by Jamie Raven
‘So what’s your interest in him, Inspector?’ I said. ‘Is he perhaps a suspect or a witness?’
Redwood shook his head. ‘Mr Kline is most definitely not a suspect. His name cropped up today in relation to a specific aspect of the case, the details of which I’m afraid I can’t go into.’
It got everyone excited and over the next few minutes they tried to extract the details with a flurry of follow-up questions.
It gave me enormous satisfaction because at least now Peter Kline was at the forefront of their minds. That had to be a significant step towards both finding the man and uncovering the truth about Danny Shapiro’s alibi.
The press conference only lasted another half-hour because the police didn’t really have much to say. The aim had been to keep the momentum going by using Nigel Fuller to grab some headlines, and they had probably succeeded in doing that. It would have helped too that the mystery man Peter Kline had been lobbed into the mix.
As we were all piling out of the room my mobile vibrated with an incoming text message. It was from Ethan.
We need to talk, Beth. Come for a drink. And please don’t go and do something stupid.
I wanted to talk to him again to find out the answers to a barrage of questions. But not right now. I simply didn’t trust myself not to hurt him.
So I typed a two-word reply to his text.
Fuck off.
Outside on the street Nigel Fuller was giving a one-to-one interview to a TV news crew. I stood behind them so that I could hear what was being said. But at the same time I spotted Fuller’s fiancée, Amy Cassidy, standing next to an unmarked police car that was parked at the kerb waiting to take them home.
I made a quick calculation that a few quotes from her would add a bit more colour to the story. She was wearing a dark knee-length overcoat and her hair was held back on one side by a tortoiseshell clip. I introduced myself and was surprised that she remembered me from Saturday.
‘You gave me your card,’ she said. ‘And I know you interviewed Nigel on Saturday morning in Ramsden Road.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘How is he coping?’
‘Not very well if I’m being honest. I didn’t think he would come here today after they decided that Danny Shapiro was no longer a suspect. Nigel was convinced that he killed Megan. But the police have told us the man was with someone miles away when it happened. So perhaps he is innocent after all.’
The guilt hit me like a raging tsunami and it was all I could do not to blurt out what I knew. I looked away from her so that she couldn’t see the shame on my face.
‘We’ve postponed our wedding for at least six months,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to get your mind around such things when something like this happens.’
She seemed happy to continue talking to me, but it didn’t feel right. My throat had run dry and the guilt had enveloped me. I felt sure that if I didn’t walk away I’d lose the plot.
So I thanked Amy Cassidy and wished her well. I then called the office as I headed along the street while looking out for a taxi. The newsdesk wanted me to file copy for the online edition of The Post, and I told them to expect it within the next ten minutes.
The roads were gridlocked and all the taxis I saw were taken. Instead I dropped into the first pub I came to, ordered a G and T, and then sat in a booth to type a story into my iPad. It took longer than it should have because my mind kept switching back to Ethan and what I was going to do with what I now knew. Each sentence seemed to take an age to construct.
There were dramatic developments today in the hunt for the killer of Megan Fuller. The soap star’s ex-boyfriend was questioned for the second time. Police have also linked the murder to a man who has disappeared from his London home. Meanwhile, Miss Fuller’s grief-stricken father made an emotional appeal at a press conference this afternoon …
After I’d sent it I phoned my mother to tell her that I would hopefully be home in about an hour.
‘Shall I keep Rosie up?’ she said.
‘If that’s okay. I’d like to read her a story.’
‘She’ll like that. I’ll make sure she’s ready for bed.’
Back outside I gave up on the taxis and headed in the direction of Clapham Junction railway station. From there it was a fifteen-minute train journey to Peckham.
On the way I would try to work out what to do next and decide whether it was time to stop all contact between my daughter and her wretched father.
37
Danny Shapiro
Danny got home in time to watch live coverage of the press conference on television. A reporter standing outside the station linked into several video clips.
The first showed Megan’s father appealing for help from the public. The second showed Beth Chambers tossing Peter Kline’s name into the proceedings like it was an incendiary device.
Now everyone knew that Kline was missing and that he was linked in some way to Megan’s murder. It seemed to Danny that Chambers had succeeded in doing what she had set out to do. The bitch had drawn attention to Kline and questions would now be asked.
But Danny was comforted by two thoughts: the man from Maida Vale had taken his secret to his grave. And within hours Beth Chambers would be in no condition to do her job.
He was still disturbed by how quickly things had spiralled out of control. It had been a big mistake to rush over to Megan’s house on Friday night in a fit of pique. He should have ignored her threats. But then how could he possibly have known that someone else would drop in on her a short time later – someone whose intention was to give her more than just a bollocking.
He wanted more than ever to find out the identity of the killer, and with the documents Cain had provided perhaps his own team would hit upon something the Old Bill had missed. If Sam Jones wasn’t the killer then who the hell could it have been? He found it hard to believe that the police weren’t able to track down the other person or persons she’d supposedly been blackmailing. Surely, he thought, there would be pointers to one or more of them on her phone or computer.
He padded softly across the room to his well-stocked drinks cabinet, intending to pour himself a large whisky. But before he got there his phone rang. He guessed it’d be his father and he was right.
