In for the Kill (A DI Fenchurch novel Book 4)

by Ed James

  ‘We found her body at lunchtime.’

  Zachary dropped the pen. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘No, I’m just making it up to spook you.’ Fenchurch snatched the pen away, and put it way out of reach. ‘Yes, we found her body. You sent her a message. Said you liked her style.’

  Zachary bellowed out laughter. ‘Christ, you’re desperate.’ He reached into his desk drawer for a Filofax. Fenchurch hadn’t seen one in years. ‘Before we go too far down this rabbit hole . . .’ He flicked through and stopped at a page. ‘When do you want my alibi for?’

  ‘Let’s start with between twelve and two yesterday.’

  Zachary splayed the calendar across his desk and tapped at it with a finger. ‘I was in a session with Chancellor Uttley. Eleven until three.’ He waved at the door. ‘Brad was with me all the time, before you start.’ He snapped his Filofax shut. ‘Listen, my friend. You might not sympathise with my politics, but I’m not a killer.’

  ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

  ‘If you think I killed someone, based on me passing her a compliment, you should be arresting me. I’d love to see your pathetic prosecution getting taken apart by my defence team.’

  Fenchurch stared at him. ‘Okay. What about Zoe, then?’

  Zachary’s eyes narrowed to fine points. ‘Who?’

  ‘You sent her messages on Manor House.’ Fenchurch spotted it, a little twitch on Zachary’s forehead. Recognition. ‘She’s a client of Sam Edwards. Sam’s girlfriend’s been murdered. You connect to both of them. That’s interesting.’

  ‘This Zoe girl’ — Zachary stuffed his Filofax back in his drawer — ‘I know from camgirl message boards. She’s . . . confused. Bisexual is probably the best way to put it. She watches the boys and the girls on Manor House. We were discussing them.’

  ‘You were discussing boys?’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘What about Sam Edwards?’

  Zachary barked out a laugh. ‘Zoe never mentioned him to me.’

  ‘Here’s an interesting thing.’ Fenchurch leaned forward on his chair, like he was telling Zachary a deep, dark secret. ‘Someone sent me a video of Sam and this Zoe having sex.’ He shot a wink. ‘And you’ve got a connection to both of them, haven’t you?’

  ‘How am I connected to Sam Edwards? I’ve never even met the kid.’

  ‘His girlfriend was organising protests against you.’

  Zachary groaned. ‘The only time I spoke to Hannah was when I persuaded her not to throw her future away over this stupid protest.’

  ‘You didn’t show her this video file? Took it off her computer after you’d killed her? Think it’d be fun to send it to me?’

  ‘Why would I?’ Zachary held his gaze for a few seconds. ‘Listen, you probably don’t know this, but Jen— Chloe. She told me that she auditioned for that site.’

  ‘I know.’ Fenchurch leaned back in the chair. ‘Someone sent me a video of her audition. Wasn’t you, was it?’

  ‘As far as I knew, that whole thing sickened her.’

  ‘And yet you throw money at the girls on there?’

  ‘I’m not breaking the law, Inspector.’

  Fenchurch tossed the fountain pen for Zachary to catch. ‘Look, whatever. This Zoe woman is a person of interest in this case. Any idea how I can get hold of her?’

  ‘I don’t even know if that’s her real name. Like I said, I just chatted to her online.’

  ‘You mind if I see these messages?’

  Zachary smiled at him. ‘They’re encrypted. If you really want to see the content of those messages, then I’m going to need a warrant.’

  ‘So you’re hiding something?’

  ‘I never share anything with law enforcement.’

  ‘I’ll be back with a warrant. You won’t like it.’

  Zachary whistled, and his bodyguard shot into the room, clutching a coffee. ‘Brad, show the Inspector out.’

  Fenchurch got up and leaned across the desk to Zachary. ‘This isn’t over.’

  Fenchurch found Loftus in the Starbucks downstairs, overlooking the empty quad. Zenna Abercrombie clocked Fenchurch’s approach to their table. The place was on lockdown after the shooting.

  ‘Well, I’ve a few things to think about, Julian.’ Zenna got to her feet and adjusted her trousers. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Preferably after you’ve got your house in order, mm?’

  ‘I’m not the one who needs to cover their arse.’ She walked off, giving Fenchurch a nod as she passed him.

