by Jamie Raven
I couldn’t get Bishop’s face out of my mind, and his words sat cold inside me. I wasn’t just badly shaken – I was also infused with a hot rage. The bastard had used threats and violence to try to stop me doing my job. Despite that I was determined not to bottle it. No way was I going to allow myself to be intimidated by that head case.
As I walked, I began to feel the tension leave my body and my heart regain its natural rhythm. Above me the sky shimmered in a cloudless sky and around me office workers and tourists went about their business.
Many of them would later be reading what I’d written when they picked up their free copies of The Post from stations, newsagents and street vendors. There was a much smaller print run on Saturdays because the commuters weren’t pouring in and out of the capital. But the paper was still popular, partly because of the glossy entertainment supplement inside.
The story of Megan Fuller’s murder would be another big draw because it broke too late for the morning tabloids. And as far as I was concerned it was my story, a story that I felt had the potential to get bigger and better, with lots of juicy angles.
So Frankie ‘The Nutter’ Bishop could shove his pathetic threats. I wasn’t going to let him scare me into pulling back from what I did best – which was to ferret out the truth behind the headlines.
Before going upstairs to the newsroom I went to the ladies to empty my bladder and sort out my face. My mascara had run and my right cheek was still red from the slap. I applied some foundation and dragged a comb through my hair to make myself presentable again.
I’d phoned ahead so that Grant was expecting me. He was sitting at his usual place on the newsdesk, and around him about two dozen reporters were tapping away at their keyboards or speaking into phones.
Grant spotted me coming, got up and signalled for me to join him in his little glass-fronted office at one end of the room. He knew I’d had a rough ride at the snooker club but I hadn’t given him the details.
‘Take a seat,’ he said as he stepped behind his desk. ‘You look beat.’
Grant was a big, overweight man of 50 with folds of fat pouring out over his belt. His face was pockmarked with fading acne, some of which he tried to hide behind a neatly trimmed beard.
‘You did some good work this morning, Beth,’ he said. ‘Especially getting the exclusive with the dad. We’re still the only media outlet to have it.’
Praise from Grant was always appreciated. He was acknowledged as one of the best news editors in the business. His job was to source stories and coordinate the day-to-day operation of the news team. It was a tough task and he always pulled it off with style and charisma.
‘So now tell me about the trouble you seem to have stirred up at Shapiro’s place,’ he said.
A shiver convulsed through me as I told him what had happened. His reaction was to blast out a loud stream of expletives and then reach for the phone on his desk to call the police.
‘There’s no point,’ I said. ‘I can’t prove he hit me and there were other men there who will swear he didn’t.’
‘But we can’t just leave it at that, Beth. I’m not happy that one of my reporters has been subjected to violent intimidation.’
‘Well, it’s happened, and when you’re dealing with people like that the threat is always there.’
‘At least you should let your police contacts know. Maybe there’s something they can do without making it official.’
‘Don’t worry, I intend to. In the meantime we can’t let it be a distraction. I’m sticking with the story and two fingers to Frankie Bishop.’
‘That’s exactly what I expected you to say, Beth. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea. You’ve had a bad shock. You ought to go home for the rest of the day.’
My rational self told me he was talking sense, but we both knew it wasn’t going to happen.
‘I’m really all right now,’ I said. ‘Being threatened and attacked is an occupational hazard in this city. If I wasn’t prepared to accept that I’d be writing about the arts instead of about crime.’
‘That’s not the point,’ he said. ‘If you were a guy I wouldn’t be so—’
I held up my hand to stop him.
‘Don’t you fucking dare say you wouldn’t be so concerned. It shouldn’t make any difference and you bloody well know it.’
He realised he’d put his foot in it and blushed, which wasn’t something he often did.
‘Okay, point taken. I keep forgetting how sensitive you lot are.’
In some ways Grant was a dinosaur. To him there was still a gender divide in the newsroom and male reporters were better suited to a whole range of stories. He was on record as saying that he didn’t believe women should report from the front line in war zones. Or that they should ever write about football, cricket and rugby.
I was sure he would never have appointed me as a staff crime reporter if I hadn’t already proved myself.
He stretched his face into a smile and moved the subject back to the story itself.
‘For your information there’s been a development in the last fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘Danny Shapiro has handed himself in at Lavender Hill. We were just tipped off.’
‘Do you want me to write it up?’
‘I’ve already added a line to the late edition. If you’re determined to carry on working then I suggest you shoot over to Wandsworth and try to catch him when he comes out, assuming he does, of course.’
I picked up my bag and rose to my feet.
‘And try not to upset him or anyone else,’ Grant said. ‘I really don’t want anything bad to happen to my star reporter.’
13
Danny Shapiro
It was DCI Redwood who read out the pro-forma that preceded the interview.
Danny listened to what his rights and entitlements were and then turned to his lawyer and said, ‘You got all that?’
Khalid Chandra nodded and tapped his teeth with his pen. He was a sinewy man in his forties, with sharp, narrow features and wiry black hair. His nose supported a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and he wore a smart blue suit.
He’d been acting on behalf of the firm since Danny sacked the brief who failed to keep his father out of prison.
