Kill the Messenger

by Ed James

  ‘I’m working on it. Trouble is, you covered for him, didn’t you? Last year, Adrian ordered some pizza. And you sent Amelia out to deliver it. You told Webster. Then,’ Fenchurch clicked his fingers, ‘she’s not a problem any more. And we think he killed her sister.’

  ‘Kesja too?’ Mario pinched his nose. ‘Shit on it…’ He stared off, shaking his head. ‘I know what I’ve done. But these people… They have people inside. If I talk, that’s it.’ He ran a finger across his throat, like he was slitting it.

  ‘We can see what we can do for the man who testifies against them.’

  Mario swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the salt-and-pepper stubble covering his throat.

  ‘Assuming we get enough evidence, we can potentially offer immunity. Maybe a new identity. You’re no spring chicken, Mario, but this is a chance to start again. Somewhere new. You don’t have to be Mario any more. You don’t have to have all this baggage.’ Fenchurch pointed at his face, then rubbed at his own smooth skin. ‘You can even have a shave without fear that some big Albanian’s going to slit your throat.’

  Nothing from Mario, not even a twitch.

  Fenchurch glanced at Nelson. Something tickled at the back of his brain.

  Back in court, what did he say?

  Oh yeah.

  ‘It’s maybe nothing, but we’ve been through Younis’s financial records. We found a payment that came from Mario’s Pizza.’

  Fenchurch rested on his elbows and waited for eye contact from Mario. ‘What were you paying Younis for?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We know you paid him. Slipped up, didn’t you? What happened? Run out of cash and have to put it all through the books?’

  Mario slumped back in his chair. ‘I’ll tell you. Then you show me how much that’s worth.’

  33

  ‘This is beyond a joke.’ The warden stuck his hands on his hips and scrunched his face tight like it was old newspaper, his focus shifting between Fenchurch and Nelson. ‘Mr Younis has a ludicrous number of visitors as it is. Now you two show up. Flaming Nora.’

  ‘I feel your pain.’ Fenchurch offered a sympathetic smile. ‘But it’s really important we see him.’

  ‘It’s always like that.’ The warden focused on him, giving a look that meant no bullshit. ‘You know he’s still awaiting trial, right?’

  ‘Same with Mario Esposito.’

  ‘Heard you offered him a deal?’

  ‘That’s right. We’ll see how it all pans out.’

  ‘You sure you want to—’

  ‘Not much longer before I get out, Fenchy.’ Younis walked past, led by a guard. ‘Clock’s ticking, my love.’ He followed the guard into a room where a female lawyer waited, tapping her pen off the table.

  The warden’s gaze lingered on Younis’s lawyer. ‘Inspector, I don’t want to be the one giving you advice, but the sooner that creep’s in general population, the better.’

  ‘We’ll be quick.’

  ‘You lot never are.’ The warden skulked off, shaking his head. ‘Ten minutes, then I’ll be back. Okay?’

  ‘Appreciate it.’ Fenchurch locked eyes with Nelson. ‘He always this helpful?’

  ‘This is him on a good day.’ Nelson entered the room, taking the seat opposite the lawyer.

  Leaving Fenchurch to face off against Younis. He entered the room and took his time shutting the door. He didn’t sit, just rested against the seat back. ‘Okay, Younis, we know about those murders.’

  Younis shoved his hands in the pockets of his navy trousers and sat there like that, like he was going to say something, but he just leaned over to whisper to his lawyer.

  She started tapping her pen again, then nodded at him.

  Younis smiled at Fenchurch. ‘You’ll have to narrow it down a bit, my love.’

  ‘Amelia Nicholas.’

  ‘You must be a special kind of stupid, Fenchy, because I heard on the radio that Des Webster got done for that.’ Younis clicked his fingers and pointed at Fenchurch. ‘Oh, yeah. You cocked it up, didn’t you? He got out, didn’t he? Someone else did it. Tut tut.’

  ‘We know you’re behind it. You paid him to kill her, didn’t you? A good chunk of money, enough to pay for his daughter and her kid for a bit.’

  ‘You should write novels, Fenchy. You’ve got an incredible imagination.’ Younis laughed. ‘Though the things I’d like you to do with me, now that requires an imagination.’

