Worth Killing For (A DI Fenchurch Novel Book 2)

by Ed James

  ‘You gave him the drugs?’

  ‘Sho’ thing. Said to him, anything else he needed we could help.’ Hayden got into another coughing fit. Rasping hard. ‘So, two weeks ago, he calls me up again. Out of the blue, man. Says he’s got a problem.’

  ‘This is before you got hit by the bus?’

  ‘Right. Says he’s got something he needs sorted. Someone. I gave his number to Kamal, don’t know nothing else about it.’

  ‘Will you go on the record about that?’

  ‘You get me off, sure. I’ll do whatever you need.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  ‘This is completely unacceptable. You need to let me out of here.’ Guy Eustace ran a hand across his ruddy face, brushing at the five o’clock shadow. ‘I’ve been in here for hours and nobody’s telling me what’s happening.’

  ‘You can blame your solicitor for that.’ Fenchurch drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Oh, hang on, it’s you.’ He left a pause, enough for Eustace to snort three times. ‘Do you know anything about the murders of Saskia Barnett and Victor Morgan? Of course you do, I saw you on Upper Street, milking Saskia’s death for all it’s worth, spreading your hatred.’

  Eustace just looked away, arms hugged tight around his body.

  ‘Now, I want to know if you knew anything about them before they happened.’

  More silence.

  ‘You need to talk to us. We know you and Ms Ikonnikova have been killing people to make money.’

  Eustace looked like he was being kept up. He yawned, his tonsils dancing a jig. ‘I’ve done nothing of the sort.’

  The door burst open and Bell entered the interview room. He stormed over and whispered in Fenchurch’s ear: ‘Hayden’s statement checks out, Si. His burner got a call from a phone box outside Eustace’s office.’

  ‘Stupid bastard.’ Fenchurch grinned at Eustace. ‘Well, well, well. Coke, eh?’

  Eustace woke up, like he’d tooted a couple of grams of coke in one go. ‘Excuse me?’

  Fenchurch made to look up Eustace’s nostrils. ‘Bad for you, you know? Does funny stuff to your heart. Lines it, makes you more susceptible to a heart attack.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We believe Ms Ikonnikova’s been using a gang of kids to do these killings.’ Fenchurch rubbed his hands together. ‘Problem is, I don’t know how she was contacting them. Her phone records are clean. Same with her men. Yours aren’t, though.’

  ‘What?’ Eustace spluttered the word out, his cheeks going as ruddy as his tongue, hanging out of his mouth. ‘My phone records are immaculate.’

  ‘Quit with the bullshit, Mr Eustace. How do you know Hayden?’

  A frown flickered on Eustace’s forehead, on and off like a light bulb on the blink. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘The twelfth of November, 2014. You had a meeting with him according to your diary.’

  Eustace’s neck bent forward and he let out a deep sigh. ‘Christ.’

  ‘The game’s over.’ Fenchurch shrugged then left a space, watched Eustace crumple and rest on his arms. He handed him the printed spreadsheet. ‘Let’s start with the payments from Purple Heron.’

  ‘This is nothing . . .’ Eustace shook his head against his forearm, skin sliding across Egyptian cotton. ‘Look, it’s not what you think.’

  ‘Do you admit to making these payments?’

  ‘I did.’ Eustace’s tongue flicked like a snake. ‘We did. But it was at Yana’s insistence. We needed to progress that matter.’

  ‘The flats on City Road?’

  Eustace rubbed at his eyes, staring into space, his breathing short and sharp. ‘What would you do in my situation? Just let that opportunity slip through your fingers?’

  ‘I’d try and do the honest thing.’ Fenchurch gripped the table edge, his knuckles whitening. ‘I certainly wouldn’t kill people.’

  Eustace pinched the skin over his throat. Didn’t say anything.

  ‘Why did you give Kamal’s number to Yana?’

  ‘She had a problem, I thought I could solve it.’

  ‘This problem being Saskia Barnett?’

  Eustace stared at the floor and clenched his jaw. ‘I thought Yana wanted drugs from him.’ He ran a hand through his hair, tiny flecks of gel catching in the harsh light, and leaned back in his seat. ‘But that’s not what she was after.’

