THE WEST LONDON MURDERS an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detective Rob Miller Mysteries Book 2)

by BIBA PEARCE

  She laughed. He’d forgotten how nice that sounded. “What’s next? Kids?”

  His smile faded. “No, I don’t think we’ll ever go that far.”

  She changed the subject. “Tell me about Yousef.”

  “Haven’t you read the files?”

  “Yes, but I want to hear it from you.”

  He gave her a hard look. “Isn’t it you who should be telling us about Yousef? Apparently, you know a lot more about him than we do. That’s why you’re here, after all.”

  Her face remained neutral. “Fair enough. Okay, let’s have a pow-wow in one of your fancy incident rooms.” He didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. She’d wanted to sit down and discuss the case with him, but he’d removed that possibility. It was best to keep things official, get everyone on board. It saved repetition. It saved a lot of things.

  Rob called his team together and they all filed into the incident room. Jenny and Will greeted Jo like an old friend, while the new additions to the team eyed her with a mixture of awe and curiosity. It wasn’t every day they got a visit from the National Crime Agency. Even the Superintendent squeezed in at the back.

  “This is sensitive information,” Jo began, standing as he had done at the head of the table. “The National Crime Agency has launched a full-scale investigation into the county lines network, and we’ve been monitoring several individuals for some time now. Aadam Yousef was one of those individuals. We believe he’s one of the gang’s core suppliers, trafficking heroin and cocaine with a street value of roughly one million pounds into the rural towns of Surrey, Hampshire and Berkshire, maybe even as far as Wiltshire and Somerset. He recruited small-time local drug dealers to act as couriers. We’ve had access to one of his pay-as-you-go phones, and he’s been receiving between 250 and 300 messages a day from drug users, which shows the scale of their supply and the harm they are causing.”

  She paused to let this sink in. His team were silent, all eyes on Jo. “His untimely demise,” she added, “has resulted in a major setback to our operation. We were hoping he would lead us to his main supplier, the top dog in the organization, the one who’s bringing in the drugs.”

  “Do you have any idea who that is?” boomed Lawrence from the doorway. The detectives in front of him jumped.

  “No, not as yet. We have several people under surveillance but we’ve yet to identify anyone who could be the kingpin.”

  “What about the phones we found?” Rob asked. “Will they help?”

  The smile lit up her face. “Yes, that was a great coup. We’re already analysing the data and consolidating it with what we know. It will potentially give us access to Yousef’s runners and mules across the country. When we do, we’ll organize a massive crackdown.”

  There were nods of approval around the table. Jo held up her hand. “It goes without saying that this is highly confidential, and the news of Yousef’s death must be kept under wraps for now. If his organization knew he was out of commission, it would jeopardize our operation.”

  “You’d better get a move on, then,” drawled Rob.

  Jo shot him an irritated look. “It won’t be long now. We can’t keep his death quiet for much longer. Customers will realize their supply chain has dried up and questions will be asked.”

  “What about the media?” asked Mallory.

  “We’ve issued a gag order until after the bust,” she said. Rob loved the way the NCA could pull those kind of strings.

  “How can we assist?” Lawrence asked from the back.

  Jo’s gaze landed on Rob. “Well, for now we’ll treat this as a standard homicide enquiry on the off-chance that it’s not related to the county lines operation.”

  There was a soft murmur. It was business as usual, for now.

  She smiled. “It’s most likely someone within the network took him out — maybe a competitor — but we like to keep an open mind.”

  “Maybe it was the top dog who killed him,” said Mallory. “Perhaps he didn’t like the way he was running things.”

  “It’s a possibility.” Jo wiped a strand of blonde hair off her face. “We’re hoping any leads you dig up might point us in the right direction.”

  “Well, we’ll do everything in our power to assist,” cut in Lawrence from the back.

  Jo beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. Your cooperation is much appreciated.”

  Rob had to give it to her, she certainly knew how to get people on her side. The meeting broke up after that, and they all went back to their desks. Lab reports were still coming in on evidence found at the crime scene, but with no new leads. The search of the rubbish bins hadn’t turned up any knives or bloodied clothing, and nothing of interest had been seen on the CCTV footage. Even the cleaner, Tatiana’s alibi, checked out. She was at a job in Whitton all afternoon, like she’d said.

