‘Is there a point to any of this?’
‘I thought I should let you know, that’s all,’ Thorne said. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, right?’
‘I’ll consider myself warned, then.’
‘You should consider yourself in very deep shit, one way or the other.’
Now there was a longer pause. ‘So, why is it you calling me, then? Why don’t I see the heavy mob kicking my door in?’
‘You should hope that’s who it is when it happens.’
‘Not flying solo on this one, are you?’
‘I’m giving you a chance.’
A laugh. ‘Go on…’
‘Strikes me you might want to think about getting yourself some protection. Taking a walk – no, running – to the nearest station; and maybe, while you’re there, telling them exactly why you need protecting. What you’ve done to deserve the undivided attention of Marcus Brooks.’
‘Or…?’
‘Or somebody else is going to tell them.’
The man on the other end of the phone sucked in his breath fast. It was meant to sound sarcastic; an indication that he wasn’t remotely threatened. But Thorne could hear that he was rattled.
‘Why the fuck should I do anything at all?’
‘Well, why don’t we start with the fact that this conversation is being recorded?’
Thorne hung up, and laid his old mobile phone down on the table. He picked up a fork, then put it down again when it began to rattle against his plate. Pushed the tray away.
He’d pop into The Oak on his way to meet Kitson at Colindale; pick up a cheese and tomato roll.
Maybe get a stiff drink to go with it.
Kitson had explained to Hakan Kemal and Gina Bridges that another officer would be sitting in on the interview. She made the introductions informally, then again for the tape. She asked Kemal if he was feeling OK; if there was anything that he needed before they started. He just shrugged.
‘He’s fine,’ Bridges said. ‘But until such time as you have any hard evidence, we really are doing you a favour here.’
‘We appreciate that,’ Kitson said. ‘Mr Kemal wouldn’t be here at all had his name not been passed on to us by someone intimately acquainted with this offence.’
Kemal looked up.
‘How well did you know Deniz Sedat?’ Thorne asked. Kemal stared back, weighing him up. Thorne had no problem with that. He had the man’s attention at any rate. ‘Perhaps you did business with him?’
‘No,’ Kemal said quickly.
‘But you knew him.’
Kemal looked away again. He was chewing at the inside of his mouth.
‘This is not about drugs, or money-laundering,’ Thorne said. ‘The way things stand, we’re not particularly interested in your business affairs.’
Another good, long look from Kemal. He seemed to come to a decision. ‘Yes, I knew who Deniz Sedat was,’ he said. ‘And where his money came from.’
A glance from Kitson. It looked as though she’d been right: Kemal appeared to be happier talking to a man. ‘So, you weren’t friendly with him?’
‘He thought he was my friend.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He took me to clubs and casinos. Flashing his money around.’
‘This was after he started going out with your sister?’
‘Made out like we were family, just because he was seeing her.’
‘You didn’t like him?’
Kemal’s expression was answer enough.
‘So, I presume you weren’t very happy when he started going out with Harika.’
Opposite him, Kemal sat back in his chair, his lips whitening. Thorne wondered if he was turning on the silent act again.
‘It’s understandable,’ Thorne said. ‘I’ve got a younger sister myself. Claire’s a year or two older than Harika, and no man’s good enough for her. Doesn’t matter who he is, what he does… I don’t think I’m ever going to like it.’ Thorne was aware of Gina Bridges sighing; scribbling something. ‘I do know that if she ever got involved with someone like Sedat, I’d be on him like shit on a blanket.’ He saw the tension ease a little around Kemal’s mouth. ‘She hates it that I get so worked up, but I can’t help it. Our father’s not around any more, so…’
Thorne stared ahead, trying to avoid catching Kitson’s eye. She knew very well he had no siblings.
‘Sedat was not so unpopular with our parents,’ Kemal said. ‘He was Turkish, which is important to them, and he had money. They wanted Harika to settle down and give them grandchildren. They didn’t like her college friends very much.’
‘So, it was down to you to keep an eye on her.’
