The Secret Fear

by Solomon Carter

  Turkish Airlines £111.00

  Corrections £4000 Istanbul

  Total cost £4,111

  Underneath, in a very familiar hand, were four handwritten letters spread out across the page.

  They said. ‘PAID’. With a flourish of a line underneath. The writing and the flourish had a kind of job-done feel to them.

  “Any idea what this is?” said Palmer. Sen sucked his teeth as he sipped his raki and stretched out his hand to take the document. As Palmer passed it to him, two other small pieces of paper fluttered to the floor from between the fold. They landed by Palmer’s feet.

  Orcun Sen squinted at the sheet, read it, and frowned. He shook his head.

  “I have no idea. But a flight to Istanbul is not as cheap as this. Except if it is one way, maybe.”

  But Palmer was only half listening. She reached down and picked up the documents from by her feet. Both were folded A4 documents. Both were monochrome. Palmer unfolded them and laid one on her lap while she examined the other. The first bore the logo of Turkish Airlines. She scanned it. It was details of a flight to Istanbul and after looking closely she saw no mention of a return flight. Palmer picked up the other document and glanced at it before looking at Sen.

  “You’re right, Orcun. It is a one-way ticket. A one-way ticket to Istanbul leaving this coming Saturday from Gatwick at nine fifteen in the morning... and it’s been booked in the name of Mr Sen.”

  Orcun frowned and blinked at her. He saw the suspicion in Palmer’s eyes.

  “I told you, I am an open book. I know nothing of this. Nothing at all. My father didn’t say he was going anywhere. And anyway, look at the time of the flight – he would never fly so early. He was a creature of habit.”

  “Then what is it about?” said Palmer. “And this. Look.”

  Palmer looked at the second sheet. It was a black and white screen print of a bank balance. It showed a transfer of a payment from one account to another. There was a reference, which looked as if it could have been inserted by Baba Sen which said Duzeltme.

  “Orcun. What does that mean?”

  “The same as it says on the sheet here. Duzeltme means ‘corrections.’”

  “And?” said Palmer. “What does that mean?”

  Sen looked troubled. He took a couple of gulps of his drink until there was no more than a mouthful left.

  “The truth? I don’t know. But it bothers me as much as it bothers you, I promise. My father was busy, he was sometime stern, sometimes too zealous, but I found him a loving man if a distant father. But this? I have no idea. But how could he even think of sending that much money abroad at this time? He loved Erdoĝan and he talked about donating to his party – to what he called ‘the new Turkey’ but I never knew he could actually waste such money – for what? This business needs every penny it makes. It always does. We live from it and we live okay – but not like kings. Not well enough to send this kind of money abroad... to what... to some girlfriend, mosque, political party, or whatever...”

  Palmer bit her lip.

  “I don’t think your father was keeping a secret girlfriend, Mr Sen... and there’s no mention of a mosque or political party that I can see.”

  “Not that I would have minded him having a girlfriend. It might have been good for Baba. He was a grown man. And all men need their outlets...”

  Palmer ignored this.

  “He bought a plane ticket. And that ticket looks related to this large duzeltme payment. Was any other member of your family due to go to Turkey soon?”

  Sen threw up his hands. “No. My father was a mystery. You think I like seeing all this? Please. I’ve had enough questions for one night. I can’t think of this stuff anymore. All of this, it’s overload. I’ve only just lost him. Please, sit and drink with me a while and let this chaos drift away for one night.”

  “Mr Sen, I’m sorry. But this is too important...”

  “You are a warrior, yes, but surely even warriors must rest.” Sen’s eyes appealed to hers. The man was grieving, after all. Lonely. And not altogether unhandsome... But she also recognised a man trying to gain a kiss, using every trick he knew to engineer a tryst. And even a kiss would inevitably lead to more trouble. Orcun Sen laid a big hand on Palmer’s wrist and squeezed it tight.

  “Mr Sen. Orcun...” said Palmer. “After what’s happened to you... after such a short time... lines can blur... I feel very sorry for you, but...”

