by Ed James
Savage lost control of his nostrils, the twitching extending to his lips. ‘You’re still on about—’
‘Christ, Howard, what else has he done?’
‘Nothing, I hope.’
‘You know where I can find him?’
29
‘You’re a bloody idiot.’ Fenchurch got in the lift and thumbed the button for the eighth floor. The Empress State Building hung above the lift controls, the eighth floor marked for Savage’s Trafficking and Prostitution Unit. ‘How the hell is he back working here?’
‘That’s rich coming from you.’ Savage leaned back against the rail as the doors juddered shut and the lift rumbled up. ‘Christian was cleared by the DPS. He never had a case to answer.’
‘What about sleeping with a witness? Hiring a car in his own name?’
‘They made me remove him from the undercover operation.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Someone had discovered DS Spencer’s true identity. We don’t know who, but we took him out of harm’s way. He’s had no contact with Casey since.’
‘As far as you know.’
‘I trust him.’
‘So why do you look about as pissed off as I usually feel?’
‘Derek sodding Broadfoot… We had an agreement. I wanted to prosecute Webster for the abduction of your daughter. But we agreed to defer until we prosecuted him for Amelia’s murder. Now that’s fallen apart, it’s all up in the air now.’
‘You don’t think anything will stick?’
‘You heard them back there. They’re set on Mario as the big bad here. He just isn’t. And Webster won’t face justice for what he did to you and your family.’
Fenchurch smiled through the pain. ‘I appreciate it, Howard.’
‘I’m not doing it for you, Simon. I’m doing it for your daughter.’
‘You didn’t exactly stand up for yourself, though. You had a pop at me.’
‘You try facing off to Derek Broadfoot and see how you cope.’ The door opened and Savage set off, marching through Empress State Building towards the Trafficking and Prostitution Unit’s desks by the windows looking west. He grabbed someone’s shoulder and hauled them to their feet. ‘Come with me.’ He dragged them to a glass-walled meeting room.
Fenchurch followed them in, closing the door behind him. ‘DS Spencer, nice to see you again.’
‘What the hell is going on?’ Spencer tried to shove Savage away, but the DCI had him, bunching up his navy suit in his fist, creasing pristine material. It fitted him like it had been tailor-made that morning. ‘Come on, what—’
‘Sit.’ Savage pushed him over to a chair at the head of the table. He blocked one side, while Fenchurch was covering the door. ‘Casey Nicholas was found dead this morning.’
‘Shit.’ Spencer collapsed back into the chair, sitting on the counter. ‘Shit.’
‘Someone shot her last night.’
Spencer looked up at Savage. ‘Who?’
Fenchurch sat next to him. ‘We wondered if you might know, Chris.’
Spencer’s mouth hung open. ‘You think I did it?’
‘You telling us you didn’t?’
‘I was on a stakeout in Southend, last night. How the hell could I have done that?’
Savage frowned, exhaling slowly. ‘Of course.’
‘That the truth?’
Savage nodded at Fenchurch. ‘We’re running an operation out there.’
Fenchurch let Spencer make eye contact. ‘You okay, son?’
‘Had better lives, you know?’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ Spencer stared at the floor. ‘Casey had a really tough life. Taken from her home and… To just die like that? Her sister and all. Jesus Christ.’ A strand of oily hair slipped down to dangle across his forehead. ‘I never told her, you know? Wanted to. Wanted to be honest with her, open my heart to her, but… this job. Man…’
‘I hear you.’
‘I listened to you.’ Spencer looked at Fenchurch. ‘What you said. I don’t want something like this hanging over my career. So I broke it off and I was waiting until this whole case was finished, then I was going to tell Casey the truth.’ He brushed away tears. ‘But it just kept going, didn’t it? Then you lost him, right?’
‘I don’t know what you’re going through, but I hope that her death is nothing to do with you.’
‘Seriously?’ Spencer laughed, harsh and bitter. ‘You’re still banging on about that?’