Redwood named all of those present for the benefit of the tape. He had a deep northern accent and Danny got the impression that he was a tough, no-nonsense copper. The type it was best to steer clear of if at all possible.
As he spoke, Danny exchanged an uneasy glance with DI Cain, who looked as though he would rather have been anywhere but here. There were spots of sweat on his brow, and he kept drumming his fingers on the desktop. Danny wanted to tell him to relax and not to make it so bloody obvious that he was uncomfortable.
‘Let me begin by thanking you for coming into the station,’ Redwood said, his eyes fixed on Danny. ‘As you probably know, we were trying to contact you all morning.’
‘As a matter of fact my client had no idea what had happened until just before noon,’ Chandra said. ‘That’s when he got out of bed and switched on the television.’
‘Is that right?’ Redwood said, his tone conveying a high level of scepticism. ‘And there was me jumping to the conclusion that he would have known long before that.’
‘I think we should cut to the chase, Inspector,’ Chandra said. ‘It’ll save us all a lot of time and trouble. You obviously suspect my client of killing his ex-wife. But we’re sorry to have to disappoint you. Mr Shapiro was somewhere else when the murder was committed. He was at the home of a young lady whose name and address I’ve given to the duty officer at the front desk.’
‘And that’s very useful, Mr Chandra,’ Redwood said. ‘It’s being checked out as we speak.’
‘Then I hope this won’t take long since my client is a busy man and needs to get to work.’
Redwood cocked an eyebrow. ‘So who is this woman, and what exactly is your relationship with her?’
Danny knew better than to lie at this point, especially to t
his motherfucker. It wouldn’t take them long to establish that Tamara was a brass. In fact they probably already knew that. Her name was bound to be on the police database.
‘Tamara Roth is a professional escort,’ he said. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time and she even went out with my father for a while. These last few years we’ve often spent time in each other’s company.’
‘And you paid her for sex?’ Redwood said.
‘Not at all,’ Danny replied. ‘We’re friends. And that’s all we are. There’s no sex involved.’
Redwood gave a sardonic grin. ‘You expect us to believe that?’
‘Whether you believe it or not it’s the truth.’
Redwood expelled a breath. ‘So tell us what happened last night.’
Danny shrugged. ‘I arrived at her house between about seven and nine. I can’t remember the exact time because I’d had a bit to drink. I didn’t leave there until this morning when I came here. And just for the record we slept in separate beds.’
Disbelief crossed Redwood’s face like a shadow. ‘Can anyone else support this alibi?’
‘Don’t see how. We were alone.’
‘And how did you arrive at the house?’
‘By minicab. I flagged one down in Bermondsey.’
‘Can you remember where?’
Danny shrugged. ‘Somewhere near our office. The exact location escapes me.’
Danny looked at Cain, who was nervously running a finger around the rim of a plastic cup. The detective was reluctant to make eye contact, and Danny could see that the tendons in his neck were so tight they looked ready to snap.
‘Look, I didn’t kill Megan,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t pay anyone to do it for me. I won’t deny she got on my nerves at times, but not enough to make me want to do something bad to her.’
Redwood chewed his tongue as he ruminated on this for a moment. ‘Tell us about the argument you had on the phone with her earlier in the day,’ he said. ‘And about the threats you made against her.’
‘I didn’t make any threats.’
‘She told her father that you did.’
‘Is that so? Well, she was lying. She was always fucking lying.’
Danny could see that Redwood didn’t believe him and he wondered if Cain also thought he’d killed Megan. He tried not to let the unease he felt show on his face, but it wasn’t easy. The air in the room was loaded with tension, and a hard rock had settled at the bottom of his stomach.
‘So what about the argument, Danny?’ Redwood pressed.
Danny let his breath escape. ‘It was nothing unusual. Megan has been trying to get money out of me for ages, as if she didn’t get enough as part of the divorce settlement. But I refused to give her any more and she wasn’t happy.’
‘How much money are we talking about?’
‘She wanted half a million quid. Her acting work had dried up and she’d got involved with some joker named Sam Jones who talked her into a bad investment.’
‘Was she blackmailing you?’
‘I suppose so. She was threatening to say things about me in a book she was supposedly writing on her life.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Come on, Inspector,’ Chandra broke in. ‘My client has no intention of answering that question on the grounds that it might incriminate him.’
‘I haven’t a fucking clue what she was going to write,’ Danny said. ‘But I wasn’t that bothered anyway and I told her so.’
Cain asked the next question, but not before clearing his throat. ‘Have you any idea who would have wanted Megan dead?’
‘If I knew that I’d tell you,’ Danny said. ‘Just because Megan and me weren’t getting on it doesn’t mean I didn’t still have feelings for her. I loved her for a long time. What’s happened is tragic and I would give anything to get my hands on the bastard who killed her.’
‘Then why don’t I get the impression that you’re grieving?’ Redwood said. ‘In fact you don’t even seem particularly upset.’
‘I’m not one to show my feelings, Inspector. Never have been. If you’d been around this manor longer than you have then you’d know that.’
Redwood sat back in his chair and laced his fingers under his chin.
