by Ed James
‘So you know?’
A tight shake of the head.
Because you don’t know or because you don’t want to say?
Or because you can’t?
Fenchurch took his seat next to Ashkani and gripped the table edge. ‘I sympathise with you. I’ve been working these streets a long time. I’ve worked murders for years, but what gets to me every time is all the shit that causes murders. A slight domestic turns into two dead bodies? Bread and butter to me. I’ll catch them. But I have to mop up when gang shit spills out into the real world. When innocent people are snuffed out by evil scumbags like Flick Knife.’
Mario blinked, hard and fast, matched by his breathing. ‘Frank bloody Blunden…’
‘You knew him then?’
Mario ran his tongue over his lips.
‘How well?’
Mario looked away.
‘Come on, mate. You’re in deep, deep trouble here. We found a ton of drugs in that restaurant. You know how much we’ll find up at your factory. It’s in your best interests to spill. Now, what was Blunden making you do?’
‘You think it’s that easy?’ Mario stared into space, still shaking his head. ‘I can’t.’
Mario’s lawyer was similarly unmoved.
Fenchurch whispered to Ashkani: ‘Is the lawyer legal aid?’
‘Top of the duty list, yeah.’
‘Definitely not bent?’
‘As far as I know.’
Fenchurch gave her a nod. ‘Confession’s good for the soul.’
Mario slouched back with a gasp. ‘This isn’t who I am. Okay? I’ve been running a pizza restaurant for twenty years. I deal with drunks. I deal with rugby teams smashing the place up. And I fix it up, all the bleeding time. And I start again. Every time, for ten years.’
‘But…?’
Mario rubbed his forehead, but he let out a sigh. ‘Ten years ago, these men came in, they said they worked for Flick Knife. And I… I knew the name. Heard all about him. They tell me how it’s going to be. At first it was protection money. You know, pay them a few hundred quid a week and my windows are fine. Skip a payment and they’re smashed in.’ He snarled. ‘I told them I’m not paying. The next Sunday afternoon, my restaurant’s busy, full of people. And they smashed my windows in. Of course, they made it seem innocent. A kid on a Lambretta crashing into it. And I saw this man hanging around opposite. The one who’d been in.’ He shut his eyes. ‘And I started paying.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Fenchurch waited for Mario to open his eyes, then gave a generous smile. ‘I know how hard that must be to admit.’
Mario sucked in a hollow breath. ‘Thank you.’
Fenchurch did some calculations in his head. Flick Knife died a month ago, but Spencer had been working there, what, ten months? Meaning there was smoke before whatever fire was currently burning his soul.
‘It wasn’t just protection money, was it?’
‘What?’
‘You were doing other things for him?’
‘Blunden, he… He told me to put drugs in my pizzas, told me to… I told him where to go, next thing I know there’s a fire in my kitchen. I put it out, but… I thought about talking to you lot.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t get a chance.’ Mario scratched at his stubble. ‘Blunden paid me a visit himself. Wearing this snakeskin suit, he was. And he got me… dealing drugs for him. I had no choice. He threatened my family and I knew he’d follow through on a threat. Five years I’d been doing that.’
‘You could still have come forward.’
‘Like you’d protect me.’ Mario covered his face with his hands. ‘When Blunden died… I thought I’d be free. I thought that was it. But the very next day, another man comes in. Said he’s running things now.’
Fenchurch felt his pulse jolt. ‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know his name.’ Mario flared his nostrils. ‘I didn’t see him again, this geezer. But he knew exactly what I’d been doing for Blunden and he offered me a way out. I just had to work for him, keep doing what we’d been doing, but…’ He rasped at his stubble. ‘I had to do a few other things. He called them favours. These girls and boys, his people, I had to employ them as delivery cyclists for my pizzas. But I knew what they were delivering. And I had no choice.’
‘This guy ever come back?’
‘I never saw him again. After that, he sent people. Every Monday, nine o’clock. The same people, nasty people.’ Mario laughed, but it seemed nervous rather than humorous. ‘Delivery, you know? A few bags of flour, but you know what was really in it. And I had to give him money.’
