Worth Killing For (A DI Fenchurch Novel Book 2)

by Ed James

  Kamal just laughed.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back. ‘You need to let him go, sir.’ The Custody Officer.

  Fenchurch let one hand go of the T-shirt and balled up his fist, hovering it over Kamal’s face. ‘Where. Is. She?’

  Kamal lay back on the floor, laughing. ‘I’m not going to tell you. You’ll never see her again. I pumped that white ass.’

  Fenchurch let the fist go, smashing into his face. Kamal’s head cracked off the wall again.

  The Custody Officer pushed Fenchurch over, arm round his back, face on the carpet.

  Kamal sat up, still laughing, face covered in blood.

  Fenchurch wriggled round. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Kamal spat at him. ‘I’m never going to tell you, bro.’

  Chapter Fifty

  Docherty slammed his office door and stomped across the carpet, thundering into his chair. ‘Simon, you are a bloody idiot.’

  Fenchurch kept his focus low. His shoulder felt like it was lying on the floor, severed from his body. ‘I want five minutes in a room with him. Alone.’

  ‘You’ll get your wish in Belmarsh, you stupid bastard.’

  Fenchurch looked up at him. ‘Come on, boss.’

  ‘Once Unwin’s finished with you, you’ll be lucky to be issuing speeding tickets in the bloody Dartford tunnel.’

  ‘He knows what happened to Chloe.’

  ‘And I thought you were over that?’

  Fenchurch brushed the tears from his eyes. ‘He said he knows what happened to her.’

  ‘More like he knows how to play you.’

  ‘How does he know what happened? How did he know Chloe was missing?’

  ‘It’s not exactly a secret, is it? All that press you’ve done over the years. And all the shite you’ve been up to with Unwin. A guy like him will be googling your name before you can fart.’

  Fenchurch looked away, let the tears flow. ‘I just want to know what happened to her, boss.’

  ‘Does Abi want that?’

  ‘She wants to know. Needs to know.’

  ‘You’re going to get into this all over again, aren’t you? I can see what’s going to happen. Abi’ll kick you out by summer. You move back into your bachelor’s pad in the bloody Isle of Dogs. Spending an hour a day looking over her bloody file. Drinking cheap wine to get to sleep. Tormenting your old man with it all.’

  ‘He’s been tormenting me.’

  ‘Aye, well things bloody change quickly, don’t they?’ Docherty ran a hand through his hair, letting out the mother of all sighs. ‘Listen, I’ll sort this out, okay? You’ve somehow got Unwin on side, he’s not pushing an assault charge. He knows the lay of the land.’

  ‘The Complaints will come after me.’

  ‘I know people there. Favours due.’

  ‘You sure you want to cash them in on me?’

  ‘What’s the point in favours if you don’t use them? Same with the Russian embassy. I’ve been onto the Foreign Office already. Don’t worry about it.’ Docherty snorted. ‘Simon, I need you, okay? You’re the only cop I’ve got who isn’t a complete idiot.’

  ‘Thought I was.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Docherty flashed a smile. ‘You’re the only one who gets results.’

  ‘I don’t want special treatment.’

  ‘We’ll sort this out. Okay?’ Docherty picked up his Rangers mug and had a look inside. ‘Nelson and Reed are interviewing him. We’ve charged the little shit, so there’s no upper limit, okay? Whatever he knows, we’ll get it out of him.’

  ‘I want to get in there.’

  ‘Not going to happen.’ Docherty took a sip from his mug. ‘Look, he’s probably playing you, okay? The Mandem weren’t kidnapping girls. They’re big time, but they’re not doing that. He’s just messing with you. And it bloody worked.’

  Fenchurch rubbed his fist, felt like the tendons had unravelled. ‘If he knows something, boss, I want to find out.’

  ‘He doesn’t know anything, okay?’ Docherty pointed at the office door. ‘Now, get the hell out of here before you lamp anyone else.’

  Fenchurch kicked off his shoes and padded through the flat. The lights were off in the kitchen and the living room. A crack appeared under the bottom of the bedroom door. He nudged it open.

  Abi looked up from her Kindle, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. ‘You’ve remembered where you live, then?’

  ‘Just about.’ Fenchurch sat on his side of the bed and leaned over to kiss her.

  ‘Jesus, Simon.’ She caressed his cuts and bruises, plasters and gel. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘You should see the other guy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Kamal. The guy who had Saskia killed. We got him, love. And the arseholes who paid for it. The bloody one per cent . . .’

  She put the Kindle down. ‘Sounds like he didn’t do the killing.’

  ‘We got them both. Poor little bastards were kidnapped. He took them off the street.’

