Kill With Kindness

by Ed James

  ‘There’s nothing?’

  ‘Well.’ Mulkalwar flounced off with a flap of her white coat.

  ‘No matter how many times I see it, Si . . .’ Winter swallowed hard. His phone rang. ‘Don’t recognise this number. Better not be a bloody accident that wasn’t my fault.’ He answered it anyway. ‘Yeah? Oh. Right.’ He fiddled with the phone, sticking it on speaker.

  A nurse in a sterilised suit held a mobile out to Elliot. ‘Can you hear us?’

  Winter gave a thumbs-up. ‘Loud and clear.’

  Elliot glanced over, but otherwise stayed static.

  The nurse returned the thumbs-up. ‘He can hear you.’

  Winter lowered his phone. ‘He’s just not bloody speaking. Great.’ He held it up again. ‘Elliot, my name is DI Rod Winter. You know my colleague. We want to know why you were attacked.’

  Elliot jerked forward, his mouth opening wide. He screamed and lay back. Every movement looked like it hurt. Then he looked over. ‘I thought you’d caught him?’

  ‘We have, but I want to know who was behind it. Why they did it. What you did that pissed them off.’

  Elliot looked away. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Was it Coldcut?’

  Elliot lay flat against the bed, shaking his head. He started shouting. ‘No!’

  The nurse put the phone down and fussed over Elliot, trying to calm him.

  ‘Well done, Rod.’ Fenchurch snatched the mobile off Winter and put it to his mouth. ‘Elliot, it’s DI Fenchurch. We know who did it. Daniel Dodoo is being charged with the attack.’

  Elliot relaxed on the bed, his breathing slowing.

  ‘He’ll be away for a long time. Twenty years, minimum. You’ll be in your midlife crisis by the time they start talking about letting him out.’

  Elliot smirked, then winced with pain.

  ‘I’ve got a few questions we wanted to ask when we saw you getting attacked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone said they saw you giving money to Steve Fisher. What—’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. What was the money for?’

  ‘And I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘We know that Steve’s connected to Coldcut. We think he’s part of that organisation.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Listen, we’ve got Dodoo in custody, but there are a million Dodoos. We’ve got Coldcut too.’

  Elliot breathed out slowly.

  ‘Thing is, if we want to put Coldcut away, we—’

  ‘Steve sold me the E.’

  ‘The Blockchain?’

  Elliot nodded. Looked like it was painful. ‘The Blockchain.’

  ‘How did that start? You’re in a chemistry class, discussing Avogadro’s constant or mols per litre or whatever, and he goes, “Here, son, I’ve got some E”?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Elliot rolled his eyes. ‘Steve’s smart, right? And I don’t mean intellectually. He figures people out. Plays poker, I think. He worked out who was smoking dope and who wanted to . . . take it up a notch. One time, we went on a trip to the Science Museum. Steve sat up the back with a few of us and got chatting. Said he could get us good gear. Cheap too. But we had to be quiet about it. Subtle.’

  ‘And you kept your mouth shut?’

  ‘Course. Nobody wanted to waste that opportunity.’

  ‘So you bought some off him?’

  ‘A few pills.’

  Winter took the phone back. ‘And you’re sure that Steve Fisher was dealing?’

  Elliot nodded.

  ‘Did Steve ever mention Coldcut?’

  ‘I heard the name. Guy has a rep, you know? But never met him. Never met anyone who knows him.’

  ‘So why did he attack you?’

  ‘Wish I knew, man. Got to be Steve. Me and Gayle . . . Retribution. Payback.’ Elliot gritted his teeth. ‘He must’ve known. Must’ve known how strong that Blockchain was, tried to kill me with it. Wanted me to die, man!’

  Fenchurch stared through the security glass, frowning. The kid looks genuinely upset, like he’s figuring it all out now.

  An earsplitting scream burst out of Elliot’s mouth, cutting through the glass, distorting on the phone’s speaker.

  Dr Mulkalwar rushed towards them, arms up. ‘Inspectors, I need you to leave.’

  Fenchurch took one look at Elliot convulsing on the bed and knew they’d be wasting their time pushing him any more. Elliot needed to focus on getting better. He nodded slowly. ‘Okay.’ He led Winter away. ‘Well?’

  ‘Don’t know, Si.’ Winter chanced a look back. ‘I mean, I could buy it. Then again, I could sell it, know what I mean?’

