The Divinities

by Parker Bilal

  Ray sat back. Drake had taken himself from a bad set of circumstances, broken home, substance-abusing mother, absent father, through a distinguished army career and to the rank of detective inspector in less than ten years. Then he hit a wall. Had he lost faith in the system, or had he simply succumbed to temptation? She recalled her conversation with Wheeler.

  ‘Cal is a good officer,’ Wheeler had told her. ‘One of the best detectives I’ve ever seen. He has his downsides. He had trust issues, and he’s not the best communicator. I’ve told him time and again that he really needs to work on his personal skills.’

  ‘What about the rumours of corruption?’

  ‘He can rub people up the wrong way.’ Wheeler sighed. ‘Cal can be his own worst enemy.’

  CHAPTER 32

  Fenton’s Used Motors was tucked down a gloomy, damp side street behind the Tube station. High brick arches flanked it on one side and a row of houses on the other. The entrance was a wide double-sided gate in a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire. A veritable fortress for clapped-out old bangers. Faded signs warned of security services and guard dogs, although there didn’t seem to be much evidence of either.

  Drake managed to back into an alleyway on the opposite side of the street. Lights flashed by from the trains clattering overhead. Either side of him were lock-ups or private garages where local residents kept their cars, their fight dogs and their stolen domestic appliances. It was quiet for the most part and he made himself comfortable. He’d even managed to rake up a couple of sandwiches and a half bottle of Dominican rum from a late-night supermarket along the way. He tossed all into the back seat for later. He wasn’t hungry. For the moment he was nursing a tea and a bar of chocolate to restore some sense of balance.

  Through his binoculars Drake surveyed the cars parked behind the high chain-link fence. Rundown, clapped-out and rusted heaps of junk with prices hastily scrawled across windscreens like cries for help. Akbar Hakim could have been sleeping in any one of them.

  Kelly wasn’t answering her phone. Understandable. She was off duty and, of course, some people had lives. Never mind. He was glad of the solitude. Being alone meant he didn’t have to make conversation, or deal with somebody else’s. He could think, or try to at least.

  He found his mind turning to Ray. He wondered if she was involved with anyone. Hard to imagine what sort of a man she would go for. Smart, obviously. Rich, probably. She struck him as the kind of woman who didn’t really have any particular need for a relationship. If something came along, then fine, but she wasn’t going to spend time looking for it. As for casual hook-ups, he imagined she would have no trouble there. Probably spent half her time fending off men, and women. He wondered if that was her thing. It wasn’t the vibe he got off her, but he’d been wrong about that before.

  A wave of restlessness sent him reaching into the back for the rum. He cracked the seal and savoured the aroma rising up from the neck of the bottle before lifting it to his mouth.

  The rum restored a certain clarity to his thoughts. He went back over his conversation with Waleed. Right now it felt as if he was putting all his money on one bet: that Akbar Hakim was the nexus around which everything turned. Was that anything more than wishful thinking? He tried to stack up the pieces. Hakim had been working at Magnolia Quays. Waleed had arranged for him to take his place at the building site. Waleed had also provided a place for Hakim to stay: the front room at his father’s mosque. Drake had nothing to prove that it was Hakim who had stored the Thermite in the mosque, but he was confident that the picture would clear once he had his hands on the man. More important was the question of where the Thermite had come from and what they were planning to do with it. Drake hoped that Hakim would lead him further, to the man Waleed called Hakim’s murshid, or guide. So far there was nothing to indicate who this third person might be.

  The Thermite had been ignited by coincidence. That seemed clear. Hakim had the material in the small room and when some bright spark had chucked a homemade Molotov cocktail through the doorway it had set it off.

  All of which brought Drake back to the present. He needed Hakim to get anywhere with this, and he needed to get his hands on him quickly. Settling back into his seat, Drake leaned against the headrest and studied the forecourt on the other side of the street.

