The Divinities

by Parker Bilal

  ‘One last question, then we will truly leave you in peace.’ Kelly smiled. ‘How would you describe the state of their marriage?’

  ‘Oh . . . you know.’ Her gaze bobbed around the gallery. ‘Like every couple. They had their ups and downs, I suppose. Sometimes they argue, but solid, very solid.’

  ‘I’m just having a thought,’ Kelly said when they were back in the car. ‘Is there a chance her being coy about her date was because it was a married man by the name of Howard Thwaite?’

  ‘You really have to stop reading those scandal rags.’

  ‘I’m serious. We’re looking for motive, right?’

  ‘We need to dig deeper,’ said Drake. ‘We should take a look at Thwaite’s finances.

  ‘Right.’ Kelly was looking out of the window. ‘You didn’t tell me what Wheeler wanted.’

  ‘He wants to bring in a Doctor Rayhana Crane, forensic psychologist.’

  ‘Good looking?’

  Cal squinted at her. ‘I’m not sure I see the relevance of that question.’

  ‘Ah, cagey answer, which suggests you might be interested.’

  ‘Can we try and stay with the investigation?’

  ‘As you wish, but just remember what I said. What did she say?’

  Drake drummed a finger on the wheel as they waited for the lights to change. ‘She thinks we might be looking at a re-enactment of sharia punishment.’

  ‘Great, so all aboard the crazy train.’

  ‘Something like that,’ murmured Drake.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘So, Wheeler actually bought into this?’ Kelly asked. ‘You know what he’s like. He wants to make sure he’s covered all the angles. He wants to be able to say he’s done everything he could.’

  ‘And she seriously thinks the killings may be an Islamic ritual execution?’

  ‘It’s a theory. That’s her job, to come up with creative solutions.’

  ‘Creative being the operative word.’

  Drake was sifting through the cupboards. ‘How come we never have any cups?’

  ‘Because this coffee is a health hazard.’ Kelly reached under the sink and came up with a stack of plastic cups. Drake took one and placed it in the machine and listened while it whirred itself into action. Kelly folded her arms and leaned against the wall.

  ‘So, what do we do with all this?’

  ‘Nothing, for the moment. Let her run with it.’ Drake bent to peer into the delivery port. ‘Did we get the interpreter for the caretaker?’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr Cricket. Turns out his English isn’t so bad after all.’ Kelly waggled a hand in the air. ‘My feeling is he’s up to something.’

  ‘Too many favours for friends?’

  ‘Nobody from east of the Med had a bad word to say about him, but the rest of them hate the man. Which made me wonder.’

  ‘He’s providing illegals, you mean?’ Drake tapped the side of the machine.

  ‘And taking a cut off their pay packets.’

  He leapt back as, without warning, coffee shot from the spout, knocking the cup over and spilling scalding hot liquid all over the floor. Drake cursed and began mopping up the mess with paper towels.

  ‘Interesting technique you have there, chief.’

  ‘What about the no shows?’ Drake asked, reaching for more towels.

  ‘Ah, that’s where it gets better. Mr Cricket had egg all over his face by the time he’d finished.’ Kelly was chuckling. ‘Three of them had done a runner in the past week. Every now and then someone decides to make an anonymous call to Border Force. Just for fun. According to our helpful site supervisor, Mr Cricket was about to be suspended.’

  ‘For taking kickbacks?’

  ‘It looks that way.’

  ‘Speaking of our friendly supervisor, did you get the lists we asked for?’

  ‘Ah, our Welsh boyo, the master of disaster.’ Kelly Marsh rolled her eyes. ‘He’s up to his neck in problems, mostly of his own making, I should add. He’s working another site for sure, maybe two. Small operations. The whole set-up is in free fall. Organized chaos. They are ninety days behind schedule, not thirty. If they go over again they get hit with hefty fines.’

  ‘Most of the buyers are foreign?’

  ‘It’s the global economy, stupid. We cut Europe loose so we could sell everything we’ve got to the highest bidder. There’s a logic in there somewhere but don’t ask me to explain it.’

