by Ed James
‘Nailed two of your cases to the wall.’ Liam raised his glass and spilled beer over the side, and splashed it all over the floor. ‘First, I managed to connect Younis to Travis, so your mate Ding-dong Bell is all hands to the pumps. I’ve got tomorrow’s front page, and they’re going to prosecute him.’
Fenchurch leaned in close. ‘You probably shouldn’t shout that from the rooftops.’
‘Say no more.’ Liam rested his glass on the table. It took two attempts. If he’d let go after the first one, Fenchurch’s trousers would be a beery mess. ‘The walls have ears.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘But we’re also going to press with a load of stories about the events at the Old Bailey tonight.’ He winked at Fenchurch. ‘Thanks for all your help with it.’
‘Liam, I know you feel like you’re on top of it all, but—’
‘Shhhhhhh.’
Fenchurch took a deep breath. Dealing with drunks was one of the worst parts of the job. Their pretzel logic was all twisted up. What made perfect sense to them was usually the baffling justifications of the drunk to keep drinking. ‘Liam, some people connected to the case have been abducted. Has anyone—’
‘Abducted.’ Liam hefted up his glass and took a big swallow, spilling beer down his neck beard. He set it back down and wiped at his neck. ‘Not me. Not ever.’
‘James Kent and Barney Richardson have been kidnapped, by a man in a van.’
‘Well, it’s not me.’
‘I’ll take that under advisement.’
Liam laughed. ‘Love it when you talk all American to me.’
‘Liam, it’s possible you might be a target.’
‘Well, I ain’t going anywhere until a Travis car picks me up at shitface o’clock.’
Which felt like it was very, very soon. ‘I know you don’t like to name your sources, but is there anyone who can help us find Barney and Kent?’
‘You can’t weasel it out of me that easily, Si. I was just doing my job. Why aren’t you focusing on finding Damon’s killer?’
‘Because it’s all jumbled up. Whatever game you’re playing here, it’s hurting people. Convicted killers are going free. Families of victims are opening up deep wounds. There’s so much collateral damage here that you can’t even see that you’re hurt too.’
Liam swallowed hard.
‘Was Tom Wiley your source?’
Liam reached for his beer again.
Fenchurch swiped his hand away. ‘Was he?’
‘It’s just like when I ran that story about your kid.’
‘This isn’t the same thing.’ Fenchurch grabbed his arms and squeezed tight. ‘That was you helping me as a friend. And we were bloody idiots to do it that way. People died as a result.’
‘That wasn’t—’
‘I could name the men right now. Look, we’ve been through stuff together, you know you can trust me. What did Tom Wiley tell you?’
‘Right.’
This was getting nowhere. ‘How did you find him?’
‘I can’t… I’m not…’
‘Liam, after all we’ve been through together, please. Just give me some help here.’
Liam stared at him through drunken eyes. ‘Damon.’
Fenchurch frowned. It didn’t make any sense. ‘Your flatmate. How?’
‘Damon worked at Travis.’ Liam burped into his fist. ‘Met him there.’
‘And Wiley was a driver. Was it over vol-au-vents at a corporate shindig?’
‘No idea.’ Another burp, like he was inching closer to being sick. ‘They talked and Wiley opened up about… About what happened. Damon always wanted to help people. So he connected me with Wiley, thought I could work some magic.’
Fenchurch swallowed hard. ‘The same magic you worked for me?’
‘Right. I mean, you lot had stopped listening to Wiley a long time ago. I mean, fair enough, I get it.’ Liam wagged a finger in Fenchurch’s general direction. ‘You probably have no end of grieving parents knocking on your doors at all hours, insisting there’s a new lead or angle or whatever. And most of the time it’s in their head.’
And Fenchurch had been one of them. ‘What did he tell you?’
He clamped a hand on Fenchurch’s arm and squeezed. ‘I kept thinking about you, and how I’d helped you, Si. If we hadn’t ran that story, we wouldn’t have lifted the lid on what was going on. Wouldn’t have discovered the truth. It was like when you lift a rock and there’s slaters underneath. It was just like that.’
