“Why do you come to us, inspector?”
“Because of your place within the Turkish community, Mr Yuksel. Your business must act as something of a hub, I would think. Turkish people are known to be hard-working, entrepreneurial. A lot of them have businesses serving the public. You’re bound to know the comings and goings of more than a few Turkish people in this town.”
“Not all Turks are hard-working, inspector.”
“But Baba Sen was. If he hadn’t been working so late last night there’s a chance he’d be alive today.”
“If that was his only mistake, then I don’t see how we can help you. Izmir already told you they didn’t come here.”
“Why?” said Hogarth. “As a matter of principle?”
“Maybe. Baba Sen’s principles were not the same as mine. You’d have to ask his family about that.”
Hogarth’s eyes flitted to the Turkish flag at the back of the shop, on the wall behind the counter. Beside the flag was a historical image of an old man with a dignified, waspish face. He wore something like a turban on his head and a military uniform. Hogarth had seen the image a few times before. He knew the man’s name was Atatürk, the founder of the Turkish nation, but nothing more than that. On a nearby pinboard was a photographic calendar. The Turks, it seemed, were real patriots. There was a quaintness in their patriotism which didn’t translate well in England. Even the Scots and Welsh were able to show their flags, but when the English tried it, the St George’s cross seemed only to remind people of too much lager, angry songs, skinheads, and the EDF. Something had gone wrong along the way. Either way, Hogarth wasn’t the one to fix it. Hogarth’s eyes lingered on the Turkish flag and the image of Atatürk.
“I don’t know about that, Mr Yuksel. Looks to me like you had more in common than you think...” Hogarth coughed into his fist before he could summon the next question. “Tell me. Does the name Atacan mean anything to you?”
Hogarth watched the old man’s eyes flare once more. It was the answer he was expecting. Yes. He knew he would likely get no better answer than that.
“Izmir said you serve all the Turkish businesses in town. Tell me, do you supply any businesses run by anyone with the name Atacan?”
“No. We don’t supply anyone called Atacan. I have dealings with all kinds of people because I am a businessman, but you are looking for big problems where there are none. We do not supply any Atacan, but I’ll admit that I am not so ignorant that I do not know about the family.”
While Mr Yuksel spoke, the shop door chimed, and there was a bark of noise at the front of the shop. Hogarth and the old man heard the noise but ignored it. Their eyes were firmly fixed on one another. “This is a family business. We have no hatred for the Sens, nor anyone else. That man did whatever he liked. I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m sorry for his family.”
There was suddenly uproar behind them. It sounded as if whole shelves of stock were collapsing. Old Yuksel slid along the counter to get a view down the aisles towards the front of the shop. Hogarth turned to see Orcun Sen, red-faced and chest heaving. Izmir appeared at the end of the neighbouring aisle, a panicked look in his eye. He looked to his father but the old man’s eyes were fastened on Orcun Sen. Sen’s face glistened with sweat, his eyes were hard, his jaw locked with rage.
“You? You’re sorry Baba’s dead?! You! As if you would ever be sorry about anything!”
Orcun jabbed a finger at the old man and started a rant in Turkish. The old man raised his voice and argued back.
Izmir added his voice to the din and the old man looked at him. Hogarth was alarmed and annoyed. The old man had clearly lied about the Sens. But the older Sen’s intervention was unwelcome. And it shouldn’t have been allowed to happen.
“Mr Sen!” barked Hogarth. “You shouldn’t be here. You should be with your son. We’ll need to speak to you soon. You can see we’re doing all we can to find the culprit. You need to go home. Now!”
“I’m going nowhere,” said Sen. “The culprits are right here, right now. And if you people can’t deal with this...”
“Culprit?!” shouted the old man. “There are no culprits here. Only good honest businessmen. You want to find who did this? Maybe your father brought this on himself, no?”
Orcun roared and slid a hand behind his back. Izmir called again and started towards the counter as Orcun pulled a long steel knife from the back of his belt.
“Bloody hell,” said Hogarth. “Mr Sen! Don’t you dare!”
