by Ed James
‘Not the part I do.’
‘Mr Vaughn, do you own this company?’
‘I don’t know what you’re referring to.’ Vaughn flicked his hair again. ‘This feels like you’re expecting me to give something up.’
‘Were any police officers working with you?’
Vaughn clenched his jaw. ‘No comment.’
‘Did you have any part in the murder of Robert Hall?’
‘None.’
‘Did you have any part in the murder of Ursula Carr?’
‘Who?’
‘You know who I’m talking about. The girl who was found at your building on Wednesday night.’
‘No comment.’
‘What about Yasmin Carr? She was found in a car park just off Brick Lane.’
‘No comment.’
‘Shall I tell you our theory?’ Fenchurch left a long gap. Vaughn wasn’t looking like he wanted it filled. ‘These girls were bred for use in the sex industry. You farm people like cattle.’
‘Are we any better than beasts?’ Vaughn rolled his shoulders. ‘The world’s full of cattle, people whose only role in life is to consume. You’re not important.’
‘And I’m sure you think you are?’
‘I’m someone. I’ve achieved a lot.’
‘You’re a criminal, Mr Barraclough.’
‘What did you say?’
‘We’ve had a look at your background.’ Fenchurch sifted through a wad of papers. ‘Vaughn’s not your real name, is it?’
He looked daggers at Fenchurch. ‘It is.’
‘Not according to your birth certificate, Mr Barraclough.’
Vaughn pushed himself to his feet and leaned over the desk. Breath hissed at Fenchurch. ‘How dare you?’
‘How dare I?’ Fenchurch sat back and folded his arms. ‘Mrs Thatcher must’ve been proud of a miner’s son from Wakefield rising to a senior position at a hedge fund. And in just a few years.’ He licked his lips. ‘City of London police are sifting through your financial history as we speak. Your hedge fund’s going to come under a lot of close scrutiny. Is anyone else at Darke Matter Capital involved in this?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is Vincent Darke involved?’
‘No. I’ve only met him twice.’
‘Is that all? You told me the other day how small the company was.’
‘Doesn’t mean we’re living in each other’s pockets.’
‘Does he know about your lowly background?’
Vaughn laughed. ‘I believe he used to work in a supermarket in Ealing before he got into finance.’
‘So you’re all barrow boys made good?’
‘Quite.’ Vaughn sat down again and tilted his head to the side. ‘You know I’m not on the board at Darke Matter. I’m a salaried employee. I don’t own a share of the company. My stock options are taken as cash. Do you know how much I make in a year, officer?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Last year, I took home over three hundred thousand pounds. After tax. I’m worth over ten million.’
‘Impressive.’ Fenchurch glanced at Docherty. ‘Boss, what would you do with that sort of money?’
Docherty exhaled. ‘I’d buy an island off the west coast of Scotland and never see another living soul again.’
‘I’d move to Spain. Mr Barraclough here would spend it on accumulating more wealth.’ Fenchurch slapped his hand on the desk. ‘Until it all came tumbling down.’
Docherty sucked in air across his teeth. ‘Why did you bother? Why not live in a big house and just do your job? Why all this sex trafficking shite?’
Vaughn just sat there, inspecting his nails.
Fenchurch tried to make eye contact, but Vaughn wasn’t having any of it. ‘How about Mr Sotiris Vrykolakas?’
‘I’ve no knowledge of this man.’
‘You may know him as Bruco. He used to run The Alicorn.’
Vaughn’s gaze shot up.
‘So you do know him?’
‘Just you wait.’ Vaughn folded his arms and smirked, a lizard grin on his face. ‘Mr Fenchurch, Mr Docherty. You should be very careful which enemies you take on.’
Fenchurch opened the interview room door. ‘What the hell?’
Gordon Edgar was fiddling with his mobile. ‘Evening, Inspector.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for my client.’ Edgar locked his phone and dumped it on the desk. ‘Given he’s in police custody, I hope you know where he is?’
The door burst open and Bruco staggered in, followed by Nelson and a Custody Officer.
Fenchurch nodded at Edgar. ‘Do you need a moment with your client?’
