‘No. Leanne’s not the sort to go out boozing night after night, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, ever since Charlie came along, she’s hardly been out at all. It’s a shame for her, really. She works in a hair salon on Kingsland Road. Sometimes she’ll join the other girls for a drink after work, but she’s a good mother: she always puts Charlie first.’
‘I’m sure my colleague wasn’t implying anything,’ Denning said, shooting a sharp look in Neeraj’s direction, which he either failed to notice, or chose to ignore. ‘Do you know who she was with last night, or where they were going?’ he asked.
Susan shook her head. ‘She didn’t say. Just said it was a friend and they were going out for a drink, possibly a meal.’
‘And you have no idea where?’
She lifted her face and looked over at Denning. ‘Like I told you, she doesn’t go out much these days, and I don’t like to pry into her private life. We’ve had arguments about that before now.’ She shook her head wearily, then shot Denning a worried look. ‘Has something happened? Is that why you came round here so quickly?’
‘Do you have a recent photo of Leanne?’ Denning asked, keeping his voice level.
She blinked a couple of times, as though she was trying to keep tears at bay. Despite the make-up and half smiles, there was a hardness about her face that suggested she’d experienced more than her fair share of life’s knocks. ‘Yes.’ Her eyes flicked from one officer to the other for a moment, then she stood up and walked over to an MDF shelving unit next to the television.
‘This was taken last summer.’ She handed them a silver-framed photograph showing a young woman smiling at the camera. Leanne was wearing a t-shirt with ‘Girl Power’ emblazoned across the front. A cute-looking child sat in her lap staring benignly at the camera. Denning assumed this was Charlie, the as yet unseen child, currently playing next door, unaware his entire life was about to change forever.
It was sunny when the picture was taken and both mother and son were squinting at the camera.
Denning took the photo from Susan Wyatt and looked closely at Leanne before passing it over to Neeraj. It was impossible to say whether the smiling, carefree girl in the picture was the same person he’d seen a couple of hours earlier, battered beyond recognition and half-buried in a park. However, the age and general description matched, and from what her mother was telling them, it seemed out of character for Leanne Wyatt to just disappear.
‘Leanne had a flat on the Beaverbrook Estate, is that right?’ asked Denning.
She nodded. ‘Yes, she’s been there about three years now.’
‘We’ll need to search her flat. We’ll be as careful as possible.’ He noticed she was staring straight at him, almost through him. ‘Do you have a key to her flat?’
It was like she was in a trance, and not fully taking in what they were saying. ‘Yes,’ she said after a minute. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ She headed through to the kitchen, reappearing a couple of minutes later with a silver Yale key, which she handed to Denning, along with a yellow Post-it note with an address scribbled on it in slightly shaky handwriting: 29 Tressell House, Keir Hardy Way. ‘It’s just off Hackney New Road,’ she said, in case they didn’t know where it was. Though of course they did. Every copper in east London knew of the Beaverbrook Estate, by reputation if nothing else.
‘I’ll need a list of all Leanne’s friends and colleagues. Also, do you know if Leanne had a regular boyfriend?’ Denning asked. It was a loaded question; they had to get onto the awkward subject of Gregor Kane and Leanne Wyatt’s relationship with him.
Susan Wyatt was staring at the blank TV screen. Denning could sense how her brain was working: making connections and assumptions; not wanting to believe what was screaming at her. ‘Not any more,’ she said, after a moment. ‘She was seeing someone, but they split up about three or four months ago.
‘Something has happed, hasn’t it? That’s why you’re here. That’s why they sent plain clothes officers and not uniformed police.’ Her voice was calm, any hint of hysteria kept at bay by a steely determination and a need to know what had happened to her little girl. ‘You might as well tell me.’
‘We’ve found a body, Mrs Wyatt,’ Denning began. ‘Earlier this morning, in Haggerston Park. The body of a young woman that fits Leanne’s description.’
She was silent for second, then let out a single, audible sob.
Neeraj shuffled his feet awkwardly and looked at Denning.