  ‘Our problem, Rod, is there’s precious little evidence. Just rumours. It’s like being back on the school playground.’

  ‘Speaking of which, you honestly think a chemistry teacher would sell drugs to kids?’

  ‘I’ve seen worse. Sure you have too.’ Fenchurch waited for a grudging nod. ‘And Steve goes way back with Coldcut. He could’ve seen Shadwell Grammar as a big opportunity, chance to get his poisonous claws into another area. Start at the school. And Steve was his in.’

  Winter hit the lift down button and blew air up his face. ‘Anyway, you’ve introduced me. Time for you to clear off, yeah?’

  ‘Suppose so.’ Fenchurch hit the up button. ‘I’ve got someone I need to see here.’

  ‘Well, I’ll head back to Sutton. Catch you later, yeah?’

  ‘There you are.’ Fenchurch slouched into the intensive care room.

  ‘Simon?’ Abi sat next to the cot, jigging Baby Al on her lap. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Fenchurch kissed her on the forehead. ‘Interviewing someone downstairs.’

  ‘A murder?’

  ‘Acid attack.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Feels worse in some ways.’ Fenchurch took Baby Al, kissing him on the head. He sucked in his baby smell.

  Why did Coldcut target Elliot? Still doesn’t make any sense, except as revenge for his friend.

  But why risk your empire for that?

  Right now, Coldcut is in custody, his world falling around his ears because of this. All for his mate Steve.

  ‘Are you going to make counselling tonight?’ Abi’s hand stroked down Fenchurch’s back. ‘It’s fine if you can’t. Chloe and I can talk.’

  ‘Or we can reschedule.’ Chloe appeared, cradling two coffees, their harsh and bitter smell filling the room. Probably tasted of mud. ‘Sorry, Dad, I haven’t got you one.’

  ‘I won’t be here long.’ Fenchurch got up. ‘If you want to reschedule, does that mean there’s something you need to tell us? That thing you were going to tell me at the supermarket yesterday?’

  Abi scowled at him.

  ‘Dad, it’s important to have time with both of you.’ Chloe rubbed at her scar. ‘There’s a lot in my head and I need to get it out, but only in a safe environment.’

  ‘What’s not safe about home?’

  ‘I just need to make sure we’re not jeopardising anything. Doing it at a session with Paddy . . .’ Chloe took a sip of coffee. ‘It feels safe, that’s all.’

  Abi tipped a sachet of sweetener into her coffee. ‘Can you make it tonight, Simon?’

  ‘I’ll try, but I’m running a murder inquiry.’ Fenchurch kissed Baby Al on the forehead. ‘We’re all here now and we live under the same roof. Surely we—’

  ‘Dad, it’s not you. The rug’s been taken from under my feet. That’s all.’ Chloe took a sip of coffee. ‘I want to make sure that we’re doing the right things and I’m not making problems for myself later. And it’s not like even those sessions have been plain sailing.’ She shot a glare at her mother. ‘Like when you made— When I stormed out that time . . . I’m just saying, it’s good to have Paddy there to help.’

  ‘Seems sensible.’ Abi’s glare told Fenchurch he thought so too. ‘Oh.’ She reached into her bag for her phone. ‘Forgot to say . . . I got a nice text fr
om Pete this morning. Said he had a lovely time last night.’

  ‘Despite my behaviour, eh?’ Fenchurch blew a raspberry on Baby Al’s belly. Made him laugh. Then he winked at Abi. ‘Should I feel threatened that he’s texting you?’

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Right.’ Chloe raised her eyebrows.

  Fenchurch frowned at her. ‘Sorry I was a bit of a dick to him, but he—’

  ‘A bit? You were the whole—’ Chloe blushed. ‘Thanks for giving him a second chance.’

  ‘I always try to. It’s just that sometimes . . .’ Fenchurch cuddled Baby Al close. ‘Abi, I saw your pal Brendan Holding this morning. Said you and him took down a drug empire.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘I need to call Pete.’ Chloe got to her feet and left them to it.

  Fenchurch watched her go. ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘No idea. She’s been like that all day.’ Abi stood and tickled their son’s chin. ‘What was Brendan saying about me?’

  ‘Nothing much. He said you and him had problems with a dealer in Lewisham.’

  ‘Can’t remember the guy’s name, but he was making our lives a living hell. The school playground was flooded with drugs. Brendan kept at it after I moved schools.’

