Kaplan grinned. “I understand Turkish. I think he wants me to listen and learn anything the witnesses might say. The Sen family.”
“Such as?” Palmer looked back to the traffic rushing behind her car on Victoria Avenue. Thankfully, no one had yet taken the turning behind her.
“I heard the other men at the shop talking. They said something... something a little bit disturbing.”
“Go on.”
Kaplan was about to speak, but then pursed her lips.
“What is it?” said Palmer.
“I’m not sure what I should say. It might be sensitive information.”
“Ecrin, you are aware that I work on the same team as DI Hogarth!”
“Then please, let him tell you. I don’t want to break any code I’m not yet aware of.”
“Contrary to what you might think, this job’s not just about covering your backside, Ecrin. It’s about working as a team. No matter. I’ll get Hogarth to tell me.”
Palmer gave the new officer a curt nod before dabbing the accelerator with her foot. She shot past her towards the police station car park. Kaplan’s face wasn’t quite so bright anymore. Her long training period was over, but the etiquette of police work made her feel as if she was learning all over again. She sighed and carried on.
PALMER WALKED INTO the CID room.
“I just bumped into Ecrin Kaplan,” said Palmer.
“Who?” said Hogarth, frowning at the unopened cover of a thick manila file.
“Guv, you know who she is. The new PCSO. You told her to go back to Authentic Kebab to do some snooping.”
“Everyone’s an asset. Even the greenest recruits have their value.” Hogarth opened the file and glanced idly at the contents – papers he really didn’t want to read.
“She understands Turkish,” said Palmer.
“Apparently,” said Hogarth, without looking up
“What did she hear, guv?”
“She didn’t tell you?” said Hogarth.
“No. She’s afraid of rules that don’t exist. She doesn’t want to get in trouble. She said I should ask you.”
“Oh,” Hogarth closed the file and scratched his chin. He met Palmer’s eyes.
“The girl thinks she heard something which might illuminate potential motives and the types of suspects we should look at.”
“Oh?”
“She heard a couple of words. A Turkish name. Something about gangs too. Turkish gangs.”
Palmer sensed Hogarth’s evasion. Which made her curious, and annoyed. Only Kaplan’s imagined protocols had made this nonsense possible.
“That sounds almost as vague as Melford’s questions about crimes against local businesses.”
“There’s vague and then there’s daft. Why do you think I sent the girl back, Sue? Because we need to know more.”
Palmer sighed and sat down in her seat.
“Well, organised crime seems a bit unlikely. No gang worth their salt would waste their time emptying a kebab shop till. Not unless we’re talking about a teen gang. This feels more like a petty crime gone wrong... or maybe the attacker was high on drugs – crystal meth or crack – and took things too far.”
“Could be, Palmer. Could be,” said Hogarth, sounding unconvinced.
“What is it? You seem a bit... stressed.”
“Do I? It must be catching then. Melford, who looks as stressed as a Black Wednesday banker, came in to berate me for eating my egg sandwich while you heroes were out saving the day. Then he waffled on about some nonsense to do with operational capability. He asked whether we were ready for a crime wave without the other team on hand. Long Melford’s getting paranoid if you ask me.” Hogarth made a face and theatrically twitched his eye. Palmer smiled, but she wasn’t buying it. Whether the DI liked it or not, Palmer was well attuned to his foibles. Something about the kebab shop murder was bothering him. Hogarth looked away and picked up the few top files one by one. He replaced each one almost as soon as he picked them up.
“And we’ve nothing from Dickens yet?”
“No. Too early. Nor Marris, and we’ll be waiting an age for pathology. I just wanted something tangible before we start getting into the interviews. Just one little nugget would do, just to open them up.”
“You suspect the family are hiding something?”
“Everyone has something to hide. I wanted to find a weak point, that’s all.”
Palmer nodded and turned the matter over in her mind. She guessed Hogarth was hoping PCSO Kaplan could provide them with the key he was looking for. Which meant Hogarth was being secretive – now she knew it.
