by Ed James
‘That’s why he was selling his stakes in Travis and your brewery.’
Liam nodded. ‘This was a few months ago. He asked if he could spill the beans on Travis to me. Trouble was, I had to get cash from my editor. And you know how hard she is. But that kind of story, bursting open a worldwide behemoth like Travis, it could put a small London paper on the global stage. So she ponied up. Twenty grand.’
‘That wasn’t enough, was it?’
‘It kept the wolf from the door for him. Damo gave me some leads on the dodgy business practices at Travis, helped me build my story.’
‘Which you haven’t published yet.’
‘No, but it’s getting there.’
Bell rested his elbows on the table. ‘What sort of “dodgy business practices”?’
‘Well, money laundering for a start.’
Bell sat back now, arms folded. ‘But money laundering is traditionally for cash businesses, while Travis is a purely digital—’
‘Look, the way Damo told me, and this is backed up by other sources who I definitely can’t name, is that Younis’s people would purchase prepaid payment cards and take fictitious trips with phantom drivers.’
Bell looked at Kate next to him. This was clearly news to them. Bell smiled at Liam again. ‘So Younis has an army of people doing this?’
‘Army’s stretching it, but there’s a lot of them. Street guys buying the cards with cash from drug money. Any corner shop across East London, you name it, they can buy them. And they’ve got a similar load of guys who register as phoney drivers… All they need is a bit of technology to spoof their GPS co-ordinates on the app, and Bob’s your mother’s brother. Drug money is laundered. Give them both a cut. With money laundering, if you get ten percent of dodgy cash turned into legit money, then you’re doing really well. The street guys are getting ten percent, the drivers about the same. So Younis is getting the rest after Travis’s cut. It’s about sixty percent.’
Kate ran a hand through her hair. ‘Sounds a bit far-fetched to me.’
‘Does it? You two haven’t worked with the Mayor’s office to investigate that very issue? Because I know for a fact that Travis are working flat out to implement a platform upgrade that closes the loophole about their GPS. Damon was working on it!’
Bell sniffed. ‘Okay. Go on.’
‘The next item is that Younis has a few founder stakes, like Damo was selling. Another way to clean up his money and turn that now-legit money into a lot more now-legit money when they sell the business. But five percent of the company gives him leverage over management, helps cover over the fact that he’s got twenty guys delivering his drugs under the guise of Travis drivers. Spoofed payments and GPS data is hard to spot, I get it, but even in prison, Younis has got you lot by the short and curlies. And you think you’re winning, especially as you keep shutting down his operations, but he’s the one who’s winning. Believe me. When he’s out, he’ll be worth about fifty million quid, legit. You won’t be able to touch him.’
Bell sat there, silently fuming. He even did that thing where he adjusted his tie. Fenchurch had seen it so many times. Normally he’d want to do it to the fat bastard himself and choke him, but now, he actually felt sorry for him. His strategic investigation, millions of quid’s worth, was clearly an absolute shambles. ‘Will you help me prosecute him?’
‘I need to run it past my editor first.’
‘I know Yvette very well.’
Liam scratched at his neck. ‘Right, well why don’t you ask her?’
‘I will.’
Fenchurch held Liam’s gaze for a few seconds. ‘I know what you’re up to.’
‘Enlighten me, because I have no idea.’
‘You’re throwing DCI Bell here a bone to get me off your back.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I’ve got a murder case. Could be a double murder. And Tom Wiley’s wife was under the impression that he was meeting you last night.’
‘No.’
‘But he is a source?’
‘He thinks he’s a source, but he’s… He’s just a driver. Okay, so he put me on to a couple of guys who were doing this scam who are now sources. I’ve got their stories on tape, locked in our vault and backed up to the cloud. Double and triple checked.’
‘So why is Mrs Wiley under the impression you were there, Liam?’
‘I mean I was there, I just left to go to work before Damo was attacked. You know that, I told you.’
‘Under duress.’
