Deadly Obsession (24 page)

D
eath was never
easy to deal with. The finality of it never became any easier. Riley Hart had already had to watch his poor mother, Bianca, die in a hospital bed, a victim of a dreaded cancer, and now he was sitting by his father's bedside watching the life slowly ebb from his hero.

Cazwell Hart – a man who had challenged the meanest of men and won, delivered the cruellest of blows and survived and administered the harshest of punishments and always come out on top. But now here he was, in front of his only son and his faithful colleague, Tommy Hearn, being delivered the cruellest blow of all. His own body, once a mass of muscle and male strength, was failing him. A series of strokes had gripped Cazwell over the past twelve months, taking away his force and, in his final days, his dignity too. No longer could he rule those he wished to with an iron fist. His brain, his brawn and his bravado had all fallen by the wayside.

The shell before him was not the man that Riley Hart had always looked up to. That man had died weeks ago. But on the family doctor's instructions, he and Tommy had gathered at Cazwell's bedside to witness his final moments. The light in Cazwell's eyes, one that had once shone so bright, was fading fast.

Cazwell raised his head to look at his son. A line of drool hung from his mouth. For the past week or so, Cazwell's head had hung permanently down, as if his neck could no longer hold it in place. A nurse was there round the clock to feed Cazwell, to clean him and attend to his needs. Tommy himself had taken turns to help the man who, as far as he was concerned, had given him his life, his dreams, his ambitions. There had been talk of placing Cazwell in a home. Tommy and a young Riley wouldn't allow it. The once proud and mighty lion would never be caged anywhere other than his own jungle.

As Riley looked at his father, for a millisecond there was a spark of recognition behind his eyes. Was Cazwell trying to tell him something? Where had the strength come from to look directly at his son for the final time? Cazwell moved his head to look at Tommy. Again, an understanding. Confirmation of what Cazwell had instructed Tommy when he had first been confined to what was to be his death bed. Tommy nodded as he stared into the soul of his boss. Everything would be okay, business as usual, he would make sure of that. Cazwell could die with that knowledge.

Cazwell swung his head round to face his son again. The line of drool that hung from his mouth broke off and fell onto the silk pyjamas he was wearing. There would be nothing less than the best for a man of his greatness. Tommy had made sure of that.

Riley could feel the corners of his eyes pricking with tears as he watched his father take his final breath. As Cazwell Hart, king of the streets, shut his eyes one last time and drifted into eternal slumber, Riley smiled. Not because he was happy, but because he wanted to let his dad know that, just as Tommy had promised, everything was going to be all right.

It wasn't until Riley had left the room that he allowed the tears to come. When they did, for the longest time, he thought they would never cease.

J
emima Hearn's
car was found the next morning. It would have remained underwater for days, maybe longer, had items from inside the Aston Martin not floated to the surface, allowed to escape from their icy, watery grave through the open windows. When a mass of receipts, classical CD covers and a selection of flyers for the Dirty Cash Casino had been found floating like a flotilla of litter on the lake's surface by an early morning dog walker, the alarm was raised. When such a collection gathered in what was normally a tranquil and litter free area, the police were informed. The flyers led them to Tommy, who admitted that he'd been about to call them as his wife and one of his cars had been missing overnight. Within ninety minutes the car had been towed from the murky depths of the lake and the grisly discovery of Jemima's body, still belted into the front seat, had been made.

Tommy had wept uncontrollably when he'd been informed of Jemima's death. His mind, unable to comprehend why his wife would end up at the bottom of the lake, immediately assumed that foul play had been involved. If you lived by the sword, it was likely that those you loved and those around you could die by the sword too. It was a life lesson he'd seen learnt many times in his years alongside Cazwell and subsequently, Riley.

But the police begged to differ. There were no signs of foul play. No stab wounds or bullets or traces of struggle. Nothing that Tommy had expected. He had enemies and maybe revenge was being served to him with his wife's death. But no. It was Jemima who was enacting her revenge. Her revenge for every moment that she'd felt like no more than a plus one, her revenge for those moments Tommy didn't even seem to know she was alive. Her revenge for those moments when maybe he had forgotten that he loved her.