“We’ll have to start interviews sooner or later.”
“Of course. I just want to wait a bit longer to see what comes up.”
“Coffee then,” said Palmer, standing from her desk. “I’ll fetch us some decent coffee from town. Unless you’d prefer the bilge from the vending machine?”
“No thanks, sergeant. But don’t worry. When DCI Melford asks about your performance, I’ll detail all your kindness and courage. Coffee from the high street? Beyond the call of duty, that is.”
Palmer raised an eyebrow.
“So, you’d prefer the vending machine stuff?”
“Nope. I’ll grab one when I’m out.”
“Out? Out where?”
“You know...” said Hogarth. “I’ve got one of those itches I just have to scratch. It’s a vague hunch, but I can’t help it.”
“Hunch?” said Palmer.
“Let me just check it out, and I’ll tell you everything later on. Promise. Enjoy your coffee.”
Palmer tried to glean what his craggy face was hiding but Hogarth was proving impenetrable. She nodded and looked away.
Hogarth was a chancer, but there was usually a reason behind his iffy manoeuvres. But with DCI Melford acting erratically, Palmer decided it would be safer for all concerned if she knew the DI’s thinking. Hogarth looked as if he wanted Palmer to leave the office first and glanced her way until she got the message. “Thought you were going for coffee...” he said finally.
Palmer sighed. “Yes, I almost forgot.”
She had no choice but to leave the station first. But a decent coffee was only one half of Palmer’s reason for leaving the station.
Considering the risks Hogarth was so fond of taking – considering he had almost lost his job during their last big case – Palmer’s real reason for going out was finding a shortcut to the truth.
Four
DS Palmer intended to use the back entrance to get into Authentic Kebab. There were police everywhere and the sharp little journalist, Alice Perry, was lingering in the adjoining side street of Annerley Road, peering down the gravel-strewn access lane toward the cluster of police vehicles acting as a visual barrier across the back. Perry stood with her huddle of photographers and lesser known press people. One of them, a smiley middle-aged woman holding a microphone and recorder moved to approach Palmer as she went towards the access lane. From the smart suit and demeanour, Palmer had her down as BBC Local Radio. BBC was better than The Record, but then that wasn’t hard. Palmer gave the woman short shrift, leaving her hanging dumbfounded in her wake without a single word.
“See what I mean?” called the unmistakable estuary accent of young Alice Perry. “These police don’t care about informing the public, do they?”
“Oh, yes we do,” said Palmer, turning her head to call over her shoulder as she walked. “But it’s the disinformation we care about most of all. No one wants any undue panic on their hands. Not one caused by you.”
“Oh, so there’s reason to panic, is there?” said Perry.
Palmer tutted to herself and sped up before she made another faux pas. She should have said nothing. Now Perry would invent and exaggerate whatever she liked. Building up pearls of sensational nonsense on the grain of one empty word. Panic.
When she walked in, Palmer saw the family had been all but removed from the crime scene. The door at the back of the building – a sol
id, black-painted wooden door with a metal kick plate at the bottom – opened into a hallway with two doors. One on the left opened onto a set of carpeted stairs leading to an apartment. The two Turkish men lingered at the bottom of the staircase, waiting in silence as if they had been contained by an invisible locked door. Both were clearly unhappy and eagerly met Palmer’s eyes as she passed them.
“Have you got any news? Any suspects?” asked the father, his eyes sparking as he looked at her. The big man seemed to be speaking for both of them.
“Not yet. But we’re very early into the process. It’s only been a couple of hours. We’re doing everything we can, Mr Sen. We’ll need to speak to you soon, okay?”
The father and son exchanged unhappy glances. Palmer moved on before they had time to ask her anything else. She pushed the door into the corridor to find she had buffeted PCSO Kaplan out of the way. Kaplan blushed and stepped away from the door. Palmer let the young woman wince as she walked inside and closed the door behind her.
