Kill With Kindness (A DI Fenchurch novel Book 5)

by Ed James

  Liam Sharpe.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cally Morris peered round the front door, blinking like she’d just woken up, shrouded by smells of strong coffee and Thai curry. Looked like she’d been on night shift at the paper, working the last details of the breaking case until it was perfect. Her dressing gown hung open, Hello Kitty pyjamas underneath. Liam’s cat, Pumpkin, swarmed around her feet, acting like she hadn’t been fed in days, but not exactly looking it. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You know who we are.’ Reed showed her warrant card anyway. Then frowned as she put it away. ‘You sleeping with Liam?’

  ‘I’m his flatmate.’

  Liam appeared behind her, stroking her arm. ‘I’ll deal with it, Cal.’

  A mobile rang somewhere in the flat.

  Cally hefted up Pumpkin and took her into a room, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘Shacking up with your boss, Liam?’

  ‘We’d been friends for years before she got promoted.’ Liam led into the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Just the truth, Liam.’

  ‘I’m in the middle of something here.’ Liam sat at the table and closed a laptop with a click. ‘What do you want? Don’t you have murderers to catch?’

  ‘You wrote a story about a teacher dealing drugs at Shadwell Grammar.’

  Liam got up and walked over to the sink, his cat following him. ‘If you’re here to get my source, you can go to hell.’

  ‘Very honourable, protecting your sources, Liam. But you’re not bringing down a president. You’re protecting murderers and drug dealers. Is your schoolgirl girlfriend worth it?’

  Liam stared out of the window at the block of flats over the road. ‘Don’t bring Kat into this.’

  Fenchurch joined him by the window. ‘She might be seventeen, but Christ, it’s—’

  ‘Will you just shut up about it?’

  ‘No! She’s a child and you’re using her to get some stories. That’s low.’

  Liam stayed looking out of the window, stroking his cat on the counter. Still couldn’t look at Fenchurch.

  ‘Do you actually know who’s dealing at the school or are you just attacking Brendan Holding?’

  ‘He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?’ Liam laughed. ‘Si, did you know that there was a drug problem at Lewisham when Holding was there? Now there’s one at Shadwell. Bullying problem in both places, too. Makes you think, eh?’

  ‘What do you expect, Oxbridge candidates and future police officers? They’re both inner-city hellholes, trodden into the dirt until all their hope’s gone and all they’ve got left is drugs and cheap booze. No future. No hope. Just a Blockchain at a rave on a Saturday night.’

  ‘No smoke without fire.’

  Fenchurch stared hard at him, then huffed out a sigh. ‘Let’s play that game, then. Have you got any evidence against Holding?’

  Back to looking out of the window. Liam looked round at him, then at Reed. ‘Holding knows one of his teachers is dealing. I asked him for a comment, but you know the drill.’

  ‘What evidence have you got?’

  ‘A source is anonymous for a reason.’

  ‘But your source was Katerina, correct?’

  Liam just laughed.

  ‘If you had any evidence, you would’ve published it by now.’

  ‘That’s what I’m working on, Si.’ Liam walked over and patted his laptop lid. ‘Waiting to go to press.’

  ‘Is this dealer Steve Fisher?’

  Liam collapsed into a chair. ‘So I gather.’

  ‘Help me believe it, Liam.’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything.’

  ‘Liam, I’ll take you in for a formal interview.’

  ‘Very pleased for you. I’m not talking. Suggest you speak to Holding about it.’

  Fenchurch parked at the school and killed the engine. He looked through the gates, couldn’t spot any dealing. But then, it’s designed to be secretive, to hide the activity from the law, or anyone who’d take it to the law.

  He spotted Nelson through the rain and gave him a wave.

  Nelson got in the back. ‘Morning, Kay. Simon.’

  ‘Jon.’ Then Reed smirked at Fenchurch. ‘Still think you should tell Mulholland.’

  ‘We get ahead of this, Kay, then we take it to her.’

  ‘You know . . .’ Nelson took a puff on his vape stick. All Fenchurch could see in the rear view was the mist. ‘Sometimes you end up working for someone completely out of their depth. You need to help them, not work against them.’