The pain was still as real now as it was back then. All the time Chloe had been with Fenchurch and Abi, through all the hours and weeks and months where they’d been patient and eventually reintegrated her into their lives, it still stung. Would sting forever.
Maybe Fenchurch and Tom Wiley weren’t so different, after all. The number of times he’d been told to drop it, then he did drop it, only to find his old man hadn’t, and then one tiny lead snowballed until…
Well.
‘Right now, whatever’s going on, Clive Taylor seems to be abducting those he blames for the overturning of his daughter’s case. Dalton Unwin’s under protective custody. Barney Richardson and James Kent have been taken, and I don’t know where Taylor is. I think he’ll be coming after you next.’
‘Shit.’ Liam stared hard at Fenchurch. Maybe he was sobering up a bit. Maybe the message was getting through.
‘This isn’t the corrupt Met trying to snare you in a trap, okay? This is your friend trying to stop the worst happening to you.’
Liam pushed his beer away, then leaned in close to Fenchurch. ‘Damon talked to me about Tom Wiley. Somehow he’d become convinced that James Kent killed his son as well as Hermione Taylor.’
‘Wait. Wiley knew Kent?’
‘Right. I don’t know how. They were both schoolteachers, though not at the same school. But they knew each other, and after his conviction for her murder, it all just built and built in his head. The idea that Kent had killed Micah as well. Especially the timescales, how they were so close together. And the court case was all over the news. Wiley thought he was going to get Kent for both, but ended up with neither.’
‘Why did he think Kent had killed Micah?’
‘I don’t know, really. He had all these ideas about how he’d somehow pissed him off and this was retribution or… I don’t know.’
‘And we won’t know either, while Wiley’s in a coma, Liam. He doesn’t know what happened, what you made happen.’
‘I wasn’t there when he was.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘You’ve checked my alibis, right?’
‘We have.’ Fenchurch shrugged. ‘Doesn’t mean much, though.’
‘I wasn’t there.’
The room went silent. The piano player cracked his knuckles and flicked through his sheet music. ‘Right, time for some Aphex Twin.’ The rub-a-dub cockney music started up, just playing some abstract electronica instead of “Roll Out The Barrel”.
‘So who was here, Liam? Clive Taylor?’
Liam shrugged now. ‘Why would Taylor try to kill Damon and Wiley, though?’
Fenchurch didn’t have an answer. ‘Have you been in touch with James Kent or Barney Richardson?’
‘Nope. Not tonight anyway.’ Liam reached down for his bright blue bike bag and almost toppled over as he picked it up. ‘I’m not naming my sources.’
‘Liam, their lives are at risk. If Taylor still blames Kent for killing his daughter, and Richardson provided the evidence that got him out, even if it’s on bail. He’s already come after them both. And then he’ll come after you.’
Liam sat there, staring into his beer. ‘Kent’s a dickhead.’
‘You spoke to him?’
‘In Belmarsh, as you well know. And as much of a dickhead as he is, he gave me a lot of information.’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘Well, it wasn’t what he said so much as what he didn’t.’ Liam raised his glass. ‘I mean, you and I, we’ve had our battles with this stuff,
right? He talked to me a lot about his troubles. The blackouts, the missing hours, the emptiness he got from drinking. And he believed that he’d killed her. Really believed it, just couldn’t remember. It’s why he didn’t appeal, despite his lawyer wanting him to. I said his lawyer was right, but he didn’t listen.’
‘But?’
Liam ran his free hand down his face. ‘But like I say, it was what he didn’t say. I mentioned Hermione. Minnie, whatever. He didn’t talk about her with anger, just… regret? I don’t know, it felt off. And I slipped a few quid to the guard, who gave me a look at his visitor logs. Barney Richardson visited once, but he’d tried many times.’
‘Did you ask Kent about it?’
‘Right. Brick wall.’
‘And Barney?’
‘I tried to speak to him, but he’s… I mean, a trauma like he suffered, it’s going to mess you up, right?
‘You’re peas in a pod.’
Liam scratched his neck. ‘I never thought of it that way.’