‘That’d be good.’
‘Tough. You’re not getting one.’ Fenchurch reached over and started the recorder as Bruco and Nelson sat down. ‘Interview commenced at six fifteen p.m. on Saturday the nineteenth of December 2015. Present are myself, DI Simon Fenchurch and DS Jon Nelson. The suspect, Sotiris Vrykolakas, is also present along with his lawyer, Gordon Edgar.’ He tapped the stylus against the screen of his Pronto as it unlocked. ‘Mr Vrykolakas, why did you kill Robert Hall?’
‘No comment.’
‘I’ll stop you right there. We’ve got evidence that you did. The best you can hope for is to be as helpful as possible. One of our friends in the CPS might fast-track your case and the judge might minimise the sentence.’
‘Inspector.’ Edgar stretched out his braces, like some old-time vaudeville act. ‘Can I just confirm you’re speaking for the judiciary with approved authority?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Then why aren’t they in here?’
‘They’re keeping at arm’s reach. Standard procedure. One of their agents is watching this as we speak.’
‘Why don’t I believe you?’
Fenchurch ignored him, instead focusing on Bruco. ‘Mr Vrykolakas, like I said, your only option here is to cooperate with us. Why did you kill Mr Hall?’
‘My client has stated his desire to remain silent.’
Bruco put his hand on Edgar’s arm. ‘I never killed him.’
‘Jesus . . .’ Edgar shook his head. ‘My client denies his involvement in the strongest terms.’
‘Does he now?’ Fenchurch crunched back in the chair. ‘Anything to support his innocence?’
Bruco rubbed his hands together slowly, like a tramp at a brazier. ‘Paul did it.’
Edgar collapsed into his seat. The braces popped back.
‘Paul Kershaw?’
‘He killed Robert Hall. Injected him with smack.’
Fenchurch crossed his arms. ‘Let’s start with what happened between you and Mr Hall at the bar on Thursday night. He’d been all over your girls so you chucked him out. Right?’
‘He was going over the score with young Erica. He was trying to buy her. My bouncer had to intervene.’ Bruco picked at something between his teeth. ‘I had to help him take Mr Hall outside. He started ranting and raving.’
‘What about?’
‘It was just gibberish. Guy was on something.’ Bruco smirked, hand smoothing down his beard. ‘Guy was loco, you know? Lost the plot. He kept trying to score drugs off my girls.’
‘Did they sell any?’
‘My girls are clean, man.’
‘So why kill him? Seems a bit extreme.’
‘I didn’t kill him. You should be speaking to Paul Kershaw.’
‘Well, you were at Mr Hall’s flat.’ Fenchurch held up a hand. ‘Don’t even try to deny it. At the very least, you’re an accessory to murder.’
‘I wanted a word with him, that’s all.’
‘You’re saying you helped Mr Kershaw have a word? That’s it?’
Bruco rasped his hand across his stubble, almost as long as the trimmed beard. He switched his gaze between Fenchurch and Nelson. ‘Listen, Paul told me this geezer had murdered two of my girls. Said we should sort him out.’
‘Which girls?’
‘I don’t know their n
ames.’ Bruco stared up at the ceiling. ‘Both of them only lasted a few nights before my superiors moved them on. This Hall geezer knew them from the bar. Guy was a regular. Two or three nights a week.’
‘You told us you didn’t have any idea who these girls were.’
‘Shit.’ Bruco swallowed hard. ‘Shit.’
‘I don’t get why you had to kill him.’
‘I didn’t, man. Paul did it. Must’ve killed this guy because he killed two of ours.’
‘Were you protecting your property?’ Fenchurch left him enough space to fill. He didn’t even try. ‘You’d bred these girls. Fed them, raised them and Mr Hall butchered them.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He killed Yasmin Carr in Dray Walk car park on Thursday night, just before he’d been chucked out of The Alicorn.’
‘What?’
They didn’t even know about the second victim. Hadn’t had enough time to figure it out. The retaliation was purely for the first girl. ‘He killed Ursula Carr in Little Somerset House on Tuesday night.’
