Tell No Lies

by Tell No Lies (retail) (epub)

  Caelan’s hands were on her hips. ‘The stupid bitch. I said not to talk to you.’

  There was a silence. Ewan raised his eyebrows slightly, as if asking for her permission to continue. Caelan gave a long, loud sigh. ‘Suppose you’d better come in then.’

  In the kitchen, she asked him what was happening. ‘You’re injured; what are you doing back at work?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m here to help.’

  ‘Great, though I don’t know what to do myself. How much do you know?’

  From what Ewan told her, it was clear Penrith had brought him up to speed on the situation with Liv Hobbs, as well as the floundering investigation into the deaths of Rainey and Bryce. Caelan led him into the living room, and he lowered himself painfully onto the sofa. She remained standing, pacing the room.

  ‘We have a lot of questions, but no real answers,’ she said. ‘We think the murders are linked to the death of Jackson Hobbs, but how, we’ve no idea. Then there’s Ben Rainey’s fingerprints being found in the brothel I went to.’

  Ewan blinked. ‘Brothel?’

  Caelan explained. ‘We don’t know if Rainey was a john, or if he was poking around for reasons of his own.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I can’t see him having a taste for teenage prostitutes, but I’ve been wrong before.’

  Ewan chewed on his thumbnail, clearly mulling it over. ‘You said the girl you met was obviously on something?’

  Caelan remembered the scrawny limbs, the faraway gaze. The track marks. ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What if that’s the link?’

  She stared at him. ‘I’m not following?’

  Ewan spread his hands. ‘I just thought… They have to be getting the drugs for the girls from somewhere, don’t they? Plenty of smack, a regular, reliable source?’

  ‘You mean this mysterious new dealer in Edmonton could be supplying them?’

  He nodded. ‘What if that’s why Rainey went there?’

  Caelan dropped onto the sofa beside him. ‘But why go to someone in Edmonton when there’d be any number of lowlifes in Hackney willing and able to deal you anything you liked?’

  ‘I don’t know, I…’ He flushed. ‘Forget it.’

  She touched his arm. ‘No, I’m not saying you’re wrong. We know Ben Rainey was at least speaking on the phone to Anthony Bryce, who came to us about a new dealer in Edmonton. What if he told Rainey first? Maybe Bryce had heard about the brothel. What if Rainey decided to visit it and see what he could find out?’

  Ewan shifted uncomfortably, still not sure if his suggestion was nonsense. ‘But why go there? Why not pose as a customer, buy a wrap of something? That’s what you’d do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, buy some merchandise, make a few visits, gain their trust. But Rainey wasn’t one of us. He was young, a new copper. Wanting to make his mark, knowing he had at least another year in uniform to look forward to.’ Caelan had wondered about the possibility of Rainey conducting his own enquiries but hadn’t seen the truth. Ewan, looking at the case with fresh eyes, might have reached the right conclusion. ‘I need to talk to Achebe.’

  She made the call, reached his voicemail. Frustrated, she set the handset on the worktop.

  ‘What now?’ asked Ewan.

  Caelan stared at him, her mind working. Liv Hobbs had disappeared, she couldn’t reach Achebe, and Penrith had given her no instructions. She made up her mind, shooting Ewan a grin. ‘Fancy a game of snooker?’

  * * *

  Achebe sat opposite Frankie Hamilton, the stink of sour alcohol and vomit drifting across the table between them. He wouldn’t usually conduct interviews himself, but the fact that his team had failed to find the phone Joseph Rainey had been hiding rankled. He didn’t want to miss anything this time. Beside Hamilton, his solicitor was managing to keep her expression neutral, though the smell had to be even worse for her.

  ‘How are you feeling, Frankie?’ Achebe asked.

  Hamilton managed a grin. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Sober, you know?’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Want me to walk in a straight line? Breathalyse me?’ Hamilton drummed on the table. ‘I just want to get out of here.’

  ‘Answer our questions and we’ll see what we can do.’ Somerville looked stern, and Hamilton threw her a wink.

  ‘I’m scared, love. Really.’ He laughed.

  Achebe ignored the performance. ‘Have you heard of someone called Jackson Hobbs?’

  Hamilton sketched a yawn. ‘Who?’

