by Ed James
‘Looks like a gram of coke.’ Nelson stuffed a small packet into an evidence bag. ‘Naughty boy, Oliver.’ He hauled the buyer to his feet and walked him over to the bar. ‘Oliver Muscat-Smith, I’m arresting you for—’
Oliver reached for a bottle of whisky and smashed it on the bar. Toxic fumes belched out along with the liquid. He brandished it, looking like he was going to lash out at them. ‘Get away from me!’
Fenchurch held up his hands. ‘Oliver, you’re making things worse for yourself here.’
Oliver jumped on the bar, agile like a cat. He stabbed the bottle at Fenchurch.
Fenchurch dodged to the right, then grabbed Oliver’s knee and pulled him back. Oliver dropped the bottle and it smashed on the flagstones. Then he staggered backwards and fell into the wall of whisky, sending it all falling to the floor. Sounded like someone had pushed over a hundred greenhouses.
Amazingly, Oliver was still on the counter, above the destruction. He looked down at the mess, eyes bulging like his old man’s. ‘Aw, shit!’
‘I’m not a dealer!’ Oliver barely fit on the seat. He was all knees and thighs. ‘This is bullshit!’
‘We saw you, son.’ Nelson held up the evidence bag, the matchbook rattling around inside. ‘Give him some coke wrapped in a box of matches, take an extra twenty when he pays for his beer.’
Fenchurch stopped, nodding slowly. ‘That’s what happened when you got caught with your fingers in the till, wasn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘That was your drug money, not Bennaceur beer money, right?’
Oliver just looked at the floor, no eye contact.
‘I’ll send this off to the lab when we’re out of here.’ Nelson dropped the drugs on the table. ‘It’ll be covered in yours and your punter’s prints.’
Oliver’s leg started jigging, jerking wild. ‘What do you—’
‘Oliver.’ His lawyer held up a hand. A mess of silver hair and black glasses wearing a navy three-piece suit. ‘Please.’
‘I’ve got a trial with Spurs next week!’
‘And that’s such a shame.’ Fenchurch picked up the coke, shaking his head at Oliver. ‘You’ll be on remand when they’re doing those warm-up dances.’ He clicked his tongue a few times, trying to be as annoying as possible. ‘Though that’s the least of your worries, son. You’ll be inside for a few years. A promising football career cut short by drug dealing.’
Oliver looked like he wanted to speak, but his lawyer’s vice-like grip on his arm stopped him.
‘Seen it before, Jon, haven’t we? These kids who live the footballer’s lifestyle before they’ve made it. Throwing the cash about, demanding respect. Wanting people to look up to them. “Oh, there’s Oliver. He’s well blaze.”’ Fenchurch focused hard on Oliver. ‘The problem is, son, your money comes from dealing drugs, not from a football contract.’
‘What do I get out of this?’ Oliver rocked back in his chair, accidentally kicking Fenchurch on the knee. ‘If I was to talk to you, what are we looking at?’
Fenchurch looked at Nelson. ‘I’d tell him to piss off, Jon.’ He held up the coke. ‘This is three years inside, right?’
‘Maybe more, depending on the judge.’
‘And he’s old enough to go to proper prison, too.’ Fenchurch put the coke back down again in front of the kid. ‘It’s your case, though, Jon.’
‘Trouble is, I’ve got no motivation to let you wriggle out of this.’ Nelson smiled at Oliver. ‘So I’m going to charge you. Shutting down a dealer will look really good in the press.’
‘I can give up my supplier. I’ll testify in court!’
‘You’ll appear in court, son, but not as a witness.’
‘Come on, mate. I’ll do anything, anything. Just let me off.’
‘That’s not going to happen.’
‘Anything, I swear.’
‘Let’s see how serious you are, yeah? Who do you work for?’
‘Daniel—’
The lawyer put a hand to his client’s arm. ‘Oliver!’
‘Dodoo.’
‘Oliver . . .’ His lawyer shook his head. ‘You need to listen to my advice!’
‘You need to clear off, mate. You’re doing me no favours here.’
The lawyer scowled. ‘You’re refusing my counsel?’