The discovery of the photo in her coat pocket proved that. Through the miracle of a zipped waterproof winter coat pocket and an ink that managed to somehow stay legible, the words were decipherable. The words on the back of them would live on, branded on Tommy's mind until the day he went to meet his maker too. ‘Winston, the
only
man who truly made me happy. Forever yours, Jemima x.' 'Only' underlined.

The ultimate payback from beyond the grave. Jemima had been in love with another man. A man who had worked alongside Tommy and Riley for the longest time. A man whom Tommy had never considered anything more than a yes-man, someone of little significance to the life he was such a part of. But for as long as Tommy Hearn lived, Winston Curtis would always be the man who had managed to make his wife feel like a woman again.

It's said that the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, and Tommy's memories of Jemima would always be discoloured with the thought that he had been unable to make her happy in her final days. That he had failed as both a husband and perhaps as a man. Maybe he should have shown his love a little more after all.

A
my had spent
the rest of her day at the hospital with Grant. He was lucky to be alive. When she and Lily had found him she was convinced that the actor was dead. Afraid to move him, Amy had called for an ambulance. It had been fifteen minutes before they'd arrived. The paramedics had confirmed that Grant was still alive, but that he was incredibly lucky. The blade had missed penetrating his heart by millimetres.

Amy travelled alone to the hospital with him. The revelation of seeing Riley and the subsequent stabbing of Grant had left Lily both shell-shocked and twitchy. She had no desire to remain around the police, with more than her fair share of narcotics inside her, and it was clear that Amy had no interest in her being there either. She would never forgive Lily for sleeping with Riley, nor he for sleeping with her when she eventually tracked him down.

Lily had convinced Amy not to tell the police about Riley's reappearance, insisting that it was best to keep quiet for now. Riley would only be implicated in the attack and anyway, it was best for Grant to tell them his side of the story when he came round. Only he knew the truth behind the stabbing, even if it seemed obvious to Amy that her brutal criminal of a husband was the man who had tried to end Grant's life.

Maybe it was the extreme situation that the two women had been forced into that, for a brief moment, calmed her anger towards Lily, but Amy had to admit that perhaps she was right. Trying to explain about Riley and the letters would only make for more pressure and she was already at saturation point. No, as far as the police were concerned, she and Lily knew nothing, saying that Grant had run off from them for reasons unknown and when he didn't return they'd gone looking for him.

Grant had stirred into life at regular intervals throughout the afternoon, even opening his eyes on a couple of occasions. But the loss of blood and some rather heavy painkillers ensured that he remained pretty much out of it. Stitches were applied to his wound and the doctors said that he would be kept in at least overnight. Since there was nothing else she could do, Amy decided to return to the hotel.

Walking into the Reception, Amy caught sight of herself in one of the full length mirrors either side of the revolving door. For a woman approaching thirty she felt that she had aged over the last few days, the lines around her eyes and forehead had become deeper and more ingrained. Her mind flashed immediately to Laura. She would have hated to see Amy looking so haggard. She would have had the answers straight away. ‘You need a good long soak in the bath, Amy, and one of those fabulous Clinique face masks. Those lines will disappear faster than apple sauce at a hog roast.'

Laura always had the answers. God, she missed her so much. She doubted if she'd ever have another friend like Laura. Somebody so refreshingly vibrant and decisive and with a zest for life more active than the back row of a cinema.

‘Right, an early night for you, I think,' she said, staring at her reflection. She really needed to find her husband but she had no idea where to go and she had to face the fact that he had run away. Plus, no man would like to see her looking like this. She pulled at the skin of her cheeks to look at her eyes. God, they were nearly as red as the bruise on the side of her face.

Making her way across the lobby, Amy pressed the lift button, ready to go to her room. As she stood there, one of the hotel staff from the Reception desk called to her and handed her two sheets of paper. ‘These two messages came for you today Miss Hart, one on the phone and one was hand-delivered.'

As she stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind her, Amy unfolded the first sheet. It was from Jimmy telling her that Jemima had killed herself and that Tommy had been crying ever since the police had been to tell him. For a moment Amy felt sorry for Tommy, the two of them united in the loss of a loved one. But it passed as quickly as it came. She didn't wish anyone dead but there was no way she was going to mourn for Jemima.