Kemal nodded slowly. ‘I kept an eye out, yes. Nothing more than that.’
‘OK.’ Thorne turned to Kitson. The look he got back said keep going, but it was obvious that Kemal disapproving of his sister’s boyfriend wasn’t shaping up to be much of a motive for knifing him to death. It was clear from Gina Bridges’ expression that she was thinking the same thing.
‘Did you know Sedat was going to be at the Black Horse that night?’
‘They went there most Saturdays. Sedat and Harika, and some of Sedat’s friends.’
‘And did you go because you knew Sedat would be there?’
‘I wanted to speak to him.’
‘You normally carry a knife when you’re going to have a chat with someone?’ Kemal looked away. ‘We’ve got your fingerprints on the murder weapon, Hakan.’
Gina Bridges shot forward in her chair. ‘You’ve got somebody’s fingerprints, Inspector.’
Thorne’s eyes hadn’t left Kemal’s. ‘You know whose prints they are, don’t you, Hakan?’
Kemal shook his head. Not a denial. A plea.
‘What happened in the pub, Hakan? Did Sedat not like whatever it was you had to say to him? Did he threaten you? We know what his sort are like, and I’m sure you didn’t mean things to go as far as they did.’
‘It was Harika.’ Kemal leaned across the table. He was breathing heavily. ‘It was Harika.’
Thorne felt the prepay buzzing in his pocket again. A call this time; he recognised the pattern of the vibrations.
He knew who it was going to be.
He lowered his head and whispered to Kitson, told her that he needed to take the call. He apologised quickly to Bridges, and stood up, reaching into his jacket as he pushed back his chair.
Kitson was terminating the interview as he pulled the door closed behind him. From the faces around the table, Thorne could see that Hakan Kemal was the only person in the room not pissed off with him.
It was chaotic in the custody suite: officers queued up, ready to grab a vacant interview room; lunchtime trays were still being ferried to and from the cells; at the platform, two young women screamed at the custody skipper, while the uniformed constable booking them in did his best to calm things down.
The phone was still ringing and Thorne did not want to miss the call. He hit ANSWER while he was negotiating his way through the scrum. Said his name and stepped into the cage – the reinforced entry through which prisoners were brought from the backyard. He’d wanted to take the call outside, but it was tipping down, so he pressed himself into a corner of the cage.
‘Thorne…?’
The word was stretched and hoarse; the tiredness in the voice even more evident than it had been the last time. Thorne covered his free ear with his right hand. ‘I’m here. I got your message.’ He turned in a little towards the metal wall. ‘I saw “Squire”.’
‘Looks like he hasn’t got a care in the world, doesn’t he?’
He’s got plenty to think about now, Thorne thought.
‘Walking his fucking dog…’
‘Listen… I know him,’ Thorne said. He waited for a reaction. Watched the rain bouncing off the cars and vans in the backyard.
‘Probably not as well as you thought, though, right? He’s very good at pretending to be something he’s not.’
A WP
C jogged around the corner and stepped into the cage. She stood next to Thorne, swearing and shaking off the rain. Thorne grunted a yes into the phone while he waited for her to move inside.
‘So, what did you do?’ Brooks asked. The simplest question sounded dragged out; desperate. ‘Did you tell him?’
‘I gave him a choice.’
‘That all?’
‘So far.’
‘You hoping he’s going to turn himself in?’
It told him that the man in the video clip was still alive, but Thorne had no easy answer to the question. He knew he wanted to see ‘Squire’ pay for what he’d done, but that was as far as it went. How he paid was a different matter. ‘I don’t know what he’s going to do.’
Brooks released a fractured breath, a short groan. ‘I wish I knew what your game was,’ he said.
‘That makes two of us.’
‘You could always just arrest him.’
‘I’ve got no evidence.’
‘It’s there. You know it is.’
‘You going to give me time to find it?’
The pause before Brooks spoke again made it clear that he was eager to get on with the job. That ‘Squire’ didn’t have too long to make his decision. ‘So, what’s the plan then?’