‘I’m refusing your bullshit.’ Oliver leaned on the table, resting on his elbows, waiting for the lawyer to clear off. Took his time, but Oliver lost none of his resolve.
‘We know you sold drugs to Steve Fisher.’
‘I get my gear from Daniel Dodoo.’ Oliver looked away. ‘He works for some guy I don’t know.’
‘Dimitri Younis?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Coldcut?’
Oliver smirked. ‘My old man loves their records.’
‘He must be so proud of you. His son, the drug dealer.’
Oliver ran a hand across his face.
‘Steve told us you sold him drugs.’
‘Shit.’ Oliver leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Daniel passed him on to me. Most weeks, he’d come in for a couple of beers and buy some gear. MDMA, ketamine, cocaine. Viagra, when I had it.’
‘Did he say what he did with all of that?’
‘What do you think?’ A smile flashed across Oliver’s lips. ‘Give it all to a charity for daft kids?’
‘I’m warning you, son.’
Oliver’s grin died.
‘You saw Steve in the bar on Friday night, didn’t you? Told him that his wife was staying at the hotel, didn’t you?’
‘You’re talking shit. Maybe I should get that clown of a lawyer back in here.’
‘The more you tell us now, the better it’ll be for you. Did you sell Steve those Blockchain pills?’
‘Elliot.’
Back to lying again. ‘Elliot Lynch?’
‘I’ve had enough of it, so I tried passing it all on to him.’ Oliver nibbled at his thumbnail. ‘Elliot’s football career’s over. He won’t make the grade. So I started shifting stuff to him. But it’s hard to break free, you know?’
‘Oh, I do.’ Nelson grinned. ‘That’s why people don’t get into it, son. They see all this shit in advance. That or they’ve got a moral compass.’
‘Last week, this geezer came to us and told us to start selling this Blockchain stuff. Big guy, built like a brick shithouse.’ Oliver punched his thigh. ‘Couple of days later, I saw a news story about it, told Elliot we should stop selling it. Elliot wanted to make an impression with this guy, so he took it all off me, said he’d shift it all, show him what he’s made of. Shifted it all in a week.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Then people started dying.’
Fenchurch waited for Oliver to make eye contact with him again. ‘People like Gayle Fisher.’
‘Right.’
‘Did Elliot sell Steve the Blockchain?’
‘Look, I’ve been honest here. What am I getting out of this? You letting me go or what?’
‘I’m still waiting to see what else you’ve got.’ Nelson paused. ‘Coldcut got Daniel Dodoo to splash acid on Elliot’s face this morning. Why?’
‘What?’ Oliver’s eyes bulged. ‘I hadn’t heard. Been working since ten.’
‘They attacked him at his grandmother’s. How did they know he’d be there?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Did you tell him?’
Oliver waved his hands in the air. ‘Why would I?’
‘I need to believe you, Oliver. I really want to, but you’re making it hard for me.’
‘Come on, mate, I’m implicating myself in all sorts of shit. You need to give me a break!’
‘You’re not giving us everything, Oliver. What else is there?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Come on, son. I know you’re lying.’
‘I swear, that’s it.’
‘Here’s the thing. Whoever killed Gayle used your old man’s security card. Now, he’s got an alibi, watching you getting sent off at the football. But someon
e cloned his card. You know how to do that, don’t you?’
‘So does half the bloody hotel!’
‘But you knew where your old man would be. You might as well have done it yourself. Steve killed her with your drugs.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘What?’
‘Steve didn’t do it.’ Oliver ran a hand through his hair. ‘On Friday night, me and Elliot were drinking in the Third Planet, chatting up these birds, like I told you. Well, I was. I saw Steve over the other side of the bar. With Coldcut.’
‘You said you didn’t know him.’
‘Shit.’
‘So you do?’
‘That big bloke, yeah. Just told us to call him Coldcut.’
‘So why did you lie?’
‘That lawyer told me to keep quiet. Deny everything.’
‘Coldcut pay for him?’
‘Said he was a good guy. Would use him himself.’
‘Take us back to the bar, then. Steve and Coldcut.’
‘Pair of them ignored us. Steve looked pretty upset. Looked like Coldcut was helping him deal with something. This was about half nine. Ages before we went up to Hackney.’
