by Ed James
‘You think he’s throwing us Webster as bait?’
‘Either way, we don’t have anything against him. It’s just his word, off the record. But he knew about us arresting Zamir.’
‘What? How the hell could he?’
‘Half of Albania must know by now, Jon.’
‘You look white as a sheet, Simon. You sure you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Nelson set off across the car park, following the spiral round to the road back to central London. ‘Where are we heading?’
Fenchurch stared into the prison cell.
Two heavy-set guards lifted up the mattress and chucked it on the floor. Younis’s possessions lay scattered on the floor. They ran their batons down the bedding, inch by inch. Then the bigger of the two shook his heads. ‘Not in here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re hoping to find in here.’ Along the corridor, Younis grinned like the cat that owned the place. The adjacent cells were occupied, but silent. They knew him, knew his reputation.
The warden noticed Fenchurch and stepped up close. ‘We’ve done an intimate search of him. Nothing there, either.’
‘He was on the screen. Must’ve been Skype or FaceTime.’
‘I believe you.’ The warden winked at him, then looked around the silent prison. ‘These lot will never give him up. Probably up one of their arseholes. And it’ll have been wiped.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, that was a horrific pun.’
The first guard came out with a shrug. ‘It’s clean.’
His mate scowled. ‘All we’ve got is a sock covered in…’ He cleared his throat at the sight of the warden.
Fenchurch walked over to Younis. ‘Where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’
‘You know.’
‘I know nothing, mate.’
‘I’ll get you for this. You paid Webster to murder Amelia, Casey and Adrian. You’re going down for it.’
‘You’ve got some wild fantasies, my friend.’ Younis puckered up for a kiss. ‘I’m disappointed that you had to get these guards to do your dirty work for you. Big guy like you, you could’ve probed me yourself.’
Nelson waited by the car and got his vape stick out of his pocket. ‘You mind?’
Fenchurch stared back at the prison. At Younis. He felt filthy fingers on his balls again. ‘Whatever.’
‘You know, Broadfoot’s got all of Webster’s financial records and most of Younis’s. The ones we know about, anyway. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a transaction.’
‘Unless it’s cash.’
‘Won’t be cash. Someone like Younis, most of their operation is online. Cam shows and all that dark web shit. Hard to launder. Trouble for them is, if you want someone to do a job, you’ve not got a ton of cash sitting around you can just use. You’ve got to be very creative. It’ll be Bitcoin or Ethereum or God knows what else. Not that easy to track, but we’ve got ways and means.’
‘You were lucky with the Mario payment. Won’t get lucky again.’ Fenchurch stopped. Cars whizzed past on the road, headlights blurring in the night. ‘Fed up with this bullshit, Jon.’
‘You want his blood, right?’ Nelson let out a puff of vape. ‘Going after Webster won’t bring Younis to justice.’
‘I’ll settle for Webster.’ Fenchurch stared hard at him. ‘He kidnapped Chloe, in case you’d forgotten. And he’s out there, still killing people. We should head round there, get him to take us through his movements.’
‘We’ve run out of leeway with that. Unwin’s already put in a complaint. Proving anything against him is going to be hard, especially after the Amelia case. Especially after bringing him in to question about Casey.’
Fenchurch thumped the car roof with the heel of his hand. ‘Have you got any better ideas?’
‘I do, as it happens.’
‘I’ll lead here.’ The lift door slid open and Fenchurch got out first, soaking in the office din. He led Nelson over to the security desk, but the receptionist was on the phone and refusing eye contact.
Someone hurried past, pulling their coat on.
‘Oi!’
Pavel waited by the lift, hitting the call button with his thumb. ‘I’ve got to get home, mate.’
‘You’re not done, son. Not by a long stretch.’ Fenchurch blocked entry to the lift. ‘I need Desmond Webster’s movements for the last twenty-four hours.’
‘You know that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. All requests are to be routed through DCI Bell and/or his team.’ Pavel took off his mirror shades, but his eyes were already shut. ‘Have you approved this with him?’
Fenchurch glanced at Nelson. ‘We have.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t be here without him.’