‘There really isn’t one,’ Thorne said.
‘You’re watching him, I suppose. Waiting for me to come bowling along like an idiot, so you can nick the two of us at the same time.’
Thorne’s ambivalence turned to irritation in a second, and he seized on it hungrily. Staring out at the shitty weather and listening to a murderer telling him what he could be doing. What he knew very well he should be doing. ‘Why the fuck did you send me this stuff? Any of it? You’re not stupid, you know it’s going to get you caught sooner or later. Sending the messages wasn’t just about doing Stuart Nicklin a favour, was it?’
Thorne had to strain to hear the answer. The rain was getting heavier, and Brooks sounded as though he was drifting away. ‘I wouldn’t piss Nicklin out,’ he said. ‘The simple fact is, once this is done, I don’t care what happens. I get caught, I don’t get caught, it’s all the same. Prison isn’t going to make the future any worse for me, so it’s all just a fucking gamble.’ There was another long pause before he spoke again; low and expressionless, like interference from another line. A voice coming through the wall. ‘I’m happy just to wait and see what happens.’
Thorne heard the click and three sharp tones; listened to dead air for a few seconds. He wasn’t exactly happy to wait and see, but he knew he didn’t really have a lot of choice.
Kemal was still talking, but he wasn’t saying very much.
He may have taken advice from his solicitor, of course, or perhaps it was just the fact that the interview had been interrupted. Either way, five minutes back into it, Thorne could see that the impetus had gone, and he knew it was down to him to get it back.
‘You know how we found you, don’t you, Hakan?’
‘The parking ticket.’
‘No, I mean, how we knew that you were the man we should be looking for in the first place?’
Kemal waited.
‘Harika told us.’ He nodded, smiled. ‘Your sister told us that you had killed Deniz Sedat.’
Next to him, Thorne was aware of Kitson stiffening. He knew that she was not wholly comfortable with this approach, that she’d given Harika Kemal certain assurances. But Thorne felt they had to do whatever was necessary.
They’d spoken briefly before Kemal had been led back into the interview room. When Kitson had urged him to tread carefully, Thorne had reminded her that she’d asked for his help. He told her that Kemal was bound to find out that they’d talked to Harika sooner or later and that getting the truth out of him was surely the most important thing.
Kitson hadn’t argued. She had seen that Thorne was fired up. She’d looked at him, said, ‘Who the fuck was that on the phone?’
It was warm in the interview room. In the silences, Thorne could hear the sound of water rushing through the hot-water pipes; a counterpoint to the rain clattering on to the flat roof above them. He wondered if the other three were sweating as much as he was.
He stared at Hakan Kemal. ‘Does that upset you? Your sister coming to us, telling us that you were the man responsible?’
Kemal crossed his arms. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at Gina Bridges as though he’d only just noticed she was there.
‘Come on, that must really hurt. That must really piss you off. Christ, I know how I’d feel if it was my sister. Especially as you were the one who was keeping an eye on her. It seems to me that you were the only one looking out for her. That’s about right, isn’t it? You were the one member of the family who genuinely had her best interests at heart.’
A small nod. Thorne could see that Kemal’s fists were clenched beneath his arms; pressed against his ribs.
‘Do you think Harika betrayed you?’ Thorne saw the reaction; glimpsed a tender spot to dig away at. ‘Do you think she’s taken Sedat’s side against you, against your family?’
Kemal began to rock slightly. He opened and closed his mouth.
‘Do you think she’s disloyal?’
‘Yes…’
‘Do you think she’s let you down?’
‘She is ungrateful.’
The word had been all but growled out. Thorne took a beat. ‘Why do you-?’
‘I did it for her.’ Kemal was shouting; his fists out in front of him on the table. ‘It was because of what he did to her.’
‘You killed Deniz Sedat? That’s what you’re telling us?’ Kemal nodded. ‘For the tape…’
‘I killed him.’ Quieter again.