  ‘Sounds like a Die Hard film.’

  ‘More like that Clint Eastwood film, Gran Torino or something, where he’s a pensioner taking down a local gang. He convicted the guy in the end.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘Nah, it’s just he didn’t mention it. Guys like him like to bring up stuff like that as soon as possible.’

  Abi took Al off him. ‘He’s clean, Simon. Nobody cleaner.’

  ‘This shit follows him, though. Lewisham to Shadwell. Both have severe drug problems.’

  ‘Shit follows you, too, does that mean I should divorce you?’ She scowled at him. ‘And it’s Lewisham and Shadwell. Those are really bad areas. Inner-city. Someone focusing their career on fixing that should be admired.’

  ‘Fair point.’ Fenchurch tickled Al’s cheeks. ‘How long till the operation?’

  ‘Two hours.’ Abi looked over at the clock above the door. ‘Oates said they need to start prep in an hour.’ She hugged her son. ‘He’s going to be fine, isn’t he?’

  ‘I think so. Hope so.’ Fenchurch smiled at her, trying to reassure but it just bounced off her glare. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I was going to take Chloe shopping . . . Take our minds off it.’

  ‘Smart thinking.’ Fenchurch kissed Abi then Baby Al. ‘A couple of hours not thinking about this shit . . . Priceless.’

  Fenchurch walked down the corridor in Leman Street, swinging his Chilango bag. The packet of wine gums he’d bought for Chloe crinkled in his pocket. He unlocked his office door and the sweets tumbled out of his pocket. ‘Shitting hell.’ He bent down to pick them up.

  Bridge came out of Mulholland’s office just down the corridor, adjusting her skirt and blouse. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Lisa, what are you up to?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Thought you’d like to know that Jim Muscat was definitely at that football match.’

  ‘You’ve got evidence?’

  ‘His season ticket was swiped at the gate and I’ve got him on the CCTV.’ She huffed out a sigh. ‘Turns out that pub is called the Rock of Gibraltar. Took a bit of effort to get anything out of the bar staff, but Muscat was in there.’

  Fenchurch leaned back against the wall. His alibi stacking up meant someone was mucking about. ‘So someone’s definitely cloned his card?’

  ‘Right. I spoke to someone from the keycard company and he said it’s pretty easy if you know what you’re doing. Anyone could do it, given access to the machine. And Jim Muscat doesn’t know his arse from his elbow when it comes to tech.’

  ‘That’s good news but we need to get to the bottom of how our killer got in the room.’

  ‘You mean how Steve Fisher got that card?’

  ‘That’s an assumption. Don’t assume things, okay?’

  Bridge let out a sigh. ‘On it, sir.’

  ‘I’ll not keep you, then.’ Fenchurch gave her a smile and waited until she was round the corner, then opened Mulholland’s office door.

  Nelson was behind the desk, typing on a laptop with his right hand, his left rubbing his groin through his trousers. He looked up at Fenchurch, then down at his bag. ‘Could’ve got me one.’

  ‘I did.’ Fenchurch tossed him a burrito and he just about caught it. ‘Never make the Met Twenty20 team, Jon.’

  ‘One of the lads was on at me to join up.’ Nelson tore at his burrito, untwisting the foil like he’d not eaten in days. ‘I love cricket but it doesn’t love me.’ He bit into it and chewed quickly. ‘This is like old times.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Fenchurch sat in front of Docherty’s old desk. ‘Hate coming in here, Jon. It’s like Docherty’s in the corner, watching us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t masturbate in here, then.’

  Fenchurch raised an eyebrow. ‘Or what you were doing with Lisa Bridge?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know.’ Fenchurch winked at him. ‘I was thinking more of pissing in Mulholland’s drawer.’

  Nelson laughed. ‘Simon, you need to drop that. The hate’s eating you up.’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got left.’ Fenchurch opened a drink of lemonade. ‘Listen, I was talking to Abi about the drug problem at Lewisham.’

  ‘Which Holding sorted, right?’

  ‘Did he? What I’m wondering is if he’s bent?’

  Nelson dumped his burrito on the desk. ‘Here we go again . . .’

  ‘Hear me out.’ Fenchurch took another bite. ‘What if he’s working with Coldcut. They took a hit in Lewisham, but Holding used it to get a bigger role in Shadwell. Now he’s Headmaster, he’s hitting that hard.’