  ‘What about her sister, Casey? And Adrian Hall?’

  ‘If you’re just going to read out names from the phone book…’

  ‘AKA Adriano Esposito. Son of Mario Esposito.’

  Younis stared at him for a few seconds. ‘Two things.’ He wet his lips, his lizard-like tongue flicking across his lips. ‘Nah, it’s just one. Fuck off.’

  Fenchurch dug his key into the ignition and stared back at Belmarsh, looming in the evening light.

  Nelson lurched across the car park, toking on his vape stick, taking his time as ever. He got in and pulled the door shut with a loud crack. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘You get anything out of that?’

  ‘It’s Younis. He’s the one who’s behind all of this. We’ve got him, Jon. We can start building the case.’

  ‘You don’t think Mario’s just dangling something in front of us? Throwing us off Zamir’s scent?’

  ‘Could be.’ Fenchurch turned the ignition and the car roared to life. ‘But Younis runs so much of the East End. He’s got to have his fingers in that pie. I think they’re in league.’

  ‘Simon, you’ve let him get in your head. You’d fit him up for assassinating JFK if you could.’ Nelson gave him a look, but Fenchurch didn’t give him anything in return. ‘Tell you, I’m starving. That pizza didn’t hit the sides. You want to talk this through over a burrito?’

  ‘Be just like old times.’

  Chilango was in that quiet spell between lunch and dinner, the cooks frying up trays of beef, chicken and veggies.

  Smells gorgeous.

  Fenchurch tapped his card against the reader and got the all clear.

  ‘Thanks, sir.’ The waitress hummed along to the flamenco cover of Johnny Cash as she stuffed the receipt into the bag and held it out for him, careful not to spill either lemonade.

  ‘Thanks.’ Fenchurch took it from her and headed out, waiting for an office drone to come in, a fat guy dressed in a navy suit, red tie like he thought he was the president. Fenchurch let out a sigh as he blocked the way, then the guy took a hint and moved to the side.

  The cold hit Fenchurch’s cheeks, the night just darkening. Spitalfields was thriving. The Pret was still open, the place where they’d met Chloe’s social worker so long ago.

  The street was pretty quiet, just a young couple arguing about something. At the other end, Christ Church Spitalfields pierced the gloomy sky. And there was Nelson in the car, talking on the mobile to someone. Laughing.

  Fenchurch set off towards the car, passing a man dressed in black.

  Someone grabbed his shoulder from behind. A foot lashed his shin, and he went down, losing his grip on the bag. Sticky lemonade splashed over his cheek, the tang hitting his mouth. Fabric touched his forehead. Then everything went black. A squeal of tyres. He was hauled to his feet. Then his knees hit something hard, and he tumbled forward. A van door shut behind him. An engine revved and they shot off.

  The van stopped. Still dark in the back. Fenchurch moved his wrists, making the cable ties bite deeper into his skin.

  Someone pulled him to kneeling, then tore the mask off. Bright lights blinded him.

  A man walked over to the light, outlined, his gun just visible, the rest of him shrouded in darkness. ‘Don’t move.’ A London accent, but with a slight Jamaican twang. Could mean something, probably meant nothing.

  ‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Fenchurch tried a smile. Something stung his cheek. ‘Who are you?’

  The man reached down and picked up a tablet, then tapped at the s
creen. Sounded like it was dialling. Then he rested the tablet on the floor.

  Younis’s face filled the screen. ‘Hello, lover.’ He was in a prison cell, but lying in his bed. Head on the standard-issue pillows, photos of muscle boys pinned to the wall behind him.

  Fenchurch felt his forehead twitch. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You, of course.’ Younis leered at him. ‘Take your top off, Fenchy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on, lover. I spend a hell of a lot of time thinking about how sexy you’d look out of a suit. Bet it takes years off you. I like to imagine you in a nice polo shirt, good chance to show off those strong, strong arms of yours.’

  He’s just messing. Call his bluff.

  ‘Let me go, or I’ll—’

  The masked man shot forward and put the gun to Fenchurch’s head. ‘Get up.’

  Fenchurch used the side door to pull up to standing. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘I’m doing you a favour ‘cos I like you, Fenchy.’ Younis blew a kiss. ‘A lot. So get your kit off. Now.’

  Bloody hell.