‘It’s true. You both suffered that same trauma. Your girlfriends were both murdered while you were still young. No wonder he opened up to you.’
Liam stared into space. ‘All it took was a quick phone call. The kid started crying, then he broke off and hung up. Then I got a call back, saying to meet in the park. We sat there with coffees, my phone between us, recording it all, and he spilled everything. As much as the trauma of losing his girlfriend, he’d been carrying that guilt. Knowing that he’d helped Kent home that night. It’s enough to prove he either couldn’t have killed her, or to throw sufficient doubt on it, right?’
‘You heard what the judge said. Talk is it won’t even get to a retrial.’
‘Right. Anyway, Kent agreed to meet Barney after I showed him the video. A copy on my phone, not the original, of course. The guard was there for the entire thing, but it was strange as hell. The two of them just sat there, kind of ignoring me, but kind of not.’
‘So why try to set up that meeting? Why keep trying?’
Liam sniffed. ‘To put things right.’ He finished his beer and looked around the room. ‘So this is where you say you want to take me into protective custody, right?’
‘It’s where I offer to drive you home. You’re drunk.’
‘Fine.’ Liam picked up his coat and struggled to put it on. ‘Just going to drain the lizard.’ He shuffled off towards the hallway, his cycling bag dangling from one arm like he was a pupil here.
Fenchurch looked around the place, but all he could see was the past. No hipsters, no beer, just a classroom, with a strict teacher. He was too old for corporal punishment, but he could still feel the lash of those wooden rulers over his hand.
‘You bastard!’
The shout came from the corridor.
The direction Liam had gone in.
Fenchurch shot over to the doorway as fast as his buggered knee would let him.
Clive Taylor swung a crowbar and just missed Liam’s head, the wood in the doorframe splintering into a dozen pieces.
Liam was on his knees now, arms deflecting blows from Taylor.
Fenchurch jolted forwards but an elbow smacked him in the face and he stumbled against the wall. He managed to catch himself on the doorframe back to the tap room and, as much as he wanted to launch himself at Taylor, he saw stars in his vision.
Taylor was pulling the crowbar from the doorway, having to put his foot against it to get leverage. ‘You think you can do what you did and get away with it? Eh?’
Liam was on his feet now, though, but running away from the entrance, deeper into the brewery. His territory, so hopefully he had a safe place to hide, or something to hit Taylor with.
Taylor finally wiggled his crowbar free, then set off after Liam.
Fenchurch got out his phone and hit dial. ‘Fenchurch to Control, urgent backup needed at the Old School Brewery in Limehouse.’
‘On it.’
He put his phone in his coat packet and followed the trail of destruction.
Liam was hiding under a table in a storage room, surrounded by barrels of beer.
Fenchurch couldn’t tell if they were full or empty, or if he could use them to his advantage.
Taylor swung the crowbar again and split the table in half, but Liam got free just before the follow-through caught his shoulder.
Fenchurch looked around for any weapons. Hammers, spikes, anything to take Taylor down.
Another swipe at Liam with the crowbar, cracking the plasterboard and taking off a big chunk of brick behind it.
Sod it.
Fenchurch charged, as fast as he could. All he caught was a fist in the front teeth when Taylor swung back.
Instinctively, he fell backwards and crumpled into a ball.
Someone screamed.
Fenchurch looked up.
Taylor had buried the end of his crowbar into Liam’s shoulder. ‘You little scumbag!’
Fenchurch hefted up an empty barrel, managing to get it over his head just as Taylor readied to take another swing with the crowbar. He launched it at Taylor. It cracked off his back and rolled away, but Taylor was pressed against the wall.
Fenchurch lurched forward, his knee burning, and wrapped an arm around Taylor’s throat, then doubled it with the other and tightened it around his skull. ‘Enough!’
All the fight in Taylor went out right then. He dropped to his knees and let Fenchurch grab his arms and pin him to the floor.
Liam peered out from behind the barrel. ‘Christ, that was like Donkey Kong!’
28
Sitting in the interview room, Clive Taylor looked like he’d been squashed by Donkey Kong, or jumped on by Mario.