  ‘Jesus. Like Chloe?’

  Fenchurch looked away, focusing on the painting on the wall, the dim light bouncing off the glass. ‘I reunited them with their parents. For how long, I don’t know. They’ll be going away for a long time.’

  ‘They were kidnapped?’

  ‘He has a gang of kids. Little assassins on bikes.’ Fenchurch flicked on his bedside light. ‘They were getting paid to kill people.’ He let out a deep sigh, feeling like it wouldn’t stop coming out. ‘Kamal said he knows what happened to Chloe.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He stared at me and said he knows what happened to “my girl”.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘He seemed pretty sure of himself. Doc reckons he’s just playing me.’ Fenchurch rubbed his forehead. ‘What if he’s telling the truth, though, Ab?’

  ‘He’s just messing with your head.’

  ‘I went for him. Pushed him right over. It was all I could do not to kill him.’

  ‘What’s going to happen?’

  ‘Docherty reckons it’ll all blow over, but I’m not so sure.’ Fenchurch collapsed onto the bed. ‘I couldn’t take it if she’s out there. The kid who killed Saskia . . . His parents lost him a few years ago. Qasid, too, the one he swapped places with. It’s the same as Chloe. They were just stolen from the street.’ He could just picture Ronald Cole in his tartan boxers, blank eyes pleading with them. ‘It’s maybe not worth knowing.’

  ‘Tell me you’re not going to start looking for her?’

  ‘After ten years, we’ve finally got a lead.’

  ‘Simon . . .’

  ‘Look, whatever we do, we’re doing it together, okay? I’m not going to drive another bloody wedge between us. If you want to drop it, I’ll drop it. Okay?’

  ‘I want you to drop it.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll make sure Dad doesn’t find out.’

  ‘That’s for the best.’ She stroked his shoulder. ‘Have you thought about having another child?’

  Fenchurch lay back on the bed, let her play with his hair. He looked at her, glasses now on her head. ‘How can we bring a new life into this world, Ab?’

  ‘She might save it, Simon. You’ve got to have hope.’

  ‘I’m fed up of feeling it’s going to kill me.’ Fenchurch nodded. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  Abi stared into his eyes, so deep she could probably see the back of his skull. ‘Do you want another child?’ Her voice was soft, like an angel whispering.

  Could they replace Chloe? Did they have to? A new life would put a full stop on all the pain, all the bullshit. But it’d bind them together, might even be the start of something new.

  Fenchurch sighed, and let his shoulders go. It was time to move on.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’

  Afterword

  As some of you know, I worked in London for a few years, returning to the fresh coldness of Scotland in December 2013 and a new career as a full-time writer. T
owards the end of my stay there, I was out with a few friends for some beer. On our way to get something to eat, I had my iPhone nicked. By a kid on a bike. On Upper Street.

  Crime number 2720204/13 in Islington.

  Wasn’t much fun and kind of tarnished London for me in a lot of ways. The idea for this came back to me last time I was down, as I got flashbacks to that, admittedly drunken, night. I remembered the idea last October and the rage swelled up again. I wrote the first draft of this book in six days. It just poured out, all the bile and hatred and anger and fear, like a long hangover. Took my time editing it, though, by which time the anger had subsided. I feel a lot better about it now.

  Anyway, whoever nicked my phone — well, I hope you got a nice meal out of my trauma. You gave me a book.

  To the undercover cops out on the town, thanks for stopping me doing something stupid and giving us solid advice.

  And Rich, thanks for helping me deal with it — this book’s for you.

  Acknowledgements

  The most amount of thanks ever go to Al Guthrie for brilliant agenting and editing before anyone else saw the first draft.

  Special thanks again to Jenny Parrott, for helping me through January 2016’s editing hell and then pushing me to improve the book further.

  Doffed caps to Emilie, Sana, Eoin and all at Thomas & Mercer for continuing support and just being brilliant.

  And, finally, thanks to Kitty for all the help and support as I wrote and edited this book, which isn’t much compensation for how grumpy I am, I know.

  About the Author

  Photo © 2014 Kitty Harrison

  Ed James writes crime fiction novels. His Scott Cullen series features a young Edinburgh detective constable investigating crimes from the bottom rung of the career ladder he’s desperate to climb. Worth Killing For is the second novel in his latest series, set on the gritty streets of East London and featuring DI Simon Fenchurch. Formerly an IT manager, Ed began writing on planes, trains and automobiles to fill his weekly commute to London. He now writes full-time and lives in East Lothian, Scotland, with his girlfriend and a menagerie of rescued animals.