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Wyatt. We will need you to formally identify the body.’ Denning paused, he wanted to reach out and hold her, tell her everything would be all right, but it would be both inappropriate and a lie. ‘Is there anyone we can contact? A family member? A friend? Leanne’s father?’
She sniffed back the tears. ‘He pissed off when she was six. I haven’t seen him in years.’ She wiped her nose with her hand, struggling to compose herself. ‘No. No, I’d rather do this by myself.’
‘I’m sorry, but I need to ask you some more questions,’ Denning said softly. ‘You said Leanne split up from someone a few months ago? Can you confirm the name of the person she was seeing?’
‘A lad called Gregor Kane,’ she said quietly. ‘I never liked him. I always thought he was trouble and would end up getting Leanne into trouble. She met him at a friend’s party while she was still at school. I mean, I knew about the family’s reputation – everyone round here knows the Kanes – but I always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.’
‘How serious was the relationship?’ asked Denning.
She half smiled at him. ‘He isn’t Charlie’s dad, if that’s what you’re wondering. The relationship was very on and off.’
‘Who ended the relationship?’ It was Neeraj’s turn this time, and his manner was as direct and blunt as before.
Susan Wyatt thought for a moment. ‘It was Leanne. She decided she’d had enough. He used to treat her like rubbish. I think she believed deep down that if she threatened to leave him, he’d change his ways. But leopards don’t change their spots. Besides, I don’t think he felt the same way about her as she felt about him. Well, it’s different for men, isn’t it?’ She eyed the two officers coolly. ‘It’s more about sex than love, especially at that age.’
‘Who is Charlie’s dad?’ Neeraj asked.
Susan stared at Neeraj. For a brief second Denning thought she was going to tell him to piss off. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. ‘She never told me. Just said he was someone she knew from school. Whoever he was, he’s never had anything to do with Charlie. Leanne brought him up by herself. With some help from me, of course, and her nan when she was still with us, God rest her.’
‘What was Gregor Kane like around Charlie?’ Denning asked.
She nodded, but was now speaking through tears. ‘Good. Yes, Gregor might be a vicious bastard at times, but he was good with Charlie.’ She flicked away tears with the back of her hand. ‘I sometimes wondered if he really was Charlie’s dad, and Leanne just didn’t want to say. I did once think about doing one of those DNA tests, try and get a lock of his hair or something, but what would have been the point? It wouldn’t have changed anything, only caused another argument.’
Susan Wyatt sobbed and shook her head. ‘What am I going to say to Charlie? He’ll want to know what’s happened to his mummy.’
‘If necessary, we’ll appoint a Family Liaison Officer to look after you, and a child psychologist will be available to help Charlie come to terms with what’s happened.’
Denning explained that a couple of uniformed officers would call round and take her to the mortuary to identify the body. There wasn’t much else he could tell her. There were the usual promises about catching whoever had done this, the suggestion of bereavement counselling and turning to family and friends for support. But it would all mean nothing in the end if she had just lost her only daughter and they could offer up little more than empty platitudes.
Chapter Five
They found G
regor Kane in his favourite haunt: the Henley Castle, an un-gentrified pub on Dalston High Road.
The pub had seen better days. The interior was bedecked in varnished pine, with peeling photos of sport stars of yesteryear stuck to the walls and harsh strip lighting overhead. A couple of the lights didn’t work and grim shadows pooled on the faded bottle-green and shit-brown carpet, which was pockmarked with beer stains and decade-old fag burns. An old-fashioned juke box sat in a corner by the gents and blasted out a tinny din.
Neeraj pointed Kane out as soon as they walked in. He was playing pool near the bar with a group of mates. Most were dressed identically in faded jeans and hoodies. Someone grunted when Denning and Neeraj approached, accompanied by a hail of laughter from his mates.
‘Gregor Kane?’ Denning asked.
‘Minute,’ Kane replied, poised to pot a red.
Denning pulled the pool cue from his hand. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, Mr Kane.’
Kane was better dressed than his mates, his designer shirt and expensive jeans confirming his place as head of the pack.
