Kill the Messenger

by Ed James

  ‘I can’t remember.’ Holly tapped her screen. ‘Says on there. I learnt to keep a record when it came to you lot.’

  ‘When did you go to bed?’

  ‘About half ten, I think. Kicked Kirk out around then.’

  Fenchurch made a note. ‘How was Kirk when he left?’

  ‘He was fine. Hadn’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

  And the plot thickens… Sober enough to get on a bike and shoot someone.

  ‘You hear anything during the night?’

  ‘Got up a couple of times to go to the toilet. All quiet.’ Holly smiled. ‘Checked my old man’s room. It was great to have him back in his own bed.’

  ‘He was there all night?’

  ‘You got some evidence to suggest he wasn’t?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing on him. He ain’t done nothing.’

  The door clattered open and Loftus paced over to Fenchurch, scowling as he leaned in: ‘Let him go. Come see me outside.’

  Fenchurch walked over to the smoking area, blinking as the fug engulfed him. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Well.’ Loftus stamped out his cigarette against the box and managed to squeeze it in. ‘I’d like to commend you for sticking to my rules, Inspector.’ He flipped open his carton and pulled out a fresh cigarette, offering the box to Fenchurch. ‘But I get the feeling you’re not.’

  ‘No thanks.’ Fenchurch leaned against the side of the shelter. ‘I’m playing fair here. We’ve got reasonable suspicion. We shouldn’t be letting him go.’

  ‘Simon, you haven’t got a smoking gun.’ Loftus raised his eyebrows as he lit his second cigarette. ‘Unwin’s suing us, too. I can’t have you acting like a cowboy again.’

  The back door opened again, and Webster sucked in the fresh air. Holly followed him out, grabbing hold of his hand. Webster swaggered up to them. ‘Inspector. Or should I say, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Desmond.’ Fenchurch stood his ground, trying to keep his face neutral even as Loftus blew smoke across him.

  ‘I was just saying to my girl here,’ Webster hugged Holly, ‘how it’s nice to constantly get reminded of what freedom tastes like.’ He sucked in the air again, deep like he wasn’t tasting stale cigarette smoke. ‘Although I expect I’ll get many more reminders from you. Every time you’ve got a crime in your manor, Fenchurch, you’ll be thinking of your old mate, Desmond Webster.’ He held his gaze. ‘Thing is, I’ve changed. I’m a new man. I want to see my granddaughter grow up, unlike what happened with Holly here. All that time I lost, I’m never losing another second.’

  Fenchurch stared hard at him.

  A taxi honked its horn.

  ‘Well, as nice as this is, Fenchurch, I’ve got to get on.’ Webster grinned at him. ‘Come on, love.’ He walked off with Holly, hand in hand, then helped her into the cab.

  ‘We’ll get him, sir. Make sure he never gets out again.’

  ‘Make sure you behave yourself.’ Loftus snapped off his cigarette and put it back in the box. He clapped Fenchurch on the arm and walked off. ‘Show me those extra stripes aren’t just for Christmas.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Bell yet?’

  Loftus stopped. ‘He’s busy.’

  ‘We need that data if you want to make sure Webster never gets out again.’

  ‘Right, right.’ Loftus sneered. ‘I’ll speak to him.’

  Fenchurch walked back across the car park, watching Loftus get into his car and put a phone to his ear.

  Webster’s taxi pulled out onto the road.

  ‘Sir?’ Ashkani was waiting in the middle of the car park, arms folded. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Not really.’ Fenchurch looked over at her. ‘We jumped the gun here.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I suggested we did this.’

  ‘This isn’t on you, Uzma. We had to check that it wasn’t Webster.’

  ‘You think he’s in the clear?’

  ‘No. But until we get that data, he’s my main suspect.’

  ‘In the interview, why did you ask Holly about Kirk?’

  ‘Sometimes pays to back more than one horse in the race.’

  ‘Are you thinking he did it?’

  ‘Maybe. He wasn’t in the house when Casey was shot. Maybe Webster’s training a protégé.’

  Her forehead creased as she thought it through. ‘I mean, it could’ve been Kirk. He had the opportunity, didn’t he? He left their house around the time where Casey was murdered. Could’ve been him on that CCTV. Should we bring him in?’

