by Ed James
‘Steve Fisher.’ She sighed, then locked eyes with Fenchurch. ‘I’ve not seen him do it directly, but . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve seen him get money off Elliot Lynch.’
‘Elliot?’ Fenchurch got to his feet. ‘Elliot was buying drugs off Steve at the same time he was sleeping with his wife?’
‘It’s the truth! I saw Elliot give Steve Fisher at least forty quid.’
‘This wasn’t for a school trip or anything?’
‘No. They were in the store room. Must’ve thought they were being sneaky, but I saw them.’
‘Did they see you?’
‘Don’t think so.’
He stared at Reed. Her hunch was making sense. Holding’s drug problem wasn’t going away if it was one of his teachers doing it.
Time to get some more evidence.
Elliot’s grandmother’s street was more Limehouse than Shadwell, and quiet. Two-storey brick houses with front gardens. The gentrification machine had made it halfway up the street — the old boozer was now called the Frozen Moment: a group of bearded hipsters were on the street, taking delivery of a few kegs of beer. Didn’t look like they knew what they were doing, just rolling them around the pavement.
Fenchurch got in the passenger side of the car. ‘Jon.’
Nelson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. ‘Elliot’s grandmother lives in that one.’ He pointed to a house in the ungentrified end. The brick was so dark a train must’ve sat outside for a hundred years, blowing soot all over it. ‘I had a word with them. Maxfield is a piece of work, isn’t he?’
‘He still there?’
‘Cleared off about ten minutes ago. Like I was going to before I got your call.’ Nelson leaned back in his seat. ‘You believe Katerina?’
‘Don’t know. Makes enough sense to investigate.’
‘She could be trying to fit him up.’ Nelson opened the door and let some cool air in, along with the ozone smell of fresh rain. ‘I don’t buy Steve Fisher selling drugs in that school. Why risk your career for small money? They didn’t need any, either. That house is worth a fortune.’
‘All that aside, assuming he was dealing, what if Gayle found out? Maybe even found his drugs?’
‘You’re stretching here.’ Nelson pushed the door fully open. ‘It just doesn’t feel right. Policeman’s hunch.’ He got out on to the street.
Fenchurch opened his door and put a foot on the ground. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am clutching here. Is it just that Mulholland’s taking the credit for it? Am I trying to prosecute him through the back door?
Bike brakes squealed over the road. A bike courier walked up the path and knocked on the door. Then got out a bottle of water and snapped off the cap. The door opened to a crack and Elliot peered out. The courier spoke to him and the door opened fully. The courier splashed the water on Elliot’s face and ran off.
Elliot screamed, loud enough to be heard in Glasgow.
Fenchurch charged towards the house. ‘It’s acid!’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Fenchurch stopped by the door. Elliot lay on his back, screaming. His hands hovered in the air above his face, couldn’t bring himself to touch his skin.
Stop the burning as soon as possible.
Nelson shot off towards the attacker. Almost caught him, but he hopped on his bike and started pedalling away. Nelson followed him along the road, his feet slapping off the pavement. Losing the attacker.
‘I’m going to help, okay?’ Fenchurch bent down and hefted Elliot in a cradle lift, then carried him into the house, the kid screaming. Acid sizzled on the carpet in the hall. The bathroom door was open. Fenchurch lay Elliot on the bathroom floor and tore his T-shirt down the front, tossing it on the floor, away from either of them.
No jewellery. Good.
Elliot’s screaming was louder.
Wash the burn.
Fenchurch got the shower on at a slow lick then grabbed hold of Elliot again, still screaming.
‘It’s burning!’
‘I know, I know. I’m going to wash it off, okay?’ Fenchurch carried Elliot into the shower. The water splashed his own arms as he directed it on to Elliot’s hair, letting it trickle down his face. ‘You’re going to be okay, son.’
Something hit Fenchurch’s back. A woman in her fifties, dolled up like she was out on the pull. She slapped his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I’m a police officer! Someone threw acid on Elliot!’
She calmed a bit, less likely to smack him again, and focused on her grandson’s face.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Marnie. Marnie Nicholas.’