Fenchurch let him wallow in his own filth for a bit, let him realise how deep he was into this. ‘You could’ve come to us. At any time. You could’ve been honest with us. You could’ve told us what was going on. You’d get a reduced sentence in exchange for knowledge.’ He left another pause. ‘And we could’ve saved Amelia’s life.’
Mario jerked forward, elbows clunking the table. His body rocked.
‘You’ve still got a chance, Mario. Who was it?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ Mario still hid behind his hands, his voice thick with tears. ‘He’s threatened my family.’
Fenchurch stared hard at him until he made eye contact. ‘Just a name.’
The door opened. Fenchurch craned his neck round and saw Broadfoot stood there, eyebrows raised.
Time’s up…
Fenchurch joined him in the corridor.
‘You’re getting nowhere, Fenchurch.’
‘That’s what you took from that? We know he’s been threatened. Twice now. Five more minutes and he—’
‘No chance.’ Broadfoot patted him on the arm. ‘You did really well to get him to admit to that.’ He gave a snide look to the side.
Mulholland lurked in the Obs Suite doorway, watching the screens, but clearly listening to their exchange.
Broadfoot cracked his knuckles. ‘Much as it pains me to admit it, you’ve done much better than we’ve managed so far, but I don’t think Mario knows anything more. Either way, I’m taking over. Let’s see if I can’t get the truth out of him.’ He slouched off into the interview room.
Fenchurch stared at the closing door. ‘You okay, Dawn?’
‘What do you think?’ She shut the Obs Suite door.
I should follow her in, talk to her. Be the big man, rise above it all.
But I can’t.
He caught Tammy wandering down the corridor, a distant look on her face like she’d just found out she was in a parallel universe. ‘You okay?’
‘Mm? Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine.’ She focused on him, like she was back on this side of the quantum divide. ‘Very fine. It’s just that… Well, I’ve found an anomaly on the forensics.’
‘Oh?’
‘There are sufficient DNA traces in the van to suggest that Webster was in the van.’
‘That’s good. Thanks.’
‘But he was also accompanied by a Terence Oldham.’
Fenchurch frowned. Meant nothing to him. ‘You any idea who this geezer might be?’
‘Your father might know.’
‘Come again?’
‘Well, he arrested him twenty-five years ago.’
Fenchurch exhaled slowly. ‘Okay, thanks for that.’ He watched her walk off.
Terry Oldham. Who the hell was he?
The door to interview room four clunked open and Savage barrelled out, staring at his BlackBerry. He looked up and scowled. ‘Simon.’
Fenchurch looked in and saw Spencer sitting there before the door closed. ‘You getting anywhere with Spencer?’
Savage evaded his gaze. ‘A final briefing. It’s with the DPS now.’
‘Right place for it.’
‘Well, yes. But now it’s done, I’m free to prosecute Mario for this people-trafficking.’
‘Good luck grabbing that from Broadfoot’s cold, dead hands.’
‘I have ways and means.’ Savage snorted. ‘What’s of gre
ater import right now is that, now Flick Knife has left this mortal coil, there’s a new broom. Someone with a new MO. A much darker one.’
‘Mario was talking about him.’
‘I know. I watched your performance in there.’ Savage thumbed at the Obs Suite. ‘Bravo.’
Fenchurch’s neck burned.
Savage set off towards the door to room six. ‘Mr Webster’s lawyer has arrived.’
16
Desmond Webster occupied the interview room like he owned the place. Been inside one more than enough. Probably even this very room a few times. His head bandage softened the hard man image slightly, virgin white fabric wrapped around the back of his skull like a footballer who’d just had a nasty head knock.
Dalton Unwin sat next to him, his tailored suit straining as he reached down for a black leather notebook. He took his time to unfold it on the table, then gave Fenchurch a weary look. ‘You’re lucky nobody saw what you did to my client.’ Spoken in a rich, plummy Oxbridge tone.
‘It was a standard arrest.’ Fenchurch smiled at Webster. ‘Glad to know you’re not concussed. Means I can interview you now rather than next Tuesday or whatever.’ He leaned across the table. ‘Let’s start with where you were yesterday at five o’clock.’