‘Thought I’d check to see how you’re doing, son,’ Callum said.
The sound of his father’s voice lifted him, and he was reminded of how much he missed the old duffer.
‘Well, you’ll be glad to know that business in booming in all areas, Dad,’ he said. ‘The deal with the Turks is going through and today I saw the accounts for the clubs. Turns out October was our best month so far this year.’
Callum tutted. ‘That’s not what I’m interested in, you wally. I want to know how you’re coping with the other thing. I gather there’s a lot going on.’
Danny pushed out a sigh. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Only what’s been on the news, but I assume they’ve only got half the story.’
‘You’re not wrong there, Dad.’
‘So who the fuck is this Peter Kline bloke? I just watched Beth Chambers bring up his name at the police press conference. Looked like everyone was suddenly a bit uncomfortable.’
Danny hesitated. He had promised Tamara that he wouldn’t tell Callum that she was back on the game. But how else could he explain Peter Kline’s involvement?
‘You know how much I hate it when you hold things back from me, son,’ Callum said. ‘So don’t even think about it.’
Danny told him everything. How Tamara had actually been at Kline’s house on Friday night. How Beth Chambers had spotted the scribbled note on Tamara’s calendar. How she had then gone to see Kline posing as a copper. And how he had told her that Tamara spent Friday evening in his bed.
‘I was in a room with Ethan Cain when she phoned him,’ Danny said. ‘She urged him to get a statement from the guy and then to arrest Tamara and me so that she could be first with the story. That’s why I had to act quickly to stop
it happening.’
He explained how he’d sent Ethan along with Bishop to Kline’s house and how nobody would ever find out what had happened to the man.
‘It’s a mess, Dad,’ he said. ‘And look, I didn’t want to have to tell you that Tamara is back doing the business. She didn’t want you to know.’
‘I’m not stupid, son. I knew she’d be whoring again. It’s all she knows and I don’t have a problem with it. I’m more concerned about this other stuff. You need to make sure it ain’t gonna blow up in your face.’
‘I’m on top of it, Dad. As I see it Chambers poses the biggest problem. So I’m sorting her out.’
‘How?’
‘I told Frankie to send some lads over to Peckham to give her a good hiding. She can’t create problems for us if she’s in hospital for a couple of months.’
Callum’s reaction to this was to release a loud gasp. Then when he spoke his voice appeared to be on the edge of panic.
‘Jesus, son. When are they supposed to be making a move on her?’
‘Sometime this evening. It might even be happening now. Why?’
‘Because you have to stop them,’ he said.
‘But that’s not—’
‘Don’t fuck around,’ he yelled. ‘Just do it. That’s not the way to handle Beth Chambers.’
‘It’s the only way, Dad. She doesn’t respond to threats.’
Callum’s tone pitched up another notch. ‘And you really think that beating her up will put her out of the game? If you do then you’re a fucking moron.’
Callum sounded like he had lapsed into a state of raw shock. He started breathing into the phone like an exhausted runner, and Danny could hear the phlegm gathering in his chest.
‘Call the attack dogs off, Danny. Before they turn a problem into a major fucking crisis.’
Danny was totally confused. He had never known his father to get so worked up over something as trivial as giving someone a going-over. Here was a man who over the years had killed and maimed dozens of people, most of them with his bare hands.
‘I’m not asking you son,’ Callum snarled. ‘I’m frigging telling you not to harm that woman.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Dad, but you’re not making any sense. Why are you so rattled? Is there something you’re not telling me?’
Callum drew a screech of breath and then fell silent. Danny pictured him in his tiny prison cell, a man forced to live in the past, a man who liked to think he still called the shots.
‘This is my problem,’ Danny said. ‘If you don’t want me to sort it my way then you’d better tell me why. Or so help me I’m hanging up.’
A pause ensued. Then Callum made a lot of noise clearing his throat before saying, ‘Okay, son. But you’d better brace yourself because you’re not going to like what you’re about to hear.’
38
Beth Chambers
I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me. I’d just got off the train at Peckham Rye station and was standing inside the entrance sheltering from the rain. From here it was only a ten-minute walk home, but I didn’t have a brolly and had no wish to get drenched.
Along with about a dozen other people I was waiting for the rain to ease off, hoping it was just a passing shower. For some reason I was convinced that one or more of them was checking me out, sizing me up, maybe even trying to make eye contact.
The group around me were an equal mix of men and women, mostly young to middle-aged. I stood huddled in my coat, casually turning to look at their faces. They all seemed pretty ordinary and most were preoccupied with their own thoughts while staring out into the rain.
But one man had his eyes on me. He was wearing a leather jacket and jeans and must have been about my age. When he saw that I’d spotted him, he smiled and that was when I realised that he was quite good-looking in a rough-and-ready sort of way. Definitely my type, I thought.
Why can’t I meet someone like you on the dating sites?
It was easy to smile back because I felt flattered and I knew that in a moment we’d be going our separate ways and so there was no reason not to acknowledge him.
