by Vicky Newham
‘It’s a simple question. You either have or haven’t been paying to live there. Which is it?’
Hayes looked at his solicitor for a steer. The man nodded.
‘I have.’
‘If we checked your bank accounts, would we find a regular amount being paid from you to him?’
‘Good luck with that,’ he sneered.
‘Why’s that? Did you pay him in cash?’
‘When I paid him.’ He scoffed.
‘Where did you get that cash?’
‘I have a little flutter on the horses, don’t I? Get lucky sometimes. Know what I mean?’
‘I see.’ I deliberately stretched my pause out. ‘When our officers searched the flat, where you’ve been living, they found a Glock 19 with your fingerprints on it. What can you tell us about that?’
‘No comment.’
Jackie’s body twitched next to me.
‘It has no-one else’s fingerprints on it,’ I said.
‘State your question, DI Rahman, please.’ The solicitor’s voice creaked with anticipation.
‘If we tested it, other than fingerprints, what do you think we may have found on it?’
‘No idea.’
‘Might the gun have had blood, skin cells and tissue on it?’
‘No comment.’
‘What about cells which belong to Ali Kousa, the Syrian boy you groomed into crime and then shot? Would it have those?’
‘I take it you have evidence for these allegations, Inspector?’ Taylor asked.
‘I do.’ I slid another image across the table. ‘This boy. We have lots of witnesses who confirm that you know him, so please don’t bother trying to deny you do.’
Hayes was staring at the ceiling now, lounging back in his chair with his arms folded. I could see the angry tattoo on his neck, and as he spoke his skin parted round the colours and patterns like ugly sores.
‘I’m trying to figure out why, though. Why would you assassinate a ten-year-old boy who’s a homeless asylum seeker? Who’s here without any family or money?’
‘They’re filthy street rats,’ he hissed. ‘That’s why.’
I’d guessed he’d fling this at me and I kept my face neutral, deliberately not letting him see how appalling I found his expression. Instead I let his words hang in the air by jotting in my notepad and nodding to myself.
‘Useful street rats, though, no?’
‘You what?’ He practically spat the words.
‘Did Ali Kousa do something to you? Or disappoint you in some way?’
Hayes’ face flickered with confusion. ‘No comment.’
‘You see, we did find Ali’s blood, skin cells and clothing fibres on the Glock in your flat.’ I pushed a forensic services print-out across the table at the solicitor. ‘And paint from the wall where you wrote “STREET RATS”. If you didn’t kill him, can you explain how those came about?’
‘No comment.’
‘We have your DNA on the discharged syringe on the floor where Ali was shot, and your finger and footprints in that squat room. Would you like to tell us about that?’
‘So? I’ve been there loads of times. Circumstantial, innit?’ He glanced at Taylor, puffed up.
‘We also have your fingerprints on the petrol canister which was in the Walkers’ back garden. Along with Ali Kousa’s prints too. No-one else’s. Just yours and Ali’s.’ I fixed my gaze on his. ‘If you weren’t involved with the arson at the soup shop, how else could those prints have got on the canister?’
‘No comment.’
‘Perhaps you need to have another word with your client, Mr Taylor, about not mentioning something which he might want to rely on later?’
Taylor gave Hayes a nod.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who lit the match? You or Ali?’
‘DI Rah—’
‘Apologies. I forgot to mention that we have an eyewitness who’s testified to seeing Ali Kousa going into the back of the soup shop the afternoon of the fire.’ I slid Arthur Monro’s statement to the duty solicitor. ‘The thing is, we believe that Ali got the wrong shop. Is that what happened, Mr Hayes?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you tell him to set the newsagent’s on fire and somehow he screwed up? Is that why you killed him?’
‘No comment.’
‘What would you say if I told you that when you switched on the mobile, which you used to text Ali the shop details, cell site data told us it was in your flat?’
He sat up at this. Mumbled to his brief out of the corner of his mouth. ‘What’s she on about?’
Taylor peered over the top of his glasses at the print-out. ‘Let’s move on.’
