by Ed James
‘For a taxi?’
‘Sir, this is a chance for you to change your story, okay?’ Reed tapped the recorder. ‘We’re on the record here.’
‘Like I told you, I went back to John’s. And I . . . just sat there and cried.’
Reed put the photo away. ‘Did Gayle ever take drugs?’
‘Drugs? What are you talking about?’
‘Ecstasy, in particular.’
Steve shot to his feet, fists clenched.
‘You might know it as MDMA.’
‘She . . . she’s a teacher. She doesn’t take drugs.’
‘Has she ever?’
Steve sank back into his seat. ‘Look, the only time I can think of is when we were students at Durham. Had a few nights out in Newcastle.’ He swallowed hard, caressing his bobbing Adam’s apple. ‘We . . . took an E at this club down by the riverside. Neither of us particularly enjoyed it. Still dancing at midday, no idea where we were. You know how it is.’
‘I’m a police officer, so I don’t.’ Reed folded her arms. ‘Sorry.’
Fenchurch let out a shallow breath. Glad he didn’t ask me.
‘This was seven, eight years ago. We’re teachers now. Can’t do that sort of shit any more.’ Steve massaged his eyes. ‘Gayle . . .’
Reed tapped her foot, waiting for him to stop. ‘That was the only time?’
‘I can’t account for her every waking moment, but it’s the only time we took anything together.’
‘She never smoked a joint or—’
‘Who do you think she was?’
‘A human being. People need to relieve stress.’
Steve bit his lip, his gaze shooting between them. ‘Look, a few weeks ago Gayle was out with the Friday club from the school. I didn’t go, went to the England game with my brother. Got back home about half ten, but no sign of Gayle. I went to bed and woke up about midnight. Still no sign of her. I texted her, but her phone was off. I tried her friends but they weren’t picking up. So I started looking for any sign of where she’d gone.’ Another deep swallow. ‘In one of her bags in her wardrobe, this Louis Vuitton knock-off we got in Tenerife last year . . . I found a load of pills.’
Fenchurch scowled at him. ‘What did these pills look like?’
‘White, stamped with, I dunno. Like a letter B? But it was like a currency.’
‘I know.’ Fenchurch felt a spear in his gut.
Blockchain.
Time to accelerate the search.
Fenchurch stood outside the house, dial tone burning his ears. He held the warrant in his hands, could almost feel the favours he’d had to call in from the judge weighing down his shoulders.
The curtains across the road twitched and he waved at Bethany’s flat. Almost saw her scowling through the gloom.
He got through to Mulholland’s voicemail. ‘Dawn, it’s Simon. Just to let you know that, based on intelligence received by Steven Fisher, I am authorising a search of his and Gayle’s home. We believe she might have had her own supply of drugs. Possibly Blockchain.’ He ended the call and pocketed the phone.
Reed walked over to Fenchurch and gave a conspiratorial grin. ‘You think Mulholland’s going to be happy with us searching?’
‘She’s not answering her calls, so I’m not waiting for her.’ Fenchurch leaned back against the car and checked his watch. ‘Besides, if we find it, maybe it gives some credence to the suicide theory she’s clinging to. Anyway, there’s no press here, so it should be fine.’
A squad car pulled up and a pair of uniforms got out. Male and female.
Fenchurch sidled over, Reed following close behind. ‘Okay, I want a nice, orderly search here. Nothing moved that can’t be put back where you got it. Am I clear?’ He got two nods back. ‘We’re looking for drugs, especially those marked with a Bitcoin symbol. Any questions?’
The male PC stuck up his hand, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘Shouldn’t we have a sniffer dog, sir?’
‘Happy for you to get down on all fours, Constable.’
‘Right, sir. Sorry, sir.’
‘They’re all busy on Operation Lydian, if you must know. We’re getting in now rather than waiting for the sniffer team.’ Fenchurch pointed at Reed. ‘Follow DS Reed’s lead, okay?’
She walked over to the door and tried Steve’s keys. Took a few goes before she found the right one and opened the door.
Nice place inside, well decorated. Smelled fresh and clean, like they got new flowers every day.
‘DI Fenchurch and I will take upstairs, okay?’ Reed pointed at the cheeky sod. ‘Stay by the door.’ Then she started up the stairs.
