“Not quite. He wanted to double-check everything. It’s a murder. He has to be thorough.”
“Well, at least he’s got good reason now. The killer came back. It’s a good thing I was there, otherwise, he might have gotten what he was looking for.”
It was a selfish, childish argument, and Palmer didn’t feel good about it. But there was no way she was going to mention her other more personal motivations. It was better to blag and keep her mouth shut.
“I don’t know what you were up to. You went to the Yuksel place first, didn’t you? Talked to Miray...”
Palmer tried not to blush.
“Then you spoke to old man Yuksel. Miray said you’re a good egg, which is something. But why are you trying to work around me? We’re a team, Palmer. And ultimately, get this, I’m in charge. Because the buck stops with me, as does all the shit when it hits the fan. That’s the reality.”
“I wasn’t trying to undercut you, guv. I wanted to help.”
“I guessed that part, but I can’t figure out what you were thinking.”
She blinked and thought about Miray. Palmer was sure the woman had suspected her true interest in Hogarth. It was there hidden in the platitudes – how good it was to see that Hogarth had a colleague who had his back. But from the look in Hogarth’s eyes, she saw Miray had held back from sharing her suspicions. For that, Palmer was grateful, not to say relieved. She sipped her coffee and started to plan her next words. But Hogarth only saw her hesitation.
“Is it Orcun Sen?”
“What?” said Palmer, setting her cup down.
“Did you take that risk because you’ve formed some kind of... bond with the man?”
Hogarth glanced at his shirt cuff, picked at an imaginary loose thread, and looked back up.
Palmer was blushing. Hogarth nodded.
“No, no! That’s not it at all.”
“You had to deal with his emotional outburst, you chased him to Yuksels Cash and Carry. Maybe you had to talk him round and ending up forming a rapport. This is a messy business, Sue. I know that. Feelings get stirred up. Look at Simmons, he’s a bloody bouncing ball full of testosterone and other gubbins. We’re only human. Simmons more than most.”
“Guv, it was the Atacan business, that’s all. I thought I could get somewhere if I went digging further than you were prepared to.”
“Really? But that doesn’t explain the ouzo or your proximity to our big Turkish friend last night. If I’d been any later, I reckon the place would have looked like a Turkish sauna.”
“Guv. He’s not my type. Seriously,” said Palmer. “I was letting him think whatever he wanted to think so I could have a look around. He offered me the chance to look at some evidence.”
“And you’re sure that’s all he offered?” said Hogarth.
Palmer gave Hogarth a rebuking eye. Hogarth snorted into his coffee.
“And, guv, it was raki, not ouzo. Raki is Turkish, ouzo is Greek.”
“It’s all bloody Greek to me, Sue. Whatever. I’ll buy your Atacan excuse – for now. But it still goes against the grain. We’re a team. Okay?”
Palmer offered a polite smile, businesslike, apologetic, but behind the façade, she was beaming. The repair job was almost done. She made a note to grovel to Dickens when she next saw him, an appeal to take all the flak instead of Hogarth. She doubted the man would listen, but it was worth a go.
“So you drew a blank on the Atacans?” said Hogarth. “Nothing to prove or disprove their involvement.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?” said Hogarth, his eyes snapping to hers.
“I didn’t sleep much last night...” she started.
“I’ll bet,” said Hogarth. Palmer ignored him.
“I had a lot on my mind. I wanted to make sure I processed everything before we spoke. So I made some notes, did some thinking.”
“Here we go,” said Hogarth.
“Leaving Baba Sen’s paperwork aside, the plane ticket and all that...” said Palmer. She laid her hands on the papers and slid them away. “Yusuf Yuksel. He’s very arrogant, isn’t he?”
“Stating the obvious, Sue,” he said.
“But I’m just warming up. Yusuf Yuksel. You just said Miray is a victim. But after what you said she’s been through, why would she allow herself to be a victim to a horrid old man like Yuksel? It makes no sense.”