  “I don’t want your pity, Miss Palmer.”

  “Detective Sergeant Palmer,” she said and tugged her hand away. Sen let go and sank back into the sofa. Suddenly he looked a defeated man, beaten on every front. But Palmer knew even this could have been a plot. He said he was an open book? But what if he wasn’t? What if he knew about the Istanbul flight and what it meant? Palmer swallowed on her raki-mouth and stood up. Just as she did, there was the prolonged sound of the buzzer down below.

  Orcun Sen turned his head but stayed in his seat.

  “I’ll get it,” said Palmer. “That’ll be DC Simmons.”

  “A shame, DS Palmer. I think you and I could have done with some fun,” he said.

  Palmer offered the briefest smile of comfort before she headed for the door. He was a rugged brute of a man. But even with the raki running through her veins, Palmer knew he was a mistake best avoided.

  Palmer went downstairs to meet DC Simmons, taking her newfound evidence with her. She had hoped for a clue to crack the entire case but instead, she had found evidence of two different kinds of payments. It wasn’t progress. Instead, it felt like a new can of worms. But she hoped it might justify her rogue behaviour in Hogarth’s eyes. Palmer coughed, opened the door and all her raki confidence faded away. There was DC Simmons – but not just Simmons. DI Hogarth stood beside him, hands stuffed in his chino pockets, eyes blazing with intrigue. He seemed to read something on her face and raised his eyebrows at her as he stepped inside, Palmer momentarily blocking his way.

  “Well then,” said Hogarth. “Am I allowed to come in, or is this a private party?”

  “Uh. I—” said Palmer.

  “Crikey O’Riley, Sue! What have you been drinking? You smell like a holiday beach bar...”

  Hogarth tutted and left a speechless Palmer in his wake. She glared at DC Simmons as if everything was his fault. Simmons floundered for a second before the words finally came. “The guv called, so I let him know where you were. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”

  Palmer sighed as reality sank in. “Yes, Simmons... you had every right to tell him.”

  “Thank God for that,” said Simmons. He smiled and walked past Palmer to follow Hogarth up the stairs into the Sens’ apartment. Palmer could only blush at what they’d make of it all.

  “Are you okay?” said a third voice. Palmer glanced up and blushed again.

  It was PCSO Kaplan, staring right at her, a concerned look on her face. The girl was still in uniform, still alert.

  “Yes,” said Palmer, with resignation. “It’s been quite a night.”

  “And quite a day,” said Kaplan. The PCSO closed the door and paused as she went to pass Palmer. The girl made a face and looked at her.

  “Is that—?”

  “Yes, yes. It’s raki, Ecrin. I’ve been drinking, raki. Okay?”

  A crumpled half-smile appeared on Kaplan’s face. “If you like raki I’ll have to bring you a bottle.”

  “No one ever said I liked it,” said Palmer, testily. Kaplan restrained her smile and turned away. Palmer waited for Kaplan to climb the stairs, taking one more moment of respite, before following her up to the apartment to face the music.

  “Good evening, Mr Sen.” Hogarth’s loud, chipper voice was full of mischief. “I hear you’ve had a rough night. But looking nice and cosy now I see.”

  When Palmer reached the landing, Hogarth was busy sniffing the glass of raki she’d left behind. He raised an eyebrow.

  “So, you were drinking on the job, Sue? Do tell me if we’re disturbing someth
ing, won’t you?”

  Simmons snorted a laugh into his shirt cuff. PCSO Kaplan looked more awkward than ever – unable to look anyone in the eye.

  “I don’t understand the big joke,” said Orcun Sen. “This woman confronted my father’s killer. The man attacked her and she fought him off. The rest of you should be following her example.” Orcun stood up from the sofa and collected his empty glass. “At least she cares about our situation.”

  Sen’s intervention stopped the mockery. He picked up the glasses and stomped off to the kitchen. A sombre tone returned though there was still plenty of mischief in Hogarth’s eyes. Palmer’s eyes burned at him, but she stayed silent. She knew she deserved some of what she was getting.