  Fenton’s Used Cars looked as if it belonged in another age. Towards the rear, down an aisle between rows of rusty vehicles, stood a narrow house with a wooden door helpfully marked Office. High-powered security lights along the old railway arches cast a cold white glow over the rows of vehicles. Nothing moved. Drake trained the small set of binoculars on the house at the back of the compound. A brick building with a rundown billboard over it that read Bargains for All! He went from window to window, looking for any signs of life.

  Setting the glasses down, Drake reached for the rum again and took another swig. He screwed the cap back on carefully. He didn’t want to overdo it. This was going to be a long night.

  Before he converted, Hakim had been plain old Duwayne Jones, a small-time criminal with a record going back to his days as a juvenile offender. Hakim was an unknown quantity. The name change, the sudden embrace of Islam, along with the stay at the Maudsley confirmed a record of mental-health issues. He and Waleed must have made a fine pair.

  Drake reached for his phone. It was late, but what the hell. He listened to the ring tone. On the fifth ring he began to lose his nerve. It was close to midnight. He was about to click off when she answered.

  ‘Cal, is that you?’

  ‘Sorry about the late hour.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Ray. ‘I was working.’

  ‘Yeah, same here.’ There was a long silence. Drake shifted in his chair. ‘I was thinking about Thermite. I was trying to remember if there was a specific sharia punishment involving fire?’

  ‘Not that I know of. If anything, it’s the opposite. Burning is generally perceived as a punishment reserved for Allah’s use only.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Jehenem, hellfire.’

  ‘There are instances of fire being used as a punishment, but those are exceptions. Where are you?’

  ‘Fulham.’ Drake rubbed his eyes and explained about Hakim.

  ‘You think this is connected to the fire at the mosque?’ asked Ray.

  ‘It’s just a feeling. Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe they wanted the Thermite to detonate.’

  ‘You mean, they were trying to burn down the mosque. But why?’

  ‘Tell me if I’m wrong,’ said Drake, reaching for the bottle of rum and unscrewing the cap. ‘Isn’t there a gate in hell reserved for those who have betrayed the faith?’

  ‘The seventh gate, according to some hadiths. Speaking of hell, don’t you have people to do things like stakeouts?’

  ‘You would think so,’ Drake sighed. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’m home, thinking about going to bed.’

  ‘Sounds nice.’

  ‘Don’t go getting any ideas, DS Drake.’

  ‘Me? Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  Still, he was smiling long after the line had gone dead. It had felt nice, just to be able to talk to her. The enigmatic Doctor Crane was turning out to be all right, after all. Drake reached over into the back seat for something to eat. As soon as he peeled back the wrapper he could smell something wasn’t right. He held the package up to the light and read the sell-by date. Then he cursed and tossed the offending item back where he had found it. It was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER 33

  A knock at the window jerked Drake from his sleep. He opened his eyes to see Kelly holding up two cups of coffee. It was still just about dark. Daylight was a purple scar over rooftops slick with rain. He struggled up in his seat as Kelly went round and got in.

  ‘Christ, man, let some air in here before you fumigate yourself.’

  Drake took her point. He ran the windows down and turned the blower on at the same time.

  She stared ag
hast.

  ‘You do realize that you’re just blowing hot air into the atmosphere?’

  ‘Do me a favour, Kelly, it’s too early for witty banter.’ He took the coffee gratefully, the aroma reviving him even before he’d managed to get any of it into his mouth.

  ‘You didn’t bring anything to eat, did you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’ She reached into the pocket of her coat to produce a paper bag with grease stains on it. Inside were two croissants.

  ‘You deserve a promotion, DC Marsh.’

  ‘From your lips to God’s ear. So, how long were you out?’

  Drake glanced at the dashboard clock which read 6.04.

  ‘I don’t know, maybe an hour or so.’

  Kelly sniffed. ‘Smells suspiciously like a distillery in here.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you so early,’ said Drake. ‘I was planning to take it to the car wash.’

  ‘Well, couldn’t leave you out here all alone in the cold. So, any action?’