  The gunman reached over and started unbuttoning Fenchurch’s shirt. He pulled it wide, tearing at the buttons, but only one popped open.

  ‘Phwoar. You still work out, don’t you? Even with that dodgy knee of yours.’ Younis grinned. ‘Now your trousers.’

  ‘No.’

  Younis pointed at his lips.

  The gunman undid Fenchurch’s belt and hauled his trousers down to his knees. ‘Happy?’

  ‘I’m standing on end, Fenchy. And I can see you ain’t got nothing in your pants cos they are tight, man.’

  The gunman moved behind Fenchurch. He was close enough to ram back against the van door, but he was armed and probably not alone.

  A hand ran over Fenchurch’s stomach, slow and careful, but tugging at the hairs.

  ‘I wish that was me, with you.’ Younis bit his lip. ‘This is like virtual reality, I tell you. So I gather Mario’s been talking, has he?’

  The gunman shifted to Fenchurch’s underpants, running his hand over material.

  Fenchurch swallowed.

  Younis gave a little grunt. ‘But you’re right. I’m behind those deaths, all three of them. I paid that prick Webster. Half up front. But he did such a good job. Might even give him a bonus, especially as he kept shtum.’

  Fenchurch held his breath as the gunman caressed him.

  ‘Webster’s a good guy. Old-school, like they say.’ Younis’s face started blurring on the screen as the gunman stroked Fenchurch’s inner thighs. ‘I sometimes worry about geezers like him. You know? They act all hard and that, but have they got a soft centre?’

  The gunman grabbed Fenchurch’s left nipple and tugged on it.

  ‘Yeah, I like that.’ Younis was barely visible. ‘Only time you can tell is when you lot put them to the test. They’ve got a code, ain’t they? Their word is their bond. Some of Flick Knife’s old crew. Well you’ll never find the bodies. Webster got caught for killing one girl, didn’t he? Years ago. Crime of passion, that was his mistake.’

  The gunman moved to the other nipple, pinching hard.

  ‘Stupid bastard.’ Younis shifted angle, but the screen kept wobbling. Christ, he’s masturbating. ‘But it was proof, wasn’t it. He didn’t grass. So I gave Webster a chance. Got him to kill Amelia.’

  Fenchurch struggled to keep his cool. Tried to process the calculus of taking the weapon off the guy. Everything came up blank. He shut his eyes, trying to imagine he was on a beach with Abi. ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why, Fenchy. Those girls… what happened to them? That’s barbaric. Amelia and Casey, taken from their homes, brought over here. It’s not good. Everything I’ve ever done is with consent.’

  The gunman was stroking Fenchurch’s buttocks.

  ‘Except this.’

  The gunman cupped Fenchurch’s balls.

  ‘Why did you want her dead?’

  ‘Evidence, my good friend. They were beyond helping. The things they’d done. The things they’d seen. I tried to get Webster to make it look like those Albanian wankers had done it. Throw you clowns off the scent.’

  ‘It didn’t work.’

  ‘Well, it did. Way I hear it, that idiot Savage has brought in some Albanian for questioning.’

  Fenchurch flinched as the gunman squeezed his left ball. ‘How the hell did you know that?’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself, Fenchy. I know everything. Selinaj Zamir isn’t a nice man. Him and his organisation, what they do to people. I found he was linked to Mario, so I spoke to him about it. Bloke said he had no idea, said that Zamir just bought pizza from him. Just think, though, if I hadn’t paid Webster, good old Mario would still be making his pizzas. And his girls would be out shagging people and selling drugs on my patch. I didn’t know who those girls were and, quite frankly, I’m sickened by it. Zamir and his gang… what they do… it’s just not cricket. And it happened on my watch, not Flick Knife’s. So I had no choice but to end the operation. Just a shame that Webster didn’t get to kill Mario before it all fell apart.’

  ‘You weren’t running those girls?’

  ‘Bite him.’

  The gunman nibbled Fenchurch’s left ear.

  ‘Harder.’

  Fenchurch clenched his jaw tight. ‘You weren’t behind this? You didn’t kill them to make sure nothing blew back against you?’

