by Ed James
‘I went to school not far from there. It’s tough.’
Liam took a drink. ‘And another thing.’ Starting to slur his words now. God knows how many he had before I arrived. ‘Steve said you let him go?’
‘Liam, are you just trying to get me to spill some confidential information here?’
‘Piss off, of course I’m not. We’re off the record here.’ Liam burped into his fist. ‘Sure I can’t get you a beer?’
‘Had a skinful last night.’
‘Well. Anyway. You let Steve go?’
Fenchurch stared into Liam’s glass, focusing on the outline of a human head with a huge fin sticking out the back, just like a pterodactyl. I’ll drip-feed him some shit that’ll come out soon anyway, see if he opens up. ‘Dropped him at his brother’s myself. He was bailed on the drug offences this morning.’
‘And the murder charges?’
‘His alibi checked out. It wasn’t him.’
‘Losing your wife, then you questioning him about every little argument, going through his texts and emails and bank statements.’ Liam flashed a grin. ‘Makes you wonder who the bad guys are, eh?’
Fenchurch grabbed Liam’s glass and held it away from him. ‘Did you give him the video?’
‘Of course I didn’t.’ Liam grabbed at the beer like a smackhead reaching for a needle. ‘He wasn’t making much sense, just wanted to see his wife again. Started threatening me, but I stood my ground. Told him to piss off.’ He burped. ‘Which he very graciously did.’ He sat back and laughed. ‘I’m not giving up my source.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Did Steve say where he was going?’
‘Not to me.’
‘Thanks, Liam.’ Fenchurch got up and passed the beer back. ‘I’ll see you around.’ He traipsed down the stairs and waded through the scrum again, then over to the makeshift bar. A couple of nails hadn’t been hammered in properly. Liam’s waiter was pouring another beer from a tap at the back. He swung round and nodded at Fenchurch. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Get my mate another couple.’ Fenchurch put a tenner on the bar. ‘Oh, and when his girlfriend turns up, she’s underage.’
Fenchurch got out of the car and looked around. No sign of Reed. There was a light on in John Fisher’s flat, though. He set off towards it.
‘Guv.’ Reed was lurking in the shadows down the road. ‘Thought Loftus told you to keep clear of Steve?’
Fenchurch just cleared his throat. ‘Who told you, anyway?’
‘A little birdie.’
‘That little birdie hears a lot, Kay.’ Fenchurch continued on towards the flat. The air stank of burning wood, like someone had a bonfire going. ‘Wondering if that little birdie heard anything about Brendan Holding?’
Reed stopped at the edge of the car park. ‘Shit.’
Fenchurch rounded on her. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
‘Course I bloody knew.’ She let out a sigh, hands on hips. ‘On a scale of one to kneecapping, how angry are you?’
‘I’m . . .’ Fenchurch ran a hand down his face. ‘It’s . . . it’s a bit of a shock, you know? All that time, I was like a monk and she . . .’
‘Guv, that was one slip.’
‘Lasted a while, though, right?’
‘She thought it might lead to something. Holding was too focused on his career.’ Reed ran a hand through her hair. Couldn’t make eye contact with him. ‘I saw how much you were hurting underneath. I helped Abi see that you weren’t being a selfish prick. Helped her remember what she had with you. Someone she loved enough to have a child with.’ She looked straight at him. ‘And another one now.’
Fenchurch had to look away. ‘The op was a success, by the way.’
‘Christ, that’s a relief.’ Reed stroked his arm.
Fenchurch looked at her. The one person who’d been there for him, who still was. The closest thing he had to a friend.
‘She thought you’d fly off the handle when you found out.’
‘Well, I’ve changed.’
‘You’re honestly accepting that she was seeing someone else?’
‘I’m not happy, but yeah, I’ll accept it. We weren’t married. I was a hermit in my little cave, drinking myself stupid every night with Jon bloody Nelson. I’d been a complete arsehole and—’
‘You hadn’t been—’
‘I had. A complete arsehole. Selfish. Thoughtless. Obsessed.’
‘Okay, but for obvious reasons.’
‘Doesn’t matter. I let her down.’