“I see you’ve already abandoned community policing for surveillance,” said Palmer, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
Kaplan floundered. “I’ll go back out on the beat in a while. I thought I might be of better use here... like DI Hogarth said.”
“Did DC Simmons or PC Dawson ask why you’re here?”
“I mentioned DI Hogarth and they let it go at that.”
“His name is not a get-out-of-jail-free card, Ecrin. Those two know treading on Hogarth’s toes gets messy. Which is exactly why I think you should be trusting more than just a senior officer.”
Palmer nodded back and lowered her voice. She noted that Dickens from crime scene management was nowhere in sight. A sign of progress, perhaps.
“I don’t follow you, ma’am,” said Kaplan.
“I’m not on your case, Ecrin,” said Palmer. “This is just friendly advice. You’re very new and you need to cover your backside in case you make a mistake. I get that. But I only asked what you heard because sensitive information is best shared in a team. DI Hogarth does what he believes is right but sometimes...” Palmer hoped her silence would speak volumes.
“But DI Hogarth is the senior officer in charge of this case, isn’t he?” said Kaplan.
“Yes, he is.”
“Then did I do something wrong?”
“No, Ecrin. But Hogarth’s methods don’t always match police procedure...”
“But he’s a very successful investigator from what I heard.”
“Yes. But every case is won through hard work and calculated risks and, if I were you, I wouldn’t gamble my job on being one of Hogarth’s risks.”
Kaplan took on a troubled look.
“No pressure, but it would be best if you told me what you heard. As backup, in case the situation develops, as they say...”
The young woman considered what Palmer had said and nodded. No pressure, thought Palmer, chewing over her own words. Yeah, no pressure at all. She’d just applied every bit of leverage she could think of. Palmer kept her face blank and waited.
Finally, Kaplan spoke, biting her lip as the words came. “If you think it’s for the best. You won’t tell the DI, will you?”
“Cross my heart,” said Palmer.
Kaplan murmured. “I heard them say two words. The first was mafyasi. The second was Atacan.”
Palmer frowned. “And? What do they mean?”
“The first one means... mafia,” she said in a hushed tone. “The next one is just a name. A Turkish name. Atacan. What I don’t get is why DI Hogarth didn’t tell you this for himself?”
“That’s what I don’t get it either... which is exactly why I thought it best that you tell me as well.”
Kaplan seemed comforted at that.
“Did you hear anything else?” said Palmer.
“Not really. But they are very angry, very upset – especially the big man, the son – but I think they may know I am listening to them. They stand in their doorway and speak in hushed tones all the time. I’ve only been back ten minutes and the taller man, Mr Orcun Sen, has been opening this door trying to get into the kitchen. I’ve seen him do it twice since I’ve been here.”
Palmer nodded. There was something about the big man. Something intriguing, raw, emotional, and intense. And his eyes showed such anger she guessed it was only a matter of time before he caused a scene. As far as Palmer was concerned, Hogarth already possessed the material he required to kickstart the interviews – the words Kaplan had given him. Two words which could have provided the basis for a grilling. So why was he waiting? Was it a tactic? And if not, what was it? Palmer bit her lip.
“You must have heard them say something else? Anything else?”
Kaplan shrugged. “They just whisper. But I can hear they are very angry with someone or something. I think they believe they know who did this.”
Palmer looked at Kaplan for more.
Kaplan struggled. “DI Hogarth mentioned he had encountered Turkish gangs – Turkish mafyasi during his time working with the Met in London. He seemed worried mafyasi might have appeared here in Southend.”
Palmer sighed and Kaplan stepped closer. “But to be honest he was more disturbed when I mentioned the name Atacan...”
“Atacan?”
Kaplan stepped back. “I don’t know. I don’t know the name and I don’t know the history. I am not even Turkish. My family are Turkish Cypriot, but I’m a Thurrock girl...”
Hogarth had already exhausted whatever the girl knew. If she pushed Kaplan any further there was a chance the girl would snap, and then there might be a whole new set of consequences to deal with. An HR matter, or worse. Palmer put a reassuring hand on the girl’s arm.
