by Ed James
‘How the hell can I order someone to throw acid on someone’s face from in here, eh?’
Fenchurch started folding up his shirtsleeves, made sure Younis was watching. ‘You can stash a mobile anywhere, I imagine.’
‘Piss off.’
‘If you help us, we can put in a good word with the CPS and make sure you don’t face more charges.’
‘I’m not involved.’ Younis whipped his focus from Fenchurch’s bare arms to Nelson. ‘I’ll help you so long as Laughing Boy here pisses off. Okay?’
Fenchurch nodded at Nelson.
‘Your grave . . .’ Nelson shook his head as he walked off. The door clunked shut.
‘Now it’s just you and me, babes. Let’s go back to you taking that shirt off for me.’
Fenchurch smiled at him. ‘Not yet.’
‘Least you could do, mate. I’m sitting in here playing with myself while I wait for his bullshit case to get thrown out of court. Wouldn’t mind a bit of how’s your father. How is he, by the way?’
Fenchurch steeled himself. ‘Not getting enough in the showers here?’
‘Sometimes I prefer the cooking to sticking my hotdog in a bun.’
‘How about you just tell me whether Coldcut was involved in your Lewisham operation?’
‘I wasn’t involved. That was Justin Stephens. Nothing to do with me.’ Younis sat back, hands in his pockets. Seedy bastard probably was playing with himself. ‘If I was involved, why did the Met let me build a perfectly legitimate business?’ He was definitely playing with himself, the rubbing getting faster. ‘Because there’s nothing in it.’
‘You’re telling me you’ve had nothing in Lewisham?’
‘Wouldn’t even piss on that place if it was on fire. South of the bleeding river. Not my patch.’
‘Very magnanimous of you.’
‘I’m going to walk over to that door, babes.’ Younis ran a tongue over his lips. ‘Slowly, so you can admire the work I’ve been doing on my butt.’
Just a load of bollocks, then.
Younis wasn’t involved in the Lewisham operation. Probably nothing in Holding being bent, either. Nelson’s intelligence system is a joke and here I am, pulling together a vendetta against Holding, a man who did some good in the world, probably because he got too close to my wife.
Shit, is that it? Am I worried that Abi was . . . with Holding? She’s too smart for a prick like him. No danger.
But . . . she kicked me out for being a selfish prick. And here I am, yet again, being a selfish prick.
Fenchurch cleared his throat as he stood up. ‘I’ll see you around, Dimitri.’
‘Oh, you’re just going to leave me with a semi?’
‘Good luck in your case, Dimitri. Hope they throw away the key.’
‘Offer still stands.’ Younis joined him by the door. ‘Get yourself locked up and we can make sweet music together.’ He reached over to stroke Fenchurch’s cheek. ‘The pounding of bedsprings, your screaming through a bitten pillow. Sweet, sweet music. You’ll love it.’
‘That what it’s all about for you? Rape?’
‘I’m a man who doesn’t like asking for things.’
‘You ask much of Cutler?’
‘I’m in here, sweetie,’ Younis whispered. ‘How can I?’
‘You know exactly what he’s up to, don’t you?’
Younis stroked his cheek again, his gaze licking Fenchurch’s face. ‘What is he up to?’
‘One of Coldcut’s dealers, guy called Steve Fisher. He’s a teacher at Shadwell Grammar. We hear that he deals to the pupils.’ Fenchurch shifted a little closer to Younis. ‘He gets his gear from Coldcut, right?’
‘I’m not stupid.’ Younis backed off, shoulders slouching. ‘You’re murder squad and this is all drug squad stuff. Why’s Colin on your radar?’
‘Steve’s wife was murdered using one of those Blockchain pills. Someone held her down, put three down her throat, waited for her to die. Now, we know that Coldcut supplied them. We know that Coldcut works for you. Makes you culpable, Dimitri. Yet another drug death on your hands.’
‘This is nothing to do with me.’ Younis gave him another stroke on the cheek. ‘I’m going to have to leave you with your cock unwanked.’
‘And here was me thinking you were all about rape.’
‘I’ve been known to reach around in my time.’
Fenchurch grabbed his hand and held it, twisting the fingers. ‘Enough of this shit. Your mate Coldcut arranged an acid attack on someone. I want answers.’
