The Hope That Kills (A DI Fenchurch Novel Book 1)

by Ed James

  ‘Abi told me you phoned her the other night.’

  ‘She tell you she called me back?’

  ‘Yeah. And you’re meeting her for dinner tonight.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m shitting myself, Kay.’

  ‘Just think how she’s feeling.’ Reed clutched her glass tight. ‘This big ugly brute comes storming back into her life.’

  ‘I’m not that big, am I?’

  ‘You are a brute, though. And God knows you’re bloody ugly. I don’t know why you can speak to me but not Abi.’

  ‘There’s less pressure with you, I guess.’ He took the pint way below halfway. ‘Every time I speak to her, I just feel these drums clattering in my head. Feels like I’m that bloke in that film. The geezer on the trapeze between those two buildings. I can’t take one wrong step or I’m pavement pizza.’

  ‘You really think that’s how Abi sees it?’

  ‘You don’t know the arguments we had, Kay.’

  She flicked up her eyebrows. ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘She shouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘I don’t think any less of you, guv.’

  ‘That because you couldn’t?’

  ‘I’m being serious. Abi just wants to help. Like she used to. You pushing her away wasn’t good for her. Put yourself in her shoes for a minute.’

  Fenchurch stared out of the window. Horizontal rain. A gust of wind blew a man’s flat cap off. Taxis slooshing the rainwater. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Course I’m bloody right. You ever thought about counselling?’

  ‘A couple of times. Even picked up the phone and spoke to some clinic’s receptionist.’ Fenchurch lost himself in the beer’s hops. ‘I’m worried counselling will change me. That I’ll come out of there as a different person.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’

  She had him there. Another wipe across his face. ‘Kay, all I’ve got left is me.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing to lose, is there. If you let go, maybe you’ll stop blaming yourself and stop trying to take it out on the world.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You think about it, yeah? Before you head up there for dinner.’ She tapped his glass. ‘Same again?’

  ‘Go on.’

  She got up and wandered over to the bar. Two cops he recognised stood either side of her. Both of them seemed interested.

  Christ, she felt more like a sister than his own one.

  And she was bloody right. Stupid bloody idiot. Blaming everyone and the world for everything. Not sharing anything. Never talking.

  He took another slug of beer. Stuff was rushing to his bloody head. He probably couldn’t even drive after this. Maybe he’d walk up to Islington. Two miles, maybe a bit more. Might clear his head. Let the rain wash away his sins.

  Reed dumped another pair of pints on the table. ‘Here you go, gu— Simon.’ Her Peroni glass was tall and elegant, like that compensated for the price. ‘Here’s cheers, guv.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘I was just thinking while I was getting served. Why do these girls remind you of Chloe?’

  Fenchurch finished his first pint and gripped the second one tight, let it cool his palms. ‘Thought you were just flirting with those uniform geezers?’

  ‘Quit it.’ She raised her plucked eyebrows. ‘Talk to Dr Kay.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘Right. The thing is, the problem is the logical deduction. I’m trained in all that shit, right? Timelines and all that muck.’ He gulped at the second pint, attacking the tangy foam. ‘You interviewed this girl from the club, Erica. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, she reminds me of Chloe. Roughly the same age, give or take. Looks a bit like she . . . might’ve done. Might still do. Same dimple as Abi.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s her, guv.’

  ‘I know that. Christ, of course I know that. It’s just . . . Right before you asked me for a pint, she called me.’

  ‘What, phone called you?’

  ‘That’s what spooked me.’ Another biting drink. ‘Said I should come round and meet her. Said she’s got something.’ He locked his gaze onto her. She was nibbling at her lip. ‘Could be a lead, Kay.’

  ‘Could be a trap.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. Why, though?’ Another cold draught of beer. ‘What if it’s a lead? What if it’s genuine?’

  ‘Worth staking your career on?’ She ran a hand across her face. ‘Remember these girls are street smart. Any inch they can take, they will.’

  ‘It’s a bit more than an inch. Three when it’s not cold.’