  ‘No point. I spoke to him, told me the same story. He could’ve done but, until we do what Loftus says and get solid evidence against, we should leave him be.’ Fenchurch got out his Airwave Pronto and pulled up the PNC for Kirk Naughton. He clicked through to his arrest report, his bleary-eyed mugshot staring out of the pixelated screen. Convicted of robbing a post office in Colchester.

  Long way from home.

  Ashkani brushed her hair out of her eye. ‘So?’

  ‘Sometimes we need to keep our powder dry. We need this data from Loco. Then we’ll either bring in Webster and squeeze him like a lemon, or focus on Kirk.’

  ‘Right. Good plan.’ Ashkani grunted. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be smashing. Milk.’

  ‘Okay.’ She trotted off, her shoes clicking off the tarmac.

  Fenchurch stared up at the clouds, a burst of blue breaking through.

  Kirk had an opportunity, sure, but is he in the same league as Webster? If Kirk did kill her and we go after him without evidence, he’ll know. And so will the people he works for. And Desmond Webster. They’ll all be on guard.

  But maybe that’s the angle. Play them off against each other, draw out who’s really behind this whole thing.

  A horn honked behind him.

  Fenchurch swung round. Loftus was behind the wheel, face like thunder as he hammered his horn again. Another car was trying to get into the car park, stuck in a Mexican standoff with Loftus.

  Loftus won, his Audi bumping the kerb as he rounded the oncoming Vauxhall. It took the space Loftus had just vacated.

  Nelson got out. ‘Simon.’ He walked over and held out a hand. ‘You holding out on us?’

  Fenchurch scowled at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Casey Nicholas.’ Broadfoot got out of the passenger side and rested against the roof, grinning. ‘Didn’t think to let us know she’d been murdered, did you?’

  ‘I don’t see how it’s relevant to—’

  ‘You’re a piece of work, ain’t you? She was a witness in our prosecution of Mario Esposito.’ Broadfoot rapped his thumbs on the car roof. ‘But the good news is that we’re taking over this case.’

  28

  ‘In here.’ Fenchurch held Docherty’s old office door. Inside, it still lay empty. Cold too, with the window still open from the summer heatwave.

  ‘Thought you’d have set up in here.’ Nelson gestured for Broadfoot to enter first. ‘Acting DCI and all that…’

  ‘How did you hear that?’

  ‘No secrets in this place.’ Nelson nodded into the room. ‘Loftus told Broadfoot that you’re SIO.’

  ‘He offered me the full role, but I don’t know…’

  ‘I can’t understand you.’ Nelson laughed. ‘You used to moan about getting turned over for promotion, now you won’t accept one. It’s worth a few grand a year, if nothing else.’

  ‘And I need to see if it’s something I can put up with on top of the shitload of hassle I’ve got right now. The stuff with my boy, with Chloe… Seriously, I’ve not got the time.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Jon?’ Ashkani paced along the corridor, smiling as she passed Fenchurch a tea. She leaned in to kiss Nelson on the cheek. ‘How you doing, mate?’

  ‘Good, Uzma.’ He returned the kiss. ‘You?’

  ‘Getting there.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘You want me in here?’

  ‘No. Catch up with Kay and see
if she needs anything.’ Fenchurch shifted his tea to the other hand. ‘And do some more digging into Kirk’s background for me.’

  ‘Sir.’ She walked off with a smile. Probably pleased that I’m finally listening to her.

  Nelson watched her go. ‘You two still at loggerheads?’

  ‘Wouldn’t go that far.’ Fenchurch took a sip of tea through the lid. ‘She’s just not someone I can necessarily trust, you know?’

  ‘I can vouch for her.’

  ‘You could vouch for her, Jon. Back in the day. But she’s had Mulholland’s poison in her ear for the last five years.’

  ‘Like I’ve had yours.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Fenchurch laughed. ‘So I’m keeping an open mind about her. You’re welcome to take her over to your team.’

  ‘And put up with her bleating about becoming a DI? No chance.’

  ‘You two just going to stand there?’ Loftus waltzed past them.

  Fenchurch let Nelson enter first, and stayed standing by the door as it click shut.

  Broadfoot was over by the whiteboard. ‘Right, we’d better get down to business, I suppose. So.’ He clicked his tongue a few times. ‘Casey Nicholas was our key witness against Mario Esposito. One of you arseholes should’ve told us that she’s dead.’