  ‘She wanted Saskia killed.’

  ‘Correct.’ Eustace held up his hands. ‘You must believe me, I had no part in this.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe you.’ Fenchurch fixed a hard glare on him, let it seep into his skull. ‘London’s going to rack and ruin because of people like you and Ms Ikonnikova. She owns a yacht and her house is worth two hundred million quid. She closed her homeless shelters so she can build more houses to sell to rich people.’ He got up and buttoned up his suit jacket. ‘You’re forcing the people you’re supposed to be helping out of the city. Just for some bloody money.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  Fenchurch killed the recorder. ‘I need you to write that all down in a statement for me, okay?’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why? You’re going to prison, Mr Eustace. I’d say at least twenty years, served. You can wave goodbye to your office, your Brussels expenses, your career. You might want to do the decent thing and give your flat in Dubai to the mother of your child.’

  Fire burnt in Eustace’s eyes. ‘How dare you?’

  ‘Statement, please.’

  The coals went out, replaced with steely frost. ‘Look, I can’t go to prison.’

  ‘You got into bed with the devil. I hope you got a fair price for your soul and invested it wisely.’

  Eustace reached over and gripped Fenchurch’s wrists. ‘The prisons are full of . . . blacks and Poles. Belarusian rapists. Muslims.’ Sweat beaded his forehead, now blotchy like the skin of a peach. ‘They’ll kill me.’

  ‘Much as I hate to admit it, I suspect you’ll be protected from the worst elements inside.’ Fenchurch folded his arms tight across his chest. ‘Of course, there’s got to be some time when the guards turn their backs. You probably won’t be alone then.’

  ‘I will do whatever it takes to stay out of prison.’

  ‘Should’ve thought about that a while ago.’ Fenchurch snapped his fingers at the Custody Officer and beckoned him over. ‘Get DC Bridge in here and get her to take Mr Eustace’s statement, please.’

  Eustace looked up, head still on the table. ‘So you’ll keep me out of prison?’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you. You’re going to prison.’ Fenchurch watched Eustace slump forward again. Didn’t feel anywhere near as good as he thought it would. Maybe nothing could.

  ‘But.’ He waited till Eustace looked up. ‘If you help secure the conviction of Yana Ikonnikova, we’ll see what can be done about the level of accommodation you’ll enjoy at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.’

  Eustace sat up straight and smoothed down his shirtsleeves. ‘Give me a pen.’

  Giles Langerman adjusted his tie and grinned across the interview room table. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but it appears you’ve wasted your time.’ He scraped the chair back across the lino. ‘I’ll bid you adieu.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Fenchurch tried to hold up his arm but the bruises flared in his shoulder. He’d definitely torn something. ‘I want to hear what she’s got to say.’

  ‘She’s saying nothing.’ Langerman stuffed his papers back in his briefcase. ‘Now, good day.’

  ‘This is over when I say it’s over.’

  ‘No, it’s over now. You’ve come in here and made unfounded, baseless allegations against my client. I’m telling you to desist.’ Langerman closed his briefcase, the catches thunking shut. He made great show of hefting up the Swiss timepiece on his wrist, closer to a grandfather clock than a wristwatch. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment at Kensington Palace Gardens.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Langerman got to his fee
t. ‘The embassy of the Russian Federation.’

  Fenchurch motioned for him to sit again. ‘As you were, Mr Langerman.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘We just had a very informative chat with Guy Eustace.’ Fenchurch slid a sheet of paper across the table. ‘This is his statement.’

  Langerman glanced at Yana, her eyes practically out on stalks. He sat back down and scanned through the contents.

  Fenchurch waved a hand at it. ‘I’ve highlighted the interesting bits for you.’

  Langerman tore through the document, running a finger through certain paragraphs. He flapped it down on his briefcase. ‘These are nothing more than the confused ramblings of someone suffering from paranoid delusions. It proves nothing.’

  Fenchurch flashed a grin. ‘I trust you’ve got evidence to support that claim?’

  Langerman shook the paper in the air. ‘You really expect this story to stand up in court? I’ll tear it to shreds in seconds.’

