The Secret Fear

by Solomon Carter

  Melford shrugged. “For a cash loan, maybe? Or to a loan shark? These things happen,” said Melford. “Maybe the killer was a loan shark?”

  Hogarth paused to let Melford’s remark drift away.

  “Loan sharks don’t kill their debtors if they’re getting paid, sir. And Palmer found another document too. A document outlining expenses connected to a Turkish word which translates as ‘corrections’. At a cost of four thousand pounds plus the cost of a one-way ticket to Istanbul leaving this Saturday morning.”

  “One way to Istanbul? I don’t follow you.”

  “I don’t follow, either. But it’s not the first time Istanbul has showed up in this case. Izmir Yuksel has a contact in Istanbul, someone he claims is a business contact, though old man Yusuf Yuksel seemed pretty hazy about it all.”

  “You think the son is lying?”

  “Oh yes. Hiding something, at least. There are hidden contacts on his Turkish WhatsApp group. We need to talk to him again. And I need to see something in Yuksel’s office.”

  “See what?”

  “Just a detail that needs checking.”

  “Both families have a link to Istanbul, but from what you’ve said, only the Sen family is keeping secrets. Perhaps then, the murder was an inside job.”

  Melford was flitting from one side of the case to the other. Hogarth had no patience for gadfly guesswork but kept his mouth shut.

  “Secrets don’t add up to murder, sir.”

  “But you’ve said nothing about the Yuksels. Sounds like apart from bad manners and the son’s shady behaviour, they might be off the hook for this murder. Yuksel’s son could be up to something else entirely.”

  “There are some serious questions in both quarters, sir. With your permission, I’d like to go and get started. We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

  “One more thing, Hogarth. I’d like to speak to you about PCSO Ecrin Kaplan...”

  As Melford spoke, his phone started to ring. Hogarth watched the man’s face change. His eyes flashed with an almost phobic response as the phone continued to ring. Melford ignored it and looked at Hogarth.

  “I’ve spoken to the Neighbourhood Team.”

  “PC Yarrow?” said Hogarth, calling out over the telephone. “I’ve spoken with him too...” Hogarth read the runes.

  So, it was the PCSO manager who had complained. A low blow considering he’d agreed borrowing Kaplan in advance. Not that he’d given PC Yarrow much choice...

  “Yes. It’s all well and good borrowing a PCSO for some minor duties on the fringes of a case. For duties related to their normal work...”

  The phone continued to ring. Melford continued to ignore it. Hogarth scratched his cheek and stared at the phone.

  “Sir, don’t you think you’d better answer that? It could be important.”

  “And it could be confidential, too,” snapped Melford. Hogarth met his eyes evenly.

  “You’ll find I’m quite trustworthy, sir,” he said. Melford looked into his eyes and Hogarth waited until his superior had received the challenge.

  Melford turned red. “If you want me to answer the damn phone, so be it.” He hesitated before he snatched the phone from its cradle.

  “Yes? DCI Melford.”

  Melford’s eyes widened. They flicked up to Hogarth, who kept his gaze steady and even. Melford looked down and rubbed his eyes.

  “Yes, yes, I know all of that. Of course, I am. I’m doing the best I can here. No, no. You listen. I’m with one of my officers at present. This is important. You must wait. I said you must wait. I’ll call you back.”

  Hogarth heard the faint snapping voice of the person as the caller tried to impose their will onto Melford but he heard nothing of what was said. Only the faint barrage of aggression. Melford put the handset down and shot Hogarth a look. “There. Satisfied?”

  “Sounded like a difficult call, sir.”

  Melford was suddenly interested in the surface of his desk.

  “They’re all difficult lately.” Melford made a ham-fisted attempt at a smile and failed. “But then whoever said that married life was easy – even at my ripe old age. You’re not married are you, Hogarth?”

  “No. But I can get into scrapes with women, as you well know.”

  “Marriage doesn’t prevent scrapes, Hogarth. It only guarantees a whole set of different ones.”

  Hogarth nodded. “I can imagine.” He looked away, his eyes narrowing in thought.

