The Alibi

by Jamie Raven

  ‘I’m not sure where I’ll be later,’ Danny said. ‘And I want to know what the fuck is going on asap.’

  Cain was silent for a few beats. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said. ‘But I’m not happy about it.’

  ‘Well, that’s too bad. I’ll tell Frankie you’ll meet him between four and four thirty somewhere within walking distance of the station. Text him with a location as soon as you can.’

  Cain had more to say, but Danny hung up and cut him off mid-sentence. He then called Frankie Bishop into his office.

  ‘I’ve got a couple of jobs for you,’ he told his enforcer. ‘I want you to meet up with Cain and collect something from him. He’ll text you the location.’

  ‘No problem. What’s the other thing?’

  ‘Beth Chambers,’ Danny said. ‘It’s time we sorted her out.’

  36

  Beth Chambers

  I was going to be a bit early for the press conference at Lavender Hill. My taxi driver was an old hand and knew how to avoid the worst of the south London traffic.

  As we approached Wandsworth my ears were buzzing with excitement. I told myself over and over that I had done the right thing in making the anonymous call. Someone had to make the coppers see sense. I was convinced that Ethan and his team were being sidetracked and I couldn’t just ignore my fears for Peter Kline, or the disturbing thought that I’d been indirectly responsible for whatever had happened to him.

  I wanted with all my heart to learn that he was okay, that he hadn’t been kidnapped or murdered, that the two men who had turned up at his house last night were indeed his mates and not Danny Shapiro’s goons.

  The trouble was I just could not bring myself to believe it. Instead I was in the grip of a deep and unrelenting sense of foreboding.

  ‘Where shall I drop you, miss?’ the cabbie said.

  The police station was just up ahead. I could see a television crew on the pavement out front, a suited reporter speaking into a camera.

  ‘This’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Just park on the left.’

  He pulled over to the kerb and as I leaned forward to hand him the fare I happened to glance through the windscreen and spot a familiar face. It was Ethan, and he was hurrying down the station steps with his phone clamped to his ear.

  ‘Keep the change,’ I said to the driver and got quickly out of the taxi.

  I raised my hand and called to Ethan, hoping to seize his attention. But he didn’t look my way or break stride as he dashed across the road at the traffic lights.

  I stood watching him, wondering where he was going in such a hurry just before the start of the press conference. I half expected him to pop into the coffee shop just across the street or to nip into the off-licence next door for a packet of cigarettes.

  But once across the road he moved west along Lavender Hill. I called his name again but he didn’t hear me above the din of the traffic.

  It was then that I noticed he was carrying a large buff-coloured envelope in his free hand and that he kept looking furtively behind him.

  My curiosity suddenly got the better of me and I decided to follow him. I stayed on this side of the road, knowing there was little chance of him seeing me through the heavy traffic.

  He walked for about two hundred yards and then turned into a street between two estate agents. I didn’t want to lose him so I waited for an opening in the slow-moving traffic and crossed the road.

  I looked up at the street sign: Altenburg Gardens, and below it was an arrow pointing to a Catholic church.

  I was about to turn into the street when it struck me that I ought to peer around the corner first. I was glad I did because Ethan was standing not twenty yards away talking to a man who was leaning on the open door of a parked Audi.

  I watched as Ethan handed him the envelope he’d been carrying. A few words were exchanged before Ethan turned and walked back the way he’d come.

  I had to duck quickly through the open doors of the estate agent’s on my left to avoid being seen. Not so quickly though that I didn’t get to see the face of the man he’d had his brief encounter with.

  It was Frankie Bishop.

  Through the estate agent’s window I saw Ethan turn into Lavender Hill and head back towards the station.

  I held my breath as blood roared in my head. I could not believe what I had just witnessed. My ex-husband passed an envelope to the man who had threatened me. The same man who was known to be a sadistic killer.

  It had been a clandestine meeting, of that I had no doubt. And it had probably been hurriedly arranged, which was why Ethan had rushed here from the station.