‘So long as you’re not wondering where you can take him in the Highlands that he’ll never be found?’
‘There’s this little bit just past Kinbrace . . .’ Fenchurch grinned at her.
‘You’re still a complete arsehole, guv.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Fenchurch walked over to the flat and knocked on the door. ‘Anyway, I’m struggling with what the hell Steve’s up to.’ He knocked again. ‘Police!’ Then again. ‘I dropped him here about an hour and a half ago and I watched him go inside.’
‘Next thing you know, he’s at Liam’s?’
‘Right. Off his face on booze and God knows what. I’m thinking he got in, his brother’s out, so Steve sits down with a beer, checks the news. Sees another story about his wife and sees Liam’s name on it. Tucks into some ketamine he’s hidden away elsewhere in the flat. Then he sits there, thinking. And gets a cab up to Liam’s flat.’
‘How did he get the address?’
‘Another hole in Liam’s story.’
‘You think he’s lying?’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’ Fenchurch shrugged. ‘I just don’t know why.’
The door opened and John stood there in a dressing gown, soaking wet. ‘What?’
‘Steve in?’
‘Got back about twenty minutes ago.’ John tied his belt tight. ‘You can’t—’
Fenchurch barged past him.
John clawed at his shoulder as he marched through the kitchen. ‘Here, have you got a warrant?’
‘You got a reason to not let us in?’ Fenchurch brushed him off and knocked on the bedroom door. ‘Steve?’
No answer.
‘Steve, it’s DI Fenchurch. Need to ask you a couple of questions.’
A loud moaning sound came from inside the room.
Fenchurch tried the door. Locked. ‘Sorry about this.’ He gave it the shoulder and knocked the door clean off its hinges.
Steve sat on the bed, naked, facing his brother’s gaming computer, masturbating, tears streaming down his cheeks. The PC’s screen played a video, Gayle straddling Elliot, moaning and panting. ‘Oh my God!’
Steve glanced round at them, tears in his eyes, waggling around. Then his focus went back to the screen. He kept beating away.
A bag of white pills lay on the edge of the bed nearest Fenchurch, the Bitcoin logo stamped on them. ‘Shit!’
Chapter Forty-Four
Fenchurch powered through Aldgate, craning his neck to look in the back. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘I don’t know!’ John sat next to Steve, wearing a navy tracksuit, his dressing gown wrapped around his brother. ‘Stop that!’
Steve’s hand went for his penis and John slapped it away.
‘I love her!’ Steve’s words were a blur, all mushed up like baby food. ‘If you can still wank over your wife, it must be love. Yeah? Yeah! YEAH!’
Fenchurch pulled off the main road and raced down the street towards the hospital. He pulled up outside A&E and got out, tearing at the back door to help John get out Steve out.
His hands kept going to his genitals.
Fenchurch cuffed him.
‘I still love her!’ Steve lurched forward, toppling on to the concrete. ‘And I’ll see her soon!’
A team of nurses rushed out and hoisted him on to a gurney.
Dr Mulkalwar followed them out, her long hair shaken out of their clips. ‘You’re sure it’s another Blockchain case?’
‘He’d taken these.’ Fenchurch held
up the evidence bag. ‘I think he was trying to kill himself. Kept going on about seeing her soon. He’s probably taken a handful. His eyes are all over the place.’
‘Okay.’ Mulkalwar stared at the drugs. ‘Can you get DI Nelson to fast-track it for me?’ She set off. ‘I’ll work on the assumption that it is.’ She jogged off behind the nurses and the gurney.
John looked lost as he followed them in.
Fenchurch sat back against his car, his gut roaring.
Killing yourself like that. Jesus . . .
And he’s been telling the truth all along — he didn’t kill his wife. He loved her. Still does. Till death do us part.
Why didn’t I believe him? It’s the same with me and Abi. All the time we were apart and I just wanted to be with her and . . . All the shit we’d been through, everything I did to her, the way I acted, everything I didn’t say. I couldn’t cope without her.
What Steve must be going through . . .
‘Guv, are you okay?’ Reed walked towards him, out of breath.