  “Kaplan, Hogarth. PCSO Kaplan. I’m sure she’s been of use to you, what with the Turkish language aspect of this case, but don’t make a habit of robbing staff resources from Yarrow. The girl is new, after all. It makes life difficult for one and all.”

  “We wouldn’t want to make life difficult, would we, sir?”

  Melford’s face flickered with anger. “I’ve cleared it with Yarrow for a short while longer. Now just remember what I’ve said.”

  “Is that it, sir?”

  “Yes, for now. Keep up the pressure on this case. I don’t much approve of the risks you take, but I’d still like this one closed out nice and neatly before The Record tries to cobble something nasty out of it.”

  If that wasn’t a mixed message, Hogarth didn’t know what was. A rollicking for breaking the rules, and pressure to keep going all the same. Melford was truly losing the plot. But it was much worse than that... Hogarth had tried to give the man a coded warning but wasn’t sure if the DCI had heard it. And if Hogarth followed his own instincts with Melford, he knew there was far worse trouble to come.

  “We’ll do our best, sir. As always,” said Hogarth. He smiled as Melford gave him a dubious look.

  “That will be all,” said Melford.

  Hogarth drifted to the door, opened it, and looked back with a smile on his face.

  “Sir. If Yarrow had wanted Kaplan back, or had an issue with me, he didn’t need to complain to you. He could have come to me. I would have sorted things with him – no need for all this.”

  Melford looked at Hogarth – snared but unaware of it.

  “Yarrow didn’t complain, Hogarth. Actually, I think he’s rather glad to have Kaplan bedded in with you lot before she heads back out on PCSO duty. In fact, Yarrow wasn’t sure if she was too soft to handle the challenges of the job.”

  Hogarth thought of Simmons’ clumsy advances. “No, sir.”

  “But don’t ask me who complained, because I won’t tell you. End of story.”

  “Fair enough,” said Hogarth. He dipped his head and closed the door, satisfied yet angry. Through a simple process of elimination, he now knew Dickens and Neighbourhood Team hadn’t been the ones to complain. Which left only one bitter and twisted little tosspot to hold responsible. Orton. Hogarth fumed but decided to set the issue of revenge to one side. It was petty. And there were bigger fish to fry. Such as the Yuksels, and the Sen family’s secrets. And then there was the small matter of Melford’s lies. And Hogarth might have believed the bullshit about trouble on the home front causing all Melford’s woes – if not for one crucial fact. The voice he’d heard at the other end of the line wasn’t female. The caller he’d been jousting with was definitely not DCI Melford’s wife. Long Melford had told him a point-blank lie.

  Sixteen

  Hogarth slowed his saloon to rubberneck at the ragged collection of blue boiler-suited men scrubbing, foaming, and spraying the queue of cars at Westcliff hand car wash. The place was always busy, mainly he imagined, because the car wash was far more effective than the automatic kind. Hogarth had once argued with the guy in the Total petrol station about the bird shite still glued to his roof after a four quid car wash. Which made six quid for a hand wash look like great value. But factor in the idea that most of the cash was flying right past the taxman’s nose and it looked an even sweeter deal for the owner. The place was a cash machine, pure and simple. But Palmer’s idea intrigued him. What if the place was much more than that? As he cruised past one of the washer-men glanced his way. The man waved him in for a wash, but Ho
garth shook his head, dabbed the accelerator and pushed on.

  He mounted the pavement outside Yuksel’s Cash and Carry. As he got out of the car, he saw Simmons was calling his mobile. He stepped out of the way of Yuksel’s shop window to take the call, but it was too late. Miray had seen him. When he caught her eye, she didn’t look too happy to see him. She looked troubled, maybe upset. Hogarth’s usual Miray butterflies-in-the-stomach were replaced by a feeling of unease. Perhaps he was becoming an unwanted memory. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Hogarth pushed it away as he took Simmons’ call. Simmons was at Hamlet Court Road.

  “Simmons? Any joy at the little shop of horrors?”

  “Not really, guv. Dickens is all over it again, and he’s cussing under his breath any time I go near him. I don’t think he’s going to let me near the evidence at all.”