  ‘Apart from an endless stream of drunken louts looking for somewhere to relieve themselves, you mean? No, nothing.’

  ‘Great.’ Kelly was drinking her coffee. ‘I can’t believe you stayed here all night without telling anyone. You could have had support.’

  ‘You mean from Pryce? Pull the other one. If I tried going to him with a tip-off from a certified nut job he would laugh me out of the office and you know it.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling this has become personal?’

  ‘It’s always personal.’ Drake hunched his shoulders and bit into his croissant. Normally, he wasn’t keen on them, but at this particular instant he wasn’t feeling fussy.

  ‘Okay.’ Kelly took a deep breath. ‘Let me just say, I’m not even sure I should be out here with you. Pryce has made it clear that he wants us to run everything by him.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Drake, taking a slurp of coffee to clear his head. ‘Maybe you should leave this to me. No point in getting yourself into hot water.’

  ‘Will you let me finish?’

  ‘Sorry, go ahead.’

  ‘Okay, so if I have this straight, your theory is that this Hakim was working at Magnolia Quays using Wally’s name. He disappeared the day the bodies were discovered. He was also staying at the mosque when it went up in flames. How am I doing?’

  ‘So far, not so shabby.’

  ‘It’s the next bit that bothers me. What’s the connection between the murder of two people who we now know were kidnapped in Iraq ten years ago, and a little local mosque?’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping Akbar Hakim will be able to help us with.’

  ‘Amen to that.’ Kelly wrinkled her nose. ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘I’m thinking of bottling it. I’ll call it, Natural Charm.’

  ‘Natural Harm, more like.’

  Drake cracked open the door and climbed out, his body stiff from sitting in the same position for so many hours.

  Across the street a heavily built man was approaching the entrance to Fenton’s Used Motors, fishing a heavy ring of keys from the pocket of his grubby old waxed jacket. He was trailed by a very old and somewhat lame Alsatian.

  ‘Even the guard dog is geriatric,’ muttered Kelly as they crossed the street.

  ‘Mr Fenton?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ The man squinted at the badge Drake was holding up. A knotty figure in his sixties. Underneath the flat cap sprouted a bushy, unkempt beard stained yellow with nicotine. His small eyes blinked as if in pain. ‘What’s the trouble now?’

  ‘We’re looking for someone we believe might be staying on your property.’

  ‘I don’t trust you people further than I can throw you. Got a search warrant, ’ave you?’

  ‘We’re not searching your premises, Mr Fenton, we’re looking for a suspect in a murder investigation.’

  ‘Same thing in my book.’

  ‘Have you any idea what the fine is for harbouring a fugitive?’ Kelly asked brightly.

  ‘Who said anything about harbouring anyone? What kind of fine?’ The idea that this might cost him something struck Fenton with distaste. ‘Who are you looking for, anyway?’

  ‘Akbar Hakim,’ said Drake.

  ‘Never heard of him.’ Fenton fiddled with more keys and chains.

  ‘You probably know him better as Duwayne Jones.’

  ‘Duwayne?’ Fenton paused to look round. ‘That loser? Haven’t seen him in years.’ The chains rattled off and he swung the gate open. ‘Hang on a minute. What makes you think you’ll find him here?’

  ‘Is it possible he might be sleeping on the property?’

  ‘No chance.’ Fenton held up the chains. ‘Not unless he’s Harry fucking Houdini.’

  Kelly and Drake exchanged a glance. While Drake engaged Fenton, Kelly moved in the direction of the far building.

  ‘Isn’t it possible he could still have a key?’

  ‘He used to lock up for me, it’s true, but he gave back the keys when I let him go.’

  ‘He could have made copies.’

  ‘Ah,’ grunted Fenton dismissively. He hobbled towards a little hut by the front gate. A large sign over the door read, Sales. Not that it looked as though he was overrun with customers. Across the window were pound signs and exclamation marks. Bargains Galore! Everyone’s a Winner!