  ‘You know that Mario was, what’s the word, boffing Amelia?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No idea what she saw in him, but, you know, beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. If I was you, and believe me I’ve spent hours thinking about that, then I’d be connecting the dots differently. Like maybe he was a bit too loose-lipped to her. Talked a bit too much. So someone had to take them all out, stop it spreading.’ Younis nibbled his lip. ‘If it wasn’t for me, Fenchurch, you wouldn’t know what was going on round the corner from your nick. I’ve done you a favour. Brought all this shit out into the open.’

  ‘Why did you have to kill them?’

  ‘I just wanted to kill Amelia and silence Mario. But then you had to go and arrest me, didn’t you? You and your big mate Jon Nelson. Started poking through my stuff. You know, he came in here and started asking me about Mario, about this payment. That got me thinking. It’s why I had to act now, get someone to take out Casey and Adrian. I mean, they were close to Amelia and Mario. Who knows what they told them.’

  ‘You got Webster to do it?’

  ‘Got him out of jail, yeah. Took a lot of hard graft to do that. See, that geezer… The beauty of him is he’s so old-school it bloody hurts. He took a hit for us, went down for Amelia. But I needed someone like that, so I got him out, put him to good use.’

  It all makes sense. Perfect bloody sense.

  Why’s he telling me? What’s his plan?

  Fenchurch laughed through the pain and the humiliation. ‘I’d say I’m going to take you down. But you’re already down. I don’t need to do anything.’

  ‘Oh yeah? I saw you in court, wanking away. I’m getting off with whatever bullshit you’re throwing at me. And when I get out of here, which will be very soon, we should go for a real date, yeah?’ He shut his eyes and his breathing increased. Then he gritted his teeth, focusing on Fenchurch’s crotch. A deep exhale. ‘I’d say the pleasure’s all mine, Fenchy.’ Breathing hard. ‘But I know you enjoyed it.’ Younis kissed the screen. ‘You can get rid of him now.’ The screen went blank.

  The gunman pointed the weapon at Fenchurch’s neck. Then the hood went back on.

  The door slid open and Fenchurch was shoved out into the cold night, bracing himself against hard tarmac. Something soft landed on him. His clothes.

  The van drove off and Fenchurch wrestled against his bonds to shrug off the mask. Dark, just distant streetlights. The van’s lights were off, and he couldn’t make out the licence plate.

  A plane roared over his head, low like it was coming in to land.

  London City A
irport.

  Fenchurch rummaged through his clothes and found his phone in a pocket. Powered off. He turned it on and shivered, waiting for it to power up. It tried to connect to a network. Then notifications flew in, fifteen missed calls from Nelson, twenty texts.

  Fenchurch hit the first one. Answered first time. ‘Jon, pick me up.’

  34

  Headlights trailed across the car park.

  ‘We’re sorry, but the person you’ve—’

  Fenchurch killed the call. Bloody Loftus. He kept on walking, still felt Younis’s hands snaking over his body, like they were his and not the goon’s. His balls shrunk back inside his stomach. He stopped and took a series of deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

  A car pulled up on the rough tarmac and Nelson peered out. ‘Simon? What the hell?’

  Fenchurch got in the passenger seat. ‘Drive.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘No.’ Nelson stuck it in neutral. ‘You were in Chilango’s five minutes, next thing I know you’ve dropped the burritos and there’s no sign of you. Then you call me half an hour later. Come on, Simon. The truth. Now.’

  Fenchurch stared into the footwell and let out a breath. ‘Younis abducted me.’

  ‘What? We just saw him inside.’

  ‘One of his goons did it. Had a gun.’ And he ran his fingers all over my body… ‘He told me that Webster’s working for him.’

  ‘What, he just told you?’

  ‘It’s inadmissible in court, Jon. But it’s intel. Webster took them all out, clearing them off the streets. Blaming Mario and Zamir.’

  ‘So he’s using the Met to clean up this mess?’ Nelson chuckled. ‘You believe him?’

  ‘I do. Younis… He’s an odd one. I mean, Christ, I’m going to have nightmares about this…’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I…’ Fenchurch felt his balls tighten again. ‘I don’t think he was lying.’

  ‘You’re playing it like that, yeah?’

  Fenchurch’s nipple still ached. ‘Thing with him is it’s not about truth or lies, is it? He’ll tell just enough truth to throw us off the scent. Or put us on someone else’s scent.’