  Nelson rolled his eyes, chewing.

  ‘Think about it, Jon. Coldcut’s got a foothold in East London through that school. I’d never even heard of him until the other day.’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Fenchurch huffed out a sigh. ‘Well, he’s everywhere now.’

  Nelson finished chewing. ‘Only trouble with your theory is that we got a guy for the Lewisham thing. He’s doing two life sentences. We took down his crew and there’s no connection to Holding or Coldcut.’

  ‘So I’m barking up the wrong tree?’

  ‘You’re barking, that’s for sure.’ Nelson put his burrito down. ‘But’ — he opened his laptop and started typing — ‘this dealer in Lewisham, Justin Stephens, died last year, stabbed in the showers.’ He frowned. ‘Well, would you look at that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He worked for your old mate, Dimitri Younis.’

  ‘He’s neither my mate, or that old.’ Fenchurch picked at the steak stuck between his teeth. ‘You think Younis knows Coldcut or Holding?’

  ‘Worth a shot.’

  Younis . . . Great.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  In here, sirs.’ The prison officer led them into the room. Six tables arranged in a two-by-three formation. Just one occupied. ‘I’ll be outside.’

  Younis was slumped in a seat. Little sniffles, mouth hanging open, eyes on the floor. His hair had been shaved to the bone, letting a network of scars get some light. Not that Belmarsh had much natural light. ‘Well, well, well.’ He held Fenchurch’s gaze for a few seconds, then gave him the old up and down. ‘Looking good, sweetie.’

  Fenchurch walked over to the table and took off his suit jacket. ‘You’re looking well, Dimitri.’ He sat down next to Nelson. ‘Prison life clearly suits you.’

  ‘I like it in here, oddly enough.’ Younis leaned across the table, resting on his elbows. ‘Sure you don’t fancy killing someone? I could arrange a bunk-up with little old me.’

  ‘What a lovely offer. I’ll pass, though.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll keep.’ Younis settled on
to his elbows. ‘Do you mind if I call you Fenchy?’ He waited for an answer he wasn’t getting, then waved a hand at Nelson but didn’t look at him. ‘Not sure I like him being here.’

  ‘This isn’t on tape, Dimitri. Nothing you say can be used against you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not talking. Even to you, my precious.’

  Nelson narrowed his eyes. ‘Need to ask you a few questions about your mate Coldcut. He’s selling a strain of super-strong ecstasy pills. Calls it Blockchain.’ Nelson sat back, arms folded. ‘It’s very strong. People are dying when they take it. Your people are selling it.’

  ‘Said I’m not talking to you.’ Younis chanced a glance at him. ‘Case you hadn’t noticed, you stupid prick, I’m in prison.’ He waved his hands around the room. ‘Not that you’re in any hurry to get me to trial, eh?’

  ‘I tell you—’

  ‘Justin Stephens.’ Fenchurch’s glare got Nelson to butt out. For now. ‘He worked for you in Lewisham, didn’t he? Ran a drug operation at the school. Didn’t take to prison quite like you have.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘This isn’t being recorded. You can just say piss off.’

  ‘Piss off, then. You’re wearing a wire, ain’t you?’

  ‘That your way of getting me to take my shirt off, Dimitri?’ Fenchurch waited for the leer. ‘Did you know Justin Stephens or Coldcut?’

  ‘In the biblical sense?’

  ‘In any sense. Did they work for you?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘But Justin Stephens knew Colin Cutler?’

  ‘Oooh, get you, Fenchurch. Done your homework.’

  Fenchurch winked at him. ‘Not just a pretty face, eh?’

  ‘Oh, that’s stretching it.’ Younis returned it. ‘It’s your body I’m after, not your face.’

  ‘Speaking of which, one of Cutler’s crew sprayed acid on some kid’s face.’ Fenchurch enjoyed the look of disgust on Younis’s face, like he’d eaten from a cesspit. ‘Happened this morning. Very nasty.’

  ‘You can’t pin any of that on me.’

  ‘You’re on trial next month, Dimitri.’ Nelson gave a smug grin. ‘Be a shame to add another crime to the sheet, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Piss off. I’m in here, not chucking kerosene on people.’

  ‘An acid attack is life these days.’ Nelson let it sink in, let Younis add it to the prison algebra in his head. ‘If we found out you were involved . . .’