  “That’s his job. Not the cussing, I mean guarding the evidence. You see if you can spy something else for us.”

  “Such as?”

  “Anything, Simmons. Use that cunning brain of yours.”

  “I still think there’s value in those strip curtains, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember. But you can stop dropping the hints now Simmons. I’ll buy you a set for your next birthday. I think I can stretch to ninety-nine pence.”

  “Guv?

  “Alright. When Dickens calms down, I’ll ask him again. By the way, did you get any joy with our fake hobos?”

  “They didn’t do it, guv.”

  “Yes, I know that. But have they got a decent alibi?”

  “We think so. The newsagent down the road saw them coming at seven o’clockish. Well after Baba Sen got topped. It’s not one hundred per cent watertight, but on the balance of probability...”

  “Ok, Einstein. Speaking of watertight, I’m about to interview Izmir Yuksel. His alibi leaks like a sieve.”

  “Oh, guv,” said Simmons.

  “Yes?” said Hogarth.

  “Did you know the Sen family is planning some kind of send-off for the victim?”

  “What do you mean? Quentin’s still got the body.”

  “It’s not a funeral. Just a community thing. Roly Smundle mentioned it last night. Says he’s going.”

  “Smundle and Grint? Just who everybody wants at a funeral service. Okay. Where and when?”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know. But I got the impression they meant here at the shop... Dickens isn’t going to like that idea.”

  “No, and neither do I. It’s a recipe for trouble. It can’t happen at the shop... Thanks for the tip off. Oh, and Simmons?”

  “Yes?”

  “How’s progress with PCSO Kaplan?”

  “I just told you everything, guv.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” Hogarth chortled and pressed the button to end the call. He was still smiling when he saw that Izmir Yuksel had stopped at the window. Izmir was tinkering with some piece of ventilation equipment in the shopfront display, but Hogarth knew he was faking it. Izmir had been watching him. Hogarth set his expression to intimidating – narrow eyes, gruff straight mouth – and walked into the shop. As soon as he set foot through the shop doorway his phone started buzzing again but facing a murder suspect needed to be done in the right way, with the right tone. The call had to wait.

  “Mr Yuksel... Miray...” said Hogarth. Miray flashed him a smile as she restocked a shelf with jars of pickles near the front of the store. Her smile looked genuine enough. Maybe he had imagined it. And Miray was still a looker, it couldn’t be denied. Meanwhile, Izmir was studying him closely. He watched Hogarth’s eyes flick away from Miray to himself. Izmir was putting on a tougher front than usual. He frowned and folded his arms.

  “Exactly what is it you want with us?” he said. The man’s eyes tracked a little towards Miray, who was busy stepping down from her short ladder and didn’t notice the look.

  “He just has his job to do, Izmir. Like he always does,” said Miray.

  “I’m not sure this is all just about his job. The man seems to have some kind of obsession with us.”

  Hogarth got the point. Izmir had sensed his interest in Miray. And? So what if the residue of past feelings lingered. So, what if the whelp had noticed it? It was none of his bloody business. Hogarth decided to front it out.

  “I’m doing my job, Mr Yuksel. Which is the only reason I’m here. I’m investigating the murder of Baba Sen – and I’m trying to get to the truth.”

  “The truth?” said Izmir. “We told you the truth yesterday.”

  Hogarth saw movement behind the counter. He saw the old man was talking to someone – a member of staff maybe, or perhaps a supplier’s salesman. The other man wore smart clothes and had his back turned to Hogarth. Yuksel peered over the counter like a meerkat, gave Hogarth a hard look and returned to his prior conversation. Hogarth strained to listen in, but it proved impossible.

  “Yes, you told us a good number of things, Mr Yuksel. And then some other things need clarifying...” Hogarth let his words drift with a smile. “In fact, you might want to discuss this in private. Is the office free?”

  Miray and Izmir glanced back at Yuksel who was still busy dealing with the man behind the counter. Miray replied with a smile, but Hogarth saw the flash of worry in her eyes. These Yuksels weren’t good for her, and Hogarth didn’t like it. “Yes, your father is busy. The office is free,” she said.