  ‘We caught the case, Derek.’ Loftus took Docherty’s old chair, swivelling round to face Broadfoot. ‘Simon’s the SIO.’

  ‘But you should’ve called me, Julian. Common courtesy and all that.’

  Loftus held his gaze. ‘Derek, I took this through the MIT’s Operational Command. They rubber-stamped it an hour ago. If you’d done your job properly, I would’ve seen that Casey was a person of interest in your case.’

  ‘So that’s how you’re playing it?’

  ‘Playing what? This is our case. End of.’

  ‘This isn’t just a murder case, okay?’ Broadfoot drummed his fingers on the back of the whiteboard. ‘We’re prosecuting Mario for drugs, prostitution and people trafficking. And I don’t mean the royal “we”. This is a cross-Met case.’

  Fenchurch joined him by the board. ‘You think Mario’s involved in her death?’

  ‘You don’t?’ Broadfoot rounded on Fenchurch, staring up at him. ‘You think he’s innocent?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I know he’s caught up in this. But he’s not the big bad guy here. He’s not the one paying people to bump off his girls. Last I heard, he’s just a pizza guy getting extorted or coerced into this. He isn’t the one bringing them over here.’

  ‘Inspector, the guy was sticking coke in the crusts of his pizzas.’ Broadfoot paced off, arms raised. ‘How the hell can you think he’s innocent?’

  ‘I think he’s as guilty as a puppy in a puddle. But he isn’t the big bad here.’

  ‘Right.’ Broadfoot leaned back against the far wall. ‘And we’re back to DI Fenchurch thinking he’s better than the rest of the Met put together.’

  ‘Have I ever given that impression?’

  ‘Constantly.’ Broadfoot left a pause, probably for a laugh. He got nothing. ‘Okay, so we know Mario’s behind this. The people trafficking, the prostitution, the drug running, these assassinations. Everything.’

  ‘And you have evidence that you’ll share with us, yes?’

  ‘You’re not cleared for it.’

  ‘Is Superintendent Loftus?’

  Broadfoot glanced over. ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Fine, but you can’t seriously be telling me that Mario’s behind this whole plot.’

  ‘He’s—’

  ‘Not too late, am I?’ Savage barged into the room, shifting his focus across the four occupants.

  ‘Never too late, Howard.’ Broadfoot pointed at the free chair next to Nelson. ‘Have a seat.’ He waited for him to sit. ‘As you should know, Julian, DCI Savage is investigating the people-trafficking angle, as per his remit.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Savage crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees. ‘My team had been working very closely with Casey, ensuring her co-operation with regards to Mr Esposito’s prosecution.’ He shot a glare at Loftus. ‘So, it would’ve been nice to learn of her death from friends.’

  ‘Why was Casey still here, Howard?’ Loftus folded his arms. ‘She should’ve been taken back home and reunited with her family.’

  ‘Because she wanted to stay. After her sister’s death, we found her family back in Albania and broke the news to them. As suspected, they were indeed under threat from some local gangs. I don’t know how well you know Albanian culture, but—’

  ‘Pratt’s given us all a detailed lecture series.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Savage gave a knowing chuckle. ‘Anyway, Casey wanted to stay here. Told us she’d built a life.’

  Fenchurch sighed. ‘Did she say who with?’

  ‘Back off, Simon. I mean it.’ Savage smoothed down his trouser legs, taking great care with it. ‘We set her up with a clean job at Loco.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Fenchurch felt his gut plunge through the floor. ‘She was working there?’

  ‘Very easy to get employment and Casey enjoyed the work.’

  ‘Even though Mario hired them?’

  ‘I’m aware he employed them, yes.’ Savage shared a withering look with Broadfoot. ‘Loco run a hefty chunk of London’s local deliveries. Am I to assume that all of them are corrupt or employing murderers?’

  ‘They employed Desmond Webster.’

  ‘Ah, I see. The crux of the matter.’ Savage recrossed his legs. ‘And you think Webster killed Casey?’

  ‘That’s one of my working hypotheses. We’re awaiting some further evidence.’ Fenchurch shot a look at Loftus. It just bounced off him.

  ‘But Webster has an alibi, yes?’

  ‘Two. We’re checking them.’ Fenchurch reached over to shut the window.