  ‘Your client is going to be charged with two counts of conspiracy to murder.’ Fenchurch rubbed his hands together. ‘This is her chance to set the story straight.’

  ‘My client is a respectable businesswoman. She has no—’

  ‘She paid someone to kill for her just so she could buy another bloody yacht.’

  ‘We’re done here.’ Langerman stuffed the statement into his briefcase and got up again. He took a step towards the door and leaned against the table, his face inches from Fenchurch. ‘I shall return with the Ambassador.’

  ‘Then I’ll google the Russian for “piss off and stop wasting my time”.’ Fenchurch snorted in his face. ‘Your client’s guilty. She can’t buy her way out of this.’

  ‘The ambassador won’t take too kindly to a Rossiyanka being charged with frivolous crimes.’ Langerman pronounced the Russian in a perfect accent.

  ‘I very much doubt he’ll help a Rossiyanka such as Ms Ikonnikova. Her father was killed by agents of the government, wasn’t he?’

  The lawyer backed off, shifting over to massage his client’s shoulders as her breathing sped up.

  ‘What do they call the KGB these days? Ah, yes, the FSS, right? Read a book about them a few months back. Proper nasty bastards, by the sounds of things. Don’t take too kindly to enemies of the state, do they?’

  ‘You keep my father out of this.’ Yana had narrowed her eyes, deep sockets hiding a laser-guided glare. ‘He was good man!’

  ‘Whatever. He avoided spending his days in some Siberian gulag.’ Fenchurch lifted his hands, not labouring the point. ‘Of course, HMP Holloway isn’t anywhere near as bad.’ He coughed. ‘Nowhere near as secure, either, mind you. I know they’re shutting it down, but it’s where you’ll end up. It’s a dated place, very difficult to keep locked down.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘I’m not, no. Why would I?’ Fenchurch shrugged, flaring up some pain in his shoulder. ‘I don’t need anything more from you. You’ll rot in that jail. Or its successor, I don’t care. Thirty years. That’s if the FSS don’t get to you in there. No yacht, no vodka or caviar, no Yevgeni and his troupe of muscle-bound dancers. You’ll be in a single cell, most likely, but that eight-foot square will become your world. You’ll miss both of your yachts. Your hair will go back to its natural colour.’

  Yana shut her eyes, jaw clenched, and stared at the table. Fast breathing, tears streaking her sharp cheeks. ‘I am innocent.’

  ‘No, you’re guilty.’ Fenchurch got up and opened the door, settling his gaze on Yana, rocking with tears, then Langerman, steely to the last. ‘I’ll see you both in court.’

  Liam Sharpe leaned against the office window, looking out across Leman Street. He spun round and beamed at Fenchurch. ‘This is a surprise. Thought you’d be busy.’

  ‘I’ve learned to delegate over the years. Not everything, but some things.’ Fenchurch collapsed behind his desk. ‘We’ve just charged Yana Ikonnikova and Guy Eustace with the deaths of Saskia and Victor.’

  ‘I just wanted to say you’ve done a good thing, you know?’ Liam rested against the window ledge. ‘You stopped Kamal doing this again. No more deaths.’ He swallowed a sigh. ‘You’ve given Saskia’s old man closure. They’ll throw the book at whoever did this to her. And Victor.’

  ‘Thanks. Wish I shared your hope.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Fenchurch put his feet up on his desk. ‘I’ve just seen the other side of the coin. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but these kids weren’t doing it voluntarily. Kamal was forcing them. He’d kidnapped these kids.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Saskia’s killer is called Lewis Cole. Not much more than a kid, really. Kamal abducted him two years ago.’ Fenchurch shut his eyes, the sting of tears still present. He focused on Liam, arms folded in the window frame. ‘I lost my daughter ten years ago. Never found her.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘How could you?’ Fenchurch snorted through his nostrils. ‘It’s the hope that kills you, you know that? It lingers there every day. Makes you think she could just reappear. I thought I’d found her last year. Wasn’t her.’

  ‘How do you cope?’

  ‘You just do.’ Fenchurch wiped away the tears. ‘Why am I telling you this?’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m happy to help.’