  “Why did you come here?” whispered Hogarth.

  “You should be asking why the killer came back,” said Palmer.

  “I was getting round to that,” said Hogarth. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  The words mollified her and yet made her feel worse. She pushed away a few angry tears and swallowed the feeling down.

  “But you still took a bloody risk. Why did you go off like that?”

  “I had a hunch...”

  “You had a hunch that could have gotten you bloody killed,” said Hogarth.

  “A tactic I learned from the best,” said Palmer.

  Hogarth shook his head. “So, tell me why and tell me what happened.”

  “I wanted to disprove and discount the Atacan theory,” she said, keeping her voice low enough to ensure Orcun couldn’t hear her. Hogarth’s eyes flared.

  “You’ve been asking people about the Atacans? That’s another dangerous game! And?”

  Palmer didn’t offer any excuses. “As it turns out, I can’t disprove their involvement. Not at present.”

  Hogarth’s face tensed. “But you found the attacker.”

  “Yes, and that wasn’t planned. I got clobbered for my trouble.” She patted her face.

  “Then we owe him one,” growled Hogarth. “Would you recognise him?”

  Palmer shook her head. “It was pitch black. He was very good at keeping out of sight. Orcun came downstairs, hit the lights and the man fled before either of us got a look at him.

  “Bastard. But he came back all the same. Why?”

  “I don’t know for certain. But it could be these,” said Palmer. “These handwritten notes were downstairs.”

  She handed Hogarth the documents – the ones from Baba Sen’s cupboard down in the kebab shop, then the printed sheets from the red folder. “These could be very enlightening about Baba Sen. But maybe not so informative about our killer...”

  Hogarth flipped through the sheets. When he looked up at Palmer, he was wide eyed. “I don’t know about that, Sue. Maybe this is what that scumbag came back for.”

  “Why?” she said.

  “This is evidence, Sue. Evidence of something, all right. Does Orcun know about these documents?”

  “No,” said Palmer. “Not in terms of a potential motive.

  “What about the lad with the ponytail? Azif?”

  “Ahsen, guv. He’s not here to ask.”

  Hogarth nodded. “I bet he isn’t. Which means this looks like evidence of a secret, Palmer. A secret which could have cost Baba Sen his life...” He passed the paperwork back to her. “And it could easily have cost you yours. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Sue. It must have been that raki...”

  “I didn’t drink any raki until after, guv,” said Palmer.

  Sen appeared in the kitchen doorway and Hogarth glanced at him. “Or maybe it was something else...?” said Hogarth. “Don’t take risks like that again. Okay?”

  “Yes, guv,” she said quietly. Hogarth turned to Sen. “That raki of yours, Mr Sen. Don’t suppose you’d let us have one for the road.”

  Sen looked at Hogarth, shrugged and returned to the kitchen for more glasses, water and ice.

  “Not for me, thanks,” said Palmer, when Sen offered her a glass.

  “No, DS Palmer. Very wise,” said Hogarth. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

  Palmer saw the mischief written on his face. Hogarth lifted his glass to Palmer and Orcun Sen. “Well done, folks. At least you lived to tell the tale. Tomorrow, we go all out to nail this bastard.” Hogarth sipped his drink then knocked it back in one. Just as Hogarth reached to put his empty glass on the coffee table, the sound of a loud slam came from below – followed by a thudding on the door at the foot of the stairs.

  “Did you leave the back door open?” said Hogarth.

  “No,” Palmer replied.

  Hogarth stiffened. He marched towards the stairs and skipped down two at a time. He kept one foot on the lowest stair and got ready to pull back out of harm’s way as soon as he had opened the door. He bunched his other fist tight and geared up to smash the attacker in the face. The door was hammered again. Hogarth flicked the latch, yanked the door back and raised his fist. But there was only PC Orton, eyes wide, mouth open. The man looked breathless and sweaty. Hogarth lowered his fist.