  Achebe told himself to be careful. Hamilton couldn’t know that Caelan had told them about the conversation she’d had with him. ‘He’s from Edmonton. So are you. You’re telling me you’ve never heard of him?’

  ‘As I told the officers who insisted I came here with them, I don’t know him. I’ve heard the name, yeah, but then I’ve heard of the Queen. Doesn’t make us best mates, does it?’ Hamilton sneered, but his eyes roamed the room.

  Achebe leaned forward. ‘Hobbs sold drugs. You expect us to believe your paths never crossed?’

  Hamilton didn’t blink. ‘Like I said, I don’t know him.’

  ‘And yet you went to the same school,’ said Achebe.

  Hamilton licked his lips. ‘You reckon?’

  ‘We know. One of our officers told us, Frankie. We checked.’ Achebe didn’t allow himself to dwell on where Liv Hobbs might be, or what she was enduring. Whether she was even still alive.

  Hamilton smirked. ‘Oh yeah?’

  Was he smiling because he knew who had Liv? Where she was? Achebe fought the urge to grab him by the throat and throttle the truth out of him. ‘You know who I mean?’

  ‘Liv Hobbs.’ Hamilton licked his lips. ‘I knew her, yeah.’ He leered. ‘Very well. Most of my friends did too.’

  Achebe felt Somerville stiffen beside him. Hamilton was trying to provoke them, and it was vital they remain calm. ‘You remember Liv, but not her brother?’

  Hamilton laughed. ‘Didn’t shag him, did I?’

  Achebe’s fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists beneath the table. A glance at Somerville and he knew she was doing the same. ‘Jackson Hobbs is dead,’ was all he said.

  Hamilton stared at him. ‘You expecting me to burst into tears? Geezer I don’t know is murdered and you want me to go into mourning?’

  Somerville pounced. ‘Who told you Hobbs was murdered? We didn’t.’

  Hamilton’s eyes flicked between them as he realised his mistake. ‘It’s obvious. How else would he have died?’

  ‘Heart attack? Car accident?’ Somerville suggested.

  ‘Nah, he was in prison.’

  Achebe smiled. ‘You seem to know a lot about a man you say you don’t know. Shall we cut the crap?’

  Hamilton leaned back in his chair. ‘All right, yeah, I know the name, but I haven’t spoken to Hobbs in years.’

  ‘Because he was a major dealer and you’re just a user? Bottom of the pile?’ Somerville raised her eyebrows.

  Hamilton bristled. ‘What, you think Hobbs was a player? Not clever enough to stay out of jail, was he?’

  ‘Neither were you,’ Somerville reminded him.

  ‘Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.’

  ‘Who do you buy from now Jackson Hobbs is off the scene?’ said Achebe.

  Hamilton wagged a finger. ‘Forget it. You think I’m a grass?’

  ‘I think you should answer our questions. We’ve been told that a new dealer has moved into Edmonton, and we need a name.’

  ‘Better ask your informant then, hadn’t you? Sounds like they’ve given you half a story.’ The idea clearly amused Hamilton. Achebe decided to change his approach.

  ‘Where were you drinking earlier today, Frankie?’

  ‘Why?’ Instantly suspicious, Hamilton narrowed his eyes. ‘What does it matter? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind telling us, will you?’

  The solicitor cleared her throat. ‘Is my client being accused of som
ething, Chief Inspector?’

  Achebe shook his head. ‘As you know, we’re talking to all known acquaintances of Jackson Hobbs. Your client told us he didn’t know Mr Hobbs, which we know is a lie. We just want to know who told him that Hobbs was dead.’

  ‘Why?’ Hamilton demanded.

  ‘Because it was supposed to have been kept quiet.’ Achebe lowered his voice, making it sound as though he was confiding in Hamilton. ‘Someone knew Hobbs had been killed well before they should have done. You’re out on parole, aren’t you, Frankie?’

  ‘You know I am. And?’

  Achebe lifted his shoulders. ‘Might be better for you if you help us out.’

  ‘Chief Inspector—’ the solicitor began. Achebe held up a hand.

  ‘Frankie? Who told you Jackson Hobbs was dead?’

  He looked mutinous. ‘Will she know I told you? Will she be in trouble?’

  ‘No. We won’t mention you.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to trust you? Good one.’ Hamilton shuffled in his seat. ‘I don’t know her surname.’

  ‘Not an issue.’

