Kill the Messenger

by Ed James

  Fenchurch opened the back door and held it for Loftus. ‘I should be breaking his alibi, not—’

  ‘Let me give you some friendly advice.’ Loftus set off across the car park, lighting his cigarette as he walked. ‘On a case like this, we need to bide our time, okay?’ He took a long drag, barely losing pace. ‘We need to play the long game. This isn’t just two idiots fighting and one stabbing the other. This is a strategic case. Three different Met units have to work together. Something will break, somewhere in Younis’s organisation. Mark my words.’

  ‘It’s Webster, sir. Mario and Younis have told us now.’

  ‘I’m not asking, I’m telling.’ Loftus blew out held smoke, emptying his lungs. ‘We’ve got no leads, no suspects.’

  ‘Apart from—’

  ‘No. Keep the hell away from him. I know it’s personal with you and I trust you to not go wild here. Okay?’

  ‘Sir, I—’ Fenchurch snorted. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I need results tomorrow.’ Loftus rested the cigarette on his lip. ‘Now, Chief Inspector, it’s time for you to get out of here and clear your ruddy head.’

  36

  Fenchurch got into his car and ran his fingers over the steering wheel, practising like it was Younis’s neck. Or Loftus’s.

  It’s Webster. Clear as day.

  And politics are getting in my way, yet again. So much for being a DCI. Waste of time.

  His phone chirruped and he got it out. A text from Chloe:

  HEY DAD, I’M GOING OUT TONIGHT. MATES HAVE CANCELLED ON ME. CAN I GET THAT LIFT? X

  He tapped out a reply:

  OF COURSE. WHAT TIME?

  The dots appeared below his message.

  I FINISH AT SEVEN. X

  SEE YOU THEN. DAD

  Fenchurch stared out at the night and breathed away all the stress.

  Forty minutes to kill…

  Fenchurch took a deep breath and steadied himself. Okay, here we go.

  Through thick safety glass, a nurse in protective clothing tended to a young man, a large chunk of his dark skin faded to light pink. A fresh acid victim, yet another casualty of the virus spreading through London. The nurse applied a light gauze to his cheek, making the kid flinch.

  Fenchurch continued on, trying to avoid looking at any other victims. Fury burned in his veins. He stopped at the end, avoiding the glass, daring himself to not just focus on the cheese-wire grid.

  Dawn Mulholland lay on a bed, her face covered in bandages, staring at an e-reader.

  ‘Ah, Inspector.’ Dr Lucy Mulkalwar squelched down the corridor, her crocs kissing the flooring. She picked up a chart, then sniffed. She looked up at him, a good foot and a half shorter. Her dark skin had taken on the pallor of her Glaswegian accent. ‘Long time, no see.’

  ‘Doc.’ Fenchurch felt his gut rumble. Hunger? Or just guilt? He nodded at the glass. ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s on the mend.’ Mulkalwar joined him. ‘To be perfectly frank, while she’s on the list for a skin graft, it’s going to be a long, hard road for her.’

  ‘She’s strong.’

  ‘And then some. But she might not get through this alone. You can have a quiet word, if you wish. She’s quite lucid.’

  Can I speak to her?

  After all she’s put me through?

  And after what’s happened to her? I could’ve saved her from this torment, if only I’d acted quicker.

  But I didn’t.

  ‘Thanks.’ Fenchurch pushed through the door into the room. ‘How you doing, Dawn?’

  Mulholland stared at him, her mouth hanging open. ‘I’ve never felt this sore in my life.’ She locked her e-reader and set it aside. ‘Everything hurts. It’s been weeks now and it’s…’ She exhaled slowly. Then gasped. She patted her bandages, her eyes doing enough wincing for her whole face.

  The sterile room looked out across the car park towards Leman Street station and her old life. Two chairs, but he wasn’t sure he was welcome. Wasn’t sure he wanted to stay, even if he was.

  ‘The doc says you’ll make a good recovery.’

  ‘But not full. The acid burnt my nerves.’ She touched the pink skin on her face. ‘I’ll never be able to smile.’