  “The problem is, we don’t know who we’re looking for,” Rob said when Jo asked again for an update. She perched on the corner of his desk, completely at ease with him, while he was conscious of her every movement. “It could be anybody. Man, woman, black, white, Asian. We have no idea. There’s not a strand of DNA evidence at the crime scene and we’ve picked up nothing untoward on the CCTV cameras.” He ran a hand through his hair. God, he’d kill for a cigarette. Maybe after this he could slip downstairs for a quick one.

  “Have you spoken to Yousef’s family?” she asked.

  “No, not yet. I was going to do that this afternoon.” He glanced at the time on his computer. 3.30 p.m. The afternoon was already halfway through.

  “Can I come?” She flashed him a dimpled smile.

  Play nice, the Superintendent had said. He couldn’t very well refuse.

  “Sure.” He kept his tone light. “Let me grab a sandwich from the canteen and we can head out.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you in the car park in ten minutes.”

  His phone rang. He glanced down. It was Yvette.

  “Make that fifteen,” he said.

  Chapter 7

  Mohammed Yousef lived in a two-bedroom council flat in a depressing high-rise in Wembley, North West London. His block was one of four that blighted the urban skyline. On the way there, Jo told Rob that this was where a young Aadam had grown up, along with his mother, Soraya, who had since passed away.

  “How do you know this?” Rob asked.

  “His father, Mohammed, is a cleric and an active member of the local Muslim community. He teaches at an Islamic boys’ school connected to the mosque.”

  “And?” prompted Rob. He could hear by her voice there was more.

  “He’s been cautioned for preaching borderline extremist views,” she said. “A parent at the school brought his behaviour to our attention. Consequently, Counter Terrorism’s been watching him for a while now, but he seems to have been behaving himself.”

  “Strange that his son could be so different,” mused Rob. He parked the car. The grey concrete building towered above them, blocking out the sun. “Drugs, human trafficking, abuse . . . Doesn’t that go against the principles of Islam?”

  “Yousef puts on a good show.” Jo climbed out of the car and glanced around her. A pair of shabbily dressed youths were kicking a football around, while a group of black teens eyeballed them warily. “He goes to the mosque every Friday and donates to the local Islamic charity.”

  Rob made sure he locked it — twice — so that everyone heard the beeps. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  Mohammed Yousef’s flat was on the fourth floor on the side of the block that didn’t get any direct sunlight. They felt the cold as soon as he opened the door.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Yousef. I’m DI Miller and this is DCI Maguire from the Putney Major Investigation Team. Can we have a word?”

  “What’s this about?” The cleric was an elderly man, outwardly quite frail but with sharp, penetrating black eyes. Tufts of white hair poked out from beneath his headscarf and he was dressed in a white shalwar kameez.

  “It’s about your son, Aadam. Can we come i
n?” Jo’s voice was softer, more empathetic.

  He didn’t look at her, but he opened the door and stood back. Jo met Rob’s gaze as they filed into the dark interior. The message was clear. You do the talking. Mr Yousef didn’t seem all that fond of women.

  They sat in a dimly lit lounge on a worn sofa. Jo shivered and Rob wondered how the old guy hadn’t frozen to death already. “Is your heating broken?” Rob asked.

  “I don’t keep it on during the day,” he said.

  Was money pretty tight? As a cleric, Rob would have expected him to live more comfortably than this.

  There was no television, only a radio playing Middle Eastern music coming from somewhere else in the apartment. Beneath the window was a well-worn prayer rug. The window itself was grimy and looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months. What a way to live. Rob felt sorry for the old man.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” The cleric peered at Rob through the dimness. “Has Aadam done something wrong?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  The old man stroked his beard and Rob thought he wasn’t going to reply, but then he spoke. “Aadam was always getting into trouble as a child. He had a strong, independent streak. My wife and I couldn’t control him.”