Fenchurch shrugged.
‘Think we saved his life?’
‘We’ll see. Doesn’t look like he wants us to, though.’
‘This is . . .’ Reed shook her head. ‘I mean . . . Doing that after his wife died.’
‘The guy’s innocent. Instead of convicting him, we broke him.’ Something clawed away at Fenchurch’s gut. ‘He was trying to kill himself, Kay. Told us his drugs had been taken, but still had them, just hid them. Then took them to top himself. Thought he’d get to see Gayle in the afterlife.’
‘There was a case in Scotland a few years back, guv. Almost convicted a guy of killing his ex-wife. Just like this. Turned out someone was framing him, though.’
Fenchurch’s head hung low. ‘Nobody framed Steve, other than me. His story fell apart. I was convinced he was guilty, that he had killed her. He was just grieving.’
‘Come on, guv.’ Reed grabbed the drugs off him and put the poison away in her jacket pocket. ‘Did Steve say how he got that video?’
‘No.’ Fenchurch walked off towards his car, parked at a diagonal, the doors hanging open, hazards blazing. ‘Liam’s the only person we know who had it. He didn’t record it, though. We know his source didn’t.’
‘That Katerina girl?’
‘Right. She must’ve got it for him, but Liam told me she didn’t give him the video.’
‘Steve must’ve found him and got it off him. Lisa’s on her way over here now. She’ll find out how he got it.’
‘In the meantime, I want to haul that lying little bastard over the coals.’
The bar was even busier, if that was possible. No sign of Liam upstairs or down. Fenchurch charged through the crowd around the bar. ‘Bloody hipsters.’
‘They’re all right, you know.’ Reed wrestled through the crowd, following Fenchurch. ‘It’s supposed to be about being into something. Brewing. Chiptune music. Beekeeping. Collecting fifties paperbacks. Whatever. It shouldn’t be about twirly moustaches and Mumford & Sons. It’s about being unique.’
‘By all looking the bloody same.’ Fenchurch pushed into a clearing around the bar.
Liam’s barman was carrying two beer glasses, looked like he was about to back into the crowd.
Fenchurch stopped him. ‘I was in here with this bloke earlier.’ He showed him an old photo of Liam. ‘He’s got a skinhead now, lost the beard.’
‘You sure about that, dude?’
‘Wearing a baseball cap. I gave you a tenner to get him a couple of drinks.’
‘Oh, I remember now. The underage girlfriend?’
‘He still about?’
‘No. He snatched that tenner out of my grubby mitts and sailed off into the night.’
‘Didn’t get a phone call? Anything like that?’
‘Come on, dude, it’s 2017, nobody phones anyone. The guy was messing about on his mobile. Maybe his schoolgirlfriend sent him a WhatsApp?’
‘Anybody turn up looking for him?’
‘Nope.’ He stopped, frowning at Fenchurch. ‘Wait. A woman came in. Not a schoolgirl. Late twenties. Tall. Nice enough.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ Fenchurch turned to Reed. ‘I’m hoping that little shit’s gone back to his flat, otherwise we’re trawling Dalston looking for a rave.’
Reed started pushing through the crowd. ‘Now, that takes me back.’
‘Still no joy.’ Fenchurch put his phone away and knocked on Liam’s flat door again. ‘Where the bloody hell is he?’
‘I can hear something.’ Reed pressed her ear against the door and frowned. ‘Jesus. Force & Styles. “Heart of Gold”. Takes me even further back, guv. Had so many cracking nights in fields near Maidstone or Milton Keynes.’
Fenchurch thumped the door again. ‘Pilled off your face, eh?’
‘Not all the time.’
‘With your lapdancing and drug use, it’s a miracle you ever got in the force.’ Fenchurch thumped the door again. ‘He’s inside. Why the hell isn’t he answering the phone?’
‘Think he’s avoiding you?’
‘Makes me think he gave the video to Steve.’ Fenchurch reached out to give one last knock.
The door opened and Liam’s housemate Cally stood there, dressed up like she was going out on the town, stinking of perfume. The cat swarmed around her ankles. ‘Yeah?’
