The Secret Fear

by Solomon Carter

  “You thought wrong.”

  There was an edge of hastiness around Melford’s words, like he wasn’t yet settled. The behaviour reminded him of DC Simmons when he had been caught out in one of his latest follies.

  “What is it, inspector? It’s a bad time right now. I’m up to my eyes in it at present.”

  Hogarth’s eyes fell to Melford’s empty desk, all the main work files firmly closed and stacked to one side. The man was often busy, caught up with a slew of admin and management paperwork that Hogarth would have cut off his arm to avoid. But the overstuffed files were closed. There was only the notepad and pen, with Melford’s stressed face looming above them.

  “Yes, sir,” said Hogarth. “I’m sure you are.”

  The men regarded one another. Hogarth’s eyes dropped to Melford’s pad. He couldn’t help trying to read the upside-down scrawl. There were three lines of it. But Melford’s handwriting proved impenetrable. Melford slid the notepad into a desk drawer and shut it firmly.

  “What did you want exactly?” said Melford, with a hard edge.

  “Ferkan Atacan,” replied Hogarth, equally firmly. “Have you ever heard of that name, sir?”

  The DCI frowned then shook his head. “Is there any reason I should? He’s not connected with the Hamlet Court Road case, is he?”

  “Not exactly, sir. He was killed two years back, his body found in Canning Town. It had all the traits of a gang murder.”

  “Then why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m trying to make sure this case isn’t going to become even more unpleasant than it looks.”

  “Eh? You think this could be gang related?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “From what I heard, it has all the hallmarks of a drunken robbery gone badly wrong. I’ve already heard there was some trouble with two very aggressive beggars there this morning. Those two could have a history worth looking at.”

  “Roly Smundle and Neville Grint. I’m getting to that, I assure you. I just wanted to draw a line under this other concern first.”

  “Inspector, I’ve never heard that particular name.”

  “Atacan? But you must have heard of them.”

  Melford shifted in his seat.

  “You’re referring to the London crime family, I suppose. Most policemen of a certain age have heard of them, but they were causing havoc years ago, Hogarth. And that was in London, not around here.”

  “Yes, the Atacans did peak a long while ago, granted. But Ferkan Atacan was causing all kinds of trouble up until the day he was killed. And the Atacan family were never wiped out, not altogether.”

  Melford let out a sigh as if this was a dead-end distraction which he could have done without. He lowered his head and scratched his balding crown. Hogarth sensed where things were going even before Melford summoned his next words.

  “Look, I know you must have been involved in some pretty desperate situations at the Met. And I know the Atacans were absolutely notorious... but if you’re asking me whether I think there could be a connection between the murder of Baba Sen and a gangster killed two years ago in a London gang war then I would have to say you may be in danger of reading more into this than is there.”

  Hogarth narrowed his eyes. His gaze fell to the desk where the notepad had been. The pen still lay by Melford’s hairy fingers. Melford glared back at him and Hogarth noticed his cheeks had darkened.

  “I understand how it must seem to you, sir. But just before I transferred down here, I heard a significant rumour that one of the family had moved down to Essex for a fresh start. Maybe to escape being killed like his brother.”

  “So?” said Melford.

  “The Atacan family were rotten, guv. Every single one of them was dangerously bad. Ferkan was the worst of the bunch, the most violent, the most wild of all, but none of them were saints. Leopards can’t change their spots. If one of that family did move down here...” Miray’s face drifted through Hogarth’s mind, slowing his words, “...well, then he’ll cause us trouble soon enough.”

  “Then if and when that happens, we’ll be able to draw on your expertise to guide us through the situation,” said Melford.

  Hogarth couldn’t tell if Melford was being sarcastic or not, so he let the words pass unchallenged.

  “Sir, Baba Sen had a very odd-looking cut on top of his head. I think the wound was caused by the killer carving a letter ‘A’. That was one of the things the Atacans used to do. They liked to sign their handiwork with a carved initial.”

  “Damned foolish thing to do, as well,” said Melford.

