by Ed James
‘Aye, I said that.’ Alison’s expression darkened with a deep sigh. ‘Look, I don’t know what Jodie was playing at, but she invited my ex to her wedding. That total scumbag, Dan. Thinks he’s some big shot now. I don’t know what she was thinking. No danger I’d get back together with that fanjo. He’s worse than he was at school as well. Made a total prick of himself at the disco, trying to feel me up while he was snogging some other lassie. Can you imagine? So I just left and—’
‘You went shopping?’ Fenchurch showed her the photos again. ‘Crisps and stuff, right?’
‘Right. Found a nice wee shop round the corner. Bought three bottles of vodka and enough Diet Coke to get me to Mars and back. Soon as I got in my room I was stuffing crisps down my face, mascara dribbling everywhere, tanning the voddy as quick as I could pour it. I went out for a bit yesterday, found a nice wee pub that’s been there since before the Fire of London. Thanks to Jodie and Dan, I’ve fallen off the wagon, haven’t I? Pair of pricks. I mean, what was she thinking?’
‘You fell off the wagon?’ Fenchurch showed her the photo again, her lugging her shopping into the hotel. ‘You were sober here?’
‘Sober as a nun, aye. Didn’t even have a glass of fizz at reception.’
‘Okay, so let’s wind back. The man in the corridor, what do you remember about him?’
‘Not as old as you.’ Alison glanced at Reed. ‘Older than her, for definite.’
Fenchurch got a stack of photos and started placing them in front of her. ‘Recognise any of these guys?’
‘Oh, he’s a honey.’ She pointed to a photo of Tom Hardy. The actor.
‘Was it him?’
‘Eh, no, but . . . Got his number?’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Oh.’ She scanned the photos. ‘Oh, aye. That’s the boy.’ She snatched it off him and stabbed a photo. ‘Definitely.’
Steve Fisher. Inside the hotel and he says he didn’t know she was there.
‘You’ll be ready to go in about ten minutes, Miss McBrain.’ Martin got one of his Custody officers to take Alison into the room next to the ID Suite, his smile lasting until the door shut. ‘Busiest Sunday in ages, Si.’
‘Is Claudia still in there?’
‘No idea what she’s doing, Si. Takes less time to watch those Lord of the Rings films. Surely nobody can take that long to ID a bloke?’
‘The important thing is that she’s sure who she saw.’
‘Well, I’ll let you know when she’s done.’ Martin disappeared back through the door.
Fenchurch looked around. Uzma was over by the interview room, tapping away at her phone, no doubt updating Mulholland. He joined her, trying to look casual.
Uzma put her phone away. Fenchurch still hadn’t seen who she was texting. ‘You thought it was Elliot, didn’t you?’
‘He’s got a gaping hole in his alibi. He had the drugs. He was perfect.’
‘Have we got enough on Steve?’
Fenchurch huffed out a breath. ‘He’s got a solid motive. And we’ve got the drugs. Two people now have placed him inside the hotel at the time of death.’
She frowned at him. ‘And that’s not enough for you?’
‘Nothing’s ever enough for him.’ DCI Howard Savage was charging down the corridor, hands in pockets, a knowing grin on his face. The strip lights bounced off his bald head. A long splodge of tomato sauce ran down his tweed jacket. Hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. Either would fit. He held out a hand. ‘Simon, good to see you.’
‘Wish I could say the same.’ Fenchurch shook it then waved at Uzma. ‘You know DS Ashkani?’
‘We’re acquainted, yes.’ Savage tucked his hands under his arms. ‘Thanks for the call. Surprising to get a vanilla prostitution case from you.’
‘It’s more a raspberry ripple. Her old man owns that hotel and she’s wangled a free room there, which she’s using as a bordello. And her father owns Shadwell United, too.’
‘Well, now I’m intrigued.’
‘Didn’t know you were a football man?’
‘I’m not. Where there’s money, there’s usually sleaze, though in this case it appears to be coincidental.’
Uzma’s phone rang and she walked off, smiling.
Savage returned the grin, then scowled at Fenchurch. ‘Watch her.’
‘Oh?’