Another time, another place, and I would have been happy for him to strike up a conversation, just like they do in those romantic films when it leads to the altar. But this wasn’t the time or the place. I was in a hurry to get home to my daughter and too many negative thoughts were spinning around inside my head, including what I was going to do with the knowledge that DI Ethan Cain was on Shapiro’s payroll. So I turned away in case my smile prompted the guy to come over and try his luck.
As soon as I did I saw that the rain had suddenly died to a drizzle and I decided to go for it. It wouldn’t matter if I got a bit wet since I was planning to have a bath and wash my hair anyway.
I did up all the buttons on my coat, turned up the collar, and stepped out from the cover of the station.
I went to the right and came out on Blenheim Grove. Rye Lane with all its shops and stalls was to the left. I went the other way and walked past All Saints Church, my heels clicking on the pavement.
Walking through Peckham in the dark is never a pleasant experience, even this early in the evening. You can’t help being reminded that the area is considered one of the most dangerous in London. Poverty, ethnic tensions, and a thriving gang culture deter a lot of people from walking the streets by themselves.
Two years ago I had my bag snatched by a couple of black youths and six months later I witnessed a mugging quite close to here. Even so I was determined not to let such isolated incidents turn me into a quivering wreck.
Blenheim Grove was empty as I hurried past a row of small industrial units on my right. An MOT centre, a cash and carry warehouse, an auto repair shop. They all appeared to be closed.
I was about to cross over the road in order to take a left at the next corner when I heard what sounded like my name being called out. I stopped abruptly and turned around, just as a stiff breeze pushed the rain against my face.
‘It’s me, Bethany,’ the voice said. ‘I knew you didn’t recognise me back there.’
Under the sombre sodium glow of the streetlamp I saw the guy in the leather jacket walking towards me. I frowned because I was sure I’d never seen him before today. But it wouldn’t have been the first time that my memory had failed me.
I narrowed my eyes to slits, and as he drew close I tried to place him.
‘Long time no see, Bethany,’ he said, smiling at me.
Bethany? Who did I know who called me that instead of just Beth?
What happened next took me completely by surprise. While all my attention was focused on Mr Leather Jacket, someone else grabbed me from behind. Before I could cry out a hand was clamped over my mouth and an arm was wrapped around my throat.
I was yanked backwards and dragged through an open gate into one of the units.
As I tried to struggle free my bag fell to the pavement and I saw Leather Jacket pick it up and then check to see if anyone was watching.
I realised then that I’d been ambushed by him and an accomplice. My heart gave a frightened beat and the fear spread through me like a raging virus.
My attacker’s hand pressed harder against my mouth, and I could feel the sharp edges of his fingernails digging into my skin.
Oh my God.
‘Take her into the workshop and don’t let her scream,’ Leather Jacket said in a voice that was loud and hoarse.
I was hauled unceremoniously between a couple of stripped-down cars as the gate was pulled shut behind me. I grabbed hold of the arm around my throat and tried to pull it away with all the force of desperation. But it was locked tight and I wasn’t strong enough to budge it.
I was pulled out of the rain and into a grimy workshop where the air had a stale, lifeless quality. A naked bulb suspended from the ceiling softened the darkness.
The terror rushed through my body and I felt the panic crushing my chest, making it hard for me to breathe through my nose.
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Leather Jacket’s face suddenly filled my vision. He was standing right in front of me, and the smile I had seen earlier was back on his face, only now it was far from pleasant.
‘Time for the fun to begin,’ he sneered.
Several things happened at once. His accomplice let go of me, and my breath was released in a loud, violent gasp. Then Leather Jacket swung a punch hard into my ribs and I fell over, whimpering like a beaten dog.
I rolled onto my back on the filthy floor and let out a horrified grunt. Looking up I saw both men staring down at me. Leather Jacket’s accomplice was squat and heavy-set, with a square jaw and shaved head. His expression was cold and menacing.
‘Don’t hurt me,’ I pleaded and my voice did not sound like my own. ‘There’s money and stuff in my bag. Just take it and go. Please.’
Leather Jacket leaned forward, seized the front of my coat and pulled me back up. Then he slammed me against a wall and I felt it shudder. I opened my mouth to scream but it got stuck in my throat.
The other guy then gave me a fierce slap around the face that I didn’t see coming. The pain was tempered by fear and adrenalin, but the force of it sent me staggering sideways into a shelf full of spare motor parts that tumbled to the floor around me.
I just about managed to stay on my feet, although my eyes started drifting in and out of focus.
‘W … why are you doing this?’ I yelled, and the words rasped in my throat. ‘Who are you?’
‘We’re your worst nightmare, Bethany Chambers,’ Leather Jacket said. ‘And we’re going to make you pay for whatever you’ve done wrong.’
Whatever I’ve done wrong! What in God’s name did he mean by that?
I squeezed my eyes shut and mouthed a silent prayer. I felt paralysed by shock and the dread of what was to come. They were going to beat me up and rape me. I was sure of it. But even as this thought exploded in my head I knew that there had to be a more compelling motive behind this madness. I wasn’t the victim of a random street attack. These bastards knew who I was. Knew my name. They’d followed me. Ambushed me. And now they were going to punish me for some perceived wrongdoing.