  Rob could believe it. “No, we’re here to give you some bad news.”

  The old man watched him with beady eyes.

  Rob cleared his throat. He hated this part. “Aadam was found dead at his house yesterday morning. We think he died sometime on Monday night.”

  There was a long silence. The tinkling rhythm of the unfamiliar music rose and fell in the background. Mohammed blinked several times in rapid succession, but his eyes remained dry, then he whispered something beneath his breath in Arabic. Eventually, the man asked, “How did he die?”

  “He was stabbed.”

  Rob watched the expression on Mohammed’s face. A flicker of pain, maybe? No, it was more like sadness or regret, but then it was gone, replaced by the calm, almost zen-like veneer he’d had when they arrived.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Rob said.

  Yousef nodded. “Thank you. Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

  “Actually, because of the nature of his death, we wondered if we might ask you a few questions. Would that be okay?”

  Rob glanced at Jo, who gave a little shrug. He didn’t know how to handle this man who seemed to have no reaction at all over the news of his only son’s death.

  A hint of annoyance in the tight lips, but he nodded.

  “Thank you.” Rob composed his thoughts. “When last did you see your son?”

  Another pause. “About three years ago. He didn’t visit often.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Weren’t you close?”

  The beady eyes regarded him disdainfully. “No.”

  “Was that when your wife died?” cut in Jo.

  Mohammed glanced towards the window, his voice tight. “Yes, Aadam came to the funeral.”

  “Did you talk?” asked Rob.

  “Not really. Like I said, we didn’t get on.”

  “Why was that?” Rob wanted to know.

  The old man glanced at him and for the first time, Rob saw a hint of emotion, a flash of anger in the dark gaze. “Aadam wasn’t a true believer. He pretended to be, but I could see right through him.”

  Rob could see how that might be a problem in a devout Muslim household. “Were you aware of your son’s involvement in anything illegal?”

  The beady eyes widened. “Illegal? No. Aadam may have turned his back on Islam, but he wasn’t a criminal.”

  That’s what he thought. Rob met Jo’s gaze and she gave a little shake of her head. Leave the father in peace. He doesn’t need to know. His son was already lost to him.

  “Do you know if Aadam had a wife or a partner?” he asked.

  The old man shook his head. “Not that I know of, but like I said, I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

  Rob nodded. “As Aadam’s only living relative, you will inherit his estate.”

  “His estate?”

  “Yes, he was quite a wealthy man when he died.” Most of the money was ill-gotten gains from drug deals and would be confiscated, but there was still his house in Hounslow and its contents. The BMW.

  “What about his daughter?” Mohammed said, looking uninterested at the prospect of being wealthy. “Won’t she inherit?”

  Rob caught eyes with Jo. “He has a daughter?”

  “Yes, her name is Aisha. I’ve never met her but Aadam told his mother about her when she was born, and she told me. The girl must be about eighteen now.”

  Wow. The family had been estranged for a long time.

  “Do you know how we can contact her?”

  The old man sighed, then stood up. “I think I have her details here somewhere.” He disappeared into the bedroom and they could hear him rummaging around. After about ten minutes, he came back holding a photograph of a chubby teenager with long dark hair and a shy smile. He handed it to Rob. “On the back.”

  Rob flipped it over. On the back was sprawled Aisha and, beneath the name, a telephone number.

  “Do you think Aisha knows her father is dead?” asked Jo once they’d got back into the car. Rob was surprised to find the tyres hadn’t been slashed or a brick hadn’t been thrown through the windscreen. There was no sign of the youths that had been watching them when they arrived.

  “Probably not,” he said. “Do you want to call her and see if she’s available to meet now?” Then he glanced at the dashboard and realized it was almost five o’clock. Yvette would be getting antsy.

  “Don’t you have to get home?” Jo asked, reading his mind. The drive back from North London would take over an hour in rush hour traffic.

  Rob hesitated. He was torn. He didn’t want to leave Yvette alone, but now they knew there was a daughter, they couldn’t wait until tomorrow to tell her that her father was dead.

  I need to know you can commit a hundred per cent. Lawrence’s words echoed in his mind.