‘I’ll bang that drum until people like you listen. I saw what happened to Casey. If this is—’
‘This has nothing to do with me. Nothing.’ Spencer smoothed down his slicked-back hair. ‘Casey stopped working there the day Mario got taken away. That bullshit investigation into me kicked off round about then, so I had to clear off too. Howard, tell him.’
‘It’s right. We cleared out all the Albanian nationals from the business. The few that stayed, we got them jobs at Loco.’
‘Mario’s is still trading?’
‘Correct. It’s clean now. Under new ownership.’
‘Okay, Spencer. We need your help in finding who killed Casey. Our colleagues in the drugs squad are operating under the impression that this was all Mario.’
‘That’s bollocks. He was a front. If he’s taking the rap for it, then more fool him.’
‘Who was it then?’
‘That’s the thing. I don’t know. Mate, since Flick Knife vacated the premises, there are loads of upstarts trying to get on the scene. Gangs from south London, from Tottenham — they all want a piece of the East End pie.’
‘You think this is one of them?’
‘All I know is that Mario was dealing drugs and running hookers from there, doing it under Flick Knife’s watchful eye, paying him a cut. Now Flick Knife’s gone, some new arsehole is thinking they can get hold of Flick Knife’s cut. Or maybe they got wind of how Mario staffed his operation. Could even be the people-traffickers, cleaning up.’
‘You’re waist deep in shit here. Webster’s killed Amelja and Kesja. Who is he doing it for?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘There’s a parallel explanation here, of course.’ Savage looked over at Fenchurch. ‘Casey’s body had all the hallmarks of a hit by Desmond Webster. But there was also coffee under her knee.’
‘Shit.’ Spencer shut his eyes.
‘You know about that?’
‘The Albanian blood feud business.’ Spencer leaned close to the table, keeping his voice low like there was anyone around connected to a gang. ‘There was this Albanian used to come in and speak to Mario. Came in for an onion pizza with filo pastry. Absolute bastard to make. Gunged up the oven like nobody’s business. Tasted good, but took an age of man to clean the oven.’
‘You got a name?’
‘No, but Adrian will know him.’
Fenchurch picked up a giant drum of instant coffee from a market stall, pretending to price it up. Over the lane, Mario’s Pizza was doing a brisk lunchtime trade. Market traders popping in for a quick slice, maybe, or office drones from nearby as the City sprawled ever outwards. ‘You believe this story about an Albanian?’
Savage picked up a pair of fluorescent pink socks. ‘As far as I see it, there must’ve been people pulling Mario’s strings.’
‘You got any idea who it could be?’ Fenchurch picked up a smaller drum of coffee. ‘You must’ve—’
‘We debriefed and resettled all of the affected workers. None of them contradicted the evidence. We resolved any threats hanging over them. Seven of the nine have returned home, two are staying until their visas expire next year. Helps to have witnesses down the road, rather than in Albania.’
Fenchurch watched the pizza place again. ‘You’ve no idea who this Albanian is, do you?’
‘I have too many ideas, that’s the problem. But I remain unconvinced.’ Savage snatched the coffee tin from Fenchurch’s grasp. ‘Are you sure this is the right move?’
‘Positiv
e.’ Fenchurch set off towards Mario’s. ‘And you heard Loftus. This is my case, so keep quiet in here.’ He crossed the lane and opened the door.
Adrian Hall appeared in the doorway, his hipster beard halfway to his waist now. He gave Fenchurch an up-and-down as he entered. ‘We’re full just now, sir.’
‘You clearly don’t remember me.’ Fenchurch smiled, showing his warrant card. ‘Just a few questions, sir.’
Adrian waved around the room. ‘Can you come back later?’
‘Wish I could.’ Fenchurch put his ID away. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve got a dead body in the mortuary.’ He gestured through to the kitchens. ‘Can we do this through the back?’
‘Fine.’ Adrian grabbed a passing waiter. ‘Dean, can you run the shop for a few? Cheers.’ He headed off into back room and shut the kitchen door. The TV screen was frozen on that American comedy show Chloe loved, with a Range Rover stuck in the river. Adrian picked up a remote and turned it off. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Casey Nicholas was murdered last night.’