  ‘Are you looking for a property, madam?’

  A smartly dressed woman appeared at my side suddenly and it made me jump. I couldn’t respond because my throat felt like it was in a tight noose. Instead I ignored her and stepped swiftly out onto the pavement.

  Glancing to my left I saw that Frankie Bishop had driven off with whatever Ethan had given him. My stomach spasmed as I let go of the air held in my lungs.

  There was only one way to interpret what had just happened and it made me want to chase after Ethan and attack him in the street. The cheating dirtbag was in cahoots with Danny Shapiro. He was a crooked cop on the gangster’s payroll. Why else would he have met with Frankie Bishop?

  It made sense to me suddenly why his response to what I’d found out had been so muted. He had probably known all along that Shapiro’s alibi was a false one. That was why he wasn’t keen to make a big thing of Peter Kline’s disappearance.

  I bit my lip, hard enough for it to hurt and felt the rush of a thousand memories swirl around me. Ethan’s lies, his betrayal, his duplicity. He was a man with little or no conscience.

  I replayed in my head the conversations I’d had with him over the past couple of days. He’d been open about the investigation and I hadn’t got the impression that he was holding anything back from me. But I had detected a change in his tone after I’d told him about Peter Kline.

  He should have been wild with excitement, yet instead had told me to keep it to myself.

  ‘You need to trust me, Beth.’

  Of course I should have known better than to think I could ever really trust the man. And I should certainly have known, or at least suspected, that someone so lacking in morals could not possibly walk a straight line as a police officer.

  On the way back to the station I had to fight against the impulse to call the office and tell Grant Scott that one of the lead detectives in the hunt for Megan Fuller’s killer was a bent cop on Danny Shapiro’s payroll.

  What stopped me was the thought that whatever Ethan had done he was still Rosie’s dad. I just couldn’t do it, at least not until I’d confronted him and given him the chance to explain himself.

  I didn’t think for a single moment that he’d have a legitimate excuse for what had just transpired but I reckoned it was only fair that I heard what he had to say.

  I got back to the station half an hour before the press conference was due to start. Reporters and camera crews had gathered and were being marshalled into a conference room that had been set up with chairs and a long desk at one end. There was no sign of Ethan so I assumed he’d returned to the incident room.

  I considered waiting until after the presser to confront him, but I was too wound up and wanted to get it over with. I called him on his mobile and when he answered I told him I was downstairs and that I needed to have a private conversation with him.

  ‘It has to be now,’ I said. ‘I’ve got something important to tell you.’

  He wasn’t keen, but after a long pause he agreed.

  ‘There’s a meeting room on the ground floor,’ he said. ‘I’ll get someone to take you there. Wait in reception and don’t for fuck’s sake let on to anyone else.’

  I was approached in the reception area by a young female officer in uniform who led me along a corridor to a small room with a table and four chairs. Ethan was sitting on one of the chairs and the
moment the door was closed behind me, he said, ‘Before you start I want you to know that I’m mightily pissed off with you, Beth.’

  The tone of his voice added fuel to the fire that was raging inside me.

  ‘Why is that, Ethan?’ I said as calmly as I could.

  ‘Because I know it was you who made that anonymous call. It couldn’t have been anyone else.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I can’t believe you did it after you promised to hold fire on Peter Kline’s disappearance.’

  ‘I made no such promise,’ I said. ‘I did promise you that I wouldn’t run the line about Sam Jones and I didn’t.’

  ‘So why did you go and make that bloody call?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? The guy’s gone missing and you don’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything about it.’

  ‘That’s not fair. I made it clear to you that I was working on it.’