The big man didn’t listen. He surged toward the counter. Izmir ran to his side, and Orcun slowed and thrust an arm out to knock him away. Hogarth was already moving. Blocking the attack from the front would have been suicide. He had to do something else. Behind them at the far end of the shop, the door opened and the sound of running feet added to the mayhem. Orcun increased his attempt to reach old man Yuksel, but he was clumsy in his haste and took a misstep. Hogarth barged his shoulder into him. He knocked hard into the big man’s ribs and sent him tumbling over. As he fell his body struck the corner of the counter and the old man pushed him away, swiping a follow-through blow at Orcun Sen which narrowly missed his head. Sen fell into an undignified heap on the floor. The big man had seen Yuksel’s blow as he fell and he roared again. Hogarth saw the danger – a reprisal and a bloody fight. Maybe worse.
“That’s it!” he shouted. He raised his voice louder still. “That’s enough!” It was time to intervene. Hogarth moved in between the two men and planted his shoe heel on Orcun Sen’s forearm. He bent down and tore the knife free of the big man’s faltering grip.
“See this? This is madness. Bloody madness,” said Hogarth. “All of you. This is Southend, not the bloody wild west.”
“Don’t you raise your voice at me in my own shop. This madman attacked me!” barked the old man. Spittle flew from his mouth. He was wild with rage and his anger made Hogarth more furious still.
“You be quiet – and be quiet right now!” said Hogarth.
Orcun Sen struggled beneath him, trying to gain enough leverage to shrug him away. The man was writhing around, a mass of gristle and muscle. Hogarth raised his foot then pressed down again with an added thrust of pressure. The situation was a tinderbox. He needed to get control immediately.
Izmir saw the continued threat from Sen and barked in Turkish to his father. The older man nodded and slipped his hand beneath the counter, for what, Hogarth couldn’t tell, but chances were it was a weapon. Hogarth’s eyes narrowed.
He slammed his fist down on the counter, shocking the old man away from whatever he was contemplating. Behind Hogarth, Palmer appeared with PCSO Kaplan. Her mouth dropped open, Kaplan’s too, as they saw Hogarth in the centre of the fracas, keeping the two warring parties at bay.
“You, Mr Yuksel – stay back and keep your bloody hands to yourself before you make things worse. And you, Mr Sen, had better start listening to what I say, or else. Listen up, one and all. This is a murder investigation, a very, very serious matter. If any of you try and take matters into your own hands ever again during the course of this investigation, I swear I’ll make sure they throw the bloody book at you. I’m talking prison sentences all round. Are we clear?!” Hogarth spluttered down at the big man, but even with his arm pressed to the floor, Orcun Sen was still full of fire.
“These people are liars,” said Sen. “Liars, criminals, and killers. Never trust a word they say. Yalanci Picler!” His last words were added in a burst of extra venom.
Yuksel widened his eyes and launched his body over the counter to reach for the man at Hogarth’s feet. “Liars. Thieving scum. If Baba Sen is dead, he only brought it on himself!”
Hogarth slammed a hand against the old man’s chest and pushed him back over the counter. Izmir surged forward, but Hogarth fended him off with a pointing hand.
He darted a look at Palmer. “DS Palmer. Glad you could make it to the party. I think it’s time we took these gentlemen to the station, don’t you? If they don’t believe murder is a serious bu
siness, maybe some time in a cell will help them think again.”
Palmer walked forward to assist but she looked full of confusion at Hogarth’s presence. “Guv?”
Orcun Sen was still spewing angry words from the floor. From the tone, Hogarth presumed they were Turkish obscenities.
“PCSO Kaplan. Come and take Mr Sen’s knife – keep it well out of reach.”
Kaplan did as she was asked. At the side of the counter, Miray and Izmir spoke quietly to the old man who listened while throwing the occasional retort back to Orcun Sen.
“Did none of you hear me?” said Hogarth. “That’s it I want to see you down the station. You included, Mr Yuksel!”
“Me?!” The man’s face shook with indignation.
“Yes, you, as well. I want to know what’s going on between you lot and, be warned, if it relates to Baba Sen’s death I’m going to find out.”