  You were never much—

  Stop it.

  Let her grieve.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Dawn. It must be horrendous for you.’

  She finally looked at him, her ice-white eyes burning. ‘Like you care.’

  ‘I…’ Fenchurch rubbed his fingers off his palms. Shit. He took a breath and sat, committing himself to whatever she wanted to give him. ‘I’m going to be here for you, okay? I’m going to be a friend. I want to help you through this.’

  ‘A friend?’ She said it like an insult. ‘Simon, you—’

  ‘Dawn, can you hear me out?’ He raised his eyebrows and held her fiery gaze until she looked away. He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the ghosts. Not just the ring of light from the doctor’s torch, but faces. People now gone. He refocused on Mulholland. ‘I’m sorry for being an arsehole to you, Dawn. For the last year, I…’ He focused on the ceiling. ‘I knew about you letting Desmond Webster go.’ He stared at her. Tried to let his ice beat back her fire. ‘The man who took Chloe.’

  She swallowed.

  ‘You know I found out that you questioned him and that… That you let him go. That you didn’t check his alibis.’ He gripped his thighs tight, hard enough to hurt. ‘And I held it against you. For over a year. You didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘You’ve been a complete arsehole to me, Simon. A complete arsehole. Do you know what it’s like sitting in the same office as someone who hates you? Do you know what that’s like?’

  ‘Trust me, I know.’ Fenchurch let his grip soften. ‘Dawn, I want to put it all in the past.’

  ‘Do you know what it’s like to see a glare every time you enter your own office and not know why? When you try to help, all you get is hate? When you offer sympathy it’s like you abducted their child? Do you know what it’s like to have to fish your scarf out of the bin?’

  ‘Dawn… I’ve made mistakes and I seem to be able to get away with them. You should be able to.’

  ‘Mistakes?’ Her lip quivered. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You let him go, Dawn. The man who kidnapped Chloe. You… You let him go.’

  ‘I didn’t want to.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was guilty of something, I just didn’t know what. I wanted to keep him, but my boss at the time, DI David Shaw, he told me to release him. Didn’t even want me to check his alibis. Both were under surveillance from another squad, didn’t want to risk upsetting that.’

  Fenchurch let a slow breath out. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. You didn’t ask me. You just held this grudge against me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Was that why you didn’t help me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When this happened.’ She pawed at her bandages. ‘You were there. You could’ve prevented what happened.’

  ‘Dawn, that’s—’

  ‘Do you know what this feels like?’

  Fenchurch gripped his thighs again. ‘I’m truly sorry for what’s happened to you, Dawn. I want to do whatever I can to get you back on duty. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘How dare you?’

  ‘Because—’

  ‘You could’ve saved me.’ She pawed at her face. ‘You could’ve stopped this, Simon. It’s all your fault. All your fault!’

  Fenchurch let her have her rage. God knows I’ve had mine. ‘Dawn, I wouldn’t wish what happened on my worst enemy. And you’re very far from that.’ He leaned forward in the chair. ‘I thought you were. Thought you were the devil. In my head, I built you up to be this witch. Pure evil.’ He rubbed his forehead, squeezing at his bones. Causing pain, worse than the throb from the back of his head. He gave her a warm smile. ‘You’re just a person, Dawn. You’ve got flaws, like everyb
ody, but you’ve also got good qualities. I overlooked them. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to prevent the attack. I’m sorry it wasn’t me going into that room, I’m sorry it was you who…’ He took a long breath through his nostrils. ‘And I want to change all of that, Dawn. I want to help. I want to be your friend.’

  The room was silent. A drill started up nearby. Someone screamed, coming from down the corridor — probably the fresh victim.

  Mulholland reached out and took his hand. ‘Thank you. I know how hard it was to say all of that.’

  ‘I mean it, Dawn.’ Fenchurch clenched his jaw, clamping his teeth together. ‘When you’re ready, I’ll be there for you, when you come back to work.’

  She pulsed his hand. ‘I don’t know if I can, Simon. Any… any time I’m in danger, how am I going to react?’