‘Marnie, I’m trying to save your grandson’s face, okay?’ Fenchurch scooshed water on Elliot’s face now. The screaming got worse, but the smell got better. ‘I need cling film, paracetamol and ibuprofen. And I need you to call 999 for an ambulance, okay?’
‘Right.’ She took another look at her grandson then set off, purpose in her stride.
‘It’s okay, Elliot.’ Fenchurch held him and got out his phone, hitting dial as he put it to his ear. ‘Jon, have you got him?’
‘Lost him.’
‘Shit. Come back here. I need your help.’ Fenchurch killed the call and dropped his phone on the bathroom floor. Water splashed everywhere, like that time when Chloe turned the bath taps on at her grandparents’ house and went downstairs.
Marnie was back in the room. ‘Here.’ She held out the cling film.
‘Did you call 999?’
‘Ambulance on its way. Fifteen minutes, they said.’
‘Good enough.’
Elliot’s skin was turning red, but there were no cuts or lacerations.
‘Okay, we need to wash the skin for twenty minutes, then put on a layer of cling film, okay? Don’t wrap it, put it on in a layer.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘Because I need you to make sure I don’t make a mess of it.’
‘A layer, right. Not wrapping.’ She spilled some pills on the floor. ‘Buggeration!’ She went down on all fours, waving her arse in the air. Didn’t look like she wore any knickers. Then she was back up, hand out.
‘Elliot, you need some painkillers, okay?’ Fenchurch took four pills from her, two pairs of different sizes, and held them up for Elliot. ‘This isn’t going to be quick, but it’ll help, okay?’
Elliot took them and swallowed them down with water from the shower. His breathing was stuttering.
‘You’re being brave, kid.’ Fenchurch jerked him to his feet. ‘You need to stay upright, okay?’
Fenchurch’s phone rang. He passed the showerhead to Marnie, who took over the washing, and bent down to pick it up.
Nelson, sounded like he was running. ‘I’ve got him! He’s back on that street. Shit! I’ve lost him again!’
‘Keep it on his face, okay? And make sure he stays up.’ Fenchurch left the room, then stopped in the doorway. ‘Remember, a layer. Don’t wrap it!’ Then he raced out of the house and got in his pool car. He drove off, wheels spinning down the road, easing off as he hit the long straight.
The attacker was cycling towards him on his bike. Hood up, mask covering his face. He swerved across the road towards the pavement. Fenchurch cut across the street and the bike brakes squealed. The cyclist went flying across the bonnet. Landed on the other side with a sickening crunch.
Fenchurch was out of the car, running towards the attacker. Got a kick in the knee, but he leaned forward, using his momentum to land on the attacker. Squeezed the air out of the prick’s lungs. He grabbed the attacker’s mouth and hauled the mask off. The attacker’s teeth clamped shut, trying to bite Fenchurch. Just missed.
Fenchurch cracked the attacker’s head off the pavement then reached into the hood to grab hold of micro-dreads, ready to smash his skull again.
Someone pulled him back. ‘Guy’s not going anywhere.’ Nelson, breathing hard.
Fenchurch leaned forward and ripped at the mask.
Daniel Dodoo.
&
nbsp; Sunlight cracked through the murky grey over Canary Wharf, the huddle of buildings glowing.
‘My face.’ Dodoo sat in the back of the squad car. ‘My face!’
‘Your face?’ Fenchurch grabbed him and took him over to the house. Pushed him into the bathroom. ‘Look at his face.’ Elliot was still in the shower, the paramedics trying to keep him under control. Squealing like a pig. ‘You did that.’
Dodoo stared hard at him, then swallowed just as hard.
‘Take this bloody thing everywhere, don’t you?’ Nelson stopped rummaging through Dodoo’s bag and held up the Nintendo Switch, the pink-and-blue controllers glowing in the morning light. ‘Scratched the screen, though.’ He scowled. ‘And another bag of Blockchain.’
Dodoo shook his head. Didn’t stop, just kept doing it, eyes shut.
‘You’re going away for a very long time, sunshine.’ Fenchurch twisted Dodoo’s arm behind his back, slightly more than necessary.
Dodoo just kept shaking his head.
‘Come on.’ Fenchurch pushed Dodoo back outside, and met the two uniforms from the previous day — Cheeky and his female friend — and gave them Dodoo. ‘Take him to Leman Street. Now.’