‘Jesus.’ Adrian slumped into the chair, rested his head in his hands. ‘What happened?’
‘You saying you don’t know?’
‘Of course I don’t!’
‘See, I remember something that happened last year. You ordered a pizza from here, which Casey’s sister was to deliver. She worked here, if you recall. Next thing I know, someone followed her to your home, but squashed her on the way.’
‘That was nothing to do with me.’
‘You saying you didn’t order it?’
‘No, I did. It’s just…’
‘What? You called your mate up and he—’
‘I’ve no idea what happened!’
Fenchurch stared hard at him. ‘Casey knew what was in your pizzas, didn’t she?’
‘They’re clean now, I swear.’ Adrian huffed out a sigh. ‘I’m running this place now. I took it over from Mario when he got put away. It’s clean as a whistle. All above board.’ He smiled at Savage. ‘And we’re co-operating with your colleagues in prostitution and drugs.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Fenchurch picked up a DVD case for ‘King of Comedy’, and took his time pretending to read the back. ‘So who was doing all that nasty stuff, then? The previous owner?’
‘He was. All of it. The drugs, the prostitution, you name it.’
‘Just Mario? All on his own?’
No response.
‘Because the way I hear it, there was an Albanian geezer…’
‘How’d you hear about him?’
‘Doesn’t matter. He put you up to it?’
‘No. But that guy was bad news.’
The door slid open and a waiter came in. Behind him, a chef stood in the kitchen. ‘Sorry, boss, but Tomas has cut his finger. I need to take him to hospital.’ The waiter scuttled back through.
‘Ah, shit on it.’ Adrian shot to his feet and charged over to the kitchen door.
Fenchurch stopped him. ‘We were in the middle of something here.’
‘Were we?’ Adrian squeezed past and nudged the door open. He started washing his hands as the door shut behind him.
Cheeky bastard.
Fenchurch followed him through. It was melting in there. ‘We can do this down the station, if you’d rather.’
‘Can’t you see how busy I am?’ Adrian was whipping a pizza base round in front of him. ‘I’m down a chef and a waiter now.’ He crouched down in front of the oven, the wood burning inside, and slid a pizza in on a paddle. Then another two in and he shut the door. He got up but still didn’t look at Fenchurch.
Fenchurch joined him by the oven and started sweating almost immediately. ‘I need to know who this Albanian geezer is.’
Adrian got a pizza out, checked it, and stuck it straight back in. ‘Why?’ He took the three pizzas out and hit a bell. ‘This place is clean, mate. I ain’t paying nobody nothing.’
A waiter came through and started slicing them with a pizza wheel. He dumped them on big plates and took them through.
Fenchurch watched him leave. ‘Two Albanian girls connected to this place are dead, okay? Now, I’ve got a ton of theories as to what’s happening, but one of them says that whoever abducted those girls from their homes, they’re cleaning up now.’
‘Mate, when I said this place was clean, I meant it.’ Adrian smeared tomato paste on three fresh pizza bases. ‘We don’t even do a stuffed crust any more. They’re all like these ones. Romanica, I call it.’ He finished sprinkling mozzarella on then gave it a dusting of herb, oregano by the smell of it. ‘Clean as a bloody whistle.’ He shovelled the first pizza into the oven. ‘Now, you need to get out my hair, mate, because I’m up to my beard today.’
‘Just tell me and I’ll leave.’
‘Fine.’ Adrian took another lump of dough and started whipping it. ‘This geezer used to come in and get a tomato and onion Albanian. It’s like any other pizza, but you swap the usual base for filo pastry. Mario ran it as a special a few times. This bloke heard about it, so he comes in and gets chatting to Mario. The rest is… You know how these things go. It’s incremental, little bits here and there. Mario started taking a side order from this guy, ended up with a whole operation full of whores and drugs.’
The first thing anyone’s said that makes the slightest bit of sense.
Adrian stuck a second pizza in the oven and wiped sweat off his forehead.
Fenchurch stared at him, watching him load the final pizza in the oven. ‘This Albanian geezer still around?’
‘Came in a few weeks back, but I refused to serve him.’
‘Brave.’