His mates made various ooh and ahh noises; someone, possibly the same one as before, offered up another porcine grunt. Kane took a deep breath through his nose and then stood to his full height. He wasn’t particularly tall, a little over five feet six inches, but he had the lithe muscle tone of a regular gym-goer. Denning noticed a small diamond stud in his left ear.
‘What do you want?’ Kane’s accent momentarily caught Denning off guard. It was educated, rather than the guttural tones he had expected, and seemed strangely incongruous.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Denning,’ he said, flashing his warrant card. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Neeraj.’ Denning nodded towards Neeraj, who stood silently a pace behind him. ‘I need to ask you some questions about Leanne Wyatt.’
Behind him, Denning heard someone say ‘slag’.
‘I understand you and Leanne used to be friendly.’
There was more laughter from behind him. ‘Leanne’s a silly little bitch, if you’ll pardon my French. And I wouldn’t go believing a word she tells you.’ Kane spoke smugly, with the confidence of knowing they were on his turf: his territory meant his rules, and as long as his smirking, laughing crew were there to back him up, there was little chance of him letting his guard down.
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Me and her haven’t spoken for months. Why? What’s she been saying about me now?’
Denning was curious as to what he meant by ‘now’. Had Leanne made a complaint about Kane in the past? ‘She hasn’t said anything, Mr Kane.’
‘Then what’s this about? Because I’m a busy man.’ The polished accent ricocheted round the shabby pub like designer shrapnel.
‘The body of a young woman was found in Haggerston Park earlier today, and we have grounds to believe it’s Leanne Wyatt.’
The cat-calls from Kane’s posse stopped. Kane, however, gave nothing away. His gaze remained fixed on Denning. After a moment he asked, ‘What happened?’
There was a fetid, sickly smell emanating from somewhere in the pub; possibly caused by blocked drains, or sour beer, or more likely a combination of both. Denning felt his stomach twist. He didn’t want to spend any longer in this grotty dive than he had to.
‘We believe she was murdered and then dumped in the park.’
‘Fuck. Well, cheers for telling me. But, you know, Leanne kind of brought shit on herself.’
Denning wasn’t sure if this swagger was for his mates’ benefit, or if Gregor Kane really cared so little for someone who once had feelings for him. Either way, he could feel his intense dislike of Kane growing by the second.
‘Can you tell me what you mean by that?’
Kane squared up to Denning, looking him in the eye like a feral dog marking its ground. People like Gregor Kane, Denning reminded himself, had self-assurance bred into them from birth. ‘I dunno why you’re asking me all this shit. Me and Leanne finished way back. She’d moved on to some other twat after me. And probably another few after him.’
‘A young woman’s dead, Mr Kane. A young woman who was also a mother. I think she demands a bit more respect than you seem to be showing her.’ Denning’s voice was composed, though he could feel his left temple starting to throb again.
Kane looked to his mates, but they stayed silent. He raised his chin in Denning’s direction. ‘Look, I’m sorry she’s dead, but Leanne never really fitted in round here. She was always on the lookout for some muppet to support her and her brat. As far as she was concerned, if I flashed the cash she was happy to keep me sweet. But I’ve got nothing to do with her being murdered, and unless you have any proof to the contrary, I suggest you and your little friend do one before I put in an official complaint for harassment. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a game to finish.’ He grabbed the pool cue from Denning and stood in front of him, smiling his defiance at the two officers. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Where were you?’
Kane potted another red before answering. ‘What time?’
‘Just answer the question, Mr Kane.’
He was silent for a moment, not thinking up an excuse, but rather, Denning reckoned, trying to see how far he push them. ‘I was at the Cat in the Hat on Upper Street. It was a mate’s birthday. I was there from around nine until gone one. Ask anyone who was there. Now, is there anything else?’
Denning looked over to Neeraj, who was staring at his feet. They were in danger of going round in circles, with Kane knowing the rules too well to give anything away. ‘That’s all for now, Mr Kane. If there is anything else, then we’ll certainly be in touch.’
