Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel by Jay Nadal Read Free Book Online Page A

going in and potentially tampering with evidence, or disturbing clues to the deceased’s last few hours. As Scott approached the Phoenix, he was met by a uniformed officer who acknowledged his arrival.
    “Morning Constable, anything to report?” Scott asked.
    “No sir. Nothing more than curious onlookers asking a few questions,” replied the officer. PC Oju was an imposing figure, almost as tall as Scott, but a lot more slender, with dark afro-Caribbean features that offset his bright smile.
    As Scott waited for Abby to arrive, his phone sprang into life heralding the arrival of an email as it vibrated against his chest. Scott reached in to grab it from his inside jacket pocket, and then proceeded to duplicate the elaborate security swipe pattern he’d created to unlock the phone.
    “For fuck’s sake,” on the third attempt, he finally unlocked the phone and made a mental note of finding an easier way to lock it.
    The email was from Matt Allan.
    Hi Scott, I’ve got my team still pouring over the evidence collected. However, we’ve found good fingerprints on the blood-stained twenty pound notes and these will be analysed and cross referenced later today. We’ve also sent the victim’s mobile phone on to the high tech unit for analysis. All results will be with you in the next 24-48 hours. Speak soon, Matt.
    Scott felt encouraged by the news, but nevertheless cautious. He knew that the identification of prints could lead to nothing, but there was always hope of an early breakthrough either with a match, or from the phone records.
    As he looked down the street to the seafront, he saw Abby finishing off her discussion with Sian, before leaving her to carry out further door-to-door enquiries with local residents and traders.
     
    ***
     
    Scott and Abby were greeted by the smell of stale beer and mustiness from the lack of ventilation and natural light. The club itself was well proportioned, even though it led Abby to comment that her living room floor had more space than the dance floor area she stood on.
    “What happened to the days of a nightclub actually looking like a proper club, with a big dance floor?” Abby said with amusement.
    The club looked more like an informal first-class lounge in an airport; it was wide but not very deep. To the left was a bar with the usual spread of alcoholic bottles on the back shelves of a mirrored wall, with the bar itself an all glass and mirror affair. It was decorated in gaudy purple and blue neon lights that no doubt emanated that ghastly neon glow from every inch of it.
    In the middle was a small black marble dance floor, and that was a being generous, which no doubt saw very little action judging by how shiny and clean it looked.
    To the right and taking up at least two thirds of the nightclub, were eight sets of purple sofas set around small white, round tables. Each table and sofa had embedded lights in them which gave out a soft, white glow.
    As Scott looked around, there was nothing to suggest that the events of the night would end the way they did. Everything appeared to be where it should have been, nothing was broken or damaged and there was clearly no evidence of an altercation within the club that could have then been settled outside.
    “I know, can you imagine the electricity bill?” Scott replied with a laugh and a dismissive shake of his head.
    Scott recalled his university days, heading off to the Escape and Gloucester nightclubs where he spent the best part of a night bumping into other revellers, a problem that became worse as the night wore on. A combination of no air conditioning, overcrowding, cheap drinks and condensation dripping off the ceilings all added to the underground feel. The good old days, he thought as he smiled.
    “You’d hardly see a club like this, never in my day, eh?”
    “Nor mine,” agreed Abby.
    Stone’s office was towards the back of the club and carried on the tacky high class feel the club attempted to portray. It had plush,