‘Sir.’ Cheeky pushed Dodoo in the back seat, then got in the front and the squad car screeched off.
‘What a shit-show, guv.’ Nelson was wrapping Dodoo’s backpack in an oversized evidence bag. ‘If we hadn’t been here . . .’
‘Elliot’d be another statistic with a ruined face. This way, he’s got a chance of pulling through.’
The gurney rattled as the paramedics took Elliot over to the ambulance, his screams muffled by cling film. They loaded him in the back, one of the paramedics hopping up to ride alongside.
Marnie grabbed Fenchurch and twisted him round. Stronger than she looked. She waved at the ambulance, its lights flashing. ‘I need to be with him!’
Fenchurch led her back towards her house. ‘Thanks to your help, you’ve maybe saved his face.’
‘Maybe? Maybe?!’ She shrugged him off, her face twisted into rage. ‘You said it would!’
‘I tried. You tried.’ Fenchurch pointed at the ambulance, still sitting there. ‘Now, the paramedics are trying, then it’ll be the doctors’ turn.’
Marnie stared at the ground. A little rockery covered in red heathers. ‘Is this it?’ She pointed at a plastic bottle, mostly empty. Evian, the label burned in half. ‘Is this what they . . .’
Fenchurch reached into his pocket for an evidence bag and stored it away. He ran after the ambulance and thumped the back door.
The paramedic scowled then opened up. ‘What?’
Fenchurch passed him the bottle. ‘This is what they got him with.’
‘Thanks.’ The door shut and the ambulance shot off, the siren blaring.
Fenchurch watched it go. Trying to control his breathing. A shiver ran up his spine. He couldn’t get the smell of burning flesh out of his nose.
A car door shut across the road. Mulholland was walking towards him. Her gaze swept over to the receding ambulance.
‘Daniel Dodoo attacked him. Threw acid on his face. The best outcome is he’ll be scarred for life. He’s lucky we were here.’
Nelson joined them, his jaw clenched. ‘Why attack Elliot? I don’t get it.’
‘Why here?’ Fenchurch felt the usual tug at his gut, punching his lungs. ‘Dodoo knew he’d be here. At his grandmother’s. Not at school or his parents’ house. Here.’ Things started clicking into place. ‘At the school, Jon, I told Maxfield to take Elliot away. He said he was going to take him to his grandmother’s. You followed him, kept an eye on him, but the next thing we know . . . Dodoo’s here, throwing acid on him.’
Nelson took a deep breath and focused on Mulholland. ‘Dawn, as far as I can tell, Coldcut is behind it.’
‘So it’s not connected to the Gayle Fisher murder?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then this is your case, Inspector.’ Mulholland glared at Nelson, fear in her eyes. ‘Interview this Coldcut and get to the bottom of this.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll add it to the long, long list of questions we’ve got for him.’
‘Less of the sarcasm.’ Mulholland scowled at him, then focused on Fenchurch. ‘I’ll let you both interview him. Just in case this does relate to the Gayle Fisher case.’ And she was off towards her car.
Nelson huffed out a sigh at Fenchurch. ‘You really need to learn to control her.’
‘You’ve been a very naughty boy, Daniel.’ Fenchurch drummed his thumbs on the interview room table. ‘Acid attacks are all the rage these days.’
‘Very hip.’ Nelson was next to him, rocking back in his chair, legs stretched out. ‘Throwing acid on people is like Netflix and Snapchat and Bitcoin these days. It’s well blaze, as the kids say.’
Dodoo was keeping his calm. His lawyer had him on a tight lead.
‘It’s a tough one to prosecute.’ Fenchurch got up and walked across the room to stand behind Dodoo. ‘Chucking acid on people’s faces and running off like a coward. Hoods up, masks on, trying to make it hard for us to track you down.’
Dodoo glanced up, then his owner tugged the lead.
‘It’s very satisfying when we catch one of you, though. We actually saw you do it.’
‘Both of us.’ Nelson grinned wide. ‘You’re going down for it, Daniel.’
Still silence. Not even a glance.
