The Alibi

by Jamie Raven

  ‘That’s how I see it, Frankie,’ Danny said. ‘We have to take him out. It’s the only way to contain this.’

  Cain began shaking his head, his face white. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing here. In case you guys haven’t noticed there’s a detective in the room.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Danny snapped back. ‘A detective who works for me. Which means I’ll expect you to help put things right.’

  Cain leapt to his feet, his body trembling. ‘You can’t be serious. It’s bad enough that I now know you lied about the alibi. But I am not going to be part of a fucking cover-up that involves killing an innocent man.’

  Bishop shot up and grabbed Cain’s suit jacket by the lapels, shoving him back into the chair. He leaned over him, spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘You seem to be forgetting that you’re a bent copper and we own you,’ he shouted. ‘When we tell you to jump, you jump. When we tell you to get your hands dirty we don’t expect you to suddenly develop a conscience.’

  ‘Frankie’s right, Ethan,’ Danny said, his voice lower, more controlled. ‘You’ve been on the firm’s payroll for four years now. You owe us big time.’

  Danny watched as the detective’s anxiety flared into blind panic.

  ‘This will be a step too far, Danny,’ he said. ‘You really can’t expect me to go along with it. I’m paid to tip you off, give you the names of informants, smooth things over. Not to help you kill someone.’

  ‘You’re paid to follow orders, Ethan. Like all the other coppers we’ve taken into the fold and looked after.’

  Beads of sweat appeared on Cain’s forehead. Danny could sense the cogs in his brain turning, desperately trying to find a way out of the situation he’d got himself into.

  After some lip-chewing, the detective said, ‘Okay, I get it. You want me to turn a blind eye so I will. When I walk out of here I’ll pretend that this didn’t happen. I’ll tell Beth that I’ve not been able to contact Peter Kline. That he must have gone away somewhere. She’ll suspect that something has happened to him but she won’t know for sure. And she’ll never be able to prove anything.’

  ‘That’s good, Ethan,’ Danny said. ‘You’re coming round. But it’s not enough.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because Frankie here is going to drop in on Mr Kline tonight and I want you to go with him.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, mate, for two reasons. The guy is unlikely to open his door after dark to someone who looks like Frankie. But he will open it if you flash your warrant card. You just get Frankie inside and he’ll do the rest.’

  Cain stared at Danny, mortified.

  ‘The other reason I want you to go along is so that you’ll then be in this up to your neck like I am,’ Danny said. ‘That means I seriously doubt you will ever contemplate succumbing to a guilty conscience.’

  Cain wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘And what if I refuse? What happens then?’

  Danny always came to these meetings prepared, just in case any of his crooked coppers thought too much was being asked of them. He reached into his inside pocket and brought out a small computer flash drive.

  ‘Here’s a little present for you,’ he said, tossing it to Cain who just managed to catch it. ‘On that thing is enough incriminating evidence to put you away for years. There are several audio tapes of you tipping us off about stuff over the phone. There’s video of you counting out money you’ve just been given, plus footage of you screwing a bird who happens to be under the age of consent. There are also shots of you sniffing coke off a whore’s belly while slagging off your superiors.’

  Danny paused to let it sink in. This wasn’t something he enjoyed doing, although it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it. But then these scumbags sometimes needed to be put in their place and reminded that they couldn’t just pick and choose what jobs they did for the firm.

  ‘I’ve got a few more copies of that,’ Danny said. ‘And I’m assuming you don’t want me to send them to Scotland Yard and the Sunday papers.’

  Cain’s eyes darted fearfully around the room, as though looking for a way out. When they settled back on Danny his lips parted and three words came tumbling out.

  ‘You fucking cunt.’

  Danny responded with a low-voltage smile.

  ‘I’ve never pretended to be anything else, Ethan. I thought you would have known that by now.’

  28

  Beth Chambers

  I was high on adrenalin as I rode home in a taxi. I was dying to call the paper to tell them what I’d discovered but I’d promised Ethan that I wouldn’t.

  That was fair enough, I supposed. It was up to him now to visit Peter Kline, or send one of his officers to do so. I was hoping he’d go himself so that when Kline mentioned having already spoken to a female detective alarm bells wouldn’t start going off.

  I couldn’t help feeling pleased with myself. Impersonating a copper had been the right call. No way would Kline have talked to me otherwise about inviting a prostitute into his home. Sure, I’d reinforced my credentials as a totally unethical journalist and risk-taker, but at least I’d got another result. I had succeeded where the real coppers had failed, and it was going to lead to the downfall of that wife-murdering gangster, Danny Shapiro.

  I was itching to start writing the story of his arrest, the first of many relating to this horrible business. The formal charge against him would follow, then the crown court trial.

  I’d pull together different strands and angles for The Post. How Shapiro’s incarceration would impact on his firm’s reign of terror across south London. How his father had arranged for Tony Hunter to be shot. The truth behind Megan Fuller’s downfall. A profile piece on Shapiro himself, the cold-blooded killer with the playboy lifestyle who married an actress – and then stabbed her to death.