‘That place is notorious, man. It’s where all the girls in that part of town take their johns.’ Bruco rasped a hand across the fine stubble on his cheek. ‘You should check the CCTV in that building. See what really happened in there.’
Fenchurch frowned. ‘There’s no CCTV in there.’
‘The guard tell you that? Well, Selma’s lying. I’ve seen the video from that place. What Robert Hall did to that girl.’
‘Ursula.’
Bruco shrugged. ‘Ursula.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe you?’
‘Paul had it on his phone, man. He thought it was funny.’
Selma Burns sat at her bank of monitors in Latham House, one piggy hand in a giant bag of crisps, the other clutching a tall can of energy drink. Her mouth hung open as she stared at the screens.
Fenchurch waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Ms Burns.’
She jumped to her feet, sending crisps flying and toppling her can over. ‘Jesus Christ!’ She dabbed at the spillage with a paper tissue. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘I’ll give you two choices.’ Fenchurch perched on the edge of her desk, crunching a crinkle-cut crisp. He stuck his thumb out. ‘One, you cooperate and we review what we’ll charge you with.’ He added the index finger. ‘Two, you can do this down the station with a lawyer.’
‘A lawyer. What?’
‘You’ve withheld evidence in a murder case.’
‘I’ve done no such thing.’ Selma wheeled away from him, nearer Nelson and Owen by the door. ‘This is police harassment.’
‘You told us the CCTV in your buildings were broken.’
‘Right?’
‘So how come Sotiris Vrykolakas saw it?’
‘Who?’
‘Bruco.’
She scowled. ‘That piece of dirt.’
‘Ms Burns, he told us he saw some footage from Tuesday night. Footage of the girl being murdered. The girl you told us you found.’
She stared at the floor. ‘They told me not to show it to the police.’
‘Was it Paul Kershaw?’
She glared at him. ‘What if it was?’
‘What power does he hold over you?’
‘We’ve been told to help him out. Let his girls in the building. Keep an eye on things getting out of hand.’ Selma stared at the floor again. ‘I’m really sorry. I knew the girl was in my building. They weren’t clearing her away. I saw it happen. Paul made me send him the video.’
Nelson folded his arms, stared at her long and hard. ‘Just show us the bloody video.’
Selma fiddled with the controls on the desk.
The machine in front of her rattled and clanked as a video machine sucked in a cassette. Some mid-eighties vision of the future. The bottom-left monitor switched on. The screen turned black then filled with footage of the building’s interior.
Selma wound it forward and two figures danced across the display, slowing as she adjusted the dial.
Robert Hall was thrusting away at Ursula as she lay on a table, grimacing. He shifted back slightly, obscured by a cabinet. His knees buckled and liquid squirted onto her stomach.
Ursula lay there panting and dabbed at her belly. A mucus spider web trailed away from her hand. She reached down for her knickers.
Hall grabbed her by the throat. He pushed her onto the floor and kicked her. Then again. And again. He got something out of his jacket pocket. A blade shone in the dim light. He kneeled on her chest. He stabbed her in the neck. And again. And again. Kept going, down and down.
Fenchurch swallowed. ‘Ursula Carr.’
Nelson glanced over from the display, his dark complexion slightly paler. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Her name. Our first Jane Doe. She’s called Ursula Carr. We finally got them justice.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fenchurch tore the foil from his burrito and sniffed the moist tortilla. Heaven. Outside his office window, rain fluttered in the sodium glare across the road. A taxi splashed a puddle on a couple as they hurried home.
Couldn’t get his mind off Robert Hall’s taxi trip. Picking up a prostitute and dying twenty minutes later. Did he deserve it? Hard to say.
He set his food down. He took a drink of lemonade instead. Tasted like rat piss. ‘What a bloody case.’
‘Agreed.’ Nelson finished chewing a mouthful, scraping at his fingers with a serviette. ‘You owe me a tenner, guv.’
Fenchurch waved a hand across the spurned burrito. ‘But I fetched these?’
‘I said it’d be over by Christmas.’ Nelson tapped his watch. ‘Five days to spare.’
Fenchurch reached into his wallet and dumped the money onto the desk. ‘Don’t spend it all in the one bloody shop.’