  ‘I only know her as Kay.’

  Achebe pretended to make a note. ‘All right. When did you speak to her?’

  Hamilton gave the approximate time. ‘She wanted to meet me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The One Four Seven. It’s a—’

  ‘Snooker club.’ Achebe nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it. Keep going.’

  ‘Not much more to say. We had a beer, she told me about Hobbs.’ Hamilton looked up. ‘Am I going back to prison?’

  ‘Because you had a few drinks, met a woman?’ Achebe quirked an eyebrow. ‘Not yet.’

  Hamilton scowled. ‘You’re turning me into a fucking grass, man.’

  ‘Come on, Frankie. It’s in your interests to keep your nose clean.’

  ‘When I heard about Hobbs, I knew… Well, I knew there were people who would want to know. People who’d be interested.’

  Achebe waited, not wanting to rush him. When Hamilton remained silent, he said, ‘Which people?’

  Hamilton hugged himself. ‘I’ve said enough.’

  ‘Enough? I need names, Frankie.’

  ‘No. No way.’ His eyes darted around the room as though looking for an escape route. ‘Put me back in jail if you want. It’s better than…’

  ‘Better than what?’ Somerville asked softly.

  ‘Grassing.’ Hamilton’s voice was a whisper.

  Achebe pushed back his chair. ‘Okay, it’s your choice. We’ll go and get the CCTV footage from around the snooker club, see where you went. People will notice us doing that, don’t you think? They’ll wonder what we’re up to. Won’t take them long to figure out where our information came from.’

  Hamilton looked defeated. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  Achebe stopped, his hand on the back of his chair. ‘Have you heard about the two men who were found dead in Edmonton recently, Frankie?’

  ‘What?’ Hamilton was frowning, bemused by the change in direction.

  ‘You couldn’t have killed them, of course. You were inside. But if you have information…’

  Hamilton squirmed. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Anthony Bryce. Name ring a bell?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Ben Rainey? Ryan Glennister?’

  And there it was. Hamilton’s eyes widened at the mention of Glennister’s name. Slowly Achebe sat back down. Hamilton moistened his lips.

  ‘I know Ryan, all right? Knew him, I should say. Met him through a mate, before I went inside.’

  ‘You’ve not spoken to him since?’

  Hamilton blinked. ‘I tried to earlier today, but the number I had for him isn’t working. No surprise. I asked around, but no one had seen him.’

  ‘Why were you so keen to talk to him?’

  A pause. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’

  ‘Because you’re sensible, Frankie. You know what prison’s like now. No joke, is it?’

  Hamilton shuddered. ‘No.’

  ‘So why would you want to go back?’

  ‘I don’t. Ever. I want to stay clean, and get my life back.’

  The solicitor opened her mouth, then closed it again. Achebe pointed a finger at Hamilton.

  ‘Good man. Tell me about Ryan Glennister.’

  ‘He’s a crackhead,’ Hamilton sneered. ‘A lowlife, pathetic. I’ve bought a few rocks from him in the past, but not recently. He doesn’t sell any more, he’s too busy using.’

  ‘He used to deal?’

  A nod. ‘Most dealers, the serious ones, stay away from the merchandise. Hard to do business when you’re off your face. Not Ryan. He’s always looking for his next fix. You’re not much of a dealer if you smoke all your stock.’

  Achebe was silent, joining the dots. Aaron Jacob had been approached by Ryan Glennister with the photograph of his young daughter. If Glennister was as heavy a drug user as Hamilton was saying, he would be desperate, willing to do anything to feed his habit. If he was working for someone else, they would only need offer him a few quid to approach his cousin, and Jackson Hobbs’s death warrant would have been signed. It wasn’t much of a leap to imagine Glennister telling his cousin Aaron that knifing Jackson Hobbs was the only way to save his daughter. They would need to dig deeper, but as a theory, it hung together well enough for now. ‘You’re sure Glennister doesn’t sell any more?’

  Hamilton snorted. ‘No way. I’m telling you, most days he doesn’t know where he is, or even who he is. Piss-up in a brewery? Not Ryan. Crackhead, smackhead, you name it. I even heard he was a rent boy for a while.’ Hamilton shook his head. ‘Anything for a few quid.’