“A lot doesn’t make sense in this case. The murder – and Quentin hasn’t confirmed that yet – it’s full of mixed signals.”
“I know. But just listen a moment.”
“I’m all ears,” said Hogarth.
“You said Miray came here after what happened with Ferkan, after he was killed...”
“Yeah. Two years ago. She came here to get a fresh start. But like she said, it’s not enough. Forty miles, an hour by train. It’s too close.”
“Agreed,” said Palmer. “So what if she hasn’t quite escaped them? What if she still is a victim?”
Hogarth blinked. “But you were the one saying the Atacan line is a red herring. And Ferkan Atacan, her husband, he’s dead. They turned him into Swiss cheese in East London years back. He’s an ex-parrot. Ferkan won’t be scaring anyone in this world again.”
“But it doesn’t necessarily need to be Ferkan, does it?”
Hogarth frowned. “That hangover of yours a bit heavy, is it? None of the other Atacans gave a damn about Miray. I knew her back then. She was a henpecked, beaten down squaw. A lovely woman, yes, but still a gangster’s moll. She barely knew the rest of their awful family. They didn’t give a damn about her. They probably wouldn’t have recognised her in the street.”
“But what if? Bear with me. Did you know Yuksel owned more than one business?”
“No surprise there. The old man’s a chancer. I knew that from the off. That’s half the reason for all the hot air coming out of his mouth.”
“But what if there’s another reason for all that confidence, guv?”
Hogarth shook his head like he didn’t follow. But the spark in his eyes suggested he was on the cusp of seeing it. She just needed to push him all the way there.
“There were two photographs in his office. They were like highlights of his business life. One was a picture of the hand car wash not far from the cash and carry. You know the one?”
“That’s his? Mini-valet for fifteen quid. Not a bad job either.”
“And I bet you paid cash in hand...”
“Don’t think they liked the look of my American Express Platinum.”
“Cash. It’s always cash.”
“Of course it is. Those boys want to send their money back home to the mother country. One hundred per cent. They don’t want the dear old HM Revenue and Customs creaming off the top.”
“Okay,” said Palmer. “Then the next pic I saw was of Yuksel and his dearly departed wife. They were wearing a tux and a cocktail dress. He hinted it was some big do, an award ceremony. He was boasting about his community credentials... how he’d helped people into work, how he’d given to charity and all that. He was telling me that he wasn’t a bad man like the Sens have made out.”
“Every scumbag thinks they’re due a sainthood.”
“But there was something else in that photograph. Add it together with the other one and it got me thinking.”
“You really couldn’t sleep, could you? Maybe you should have taken the raki home with you.”
Palmer shook her head. “Another group were pictured in that snap, almost invading the shot of Yuksel and his wife. It looked a bit off to me. Like one of those photo areas at a big award ceremony with all the different celebs cramped together for their press shots. But someone in the other group was looking at the Yuksels like he knew them. He was looking right into the shot.”
“They got photobombed at an award ceremony? So what?”
“Guv, old man Yuksel is vain and arrogant, we know that already. He kept that image on his wall for a good reason. Surely he could have cropped t
he image if he wanted to, but he didn’t. The photograph is up on his wall, with the photobomb, warts and all.”
Hogarth narrowed his eyes. “And?”
“And I think the face of that man is probably as important to Yuksel as the face of his wife. Maybe more so,” Palmer shrugged. “Just a feeling.”
“And the car wash?”
“A cash-in-hand business... a money laundering business, guv?”
Hogarth looked at Palmer and read the certainty in her eyes.
“You certainly did use that brain last night. And not all of it pining for Orcun Sen.”
“None of it was used for him at all.”
“You think Yuksel’s involved with organised crime,” he said. Hogarth sat up and nodded. “Check him out. Find out anything you can. And while you do that, I’d like to get a look at that photograph myself some time...”
“Yes, guv.”
“Now what about these documents you prised from Orcun’s sweaty hands?”
“I haven’t got a link yet, but there may be one. Both men have accused the other of being villains, maybe they’re both right. Sen might have been up to something too. From the look of this, I’d say he was.”