Old man Yuksel spat another insult as Hogarth helped Orcun to his feet. If Yuksel had been a younger man, Hogarth would have dearly loved to have belted him one. Unfortunately, times had changed.
“Please, don’t waste your time on us, inspector. We have a business to run here. It’s the Sen family you need to look at,” said Izmir.
“Funny that, Mr Yuksel,” said Hogarth addressing young Izmir, as he took a firmer hold of Orcun Sen. “A little while ago you told me how you had no problem with the Sen family whatsoever. Amazing the difference a surprise visit can make. I wonder what else we might glean down at the station, don’t you, DS Palmer?”
Palmer nodded, her eyes still searching Hogarth’s for a clue as to what was going on. But Hogarth turned away. Palmer looked at Kaplan who nodded and took her radio transceiver from her jacket and put in the call to her colleagues.
Hogarth saw Miray patting Izmir on the shoulder. The poor woman seemed to be embroiled in yet another mess of someone else’s making. He pitied her, wondering how much of the decade since he last saw her had been spent like this. A great deal of it, he suspected. The Turkish men she had been involved with were macho brutes, very much redolent of the older patriarchal culture. Hogarth hefted Orcun Sen to his feet. Taking hold of the man’s arm he walked him towards Palmer.
“You can let go of me now,” he muttered, “I won’t do anything else.”
“Let you go? No chance, Mr Sen, not after what you just pulled,” said Hogarth. “Not until I get you out of here.”
“Guv?” said Palmer. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, but I suppose Mr Sen being here answers that question.”
Kaplan had finished the call to the station.
“Assistance is on the way,” said the PCSO, announcing the words grandly as if she had been looking forward to using them.
Hogarth saw that PCSO Kaplan’s ears had tuned in to the Turkish conversation he could hear raging behind them. Hogarth made a mental note and logged it.
“How long until they arrive?” he asked.
“Two or three minutes,” said Kaplan, without looking away.
“Guv, come on. Why are you here?” said Palmer. “What’s going on?” But Hogarth’s brooding look meant she wasn’t going to get an immediate answer. Instead, Palmer watched as Hogarth’s eyes were dragged back to the slender woman with the lush dark hair – a woman with a Turkish complexion and a pretty face. The woman ignored Palmer’s presence. Instead, she appealed directly to Hogarth.
“Joe, I am sorry for this, very sorry. You must think we are terrible.”
Palmer frowned. Joe? The woman knew Hogarth on a personal level. Palmer turned her head away, but not completely. As the Turkish woman spoke, Hogarth glanced self-consciously at Palmer. The sergeant noticed Hogarth’s muted voice and sudden awkwardness and her mood darkened.
“To be honest I don’t know what to think, Miray,” said Hogarth. “But I know I need to get a hold of this case before something else happens. Whatever’s going on between these two families, I need to know about it.”
Hogarth looked deep into the woman’s eyes, searching for answers and perhaps more besides. “You’re not hurt?” she added. Hogarth noted she was avoiding his unspoken question.
“No,” he said, with a shrug. “Well, it’s certainly been enlightening, Miray. Good to see you again. I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another again soon.”
Hogarth smiled and cut the conversation short. Miray faded back towards the counter and clasped her hands together as she watched Hogarth leading Orcun Sen out of the shop. By the time he reached the door, a police squad car had mounted the pavement outside the window. Palmer and Kaplan followed Hogarth outside to meet the newly arrived uniforms. As Hogarth opened the door, he heard old man Yuksel barking at Miray. He looked back and saw the beauty nodding meekly as the man gesticulated and glowered at her. Old man Yuksel had annoyed him all over again.
“I can’t wait to see that old man down the nick.” He watched as the old man turned to his son and started to talk quickly. “What are they saying, Kaplan?” said Hogarth. Sen looked around when PCSO Kaplan responded.
“This girl speaks Turkish?” he said, his arm still in Hogarth’s grip.
“Surprise, surprise, Mr Sen,” said Hogarth.
Orcun looked at Kaplan again and shook his head in disgust but the PCSO ignored him.
“He told the woman to clean up the mess. But the other one. The man – Izmir? He’s talking to him about something else entirely.”
