Scare Me to Death by CJ Carver

Author:CJ Carver [Carver, CJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Back in Marrakech, the two men headed straight for the Commandant’s address to find a modest house with a flock of sparrows dust-bathing on the front path. Dan could feel the sun on his head and shoulders, hear the sound of a game of football on a flat area of dirt on the other side of the road, but his attention was on the Commandant’s front door.

Mohammed knocked. Dan stood back, body language carefully neutral, belying the fact his pulse was up and that his weight rested on the balls of his feet, ready for anything. This was the man who’d sold defective bomb detectors to the Indonesians. A man who might be implicated in Kaitlyn’s murder.

The door opened. A short rotund man with speckled grey hair answered. Small brown eyes behind spectacles, snub nose, a fleshy mouth. He wore an open checked shirt and jeans. He smiled at Mohammed. Said something that Dan guessed was along the lines of, can I help you?

‘Commandant Jamal Azoulay?’ Mohammed asked. His tone was grave.

The man answered. The two men talked very briefly until Mohammed turned to Dan and gave a nod. It was his signal.

Dan strode forward. Put a hand against Azoulay’s chest and propelled him inside his house. The man started to yelp but Dan put one hand over his mouth, his arm around the man’s neck, and lifted him off his feet.

‘Quiet,’ he hissed.

He had no idea if the man spoke English, but Azoulay got the message and fell silent.

‘Who else is in the house?’ asked Dan, easing his hand from the man’s mouth.

Azoulay started to tremble. ‘Je ne comprends pas.’ I don’t understand.

Mohammed hissed something at the Commandant. The man stammered something back.

‘He has no English,’ Mohammed stated. ‘I translate for you.’

‘Ask him if he’s alone.’

Terror stood in Azoulay’s eyes. ‘My w-wife and children are here. P-please don’t hurt them.’

Dan hauled the man into a side room. Tiled floor, sofas, coffee table with two tall bronze candlesticks. Dan pushed him against the wall, hard enough to smack his head against it. He heard Mohammed shut the door behind them.

‘How many children?’

‘Th-three. P-please, I’ll d-do whatever–’

‘You supplied false bomb detectors to Indonesia.’

The colour left the man’s face so fast Dan was surprised he didn’t faint.

‘Didn’t you?’

Azoulay just stared at him, ashen.

Dan brought out Kaitlyn’s photograph. Held it in front of the man’s face. His voice was low and filled with ice-cold rage. ‘She was murdered last week. She died because of you.’

‘No, no, no.’ Azoulay’s voice was thick with fear and rising hysteria. ‘No, this isn’t possible–’

‘Her throat was cut.’

Azoulay gasped for air. ‘This has nothing to do with me, I swear it!’

‘When did you see her?’

‘No, no. I don’t know her. Please, believe me…’

Dan stalked across the room and picked up one of the bronze candlesticks. Swung it from side to side. It was the size of a baseball bat but three times as heavy.

‘If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I am going to get one of your children and break their feet.

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