  ‘Yes, you did, but there was no sense of urgency. You acted like it was no big deal and it is. That’s why I went back to Kline’s house. I felt that something needed to be done. And it’s lucky I did because otherwise we still wouldn’t know about those two mystery men. At least now we know he almost certainly didn’t just go for a joyride last night. Something must have happened to him.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. But the way you’ve gone about it is stupid. I just hope you don’t come to regret it.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Because this way all kinds of questions are going to be asked and it might not be easy to cover up the fact that you posed as a police officer. That’s a serious crime, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘You and Peter Kline are the only two people who know about that, so I don’t see why it should get out – unless you’re planning on grassing me up.’

  He gave a long, theatrical sigh.

  ‘This is just typical of you, Beth. As soon as you pick up the scent of a story you’re like a dog straining at the leash. You go at it without thinking it through and in so doing you upset and irritate a lot of people.’

  ‘Does that include Danny Shapiro as well as you, Ethan?’ I said.

  ‘You know it does. We’ve talked about that already and I told you that you need to be careful where he’s concerned. The man’s violent and dangerous. And if he comes to regard you as a threat he’ll do whatever it takes to shut you up.’

  ‘And I don’t suppose you’ll lift a finger to stop him, will you, Ethan?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I said, raising my voice. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday. You should have been ecstatic when I told you I had proof that Danny Shapiro’s alibi was false. But you weren’t. And I reckon it’s because you wanted to play it down in order to give Shapiro time to sort himself out.’

  ‘That’s bollocks.’

  I stabbed a finger at him as the anger boiled over inside me. ‘Kline disappeared after I told you I’d been to see him. A strange coincidence if you ask me. Did you tell Shapiro? Is that what happened? And did Shapiro then do something to him?’

  His expression was one of shock and outrage.

  ‘This is unbelievable,’ he said. ‘Are you actually suggesting that I answer to Danny Shapiro? Because if you are you couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘Don’t fucking lie to me, Ethan. I know you’re in bed with him. And even for you that’s a new low, given that he poses a serious threat to both me and your own daughter.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Beth. What’s got into you? You’re insane to even think that.’

  ‘Am I, Ethan? Am I really?’

  ‘Of course you are. You need to calm down. You’re talking crap.’

  He took a step towards me and reached for my shoulder, but I knocked his hand away and then slapped his face as hard as I could.

  ‘You treacherous, fucking scumbag,’ I screamed at him. ‘I know you’re lying because I just saw you with Frankie Bishop. I followed you from here because I was curious. You gave him an envelope and I’ll bet there was something inside it that he wasn’t meant to have.’

  He just stood there, mouth open, the colour leaving his face like cola from a bottle.

  ‘How long, Ethan?’ I said. ‘How long have you been on the bloody take?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ve got it wrong, Beth. It’s not that. It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Don’t insult my intelligence,’ I said. ‘I saw you with my own eyes. And it’s all clear to me now. I feel like such an idiot because I should have realised what was going on.’

  He was sweating profusely and it confirmed to me that I wasn’t accusing him of something that he hadn’t done. The guilt was writ large on his face, like a mask of shame.

  When he started to speak, I raised a hand to stop him.

  ‘Don’t say another word, Ethan. Not unless you’re going to break the habit of a lifetime and tell me the truth. I want to know exactly what it is you gave to Bishop and I also want to know what’s happened to Peter Kline.’

  I held his stricken gaze for a couple of seconds, and when he stayed silent the urge to swing a punch at him was strong, even though I knew it would serve no useful purpose.

  ‘You make me sick to the stomach,’ I fumed. ‘I fucking hate you.’

  Then I pushed him out of the way and let myself out of the room.

  The press conference was late starting because the unmarked police car that was sent to pick up Nigel Fuller got stuck in rush-hour traffic. But that suited me because I needed to calm down and get my mind back on track.

  After leaving Ethan I went to the loo to splash cold water on my face and regain my equilibrium. Then I made a conscious effort to compartmentalise what I’d discovered so that I could do my job. It proved far from easy.

  And it got much harder when the conference got started and Ethan appeared. He walked to the front of the room where he sat next to DCI Redwood and Megan’s father.