  “I can handle the daughter,” Jo said. “I’ll take Mallory with me.”

  Reluctantly, Rob nodded. Mallory would be up for it. He was always able to work late. Did Mallory have a girlfriend? Rob realized he’d never asked, but then he never talked about Yvette either. He’d have to rectify that as soon as possible and take Mallory out for a decent drink.

  “Okay, but keep me posted,” he said.

  Rob drove them back to the station. The traffic was dire, and as predicted, it took them a little over an hour. On the way, when he wasn’t swearing at the traffic lights or fellow motorists, he asked Jo how she’d ended up at the National Crime Agency.

  “Well, after the Stalker case, I was up for promotion, but my boss felt it was too soon. He said I needed more experience.”

  “And you didn’t like that?”

  “It wasn’t that. In fact, he may have been right about the experience. It was more his attitude. He’d worked his way up the hard way and I was fast-tracked out of uni, so he didn’t take too kindly to me getting promoted to the same rank as him. It meant one of us would be transferred out of the department, and the way things were going, it was probably going to be him.”

  Rob kept his eyes on the road.

  “So, I put feelers out and when Neil Pearson at the NCA offered me a position, I jumped at the chance.”

  “Organized crime?”

  “Why not? It’s interesting work and we actually have a chance at catching the bastards. The ops are long and involved, we track these guys for months, so by the time the crackdown comes we have more than enough evidence to prosecute.”

  She had a point. He remembered a case that had been thrown out of court just last month because an inexperienced constable hadn’t followed the correct procedure when documenting evidence. A silly mistake and a murderous thug had walked free.

  Yvette had rung twice by the time they got back to the station. He texted her saying he was on his way, an
d left Jo and Mallory to go and see the daughter. Two next-of-kin visits in one night was a lot to ask of anyone, and he didn’t envy Jo her task, although he did want to know what Aisha had to say about her father. Were they close? Did she know about his drug trafficking? Did she have any idea who could have visited him on Monday afternoon? Dammit, he should be there!

  “I’ll fill you in later,” Jo promised. “Go home to your wife.”

  Yes, Yvette needed him. He’d promised her they’d get through this together, and they would. He owed her that much. So why did he feel so torn?

  * * *

  Yvette, accompanied by a frantically barking Trigger, threw herself into his arms the moment he walked through the door. “Oh, thank God you’re back. I heard a noise in the garden and Trigger wouldn’t stop barking. I think someone’s out there.”

  He held her for a moment, then gently disentangled himself. “Trigger, hush. What noise?”

  Trigger calmed down but continued to run in circles around him.

  “A thumping, creaking sound like someone was climbing over the fence. I nearly called the police.”

  Rob walked through the kitchen to the sliding doors that led out to the small back garden. “I’ll check it out.” He unlocked the doors and slid them open.

  Yvette wrapped her cardigan around her slim frame and took a few nervous steps backwards. Rob, followed by an overexcited Trigger, inspected the perimeter. He’d have to take the dog for a walk later to get rid of some of this excess energy.

  “The fence is loose over here.” He pulled one of the wooden slats towards him to demonstrate. “I’ll fix it at the weekend. You probably heard it banging in the wind. It was a bit gusty today.”

  Yvette didn’t look convinced. He sighed. “Darling, no one is going to break in. You’re perfectly safe here. We’re surrounded on all sides by the neighbours and all the doors have secure locks on them.”

  She fell into his arms. “I was so scared.”

  He kissed her trembling lips and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Take me upstairs,” she whispered.

  Making love to Yvette was a bit like charging naked through a hurricane. He always felt windswept and a little off-kilter afterwards. He left her to sleep and went downstairs to make a sandwich. He was ravenous after having barely eaten the whole day. It seemed Trigger was too, even though his bowl had the remnants of supper in it, so they shared a ham-and-cheese toastie and then he took the golden Lab for a walk, just to the end of the street and back. He’d take him for a proper run in the park this weekend. It wasn’t good for the dog to be stuck indoors all day either, even though Yvette let him out into the garden.