  Then Glennister had to be working for someone. Who? Achebe knew he had to be careful. He didn’t want the solicitor stepping in, or Hamilton clamming up. Softly, softly. ‘If Ryan doesn’t deal now, how does he make his money?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe he’s gone back to selling his arse.’

  ‘Does he work for anyone?’

  ‘No idea.’ The reply was instant, and Achebe suspected it was not entirely truthful.

  Hamilton shifted in his seat. ‘Look, are we done?’

  The solicitor stirred. ‘I think my client has told you all he knows.’

  Achebe exchanged a glance with Somerville. ‘All right, get out of here,’ he told Hamilton.

  Back in the incident room, Achebe opened a bottle of water and gulped down half. Somerville ran her hands through her hair.

  ‘Any news on DI Hobbs?’ she bellowed to the room. Shaking heads, blank faces. Somerville turned back to Achebe.

  ‘Shall I follow Hamilton when he leaves here?’ she asked.

  ‘You think he knows more than he let on?’ Achebe put the bottle down on the nearest desk. ‘I agree, but we have to be careful. We’re lucky the solicitor didn’t call a halt to the interview.’

  Somerville sniffed. ‘Hamilton was looking out for himself.’

  ‘But we know Caelan told him about Jackson Hobbs. A defence lawyer might have something to say about that.’

  ‘Feels like we’re a long way from a prosecution.’

  ‘Ryan Glennister is in this up to his neck. We need to find him.’ Achebe scanned the room. He waved a hand, beckoned DC Gill over. Gill had shadows beneath his eyes, and needed a shave. ‘Seb, have we located Ryan Glennister?’

  Gill shook his head. ‘No, sir. Without an address, it’s difficult.’

  Achebe gave him a hard look. ‘I’m aware of that, but it’s vital we find him. I want us talking to homeless people, visiting shelters and drop-in centres. Even if Glennister lives on the streets, someone must have seen him.’

  ‘Unless…’ Somerville raised her eyebrows.

  Achebe didn’t believe it. ‘Come on, Jen. If he’s dead, his body would have been found.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Not if he’s in the Thames, or an empty house somewhere.’

  Something hovered at the back of Achebe’s mi
nd. ‘The man who owns the house where Bryce’s body was found,’ he said slowly. ‘We followed up on him and his kids, didn’t we? He and his wife were in Turkey, but they should be back by now.’

  ‘They are,’ Somerville confirmed.

  ‘I spoke to him earlier – Mr Tabak. Nice bloke,’ said Gill.

  Achebe glanced at him. ‘Anything else?’

  Gill looked flustered. ‘We checked the movements of his three kids for the day Bryce’s body was found, and the days immediately before. Nothing suspicious, sir.’

  Achebe gazed at him. ‘All right. Thank you, Seb. Get back to finding Glennister.’

  A look of relief flashed across the younger man’s face. ‘Sir.’

  Taking Somerville aside, Achebe lowered his voice. ‘You remember I asked who it was who spoke to Anthony Bryce when he denied knowing Ben Rainey?’

  Somerville flushed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was Gill, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Tim—’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? He fucked up, Jen.’

  ‘I know.’ Somerville looked at her feet, then met Achebe’s eyes again. ‘He’s young, he’s learning.’

  ‘Bryce might still be alive if Gill had handled him better.’ As Achebe spat out the words, he knew he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘You should have told me. Instead, Gill’s been stomping around pissing people off.’

  ‘I’ve been supervising him. I’m his sergeant, after all.’

  Achebe tipped his head to the side. ‘Do you babysit all the DCs, or just your favourites?’

  She clenched her jaw. ‘That’s unfair.’

  ‘Is it the smart haircut or the tight suits that appeal to you?’ Achebe knew he was crossing a line, but the frustration of the past few days was boiling up, spilling over.

  Somerville said nothing, staring down at her shoes, but her face was thunderous. Achebe took a breath, told himself to calm down. He was aware of curious glances, raised eyebrows. He was in charge here, their leader, and he was letting them all down. ‘All right, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Somerville spat out the word. ‘You had no right to say what you did. You’ve no reason to question my professionalism.’

  ‘Let’s go and—’

  ‘And what? Discuss it?’ She sneered at him. ‘You think you’re the only one feeling the pressure? The only person imagining what Liv might be going through? She’s my colleague too, you know. She’s my friend.’