Fenchurch had to stop himself. He couldn’t remember if Mario was in Donkey Kong or that was just his memory playing tricks. And why the hell was he thinking about ancient video games?
Oh yeah, because Clive Taylor had tried to kill Liam. And he’d almost succeeded.
‘If you’d connected with that final swing, you’d be looking at another charge of murder.’
Taylor sat back, frowning. ‘Another charge?’
Anna Xiang sat next to him, her eyes shrunk by her chunky glasses. ‘My client hasn’t been charged with anything, let alone murder.’
‘That’ll come.’ Fenchurch drummed his thumbs off the table. ‘See, we need to find the bodies first.’
‘What bodies?’
‘You’re going to play it like that, are you?’ Fenchurch sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s start with James Kent.’
A snarl flickered on Taylor’s lips. ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’
‘I’ll tell you what I know about him. He paid that little prick to stand up in court and lie about the night Minnie was killed. Of all the people. I mean…’
‘Do you know where Barney is, Mr Taylor?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘In court.’
‘Before or after you punched a member of the public?’
Taylor shook his head. ‘That’s nonsense.’
‘You later stuck a crowbar into that member of the public.’
‘This whole thing is complete nonsense.’
‘You still believe that Mr Kent killed Hermione, don’t you?’
‘I know he did.’
‘Despite all the evidence?’
‘Isn’t that what a retrial is for? I shouldn’t be the one telling a police officer that. We’ll discredit the evidence and he’ll go back where he belongs.’
‘Except that you’ve probably heard it won’t get that far.’
‘No. It will. He’ll be tried again, and he’ll serve more time for what he’s done to my girl.’
‘But what if he didn’t do it?’
‘He did it.’
‘Is that why you abducted him?’
‘I’ve abducted nobody.’
‘Okay, but you did attack someone. With a crowbar too.’
> Taylor curled his lip. ‘This is nonsense.’
‘Do you own a Ford Transit van, Mr Taylor?’
‘What? No. I drive a Jaguar. That’s it. Why?’
‘Have you hired a van, then?’
‘What? No!’ Taylor looked over at his lawyer. ‘This is ridiculous!’
‘Sir, after the incident at the courtroom, where you assaulted Liam Sharpe, you were escorted home by my colleagues in the local constabulary. They were called out to an urgent matter nearby, at which point you left your home. Where did you get the van?’
‘There is no van!’
‘So you caught the Tube somewhere?’
‘Correct. To King’s Cross. I was going to see my daughter. She lives near York. If I caught the train, I could break the news to her in person. And…’
Fenchurch gave him a few seconds before he went at it again. Seeing him suffering like that, well it was easy to understand why he’d do those things. Kidnapping, attempted murder.
Fenchurch had worn those shoes. It didn’t mean that crossing that line was right, but at least he could empathise. And sometimes using that empathy as leverage could work wonders. He leaned forward and waited for eye contact. ‘Here’s how I see it. Your life had closure to it. You’d moved on. The scars will never heal, but you’ve got to a place where you can start living in the present and living for the future, instead of dwelling on the past. But then Kent was let off and everything blew up.’
Taylor shook his head, eyes clamped shut. He opened them with the dead-eyed stare of a killer. ‘You shouldn’t have let that animal go.’
‘Mr Kent’s on bail. A very high one too.’
‘But one that’s been paid. He can walk the streets again, preying on people like my daughter. Kent murdered Hermione.’
‘Despite the evidence you saw in court?’
Taylor swallowed down something. He was struggling to control his quivering top lip.
Clive leaned over to whisper something to his lawyer.
She nodded slowly.
Fenchurch had faced this kind of stonewalling before, so many times, almost too many, but he had tricks to counteract it. Trouble was, he was right down near the bottom of the bag. And desperate times called for desperate measures.
‘Clive, I know what’s been going through your head. The wave of conflicting emotions you’re feeling. Everything you feel, I know all about it. The desire for revenge, for justice. Everything. The important thing to remember is you’re not alone here. Tom Wiley suffered the same affliction.’