The Hard Way

can make with us? We’re investigating a murder, and now we have our guy, you, cuffed and in custody. You might as well be tied up with a nice little bow.”
“All that might be true, but I know people.” He regarded her, then Miller. “I know people who’ve done some bad shit.”
It was her turn to glance at her partner.
“And let me guess, you’ll be willing to give them up for a lighter sentence, is that it? You’ll roll over on everyone to save yourself, isn’t that right!” Miller folded her arms and glared at Hayes. “What do you think? Should we listen to him?”
“I don’t think we have a choice, do you?” She followed Miller’s lead and crossed her arms as well. “All right, we’ll hear what you’ve got to say, but it’ll have to be pretty good to secure a deal, I hope you know that.”
“It’s good enough for you both.” Helsey nodded almost imperceptibly. “But if you think I’m telling you without a signed document, you’re even stupider than you look.”
Without conferring with Miller, Hayes stood and glared down at him. “We don’t need it that bad. Eric Helsey, you’re being charged with all the aforementioned. We’ll bring back the appropriate documentation.”
Helsey’s lawyer put up a fight, but it wasn’t until their suspect spoke again that Hayes’ interest piqued.
“That skip body you found a few weeks ago.”
She froze at the door, Miller eyeing her, and they both turned back to him. “What about it? Colleagues of ours closed that case already.”
“No, they didn’t. The guy who killed her is still around, but you go ahead and walk out.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “What do I know?”
Hayes didn’t know how to proceed. “I’ll have to consult my colleagues.”
In the corridor, she turned to Miller. “What do you think? Is he full of shit, or what?” A part of her wanted to forget she’d heard him.
“I think we should speak to Inspector Gillan and Sergeant Jackman. It was their case; they called it. They won’t be happy with this.”
Finding DI Alfie Gillan in front of his computer, she beckoned DS Travis Jackman over. Hayes explained the situation to them both, noting their exchanged glances, the fear in their eyes. If Helsey was telling the truth, they had an innocent man in prison, awaiting trial. “I’m so sorry about this. At first, we were ready to walk away and dismiss him as a liar, but there was something in his expression.”
As they were about to leave for the interview room, Gillan’s phone bleeped.
Hayes stood back. Judging by his responses, they had another case.
“We’ve got a triple murder.”
“We don’t mind starting it, if you want to take over the Helsey investigation?” She would do anything to get away from Helsey, especially if their suspect was telling the truth about the skip body. “Where is it?”
Gillan sent her the file by email. “A small radio station called Accord FM. Apparently the owner, a Henry Curtis, renovated a factory and turned it into a broadcasting station. From what I can gather, it’s popular. Their guiding principle is inclusion, so it’s favoured by the LGBTQ community.”
Hayes took her phone out, scan-read the file, and put it back in her jacket pocket. “We’re on it, sir. On our way now.”

5
Miller kept her focus on the cars ahead, hands holding the steering wheel at ten-to-two.
“Are you all right? You look pale,” Hayes asked her.
Hayes’ concern annoyed her. Pulling up outside the renovated factory outlet, Miller parked, put the handbrake on and switched off the engine. The real reason she couldn’t sleep the previous night: Walker. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. So stupid, she thought. “I’m fine, I’m just tired.”
There was a tent in front of the building, which Miller had grown accustomed to seeing at crime scenes. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Inside the tent, Miller said hello to Sheila, the pathologist, while changing into the overalls, gloves, face mask and shoe covers. After putting on safety glasses, she was ready. Miller listened to Hayes and Sheila natter, wishing they would hurry up.
Sheila left the tent first. Miller let Hayes go next.
“We’ll take this one room at a time.” Sheila opened the front doors.
Before Miller stepped inside, she glanced up at the sign: Accord. There was no mention of it being a radio station, no mention of the letters F or M.
Miller walked into a hallway with four rooms connected to it, two either side. Sheila opened the door to the first room on the left, nosed for a couple of seconds then backed out.
There were two recording studios on the premises, complete with glass partitions separating the host from the guests, or whoever else sat the opposing side. Never having seen the inside of a radio station before, Miller found it fascinating that presenters would actually know what all the buttons were for. There were so many of them.
Back outside, in the hallway, there were two more rooms, one on the left and one on the right. Both had brown wooden doors with little signs on that Miller couldn’t read from that distance. They looked like name signs.
The front door behind her opened and noise filled the hallway. Miller turned to find a good-looking guy in his fifties fighting with uniforms to get inside.
“Please, I have to see my husband!” The man dressed in a brown suit wrestled with her colleagues until Hayes stepped forward and spoke.
“Sir, you can’t be in here. This is a crime scene.”
It was heartbreaking listening to him grovel to be let in. The man identified himself as the business owner, Colin Fisher’s husband, Henry Curtis. Miller stood back. She left it up to Hayes to handle the heartbroken husband.
Feeling bad for him, she walked with Sheila to the rear of the building, where the signs on the doors indicated they were dressing rooms, and where the murders took place. “We’ll be through here when you’re ready,” she shouted to Hayes, who struggled to keep