  She shut her eyes and groaned. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do.’ Another sip. ‘Problem is, she’s playing this lost father card.’

  ‘Does she know about Chloe?’

  Fenchurch stared into his pint. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You told her, didn’t you? Simon, you’re a bloody idiot.’

  He held up his hands. ‘It was a moment of weakness.’ Another drink. Could just about taste it.

  Her mobile bounced across the tabletop. She held it up. ‘That’s Pratt’s office. Mrs Hall was off IDing the body.’

  ‘Take it.’ Fenchurch watched her walk outside the pub into the flowing rain, resting in the doorway. He stared at his own phone, still on mute. The missed calls box obscured the photo of Abi and Chloe. Same number Erica had called from before.

  What did she want?

  Was it really a trap?

  Reed made eye contact through the window. Gave him a thumbs up.

  He let out a breath. It was definitely Robert Hall. He stabbed the screen and stuck his phone to his ear. Listened to it ringing.

  ‘You decided to call back?’

  ‘Where’s your flat?’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sorry, Kay. Something came up. See you tomorrow.’ Fenchurch killed the call and stopped by Christ Church Spitalfields. He gritted his teeth against the cold wind, stopping him chewing the gum. Mint just about overpowered the beer.

  Heavy traffic flowed down Commercial Street. Horns honked at a jaywalker. The Ten Bells pub was glowing in the night, a huddle of smokers outside checking their phones as they puffed. Next door, a man in tight jeans rolled up the canopy of the hipster café. His curly beard blossomed a good six inches from his chin.

  Fenchurch took another look at his mobile. Definitely Fournier Street. He walked towards Brick Lane, swimming against the tide of office workers lugging laptop bags. His quarry wasn’t far down. He poked the intercom button and waited. Tugged at the collar of his overcoat. Thick wool, matted. Really needed a new one.

  He checked his watch. Still had an hour and a half till he was supposed to meet Abi. Plenty of time.

  ‘Hello?’

  He leaned over, mouth dry. ‘It’s DI Fenchurch.’

  ‘Top floor. Flat on the left.’ The buzzer sounded and the door clicked open.

  Fenchurch opened it and stood there, chewing. This was a bad idea.

  He pushed through into a bright corridor. Cream walls and beige carpet. The stale smell of fried food. His stomach rumbled as he started up the stairs. The beer was heavy in his gut.

  Two doors on the top-floor landing. He held his gloved hand over the left one and paused. He stared at the carpet tiles beneath his shoes, teeth gritted.

  Then knocked.

  It swung open. Erica was standing there, left hand on her hip. A cheeky smile showing her dimple. Baggy tracksuit bottoms, three Adidas stripes down the side. A few shades of grey lighter than her Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt. Her hair was tied up and she looked young, like she’d just got back from school. Her eyes darted around the corridor. ‘You alone?’

  ‘For now.’ Fenchurch tried to peer behind her. ‘Are you?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Slipped your marker, have you?’

  ‘All this chaos you lot are causing at my work has diverted their attention. It won’t last.’ She stepped away from the door.

  ‘C
ome on in.’

  He entered the hallway, same cream and beige as the stairwell. A modern-art print hung on the wall, all reds and oranges. Made him feel angry just looking at it. ‘Out with it, then.’

  She shut the door. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘I want to know what you’ve got me here for.’

  ‘Come on through.’ She led into a small but well-equipped kitchen. Brand-new units lined the walls at the far end, stainless steel gleaming under the spotlights. She collapsed into a leather dining chair and hugged her legs tight to her body.

  ‘Nice pad you’ve got here.’ Fenchurch pulled off his gloves and dropped them onto the pale glass table. The heat of the flat hit him. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. ‘Nice address here. Really close to the City.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Bit expensive for a lap dancer, though. I’d have thought you’d be out east somewhere. East Ham or Woolwich, maybe.’

  ‘It’s not my choice. There’s another four girls live here. They work at the club, too. Sure you’d recognise them.’

  Fenchurch sighed. ‘So how do you afford this, then?’

  ‘They put us up here.’