‘So, unless you want to carry the can entirely, I suggest you tell us why you did it, and who else was involved?’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Who was it then?’
‘No comm—’
‘Don’t even try that, Mr Hayes. At the moment, we’ve got you for the arson at the soup shop,’ I deliberately counted out the offences on my fingers, ‘the manslaughter of Simas Gudelis and Kelly Turner, the abduction and murder of Patrick Ryan, and the murder of Ali Kousa. And a string of exploitation, drugs and firearms offences. Not to mention Abbie Turner. How’s that sounding?’
‘Like he’ll never see daylight again.’ Jackie could barely contain her glee.
Hayes paled in front of me.
‘So, we’ll leave you with your solicitor to have a think about how you’d like to proceed. Mr Taylor, perhaps, for now, you can take your client through the sentences for arson, double manslaughter, and double murder? Interview suspended at 1520 hours.’
Maya, 4 p.m.
‘Interview resumed at 1550,’ I said. ‘Present: myself, DI Rahman and DCI Lawson. We’ll move onto the next stage of the interview, Mr Hayes.’
He drained the final dregs of water from a plastic cup and lounged back in his seat.
‘Abbie Turner. Your daughter.’
‘Where is she?’ Hayes lunged towards me as he snarled the question, his face bursting with anger.
‘Sit down, Mr Hayes. She’s recovering in hospital and then she’ll be going into foster care.’
‘You can’t do—’ He crushed the cup in his hand.
‘Nothing to do with me. It’s Social Services. Thanks to the posh CCTV at the flat you’ve been renting from Tomasz Feldman, we have evidence that Kelly brought Abbie to you on Friday morning. That’s correct, yes?’
‘S’pose.’
‘Did you know your daughter’s mother was going to visit Simas Gudelis on Friday?’
‘No comment.’
‘Because here’s where I’m stuck,’ I said. ‘If you had anything to do with the arson, you would have killed your daughter’s mother . . . ’ I felt my guts crunch as I uttered the words. ‘And effectively deprived your daughter of both her mother and father for the rest of her life. How are you going to explain that when she grows up and asks what happened to Mummy?’
‘She wasn’t meant to get hurt. Neither of them were.’
‘Who wasn’t?’
‘Kelly and Simas. We were meant to give old Ma Feldman a fright. That’s what he asked me to do. But that stupid Paki kid couldn’t even get that right. He got the wrong bloody shop.’
I was filling in the blanks. ‘Let’s rewind a moment. I take it the “Paki kid” is Ali Kousa?’ I made sure Taylor had clocked the racist language.
Hayes checked in with his lawyer. ‘Yes.’
‘Who asked you to do what?’
‘I needed somewhere to lie low for a year, didn’t I? Feldman let me stay in his flat free in exchange for setting his ma’s shop on fire. No-one was meant to get hurt. It was supposed to happen when she was out. The idea was she’d claim on her insurance. Cushty.’ He smacked his forehead with his palm. ‘I didn’t want to risk doing it myself, so I left the petrol for the Paki boy and gave him instructions. I might have known that dipstick would get it wrong. I told him it was t
he shop on the right with a star above a blue door, and texted it to be sure. Long story short: he set fire to the soup shop and not Mrs Feldman’s, and Simas and Kelly were inside.’
‘So, you shot Ali?’
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t just the cock-up. I knew he’d blabbed to his mate, Riad, and John had seen him cosying up to you. I felt pretty sure he’d open his trap and get us all in trouble.’
‘Moving onto the murder of Patrick Ryan. Tell us about the van you used to transport Patrick Ryan onto the Manor House site.’
‘No comment.’ Leaning forward in the chair, and propped up on his elbows, he had his hands folded behind his head and was studying the table again.
‘We have evidence which shows you and your brother dumping Patrick Ryan’s body at the Manor House site on Saturday night, and you’ll be glad to know we’ve found your van.’
‘Where?’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘No comment.’
‘On the Ocean Estate.’ That shocked him. ‘A law-abiding member of the public called in. We’ve just got the forensics back. What do you think we found in it?’
‘No comment.’