The second message was from someone called Dolly Townsend. The handwritten note read, ‘Hi, you don't know me but I know of you through Adam Rich. I need to see you. It's about your late husband. I have information that I think you'd definitely like to know. If you care to meet me, and I think you should, then come to this address tomorrow at noon. If you can't, then ring my number.' She had added her number and the name of a wine bar on the other side of Manchester at the bottom of the note.

Dolly Townsend? Who the hell's she
?
thought Amy. And what
does she know about Riley? A wave of suspicion that she was yet another of Riley's mistresses flooded her mind. Whoever she was, whatever she was, it would have to wait until tomorrow. All Amy wanted to do right now was tuck herself under her hotel bedspread and sleep for a thousand hours.

L
aura and Amy
never really argued but occasionally there would definitely be a difference of opinion. And you could wager money that it would always be about Laura's inability to commit to one man. There were times when Amy thought that Laura actually wanted the kind of stable relationship she had with Riley – and that she desired it more than she actually cared to admit with her happy-go-lucky manner and her fuck-them-and-chuck-them ways. Sensitivity didn't seem to be a word in Laura's vocabulary when it came to the opposite sex.

A point which Laura was keen to lock horns about, albeit in her own facetious way. ‘Of course I'm sensitive, Amy. I'm beyond sensitive about guys. I'm the girl who is so allergic to nuts I suffered a severe reaction just from snogging a man who'd had a bag of salteds at a wine bar. That's how sensitive I am.'

For once, Amy was not in the mood to joke. ‘I'm not talking about food allergies, Laura, I just meant that maybe sometimes you're not overly sensitive to the needs of men beyond the bedroom and maybe that's why you're still single.'

If there was one thing that nobody, not even her best friend, could criticise her about, it was Laura's treatment of men. She knew how to make them happy and not just between the sheets and one day the whole world would see that.

‘Why are we talking about this?' she said, clearly annoyed. 'You may be quite happy to be walking around with a sign saying “meek and mild loyal little wife” hanging around your neck but as you well know I am much more the loving and leaving kind than I am the marrying kind. Now, can we drop the subject? I thought we'd come here to try and relax. You're giving me knots of stress in my shoulder blades that not even the niftiest of boy scouts could untie.' Laura's manner may not have been quite arctic but there was definitely a frostiness in the air.

Amy remained silent. It had always been the difference between them. Whereas Amy had been keen to commit to a lasting relationship straight away, Laura's inability to settle down was something that irked Amy every once in a while. For two women with such similar tastes in so much, this was one subject where they were poles apart.

There were times when she wanted her best mate to experience exactly the kind of happiness she had with Riley. Was that conceited and selfish? Amy hoped not. She just had the impression now and again that perhaps her best friend was not as carefree as she made out.

Laura seemed determined to prove the point about the knots. 'So how is ... er, what did you say your name was again ...? supposed to de-stress me?' She looked up at the man towering over her.

‘My name's Wolfgang. From the German,
Wulf
meaning wolf,
gang
meaning path. Second name's Amadeus ... my mother was a huge fan of the composer.'

The man Laura was talking to was her masseur, currently kneading his hands rather deliciously into Laura's naked upper body as she lay face down in the candlelit massage room at one of Germany's top health, massage and relaxation spas. After the girls' trip to Italy earlier that year and Riley complimenting them both on how well they looked when they had flown back to the UK, Amy had been insistent that they should do it as often as possible. Spas in the UK were great and Laura and Amy tried to go at least once a month but it was Laura who had found their current German one online. She was mightily impressed by the fact that German spas had a very liberal policy when it came to nudity. Hence why they had flown out for another girlie weekend away. Everything had been
wunderbar
until they had steered into the conversation about relationships.

Amy was lying on a massage table alongside her friend, naked apart from a towel around her waist, having her stress levels worked upon by Micha, one of the luxury European health complex's rather skilled and always handsome team of male workers. It appeared that good looks were a prerequisite to working there.