  ‘That stuff on the payments, that got us the connection. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Kamal’s going down, though, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s too easy to convict a black kid in this city. That’s the problem. The deck’s stacked against them. People like Yana Ikonnikova and Guy Eustace, they just take, take, take, and they don’t give a shit who suffers. Just so long as they’ve got their yacht. People like Saskia and Victor get caught in the crossfire trying to do the right thing.’

  ‘Just make sure Saskia’s death wasn’t in vain.’

  Fenchurch nodded at Liam. Kid had a point. ‘That’s all exclusive, by the way. You’ve got a few hours before the official press release goes out. Take it as thanks for helping me out. Might get you off copying and pasting tweets.’

  Liam got up from the windowsill. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  ‘Can I interview you about your daughter?’

  Fenchurch rocked forward on his chair. ‘Why?’

  ‘It might help find her.’

  Fenchurch shook his head and sighed. ‘Piss off out of here and write your bloody story.’

  ‘Think about it.’

  Fenchurch held his gaze until he had to look away. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Good evening, Andrew.’ Fenchurch stared across the table, the digital recorder blinking away. He grinned at Kamal, relishing the frown crawl across his forehead. ‘That is your name, right?’

  Kamal turned to Unwin, jabbed a finger at him. ‘Tell him to shut up.’

  Unwin gave a shrug. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Andrew, we’ve got witnesses who’ll testify against you. You’re going away for a very long time.’

  ‘Who are these witnesses?’

  ‘This is your chance to confess, Andrew. You can help take down who you were working for.’

  ‘I don’t name names.’

  ‘Well, that’s your decision. There’s not a jury in the land won’t prosecute you, sunshine. We’ve got a pretty solid evidence trail against you and Ms Ikonnikova.’

  ‘So get out of my face and put me away, man.’

  ‘Andrew, I’m giving you the chance to help us here.’

  ‘Not doing that. I’m going away, you said that. Doesn’t matter if it’s four years or life. Same difference.’

  Fenchurch sighed. ‘We’re prepared to drop the charges relating to conspiracy to murder if you help us secure the convictions of Yana Ikonnikova and Guy Eustace.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You’re not interested in getting the charges dropped?’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘The phone stuff’s maybe two to four
years, depending on the judge. One to two with good behaviour.’ Fenchurch tilted his head from side to side. ‘Maybe less if you let us know who you sold the phones to.’

  ‘Drop the other charges.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Then we got no deal.’ Kamal ran a hand along his lips, zipping them together.

  ‘Last chance, Andrew.’

  ‘Quit it with that.’

  ‘You prefer Kamal?’

  ‘It’s my name. The name I chose. Not Andrew Smith.’ He snarled at the name. ‘Get your white ass out of here, boy.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘I’m going to stand up two seconds after I stop talking. I’ll walk over to that door and leave this room. That’ll be the last you see of me until you’re in court.’ Fenchurch counted in his head — one Mississippi, two Mississippi — and got up. Headed for the door, grabbed the handle.

  ‘Wait.’

  Fenchurch turned slowly. ‘You going to help?’

  ‘I know your name, Simon.’

  Fenchurch frowned. ‘That supposed to be a threat?’

  ‘No, I know it of old, man. Years back.’

  ‘What are you saying? Did I pick you up when you were a kid in Harlow?’

  ‘No, man.’ Kamal sneered and rubbed his hands together. ‘But I know what happened to your girl.’

  Fenchurch stared at him. Heart thudding, drums battering his ears, mouth dry. ‘What?’

  ‘Lovely girl.’

  ‘You’re talking shit.’

  ‘No way, man. Definitely her. Said she was called Fenchurch. Thought I knew your name from somewhere.’

  Fenchurch’s mouth was drier than the Sahara. Was the prick lying? Worse, was he telling the truth? ‘Tell me what happened to her.’

  ‘No way, man.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Bullshit, man. I know all about her.’ Kamal smirked. ‘Just wanted to see if you were—’

  Fenchurch lurched at him. He pushed him right over. Kamal’s skull cracked against the wall, denting the plaster. He grabbed his T-shirt, bunching the fabric around white-knuckled fists. ‘Where is she?’