Taylor slapped his executive pad down on the table. ‘What have you found in it, Inspector?’
‘Blood from Patrick Ryan and Ali Kousa. Dog hairs which match those we found on Ryan. Drugs. Firearms. Ammunition.’ I handed Taylor a copy of the forensic report and leaned towards Hayes. ‘Enough to put you away for a very long time.’
Kenny Hayes cackled, and let his long body flop back in the plastic chair, arms folded, and one leg crossed over the other. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Bored and devoid of empathy.
‘You left something else in the back of your van, didn’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Patrick Ryan’s tongue.’
Water spurted from Taylor’s mouth and sprayed over the table. ‘Excuse me, I . . . ’ The solicitor dabbed at the surface with a cotton handkerchief.
I fixed my eyes on Kenny’s face, hoping for a reaction, but there wasn’t one. ‘Forensics have confirmed that it belonged to Patrick Ryan.’ I waited for Taylor to sort himself out. ‘I bet you were chuffed to get hold of a Manor House ID card? Big site like that? Quite a coup.’
He gave a tiny shrug, not realising that the gesture made him seem smug.
‘You can get anything on the internet these days, can’t you?’
‘Nah. Wasn’t the net. Some chick gave it to me.’
I smiled at Taylor. ‘Thinking now about why you murdered Ryan . . . we know from various witnesses, including youth club workers, that you and your brother have been grooming kids and teenagers into organised crime and modern slavery. We also know that you’ve been using Facebook groups and websites like LfA to recruit.’ I slid testimonies over the table to Taylor. ‘We know that Patrick Ryan had been volunteering at a number of youth centres, and a staff member has testified that Ryan and your brother, John, had a ruck at the one on Coley Way a few weeks ago. Is that correct?’
‘Poncey do-gooder. He was happy to get his gear off me for years until he got clean and then, guess what? All of a sudden, he’s a born-again anti-drugs campaigner. Forever on his pissing soap-box, preaching away to the kids about the dangers of drugs and pathways and the internet. Like they don’t know. These kids make their own minds up.’ He flicked at one of the pieces of paper on the table.
‘And what happened?’
‘He kept schtum for years. But when he got a job at that posh development, he decided that he didn’t like what I was doing. He wanted to make out like he was better than me. He called me out. Then did the same with my brother in front of everyone at that poxy centre. I wasn’t having that. He wanted to pretend he was all Mr Respectable on his fancy building site. Well, I thought I’d give all his mates there a present. Know what I mean? Every time they think of Ryan, they’ll think of his dead body.’ Kenny laughed. ‘Ryan said we were getting kids into crime and he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Dirty hypocrite, if you ask me.’
‘But that is what you’ve been doing, Mr Hayes,’ I said.
‘I was helping them out. If it wasn’t for me, they’d have been homeless, starving and skint.’
‘By getting them into crime and drugs?’
‘I’m going to come in here, if you don’t mind. DCI Lawson, for the benefit of the tape.’ Jackie was bolt upright. ‘We’ve met before. Haven’t we, Mr Hayes?’ Jackie’s voice cut through the room like a laser. She leaned across the desk at him. ‘In Manchester.’
Hayes snorted down his nose and mumbled.
‘I’m sure you remember Rob Harris and Jay Drury? Those two boys were . . . twelve years old. You’re recruiting them younger now, including your own fifteen-year-old brother?’
‘You leave my brother out of it,’ Hayes shouted.
‘DCI Lawson,’ the solicitor emphasised Jackie’s rank, ‘as you know, my client was not charged with any offences on that investigation. Please move on.’
‘Let’s discuss the murder of Ali Kousa.’ Jackie sat back. Tapped her biro on her fingers. ‘In that room at Duckett House, we found your DNA. And we found it on Ali’s body.’
‘DCI Lawson.’ The solicitor put his pad on the table. ‘If you have evidence against my client, please state what it is.’
‘If the firearm which killed him had been discharged at very close range, there’d be blood, skin and tissue on the barrel. We’ve established that the Glock 19 that we found in your flat has all of these on it, but we also have gunshot residue from that gun on Ali’s skin and clothing, plus skin cells and hair which belong to you.’