‘Cut from the same cloth as DCI Mulholland. Not to be trusted.’
‘I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t know.’
Savage chuckled. ‘Well. Anyway. How’s . . . everything else?’
‘Good, Howard. Good. Chloe’s staying with us now.’
‘Good heavens.’ Savage’s eyebrows shot up, creasing his forehead. ‘Well, I’m glad to have helped out.’
‘You did the admin, that’s all.’
‘Very true. Very true.’
The ID Suite door opened and Martin led Claudia through. He gave Fenchurch a nod. ‘It’s Steve.’
Fenchurch let out a sigh of relief, then patted Savage on the arm. ‘She’s all yours, mate.’
Savage wandered over to Claudia. ‘Let’s get you over to my office and have a nice little chat, shall we?’
Claudia glared at Fenchurch. ‘You said that you’d let me go!’
‘I had a better offer. Sorry.’ Fenchurch smiled at her, holding it as she was led down the corridor towards the Custody Suite.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fenchurch opened the interview room door and had to do a double take.
Dalton Unwin sat with Steve Fisher, chatting away like they were on the train to a football match. Fenchurch had had run-ins with him in the past, the sort of vermin who called themselves criminal defence lawyers and thought they were helping people. Stopping crimes against wronged innocents. More often than not, stopping victims getting justice against the toerags that’d stabbed them. Stopping families getting justice against the animals who’d killed their sons or daughters.
Unwin had been out of the game for a while now, but here he was, his earring stud catching the light, twinkling like a mirror ball. His skin was as dark as his hair, grown out from a skinhead to sponge curls, ultra-short dreads all over his scalp. He wore a dark-grey suit, the same purple handkerchief in his breast pocket as ever.
‘Inspector.’ He got up and charged over to the door, grinning wide, his hand reaching for Fenchurch. ‘How the devil are you?’
‘Uzma, get the tape rolling.’ Fenchurch beckoned Unwin out into the corridor. ‘Heard you got struck off.’
‘The term is disbarred.’ Unwin’s glee slipped from his face. ‘And I personally wasn’t. My firm was closed down, thanks in no small part to your activities, Inspector. A lot of innocent people will—’
‘You’re defending people like him now?’ Fenchurch nodded at Steve. Sitting in the room, head low. ‘Murderers?’
‘My speciality is criminal law. As far as I can tell, Mr Fisher is guilty of nothing other than having a murdered wife.’
‘If he’s so innocent, he should stop lying to us.’ Fenchurch joined Uzma in the interview room with Steve. The recorder in the middle of the table was blinking. ‘Mr Fisher, we know you killed Gayle, so let’s—’
‘I didn’t.’ Steve thumped the table, making the recorder jump. Uzma reached over to check it was still working. ‘There’s no way I could . . .’ His voice was thick, like he was close to tears.
‘Here’s the thing.’ Fenchurch leaned across the table, his gaze trained on Unwin. ‘We know you’ve been lying to us, Mr Fisher. Only guilty men lie.’
‘I didn’t kill her!’
Fenchurch sat back and laughed. Still gave most of his attention to Unwin. ‘I’ll ask again, where were you between eight o’clock and midnight on Friday?’
‘I’ve told you.’
‘Want to try telling the truth this time?’
‘I told you the truth last time.’
Fenchurch slapped a CCTV image in front of him. Their mystery man in the lane. ‘This is you, isn
’t it?’
Steve glanced at his lawyer, then gave a shrug. ‘You’ve got nothing on me.’
‘A hotel guest confirmed this image is of you.’ Fenchurch smiled. ‘And another guest saw you outside Gayle’s room. They’ve just sat through our VIPER system. It means Video Identification Parade Electronic Recording. Cute, I know. Witnesses look through a lot of videos, much cheaper and more effective than the old way. Weird thing is, both of them identified you. And you were outside the hotel, throwing Gayle’s bag away. And just after nine o’clock, in the corridor outside Gayle’s room.’
Steve focused on his lap.
‘Just admit that you murdered your wife.’
He looked up at Fenchurch, teeth bared. ‘No!’