‘Sorry about Brian, sir, he’s just new.’
Fenchurch flashed a grin at the female PC as he followed Reed up. ‘I was like that when I started.’
Reed opened the bedroom door. Looked like a spare room, a single bed freshly made up. Wardrobes either side of the window, one twice the size of the other.
‘Got to be in here.’ Fenchurch went over to the bigger one. Shoes, watches, shirts and jeans. At least three generations of games consoles and tons of games, mostly still packaged. Steve’s, pretty obviously.
‘Guv.’ Reed was kneeling in front of the other wardrobe. ‘Got it.’ She held a clutch bag in her gloved fingers. Blue with a pearled handle, the LV logo in silver. ‘You’d think this was the real deal.’
‘Couldn’t tell you what a real one was like.’ Fenchurch took it off her and looked inside. A baggie lay at the bottom, four little white pills rattling around. He picked it up. ‘Looks like Blockchain, all right.’
Thumping came from downstairs. ‘Everybody out!’
‘What the hell?’ Fenchurch tossed the bag to Reed and charged out into the hall. More thudding downstairs. He looked over the banister and groaned.
‘Guv.’ Jon Nelson stood at the bottom, sucking on his vape stick. ‘You got a warrant for this search?’
‘Course I do.’ Fenchurch stomped down the stairs and passed it to him.
Nelson took a look at it. ‘Well, I’m afraid that Superintendent Loftus has given my team priority in enacting it.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Sorry, but Operation Lydian trumps your case.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Out on the street, Fenchurch hit redial. Got Mulholland’s voicemail. Hard to remember a time when she answered my calls. ‘Dawn, it’s urgent. Call me now.’ He stuffed his phone away, scowling across the road.
Nelson was on his mobile, sucking his vape stick between laughs. He’d lost weight, looked back to his best. What shagging a young DC at his age does for the waistline . . . He put his phone away and nodded at Fenchurch, then started chatting to Reed.
Fenchurch walked over. ‘Sergeant, you care to tell me what’s going on here?’
Nelson waved at Reed. ‘Kay?’
‘Why are you asking her, Jon?’
‘Because she’s a Sergeant.’ Nelson grinned. ‘I’m an Acting DI.’
‘I hadn’t heard.’
‘No, just like you don’t get my texts about the broken boiler in your flat.’
‘I told you, Jon. Get it fixed and I’ll square you up.’ Fenchurch scowled. ‘How’s Operation Lydian, then?’
‘Operation Dildo, more like. Total shambles, but what do you expect?’ Nelson bared his teeth. ‘And it’s not all sexy dawn raids, like you’d think. There’s this guy, Coldcut, supposed to be behind the Blockchain, but we can’t get close. They’ve got me investigating murders. Four undercover cops.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah, shit. Still, we took down Younis and, well, they think I’m the golden boy. Not often someone brings down a drug lord like that.’
‘That’s all gone quiet.’
‘It’s tied together, guv. We’re still prosecuting him, but he’s linked to Coldcut, we think. Geezer keeps teasing us, but sod it, it’s getting to the point where we’re just going to do him, you know?’
‘I know.’ Fenchurch started pacing around. ‘How did you find out about this?’
‘My new gaffer got a call.’
‘Bloody Mulholland. Can’t bring herself to answer my calls but she can go behind my back to the drug squad.’
‘It was Loftus, actually.’ Nelson held out his hands. ‘What’s your interest?’
‘Someone’s used Blockchain as a murder weapon. Our victim had three in her bloodstream. And I’ve seen what one can do.’
‘Elliot Lynch, yeah?’
‘Right.’ Fenchurch handed him the evidence bag containing the Blockchain and the fake Louis Vuitton. ‘Found that inside.’
‘I can get it processed in an hour, if you want.’
‘Please.’
‘Heard that your victim was a teacher at Shadwell?’
‘English.’
‘I went there. My brother, too.’ Nelson gave a dark look. ‘Bad, bad place.’ His expression lightened. ‘Anyway, I’ll get this lot checked. See you around.’ He jogged off towards a female detective and handed the bag to her.
Reed watched him go, shaking her head slowly. ‘Does that mean we’ve lost this case, guv?’