  It was a story dripping with blood, pathos, drama. A tale of intrigue, violence, tragedy. The papers would gorge on it, and the TV news channels would produce spin-off documentaries.

  For me it would also be a personal success story, a vindication of my dubious methods and a reward for my dogged perseverance.

  And something more.

  It would be sweet revenge for what Callum Shapiro did to my beloved stepdad.

  I got home just before ten. Rosie was in bed, of course, but my mother was still in the living room where she’d fallen asleep in front of the television.

  I woke her gently and thought she’d go straight up to her room like she always did. But instead she decided she wanted a mug of hot chocolate.

  ‘I’ll make it for you,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry that I didn’t get back sooner. Was my baby okay?’

  ‘Good as gold, apart from the verbal diarrhoea.’

  In the kitchen I put the kettle on while she took her blood pressure tablets and various others.

  I was bursting to share my news with her, so when she asked me what I’d been up to I told her everything – except the bit about posing as a police officer. She didn’t have to know that I didn’t always operate within the law.

  ‘So you’ve done Ethan Cain’s job for him,’ she said. ‘How did he react?’

  ‘He seemed a little subdued if I’m honest.’

  ‘That’s probably because you’ve shown him up for the useless cretin that he is.’

  My mother wasn’t one to miss any opportunity to slag off my ex-husband.

  ‘Anyway, he’s going to follow it up,’ I said. ‘So by this time tomorrow Danny Shapiro should be in custody and facing a murder charge.’

  A grin tugged at my mother’s mouth. ‘Not before time. You did well, Beth, and I’m proud of you. I hope it gives you some satisfaction after what I told you today about his father.’

  ‘It does. And more so because of the way he threatened me on the phone. He tried to scare me, Mum.’

  ‘Well, he’ll be in no position to carry out any threats against anyone if he’s locked up
, Beth. He’ll have more important things on his plate.’

  I spooned Mum’s chocolate into the mug and poured hot water on top. I was hoping she might stay downstairs for a while as I was too excited to turn in. But she decided to take the chocolate up to bed because she was tired and cold.

  I kissed her goodnight and watched her climb the stairs. I was in no mood for a hot drink so I poured myself a glass of wine from the fridge. Then I sat at the breakfast bar, switched on the telly, and savoured the feeling as the cool, sweet nectar washed its way through my gullet.

  My heart was racing in anticipation of what lay ahead. I was still in pole position on the Shapiro story, with the inside track on developments and access to some colourful background material through my mother.

  For a crime reporter it didn’t get much better. It was the kind of thing that made us tick and fuelled our passion for the job.

  I reached for the remote and switched channels on the TV so I could watch the ten o’clock news, see what they were doing with the story.

  That was when I got a sudden reality check, a reminder that in the cut-throat world of daily news it was impossible to stay ahead all of the time.

  The Beeb was running an exclusive interview with Sam Jones, Megan Fuller’s former boyfriend, who had been released from police custody a couple of hours ago after being questioned about her murder. A middle-aged guy, he looked tired and dishevelled.

  ‘The police were wrong to treat me as a suspect,’ he said to the reporter. ‘As I’ve explained to them I was with friends in another part of London when it happened.’

  He then went on to say that although he and Megan had recently split up, he still loved her and was devastated by her death.

  As I watched him speak I felt there was something disingenuous about his manner. It was like he was reading from a pre-prepared script and acting up for the camera.

  He described Megan as beautiful, talented and kind-hearted. Then he vehemently denied the rumours that he had been abusive towards her.

  ‘I would never have laid so much as a finger on that woman,’ he said.

  He was lying about that for sure and I could see it in his eyes. But it was true that he hadn’t killed Megan. He couldn’t have. For one thing he had what appeared to be a firm alibi.

  And for another his name wasn’t Danny Shapiro.

  29

  Ethan Cain

  They travelled in Cain’s car to Maida Vale. The detective sat behind the wheel, but he struggled to concentrate on his driving. His skin was clammy with dread and panic filled his chest, pressing hard against his lungs.

  Frankie Bishop sat next to him, an imposing presence who seemed perfectly calm even though he was on his way to commit a murder.

  Murder.

  Oh, God.

  It felt to Cain like he was in a bad dream, unable to extract himself. Danny Shapiro’s words, the overt threats, echoed in his mind, chilling his blood.

  This should not be happening, he told himself. How in God’s name did I get myself in such a mess?

  He felt there was nothing he could do but acquiesce to their demands. Not unless he was prepared to be outed as a corrupt copper and face the awful consequences.

  And he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t face the prospect of losing his job and going to prison. The Met would make an example of him and behind bars his life wouldn’t be worth living. He had no choice, therefore, but to see this thing through, to allow whatever shreds of dignity and self-respect he had left to slip away with the blood of a stranger who had done nothing wrong. The guilt and shame would come later. Right now it was fear that was thundering through his system making it hard to breathe.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Bishop said. ‘With luck it’ll all be over in a little while and you’ll be on your way home. Then just push it to the back of your mind. That’s what I do.’

  ‘I’m not like you,’ Cain said.