Nelson pocketed the tenner. ‘How about the one pub. Tonight?’
‘What about next week?’
‘Why not now?’
Fenchurch tried another mouthful of the burrito. Barely tasted it. ‘Because I need to sort something out.’
Nelson looked like a little boy who’d been told to go to his sister’s friend’s birthday party. ‘You’re a barrel of laughs.’
‘I can’t get the video out of my head, Jon. The way he killed her. It was so brutal. Stabbing like that. Complete overkill.’
‘I worked a case like this years ago. A gay guy had come home to find his boyfriend in the bath with another man. This was like that, brutal. He just kept on cutting. Over two hundred stab wounds in the pair of them.’ Nelson put his own burrito down, a lump of steak rolling onto the desktop. ‘Christ, I’m off my food now.’
‘Welcome to the club.’ Fenchurch massaged his temple. ‘Michaela Carr was fourteen when they forced her to have children.’
‘Jesus. What’s next for them? How do they cope in the world?’
‘I don’t know, Jon. This shit is the thin end of the wedge. Every single girl dancing is being exploited.’ Fenchurch swallowed. ‘Maybe not as much as Erica, Ursula and Yasmin. But they’re being exploited, even in the posh clubs, even if they’re taking a ton of cash home.’
‘I can’t believe how they got away with it for so long.’
‘Their luck ran out eventually.’
‘It’s not the end, though, guv. There might be other farms. Do you really think Vaughn was behind it?’
‘I just don’t know, Jon.’
The door opened. Reed stood in the doorway, Erica lurking behind her. ‘Thought I’d find you two here.’
Fenchurch smiled at Erica. ‘Hello.’
She didn’t smile back, just stared at the floor instead. ‘Simon, I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For everything I’ve done. I could’ve stopped what happened to Yasmin.’
‘You couldn’t. Nobody could.’ Fenchurch pointed to the seat next to him. ‘You ever had a burrito?’
‘Has it got potato in it?’
‘They probably do in Ireland.’ Fenchurch loo
ked at Nelson and Reed. ‘Can you give us a minute?’
‘Sure thing. I’ll see where we are with her paperwork.’ Reed followed Nelson into the corridor.
Fenchurch swallowed. ‘Did you see your mother?’
‘And my grandmother.’ Erica looked a lot younger than eighteen. ‘They’re both okay, thank God.’ She nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry about all that dad stuff.’
‘I’ll try and forgive you. You were desperate.’
‘I shouldn’t have tried to exploit your kindness.’
‘I understand why you did it. You should probably stop doing that, though.’ Fenchurch pushed his burrito away. ‘So what are you going to do now?’
‘I’m giving up dancing, that’s for sure. Aside from that, I don’t know.’ Erica shivered. ‘They say they’re going to get us a house somewhere.’
‘I’d avoid London, if I were you.’
She smiled, her cheek dimpling. It sent a jolt down his spine. ‘Could I join the police?’
He propped his elbows on the desk. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’
She frowned, lines spreading across her smooth forehead. ‘Remember earlier, you asked me about your daughter? What was she like?’
Fenchurch swallowed. ‘Chloe had blonde hair. Looked a bit like you.’ He tapped his cheek where the dimple would be. ‘She was a lovely girl. Could be a little minx at times, but . . . Well.’
‘I’ve asked around for you. Nobody’s heard of her. And that’s the truth.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I want to help.’
A knock on the door. Nelson stood there, holding up a black jacket. ‘Erica, we need to get you to your new home.’
‘Thanks.’ She took the coat and stared at Fenchurch for a few seconds. ‘Can I see you again?’
‘I’d like that.’
‘They say it’ll be a few weeks.’ She waved at him from the doorway. ‘Bye.’ She followed Nelson down the corridor.
Reed sat down and picked up Fenchurch’s burrito. ‘You feeling okay, guv?’
‘Not really.’
‘There’s no way it’d work, guv. Too big an age gap.’
‘Piss off, Kay.’ Fenchurch watched her take a mouthful of burrito. ‘I’ve given someone their family back. That’s a good thing.’