‘Still, whatever you’re trying to pin on me, I’ve got a solid alibi. I was in the Post’s office all night. The whole news desk can vouch for me. DCI Bell here can ask Yvette for proof when he chats to her. It’s on CCTV too.’
‘If it wasn’t you, Liam, then who was it?’
‘I don’t know. They didn’t tell me.’
‘Why would Damon and Tom Wiley meet someone who tried to kill them both?’
‘Hard to say.’ Liam shrugged. ‘Maybe it was someone who worked for Younis?’
‘You know that, or are you just spinning us a line?’
‘Why do you think I’d do something like that?’
‘Because every time I trust you, you lie to me for your own gain. We gather Tom Wiley was passing info to you about his son’s murder. His wife slapped me. Wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?’
‘Well, I might have mentioned your name to Wiley.’
‘I bet you did. What about? Your close relationship with certain cops? How you helped get my story into the papers? How it could help him just like it did me?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Liam, that almost cost me… That…’ Fenchurch sighed. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘It was Damo who did the asking, not Tom. He’d been asking me to dig into some cases for him.’
‘To help Tom Wiley?’
‘I think so.’
‘So was it his son’s murder?’
‘Right, but also the Hermione Taylor case.’
Fenchurch frowned. The name rang a bell, not least for the Harry Potter character. Something to do with a case? No, he had to give in to Liam. ‘Why was he doing that?’
‘I’m a journalist, it’s a free country to—’
‘No, Liam, you don’t get to play that game. People are dying here. Why was Tom Wiley asking about her case?’
‘Look, this is against my code of ethics. I’ve got a source to protect here.’
‘Liam, Tom Wiley’s wife reported him missing this morning and we haven’t recovered his body yet. He could still be alive.’
Liam seemed to weigh it all up. ‘Tom thought his son’s murder and Hermione Taylor’s were done by the same killer.’
Fenchurch tried to swallow but couldn’t. ‘Why would he think that?’
‘He’d heard from a cop on the case, who thought it was a valid lead.’
‘You know who that cop is?’
‘He wouldn’t say, just asked me to independently verify it.’
‘And how were you getting on with that?’
Liam smiled at him. ‘You might be able to help on that score.’ Then he switched it to Bell. ‘Same with you.’
Bell frowned. ‘How?’
‘Well, you both work for Julian Loftus. You could get him to answer my phone calls.’
12
Fenchurch knew exactly where to find Loftus, even if he wasn’t answering his calls.
Like the naughty schoolboy he clearly wasn’t, Loftus was smoking behind the bike sheds at Scotland Yard. And there was enough parking for at least fifty cycles, which was an aggressive number, at least in Fenchurch’s eyes. Cops being cops, they would probably rather lose a bollock than be seen clad in Lycra weaving across London Bridge on a racer.
‘Simon.’ Loftus exhaled smoke out of his nostrils, slowly until it was lost to the heavy downpour. He wasn’t making any eye contact though.
Fenchurch joined him, but couldn’t decide which side of Loftus was upwind of
the smoke. Either way, the back wall was a sluice gate of rain, so leaning against it wasn’t an option. ‘Been trying to get hold of you, sir. Millie said you were down here.’
‘Did she?’ Loftus took another drag. ‘Let me guess, this isn’t about the budget report.’
‘It’s going to be delayed. Sorry.’
Loftus shook his head. ‘I know you’re suffering with that side of things, Simon. You need to be a copper, out doing the work. I get it. I’m not the same. I was a direct entry at Inspector level, so I’ve never really walked the beat. I mean, I have, but my token gesture is nothing compared to what you did, all those years before you were a detective. But you need to commit to all of the other matters too, Simon. I need you to be a more rounded character. And I need you to be honest with me, okay?’
‘Sir, that’s not fair. I’ve got one of my senior team out sick, and this case is growing arms and legs. My primary role here is to solve crimes for this city and its communities, not to attend spurious meetings.’