“What else?” said Hogarth.
“I can’t be sure... they’re so angry and heated it’s actually difficult to tell.”
Orcun Sen grunted and hung his head.
“Heated about what?” said Hogarth.
“I don’t know if it’s about Mr Sen coming here or if it’s to do with the murder. It’s hard to hear what they’re really saying.”
Hogarth eyed Sen before turning to offer old man Yuksel a sarcastic flick of his hand as a farewell wave. “I’ll meet you at the station, Mr Yuksel.” The old man only glared in response as the uniformed officers filed into the shop and Palmer pointed out the two men to be taken in.
“Don’t worry, Orcun,” said Hogarth, with an undertone of warning. “One way or another, we’ll get to the bottom of all this. We always do.”
Once the uniforms were dealing with the Yuksel men, Hogarth, Palmer, Kaplan, and Orcun Sen walked along the busy, urban sprawl of West Road towards their cars. Hogarth was quiet. There was little choice with Sen and Kaplan around, but he knew Palmer was sulking and assumed it was because he’d concealed his thinking and his history with the Atacans. But he was only half right. There were plenty of other questions DS Palmer wanted to ask, questions about the Turkish woman. Questions she wouldn’t dare voice. Besides, most of the answers were plainly visible.
“Well, I think we can start on those interviews now, don’t you, Sue?” said Hogarth, breaking the silence.
But DS Palmer didn’t even bother to reply. Orcun Sen raised an eyebrow.
Hogarth shrugged. It was still very early in the game. There was an outside chance Marris and Dickens would have come up with something he could use in the interviews by the time they got back, but Hogarth wouldn’t have bet on it. Thankfully the melee at the cash and carry had given him some insight. However, before the interviews could start in earnest, there was one more thing Hogarth wanted to check. A little local knowledge never went amiss...
Six
Hogarth found himself knocking on the door of DCI Melford’s office. It was the last place on earth he would normally want to visit but to get what he needed there were few other options open to him. Yes, there were a few people he might have asked, but not without sending off unwanted signals. Calling the other CID team was a no-no. They might have had the answers he was looking for but Hogarth was damned if he was going to lower himself by asking them. An undercurrent of sneering rivalry had been established between the teams and he wasn’t going to lose face for an answer. Hogarth could have asked the older uniforms in the station; men
like PC Matthews or even oafish PC Orton, but only if he wanted those gossips sniping to the others afterwards. Which left only DCI Melford. Not an easy choice. Hogarth wondered which of Melford’s unpleasant personas he was going to meet now. He waited with bated breath as his first knock was ignored, so he knocked a second time, with all the eager anticipation of a man due for root canal surgery.
There was a sound on the other side of the door. A muttering which ended in a kind of bark. It didn’t sound exactly like the invitation he was waiting for but seeing as he had knocked once already, Hogarth wasn’t in the mood to wait any longer. He took a breath, steeled himself, and walked in.
It took Melford a full two seconds of surprise before the man gathered himself and those two seconds endured long in Hogarth’s mind. He found Melford hunched over his desk, his face red and angry, his eyes dark-ringed and desperate looking, with the phone pressed to his ear. There was a notepad beside the telephone and Melford held a pen at the ready as if he was about make notes from a telephone message. Hunched as he was, the DCI looked far smaller than usual. The big clock on the wall behind Melford ticked as if tutting at Hogarth for his invasion of Melford’s privacy. “Sir...” Hogarth’s voice trailed off as he saw the flash of panic in Melford’s eyes. His superior’s posture became stiff and rigid as he struggled for words. When he finally spoke, the mask of authority finally started to return, his shoulders flexed, and he set himself back in his chair. But all Hogarth could see was an actor working himself into his role.
“No. No,” said Melford, speaking into the phone. Slowly, deliberately. “I’ll call back soon. Yes. Yes. Very soon.”
Melford clunked the handset down and gave Hogarth a glare. The headmaster was back. But Hogarth still wasn’t buying it.
“DI Hogarth,” said Melford. “Next time wait until I say you can come in.”
“Sir, I thought I heard you say—”
The Secret Fear Page 7