Rich ladies from across the globe visited the resort to get away from their overbearing husbands and to be treated to some ‘pampering' from the rather adorable male staff, but for Amy it was simply yet another place to unwind, chill out and spend a few days relaxing and catching up with Laura.

For Amy, nobody's hands could compare with Riley's when it came to the feel of them against her skin and for her, the spa visit was just a perfect way to de-clutter the complexities of her business life, but Laura's motives were not surprisingly now somewhat different, her eyes lighting up when she had heard from other women at the spa that the staff were very attentive indeed. She was loving the close proximity and, if the ladies were to be believed, potentially intimate nature of the handsome staff at the German spa, which was why she was in full flirt mode with Wolfgang.

‘If I wasn't sensitive then I wouldn't be able to tell Wolfgang here just how fabulous his expert fingers feel against my tender lily white flesh, would I?' She winked in his direction as she spoke, giving more than a hint that she was enjoying his Teutonic touch on many levels, her vexation with Amy seemingly extinguished.

He smiled back, revealing a set of teeth that most Hollywood actors would pay millions for. Laura could feel her nipples rising to attention.

‘You have never been sensitive when it comes to guys, Laura,' continued Amy,
her
annoyance not extinguished, even though she knew her advice was falling on deaf ears. ‘You're the one who told one man you went out with that the only reason you were with him is because you were incredibly smart and that opposites attract. And then there was that guy who drunkenly attempted to shag you at a party and couldn't get it up, so what did you say?
Oh look at your cock, it's like a penis but only in miniature
. The poor red-faced bloke ran out of the door faster than Mo Farah.'

‘So I shoot my mouth off sometimes. You wouldn't have me any other way, would you? That's why we've been friends for so long. Anyway, what's the latest news with the club?' asked Laura, determined to change the subject away from her lack of desire to commit. One day she would do, to the right man – she knew that, but not just yet.

‘Top notch, we're getting bigger all the time. The music websites and bloggers are queuing up to write features about us and the editors of every magazine from
Glamour
through to
Vanity Fair
are asking for a spot on the guest list, plus the number of VIP stars ready to party through our doors is getting longer every day. I've received emails about Robert Pattinson, Greg Rutherford and Grant Wilson already this week alone. Everyone wants a piece of The Kitty Kat.'

‘A stellar cast list,' purred Laura, her voice deepening as Wolfgang manoeuvred a particularly pleasing double circle of thumb pressure across her upper back. ‘Make sure I'm there when they pop in, won't you.'

‘Like I could keep you away. If star fucking was an Olympic sport you'd win a gold medal every four years, that's for sure.' Amy's annoyance was diffusing as it always did whenever they crossed words. She couldn't help but laugh. ‘Now, if you'll excuse me, I think Micha has worked his magic hands with me and I'm ready for a rather soothing session in the Jacuzzi. Are you coming?'

From the look on Laura's face she already knew the answer. ‘I think Wolfgang here has a little extra work to do. And besides, the lady at Reception says that he's massaged a few Hollywood starlets and I am dying to pump him for some extra gossip about which rich bitches have had work done. I'm sure he's seen a scar or two.'

‘We'll leave you to it then,' smirked Amy, as she and Micha vacated the room.
Hell
, thought Amy,
if I had a pound for every time I've said that to Laura, then I'd be a millionaire
. She enjoyed her times away with Laura, even if sometimes they spent the majority of their stay together in separate rooms while Laura sampled more hands on delights. She'd tried to do it in Italy, and doubtless they'd be coming back to Germany again in the very near future if her forthcoming ‘treatment' from Wolfgang was a success. Which, if the smile on his face as Amy said ‘
auf weidersehen
' was anything to go by, it certainly would be. Laura was wanton, wicked and wild. Amy just wondered whether sometimes Laura was a little bit wanting too.

She just wished that Laura could find the man to make her fully happy like she had with Riley. It took a best friend to know that sometimes Laura, deep-down, perhaps needed something more.

If Amy had known then that this particular spa visit was to be their last together then she would have silenced her thoughts, determined that not one disapproving or contrary word should come between them. She would also have stuck to Laura's side like a limpet, making the most of every treasured moment.