‘Why the hell do you think I know anything?’
‘Daniel Dodoo doesn’t work for you, then?’
‘What?’ Younis’s face fell. ‘Is he okay?’
‘He’s going to prison for life for it. Might get your bunk-up with him.’
‘Not my type. He was the attacker?’
‘Caught him myself.’ Fenchurch tightened his grip until Younis snarled. ‘Coldcut got him to splash this kid who’d pissed off his old mate Steve Fisher. You know about it, don’t you?’
Younis tried to break free. ‘Drop it!’ He managed to get his fingers away. ‘Never heard of Steve Fisher. Certainly not in my organisation.’
‘So you do have one?’
‘This isn’t on tape. This isn’t evidence. You can’t use this against me!’
‘I was at the hospital. You should’ve seen the damage the acid did to poor Elliot’s face. Couldn’t even—’
‘Elliot?’ Younis stared at Fenchurch, eyes bulging. ‘What did you say?’
‘Elliot Lynch.’
Younis walked off, shaking his head. ‘Jesus.’
‘You know him?’
Younis slumped against the wall. ‘Rings a bell, that’s all.’
‘Is he in your organisation?’
‘Piss off. He auditioned for my cam site.’
‘Bollocks.’ Fenchurch tried to work it out. ‘Hang on, you’ve been in here almost a year and he’s just turned seventeen. He’s too young, even for you and your site.’
‘I know precisely how old he is, my sweet.’ Younis thumped his fist off the door. ‘Let me out!’
‘Listen to me.’ Fenchurch grabbed Younis by the throat and pinned him to the door. ‘How do you really know Elliot?’
‘Like I told you, the kid turned up for an audition. Far too young. Told him where to go.’
The door opened behind him and Fenchurch let go. ‘You don’t want me finding out through some other means. If there’s anything between you and Elliot . . .’
Younis rubbed at his throat, still had the filthy pervert’s grin on his lips. ‘Only thing between us is eight and a half inches of uncut meat.’
‘You’re quiet.’ Nelson drove past a row of shops and pulled up at the lights. ‘I don’t like it when you stop talking.’
Fenchurch ran his fingers down his cheek. Could still feel Younis’s hand there. ‘I’m thinking, Jon.’
‘Even worse.’ Nelson grinned at him, then stuck the car back in gear and set off. ‘Did you get anything out of that?’
‘Waste of time, Jon. He’s a bullshit merchant.’
‘You were alone a long time.’
‘He didn’t know Steve’s name.’ Fenchurch gripped the ‘Oh Shit’ handle above the door. ‘Flinched when I said Elliot’s, though. Tried to cover it over with some bollocks about his cam site. Same with Dodoo and Coldcut. What if we’ve got it the wrong way round? All we’ve got is Katerina’s word that Steve’s a dealer. She saw money changing hands. Now, Younis is the daddy of that organisation. He knows Elliot and Dodoo, but he didn’t know Steve. What if it was Elliot selling to Steve?’
‘But Elliot thought Steve tried to kill him with that Blockchain.’
‘We’ve got so little on that, Jon. Meanwhile, Steve’s told us, on the record, that he’s got a regular dealer. Even gave his alibi as visiting a drug dealer’s house to score. He could’ve said he was visiting his mate Daniel, then he went for a beer with his mate Colin, but he didn’t. He told us
he was buying drugs. Why do that if he’s a dealer?’
‘Because Steve knows he’s going down for murder, so he decides to put a different target on his back. Drugs. It’s still a target, still something we can do him for. Just not murder. You know how it works — we’re likely to focus on that, get him away for something.’
‘Maybe.’ Fenchurch gripped the handle again as Nelson swerved round another bend. ‘That alibi fell apart. Wasn’t worth him taking the hit for the drugs. And, if he killed Gayle, why go to Dodoo’s first? He had some Blockchain in his own stash. At their house, in her knock-off handbag.’ He pinched his nose. ‘The way to get away with murder, Jon, is to have as few moving parts as possible. As little a trace as you can get away with. If it was Steve, surely he’d have killed her at home? Why go to all that palaver of tying her up and giving her drugs? Doesn’t seem very straightforward.’