  ‘That’s a long way off.’ Fenchurch clutched her hand even tighter. ‘You’ve got physical scars, I get that. But they’re good at helping with the mental ones. After what I’ve been through, what Abi’s been through too… I had counselling for it. It didn’t completely fix me, but it got me out of the woods. It got me out of my cave, got me back with Abi. And it made me strong enough to find Chloe, to go through that whole process. She lives with us again. I don’t have PTSD, but I’ve got the next best thing.’

  She let go, wincing. ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘If you can’t laugh, then it means they’ve won.’

  ‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘Uzma told me you’re after Webster again.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘Indirectly.’ Fenchurch patted at his skull, the lump feeling closer to a football. ‘I think he just killed again. You remember Adrian Hall?’

  ‘Worked at Mario’s. I remember.’

  ‘Shot three times. Usual pattern. Day after Webster got out. Day after he shot someone else.’

  ‘Dear God.’

  ‘Tell me. Am I wrong in assuming it’s him?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘We talked to him. He was all about how he’s changed. How being back on remand reminded him that he couldn’t hack prison.’

  ‘A leopard seldom changes their spots.’

  ‘Has he, though?’

  ‘I knew him back in the day. Interviewed him. Got inside his head.’ She shook her head. ‘I just don’t think he’d stop killing. It was a job for him. One he was so good at that we never caught him, but it becomes a compulsion. And London’s still as murky as it was when Blunden ran things. Just because it’s someone else writing the cheques, it doesn’t stop someone like Webster from cashing them.’

  Fenchurch got to his feet. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Was that helpful?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s always good to get other opinions on things.’ He reached over and took her hand again. ‘Thanks for listening to me.’

  ‘I’m here for you, Simon.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Fenchurch felt a knot in his gut. Christ, I do mean it.

  She didn’t let go of his hand, even though he tried. ‘I hear you’ve taken Alan’s job.’ She winked. ‘DCI Fenchurch, is it?’

  Fenchurch got his hand back. ‘It’s just Acting. I don’t know if I want it or not, Dawn. I’m happy as a DI, but…’

  ‘I know you, Simon.’ She chuckled, a trace of a smile lighting up her broken skin. ‘You’re never happy.’

  ‘See. You can still laugh.’

  37

  Fenchurch parked at the Southwark Tesco and waited, listening to Pink Floyd playing on the radio. Never really a fan, but it was on and it stopped him thinking. Wish You Were Here.

  Damn right.

  The car park was busy, the road blocked off by a red-faced dad two cars over, trying to stop his three kids from killing each other. A taxi trundled up to an old woman with a rammed trolley by the front door.

  Still no sign of Chloe.

  He checked his message again.

  Five minutes is all.

  She’s just late. Like those people in the news who worked at that sports warehouse place who get searched every night. Tesco aren’t that bad, but there’s always something. Can never just get away on time.

  So he sat back in his seat and watched the car park, listening to Pink Floyd.

  He jerked awake.

  Christ.

  The Beatles were playing now, Back in the USSR.

  Ten past seven now.

  And no sign of my daughter.

  Fenchurch killed Paul McCartney mid-stutter. A deep breath and he got out into the cold air. He yawned, but it was starting to wake him up a bit.

  Chloe was over by the entrance, talking to someone. A man, roughly her age. For once. She tucked her hair behind her air and laughed, touching his arm.

  Flirting.

  Fenchurch felt proud. But also felt weird.

  Need to check the guy’s background. Find out if he’s on the level. If he’s a threat.

  The guy walked off with a brush of Chloe’s arm and Fenchurch set off towards his daughter.

  But she was staring at her phone, oblivious of him. Then she turned around, facing away from Fenchurch, and hugged someone else, laughing. They talked, nodding vigorously.

  Fenchurch couldn’t see who she was talking to. And then he did.

  Holly, wearing a Tesco uniform.

  ‘Chloe!’ Fenchurch started running, almost fumbled his mobile as he hit call. Feet pounding the tarmac, down to the last hundred metres, and she wouldn’t bloody answer her phone.