  “Yes, if you were afraid of being arrested. But the Atacans were rarely ever investigated by the police. Some people said they had too many coppers in their pockets to get in trouble with the law. Men of the right rank. Police with influence, sir.”

  Melford’s face stayed blank.

  “Do I hear another conspiracy theory forming, DI Hogarth?”

  “No, sir. I wanted to use you as a sounding board, to see what you knew of the Atacan influence here in Southend. I’ve not been here long enough to know.”

  Melford seemed to relax by a few degrees. He breathed deeply and reclined in his seat.

  “You can be fully assured, inspector, that I have never heard of any serious crime in Southend committed by any man called Atacan – not in the last five years, let alone the last two. Look, that wound could mean anything. It could be ‘A’ for Arsenal. ‘A’ for anything you like. Or it could be misdirection by the culprit. That’s more likely don’t you think?”

  “I doubt it’s got much to do with football, sir.”

  Melford raised an eyebrow. “But I answered your question, didn’t I? The Atacans are not here, inspector. And as for that wound to the head – have you spoken with Quentin about it?”

  “Too soon to be bothering pathology, sir. I didn’t see the point in hassling Quentin before time. It only makes him worse.”

  “I thought you hadn’t. So maybe there is no letter ‘A’, inspector. Not until Quentin confirms it. So let go of the conspiracy theories, and deal with what’s in front of you. Sometimes, Hogarth, I think you’re in danger of overthinking things.”

  Hogarth nodded and took hold of the door handle. He offered Melford a joyless smile. Before he left his eyes trailed down to the pen by Melford’s hand.

  “Overthinking, sir? It’s not often I get accused of that. Sorry to interrupt your flow, by the way.”

  Melford didn’t smile or comment. He glared at Hogarth until the door was closed, then took a deep, deep sigh. He dragged a hand over his face and took the notepad out from the drawer. Slowly, he picked up the telephone and dialled the number he knew by heart.

  Hogarth walked into the CID room, his brow tight as a snare drum as the Atacans and Melford’s barbed comments spun through his mind. He met Palmer’s eyes and saw PCSO Kaplan sitting opposite her. Both of them had fallen silent now he had entered the room.

  “Should my ears be burning?” said Hogarth.

  “No more than usual, guv,” said Palmer. “But it’s chaos out there, you know that, don’t you?”

  “How so?”

  “The Yuksels aren’t exactly ecstatic to be here,” said Palmer.

  “I’m sure the desk sergeant can handle them.”

  “So what are you charging them with?”

  “Charging? Nothing as yet. They’re simply here to help police with their inquiries.”

  “We can’t hold them like that,” said Palmer.

  “Not for long. But if they won’t help us, they know I’ve got a stack of potential charges to use against them. Orcun Sen tried to kill the old man with a chopping knife for heaven’s sake. And the old codger Yuksel assaulted Sen before my eyes. I’ve got enough to keep them here until they know who’s in charge.”

  “But will you press those charges, sir?” said Kaplan.

  Hogarth dropped his backside down into his office chair. It was one of the least comfortable chairs he had ever known. But
on the plus side, the discomfort forced him out of the office as often as he could manage.

  “Of course not, Kaplan. I wouldn’t waste my time on any of that. We’re looking at murder here, and from what we saw in that bloody fiasco just now, one of this lot knows something about it. You didn’t hear anything else when they were brought in?” he said.

  Kaplan shook her head. “Sorry, sir. By the time they were in, they’d mostly gone quiet.”

  “Hmmmm. Orcun Sen did exactly the same. And now he knows we have a Turkish speaker amongst us I doubt he’ll risk saying much ever again.”

  Palmer gave him a sideways glance. Hogarth raised an eyebrow and met her eyes.

  “You didn’t bring in the Turkish woman, guv. What was her name?”

  “Miray...” he sighed. “Her name was Miray Atacan. It was once, at least.” Hogarth spoke in guarded, measured tones.

  “Why didn’t we bring her in as well...? Seeing as we took in all the others...?”