  I forced myself to concentrate on Nigel Fuller. His face had become even more sallow and drawn since Saturday when he had confronted Shapiro in front of the police station. Grief had etched its way into his features and sucked the life out of him.

  His appearance here would make all the difference, which was why the police had wanted him to come along. The distraught relative or loved one of a victim turned an otherwise mundane press conference into a media event.

  Nigel Fuller’s emotional appeal would be carried on the evening news bulletins, and his face would be splattered across the front pages in the morning. It would help maintain public interest in the story and hopefully generate a flood of calls to the incident room.

  I took my notebook from my bag and rested it on my thigh as DCI Redwood introduced himself. The buzz of conversation around me died down and a couple of camera flashes went off.

  ‘With me to answer the questions about the investigation into Megan Fuller’s murder is Detective Inspector Ethan Cain,’ Redwood said.

  I noticed then that Ethan was staring at me. He was obviously worried that I might stand up and denounce him. As I stared back at him I began to tremble with a flood of emotions, so after a few seconds I had to wrest my gaze away and look again at Redwood, who was in full flow.

  ‘We’ve called this press conference in order to make a fresh appeal for information,’ he was saying. ‘Whoever killed Megan is still out there. Based on what evidence we have we believe the person responsible is a man who may or may not have known his victim. At this point I would like to pre-empt at least one of your questions and state that Megan’s ex-husband Daniel Shapiro is not a suspect.’

  A great torrent of anger and guilt welled up inside me. I wanted to cry out, to tell everyone in the room that Shapiro had lied and that one of the detectives working on the case was corrupt. Naturally I bottled it. But I told myself that it was only for the time being. What I’d found out today had strengthened my resolve. I was more determined than ever to uncover the truth about Megan’s murder. If my ex got caught up in the fallout then he
had no one to blame but himself.

  DCI Redwood was now explaining to his audience that Megan’s stepfather wanted to make a direct appeal to the public and all attention switched to Nigel Fuller.

  I could see sweat glistening on the poor man’s forehead. His face was like a sheet of wax, and as he read from a pre-prepared statement, his voice sounded unnatural and slow.

  ‘I believe – as do the police – that someone somewhere must know who killed my Megan,’ he said. ‘Whoever it is would have returned home late on Friday night. He might well have had blood on his clothes or been in an agitated state. If you know, or suspect, an individual, then please, I beg you to contact the police with the information. Megan was a treasure and she did not deserve to die in the way she did.’

  His words cut through me and went to the core of my being. My breath caught and a hard knot tightened in my throat.

  I turned to Ethan again and willed him to look at me. I wanted him to see the rage in my eyes. But his gaze was directed at the ceiling.

  Mr Fuller’s face strained with the effort of speaking, and he seemed mightily relieved when he finished his statement. Redwood explained that Mr Fuller would not be taking questions but he and DI Cain would.

  That was my cue to leap to my feet and get in first.

  ‘Bethany Chambers with The Post,’ I said, then directed my first question at Redwood. ‘Is it true that you’ve again been questioning Megan’s ex-boyfriend, Sam Jones?’

  Ethan’s eyes locked on mine. He swallowed and wet his upper lip with his tongue.

  ‘Mr Jones has indeed been interviewed again,’ Redwood said. ‘He’s among a number of people who are helping us with our inquiries.’

  I stayed on my feet and raised a finger in the air. ‘I have a second question, Detective. Is it also true that you’re now following a new line of inquiry involving a man named Peter Kline who has disappeared from his home in Maida Vale?’

  The question took everyone by surprise, and a low murmur rippled through the room.

  ‘I’ll answer the question as best I can, Miss Chambers,’ Redwood said, his voice low and steady. ‘But I’m afraid there’s not a great deal I can say about it at this stage. Mr Kline is an investment analyst who works in the City. We’re anxious to contact him because he did not turn up for work at his office this morning.’