‘Spurious? You think diversity is spurious?’
‘No, of course I don’t, but you can’t tell me that spending several hours of every week listening to berks like Jason Bell banging on about their achievements isn’t spurious.’
‘No love lost between the two of you, is there?’
Fenchurch blushed, and his cheek still stung. ‘No there’s not. And it’s not getting my budget report done. It’s not solving murders.’
Loftus took a deep drag.
‘Did you listen to my voicemail, sir?’
‘Haven’t had the chance, I’m afraid. Budget cycles are a killer.’
And you can’t use your phone when smoking…
‘Well, there was definitely a second victim at the brewery, sir. But we don’t know if he’s dead or alive.’
Loftus still wasn’t giving him anything in the way of a reaction.
‘His name is Thomas Wiley, sir. The father of Micah Wiley, murdered in 2014.’
That got him to look over. ‘I remember the case.’
‘As desperate as I am to get on with it myself, I’ve been trying to delegate. I got Lisa Bridge searching for his mobile and all that jazz, and I sent DS Reed and a team to speak to his wife, Francine Wiley. She wouldn’t let them in. To progress the case, sir, we need to get inside there and find out where the hell her husband is.’
‘Surely Kay Reed has ways and means. And DI Ashkani can—’
‘Sir, the reason I had to bail on your session for the second time, is that Francine wouldn’t speak to anyone but me.’
Loftus looked over at Fenchurch, frowning. ‘Why?’
‘Took a bit of figuring out, sir. Seems like her husband had been speaking to Liam Sharpe about their son’s murder.’
‘That chap seems to keep popping up rather a lot.’
‘And that’s just the stuff I’ve told you, sir. But Liam seems to believe that Micah’s murder is connected to the Hermione Taylor case. The same killer.’
Loftus stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it in the bin.
‘Did you hear me, sir?’
‘I heard, I just… Why?’
‘You know reporters as well as I do, sir. He won’t name his sources. But he insists the cases might be linked. And you won’t answer his phone calls.’
‘Simon, do you need yet another reminder of the perils of getting involved in the minutiae of the case?’
‘Get more than enough of them, sir.’
‘No.’
Fenchurch laughed. ‘No?’
‘They’re not linked, Simon.’
‘Okay… So why does Liam think so? And why aren’t you answering his calls?’
Loftus shut his eyes and shook his head, lips pursed.
‘According to Liam Sharpe, sir, Tom Wiley is under the impression that his son’s murder is connected—’
‘Chief Inspector, you need to drop this.’
‘You’re just going to try and kill it like that?’
Loftus started walking again, his shoes clicking along the flagstones towards the rear entrance. ‘Look, what’s really going on here?’
‘Given that you’re not answering my calls now, either, I had no option but to come over here and talk to you, sir. As I drove, I had someone dig out the case for me. Turns out you were the SIO on the Taylor case.’
‘For my sins. And I’ll be clear with you, Simon, we investigated that supposed lead back then. There is no connection to Micah Wiley.’
‘So why does Liam think there is? Why does Micah’s father?’
‘Because the mentally ill can often look for connections between disassociated events.’
And, of course, the way Loftus was being evasive about it made Fenchurch start to wonder what the hell he was hiding. ‘If that’s the case, then it should all be fine, right?’
Loftus unfurled his ID card, ready to swipe inside the building’s security system.
‘Sir, I just want the facts. If there’s nothing, then there’s nothing. End of story. But right now, I’ve got a dead body and a missing person, who might be mortally wounded. Even if he was operating under the impression that they were connected, it might be something that leads to a result.’