‘Looking for Liam.’
She picked up the cat and got fluff all over her silk blouse. ‘He’s not here.’
‘You haven’t heard from him tonight?’
‘No.’
Fenchurch checked his phone. Still nothing. ‘Shit.’ He stepped away from the door, trying hard to control himself. Just furrowed his brow, trying to look serious and in control. ‘I need to speak to him. He told me he was meeting his girlfriend then going to some rave.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She here?’
Cally scowled at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just wondering if he met Katerina here.’
‘That’s what he told you? Those exact words?’
Fenchurch’s turn to scowl. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He told you he was going with “his girlfriend” called “Katerina”?’
‘Not in so many words. Why?’
‘Who the hell is Katerina?’
‘She was a source. A schoolgirl.’
‘Her?’
‘She’s in sixth form. Seventeen.’ Christ, I’m almost defending Liam.
‘He’s . . .’ Cally huffed out a sigh. The cat scrabbled away from her, then ran off inside the flat, her tail fluffed up. ‘Right.’ She huffed out a sigh. ‘You know how Liam said he was going clubbing with his girlfriend? He was.’ She prodded her chest. ‘Me.’
‘What?’
‘I’m his girlfriend. At least, I thought I was.’ Cally shut her eyes. ‘Few months ago, we went to Marakesh on holiday as mates. We came back, well . . . more than that.’
‘I’d say congrats are in order, but I really need to speak to him.’
‘Not before I do. I’ll kill him. Shagging a schoolgirl behind my back?’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Any idea where this rave is?’
‘Just told me Dalston. Supposed to be a surprise.’ Cally grimaced. ‘Liam got the tickets. Been on all weekend getting the Sunday sorted, then this shit exploded. There’s always something, though, so we made Mondays our Friday. There’s always something on in London, if you know where to look. Last week, I took Liam to a reggae night in Brixton. He loved it.’
‘Okay. Wind back. When did you last hear from him?’
‘This afternoon. We arranged to meet in that bar he likes down the road. Supposed to just grab a beer, go for dinner, then off to this rave. So I’m sitting there, all dolled up, waiting for him. And he didn’t turn up.’
‘How long did you wait?’
‘Forty minutes. Didn’t answer his bloody phone.’
‘Is there anything else that Liam’s working on that coul
d get him into trouble?’
‘You know what he’s like.’ She groaned. ‘There’s always something. I don’t know half of what he’s got on, but he’s never mentioned anything particularly troublesome.’
‘No gangs, anything like that?’
‘Not after what happened to Saskia.’
Fenchurch nodded in sympathy. ‘You knew her?’
‘She was a friend, yeah. What happened to her was . . . It hit both of us hard. Kind of brought us together.’
‘Have you got that location-sharing thing on your phones?’
‘Just a sec.’ She went back inside.
‘I’m getting a really bad feeling about this, Kay.’
‘You think he’s involved?’
‘Who knows.’
Cally appeared again and held up her phone. ‘Says it’s switched off.’
Fenchurch parked outside Katerina Raptis’s house, a seventies brick-and-wood home not far from the Olympic Park. Tiny, with an even smaller garden. The sort of shoebox they sell to people looking to get on the housing ladder, who then get stuck in debt and misery. He got out on to the street. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A missed call from Uzma. He put the phone away and walked over to the door.
Reed tried the buzzer. ‘I’m getting a—’
The door opened in a flurry of hair and fabric. Jocasta Raptis stood there. ‘Well, hello, Inspector.’ Her eyelashes were fluttering. ‘How can—’
Reed took charge. ‘Ms Raptis, we’re—’
‘I told you, call me Jocasta!’
‘Is your daughter in?’
‘She’s not, no.’ Jocasta stepped outside, wrapping her shawl over her shoulders. ‘Can I help?’
‘This is important. When did you last see her?’
‘She’s not here.’ Jocasta covered her face with her hands. ‘Has something happened?’
‘It’s okay.’ Fenchurch stepped back, hands up. ‘We just need to speak to her. She might be able to help us identify a person of interest on the case.’