Fenchurch thumbed behind him. ‘He’s just coming up now.’
Pavel opened his eyes, as bloodshot as a three-day hangover. ‘Am I supposed to believe that?’
Sweat trickled down Fenchurch’s back. ‘I know Webster was on that bike when Casey was murdered. She worked for you as well, right?’
‘Come on, man. You know I can’t approve this without DCI Bell.’
Fenchurch tried to stare him down, but the little bugger kept looking away. ‘Just give me—’
‘This is another rogue exercise, isn’t it?’ Pavel thumped the lift button again and it started whirring. ‘You haven’t approved this with DCI Bell, have you? You know how much shit I got into the last time you pulled this trick? You’ve met our CEO. You don’t get to that position without—’
The lift doors clunked open and Bell sauntered out, his belly hanging over his trousers. ‘Evening, Pavel.’ He winked like they were old mates. ‘Simon here’s a very needy customer, never off the phone.’
Pavel took a deep breath. ‘You’ve approved this request?’
‘Let’s just say that this isn’t a standard one, Pavel mate.’ Bell winked at him again. ‘Simon needs an urgent answer, so whatever we can do to speed this up, yes?’
‘Whatever.’ Pavel marched through the office, shaking his head in time with his footsteps.
Fenchurch walked lockstep with Bell. ‘Thanks for that, Jason.’
‘Saved by the Bell, eh?’ He laughed like it was the first time he’d ever used it. ‘You sure this fella’s your killer?’
‘I just need the information. Then we’ll be in a better position to work out if he is or not.’
‘Not like you to be doing your homework before the last minute, Simon.’
‘This is the last minute. Webster’s back on the street and people are dying.’
Bell stopped Fenchurch, not far from Pavel’s desk. ‘Have you got any other suspects?’
‘Well, Howard Savage thinks it’s this Albanian geezer we picked up.’
‘Zamir?’ Bell started counting on his thumb and fingers. ‘He’s got drugs, he’s got sex trafficking and prostitution, and he’s got a gang of Apple-pickers nicking iPhones and those silly bloody earphone things. So Broadfoot, Savage and myself — the trifecta, as we call it — we’ve been investigating Zamir. And we think his lot stabbed a couple of Pavel’s cyclists the other night. Nicked their bikes and their mobiles. It never ends, I swear.’
‘These are happening on my patch, though. I should’ve been made aware.’
‘Julian’s been sent the minutes of the meetings, Simon.’
‘Has he read them?’
‘You know what he’s like. So many comments and clarifications. My secretary’s going spare at him.’
‘You’ve got a secretary?’
‘I’m important, mate.’ Bell smiled. ‘You know he hasn’t called me, don’t you?’
‘Crossed my mind, yeah. But thanks for helping anyway.’
‘What are mates for, eh?’ Bell clapped his arm with another wink. The guy’s lost it. ‘Now, why is Uzma Ashkani calling me about someone called Kirk Naughton?’
‘He’s another suspect. Webster’s daughter’s baby daddy.’
‘Oh, Simon, you rea
lly need to learn to focus your case. By now, you should have one suspect, not two plus an Albanian.’
Fenchurch frowned. ‘You know Kirk?’
‘Simon, as part of my arrangement with Pavel, we vet any potential employees.’ Bell tutted. ‘Co-signs. I swear, the legal hurdles this lot jump through just to not pay their staff properly… Anyway, Pavel passed him through, said Webster put him up to a job here.’
‘Did he pass?’
‘Just. I mean, armed robbery. He’s lucky this lot get so much of a kickback from the government for taking on ex-cons.’
‘So he works here?’
‘Three weeks, yeah.’
‘Interesting.’ Fenchurch walked over to the desk. ‘How you getting on?’
Pavel was sliding over the keys. ‘Well, I can tell you that Webster wasn’t working today. He hasn’t clocked on.’
‘Shit.’ Nelson looked as disappointed as Fenchurch felt. ‘That’s not what we wanted.’
‘There’s some good news, though.’ Pavel clicked the mouse and pointed at one of his screens. ‘After the events of last July, we’ve updated the system so it’s always tracking. And Desmond collected his bike from our storage last night. Fresh from a service and a tracker update.’