  Loftus took a sip from his coffee and grimaced. ‘Charming woman.’ His smile darkened. ‘Simon, we need a chat.’

  ‘A chat, great.’

  ‘I’ve just read this message Zachary sent to the murder victim.’ Loftus waited till Fenchurch sat then set his Airwave Pronto on the table. ‘He liked her style. Really? That’s enough to make him a suspect?’

  ‘It’s not just that, sir. He was in contact with a woman who . . .’ Fenchurch realised he hadn’t told Loftus about the video. About either video. ‘There are connections between Zachary and the Hannah Nunn case.’

  ‘Inspector!’ Loftus thumped the table. ‘We’ve got a suspect for both murders now. The Reynolds and Nunn families can grieve. Why on God’s green earth are you trying to discredit everything we do?’

  Fenchurch spotted Mulholland at the café door, lips pursed and smiling. ‘When you asked me to work with DI Winter, sir, you said you don’t want to be wrong and—’

  ‘We’ve got another shooting here! By the same bloody guy as last time! Another bent cop. They seem to hover round you—’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Enough!’ Another thump of the table and Zenna’s abandoned coffee tipped over, sluicing to the floor. Loftus wasn’t going to clean it up. ‘I’ve got deaths piling up and you’re not playing a team game. You need to stop. Now.’

  Mulholland sat between them. ‘Sir, I’ve seen what happens when—’

  ‘Dawn, butt out.’ Loftus didn’t even look at her. ‘DI Fenchurch, I need you to stop with this. Okay?’

  ‘Sir, I—’ Fenchurch pushed his chair back. Coffee was still dripping on the floor. ‘Okay.’

  Loftus looked over at Mulholland. ‘Dawn, what do you want to tell us?’

  ‘The IPCC have interviewed Thwaite, sir. I sat in and, well, he didn’t speak. Not a word.’

  ‘Well, then.’ Loftus got to his feet and did up his buttons. ‘Okay, Dawn. Let’s you and me have a word with him. Now, Simon, I need you to head back to Leman Street and start on your statement, okay?’

  Where the hell did this leave him?

  Zachary was a slight suspect, connected to people by mysterious messages that they couldn’t access. There was a motive, as clear as the fragments they had for Keane.

  But . . .

  His phone rang. Perfect. ‘Sir, we need to keep Zachary as a suspect. This was based on solid intel.’

  ‘That Zachary dated your daughter.’ Mulholland’s eyes were pleading with Loftus. ‘You’re letting your feelings make a mess of—’

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s a mess. You, Dawn. When Chloe went missing, you made a blunder, and the more I think about it, the more it seems deliberate.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Her eyes kept darting over to Loftus. ‘Sir, this is gibberish.’

  ‘Gibberish?’ Fenchurch folded his arms. ‘You let the man who kidnapped my daughter go!’

  Mulholland’s glare could’ve sliced through him. ‘Simon, you need—’

  ‘Are you going to answer that?’ Loftus was pointing at Fenchurch’s trouser pocket.

  ‘Right.’ Fenchurch checked his phone.

  Unknown number.

  Bloody hell.

  He answered it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Simon, it’s Jim.’

  Fenchurch frowned. ‘Jim?’

  ‘Ormonde? Your father-in-law!’

  Fenchurch gasped. ‘Is Abi okay?’

  ‘She’s going into labour!’


  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chloe was in an office on the first floor, sitting on a bench in front of a long table covered in laptops, giving her statement to DC Bridge. Chloe looked up at Fenchurch. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She’ll live.’ Fenchurch flashed a look at Bridge. ‘Constable?’ He waited for her to join him in the doorway. ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s . . .’ Bridge frowned at Chloe. ‘She’s in shock, sir. Someone shot at her.’

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘Well, I’ve taken her statement, but DI Mulholland ordered me not to let her leave.’

  ‘Give me a minute, okay?’ Fenchurch didn’t wait for a reply, just entered the room. ‘Chloe.’ He grimaced. ‘Jennifer. Abi’s gone into labour.’

  ‘So?’

  Chloe’s boyfriend appeared in the hallway, frowning at Fenchurch. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I need to speak to . . .’ Fenchurch glanced at Chloe. ‘Her.’

  ‘Mate, can you butt out?’

  Fenchurch shot him a furious glare. ‘Sir, I need you to back off.’