“Regular secret cash payments... a lump sum going abroad. Maybe he was going to set up a rival business to put the Yuksels under?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Palmer. “He was fully absorbed in his business, one hundred per cent of the time.”
“What then? You seem to understand these folk better than I do. What’s your gut telling you, Palmer?”
“I’m not quite there yet... but Sen and Yuksel couldn’t have been more different if they tried. Baba Sen put on a smiling face for the customers, but he was a stern man. A devout Muslim...”
“Really? I bought a couple of kebabs from him in my time. He never came across as a puritan.”
“But he was, guv. Orcun Sen told me about the two different Turkeys. From what I’ve seen, it’s almost like Sen and Yusuf Yuksel are like each one of them. The secular and the Muslim... In Turkey, those two extremes hate each other. The country almost descended into a civil war.”
Hogarth seemed faintly intrigued. He gulped the rest of his coffee down in one.
“Oh. And what stopped it?”
“Circumstances. Outside events. The war in Syria, for example.”
“And now?”
“The Islamic party won. The president is on their side, but he’s a real hardliner though. They say he’s a cruel man who wipes out the opposition. But the secular Turks are still trying to resist him.”
“So, there are some parallels but the similarities end there,” said Hogarth. “Our Turkish Muslim, Baba Sen, didn’t win his particular war.”
“It’s just context, guv. If nothing else, it might help us get to grips with what’s going on between these families.”
Hogarth snapped his fingers – he’d remembered something. “And we need to check out that Basildon warehouse. Remember? The warehouse Kaplan overheard our troublesome Turks discussing yesterday. First, we need to know where it is. I want to see it today. You carry on with your digging into our man Yuksel, and I’ll locate this warehouse. Kaplan might come in handy again. I’ll take big Orcun’s paperwork – unless it has some sentimental value...?”
Hogarth looked at Palmer and winked before she had the chance to take offence. Coffee gone, Hogarth stood up from the canteen table. As he was about to leave, Melford appeared at the entrance of the canteen hall. The tall man stood framed in the doorway. He looked typically stern, tired, dishevelled, tie knot stuck to one side, and his thinning hair needed recombing. As soon as their eyes met, Hogarth’s heart sank.
“Looks like I’m about to have another Q and A, Palmer. Think of me fondly, won’t you...?”
“Hogarth!” snapped Melford. “Follow me, now.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hogarth. He marched after the DCI, holding Baba Sen’s papers in his hand, then he turned back at the door and made a zombie-like face to imitate Melford. The women behind the canteen counter looked at Hogarth as if he was mad, then Hogarth strode away for his just desserts.
Fifteen
As Melford settled himself into lecture mode behind his big desk, Hogarth ignored the self-righteous ticking of the antique clocks and scoured the room and the contents of Melford’s desk. The work files which had been on his desk yesterday had been relegated to the floor. Not even merely the floor, but a corner beside a cheese plant which had seen better days a long time ago. As Melford smacked his lips to search for the best possible opening, Hogarth’s eyes scanned the man’s desk. There was the notepad and pen, still ready at hand, just like any good secretary ready to take a dictation. Next, he saw the telephone message slips – blue and grey squares – a small collection of them in a pile like ticket stubs, left for Melford by other police and junior admin staff. He saw the name ‘Mrs Melford’ as one of the callers. Another slip bore a different name, but Hogarth couldn’t make it out. Something like Paterson, maybe? Hogarth’s eyes finally trailed to the wastepaper basket poking out from the edge of Melford’s grand desk. More message slips along with torn up sheets of printer paper. Weird. Who the hell tore up used messages? It was an overly zealous way to treat used communications... unless they were very personal. Or contained something untoward.
“What’s the matter with you?” said Melford. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Of course, Melford hadn’t been talking to him at the time. He watched Melford slide the message slips under his notepad, his hands moving seemingly of their own accord. Melford seemed semi-detached from his work lately. This morning he seemed almost fully-detached even from himself.