  Fenchurch picked up a DVD from the stack on the table. When Harry Met Sally, one of Abi’s favourites. ‘The Alicorn?’

  She nibbled her lip.

  ‘Are you working tonight, Erica?’

  ‘In about an hour and a half.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s fine. The pay’s okay.’

  ‘But you don’t enjoy it?’

  ‘I don’t enjoy a lot of things.’

  ‘There are better ways of making a living.’

  ‘I don’t really have a choice.’

  ‘Of course you do. You’re still young. What’s to stop you leaving?’

  ‘I need the money.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’

  She stared into space and shrugged a shoulder. ‘Thanks for coming, Simon.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Thanks for coming, DI Fenchurch.’

  He kept his distance. ‘Why did you phone me?’

  ‘My dad’s name was Colin. I never knew him.’

  ‘I’m not him.’ Fenchurch kept his eyes on the door. ‘I’m here to talk about the case. Nothing else.’

  ‘Your daughter—’

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you that.’

  ‘You did, though. That means a lot to me.’

  Fenchurch stood up straight and put his left glove back on. ‘You did actually want to see me about something, yeah?’ Then the right glove. ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘Wait.’ She sat forward. ‘Some of the girls in the club were talking about cops.’

  ‘Was it about me?’

  ‘No, it was about the raid last night.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘It was some of the newer girls. I don’t know their names. They were talking about that girl they found the other night.’

  ‘There were two girls, two different nights.’

  ‘Two? I didn’t know.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Well, it’s the one in that building. One of them said our boss knows—’

  ‘The manager of The Alicorn?’

  She gave a tight nod. ‘His name’s Bruco.’

  ‘What sort of name’s that?’

  ‘Greek, I think. It was him who picked me up last night.’ She shivered and ran her hands over her bare arms. Goosebumps dotted the toned flesh. ‘The girls were saying Bruco knows something about what happened to this girl.’ She swallowed. ‘These girls.’

  He took another step to the door. ‘This is just hearsay.’

  ‘There’s something else. The man you’re looking for. Robert? He was at The Alicorn last night. He was hassling some of the girls. Tried to buy them. So they chucked him out.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘I kept avoiding him.’ She looked away. ‘I’m good at getting what I want in that place.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this during your interview?’

  ‘We were told not to say anything about it.’

  ‘I need you to go on record about this, Erica.’ Fenchurch did up the top button of his coat. ‘Come to the station with me now.’

  ‘Not happening.’

  Fenchurch pinched his nose. The gloves were cold against his skin. ‘How can I persuade you?’

  ‘You remind me of my father.’

  ‘This again.’ Final straw snapping the camel’s back in two. ‘You said you never knew him?’

  She just shrugged.

  ‘Forget it.’ Fenchurch left the room and slammed the flat door behind him. He stomped down the stairs and pressed his mobile to his ear.

  ‘DS Reed.’

  ‘Kay, it’s Simon. Are you still around?’

  ‘Yeah, thought I had a date but he buggered off when I was on the phone. I’ve come back in.’

  ‘Can you pull up the CCTV from outside The Alicorn last night?’

  Reed spun around and tore off her headphones. ‘Christ, guv, you scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘You knew I was coming, Sergeant.’ Fenchurch sat next to her. The CCTV suite was a tight space smelling of armpits and Pot Noodles. ‘Found anything?’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?’

  ‘I’ve got an hour at least. Have you got anywhere?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She tapped the monitor. ‘Got Mr Hall here. This is him getting chucked out.’

  The street was in black and white. Paused, 20.32 in the bottom-left corner. Two men argued in sharp contrast on the pavement. Faces pinched, hard to pick out. One white, one black.

  Fenchurch screwed his eyes up and focused on the white guy. He was stabbing a finger while his other hand grabbed hold of his dance partner’s dress shirt. He was definitely the club’s bouncer. His top hat hung in the air as it fell to the ground. ‘He’d already killed our second Jane Doe, hadn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right, guv. An hour and a half before this.’ Reed pointed at a figure in the background behind the bouncer. ‘That’s Erica McArthur there.’