‘We’ve seen the email she wrote to you, Danny,’ Redwood said after a beat. ‘The one in which she warned you that if you didn’t give her money you’d regret it.’
Danny forced a mirthless smile. ‘Megan had a vicious streak, Inspector. Most people didn’t know about it. And when she suddenly found herself with no money, and no prospect of earning any, it brought out the worst in her.’
‘So are you saying you didn’t take the warning seriously?’
‘Of course I didn’t, and that wound her up even more.’
‘She said in the email that she knew you could afford to give her the money. Is that true, Danny? Can you lay your hands on half a million just like that?’
Chandra started to object to the question, but Danny stopped him and said he was happy to answer it.
‘I’m a successful businessman, Inspector. I own several clubs, a wholesale company and a snooker hall among other things. I’m also a landlord with a large number of properties to my name, both residential and commercial. So it follows that I have a few quid in the bank.’
‘You forgot to mention the other stuff,’ Redwood said. ‘Like the drug dealing, the pimping, the loan sharking, the extortion …’
‘That’s enough,’ Chandra said, slamming the side of his fist down on the table. ‘My client has always denied any involvement in organised crime. And he’s not here to be questioned about it yet again. So I would ask you to stick to the matter at hand, the murder of Megan Fuller.’
Chandra shot his cuff and consulted his watch.
‘And I think it’s time you told us why you’ve seen fit to point the finger at Mr Shapiro,’ he continued. ‘Is it based on evidence found at the scene?’
‘The forensic evidence is still being processed.’
‘Then of course you won’t be surprised when Mr Shapiro’s fingerprints and DNA turn up in the house as he did once own it and has been there on occasion since he and his wife split up three years ago.’
‘We’re aware of that,’ Redwood said.
‘So what else is there linking Mr Shapiro to the crime?’
Redwood shook his head and exhaled, the breath hissing between his lips. It was then that Danny realised that they had nothing on him. He felt sure that if they did then Redwood would have revealed it in order to regain the initiative.
Instead he asked Danny why he did not have a registered mobile phone.
‘I prefer pay-as-you-go phones,’ Danny said. ‘It’s safer and I don’t have to worry about you lot listening into my conversations.’
‘In that case how do people contact you?’
Danny shrugged. ‘I give out numbers to those I want to hear from.’
‘And I suppose that includes your old man, Callum.’
‘Naturally. He takes a keen interest in my business.’
‘I’m sure he does.’
Redwood then told Danny they were going to obtain a warrant to search his Bermondsey flat.
‘But I gather you haven’t been staying at the flat for a while,’ he said. ‘Care to tell me why?’
‘I don’t feel safe there,’ Danny said. ‘That’s why I move from place to place.’
‘But didn’t you live there when you were married?’
Danny nodded. ‘It was different then.’
‘You mean you weren’t running the firm so you didn’t feel like you were a target.’
‘No comment.’
Redwood grinned. ‘So where do you spend most nights?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Well, I’m making it my business. And I don’t understand why you’re reluctant to tell me.’
Danny thought for a moment and then shrugged again.
‘Okay. I rent out thirty proper
ties. At any one time three or four are empty. I crash out in those sometimes or stay in hotels.’
‘That’s an odd thing to do for someone with so much money in the bank.’
‘Not really. I don’t want people to know where I live and what I’m doing.’
At this point Chandra intervened again. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but this line of questioning is totally irrelevant. I insist you call a halt and either charge my client or let him go. And as for the search warrant you can forget it. Since you have no grounds I’ll be entering a formal objection to the court.’
Just then someone knocked on the door to the interview room and pushed it open. A man in a suit poked his head in and asked if he could have a quick word. It was Cain who got up and left the room. Redwood carried on asking Danny questions about Megan and their marriage.
After a few minutes, Cain returned and whispered into Redwood’s ear. The latter’s face clouded over and he fixed Danny with a contemptuous look.
‘We’ve just heard back from the officers who went to interview Miss Roth,’ he said. ‘She confirmed your alibi just as we both knew she would.’
‘I take it that my client is now free to go,’ Chandra said.
Redwood nodded. ‘He is for now, but I’m sure we’ll want to talk to him again.’
Danny got to his feet and said to his lawyer, ‘Let’s get out of here. The rank smell of disappointment is making me feel sick.’
Danny heaved an almighty sigh of relief as he walked out of the interview room.
Redwood’s parting shot didn’t faze him. The cop was aggrieved because he’d been hoping that Megan’s murder would be an open-and-shut case. And it might well have been if Tamara hadn’t come through by providing him with an alibi.
He was 100 per cent confident that she wouldn’t retract her story even under police pressure. That was why he’d put his trust in her rather than anyone else. She was dependable because she felt indebted to him and his father. And there was the money, of course.
But Danny wasn’t going to just relax and assume that he was out of the woods. He now had time to make sure that the whole thing wouldn’t suddenly unravel. He’d use his people in the Met – including Ethan Cain – to tell him exactly what was going on and whether there was any evidence that could undermine the alibi. Was there any incriminating CCTV footage, for instance? Were they going to carry out a sweep of all the cameras around Tamara’s house in Vauxhall?