  Drake snorted. ‘Careful, you’re beginning to sound like a socialist.’

  ‘It comes with the territory.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the case in point.’

  ‘The point is people come and go. Nobody has a clue what’s really happening. Christ, most of them don’t understand what the foreman is saying.’

  ‘Which is where Mr Cricket comes in.’

  ‘When he walked in there he thought it was just another cock-up. Someone dumping a load of gravel in the wrong place. Happens all the time apparently.’

  ‘We should get him in.’

  ‘Way ahead of you,’ Kelly glanced at her watch. ‘He should be waiting in the sweatbox.’

  Drake dried off his hands. ‘Then what are we standing about for?’

  The ‘sweatbox’ or interview room was an airless room whose shadows were split by a couple of white neon strips in the ceiling. The refurbishment budget hadn’t quite reached this far. Like an old gym, it reeked of vomit and stale perspiration, as if the walls had been painted with the stuff. You could squeeze three or four people in there, so long as they didn’t breathe too deeply.

  Kardax was slumped over the narrow table in an uncomfortable plastic chair. Beside him was a bald, bespectacled man wearing a corduroy suit that was tight around the shoulders and midriff. Hussein Shamshad, nicknamed ‘The Shambles’. Drake recognized the particular combination of mothballs and Old Spice before he’d even stepped through the door. Shamshad was an experienced public defender who relished his role as an agitator. He started to speak before Kelly had time to do the honours with the audio recorder. She stopped him and got everyone to state their names clearly before letting him continue.

  ‘Before we begin, I must protest in the strongest possible terms. My client has been deprived of his rights. He’s been kept here for hours.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ said Drake. ‘Your client has been a naughty boy and if he doesn’t start cooperating I am going to be forced to call in IE.’

  ‘Are you threatening my client?’

  ‘Not at all,’ beamed Drake. ‘Just letting him know that we have an obligation to inform Immigration Enforcement of any infringements.’

  Kardax leaned over to his lawyer and the two men consulted in whispers.

  ‘Profiting from illegal aliens is a serious crime and he could find himself imprisoned or deported, maybe both if he’s lucky.’ Drake locked his fingers together on the table. ‘Does Mr Kardax understand what I am saying or does he require the services of an interpreter?’

  Kardax’s eyes darted back and forth between Drake and Kelly before nodding.

  ‘Is okay.’

  ‘Good. The statement provided by your client is notable for what it leaves out and makes a convincing argument for perverting the course of justice. Is your client aware of the consequences of such a charge?’

  Shamshad licked his lips. ‘My client rejects any suggestion he had anything to do with these murders.’

  ‘The only way the perpetrators could get in and out of the site without being noticed is if they had access to keys and the electronic passcode on the front gate.’

  ‘That’s pure speculation. We have no idea how the perpetrators entered or left the site. Either way, you can’t prove that it was my client who provided access.’

  ‘I don’t need to. I need him to prove that he didn’t. Otherwise, I’m charging him with being an accomplice.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Shamshad demanded. ‘My client is a witness. He called the police.’

  ‘I’d like to know why your cli
ent took so long to call the police.’ Drake flipped through the pages of the cardboard folder in front of him. ‘According to the site manager the caretaker arrives on site at 5.30 a.m. But he didn’t call it in until nearly an hour later.’

  ‘We’ve already been through this.’

  ‘You know how this works. Ask him.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Shamshad huddled with his client, then began to speak. ‘He saw a hand sticking out. He began digging, thinking there had been a terrible accident.’

  Drake leaned forwards to tap the table in front of Kardax. ‘Do us all a favour and speak for yourself. Your English is probably better than mine.’

  The lawyer put a hand out to caution his client to remain silent, but Kardax pushed it aside wearily.

  ‘I thought it was some of my boys.’

  ‘Your boys? What exactly does that mean?’

  Kardax took a deep breath. ‘I owe money.’

  ‘Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Who do you owe money to?’

  ‘Some men.’

  ‘What men?’

  ‘I can’t.’ Kardax shook his head. ‘Very dangerous.’