  ‘You’re the one who—’

  ‘Come on, sir.’ Bridge led him away, Chloe’s boyfriend grunting and glowering as he let her.

  Chloe didn’t look at him. ‘He told you to butt out.’

  ‘I heard.’ Fenchurch sat next to Chloe. ‘I want you to listen to me. Okay? I don’t care who you think you are, who those animals led you to believe you are, but the woman who brought you into this world is giving birth to your brother. Right now. She needs you.’

  A frown twitched on her forehead. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘I need to find out.’ Fenchurch swallowed down a lump in his throat and reached over, offering his hand. ‘I’m going to the hospital now. I would like you to come with me.’

  Chloe grabbed his hand and stood up, holding tight, like when she was little and he’d taken her last sweetie. ‘Okay.’

  Fenchurch led her out into the foyer, his heart thudding in his chest.

  Her boyfriend blocked their progress. ‘Jen, what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Pete, I . . . Sorry. I need to do this. Sorry.’

  ‘Be strong, Jen.’

  ‘Pete . . .’

  ‘No, Jen. You told me to—’

  ‘Sir.’ Fenchurch ushered him to the side, still holding his daughter’s hand. ‘I need you to back off.’

  Chloe let go of Fenchurch’s hand. She tried to smile at Pete, anger knotting her forehead. Then she walked off, hugging herself tight.

  ‘Jen?’ Pete watched her go, his mouth hanging open. ‘You need to be strong.’

  ‘She’s being very strong.’ Fenchurch gave him what he thought was a reassuring smile. ‘I won’t let her leave my side. I swear.’

  Chloe was much faster than her old man sprinting down the hospital corridors, but she kept pace as each automatic door slid open. Still wasn’t speaking, but her presence—

  Fenchurch slipped and stumbled on the floor, sliding across the lino. His knee felt like it had twisted inside out again.

  ‘You okay?’ Chloe stood over him, holding out a hand.

  Fenchurch got up to a crouch and let her help him to his feet. ‘Cracked my knee arresting someone the other day.’

  ‘Your life is mental . . . You okay to keep going?’

  ‘Should be.’ Fenchurch started off at walking pace. No chance he was getting any more speed out of it. ‘Thanks for coming with me.’

  She sunk her head and walked ahead of him. He’d lost her again.

  Round the corner, Jim stood in the doorway of the maternity ward, concern etched into his frown. He looked at Chloe, seemed to think nothing of it, then focused on Fenchurch. Then did a double take.

  Fenchurch followed Chloe in, trying to make it feel natural, like nothing weird was going on.

  Through the door, Abi lay in the bed, groaning and huffing. Evelyn sat next to her, clasping her daughter’s hand. ‘Oh my God.’

  Abi frowned at Chloe. ‘Sweet Jesus.’ Her face knitted tight. ‘Simon, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Your dad phoned, told me you’d gone into labour?’

  ‘It’s going be hours yet.’ Abi glared at her father. ‘Dad, you could’ve waited!’

  ‘He did the right thing.’ Fenchurch got on the other side of the bed. ‘I would’ve killed him if he’d kept it to himself.’ He swallowed. ‘The baby’s definitely coming?’

  ‘Two months early.’ Abi looked over at her daughter. ‘Just like you. Must be something wrong with me.’

  A smile flashed across Chloe’s lips. ‘It’s more likely to be him, isn’t it?’ Then the smile slipped away. ‘I didn’t know I was . . . That there was something wrong with me.’

  Fenchurch locked eyes with her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’ Then Abi. ‘With either of you.’

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ Abi smiled at Chloe. ‘I know we’ve had our—’ She choked. And again. ‘Differences. But.’ She started shaking. Rocking. Her stomach twitched, then her throat twisted, like a cat sicking up a fur ball. She moaned low and deep.

  ‘Abi!’ Fenchurch grabbed her arms. Couldn’t keep her still. ‘Abi?’

  Evelyn shot up from her chair. ‘What the hell is happening? Jim!’

  Abi’s chest rocked forward. Her arms tore at Fenchurch’s grip. Hyperventilating. Shaking. Kicking. Her head twisted to the side and she groaned again.

  ‘Stand clear!’ A doctor nudged Fenchurch out of the way.