“Sir,” said Hogarth, and set his body language and stance to penitent soldier under the sergeant major’s gaze. For now, he decided it was best to play along. For now.
“You do know why you’re in here, I take it.”
“I have my suspicions, sir. Dickens probably.”
“Crime Scene? No. I’ve not heard from Dickens yet. Melford’s brain was slower than Hogarth had anticipated. Hogarth relaxed, his eyes dropping to Melford’s notepad once more. Melford’s hairy-backed hand slapped down over the pad.
“Well, I expect he’ll call me before long. Bloody hell, Hogarth. Why the hell do you keep having to make such a bloody pig’s ear of every case?”
“All due respect, sir, but I’ve managed to solve each of the last four serious cases we’ve been handed.”
“Yes. And you managed the last one by the skin of your teeth and broke every bloody rule and regulation in the book on your way. Heck, man, do you think it’s wise to turn that into a subject for boasting?”
“Not for boasting, sir, just pointing out that I haven’t actually failed. Not yet. Not to mention that one of the reasons I was transferred to Southend was to help this station repair its reputation as an outpost of corruption.”
Melford blinked at him, wrongfooted. Confused. “Why even bring that up? That’s the past, DI Hogarth. We’ve all moved on.”
Hogarth shut his mouth and nodded once. But he couldn’t help stealing one last glance at Melford’s desk before he looked away.
“Our reputation has changed, so we don’t need you creating a new one. I don’t need the top brass saying I’m allowing you to act like a rogue sheriff in the wild bloody west.”
“Can I ask, sir, what is the exact substance of the complaint against me, and who brought it to your attention.”
Melford blinked at him again and rubbed at the bags beneath his eyes. For a moment, Melford looked about to deliver the asked for information, but he stopped himself.
“The exact substance of the complaint is that you have allowed your tendency of breaking protocol to spread to your team. Which is exactly what I had warned you against. DS Palmer, normally the paragon of good police work in your team – went to the Hamlet Court Road crime scene last night, snuck in when the premises were being guarded by a fellow officer, and thought it wise
to do her own cloak and dagger detective work.”
“Sir,” said Hogarth. Melford ignored him.
“Which almost resulted in DS Palmer ending up on a kebab spit herself. First you, now her! I don’t want a police officer murdered under my watch! And I don’t want you setting any more bad examples.”
“I’ve spoken to DS Palmer this morning. I told her I expected her to never repeat what she did last night. But having said all that, I have to say DS Palmer’s actions have got us closer to the meat of this case.”
“So, you think it was worth the sacrifice, do you? You’d take such shortcuts again?”
“I didn’t say that, sir,” said Hogarth.
Melford bristled and shuffled his backside in his executive chair. Hogarth listened to the tick-tock of the most overbearing clock on the wall and tried to think peaceful thoughts. But it was no good. Instead, Hogarth gritted his teeth.
“Then what are you saying, exactly?” said Melford.
“That DS Palmer followed her instincts to do what she did. Maybe she sensed the attacker was going to strike again. Either way, it looks like Palmer followed her instincts and it paid off, as it often does.”
“Instincts?”
“She found new evidence, sir. Documents which paint the victim in a new light. Following instincts – seeing people in a new light. I’d say that’s part of detective work too.”
Hogarth blinked at Melford, hoping his words were reaching beyond the current case. It was Melford’s turn to glance at his hand and the notepad underneath. He nonchalantly neatened the notepad and his message slips, gathering them together, putting them to one side.
“I don’t agree with any methods that risk lives or alienate and antagonise our colleagues.”
“Alienate and antagonise who, sir?”
Melford shook his head once.
“What did Palmer find exactly?”
“Baba Sen, the victim—”
“I know who Baba Sen is – I read the case notes, for goodness sake.”
“Just thought you might have been too busy, sir... It seems Baba Sen was making monthly payments to a person called Fada. Payments of two hundred pounds a month.”
The Secret Fear Page 19