‘Does it have to?’ Nelson stopped at another set of lights, his forehead creased in concentration. ‘How about this? Steve finds out that his wife’s been sleeping with Elliot. He’s angry, wants to harm him, but doesn’t know how. He’s a lover, not a fighter, all that jazz. But he visits Dodoo to get some drugs. And he lucks out, because Coldcut’s there, his old schoolmate. They go for a pint and talk about it. Coldcut agrees to sort out Elliot.’
‘Guys like Coldcut aren’t notoriously sentimental, Jon. What does he get from it?’
‘Sends a message to the rest of his crew. Don’t mess with my guys or their wives.’
‘That works.’
‘All about how you spin it.’
‘Spoken like a management consultant.’ Fenchurch got out his Airwave and tapped in a badge number. ‘Martin, can you get Steve Fisher’s lawyer back in for me?’
Let’s see if we can get the truth out of him, finally . . .
Chapter Forty
I told you!’ Steve Fisher hammered his fist off the interview room table. ‘I was buying drugs!’
Dalton Unwin sat next to him, head in his hands. Not going the way he expected.
‘Just happened to be “buying drugs” from the man who splashed acid on Elliot’s face? Right?’
Steve swallowed hard. ‘What?’
‘Don’t play coy with me. You got Coldcut to arrange the hit on Elliot. Revenge for—’
‘No! I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Steve swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. ‘What happened to Elliot?’
‘Daniel Dodoo splashed him with acid. Kid’s in intensive care right now, in a sterile room. Chance he might look normal again. More likely that he’ll be disfigured for life.’
‘Jesus.’ Steve had gone white. He blinked hard. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘We’ve been struggling with why anyone would do that.’ Fenchurch left a pause. ‘The only link we’ve got is you, Steve.’
‘No!’
‘You murdered your wife. That’s in the bag. You’ll get life. But an acid attack is another life sentence. On top.’
‘I didn’t do anything!’
‘You expect us to believe that? Coldcut got one of his lads to splash acid all over Elliot’s face. Your old mate Coldcut. And, you know, the kid who was sleeping with your wife?’
Steve was panting now, his gaze shooting around the room.
‘And you know Daniel Dodoo. That’s on the record. Same with your history with Colin Cutler.’ Fenchurch leaned forward, drilling his gaze into Steve’s eyes. ‘Daniel did it. Splashed acid over Elliot’s face.’
‘You’re talking shit.’
‘We know you’re a dealer, Steve. Selling Blockchain, the drug you killed—’
‘No!’
‘—your wife with. You gave some to Elliot, only he betrayed your trust, didn’t he?’
‘No!’
‘All the time he was selling drugs for you, he was—’
‘No!’
‘—shagging your wife behind your back.’
‘I’m not a dealer!’
‘Really? See, we’ve got evidence that you were. Shitloads of product.’
‘That’s bullshit.’ Another thump of the desk. ‘That little shithead was the dealer!’
‘Oh, really?’
‘I bought from him.’
Fenchurch stopped. Does that make sense? Does anything? He leaned forward. ‘How did that work, then? “Here, sir, I’ve got some super-strong ecstasy, would you like some?” That how it went? Right in the middle of a double period?’
Steve leaned over and whispered in Unwin’s ear. Got a shrug in response. ‘I used to buy from Coldcut, then things started taking off for him, so he told me to buy from someone else.’
‘Daniel Dodoo?’
‘No, someone else. A couple of weeks back, my usual guy was out of coke, so he told me to visit Daniel.’ Steve sighed. ‘Too late to back out when one of your pupils turns up in your dealer’s flat.’ He shook his head, teeth bared. ‘Elliot had a big bag of coke. I wanted some.’ He shrugged. ‘We came to an arrangement. Neither of us would grass.’
‘You expect me to believe that Elliot just happened to turn up?’
Steve pressed his fist into the table. ‘Jesus Christ, why don’t you believe me?’
‘Because you’re lying, Steve. You murdered your wife and you got Coldcut to splash Elliot.’
‘I didn’t kill her!’ Steve looked like he was going to thump the desk again. Then he collapsed back, his face twisting up. ‘Look, I buy drugs every week, pretty much. Gayle . . . She loved . . . chemsex.’