Fenchurch rested on the back of Nelson’s chair. ‘So you’ve got his movements?’
Pavel nodded.
‘Let’s start with two o’clock today.’
Pavel clicked the mouse again. The screen traced a path through East London.
At the time of Adrian’s death, Webster was outside his house.
35
The street was mostly dark, the streetlights not yet on. Fenchurch waited across the road from Webster’s house, crouching behind a car. Lights on downstairs and up. He patted the back of his head, at the receding bump. Still hurt like hell. Then he looked over at Nelson on the pavement. ‘Ready?’
‘Like old days.’ Nelson cracked his knuckles, but scanned around nervously.
Fenchurch led him up the path to the house and knocked on the door. Loud music played inside, inane kid’s stuff. The sort of nonsense Fenchurch was getting used to all over again.
The door opened and Kirk Naughton peeked out, yawning like he’d not slept in years. ‘Whassup?’
‘Police, sir.’ Fenchurch flashed his warrant card and barged past him into the flat. ‘Desmond Webster in?’
‘Upstairs.’ More yawning. ‘What’s he done?’
‘Jon, stay here.’ Fenchurch crossed the living room and headed upstairs. Dark, but light surrounded a door frame. The air was damp, smelling of lavender.
Fenchurch opened the door and got a wave of damp heat.
Webster was on his knees, leaning forward as he bathed Sandy. ‘Here, Kirk, pass me a towel.’ His eyes widened. ‘Shit. You again, eh? Not happy with my answers?’
‘Shouldn’t use that sort of language in front of a child, Desmond.’
‘You can’t even let me have five minutes with my granddaughter, can you?’ Webster jabbed a finger at the door. ‘Get out.’
‘Helps if you don’t shoot people.’
‘I said, get out!’
‘I know what you did.’ Fenchurch crouched next to him, his thighs burning as soon as he started. ‘Took money from Younis. Killed Amelia, took the rap for it. Then you got out and killed Casey, then Adrian. Just like old times, yeah?’
‘We’ve been through this before! I ain’t killed anyone!’
‘Where were you at two o’clock today?’
‘I’ve been here all day, I swear. Since you let me go, anyway.’ Webster lifted Sandy out of the bath, splashing water on the floor. ‘Kirk, get me a bleeding towel!’
‘You got any evidence you were here?’
‘Holly’s got to work though, ain’t she? Check with Kirk. He’s been here all that time too. Supposed to be minding Sandy, but I swear he just plays on that computer game.’
‘You’ve honestly been here all day?’
‘Christ, you can see why people hate coppers, can’t you?’
‘It’s because people like you lie. And I pick holes in those lies.’
Webster laughed. ‘You’re my hero.’
Fenchurch stared at him, feeling his balls squash tight again. ‘Stay here.’
‘Not going anywhere.’ Webster knelt down and helped Sandy back into the bath.
Fenchurch thundered down the stairs, motioning for Nelson to swap with him. ‘Keep an eye on him.’
Kirk perched on the edge of the sofa, clutching a game controller, headphones on.
Fenchurch waved in front of his face.
Kirk eased off his headphones. ‘Whassup?’
‘Has he been here all day?’
‘Most of it, yeah.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Had to pop out for a bit, didn’t I? Need to collect this bike for this job he’s got me.’
‘When was this?’
‘Lunchtime. Bargain Hunt was on.’ Kirk frowned at the TV like it could answer him. ‘Or was it Doctors?’
Fenchurch got out his mobile and found the day’s schedules. Doctors meant 13:45 onwards, meaning right when Adrian was shot. Bargain Hunt was quarter past twelve. ‘Which was it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kirk was playing the game again, eyes darting around the screen. ‘Wait a sec, the news came on and I put Holly’s PlayStation on for a bit. Sandy was on my lap as I shot a load of these South African geezers. Des wasn’t too happy, told me to put my headphones on. So here I am. Shit, is that the time?’
On the screen, a man in a grandad shirt took cover to shoot at a load of mercenaries. ‘So he was here at two o’clock?’