‘Of course, and there’s no CCTV in there, is there?’
‘No, but I can point out exactly where they sat. They had three pints of Estrella. Spanish lager, nice stuff. Then they caught a cab outside.’
Something at least. Get Bridge on it.
‘I still don’t buy it, son.’ Fenchurch held his gaze. ‘Oliver, you know what Blockchain does to people? Gayle Fisher died of fluid on the lungs. Drowned in her own body fluid. Can you imagine what that must be like?’
‘She wouldn’t have been aware of anything. I read an article on Vice.’
‘Almost like you were there, isn’t it?’
Shit. He was there.
Elliot.
Elliot went missing during the time they were there. In the hotel.
‘You knew Gayle was staying there, didn’t you?’
‘Kat checked her in. She recognised her, but didn’t ask what she was doing there. Discretion, and she didn’t look like she wanted any questions.’
‘But you told Elliot, right?’
Oliver held his head in his hands. ‘He was talking about all that shit in the papers. His Mrs Fisher on the front of the Post. I thought he’d want to know she was there. Maybe go to her room and, I don’t know, talk?’
‘So then you cut a card for Elliot, using your old man’s—’
‘No!’
‘—and let Elliot into her room. You helped him tie her up and force the drugs down her throat.’
‘That’s not what happened!’
‘You just watched?’
‘No! I wasn’t there!’
‘Oliver, you’re an accomplice to murder.’
‘How do you figure that? You’ve got nothing on me.’
Chapter Forty-One
Mulholland was in the Obs Suite, drumming her fingers on the table. ‘Do you want a round of applause?’ She glared at Fenchurch and tightened her scarf. ‘DS Ashkani is downstairs, arranging for Mr Fisher’s release.’
‘What?’
‘She confirmed his story with Coldcut. Very helpful. We checked with the bar staff at the hotel and DC Bridge has confirmed it on the CCTV.’
‘Dawn, he had all those—’
‘Drugs? Steve was in court this morning. Bailed on the drug charges, but we’ve still got him for murder. Of course, you’d know that if you’d not been involving yourself in DI Nelson’s case instead of keeping on top of your own. This is your investigation, Simon. Yours.’
‘I’m just out of the bloody interview, Dawn!’
‘It feels like you’ve just chanced upon getting that information. There’s no strategy here.’
‘He was identified in the corridor outside her room and dumping her bag, Dawn.’ Fenchurch fell back against the door. ‘You shouldn’t let him go.’
‘You’ve still got a suspect. Elliot. He was selling the Blockchain. Killing people. Almost killed himself.’
‘I . . .’ Fenchurch couldn’t speak.
‘Simon, Alan Docherty should’ve put a stop to your behaviour a long time ago.’
‘My behaviour?’
‘Beating up suspects, blaming everyone for your daughter’s abduction.’
‘You’re actually using that against me?’ Fenchurch towered over her. ‘That would’ve all been resolved a long time ago if you—’
‘Not this again.’ She waved him off. ‘Get over it. I’ve admitted my fault. Yes, I interviewed someone and, maybe, if we’d had the full facts ten years ago, we could’ve found your daughter earlier. But it’s unimportant.’
‘Unimportant?’ Fenchurch wanted to swing for her. Instead, he opened the door, ready to charge out.
‘Simon.’ Mulholland grabbed his arm. ’As your friend, I’m advising you to focus on the bigger picture. Julian Loftus doesn’t care about it.’
‘I care.’
‘And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but maybe it’s more important to enjoy your daughter’s company than spend every moment of your waking life blaming me? She escaped on your watch.’
Fenchurch wanted to lash out and knock her head off. Stamp on it, until it was just bone and grey matter and blood and hate and all the shit she kept in there.
‘I thought you’d be spending time with your sick baby son? That’s preoccupying you, isn’t it? I shouldn’t—’
‘This is the first I’ve heard of it.’ Loftus stood in the doorway, arms folded. ‘Care to enlighten me, Inspector?’
‘Sir.’ Fenchurch couldn’t hold his gaze. ‘My son’s been in intensive care since he was born.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’ Loftus narrowed his eyes at Mulholland. ‘Inspector, this disagreement goes back to the end of DCI Docherty’s tenure, doesn’t it?’