‘Chemsex?’ Fenchurch could only laugh. ‘Here we go again. Steve, you—’
‘It’s true! Every Friday, we’d go for a few drinks with the guys from the school, then we’d slip off home. Take an E, put on some music. I’d take a Viagra, then all weekend we’d be mixing E with Special K, maybe some coke.’
‘Steve, quit while you’re behind.’
‘I loved my wife, even after she did what she did.’ Steve looked up at Fenchurch. ‘I didn’t kill her.’
‘Steve, you’re a drug dealer. Dealers lie.’
‘I’m not!’
‘We have a witness stating that you took money off him.’
Steve laughed. ‘That one time I bought coke off him, he sold me talc or something. He gave me a refund.’
‘He just gave you it, yeah?’
‘Had to get my usual guy to have a word, but yeah. Elliot must’ve been worried I’d grass to Colin.’
‘And does this “usual guy” have a name?’
‘I don’t know it. Prefer it that way.’
‘Convenient.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Just tell us where we can find him.’
Steve looked at his lawyer, then shrugged.
‘Come on, Steve, have you got a phone number? Email? Anything?’
‘No.’
‘Cut the bullshit. How can you buy drugs from a guy you’re not in touch with?’
Steve nibbled his nails. ‘Because he’s the barman at The Third Planet.’
‘Oliver Muscat-Smith?’
‘I don’t know his name.’ Steve ran a hand through his hair. ‘I tried to buy from him on Friday, but he wasn’t working. So I went to Daniel’s instead.’
‘Steve, that bar is in the Bennaceur Hotel.’ Fenchurch nodded, speeding up as things started to slot into place. ‘Oliver was drinking in there, though, wasn’t he? He told you Gayle was there, didn’t he? Then you and Coldcut went to kill her. Right?’
‘No!’
‘You’re digging a very deep hole for yourself. You’ve just reached the bottom and someone’s throwing mud on your head.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Nelson pulled on to Aldgate High Street, backed up with traffic swarming round a broken-down bus. ‘Be quicker walking.’
Fenchurch held the phone to his ear. ‘Yeah, I’m still here.’
‘Simon, I’m far too busy for this.’ Mulholland sounded annoyed. Loud chatter in the background. ‘I need you to take lead from DS Ashkani.’
�
�I wasn’t asking for direction, Dawn, I’m just updating you.’
‘Simon, you—’
Fenchurch killed the call. That could’ve gone better. He stuck his phone on silent and pocketed it. ‘She’s doing my head in, Jon. She’s supposed to be SIO but she’s just in meetings with Loftus all day long. Sounded like she was at a bloody conference. Wine and bloody nibbles.’
‘No doubt you’ll point that out to her.’ Nelson slipped through a gap in the traffic and pulled on to the Minories. Managed to get a space just down from the hotel. ‘Do you believe Steve?’
Fenchurch shrugged. ‘He believes his own lies.’ He got out of the car and started walking towards the hotel bar.
The place was open again, the lights twinkling in the afternoon murk in the deep shadows of the City’s towers. Through the window, Oliver Muscat-Smith was perched on a stool, twatting about on his phone. Looked bored out of his skull. The bar was almost empty, just an old guy at the back watching Sky on the telly and a man in his twenties approaching the bar. Oliver got up and started fiddling with the mountain of whiskies by the till.
‘That guy’s Steve’s dealer? Really?’ Fenchurch stopped in the street. ‘He’s just a gangly idiot. Too young to know anything.’
Oliver looked up at his customer and nodded. Then walked over to pull a pint.
‘Someone cloned the room card, Simon.’ Nelson sucked on his vape stick. ‘His own father’s card. He knew his father would be at the football then in the pub. Solid alibi.’
Oliver looked around the bar and nodded again at the punter. Then he slid something across the bar top.
Fenchurch set off again. ‘Did you see that?’
‘Oh yeah.’ Nelson started running, outstripping Fenchurch’s pace.
Fenchurch followed him inside, warrant card out. ‘Police!’
‘What?’ Oliver held up his hands.
The punter ran off. Nelson darted after him and tackled him by the door, pushing him on to the floor.
‘Oliver, Oliver, Oliver . . .’ Fenchurch shook his head at him. ‘We saw you. Selling drugs.’
Oliver looked like he was going to make a run for it.