  Izmir sighed. “Come with me.”

  Izmir led him towards the office. As they passed him, Yuksel spat some words in Turkish and led his suited companion deeper into a side room and closed the door behind them. Hogarth caught no more than a glimpse of the other man – a strongly defined profile, a balding crown, short salt and pepper hair – then they were both gone. Turkish, he thought. They were talking in Turkish. It sounded like firm words, too.

  Izmir closed the office door behind them. The man looked awkward, nervous and wide eyed now they were alone. His feistiness had almost disappeared.

  “Care to tell me where you were last night, Izmir?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  He watched the man settle down into his father’s chair. He looked like a child clopping around in his father’s shoes.

  “I was at home, with my family. With my father. Why do you ask?”

  “With Daddy again, eh?” said Hogarth, narrowing his eyes. It was as weak as could be, but he knew the old man would back him up. Hogarth waited, letting the man sweat while he worked his way around to the next question. His mobile buzzed again in his pocket. Hogarth ignored it.

  “Yes. I was at home all evening. You can check with him if you like.”

  “I will do, don’t you worry about that.”

  “I’m not worried in the least,” said Izmir.

  Hogarth leaned forward. “Funny, Mr Yuksel. Because you look it.”

  Izmir gulped.

  “You gave us your phone and access to your WhatsApp account. Interesting that was. And it makes me wonder. Did you think we’re all technologically backward or something? Or did you actually, in some way, want us to notice those other little things.”

  “Other little things, inspector? What do you mean? I gave you my phone because you said you needed it. Have you finished with it yet?”

  “Yes, I think so. Go and get it whenever you like. Now, do you want me to tell you what was so curious about it?”

  Izmir stayed blank faced, eyes wide.

  “That little group with your video call on it. Your alibi call. The one you made to your supplier. Istanbul S, also known as Salman - that’s his name, isn’t it?”

  Izmir frowned. “Salman... but how did you know?” Izmir seemed to realise even as he asked. “You checked my contacts. You saw their social media accounts... see? I told you it was true.” He watched Izmir shifting in his seat, a hint of colour rising to his face. “Now you know the call was in the morning. There was no way I could have made that video call and then attacked Baba Sen in the same tim
eframe as you gave. And you know I have no motive. True, Baba Sen didn’t like my father, but I am my own man. My father can fight his own battles.”

  “And I’m sure he does. I believe you, Izmir. You are your own man, eh? Walking in your father’s shadow. Trying to do something new. Something different. And I just wonder what that might be...”

  “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “No,” said Hogarth. “I’m sure. Istanbul Salman does exist, which is good for you. I’m pleased at least part of your alibi stacks up.”

  “Part of it?” said Yuksel. Hogarth saw the faintest sheen of sweat appearing on the man’s lip.

  “Yes. Because think about this... you could have been anywhere when you made that video call. You could have been in a car outside Authentic Kebab. Or you could have been in the toilet downstairs, doing your business. The joys of the internet, eh? Or you could have been standing over Sen’s dead body with a knife in your hand, at the same time as putting a smile on for Istanbul Salman. And then, there’s all the time left in our window of opportunity – time when you weren’t making that call – and that’s all time when you could have been murdering your family’s biggest enemy.”

  “No! I wouldn’t kill a man for such a petty thing as the feud!” said Izmir.

  Hogarth leaned in again. “Then why would you kill him, Izmir? Eh?”

  The man’s face contorted. “I told you already. I did not kill that man, and you cannot prove I did. I did make that call to Salman. I was doing my job, my duty, and then I started work.”

  “I can’t prove you did it, Izmir?!” said Hogarth. “Is that what we’re coming down to here? Is that all you’ve got?”

  Izmir Yuksel’s neck muscles tightened behind his collar. He stayed silent behind the desk.

  “Seems like it might be. Well, don’t bank on things staying as they are, Izmir. Anything else you want to tell me about that call, Izmir?” Hogarth waited. He stared into Izmir’s eyes. The man hesitated, stared back, shook his head.

  “Pity. Because you haven’t told us everything, have you? Why not, eh? That’s what I’m wondering.”