start a fight with us when they had that in the house. One touch of a button and their lounge is full of very annoyed coppers.”

      “You put our lives on the line because of an empty sideboard? God help me.” He sounded impressed in spite of himself. “You really do like living dangerously, don’t you?”

      “There’s another way to live?”

      Barry shoved me, finally giving in to a rueful laugh. “So, what now?”

      “We go and see Bobby at the hotel, see what we can hear.”

      Bobby Dixon was the hotel manager, a small, inoffensive-looking man in his early twenties with bad teeth and a habit of looking at his shoes when he spoke. He’d come to our notice when he’d been nicked for allowing prostitutes to use the hotel for their business, and we’d kept him out of custody on the understanding that he let us listen in on Simmonds whenever we wanted.

      We crossed the car park outside the hotel quickly and stepped through into the shabby reception area, the door creaking alarmingly as it swung shut.

      It was dim inside, almost dark, and a bored-looking girl in her late teens glanced up at us with disinterest from behind the counter.

      “You want a room?”

      “No, we want Bobby.”

      “He’s in his office, you know the way?”

      “Yeah.” I nodded. Before we passed her she was buried in her phone again.

      Bobby’s office was at the back of the building, directly above Simmonds’ basement one. Thanks to some holes carefully drilled in the floorboards, it was now possible to hear everything happening in the room below, which was how we’d known about the drug deal in the first place. It was low-tech, but it worked.

      I pushed the office door open without knocking, to see Bobby asleep in his chair, feet up on the desk and head back as he snored.

      “Hey, wake up. Need your office.”

      He started and scrambled to his feet, then saw who it was and immediately looked down at the floor.

      “Oh, sure, uh, sure.” He hurried out, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then paused in the doorway. “I don’t suppose, uh, I could find out when …”

      “When I say so,” I said, cutting him off. “You’re lucky you’re not in a cell right now.”

      “But what if he finds out I’ve been letting you use the place? He’ll kill me!”

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