‘Far from it.’ Fenchurch started off towards their pool car. ‘Jon’s looking at strategic stuff. Bringing down dealers and suppliers. Whoever’s making this shit or bringing it into the country.’ He unlocked the car and got in. ‘We’re the other side of the coin.’
‘So, what next?’ Reed did up her seatbelt. ‘As it stands, Steve found some pills in Gayle’s bag a couple of weeks ago. Think she got them from Elliot?’
‘Or Steve put them there.’ Fenchurch put the key in the ignition. ‘Steve’s a suspect, but so’s Elliot.’ He looked around the street. ‘If Gayle Fisher was out with someone that night, it was probably Elliot. Either way, we know he had Blockchain. Let’s see if he’s the source.’
‘Out of the way!’ Fenchurch pushed through the press scrum, warrant card out, leading Reed and their pair of uniforms through the crowd, then up the garden path.
‘Only ever seen this sort of thing on TV.’ Reed stopped by the door, eyes wide. She knocked on it and waited. ‘Think they’ll cause us hassle?’
‘Undoubtedly.’ Fenchurch spotted Liam near the back, talking with a tall skinhead. ‘It’s almost like they want us to—’
‘What’s going on now?’ Derek Lynch stood in the doorway, glaring at them. ‘You? Not had enough of us, eh? You don’t fancy getting that lot to clear off, do you?’
Fenchurch showed his search warrant. ‘We need access to your property, Mr Lynch.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘I’d appreciate it if you could just let us get on with it.’
Derek rummaged in his pocket for his phone. Couldn’t stop Reed and the two uniforms barging inside. ‘I’m calling Ben Maxfield about this!’
‘Very pleased for you, sir.’ Fenchurch entered the house. Thumping and clomping came from upstairs already.
Derek hit a button on his phone and put it to his ear.
‘Stop!’ Elliot was at the top of the stairs, going spare at the cheeky uniform. Fenchurch couldn’t believe they’d let him go home so soon, but there he was. ‘You’ve no right to do that!’ Cheeky grabbed him in an armbar and led him downstairs.
‘What’s going on?’ Derek got in Cheeky’s face, still on the phone, still a foot too short to intimidate a police officer. ‘You let go of my boy now!’
‘Sir.’ Fenchurch dragged Derek away from his son. ‘I need you to—’
‘He’s here now, Ben!’ Derek held up the phone. ‘He wants to speak to you.’
Fenchurch took the phone and put it on speaker.
‘This is a really, really—’
‘Mr Maxfield, we have a search warrant. Goodbye.’ Fenchurch hung up and gave Derek his phone back.
‘How dare you?’ Derek stared at his mobile like Fenchurch hadn’t just done that. ‘You come into my house and start throwing things around. Then you hang up my phone!?’
‘Sir, I need you to calm down.’
Something cracked against Fenchurch’s bad knee. Pain seared up the back, bit at the front and he toppled over.
‘You want some, do you?’ Elliot stood over him, ready to fight. ‘You thick bastard!’
Fenchurch reached up and grabbed his hand, twisted it into a lock and pulled Elliot down. He pushed him over, face down. ‘That’s not a very smart thing to do, son.’
Face on the wooden floor, Elliot just laughed at him.
Fenchurch helped him to stand. ‘What’s so funny?’
Just made the laughing worse.
‘Elliot, this is a murder case.’
Much worse.
Fenchurch pushed him towards Cheeky. ‘Take this little punk down the station.’
‘This is horse shit!’ Derek had his phone to his ear again. ‘Mr Maxfield’s got a lawyer on his way!’
‘Can you tell him to get that lawyer to meet us at Leman Street?’ Fenchurch waved at Cheeky to take Elliot away. ‘And tell Mr Maxfield I appreciate his efforts. Usually takes a few hours for them to turn up for an interview.’
‘You’re a cheeky, cheeky bas—’
‘Guv!’ Reed was at the top of the stairs, holding an evidence bag in her gloved hands. ‘I’ve found drugs under his bed.’
Fenchurch met her halfway up and grabbed the bag. At least thirty Blockchain pills.
‘And a big chunk of coke.’ Reed held up another bag. ‘At least a hundred grams, I’d say.’