‘At home.’
‘Really?’ Fenchurch placed a pile of photos in front of Webster. ‘You didn’t drive this van?’
‘Nice looking fella, but it ain’t me.’
‘Really? Where were you?’
‘Someone tell you I was there?’
Fenchurch tapped the photo again. ‘This is you.’
‘You’ll need better proof than that, mate.’
‘We’ve tracked your movements to the van hire place in Lewisham.’ Fenchurch pointed at the photos again. ‘You were driving that van.’
Webster leaned back in his chair. ‘I know I’ve been inside and missed a good few years, but when did driving a van become a crime?’
‘Amelia Nicholas.’
‘No idea who you’re talking about.’
‘No?’ Fenchurch laid out photos of the crime scene, of Amelia’s dead body.
Webster didn’t even flinch. Just sat there, still as a monk in deep meditation.
‘Amelia was one of seven Albanian nationals who’d been taken from their homes and brought here. The men who did it forced them to work delivering pizzas for Mario’s.’
‘Not just driving vans.’ A smile crawled over Webster’s face. ‘Delivering pizzas is a crime now, is it? Well, I’m guilty as charged.’
‘Here’s what happened. You collected that van.’ Fenchurch tapped the first CCTV still. ‘Then you squashed Amelia between that van and a bus, maybe to make it seem like an accident. Maybe not.’
‘Mate, the van’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Your DNA is in it.’
‘Oh yeah? Just mine?’
‘You drove it from the van hire company to the crime scene.’
‘Did I?’ Webster glanced at Unwin, then back at Fenchurch with a cough. He tore the photo from Unwin’s grip. ‘You want to know about this van? Mario hired it for me.’
‘Mario?’
‘That’s what I said.’ Webster rolled his eyes like a snarky teenager. ‘His van was knackered and he needed someone to go to the cash and carry. I just had to pick it up for him. A favour, you know? So I cycled out to Lewisham, dumped my bike in the back and drove it to his shop. Presumed he’d do a trip and drop it off himself.’
‘Where’d you take it?’
‘Look, I needed to take a mate shopping. Terry Oldham, you’ve probably heard of him?’
The DNA trace. Shit.
‘Continue.’
‘Tegsy’s missus died when I was inside. Can’t take care of himself. Pathetic, really, but a mate’s a mate. Anyway, I ain’t got a car of my own, so I took old Tegsy up to the Tesco in Hackney, not far from his gaff, but you know, he’s not the fittest these days. And I told him about home delivery but he ain’t got a computer and I’ve no idea what I’m doing with one half the time. Holly does all that shit for us. So I took Tegsy shopping, then dropped him off with his stuff, made him a cup of tea, helped him put it all away. Tell you, his flat was a state. Had to empty his fridge before I filled it, know what I’m saying? Then I got back outside, and the van had been nicked.’
Bullshit.
Absolute bullshit.
‘Can I see the police report?’
‘Not got round to it yet. Sorry. Speak to Tegsy, he’ll back it up.’
‘You should’ve reported it.’
‘Thing is, some copper prick’s intent on breaking my skull, isn’t he?’
‘Who did you kill Amelia for?’
‘I ain’t killed nobody.’ Webster held up a hand. ‘I’ve served my time for that crime.’
‘Someone forced Amelia and her sister into the sex trade, forced them to deal drugs.’
‘Take it you’ve spoken to Mario Esposito, yeah?’
‘You think he’s involved?’
‘I know what’s going on here. Mario got me in because that bird got squashed, like you say. He called up Loco and I helped out. But that’s barely ten percent of the story.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Mate, you think someone’s forcing Mario to run these girls as prostitutes?’ Webster grinned wide. ‘That what he told you?’ He laughed. ‘Classic.’ He straightened his expression. ‘I know your type, Fenchurch, you’re always hunting for some big bad. In this case, it’s him. That geezer’s up to his nuts in this.’
‘You got any evidence?’