‘Don’t care what you say now.’ Fenchurch walked back round the other side of the table and rested on it. ‘Prosecuting someone for an acid attack will be very satisfying. Don’t even care if there’s anyone else behind this, because we’ve got you.’ He left a gap, but Dodoo kept quiet. ‘The best bit is, when this is all over the papers and the internet, the next craven arsehole who gets given a vial of corrosive liquid, they might think twice about chucking it at someone.’
Still quiet.
‘Nah, you know what the best bit is?’ Nelson chuckled. ‘Being able to charge someone with these new acid attack powers. Used to be a few years but, Daniel, you must’ve heard that they upgraded the sentencing to life.’
‘Doesn’t look like he did, Jon.’ Fenchurch picked up the thread. ‘These days, the guidance is to treat you like you’ve murdered someone. Just because someone’s heart is still beating, doesn’t mean you’ve not killed them. Destroyed their future. It’s not just the physical harm, it’s the mental.’
Dodoo sat back and scratched at his mini-dreads. Still didn’t say anything.
‘You’ll never see this again.’ Fenchurch reached down and picked up an evidence bag for Dodoo’s Nintendo Switch. ‘Not for twenty years. At least. Wonder if they’ll still make games for it.’
‘Twenty years is a heck of a long time, Daniel.’ Nelson shook his head slowly. ‘We’ll all be living on Mars by then, or the world will be a smoking ruin.’
Dodoo glanced at his lawyer and got a wagged finger.
‘Right now, you’ll be weighing up your future versus giving up who told you to do this.’ Fenchurch sat again and dropped the Switch on the floor. ‘I don’t care what you’ve got to say. Any names you give us, doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’ve got you and you’re going to prison for twenty-odd years.’
Dodoo looked up, kept up the eye contact. ‘Coldcut.’
‘I said I don’t care.’ Fenchurch reached over to the recorder. ‘Interview term—’
‘I work for Coldcut.’
‘We know, you muppet.’ Fenchurch held his finger over the button but didn’t press it. ‘We saw him at your flat last night.’
‘He told me to do it.’ Dodoo gave a nervous glance at his lawyer, at her angry leer. ‘Same as that one in Hackney on Saturday.’
Fenchurch shot his gaze between Nelson and Dodoo. ‘What?’
‘That kid, some little Pakistani gimp, thought he was a player. Worked for Coldcut then started out on his own. Coldcut wasn’t happy.’
‘He told you to do that?’
‘Course
not. I took some initiative. Stole some kerosene from a farmer’s tank in Kent. Splashed it on his face. The bouncers held him down so it scarred, you know?’
‘Well, it worked, that kid won’t be dealing drugs again. His nose is melted off.’
‘Like I care. I told Coldcut. Cat was impressed. Solved a problem for him, didn’t I?’
‘Right. And he was so impressed that he got you to do an encore on Elliot?’
Dodoo sniffed. ‘Cat gave me some acid, little bottles. Told me the kid would be at that address. Didn’t expect you to be there, though.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘No idea.’ Dodoo threw his arms up in the air. ‘Just do what I’m told.’
‘Well, that’s not going to save you, sunshine. Nothing is.’
‘Wait a sec.’ Nelson held up a hand to stop Fenchurch. ‘Daniel, if you’ve got any hope of leniency, you can help us find Coldcut.’
‘Piss off.’
Nelson let out a sigh. ‘That was you at that drug house last night, wasn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘In Shadwell. You assaulted a couple of officers as you ran off. We’re combing the place for forensics. With a murder, we have to prove that you were there when the murder happened. But you being in a drug house is a very different matter, especially when you just admitted to working for Coldcut and splashing acid over some poor schoolboy’s face on his orders. That’ll be a couple of life sentences for drug supplying on top of the acid attack.’
‘I know where he is.’ Dodoo’s eyes were bulging. ‘I can take you there.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Another dead woman’s home.’ Nelson waved at a barren shitheap in Beckton, the wild tree growing in the garden dwarfing the house. So close to City Airport that you could feel your fillings shake when a plane came in to land. ‘Dear old Bess Green, no middle name. Died in 2011.’
Three squad cars double-parked on the street, blocking anyone entering the small cul-de-sac. A flash of acid-yellow in the lane running between two derelict blocks of flats.
Fenchurch opened the squad car’s back door and craned his neck to focus on the skinny figure inside. ‘Why do you think Coldcut’s here?’