Ambush by Nick Oldham Read Free Book Online Page A

could be slimmer of the year and running marathons now.
    â€˜Dead,’ Tope blurted.
    â€˜Oh, God, sorry to hear that, mate.’ The news did not really hit Flynn hard. ‘What? Did he keel over, have a thromb?’
    â€˜No,’ Tope gasped. ‘Murdered. His whole family murdered, executed … looks like a gangland hit … excuse me.’
    Flynn heard a rustling noise, the sound of footsteps, then a retching sound he guessed was Tope honking up his stomach contents. The connection went dead.
    Flynn glowered at his phone, then looked up at Santiago, who had just finished her call. She was looking at the screen of her mobile, a smart phone, much more advanced than Flynn’s little block of antiquated electronics. He recognized the sound of a text landing and saw her reaction to whatever it was: a sudden look of horror as her lips popped open and she pivoted her head to look at him.
    â€˜Uh, yeah?’ he said.
    Carrying the phone as if it was a block of gold, she came up to Flynn.
    â€˜That was the detective investigating the robbery at the shop. He found the apartment rented by the lads in San Antonio.’
    â€˜OK.’
    â€˜He sent me a photo of one of the items found.’ She turned the phone around and showed him the full screen.
    It was a photograph of a photograph.
    And that photograph was of Steve Flynn.
    About the same time as Flynn squinted, puzzled, at his picture on Santiago’s phone, a series of photographs and a short video landed on another phone.
    The recipient smiled grimly and with satisfaction at the images of four dead bodies, ruthlessly dispatched, then piled on top of each other like trash – exactly as the man had ordered, because that was what he believed. DCI Craig Alford and his family were garbage and needed to be put down like the dogs they were, but Alford himself had to witness the deaths of his family members first, before he himself was executed.
    That was how true justice worked, the man thought.
    And it had been a long time coming. Even so, it still felt fresh and tangy.
    But it was just the beginning. More had yet to die.
    The message underneath one of the photographs read, ‘Instructions complied with. Continue?’
    The man thumbed his response. ‘Continue.’

FIVE
    â€˜W ho was he to you?’ Santiago asked Flynn.
    They had decided to forgo bed for a little longer and were sitting on the rear deck of the boat, the night still warm enough for T-shirts and shorts, accompanied by a measure of decent whisky this time, watered down ever so slightly to bring out the flavour of the malt.
    Flynn considered the question, screwed up his face, shook his head.
    â€˜To be fair, not a lot,’ he admitted. ‘He was a DI – detective inspector – when I was back in the job. I knew him reasonably well, we got on all right, but I wouldn’t call him a friend as such. We worked on a special task force, two thousand two, three, for about six months. I was a drugs branch DS and he headed a small unit.’ Flynn shrugged his shoulders. ‘Beyond that, nothing … I suppose Jerry just wanted to tell me … he was part of that unit too. Even though Alford and I weren’t close, it’s still a big thing when a colleague dies, especially in such circumstances, as you know.’
    Santiago nodded and delicately sipped her spirit. The effect of the Black Russians seemed to have worn off and both were now stone cold sober, not feeling the need for sleep.
    The boat bobbed gently on the water. The resort of Santa Eulalia was shutting down for the night now. It was nothing like its vibrant, drug-fuelled sister, San Antonio. Santa Eulalia was aimed at young families and middle-aged people and did its job very well, but it also meant it was a much more subtle, gentle place, with a pace to match.
    â€˜Jerry isn’t good at real life crime.’ Flynn grinned. ‘I can imagine the effect it would have had on him.