  “Did you see her do anything, Palmer?”

  Palmer stayed quiet but her eyes were firm.

  “She was a bystander, Sue. Just like she always was.”

  Palmer’s eyes flickered but she settled into her chair, her body language softening. Kaplan glanced between them.

  “Do you want me to leave, sir?”

  Palmer’s eyes seemed to say yes, and the PCSO started to stand up. She took her PSCO cap from the meeting table.

  “This is the nature of detective work, Kaplan,” said Hogarth. “Complicated, dangerous stuff... but considering you’re as green as they come, I think you handled yourself pretty well out there this morning.”

  Kaplan received Hogarth’s backhanded compliment with pursed lips. She turned for the door. “Make sure the Neighbourhood Manager knows we’ll need you at the drop of a hat. Specialist skills and all that. This is an important case, after all.”

  The young woman nodded and offered a smile as she withdrew into the hubbub outside. Hogarth got ready to defend himself to Palmer.

  “Green as they come? That’s some pep talk,” she said. She rolled her chair back into position behind her desk.

  “What? But the girl is as green as they come. She looked like a rabbit in the headlights all morning. That is until she saw we had a need for her. This case will build her confidence no end.”

  “Guv...”

  “Yes, yes... I know,” said Hogarth turning towards Palmer at his side. There it was. That same slighted, almost mournful look in her eye again. But he couldn’t place it. Palmer wasn’t one for self-pity. If she had been a self-pity merchant, Hogarth wouldn’t have been able to stand her. Nonetheless, the sad look was there at times, and other times it was gone. Palmer seemed impatient.

  “You knew her, didn’t you?”

  Hogarth raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “This Atacan woman. It seemed to me you knew her well.”

  “Miray, you mean? Yes... I knew her. After a fashion.”

  Palmer waited.

  “Wait a minute. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “We were never... Well. It never got that far.” Hogarth’s expression became stiff and defensive. Palmer blinked at him.

  “This isn’t about her, Sue. This is about something much more concerning. I knew her of course – about ten years back. I was working in the Met and she was already involved with people with an extremely bad reputation. A reputation which was entirely justified.”

  Palmer’s eyes widened. “And you think it could be connected to the murder? Then why didn’t you bring her in?”

  “You don’t know the situation, Sue. The woman was always a pawn, not a player. A plaything of the people she’d gotten involved with. I saw it from outside then I saw it up close. She had no influence over the people around her.”

  “I don’t buy that. There’s always a choice, guv. Women never have to let themselves get walked over – not anymore.”

  “You claim to know a bit about Turkish culture,” said Hogarth.

  “A little general knowledge, that’s all.”

  “Either way. In Turkish culture, women are not equal. I saw it for myself.”

  “Things have changed – over there too.”

  “Not as much as a bit of lippy and hairspray might have you believe. It’s a very traditional culture and among the people I knew of in London, it was a lot worse than that.”

  “Worse? What do you mean?”

  “It was brutal. Almost medieval. How the Atacans treated Miray was just one part of it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Then think yourself lucky.”

  “If you’re bringing this up as a concern, I’d prefer you to spell it out,” said Palmer, her irritation so evident it drew a kind of smile from Hogarth. His narrow eyes were bright and full of energy.

  “They were killers, Sue. Out and out killers. They believed in revenge, they advertised the fact, and they were absolutely merciless when they attacked their enemies. They made examples of them. Grotesque examples. That’s what I meant by medieval. We’re talking about grown men being handed their own testicles. I’m not joking.”

  Palmer’s eyes gleamed in shock.

  “The mafyasi? Those Atacans?” said Palmer. “You worked through all that in the Met?”

  Hogarth shook his head. “No, thank God. It was before my time, mostly. By the time I was on the scene, the Atacans’ territory was already being carved up between the new gangs, the Eastern European crowd, the Chinese, the Italians, and the new wave of Africans. It’s like the bloody Premier League of organised crime up there now. The Turkish gangs had had their day. Once Ferkan Atacan was topped it looked like they were finished. Ferkan was the most brutal and feared of them all.”