  ‘You have no idea.’ Drake tapped a finger on the table. ‘This is dangerous. You want to be sent home, because believe me, it’s easier than you think.’

  ‘They bring me people, I find them work.’

  ‘These men provide workers and in exchange you get a cut of their wages, is that it?’

  Kardax glanced at his lawyer and then nodded.

  ‘Mr Kardax has just nodded to indicate a yes,’ Kelly said for the record.

  Drake took over again. ‘You pay a fee to the suppliers. So basically the workers get nothing, or next to nothing?’

  Another nod. Drake sat back.

  ‘Everyone goes home happy,’ said Kelly. Kardax looked at her, but said nothing. ‘And you’re in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘No, no,’ pleaded Kardax. ‘I want to help.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you call the police straight away?’

  ‘In my country, police very bad.’

  Drake leaned in again. ‘You didn’t call because you thought the victims were illegals. You were afraid it would get you into trouble.’

  Kardax was silent, but the point had been made and he wasn’t disputing it.

  ‘I think perhaps we all need a break.’ Shamshad flashed a packet of Silk Cut. Drake indicated for Kelly to do the honours with the tape machine. Leaving Kelly with Kardax, Drake led the way out of the room and down the corridor to a fire escape that led up to a corner of the roof littered with cigarette butts. Seagulls fluttered over the river and somewhere in the distance a helicopter buzzed an urgent line towards the City.

  ‘You’re a real piece of work, Drake,’ said Shamshad as he lit up.

  ‘Your client is complicit in people trafficking. He’s making a profit from employing illegals, that’s exploitative. On top of that we have two bodies crushed into hamburger meat.’

  ‘You’re threatening to deport him. That’s cold.’

  ‘He’s playing games. He’s protecting his suppliers and someone somewhere knows how the perpetrators got onto the site.’

  ‘How do you live with yourself?’

  ‘Don’t get cute with me, Hussein. We both know how this works.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ White smoke streamed from Shamshad’s nostrils. ‘Here you are, working for a racist organization, the token minority officer.’

  Drake pushed his hands into his pockets and stared west towards the river. ‘Save it for the rallies.’

  ‘You’re playing Tonto to their Lone Ranger.’

  ‘I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.’

  ‘It means you’re a sell out, to your own people.’

  ‘Nice try,’ Drake said. ‘But I don’t have people.’

  ‘We all have people.’ Shamshad held his stance. ‘They demoted you, Cal, remember, dropped you from Inspector to Detective Sergeant. They fucked you and you still don’t get it.’

  ‘Have it your own way. You know who he’s running these workers for?’

  ‘He has an appeal ongoing. They turned him down for asylum. He loves this country, worships the Queen. He wants to bring his family here.’

  ‘Who’s he working for?’

  Shamshad shrugged. ‘All you have to do is put in a good word, a note describing him as a model citizen, cooperating fully with the police.’

  ‘And you ask how I live with myself?’

  ‘It’s the way of the world, Cal. Don’t pretend you’re any different.’

  Back in the sweatbox, Kelly looked relieved. Drake waited for Shamshad to explain the situation. Kardax sat back in his chair, his hands resting on the table. His eyes rested on Drake.

  ‘I need names,’ said Drake.

  ‘I don’t have names. I swear. They change all the time.’

  ‘Then what do you have?’

  ‘The man I speak to, they call him the king.’

  ‘The king?’ echoed Kelly.

  ‘King,’ Kardax nodded. ‘He has a mark on his skin.’ He raised his hand to the back of his neck. ‘Here.’

  CHAPTER 11

  The clock in the Murder Room said it was closing on six-thirty. They were almost twelve hours in already and it felt like they were nowhere. Milo was still at it, working on the CCTV footage.

  ‘Tell me you’ve got something.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to track the lorry’s movements backwards. It’s registered with a firm based in Uxbridge.’

  Milo tapped and clicked away until an image appeared on one of his screens. The right-hand side was covered in lines of code. He brought up a black-and-white shot taken at night of a parking area fenced by trees. Drake squinted at the grainy image.