Elliot slumped back against the wall. ‘Ah, bollocks.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Still no sign of Mulholland?’ Fenchurch sighed. The lights were on the blink in the corridor outside the interview rooms. ‘Are her and Loftus on a spa break or something?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, guv.’ Reed opened the door and peered in at Elliot. He caught sight of them and started laughing again. She shut it and leaned against it. ‘Any sign of—’
‘Well, well, well.’ Anna Xiang stood behind them swinging her briefcase, full of papers for the evil scumbags she defended. Despite the name, she looked about as Chinese as Fenchurch. ‘I should’ve known by the nature of the arrest that I’d be dealing with you, Inspector.’
‘You know you’re only really supposed to defend innocent people, not drug dealers and brutal rapists.’
‘And what makes you—’ Xiang huffed out a sigh. ‘Never mind. Just so’s you know, I shall forego a private session with my client before the interview.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘He’s innocent and has nothing to hide.’
‘Meaning that you’ve already coached him.’
‘Never change, Fenchurch.’ Xiang entered the room, strutting on her kitten heels. She dumped her briefcase on the table and started chatting to Elliot, just out of earshot.
‘Kay, start the tape.’ Fenchurch walked off, phone to his ear.
Mulholland bounced his call his time.
Bloody hell.
So he sent her a text: DAWN — IT’S URGENT.
He stormed into the room and stayed standing by the door. ‘Mr Lynch, you know that we found a large quantity of drugs in your house. Care to explain that?’
‘No comment.’
Here we bloody go. Definitely schooled.
‘One hundred and twenty grams of street cocaine. Thirty-four MDMA pills. Now.’ Fenchurch walked over and crouched next to Elliot. ‘The MDMA — ecstasy, X, E, call it what you want — is stamped with a Bitcoin logo.’ He held up an evidence bag containing one of the pills. ‘These have been turning up all over London. They’re called Blockchain. And they’re a killer. Of course, you almost discovered that yourself last night, didn’t you? Almost died after you took one.’
‘No comment.’
‘Elliot, you know what one can do. Someone gave Gayle Fisher three of them.’
‘Shit.’
A slip, however minor.
‘Three pills is a twelve-hundred-milligram dose. That’s making sure. Did you give her it?’
‘No comment.’
&
nbsp; ‘Your lawyer’s got you on a tight lead, hasn’t she?’ Fenchurch got up and started pacing the room. ‘It beats you laughing at me, I suppose. What’s that about?’
Elliot smirked at him. ‘No comment.’
‘This is a murder case. You’re looking at over twenty years inside. And all those drugs we found in your room, that’s at least another five, ten. On top.’
‘Those drugs were planted in my client’s property.’
Fenchurch stopped by Xiang and stared at her. ‘I’ve got the discovery on body-worn video camera.’
‘What about footage of your officer planting it?’
‘These are your client’s drugs.’
‘Are they? Because you’ve not proven that. Where did he get them from?’
‘He took one of them himself!’
‘One of those very drugs? Same batch? You’re positive?’
Fenchurch ignored her and focused on Elliot. ‘Someone tied Gayle Fisher down and gave her three of them.’
Elliot locked eyes with Fenchurch. He brushed a tear from his eye.
‘You loved her, didn’t you? Your porcelain goddess, right?’
He wiped at more tears.
‘Did you tie her down, Elliot? Did you give her the drugs?’
He shook his head at Fenchurch.
‘Instead of giving me an alibi for Friday, you’ve laughed at me. You clearly think it’s funny, but I don’t care why you’re doing it. There’s just too much connecting you to Gayle, isn’t there? Finding these drugs in your room and refusing to give us an alibi. Makes me think—’
‘Football!’ Elliot hit his fist off the desk. ‘I was playing football.’
Xiang let out a sigh.
‘I was playing for Shadwell United Under Eighteens.’ Elliot folded his arms. ‘Quarter to eight kick-off. You can work out the rest, can’t you?’
‘Inspector, my client has given you an alibi — I suggest you verify it.’
‘Bloody Shadwell.’ Fenchurch double-parked outside the football stadium and got out. The street was rammed with cars, even parking on the school playing fields over the road. Shouting came from inside the ground. The solid boot of a football. He led Uzma towards the stadium, a proper old-school job. Wood and corrugated iron. Turnstiles designed for men’s physiques in the fifties, before the advent of beer bellies and saddlebags. He walked up to the door and knocked. ‘Every time this lot play West Ham or Millwall, I swear it’s like World War Three.’