‘Mate, he’s the one getting these girls to deliver blow jobs. He’s the one shoving drugs in his pizzas.’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘Forget about me, mate. It’s him. Mario. He’s running this whole operation.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because he paid a tithe to Flick Knife.’
‘A tithe, eh?’ Fenchurch leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Surprised you know what one is.’
‘A tenth. It’s for protection against the nastier elements in our broken society.’
‘Flick Knife’s dead. That mean he stopped paying?’
Webster gave a shrug. ‘How should I know?’
‘You and Flick Knife go back a ways, right?’
‘Went to school with his nephew.’
‘Way I hear it, the day after old Flick Knife died, some geezer comes into Mario’s pizza shop and takes over this tithe business. You know who that might be?’
‘Mate, I’m just a bike courier. I work for Loco, a legit business.’
‘One who’s just out of prison after a ten-stretch for murder.’
Webster scratched at his goatee. ‘Look, mate, I really don’t know anything and that’s the truth.’
‘Pretty soon, you’ll be back in prison. You’ll not get ten years this time. Life with no parole, I suspect.’
Webster stopped scratching. ‘I ain’t done nothing.’
‘I reckon at least twenty years inside. You soldiered through ten, knowing you’d get out. You had the extra motivation of getting out to spend time with your grandkid. Young Sandy.’
‘You…’ Webster clenched his fists, his forehead knotted. He let out a deep breath and shook his head.
‘When you did time before, you didn’t know about Holly, did you? Your daughter. And you sure as hell didn’t know about Sandy. She’ll be in her twenties by the time you get out next. She’ll probably have had her own kid.’
Webster pointed a finger at Fenchurch. ‘Listen to me, sunshine. It was Mario. Everything. It was all him. And I’m saying nothing more.’
‘Why did you kill Amelia?’
Unwin sneered as he whispered in Webster’s ear.
Webster waved him off. ‘No comment.’
Unwin folded his arms, a broad grin on his face.
Webster ran his tongue over his rotten teeth. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me.’
‘You drove a van into a woman, killing her. You stole her personal effects.’
‘You spoken to anyone else who worked for Mario? Like young Mosé?’
Savage broke off his trance to get up and start pacing the room. ‘What did you say?’
Webster followed his path, clearly enjoying pressing the buttons. ‘Mario told me that kid paid for the van. I just picked it up and someone nicked it.’
Savage stood over Webster, reaching past to show the crime scene photo. ‘Who was driving when this happened?’
‘You tell me.’ Webster took the photo and let it drift to the table top. ‘That Mosé kid seems to be Mario’s mate.’
‘I think it was you.’ Savage spoke in a harsh whisper, just loud enough for Fenchurch to hear. ‘Who are you working for?’
‘Loco.’
Savage glared at him. ‘Come on. Tell me who you’re really working for.’
‘I’m a nice guy so I’m trying to help you here. I’m still in touch with some of my old crew and they’ve been talking to me about some new people moving in on the East End. People taking over Flick Knife’s playground. These geezers make Flick Knife look like a saint. They’re the ones you want to speak to. They took over Mario’s protection racket. They forced him to do what he did, whoring out these boys and girls. Mario told them he wanted out. They weren’t happy. Maybe they planted Mosé there, working for Mario? Young kid, but he’s on the radar of these old lags, you know. Naughty boy.’
‘What is this Mosé’s surname?’
‘Something Italian.’ Webster grinned at Savage. ‘But he’s a good Christian.’
Savage couldn’t look at him. ‘Did these people think that Mario would talk?’
‘Maybe. Look, these girls, they see them as evidence, don’t they? Makes sense that these people would hire someone to bump off Amelia.’ Webster gave a look that chilled Fenchurch’s bones. ‘I’m not involved, if you’re wondering.’
The door burst open and Mulholland strolled in.
Fenchurch leaned forward. ‘DI Mulholland has entered the room.’
She crouched between the seats and whispered into Fenchurch’s ear: ‘Press him on Mosé.’
Broadfoot was standing in the doorway, hands in pockets. He gave Fenchurch a nod.
Bloody hell…