  Chloe just kept talking to her friend, then disappeared round the corner.

  Shit!

  Fenchurch tried to speed up, but his tank was close to empty. He swung round the corner to the back of the store. Giant plastic flaps guarded the entrance. To the right, a compactor ground away on some cardboard boxes.

  Nobody there.

  His mobile rang, blaring out Daughter of a Child by the Auteurs.

  CHLOE

  He answered it. ‘Get away from her!’

  But Chloe was gone.

  He shot over to the trash compactor and jumped up the ladder, tugging the rungs until he could see inside.

  Just boxes, getting squashed flat.

  So where the hell is she?

  ‘Dad?’

  Fenchurch swung round and jumped down.

  Chloe was scowling at him. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Looking for you.’ Fenchurch rushed over and grabbed her in a big hug. ‘Come on.’ He led her back to the car park.

  She pulled her hand away. ‘What the hell?’

  Fenchurch reached for her hand again, but she slapped it away. ‘Chloe…’ No sign of Holly. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Chloe, the woman you were with. Holly. Whatever she told you, she’s—’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She’s the daughter of someone your grandfather put away.’

  She tilted her head to the side. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Her old man…’ Fenchurch held out a hand to her. ‘He’s the one who—’

  ‘Desmond Webster?’ Chloe swallowed. ‘Her old man’s Desmond Webster?’

  Fenchurch still held his hand out for her. ‘Come on, I need to get you away from here.’

  She took his hand. ‘Jesus.’

  Fenchurch led her back through the car park, keeping a constant search for Holly. No sign of her. ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I answered the phone and next thing I knew, she wasn’t there.’

  Maybe I spooked her.

  The red-faced dad slammed his trolley into the bay, then stomped back to his people carrier full of misery.

  Fenchurch tossed his keys to her. ‘Get in the car and lock the doors. I need to find her.’

  ‘Dad, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to warn her to stay the hell away from you.’ Fenchurch stared into her eyes. ‘Now, I need you to—’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘I don’t know.
Could be a coincidence.’ Fenchurch got a tingle at the back of his head, round the lump on his skull. ‘But I don’t like coincidences. I need you to stay in the car. Can you do that?’

  ‘Right.’ She opened the passenger door.

  ‘Keep your phone on. If you see someone approach the car, drive home. Okay?’ Fenchurch shut the door and stormed back across the car park. He got his mobile out and hit dial.

  Answered immediately. ‘Guv, you okay?’

  ‘Kay, I need you here. Old Kent Road Tesco. As soon as you can.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Just get here.’ He put his phone away and turned the corner back to where he’d last seen Holly.

  The compactor was whirring to a stop now. Through the flaps, the radio blared out Buzzcocks, Ever Fallen In Love.

  Fenchurch felt something hard in his coat pocket. The knife. Christ, I forgot about that. He pulled it out and grabbed the handle, the blade riding his wrist, hidden.

  Where the hell is—

  A gun pressed against Fenchurch’s skull, digging into the bruise.

  ‘Stay right where you are.’

  Fenchurch recognised the voice. ‘Holly, this—’

  ‘Drop the knife.’

  Fenchurch let it clatter to the ground. He raised his hands. ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘Get down on your knees.’

  Fenchurch got on one knee, still facing away. Then he put the left down, unsteady and painful. ‘Holly, think about your own daughter. Sandy. Her life isn’t ruined right now. If you kill me, your daughter will have the same life as you. You can break the circle. Get out of this bloody city. Take her away, miles away. Go and get a job that makes you happy. Make her happy.’

  ‘If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead already.’ She pressed the barrel against his neck. ‘No, I’m going to kill your daughter. Your precious Chloe. See how you like it…’ The gun slackened off.

  Fenchurch started shuffling round, his knees scuffing on the tarmac.

  Holly raised the gun and aimed at his forehead. ‘Sod it.’ Then she stumbled forward and tripped over Fenchurch, falling flat.

  The gun skidded away, over towards the trash compactor.