  Fenchurch raised his eyebrows as the mist cleared. ‘Are you talking about me?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Nelson cleared his throat then took another puff. ‘My current gaffer is a bit green. One of those fast-track kids. DCI in less than ten years. Thinks because he’s run a traffic division for six months that he can run a multi-year drugs investigation.’

  ‘Those guys are good at some things, though.’ Reed swivelled round. ‘Politics, statistics, being nice to people.’

  ‘Yet to find a use for any of that shit.’ Fenchurch opened his door and got out. ‘Thanks for joining us, Jon.’

  ‘Precious little happening back at base and this sounded sufficiently sexy.’ Nelson pocketed his vape stick as they walked towards the school and the white noise of the long queue of cars splashing rain as parents dropped off kids.

  The giant Victorian monstrosity loomed into view, the stone blackened as London industrialised then nobody cleaned it after it all left. Two storeys with a sixties tower at the back adding another two.

  School . . . yet another aspect of Chloe’s life I missed. Going from a tot to an almost-adult in thirteen short years, and I missed all of them. Missed the three parents’ nights when we did have her, too busy with work. Then we didn’t have her and . . . I missed so much. Too much.

  Nelson waved his hand in front of Fenchurch’s face. ‘You believe Liam this time?’

  Fenchurch blinked away his reverie. ‘He’s supposed to be a journalist. Trustworthy.’

  Reed scowled. ‘Jon, he’s shagging a schoolgirl.’

  Nelson did a double take. ‘How young?’

  ‘Old enough, but still too young.’ Reed stopped at the gates and showed her warrant card to the warden. She got a nod then led them through. ‘Oh Jesus.’

  A lone figure hid under a rain shelter, tapping at her phone. Katerina. And by Christ did she look young. Like a very tall child.

  Fenchurch walked up to her. ‘Need a word with you.’

  She looked up from her phone, eyes wide. ‘What?’

  Fenchurch pointed towards the school building. ‘Best do this inside.’

  Someone shouted something over by the front gates.

  Katerina went back to her phone. ‘I’ve got school.’

  ‘This is important.’

  Then more shouting. A loud roar, like Shadwell United had just scored in the football stadium over the road. A large crowd swarmed around the gates, no sign of any security in the huddle.

  ‘Wait here.’ Fenchurch darted over and muscled through the crowd, waving his warrant card. ‘Police!’

  In the middle, Elliot Lynch was surrounded by journalists and schoolkids. ‘I just want to focus on school.’ He pushed through towards Fenchurch, eyes wide as he spotted him.

  Ben Maxfield had his hand on Elliot’s back, pushing him through the throng, giving a cheeky wink to a journalist.

  ‘Stop!’ Holding was just ahead of Fenchurch, standing firm in the onslaught. ‘This is a school, not a theatre!’ He grabbed Elliot’s jacket, his fist bunching up the sleeve. ‘You need to leave! All of you! Anyone within a hundred metres of the school gates will be having a word with the police!’

  The journos cleared off, their chatter dying as they scattered. Maxfield followed, like a shark sniffing blood.

  Fenchurch looked around at Katerina. Still there.

  ‘You little witch!’ Elliot lunged at Katerina, clawing at her throat. He pushed her int
o Holding, knocking the Headmaster over.

  ‘Stop!’ Fenchurch dragged him off her, locking his arm behind his back.

  ‘She catfished me!’ Elliot jabbed a finger in the air behind Fenchurch. ‘Pretended to . . .’

  ‘I pretended to be Mrs Fisher.’ Katerina’s impish grin made her look even younger. ‘Shouldn’t have been shagging a teacher, should you, you idiot?’

  ‘I’m the victim here!’ Elliot bared his teeth at Katerina. ‘You—’ He lunged for her again.

  Fenchurch pulled him back, like a dog on a lead. The kid stamped on his foot and Fenchurch stumbled back, landing with a crack as his arse hit the cobbles. Pain seared all over his buttocks, right up his back. Still had a grip on Elliot. Kid was wriggling. Nelson grabbed Elliot and kept a hold of him while Fenchurch got to his feet.

  Holding was dusting himself off, eyes wide.

  Nelson pulled Elliot towards Maxfield. ‘We’re getting him away from the school. Now.’