  “I still don’t get the connection,” said Palmer. “If you weren’t involved in their cases, then why are you so concerned? And if Ferkan Atacan is dead?”

  Hogarth blinked. Palmer seemed to read his mind.

  “Miray. She was Ferkan Atacan’s wife, Sue. She was married to the monster.”

  “And you got close to her...?”

  “Yeah. I was a bit younger, still naïve. A butterfly near the flame. But I was wise enough in the end – we were both wise enough to stop it all before things got serious.”

  But Palmer wondered how serious things had got. He watched her thinking it over.

  “If Ferkan had known how close we had been... well, you can guess the rest.”

  Palmer nodded.

  “So, this is personal for you.”

  Hogarth frowned. “Don’t be bloody daft. We were ships in the night, Sue. That’s all. It was ten years ago and then some. Life was different back then. At least, it’s certainly different now. But Miray looks like she’s caught in the same old trap. New faces, same trap.”

  “But with the Yuksels instead? Surely she could get away from that lot if she wanted to.”

  “Yes,” said Hogarth, his eyes narrowing. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Which makes me wonder...”

  “Guv, just a question. Do you think we might be getting side-tracked here?”

  Hogarth’s eyes were flinty as they met Palmer’s, searching for her meaning.

  “Maybe this Miray woman is reminding you of the past when there’s no link there. There’s no reason to think this murder goes all the way back to—”

  “I said they were brutal,” said Hogarth.

  Palmer stopped talking.

  “Once, the Atacans were so powerful it seemed they were untouchable. The police never gave them much trouble. Why? I used to ask myself that. Well, some cops were bent, taking backhanders from them. Stands to reason, I’d say. But the rest of them were just plain terrified of the repercussions for friends and family, not to mention for their private parts.”

  Palmer opened her mouth to ask another question. Hogarth kept on talking.

  “Sometimes they even used to leave a signature on the people they killed – just to let everyone know who did the killing. It was a warning to the
ir rivals, and a demonstration that they couldn’t be touched.”

  Palmer blinked. She remembered Baba Sen’s body on the cold tiles at Authentic Kebab. His lifeless eyes. The strange bloody welt on the top of his bald head.

  “The wound on the top of his head...” she said.

  Hogarth nodded. “Did you look at it?”

  “It looked out of place, but I guessed he might have been hit on the head in the attack and the impact had split the skin. Either that or he could have hit the grill racks as he went down...”

  Hogarth shook his head.

  “That was a cut. And it was made when the man was already dead or dying, hence not much blood. They used the same knife which they used to force open the till. And after they’d taken the money and scattered those coins to make a show of a robbery, they cut a nice little shape into Baba Sen’s head. Did you see any hint of a shape in the blood?”

  “How did they sign the bodies, guv?”

  “A few ways. But one they used more than once was a letter ‘A’. And now I’m waiting for our friend, Mr Quentin, to confirm what I think I saw in that wound.”

  “You think you saw an ‘A’ in that cut?”

  Hogarth sighed. “I think so. But I hope not.”

  “But you said this Ferkan was dead... that the gang were on their way out.”

  “Yes, they were. But just before I transferred down here, I heard a rumour that one of the Atacans had moved to Essex before me. I don’t know where I heard it. In the end, I assumed it was a trick of the mind, you know, a bit of cold feet about moving to somewhere new. I put the thought behind me and moved on. But now I’m not so sure. Especially after seeing Miray here. She really shouldn’t be here, Palmer. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s probably nothing. People move every day. And it might just be a robbery. It’s possible.”

  “Hmmm,” said Hogarth with a wry smile. “That’s what the DCI wants to think. I think he’d like me to find something on those two idiots who were out scrounging on Hamlet Court Road this morning. But that’s only because he wants it all nice and neat. At present, Melford has the look of a man who wants everything to go away and leave him alone.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” said Palmer. “Late mid-life crisis, maybe?”