  “Has there been any trouble?” said Orton, eyes wide with panic.

  “Orton?” said Hogarth. “Where the hell were you, man?!”

  “DI Hogarth?” Orton spoke quickly. “There was a disturbance. Further down the street. I went to deal with that and it took longer than I realised.”

  Hogarth stared at the floundering copper. He made Orton wait before he spoke again.

  “And did you call it in? Did you ask for backup?”

  “No. I thought I could handle it myself.”

  “How uncharacteristically courageous, Orton. Disturbance, my arse! You were supposed to guard the crime scene. Not run off doing whatever you bloody well like. Next time you stick to your post or I make sure you’ll get a carpeting like no one’s ever been carpeted before!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Orton.

  Palmer looked at the man from the top of the stairs.

  “PC Orton?” she called.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Orton.

  “That disturbance – didn’t have anything to do with hanging around in the Wimpy bar, did it?”

  “The Wimpy bar? I don’t know what you mean.” Even before Orton was finished making his excuses, Hogarth had read between the lines. He leaned forward and pushed Orton away.

  “It’s too late to cover your arse now, Orton. You better start shaping up, or you’ll get what’s coming to you. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Orton in a small voice.

  Hogarth bared his teeth and pointed to the street. “Off you go then. I’ll be watching you.”

  PC Orton turned away and slinked out of the back door.

  “Now, why does that make me feel so much better?” said Hogarth, beaming back up at the others from the foot of the stairs. He waited a few seconds for Orton to get clear of the alleyway before he walked outside. One by one, the rest of the team followed. Last of all, Palmer walked down the stairs, leaving Orcun Sen with a brief wave of farewell.

  “Sue?” he called. The man must have heard Hogarth say her name. It seemed Orcun Sen was keen to cross new lines and Palmer saw she had been involved in a very near miss. Nearer than she liked.

  “Ships in the night, Orcun,” she called as she descended the steps. “Let’s just stick with that, shall we?”

  Before the man could say another word, she closed the door behind her and walked away into the night, her cheek sore and her head already throbbing. She found Hogarth standing at the end of the alley, staring into the street beyond. The merest of smiles crossed Palmer’s face. Hogarth had waited for her. It was a crumb of comfort at the end of a very hard day.

  Fourteen

  Day Two.

  Hogarth dressed it up as tea and sympathy – half a pastoral check into Palmer’s wellbeing, half a softly structured dressing-down. It was a far subtler tactic than Palmer would have normally given him credit for, which made it all the more upsetting. Palmer had messed up, and she couldn’t
tell how far Hogarth knew she’d gone. Oh, he was easy to read in a lot of ways, but when it came to the deeper stuff, Hogarth’s gruff face was as inscrutable as they came. Palmer sipped her coffee. This was the good stuff, shipped in from the high street especially for the meeting – probably by their new deputy dog, PCSO Kaplan.

  “So, come on then, Sue. Why did you do it? You wanted to prove something to me, is that it? As if you needed to.” They sat at the back of the police canteen with their shop-bought coffees like an insult to the staff behind the canteen counter. Not that they seemed to care.

  “I already told you,” said Palmer.

  “Yes, you said it was the Atacans,” said Hogarth. He sipped his drink with relish. “You thought I was panicking about nothing. So, I guess it’s actually my fault you risked your neck and pissed off Marris and Dickens to boot?”

  “They’re pissed off?”

  “Marris is pretty quiet, but I got the message. As for Dickens, if his puss got any more sour, I’d be asking the PDSA to put him down. He’s bloody fuming, Palmer, and who do you reckon he blames, eh?”

  Palmer sighed and dipped a finger into the froth at the top of her cup.

  “He doesn’t like you anyway,” said Palmer.

  “And you’ve just given him another reason not to. He thinks I’m a rogue cop, now you’ve proved we all are. The guy is anal, a control freak, but we need him. We can’t jump all over the crime scene and expect him to like it.”

  “Guv, I had to go – besides, Dickens must have done what he had to do by now.”