“You’ve done the right thing, Ecrin. Well done.”
Kaplan looked relieved and Palmer stepped away. She chewed over what she’d learned as she went to find Simmons. There he was, still making a pantomime of investigating the plastic strip curtains, picking at various strands in apparently deep concentration.
Turkish mafia. A hit? But then there was the broken till. The stolen money. And the name Atacan. Plus Hogarth’s evasiveness... The questions and contradictions made her feel uneasy.
Before Palmer reached the end of the corridor, she heard foreign words in raised voices gathering force behind the door. It sounded like a discussion was turning into a row. Palmer turned and pointed to PCSO Kaplan. She nodded and pressed her ear to the door. In the next moment, the door was thrown back against Kaplan who was pushed against the wall. The tall man strode in and looked Kaplan up and down. “Why are you even standing there? Keeping us like prisoners? And have we done anything wrong? Tell me? Did we want my father to be killed?”
Young Kaplan was speechless. She looked at Palmer for help.
“Mr Sen!” said Palmer, hands raised. “You need to calm down.” She spoke in a slow and authoritative tone. “I know this is all extremely difficult for you, but you have to understand...”
“Oh, I understand everything here. It’s become crystal clear to me that you people, you police in this country – you only go through the motions. You act, but you don’t care. I can see. If you wanted to do something, you would already have the killers.”
“We’ve only been here for a few hours, the investigation has only just—”
“Even so – you would have them – like that!” The man snapped his fingers. “I see what happens when real trouble comes.”
Palmer advanced slowly as did Orcun Sen. He met her eyes evenly. She saw he was angry but she sensed a calm beneath it. She didn’t think violence was his intention. There was restraint in his movements
“When are you going to get them, eh?”
“Get who, Mr Sen?”
“Get who?! I can tell who did this and I’m no policeman. What are you even doing in there?”
The big man moved towards the kitchen door. Palmer blocked his way and looked the man in the eye.
“Mr Sen. Please. That is a crime scene,” said Pa
lmer. “If you contaminate it, you’ll only make our job even harder.”
The man grunted and pulled back into the corridor. He stared at Palmer and met her eyes.
“Make your job harder? Baba was Authentic Kebab. From now on there is no business here. He worked seventy hours a week and more. He built this place from nothing. Nothing! He made this one of the busiest takeaways in the whole town. People loved that man. They loved this place. Now what? We’ve lost the very man who made it all happen. No one can ever replace him. And no one can keep this business alive. You people will all watch as our ship sinks. I wonder if you will ever get the people who did this to us? I think maybe you won’t. Are you even interested in helping people with different accents and different skin anymore? This damn country has changed!”
“Please, Mr Sen. Go back to your apartment, and wait for us there,” said Palmer.
“I’ll go. But not to my home. I’m not going to be held captive.”
The man turned back. As he passed Kaplan, Sen paused and peered closely at her face.
“Leave her alone, Mr Sen. PCSO Kaplan is here to help, we all are.”
“Kaplan, eh?” said Sen. “We’ll see what your help amounts to.”
Kaplan stepped back to allow Orcun Sen through the door, her breath still held in her chest. They watched Orcun Sen pause by the back door, as if caught in two minds. He hung his head for a moment, then pushed the back door open and walked out into the alley.
“Mr Sen,” called Palmer, but the door slammed behind him. As soon as the door closed, there was a sound of feet clumping quickly down the stairs. Palmer and Ecrin tensed at the sound. The door from the stairs opened, and the big man’s son appeared looking agitated. There was panic in the young man’s eyes.
“My father – is he here?” he said.
“No. He just walked out of the back door. Why?”
“I saw him in the kitchen upstairs. I think he’s just taken a knife!”
“What?!” said Palmer. “I saw something in his hand before he walked out,” said Ahsen. “Please – you must stop him. He’s not thinking straight.”.
The Secret Fear Page 5