  ‘Oh, we’re not that different. If we were we wouldn’t be together now and on our way to do a job for our paymaster.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t be here,’ Cain said. ‘Danny should be clearing up his own fucking mess.’

  ‘He employs people like us to do it for him.’

  ‘Well, it’s not right and it’s not fair.’

  Bishop laughed, and it made Cain want to take his hands off the wheel and hit him.

  ‘Do you even believe he’s telling the truth now when he says he didn’t top Megan?’ Cain said.

  Bishop nodded. ‘Sure I do. I didn’t think he did it to start with. It’s not his way and he rarely loses his temper. If he’d wanted her out of the way he would have got me or someone else to do it for him.’

  Cain pressed his lips together, shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

  ‘Megan was a nuisance and she was making mischief,’ Bishop said. ‘Me and the lads told Danny that he needed to make sure she didn’t say anything to jeopardise the firm. But he kept telling us we didn’t have to worry because she was only pretending she knew about stuff when she didn’t.’

  ‘So what was she like?’

  Bishop thought about it before answering.

  ‘She was a decent bird with a nice face and a great body,’ he said. ‘But she was also demanding, moody and hard to please. A right handful in other words. It always seemed to me that there was a lot she didn’t reveal about herself. Like she was hiding a secret she couldn’t even share with her husband.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew her that well,’ Cain said. ‘I always thought Danny led what amounted to two separate lives. That he went to a lot of trouble not to expose his wife to his work and his business associates.’

  ‘He did, but I met her enough times. I sometimes acted as her minder.’

  ‘How did you get on with her?’

  Bishop started to answer the question, but then seemed to change his mind and instead said, ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about Megan. It’s a distraction. Let’s be quiet and focus on the job at hand.’

  It struck Cain as an odd response. Almost as though the question had touched a nerve.

  At any other time it would have aroused his curiosity, but at this moment he had something more pressing on his mind.

  There was a faint drizzle in the air when they got to Maida Vale.

  ‘This is good,’ Bishop said. ‘There’ll be fewer people around.’

  He told Cain to park up well short of Maida Avenue.

  ‘We’ll leave the car here,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to chance it being picked up on CCTV.’

  Cain could feel the dread inching up his spine as they walked side by side towards Peter Kline’s canal-side home. His heart pounded in his chest like a trapped animal and his throat was suddenly so dry he couldn’t swallow.

  ‘So just remember how this will go down,’ Bishop told him. ‘We’re gonna be faced with one of two scenarios. The first is he’s got someone in the house with him. If that’s the case then you say we’re following up a conversation he had earlier with one of our colleagues. At the same time I’ll suss out the situation and decide how best to handle it.

  ‘If, as we expect, he’s alone then we don’t piss about. I’ll do what needs to be done. If he has his own car then I’ll make use of that to take his body away. If there’s no car then I’ll make a call and arrange for one of the lads to come over with a vehicle that can’t be traced to us. If all goes to plan then this bloke’s disappearance will be a mystery to everyone, including your lot.’

  Bishop made it seem so simple, Cain thought. But that was obviously because he had done this sort of thing many times before. He was the firm’s most notorious enforcer after all. Frankie ‘The Nutter’ Bishop – one of the most violent villains in the whole of London.

  ‘This is the house,’ Bishop said, and the sight of the whitewashed façade made Cain feel nauseous and dizzy.

  There was a fraction of a second when he was tempted to swallow it and take flight. To leg it away from he
re and go and confess all to his colleagues. But it passed as Bishop nudged him through the open gate.

  They both noted the Lexus on the driveway and the fact that there were lights on inside the house.

  As Bishop rang the bell Cain looked around. There were no neighbours in sight and no people walking along the street. But that didn’t help settle his nerves. His mind felt as though it was ready to explode.

  The door opened on a chain and a man peered out at them.

  Cain already had his warrant card out and he held it up. ‘Are you Mr Peter Kline?’

  The man nodded. ‘Is this about Tamara? A police officer was here earlier.’

  ‘We’re aware of that, Mr Kline. This is a follow-up. We just have to ask you a couple more questions.’

  ‘But can’t it wait? I was just about to go to bed. I’ve got a busy day at the office tomorrow.’

  ‘It’ll take just a few minutes, Mr Kline,’ Bishop chipped in. ‘And we wouldn’t be bothering you at this hour if it wasn’t important.’

  Kline issued a deep, audible sigh, then removed the chain and pulled open the door.

  ‘Are you by yourself, sir?’ Bishop asked him.

  ‘I am as a matter of fact. Come in.’

  He gestured for his two visitors to follow him through to the living room. But as soon as they stepped into it, Bishop whipped a length of nylon rope from his pocket and pounced on Kline from behind, pulling the rope tight around the man’s throat.

  Kline’s instinctive reaction was to claw at the rope with both hands. Then panic seized him and he started thrashing his body from side to side with such force that Bishop was shoved against a bookshelf, causing him to relax his grip.

  Kline then managed to get his fingers under the rope and at the same time throw his head back into his attacker’s face.

  The blow struck Bishop on the chin, sending him staggering backwards across the room.

  ‘You fucker,’ Bishop roared as he struggled to stay on his feet.