  Maxfield nodded. He looked shocked. Out of his depth. Used to passivity, not slapstick bullshit. ‘I’ll take him to his grandmother’s.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Nelson followed them away from the school.

  Fenchurch looked around. No sign of Katerina. ‘Kay, can you find her?’ Then he smiled at Holding. ‘Let’s you and me have a nice chat, though, eh?’

  ‘Quite some office.’ Fenchurch stood in the corner of Holding’s office, overlooking the school grounds on all four sides. He picked up a framed photo of Holding receiving an award, black tie and red face. ‘Much better than mine, have to say.’

  ‘It may look special but it’s purely functional.’ Holding sat behind a huge oak desk covered with paperwork and antique IT equipment. ‘Seeing all four corners of my empire is incredibly distracting.’ He joined Fenchurch by the window and pointed at the bike sheds. ‘I can tell you twenty kids who smoke more than my old man did and he was a forty-a-day kind of guy. Died at forty-two. Heart attack. You try telling this lot that, but they don’t think longer than who they’re doing Netflix and chill with tonight.’

  Fenchurch rested the photo back on the table. ‘Netflix and what?’

  ‘It’s slang for having sex.’ Holding adjusted the frame so it was just right. ‘If you don’t keep up with the terminology, they run rings around you. Sure Abi can vouch for that.’

  Leave her out of this . . .

  Fenchurch waved at the playing fields: a few patches of grass, a lot of mud and some football and hockey goals, the crossbars sagging in the middle. ‘Did you have this level of control at Lewisham?’

  ‘I wasn’t the Head there.’ Holding shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to his desk. ‘I went from Senior Teacher to Assistant Head in five years as a result of my achievements. And they listened. Here? Cloth ears, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The drugs problem?’

  ‘It’s crippling the community.’ Holding sat with a crunch. ‘I stamped it out in Lewisham. Community outreach, giving the students a voice, stopping them from feeling so isolated and alone.’ He swivelled round, his eyes narrowing as he took in the front gates, and flicked his wrists at the journalists still camped out. ‘But you’ve seen what I’m facing here. The press hate me. They want my project to fail. At Lewisham, we were dealing with a single dealer. Here, it’s at least six. We spend weeks working on taking one down, then they’re replaced almost straight away.’

  ‘This is worse?’

  ‘Much.’ A smile flashed across Holding’s lips. ‘You should check with your wife. Abi and I worked very closely together, until she moved schools. It’s her baby as much as mine.’

  ‘I’ll make sure to get her opinion.’ Fenchurch faked confusion, knitting his forehead together. ‘Part of the investigation into Gayle Fisher’s—’

  ‘A damn tragedy.’

  ‘Indeed. Well. We’ve heard that Steve Fisher might’ve been dealing drugs.’

  Holding bellowed out a laugh as he slumped back in his chair. His body language didn’t add up. ‘Well, that’s absolute poppycock.’

  Fenchurch decided to push his luck. ‘We’ve got evidence.’

  Holding thumped his desk. A paperweight thudded to the floor. He didn’t bother inspecting the damage. Rage burnt his eyes. ‘That bloody story, right?’ Another flick of the wrists out of the window. ‘This is what I’m talking about. The press are slurring me and my school.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re protecting the interests of your students.’

  ‘They’re selling papers.’ Holding leaned back in his chair and focused on the ceiling. ‘Actually, it’s all about selling online advertising these days, isn’t it? Getting people to click, like rats in a maze.’

  ‘Last night we recovered a quantity of MDMA.’ Fenchurch pointed out of the window at Coldcut’s gran’s flat. ‘From a house just down there. They call it Blockchain. What Elliot Lynch almost died from on Saturday night.’

  ‘Well, I will extend any help in your investigation.’

  ‘Good. Do you have any indication that Steve was dealing?’

  ‘None. At all.’ Holding puckered his lips. ‘Look, if Steve was . . . I had absolutely no knowledge of it.’

  ‘No rumours?’

  ‘This place is full of them, Inspector, but I would’ve heard if one of my teachers was selling this poison.’

  Fenchurch’s phone buzzed. A text from Reed: GOT KATERINA. KEEPING HER IN A CLASSROOM.