‘Fine.’ Loftus stepped away from the entrance, back towards the smoking area. The sound changed, softened and deadened, so whatever he was going to say, it was just for the two of them. ‘The only connection we have between the cases was a correlation in time and age. Both victims were seventeen years old, between lower and upper sixth. A-Level students. And they went missing on consecutive days. Micah Wiley in Limehouse on the seventh of August 2014, Hermione Taylor up in Hampstead on the eighth. Like I said, I was SIO on the Hermione case. Still a DCI, heading up one of the Northwest MITs, just like you do the East London now. Okay, so the chairs have been shuffled a bit, but it’s the same setup, give or take. And it’s a very different place to work than down in East London, let me tell you.’ Loftus paused for a few seconds. ‘I’m not sure what you’re looking for, Simon.’
‘Why does Tom Wiley think James Kent killed his son?’
Loftus pulled out his cigarettes again, putting one between his lips, but he didn’t light it. ‘Hermione’s death looked accidental, but Dr Pratt proved that she’d been strangled. After a fairly protracted investigation, we settled on a chief suspect. Her history teacher. James Kent, as you say. He’s now in Belmarsh, serving his fifth year of a life sentence.’
‘Why didn’t you fancy him for Micah Wiley’s murder?’
‘Wasn’t my case.’
‘You said you were asked, though?’
‘Look, you know how it is. There was pressure to make sure Micah and Hermione weren’t both killed by James Kent. Alan Docherty was the DCI on Micah’s case.’
Fenchurch felt his mouth go dry. Strange how the ghosts of the past had a habit of returning.
‘Alan and I had to co-ordinate our efforts, which stood us in good stead for when I was his boss. Took us a great deal of shoe leather, but we proved that the cases weren’t related. Kent had an alibi for the night of Micah’s murder. He didn’t for Hermione’s. He signed a confession, he was convicted. End of story.’
‘Why wasn’t I involved?’
‘If I remember, Alan Docherty had sent you back to Florida for another stint with the FBI.’
That seemed to tally with Fenchurch’s memory of the time. He’d been living such a dark and empty life, almost past the point where he’d stopped looking for Chloe, but not quite accepting it.
‘Simon, even if you’d been in London at the time, the last thing Alan needed was you anywhere near a child murder case.’
Fenchurch felt short of breath. Eighteen months later, he’d worked a similar case. A girl the age Chloe would’ve been, an unknown prostitute. He hated to think how many meetings Docherty had to have about him to “manage the situation”, or how many cases he’d been steered away from. He caught his breath. ‘Given I can’t speak to Al Docherty about it, do you know anyon
e who worked it?’
Loftus paused. ‘Dawn Mulholland.’
13
Fenchurch thought Mulholland lived out west somewhere. Had recollections of her moaning about the commute in on the Central Line even before rush hour, as he ignored her every morning in their shared office back in Leman Street.
But here they were, standing on her doorstep in Walthamstow.
Fenchurch knew it well from a lot of visits over the years, but the area was gentrifying at a rapid clip. Some nice old houses, brick things with actual front gardens you could sit out in and lanes leading to bigger spaces out the back. Half of the street was in disrepair, the other half was like Mulholland’s.
Tasteful grey paint on the door and window surrounds. The brick looked freshly acid cleaned too, stripped back to the day they were laid.
She wasn’t answering the door.
‘Sodding hell.’ Loftus had his peaked cap tucked under his arm, but was struggling to press the doorbell and use his mobile phone at the same time.
‘Has this been a wasted journey, sir?’
Loftus let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s been difficult to contact Dawn ever since—’
The door opened to a crack and an eye sat there, landing on Loftus. Fenchurch would recognise Dawn Mulholland’s eye anywhere, that judging look when her lids pulsed around it. The skin on her cheek was mottled pink. ‘Sir?’
Loftus took in the faint glow, hidden by the thick clouds, but at least the morning’s rain had abated. ‘I’d say it’s a glorious day, but I’d be lying.’
‘Not today.’ She moved to shut the door.
But Loftus had wedged his foot in there. He might be an office drone, but he had some street techniques. That, or he’d had many office doors shut in his face at the Yard. ‘Dawn, it’s imperative we speak to you.’
‘Julian, this is wholly inappropriate.’