‘It . . .’ Mulholland couldn’t focus on him. ‘Yes.’
‘Sir. My son’s treatment hasn’t been working . . .’
‘You have my deepest sympathies.’ Loftus patted his arm as he brushed past, heading straight for Mulholland. ‘Now, you can go and spend time with your family, okay?’
‘Sir, I want to—’
‘We’ve got a fresh suspect; we’ll work on prosecuting him. I shall see you in the morning.’ Loftus gave him a smug grin. ‘A word of warning, though. Mr Fisher is being released. I suggest you avoid him on your way out, okay?’
‘Guv!’
Fenchurch stopped halfway down the corridor.
Reed was ploughing along behind him. ‘You okay?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Like that, is it?’
‘Just . . .’ Fenchurch sighed. ‘Mulholland. Loftus.’
‘Usual, then?’ She grinned at him, but he wasn’t having any of it. ‘You’ve been a bit elusive today.’
‘I’ve been busy, Kay.’
‘You’re supposed to be Deputy SIO on the Gayle Fisher case, aren’t you?’
Fenchurch started off again. ‘Whatever.’
‘Don’t you “whatever” me, guv.’ Reed grabbed his arm but couldn’t stop him. ‘You’ve been doing God knows what all day while I’ve been managing the case for you. Which means keeping Ashkani at arm’s bloody length and updating Mulholland when I can’t get hold of you.’
Fenchurch opened the door and set off down the stairs. ‘Have you got anything?’
‘That’s not my point. You’ve been sleeping on the job.’
‘I’m heading to the hospital, Kay.’ Fenchurch stopped at the bottom. Couldn’t focus on anything. ‘Al’s operation is this afternoon.’
‘Shit, I didn’t know.’
‘Abi’s not telling you everything, then?’
Reed shook her head. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Hard to tell with her. Chloe’s helping. But . . . I don’t know. The way my luck’s been, I keep expecting a phone call saying . . . Sod it.’ He let out a deep br
eath. ‘I’m worried, Kay. Terrified. I spent a few minutes with him earlier, but . . . What if that’s the last time I see him?’
‘Guv, you’re in his corner. Okay? That’s important.’
‘I just wish I wasn’t in this situation.’
‘It’s tough, guv, but you’re tougher.’
‘Am I?’ Fenchurch opened the door, heading through the Custody Suite towards his car and home. ‘Keep losing myself in this case, Kay. I’m all over the place.’
‘Mulholland shouldn’t be putting you under this pressure.’
‘She wants to see me fall.’ Fenchurch stopped by the back door, warrant card out, ready to swipe. ‘She said you thought to arrest Steve after his court appearance?’
‘Right. Well. Anyone would’ve done that.’
‘She didn’t. Uzma didn’t. You did.’
‘And it turns out he’s an innocent man.’ Fenchurch swiped his card and opened the door.
Steve Fisher was standing in the Custody Suite, inspecting a watch. He smiled at Martin. ‘Gayle gave me this for Christmas two years ago.’ Then he locked eyes with Fenchurch and started towards him.
Fenchurch walked over, meeting him halfway. ‘I—’
‘Just get away from me.’ Steve pushed past them and walked through the back door.
Fenchurch watched the door swing shut. I asked for that . . . He followed him out. ‘Hang on.’
Steve was waiting outside, fists clenched. ‘I’ve lost my wife and you’ve been trying to pin her murder on me. You just wouldn’t listen to me, would you? I kept telling you I didn’t kill her!’
‘Sir, with all due respect, if we listened to everyone who told us they hadn’t killed someone, the prisons would be empty.’
‘You think you’re something, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t. I’m just a detective trying to do a job. I see vicious murders every day of my life. The worst in society committing the worst crimes. I’m sorry you’ve lost Gayle. I have some inkling of what you’re going through. And I’ve got the deepest sympathies.’
‘You’re a prick.’ Steve walked off down the back lane, past Fenchurch’s car.
‘Steve!’ Cameras flashed and clicked. ‘Steve! Over here!’ A huddle of journalists crowded towards him. Steve spun round, panic in his eyes.
Fenchurch unlocked his car. ‘Get in.’