  Fenchurch swallowed hard as he leaned over and squinted at it. Just wearing her corset, bare arms hugging her shoulders, bracing herself against the cold.

  Something wasn’t right with the image.

  ‘Is he stabbing his finger at her?’

  Reed hit the play button. ‘Watch this.’

  The footage started up. Hall shifted his finger from the bouncer to Erica and back again. He was shouting something.

  Fenchurch folded his arms. ‘Why’s he doing that?’

  ‘Might’ve been why they chucked him out. Went over the score during a dance?’

  The bouncer got behind Hall and put him in a hold. Looked like he was getting him to nod to something. He let go and pushed hard, sending Hall stumbling down the street. He righted himself and shouted silent obscenities back at the bouncer. Then retreated until he was off camera. The bouncer led the crowd back inside, eyes on where Hall had been.

  Reed stopped it playing. ‘Who’s your source, guv?’

  ‘It’s a Covert Informant, Kay. I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Bollocks it is.’ She burped lager fumes into her hand. ‘This is that girl, isn’t it? Erica, right? That’s where you buggered off to in a hurry.’

  Persistent bugger. Still, no point in denying it. ‘She said Hall was in The Alicorn last night. That’s it.’ He shut his eyes. ‘Shit, she told me he was kicked out because he was hassling the other girls. It was her, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Guv, I told you. You really need to be careful.’

  ‘I’ve not done anything.’

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’ Reed held his gaze until Fenchurch broke it off. ‘What’s the plan, guv?’

  The CCTV door burst open, raising the light level and making Fenchurch blink.

  Nelson stepped through, sucking on his vape stick. At least it looked like him. He switched his gaze from Reed to Fenchurch. ‘Guv, sorry I’m late.’

  ‘Have a seat, Jon.’ Then at Reed: ‘Is there any more?’

 
‘Wait for it.’ She skipped the footage forward from 20.32 to 20.55. ‘Here we are.’

  The door opened and a man left the club. Sharp suit, black shirt, shoes gleaming in the street lights. A hand slicked through his jet-black hair. He walked a few paces down the street and got into a silver BMW. The man who picked Erica up from outside the station.

  Fenchurch screwed his eyes up. ‘That’s The Alicorn’s manager. His name’s Bruco.’ He got out his mobile and rang Owen. ‘You still at Leman Street?’

  ‘No, Paul and I are back at ESB. What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve got a sighting of The Alicorn manager. Geezer called Bruco.’

  ‘Who?’

  Fenchurch grinned. ‘How long have you had that place under surveillance?’

  ‘A year. We just never got his name.’

  ‘Couple of days on this case and I’ve outdone you. The geezer’s Greek.’

  ‘How’d you get this? Who’s your source?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Fenchurch held Reed’s gaze as it burnt into him. ‘What have you got on him?’

  ‘I’m warning you now, Fenchurch. However you’ve got this, you need to log it in the case file.’

  ‘I’ll get on with that tomorrow. What do you know about him?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Well, given you’re at Hogwarts, any chance you can dig out what you’ve got on him?’

  Owen paused for a few seconds. ‘Let’s catch up first thing tomorrow, yeah? Just as you’re logging your source.’

  ‘Excellent. See you then.’ Fenchurch ended the call and dumped his phone on the desk. Reed and Nelson were mucking about with the footage, mumbling to each other.

  ‘Guv, hope you forgive me but I’ve got a hunch.’ Nelson tapped at the monitor. ‘This is just before Hall was killed, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well.’ Nelson reached across Reed and pressed a few keys. ‘Have a look at this. This is last night as well.’

  The video shifted to Prescot Street. Camera must’ve been just across the road from Robert Hall’s flat. 20.55.

  Fenchurch folded his arms and stifled a yawn. ‘Why here, Jon?’

  ‘Keep watching.’

  The video crawled by in real time. A woman marched down the street, her Sainsbury’s bags rustling in the wind tunnel. Cars and taxis trundled up to the lights at the end. A couple jogged along the pavement, like it wasn’t a London winter evening.