‘Big brute, he is. You could tell he was trouble just from looking at him.’
‘Even braver. He threaten you?’
‘Just with silence. I think he had some sort of extortion thing going on. But I don’t pay anyone except my staff and my suppliers. Like I said, this is an honest business now. I’m passionate about pizza, not about enriching thugs.’
Fenchurch refocused on Adrian. ‘I suggest you get yourself to a police station and you tell them what you just told me.’
Adrian dropped a paddle on the floor. He reached down and tossed it in the sink. ‘Shit.’ He darted over and opened the oven door. Black smoke billowed out. He found a second paddle and got the pizzas out. Only slightly charred, despite that. ‘Can’t sell these.’ He shut the door and deflated.
‘You can get ahead of this. Come with me, give a statement. We’ll look kindly on you.’
Adrian took a deep breath and darted over. ‘Mate, these pizzas are ruined. Need to make another three. There’s no way I’m getting out of here before eleven tonight.’
‘Give them here.’ Fenchurch handed over a tenner. ‘I’ve got an Incident Room full of hungry cops.’
Adrian pocketed the money. ‘There’s no case to answer here, mate. I’m innocent.’
‘Then come with me. Tell your story.’
‘I can’t. Look, I’ll do it when my chef gets back. Okay?’
‘Good lad. Now, what was this Albanian’s name?’
‘Zamir.’
30
Fenchurch checked his mobile — still radio silence from the powers that be. One message from Ashkani:
ON MY WAY.
No sign of her, though.
He rested the stack of pizza boxes on the roof of Savage’s car. ‘Am I supposed to know who this Zamir is?’
‘Zamir Selinaj is responsible for about forty percent of the brothels in the UK, at a rough guess.’ Savage plipped his locks but didn’t get in. ‘He’s been running Soho like it’s the Seventies all over again. The place is awash with drugs and vice.’
‘So you know about him?’
‘Not everything, but between myself and Derek Broadfoot, we know enough.’
‘How do we speak to him?’
‘You don’t just speak to him, Simon. It’s not that simple.’
‘Never is.’
‘Listen to me. The Albanians r
un most of the illegal activities in this country, split with the Turkish gangs. London, the Midlands, even stuff in Scotland. And they are vicious. And they cover it up well. Which is why I’m concerned that this is a blood feud, after all.’
Fenchurch scanned the street and spotted Ashkani’s pool car trundling towards them. ‘That again.’
‘I’m serious. It’s how they hold power over these people. The gang is based in Southend.’
‘Southend? That’s where—’
‘Yes. Spencer is working the case against them.’
‘Sure that’s wise?’
‘It’s my operation, Simon. This gang runs about three quarters of the heroin entering the UK, plus they traffic people. Chinese, Syrian, you name it, so long as they can pay, they’ll bring them here.’ Savage’s expression darkened. ‘As for their own people, well they just force them to do their bidding, as you’ve seen. Like I say, a blood feud. The power they hold over their people is astonishing.’
Fenchurch gave Ashkani a wave, then leaned back against Savage’s car. ‘So if this isn’t Desmond Webster’s handiwork, or even if it is but he’s working for these Albanians, we need to speak to this guy, right?’
‘Listen, I’ve got some undercover operatives working at a betting shop out in Barking. It’s possible they might have some leads on this.’
‘Two seconds.’ Fenchurch got in the passenger seat of Ashkani’s car and dumped the pizza boxes on her lap. ‘Take these.’
She picked them up, face like thunder. ‘What the hell?’ She lifted the lid and peered inside. ‘These are all meat. I’m vegan.’
Well, either way, they smell really good and I’m bloody starving.
‘Listen, I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’ Fenchurch waved at Savage. ‘Need you to keep an eye on Mr Hall there. Make sure he doesn’t scarper.’
‘Need I remind you that I’m a DS?’
‘Sergeant, that guy is possibly up to his armpits in Albanian gang crime. Seems like the drugs and prostitution didn’t end with the previous owner. If this all pans out, it’ll be good for your career.’
‘Oh, there’s a margarita in here.’ She pulled out a slice and bit into it.