‘We know you had access to the pills used to kill Gayle. You said you found them in that knock-off Louis Vuitton bag, but you and I both know that you planted them there. Maybe you thought we were mugs and we’d think her death was a suicide. Maybe you thought we’d assume that Gayle was out with her young lover. Which is it?’
Steve picked up the CCTV print and started folding it. First in half, then again, and again.
‘Word of advice, though. If you want to make it look like a suicide, best not to tie your victim down and give them three times the fatal dose.’
‘Inspector.’ Unwin unclipped his briefcase and put his yellow legal pad away. ‘My client has nothing else to say on the matter.’
‘That right?’ Fenchurch ignored Unwin, locking his glare on Steve. ‘Mr Fisher, if you keep this up, you’re going to face trial. The jury will find you guilty and the judge will put you away for over twenty years. You’re not an old man, but when you get out in 2038, the world will be a very different place. You won’t be able to go back to your old job. It’ll be very tough for someone who’s been inside. That’ll be you, Steve. You.’
Unwin buttoned up his suit, looked ready to get up and leave. ‘Inspector, this is wholly inappropriate.’
‘I just want to know exactly what your client was up to before and after he murdered his wife.’
Steve started folding the page again, each twist taking much more effort.
‘Mr Fisher, you’re going to prison for murder. If you didn’t do it, now’s the time to try and convince me.’
Steve tossed the folded-up paper on the table and watched it uncurl. Then he whispered to his lawyer. But stopped. Muttered, ‘Bugger it.’ He stretched out his shoulders. ‘Right. Okay, so I didn’t get that taxi to John’s flat. I visited . . . a friend.’
‘A friend, eh? Well.’
‘He lives just off the Minories.’
‘And he exists, right?’ Fenchurch stared at Unwin. ‘I’ve been here before with your lawyer and his clients.’
‘That’s a preposterous accusation.’
Fenchurch switched his glare back to Steve. ‘Name.’
Steve looked up, eyes wide. ‘I don’t know it.’
‘Good mate of yours who’ll let you into his house and you don’t know his full name?’
‘I swear I don’t.’
Fenchurch wagged a finger in the air. ‘Steve, just tell the truth. Please.’
‘I can’t . . .’
‘You’re going down for murder, Mr Fisher. I suggest you—’
Steve thumped the table again. ‘Okay, he was my dealer.’
What the hell?
‘You bought some drugs?’ Fenchurch got up and started pacing the room. ‘You said the only time you took drugs was once in Newcastle?’
‘You really think I’d tell the police about my drug taking? You must think I’m stupid.’
‘You must think I am if you expect me to believe this crock of shit. You need to start telling me what you were doing in that hotel, because this story is tripe.’
‘I needed to take my mind off what Gayle was putting me through.’ Steve rested his head on the table. ‘So I visited my guy. I bought some E, a bit of coke and some Special K. Ketamine, in case you don’t know.’
‘That’s quite a haul.’
‘I take stuff once or twice a month. Try to keep a lid on it, you know?’
‘I want evidence. Names of who else was there. Now.’
Unwin picked up his briefcase and rested it on the floor. Clearly knew he was in for a long one with this. ‘As a result of that confession, my client faces up to two years and will lose his job.’
‘Even so, I still don’t believe him.’ Fenchurch crouched next to Steve and waited until he dared look at him. ‘I want a name to check this alibi with. And I want the drugs.’
‘What’s left of them . . .’
‘To raid my client’s brother’s property, you will, of course, require a search warrant.’
‘It’s a formality, Dalton, you know that.’ Fenchurch got up and sat on his chair again. ‘But let’s start with this dealer’s name and address.’
‘I can’t.’
‘We’re back to the murder charge, then. And Class As, Steve. No personal-use amount for those.’
‘I’ve just given up my future and you’re . . .’ Steve leaned back in his chair, staring up, breathing hard. ‘You don’t believe me?’
‘You’re messing us about. Instead of life for murder, you think you can get off with a drug charge. Couple of years versus twenty-odd.’ Fenchurch leaned across the table. ‘Names and addresses now. And I need them to verify your presence there, otherwise you’re spending your next few sleeps on remand in a very vicious prison.’
‘It’s not . . . I can’t.’