  A nurse followed him in, then lowered Abi’s head and pulled up the side rails. Then they grabbed the oxygen mask and stood over her.

  Abi still shook, jerking wildly, clamping her teeth like a zombie biting at flesh.

  ‘Out!’ The doctor waved at the door, clutching a syringe in his free hand. ‘I need the room!’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Fenchurch couldn’t stand still. He paced around the hospital corridor, as much to keep his leg from locking as . . .

  Through the metal door, Abi was still moaning low, that deep bass roar you got in the cinema. Groaning like something out of a horror film. But it was real. Acid stung at his guts.

  He collapsed into the chair next to Chloe. She was fiddling on her phone. Googling, by the looks of it. She held it out to him. ‘Could be epilepsy.’

  Fenchurch squinted at the screen. ‘Can’t read that.’

  ‘Don’t you get eye tests in the police?’

  ‘My sight’s fine for most things. Up close, it’s shocking.’ Fenchurch took the phone and slipped on his glasses. ‘She’s never had epilepsy. I’d know. Your grand— Jim and Evelyn would, too.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Chloe took her phone back and fiddled with it. ‘Heard of pre-eclampsia?’

  ‘She was tested for it in the summer. Came back negative.’

  Jim appeared at the end of the corridor. Evelyn stood next to him, tears streaming down her face. Jim stopped and shielded his wife. ‘Any news?’

  Fenchurch got to his feet. ‘We’re asking Dr Google.’

  Jim blew air up his face. Couldn’t take his eyes off Chloe. ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘You’re not alone.’

  ‘Does anyone want anything? Tea, coffee?’ Evelyn’s gaze settled on Chloe, her smile taking years of creases off her face. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Not since lunchtime.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’d kill for a burrito.’

  Jim frowned at Fenchurch. ‘A burrito?’

  The door clattered open and the doctor appeared. Mr Stephenson, the one who did the antenatal screenings. Another due next week. Grey skin, grey hair, grey shirt, lugging a dark-silver tablet PC. Heavyset, the kind of guy who knew his way round a scrum.

  Fenchurch got up. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well.’ Stephenson consulted his tablet. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, Mrs Fenchurch is going to be in labour for hours. At present, she’s being sedated for her health.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I’m running some tests.’
r />   ‘The same ones you were supposed to run months ago?’ Fenchurch wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream at him. ‘Did you miss something?’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ Stephenson raised a finger to stop a question from Fenchurch. ‘This is perfectly common in older mothers. In the vast majority of cases, it’s something we can medicate.’

  ‘And in the others?’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Medicine is all about diagnosis. You need evidence to figure out what is wrong.’

  Fenchurch swallowed hard. ‘How . . . how is the baby?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s in the lap of the gods.’ Stephenson clutched his tablet tight to his chest. ‘We have a strong, healthy heartbeat, which a great sign. We’ll get a better idea in the next four hours about whether baby will survive.’

  Chloe’s small hand wrapped around Fenchurch’s sausage fingers. ‘Can we see her?’

  ‘She’s under sedation. Nurse will be giving her full-time supervision.’ Stephenson tried a warm smile, but it bounced off Fenchurch. ‘We’re doing everything we can, I assure you.’

  Fenchurch could only nod. He got another squeeze from his daughter.

  Stephenson scanned around the others. ‘I’d recommend that you all go home. Grab some sleep, get something to eat. I won’t be able to let anyone in until Mrs Fenchurch is awake in the morning.’

  ‘Okay.’ Evelyn smiled at him. ‘Thank you, doctor.’

  Jim wrapped his arm round his wife. ‘You’ve got our number, haven’t you?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Stephenson smiled at Fenchurch. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He set off, swinging his arms like a sergeant major on the drill ground.

  Jim pecked his wife on the top of her head. ‘We need to book another night’s stay, love.’

  ‘Let’s get it out of the way, then.’ Evelyn frowned at her granddaughter. ‘Do you want to come with us? Have some food?’

  Chloe ignored them, staring into her father’s eyes. ‘We’ll stay.’ She pumped his hand. ‘We’ll stay.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jim grabbed his wife’s shoulders and led her away.

  ‘Thanks.’ Fenchurch couldn’t even think, he was so stressed. Nothing to do but wait. Impatience was his worst trait. He knew it, everyone knew it. If Loftus didn’t, Mulholland would be telling him right about now.