  ‘What was Elliot talking about?’

  ‘You mean the catfishing?’ Holding bit at his cheek. ‘We get that a lot. Some of our less academic pupils set up fake accounts, pretend that they’re teachers, for instance, or their peers. It goes without saying that we have to be extra-vigilant online. I myself have almost been caught out.’

  ‘He said she was catfishing him. Have you—’

  ‘No.’ Holding clenched his jaw and snorted. ‘Elliot clearly decided that the only teacher he could confide in was the one he was having liaisons with. Somehow Miss Raptis knew that.’

  Fenchurch blew out a sigh. And she played Elliot. Did she know about the affair? Did she exploit it?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I’m missing English.’ They were talking to Katerina in an empty classroom. ‘I need to do well in that or I won’t get into university.’

  ‘Which is your first choice?’

  ‘Durham.’

  ‘Where Mrs Fisher went, right?’

  Katerina slouched forward, resting her head on a fist. Looked like a child copying her mother’s actions. ‘Wouldn’t know.’

  Fenchurch gave her a smile. ‘Elliot Lynch said you were catfishing him?’

  ‘Man . . .’ Katerina got up, but a glare from Reed made her sit back down again. ‘I messed about with him once . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I pretended to be Mrs Fisher on Facebook. She didn’t have a profile, so I set one up. Had to make friends with enough people to make it look legit. But I got him. Started messaging him, thinking I was going to get something to embarrass him in English. He sent me a dick pick.’

  Reed’s eyebrows did a little dance. ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘Let him know it wasn’t Mrs Fisher.’ Katerina laughed, like she’d never been so impressed with herself. She wiggled her pinky. ‘Didn’t know it was me.’

  ‘You didn’t feel guilty about doing it?’

  ‘No way. He’d been bullying me for years and I found a way to get him. He thinks he’s well blaze, but he’s just a little prick with a little prick.’ Katerina relaxed, crossing her legs in a mirror of Reed’s posture. ‘I’ve been in Elliot’s class since I was seven. Every day, he’s bullied me. Stole my bag. Nicked my dinner money. Stuck chewing gum in my hair. So I started pretending to be different people on Facebook, just to mess with him.’

  Reed smiled. ‘Why Mrs Fisher?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know it’s a crime, right?’

  Katerina jolted upright.

  ‘Relax. It’s not our department.’ Reed patted he
r chair and waited for Katerina to sit down. ‘You like being other people?’

  ‘I don’t like being me.’

  ‘Because of the bullying?’ Reed got a nod. ‘Must be hard. You ever talk to anyone about it?’

  ‘Mrs Fisher understood. I felt guilty about using her fake account, but . . .’

  ‘I’ve seen what bullying does to people. Is that why Liam feels so protective of you?’

  Katerina’s mouth hung open.

  ‘Liam Sharpe.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You’re close.’

  Katerina started playing with her hair, twirling a strand through her fingers.

  ‘He’s your boyfriend, right?’

  Katerina huffed out a sigh. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Tell me I’m wrong.’

  ‘It’s difficult, because Liam met me when I was fifteen.’

  And it just gets better . . .

  ‘Are you an item?’

  ‘Why is that important?’

  Fenchurch stared at her, but she didn’t say anything. ‘Where did he take you on Friday night?’

  ‘Just gave me a lift. I had something for him.’

  ‘A tip?’

  ‘A book. It got me through some tough times. Thought he’d appreciate it.’

  Fenchurch didn’t know whether to believe her or not. ‘Thing is, Liam’s publishing serious allegations, the sort that can lead to criminal charges. If what you’re telling him is true, I need to see your evidence.’

  She tugged at her hair.

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘Like I’ve told you. Like Liam’s told you. I was working at the hotel. He was in the bar, waiting for someone. We got chatting. Soon as I found out he was a journalist, I thought, “Oh, here’s a chance to get back at this place.” He could get the truth out there about the bullying. Then it became about drugs. I don’t take them, but I know who does. Lots of blow, some E. Nothing stronger, but that’s enough, right?’

  ‘Any idea who’s selling it?’

  She looked away. ‘No.’

  Reed stared hard at her. ‘Sure you didn’t tell Liam that a teacher was selling drugs?’