Fenchurch stared at him, blood pumping hard in his chest. Getting nowhere with him. ‘Where did you go after you visited this fictional dealer?’
‘I went back to my brother’s. Took some of the coke. Then some of the Special K to get me to sleep.’
‘You didn’t go to the hotel your wife was staying in?’
‘No.’ Steve unfolded the paper and looked at the CCTV still. ‘Yes. Maybe.’
‘Were you there or not?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Steve, I need you to stop messing about, okay? This is serious.’
‘I know.’
Unwin leaned over and whispered into his ear. Steve nodded and rested his head on the table again.
‘Are you going admit that you were there?’
Steve shook his head slowly, his forehead rubbing against the wood.
‘Okay, back to that, is it?’ Fenchurch looked over at Uzma and saw his irritation reflected. He gave Steve a few seconds, then started tapping a finger on the table. ‘Let’s go back to your dealer, then. Probably aren’t that many drug dealers left in that neck of the woods. We’ll find him.’
Steve looked up at Fenchurch’s finger, still tapping away. ‘He’ll kill me.’
‘It’s much better if it comes from you, Mr Fisher.’
Steve stayed focused on Fenchurch’s tapping finger. Then he looked up and locked eyes with Fenchurch. ‘How about I show you the drugs?’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The pool car reeked of sour milk.
Fenchurch turned on to a side street, his phone ringing through the car’s speakers, almost distorting. Bloody voicemail. Like people have just stopped answering their phones . . . ‘Jon, it’s Simon. Give me a bell, okay?’ He killed the call and turned the corner, parking behind a squad car.
A uniformed officer got out of the passenger side, wearing mirror shades, and helped Steve out of the back.
Maybe he’ll see sense, be a good boy and confess.
Or maybe he’s innocent and telling the truth. Just wanted to get out of his head for a bit, trying to cope with his wife being all over the papers for shagging a school kid.
Maybe it was Elliot who killed her.
Or maybe it was someone else entirely.
Fenchurch opened the door and his phone rang, still paired with the stereo. Another Al call? Panic crawled up his spine. Not Abi, not even Nelson. Mulholland. The worry took on a different flavour as he answered it. ‘Dawn, I’m in the—
’
‘Simon, when I last saw you, you had no suspects, now I gather you’ve got two. Why do I have to hear that from a third party?’
‘Nice to speak to you too, Dawn.’ Fenchurch looked around and finally found someone to place his angry look at. Uzma, getting out of the other side of a pool car. ‘I’m in the middle of an operation here.’
‘Well, you should be awaiting my instruction before executing any tactical actions.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Simon, you’re running wild again, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of—’
‘Julian and I have spent the last three hours locked in a deep dive with Operation Lydian over at Scotland Yard, trying to figure out if the supplier of this Blockchain is involved.’
‘Dawn, it’s possible that a dealer tied Gayle up and—’
‘Simon!’ Her shout echoed round the car. The uniform wearing shades looked round at Fenchurch. ‘As of now, Acting DI Nelson is seconded to our investigation, of which Blockchain remains an active part.’
‘As long as he reports to me.’
‘He reports to me, Simon.’ Her sigh hissed through the speakers. ‘Now, I’ve got to update Julian on the— I was going to say progress, but I’ll settle for latest. I need to see you before you leave for the night. In person.’ Click and she was gone.
Fenchurch pointed a finger gun at the speaker and shot a finger bullet. He got out on to the street, where Uzma and Nelson were laughing further down the road. He walked over, trying to keep it cool.
‘I’ll get them to ready Steve.’ Uzma left them to it, heading back towards the squad car.
Fenchurch waited until she was out of earshot, even with her superhuman hearing. ‘You know her, Jon?’
‘Went through Hendon together.’ Nelson laughed. ‘She’s okay once you get to know her.’
‘Bit too close to Mulholland for my liking.’
‘I don’t mean to overstep the mark, Simon.’ Not guv any more. ‘But I really think you need to let that go.’
‘I’ll think on it.’ Fenchurch leaned against the pool car and counted along the street until he was at John Fisher’s flat. ‘Nice to have you back in the land of the living.’