Kitson exchanged a glance with Gina Bridges. The solicitor gave a small shrug, as if to say, ‘Well done.’ Kitson leaned forward. ‘Was Sedat abusive towards your sister, Hakan? Are you saying he raped her?’
Kemal looked awkward, kept his eyes on Thorne. ‘He did things to her… sexually. Unnatural things.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Thorne said.
‘Sodomy.’ Kemal grimaced, lowered his voice. ‘He sodomised my sister. Sedat was an animal.’
Thorne looked at Kitson. So this was why Hakan Kemal was uncomfortable talking to a woman. He turned back to Kemal. ‘I can understand that you were upset, but what Sedat and your sister did is not illegal…’
‘What he did to her.’
‘Whatever. It’s not a reason to kill someone.’
‘He was grinning while he told me about it,’ Kemal said. ‘Standing at the bar in this nightclub, with all his friends gathered around him. Bragging about what he’d done. Leaning in close, stinking of aftershave, and telling me how he bent my sister over and took her. How it hurt her at first, but how she liked it and begged him to do it again. Laughing while he told me, enjoying himself…’
‘This isn’t about your sister at all,’ Kitson said. The blood was rising to her face as she spoke. ‘This is about you.’
‘No…’
‘You didn’t kill Sedat because of what he did to your sister. You killed him because he told you about it. Because he disrespected you.’
Kemal waved his hand, trying to shut her up. ‘No, no. He disrespected both of us.’
‘You’re the animal,’ Kitson said.
Then it all came pouring out. How Kemal had gone to the Black Horse that night, intent on confronting Deniz Sedat, with a carving knife taped inside his coat. He told them that he’d been planning to kill him in front of his sister, but that he’d taken the chance when Sedat had come out into the car-park alone at the end of the evening.
By now, Thorne and Kitson were convinced that Harika had seen it happen anyway. That she’d come into the car park a little earlier than she’d first claimed and seen her brother leaving the scene; perhaps even witnessed the murder itself.
‘I moved in close and looked at him,’ Kemal said. ‘When the knife was all the way in. I made sure he could see how much I was en
joying myself.’
There was plenty of time to get the rest of the details later, and Kitson was on the point of winding things up when Kemal leaned across and began to confer with his solicitor.
Gina Bridges listened, then grimaced, as though she were only asking the question because she was obliged to do so, and already knew the answer. ‘Mr Kemal says that he would like to make a deal.’
‘I’m very happy for him,’ Kitson said.
‘He says he has information.’
Thorne smiled politely. ‘Tell him to save it up; use it to entertain his cellmate.’
‘I know things,’ Kemal said. ‘Drug deals, places where money gets lost, all sorts. I hear these things from Sedat, from his friends, different people.’
‘Not our department,’ Kitson said. ‘Write it all down and we’ll pass it on.’ She verbally terminated the interview and switched off the tape.
Bridges gathered her papers together. Thorne stood up.
‘What about a murder? That’s your department, yes?’
Kitson rolled her eyes at Thorne. ‘You’ve got thirty seconds.’
‘A young woman and her son, killed in June. They were run over in Bethnal Green, but it was not an accident.’
Thorne sat down again. He could feel something prickle at the back of his neck. ‘Whatever you think you know, Hakan, your timing’s bloody awful.’
‘I know who killed them…’
Kitson winked at Bridges. ‘Unfortunately for your client, that’s one we’ve more or less put to bed.’
‘I cannot tell you the names of the men in the car,’ Kemal said. ‘But I know who gave the order.’
‘I told you,’ Thorne said, ‘you’re too late. Not only do we know who the man is; he’s dead himself.’
Kitson pushed back her chair.
‘No, no.’ Kemal was waving his hands again. ‘He is certainly not dead. Not the man who organised the murder.’
Thorne looked at Kitson. So, maybe Martin Cowans hadn’t given the order. But if not him, then it had to have been Tucker or Hodson. Kitson shrugged.
‘Go on then,’ Thorne said. ‘What’s his name?’
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