  ‘What are we looking at?’

  ‘This is a service station just south of Uxbridge, around nine thirty-five the night before the bodies were found. The driver was assaulted, tied up and gagged. He wasn’t found until the cleaners arrived this morning.’

  Another click brought the image to life. A flare of light from the concourse of the petrol station covered the bottom left-hand corner with a white glow. Blurred grey shadows moved across the screen. Some were easily identifiable makes of cars, others less so. The images jerked unevenly.

  ‘These cameras are not high-end but they serve the purpose.’ Milo nodded. ‘Here it comes.’

  The lorry lumbered slowly into sight. The name Dobson Creek could be made out along the side. A tarpaulin was drawn over the back. The company had confirmed that one of their lorries had left Yarlton gravel pits in Oxfordshire that evening. A late delivery for a site in Pimlico.

  ‘Now watch.’

  A figure detached itself from the shadows and loped out behind the slow-moving lorry.

  ‘There’s our man,’ said Drake, leaning into the screen. It was hard to see much. The quality of the image was not good. At that distance and in poor light, he could make out a tall, athletic figure wearing a hoodie. The brim of a baseball cap protruded from the sweatshirt.

  ‘Can you get more detail?’

  Milo cued the tape. The figure drew back into the shadows, then emerged again. The lorry reappeared, this time from a different angle. Hazard lights flashing, it looked as though it was stalled in the middle of the slip road. Headlights streamed by on the motorway to the right.

  ‘Wait for it,’ said Milo.

  For a long time the lorry didn’t move. It rolled a few metres, then stopped again. Then the passenger door opened and a man slipped down, hauling something, presumably the driver, and vanished into the shadows. A few moments later the man reappeared, readjusted his head and the hood of his sweatshirt, then stepped out of the trees.

  ‘That’s him.’ Milo hit the space bar and the image froze. ‘This is the best I could get.’ Milo looked disappointed. He brought up a still image he had drawn up. It was blurry and not a lot of help. Drake stared at it. ‘I could do better if I had more time maybe.’

  T
here was something strange about the man’s head.

  ‘Is he wearing some kind of mask?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell in this light.’

  ‘Go back. Play it again, the part where he first appears.’

  Milo replayed the sequence. Then again, and again, until Drake was pretty sure he’d seen all there was to see. What interested him most was the way the man moved, with smooth confident steps, coolly and calmly in control of the situation. Acting alone, yet with complete physical ease. If he had to take a guess, he would have said the man was in his thirties, not much older.

  Milo said he still had to work on the cameras leading away from Magnolia Quays to see if they could piece the time frame together. The images from the service station were from nine hours before the bodies were discovered, and twelve hours from when Marsha Thwaite left the Arcadia Gallery.

  ‘There’s a time gap. We need to fill it. How did the killer know about the delivery, what route they use? I mean, was he monitoring their emails, phones, what? How did he set this up?’

  ‘We checked with Dobson’s. The order came through their computer system. They’re waiting to hear back from the client, but it looks as though someone hacked into the system.’

  ‘Okay, we need to keep on at them until we have all the details.’

  ‘Right, boss.’

  ‘Oh, one other thing; how does this fit with the timing of when Marsha Thwaite went missing? Was there enough time for the perpetrator to get to that service station?’

  ‘Perhaps there was more than one of them,’ said Milo.

  ‘Exactly. So we might be looking at at least two killers.’

  Drake’s eyes were still on the blurred image that filled one of Milo’s screens. Who are you, he wondered. And what is it you want?

  Kelly was pinning a list of names up on the board, striking through some, circling others, using her notebook to check the spellings: the workers who had been debriefed at the site.

  ‘Most of them provided alibis for one another. A few of them gave the same address.’ She was linking names with arrows and brackets as she went. ‘These three were drinking together. These two were out with friends. This little piggy stayed at home, but he has a girlfriend, or so he claims. We’ll be checking that.’ She let the notebook drop to her side. ‘To be honest, chief, I’m not sure any of them are reliable.’