Hayes stared at his brief. ‘You got this?’
‘I need a word with my client,’ Taylor said.
Maya, 5 p.m.
Across the table from Dan and I, Tomasz Feldman sat hunched in his chair, looking dazed. His eyes bulged with shame, and he looked as though he’d aged ten years in as many hours. As I hadn’t cautioned him in the garden at the shop, we had to go over some of the questions again before we could move on.
‘Did you tell Kenny Hayes to make sure no-one got hurt in the fire at the newsagent’s?’
‘I told him to make sure the building was empty, and to get Mum involved with the flash mob when the fire started, and far enough away that she’d be safe. I knew she loved music and dancing, and wouldn’t be able to resist leaving the shop and joining in.’
‘How did you learn that the soup shop had been torched rather than your mother’s shop?’
‘Several friends called me. I was at the bar and got a dozen or so calls from people in Brick Lane.’
‘Were those calls the first you heard that he’d got the wrong shop?’
He nodded.
‘Did Mr Hayes call you?’
‘No. We agreed he wouldn’t. I called him that day when you came to the bar.’
‘How much did you pay him to perform the arson for you?’
‘Five grand. And six months free rent.’
‘In cash, presumably?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know Kenny Hayes?’
‘I’ve known him since we were kids. Not well, but we both grew up round here. He left London and went up north a few years ago, and when he came back to Brick Lane, I tried to help him out. I didn’t realise that his criminality had got worse not better.’
‘Did Mr Hayes ever tell you how he made a living?’
‘I knew he used to deal a bit of dope, but he told me he’d stopped and that’s why he was skint. He said he was trying to get clean.’
‘Except he isn’t skint at all. He’s got several thousand pounds in his lock-up.’
‘I didn’t know that either. He told me he couldn’t afford to rent a place. He wanted somewhere to lie low and run his business from. I believed him. I feel like a bloody idiot because I can see now that he used me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I paid him to set fire to Mum’s shop. Instead of doing the
job himself, as we agreed, he got some poor kid to do it, and I’ve now got tangled up in organised crime and murder.’
‘We’ll make sure the CPS know the full facts.’ It was hard not to feel sorry for Tomasz. It was such a stupid thing to do but I could see how the idea had grown from his exasperation and worry. ‘Were you aware that Mr Hayes had a daughter?’
‘No.’ Shock registered on his face. ‘I’m beginning to realise that I didn’t know much about him at all.’
WEDNESDAY
Maya, 8 a.m.
When I arrived at the Royal London Hospital, they’d just finished shift handover on the ward. Abbie Kelly was sitting up in bed, not far from the nurses’ station, playing with another child. Laughter and squealing reverberated around the vast open space, and I wondered whether the four-year-old had taken in the fact her mum was dead.
The nurse looked up from her monitor. She spoke softly. ‘Social Services were here last night. She’s going into foster care.’ I saw regret in her expression. ‘Poor kid. Still, she’s young. The best we can hope for is that she gets adopted by someone loving, someone who will help her to put the past behind her.’
‘I hope so.’ Unless Abbie decided to visit her father in prison, she wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time. Kenny Hayes and his brother, John, were due in court in the next few days. It was hard not to wonder if her life would have been different if she’d had a different dad, or if her mum had been able to escape prostitution. ‘How is she?’
‘A few scratches and bruises but given she’s been locked in a room for four days, with hardly any water and no food, she’s lucky to be alive. If she weren’t healthy, she wouldn’t have survived.’
‘He didn’t—?’
‘No. He was drugging her though. If you hadn’t rescued her, she would’ve died soon. But the doctors didn’t find any evidence of sexual abuse.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’ I sighed with relief. ‘Hayes undoubtedly wanted her dead. His lifestyle depends on him being ready to run at any second, and you can’t do that with a small child.’
The nurse looked incredulous. ‘On the positive side, the psychologist has seen her. She said Abbie’s attachment to her mum was secure. Just shows that parenting comes naturally to some people, despite their circumstances.’