  We should’ve brought Kirk in. At least to shut up these arseholes.

  Savage leaned forward, clamping his knees. ‘But you’re getting your officers to hassle the poor man, correct?’

  ‘Howard, have you seen Casey’s body?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’ Savage got to his feet. ‘I was at the crime scene this morning. Dr Pratt and I had a long conversation about it.’

  ‘Then you’ll agree that it’s a tell-tale Webster hit.’ Fenchurch pointed a fake gun at him and shot fake bullets. ‘Tap, tap, bloody tap.’

  ‘Gjakmarrja.’ Savage brushed himself off like Fenchurch had actually shot him. ‘This case bears all the hallmarks of a gjakmarrja revenge killing. An Albanian blood feud. I believe William Pratt mentioned it to you? The coffee under the knee?’

  ‘William shouldn’t be speaking to you without a murder detective there.’

  ‘This is our case, Simon.’ Savage joined him by the window. ‘Not just yours.’

  ‘Howard, you’re not taking over.’ Loftus wagged a finger at him, then did the same to Broadfoot. ‘Same with you.’

  ‘I mean this case is all of ours.’ Savage held up his hands. ‘The whole of the Met. Murder. Drugs. Prostitution. People-trafficking. We can cover all bases in this room. We need to work together.’

  Fenchurch clamped a tight grip on Savage’s shoulder. ‘Howard, you coming in here and talking about a load of Albanian hocus pocus is not us working together, is it?’

  ‘Hocus pocus?’

  ‘This isn’t a blood feud, Howard, and we’re not ignoring anything.’ Fenchurch threw his arms in the air. ‘It just doesn’t appear to be a… whatever you said. Listen to me. We’ve got two suspects for her murder. Desmond Webster and his daughter’s kid’s father. Who have you got?’

  ‘You’re missing the point. Sometimes it isn’t just a simple murder. Sometimes it’s not someone getting pissed off enough to stab someone else. Sometimes it is one of my elaborate people-trafficking plots, okay? Sometimes it’s a guy running a pizza parlour as a front for drugs and prostitution. Sometimes he’s trafficking people. Sometimes he’s working with a transnational organisation. Sometimes those people are Alban
ians who rely on traditions to enforce their terror.’

  Fenchurch let him have his glory for a few seconds. ‘Howard, you should be focusing on how they got poor Amelia and Casey into the bloody country in the first place. How they kept the pressure on them. Not pissing on my chips. This is a murder case and I’m the SIO. So back off.’

  ‘I’ll do nothing—’

  ‘Howard.’ Loftus was on his feet. ‘Simon’s right. You need to let my guys do their jobs.’

  ‘But this isn’t even related to—’

  ‘If it’s not related, then you can bugger off.’ Loftus pointed at the office door. ‘And if it’s one of these blood feuds, we’ll find out. If it’s not, we’ll still find out.’ He stepped close to Savage. ‘You’re here as a courtesy, okay? Both of you.’ He gave Broadfoot a sideways glance. ‘Now, I’ve listened to you all and this is how it’s going to be. This is not primarily a drugs case and it’s not primarily a people-trafficking case. This is primarily a murder case. Someone’s dead and we’re investigating. DI Fenchurch is in charge.’ He let it sink in. ‘Now, if you’re not happy with that, then take it up with your superior officers. We all talk, you know. All the time. You should see the state of our inboxes. But as the ranking officer in this room and with the approval of the Ops Command, this case is staying with the East London MIT. End of. Am I clear?’

  Broadfoot shrugged. ‘Very far from happy, but I doff my cap to thee, Julian.’ He went through the motion.

  ‘Less of that.’ Loftus focused on Savage. ‘Howard?’

  Savage’s nostrils twitched. ‘I’ll discuss this further back at base.’

  ‘But you accept this for now?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘And you’ll both support our investigations?’

  ‘Sure.’ Broadfoot nodded at Nelson. ‘Come on, Jon.’

  Savage joined them by the door. ‘I advise you keep your mobile on, Julian.’

  ‘Always is, Howard. Morning, noon and night.’

  Fenchurch stopped Savage leaving. ‘I want to speak to Spencer.’

  ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘You need to get your memory tested, Howard.’ Fenchurch moved out of his away. ‘You know he was shagging Casey, right?’