Denning and Neeraj turned to leave. They’d almost reached the door when Kane said: ‘You want to have a word with Daryl Bailey. If anyone had a reason for offing Leanne then it was probably him. And next time you want to talk to me, you’d better have a good reason.’
Chapter Six
‘Daryl Bailey! That little fucker Kane is talking out of his arse.’ Neeraj was crunching another mint, this time even more noisily than before, animated now, in contrast to his frigid silence in the Henley Castle. ‘OK, Bailey was a bit of a lad back in the day, but it’s bollocks to suggest he’s in any way involved with this caper.’
They were driving back to the station. Denning was listening as Neeraj ranted about Kane but then offering up comment on Daryl Bailey. Neeraj, it seemed, had been something of a fan. ‘He used to play for West Ham when I was a kid,’ Neeraj explained. ‘I met him once. He signed my programme. I’ve still got it somewhere. I mean, I know there were rumours about him, but I don’t believe he’d be involved with a kid like Leanne Wyatt. It’s just not his style.’ He finished crunching the mint and swallowed it, before picking at his teeth. ‘Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’d be capable of anything, including murdering some girl just ’cos she looked at him the wrong way.’
‘Rumours…?’ Denning asked, when Neeraj finally paused for breath. Denning had little interest in football. Rugby was his game, and had been ever since he’d played for his school first eleven.
‘What?’ Neeraj looked over at Denning, a pissed-off expression nailed to his face.
‘You said there were rumours about Daryl Bailey. What were they?’
Neeraj pinched his nose then shook his head. ‘I can’t remember the exact details now. It was ages ago.’
‘OK. A rough indication would do.’
Neeraj was silent. He stared out the window at the passing urban landscape; the same desultory look on his face as before. Denning pulled over and stopped the car. He turned to face his moody passenger.
‘Deep, I’m sorry it’s me heading up this case and not you. That’s not my call. You put in for the job and didn’t get it. I did. It’s shit, but it’s life.’
Neeraj continued to gaze out the window. A woman was walking along the pavement half walking, half dragging a child behind her. The child began to scream, but the mother remained oblivious. �
��None of this matters, Deep. What does matter is that I need a team I can depend on. I can’t do this job without the support of you and every other fucker in MIT. If you and me can’t work together then one of us is going to have to put in for a transfer, and it isn’t going to be me. Off the record, you’re not my first choice as a co-pilot on this case, but McKenna wants us to work together, so I’m prepared to give it a go. Maybe you could try to.’
There was silence from the passenger seat. The woman and screaming child had disappeared into a newsagent’s. After a moment, Neeraj turned to face Denning. His face was impassive, his eyes reluctantly meeting Denning’s. ‘Off the record, I think you’re a smarmy dickhead who only got this job because you talk posh and you’ve got a degree in nothing special.’ His face contorted into an attempt at a smile. ‘But I admire your honesty. And it’d take a braver man than me to get on the wrong side of Betty Taggert.’
They laughed, ice broken. Denning started up the car, indicated, and pulled out into the traffic.
‘Apparently some little tart claimed he tried it on with her,’ Neeraj said. ‘The rumours, about Daryl Bailey.’ He looked over at Denning. ‘It was all lies of course, and nothing was ever proved, but it cost him his job.’
‘He was sacked?’
‘As good as. He’d left West Ham by then. He was playing for some crap team up north. Had to give up professional football though.’
‘When was this?’
Neeraj shrugged. ‘Not sure exactly. A few years back. Anyway, why does it matter? Kane’s just trying to throw us off the scent. I’d put money on that little fucker having done Leanne. That’s just his style.’
Denning kept his thoughts to himself. Kane was certainly arrogant, probably capable of demonstrating ruthlessness whenever he felt he had to, but he couldn’t help thinking that a lot of what they’d just witnessed was Kane’s bravado, put on for the benefit of his gang. Get Kane on his own and they’d likely be playing a very different game. ‘What’s with the accent?’
Know No Evil Page 3