Kirk clicked his fingers. ‘Fo’ shizzle.’
So someone’s lying. Either Kirk is or Pavel’s system was wrong.
‘What’s up, anyway? You think he’s killed someone?’
‘Why, he say anything?’
‘Nah. Not to me, mate. He thinks I’m a cunt.’ Kirk laughed.
Fenchurch’s phone blasted out The Who again. Loftus.
I could just bounce this, then head upstairs and grab Webster. Dunk his head under the water, get the truth out of him.
But he answered it. ‘Sir?’
‘Simon, what the hell are you doing at Webster’s house?’
Nelson stopped outside Docherty’s old office. ‘You okay?’
‘Not really, Jon.’ Fenchurch pinched his nose, squeezing hard. ‘I’m away to get slaughtered here.’ He pushed inside to face the music.
Loftus, Broadfoot and Savage loitered by the whiteboard, talking over each other.
Loftus held up a hand to shush them. ‘Simon.’
‘Sir. Just thought you should—’
‘Spare us. Dalton Unwin’s been in touch.’
‘Right.’
‘Simon, you need to let this go.’ Savage recapped the pen and put it in the tray under the whiteboard. ‘You can’t just—’
‘I can.’ Fenchurch stepped into the small room and tried to dominate the space. ‘Webster’s killed at least two people, probably three. And we’re letting him slip away. Again.’
‘The problem is that Webster is alibied to the hilt.’
‘Wouldn’t go that far.’ Fenchurch took the pen from under the whiteboard and put a cross on Savage’s timeline where they’d marked “Adrian Hall’s death”. ‘He’s got a shaky alibi for this time. But we can also place him there.’
Loftus took the pen and scored out Fenchurch’s cross. ‘We think it’s likely to be someone in this people-trafficking organisation, tidying up any links to them.’
‘Younis told me it’s Webster.’
Broadfoot scowled at Fenchurch. ‘What?’ He laughed. ‘He just told you?’
‘He was messing with me. Made me…’ Fenchurch swallowed hard. ‘He told me off the record that he paid Webster to kill them, trying to clean up his mess and pin it on Zamir. He was sickened by the people-trafficking.’
Broadfoot laughed again, louder this time.
‘Love to have seen that little creep sickened by anything.’
‘Hold on a sec.’ Savage stared at his whiteboard. ‘Do you believe Younis?’
‘He’s honest with me. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I believe him.’
Savage started drawing a mind map in the corner of the board. ‘Zamir… Hmm.’ He stared out of the window like he was going to jump through the glass.
Loftus clapped his hands together. ‘Come on, lads, let’s take a step back. We’ve all been hard at it all day. Two dead bodies is… Well. We need to regroup and come up with a clear strategy here.’
‘Right.’ Broadfoot scanned the room like he was looking for excuses as much as looking at people. ‘And here was me hoping I could avoid dinner with my husband’s sister tonight.’
Loftus laughed. ‘Like you need a reason to avoid people, Derek.’
‘Tomorrow, then.’ Broadfoot grabbed his coat from the rack near the door. ‘Jon, come on. We’ve still got Colin Dunston in custody. Let’s lean on him, see what he can give us about Adrian’s operation.’
‘Sir.’ Nelson held the door open for him. ‘We should check the money trail. If we can pin the Webster tail to the Younis donkey, then…’
The door shut behind them.
Loftus exhaled slowly. ‘Howard, keep me updated on how this Albanian chap pans out.’
Savage was still peering out of the window. ‘Of course.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Call me if anything urgent happens.’ Loftus gestured at Fenchurch. ‘Simon. A word?’
Fenchurch joined him out in the hall. ‘Sir, you’re making a mistake.’
‘I need a cigarette.’ Loftus was hurrying like the four horsemen of the apocalypse were on his heels and the only thing that would stop him was that one last smoke. ‘You made a fool of yourself back there.’
Fenchurch followed him into the stairwell and clattered down after him. ‘We need to bring in Webster.’
Loftus took out his cigarette carton as he burst into the long corridor. ‘You blundering into his home for the umpteenth time… What the hell were you thinking?’