  ‘Get a lot of business round here nowadays, do you?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Nowadays? There’s nobody around nowadays. Cheeky Somali monkeys wanting something for nothing. No offence, mind, but I can’t do business with pirates.’

  ‘Right.’ Drake jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘What’s in the building back there?’

  ‘Storerooms, offices. It’s where I keep my accounts. And there’s a garage for repairs.’

  ‘What about upstairs?’

  ‘Junk. Spare parts. Things that should have been thrown out ages ago. You never know in this game when something is going to come in useful.’

  ‘Mind if we take a look?’

  ‘Like I said,’ Fenton wheezed. ‘Come back with a warrant and you can do what you like.’

  ‘Sure about that?’ Drake squinted at him. ‘You make me fetch a warrant and I’ll bring the Inland Revenue, health and safety and anyone else I can round up. I’m sure they’d love to take the place apart.’

  Fenton rocked back on his heels. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no harm,’ he sniffed.

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  He wagged a finger in Drake’s face. ‘But don’t try planting anything incriminating. I’ve got my eye on you.’ Then he led the way along towards the front of the building, jangling his keys. They might as well have brought along a brass band, Drake thought. If anyone was inside there they would have had time to pack and call a taxi. When Fenton opened the door, Drake pushed him to one side.

  ‘Better stay here for the moment, sir.’ He nodded to Kelly. ‘Watch it. We don’t know what state of mind he’s in.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Not taking any chances, me.’ She pulled an extendable steel baton from her waist and snapped it open. Drake had seen her use it to bring down and cuff a two-hundred-pound drunk and disorderly without breaking a sweat.

  There was a musty smell of oil and damp earth in the old brickwork. No sound came from above. Either there was nobody there or they had heard Drake and Kelly coming in. If Hakim was here he was either asleep, or waiting to see what they would do. The rumble of a Tube train going by rattled the windows. As the brakes began to squeal, Drake nodded to Kelly and they started up the stairs. By the time they reached the top stair the sound of the train had faded. Silence of a sort returned. A car hooted in the distance, another replied. A motorcycle engine revved.

  Then came the unmistakable squeak of a floorboard.

  The hallway stretched back through the building from the staircase. It was gloomy and lit only by a faint glow that came from a window that had been papered over at the far end.

  A shadow broke across the hallway.
r />   ‘Police!’ Drake called out. ‘Akbar Hakim, if you’re in here, we only want to talk.’

  He motioned to Kelly. They edged down on either side of the hallway. Drake talked as they moved, keeping his voice low and steady.

  ‘I know it wasn’t your idea.’ Drake tried to sound calm and reassuring. It felt like they were closing in on a dangerous creature, and cornered animals did strange things. ‘Talk to me, brother.’

  ‘I’m not your bruvva, man.’ The voice rumbled out of the darkness. ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here, okay? I’m here to listen, right?’

  Drake motioned for Kelly to hold back. It occurred to him that Hakim might well be armed. The right procedure at this moment was to pull back and wait for support. But Drake sensed Hakim’s doubt, could almost hear him breathing, could feel him shifting back there in the shadows, trying to evaluate the threat.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Drake paused, listening. ‘I think you got yourself into something that was bigger than you expected.’ The sound of his voice covered his footsteps. ‘You panicked when you found out what you were into. Am I right?’

  Silence. Drake glanced back at Kelly who was standing at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Who asked you to store that stuff at the mosque?’

  No reply.

  Drake took another step forwards, hearing the creak of the floor too late.

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement as a shadow peeled away from the wall. He turned to face it as Hakim crashed into him, knocking him aside and rushing towards the stairs. ‘Hakim, hold it!’ Kelly yelled.

  He didn’t slow or stop, but crashed straight into her. Drake saw them bump into each other, then heard Kelly cry as she spun away. Then Hakim was past her and down the stairs. Drake was already moving, fumbling for his radio as he ran. He already knew there was something wrong from the way Kelly had gone down. He knelt beside her. She was half sitting, half lying against the bannisters, one hand to her side.