The Secret Fear

by Solomon Carter

  “You’ve only got it in for us because of her,” snapped Izmir. “I see you. You know her, don’t you? Maybe, you knew her very well.”

  “Miray?” said Hogarth, dismissively. “She was an acquaintance. That’s all.”

  “That’s not what it looks like to me,” said Izmir.

  “Then that shows me what a devious and twisted little mind you really have, Izmir. Which is very illuminating in itself.”

  “No. You have me wrong. I am a man of peace. A man of morals, inspector. But you really shouldn’t underestimate my father.”

  “Dear, oh dear. Even more illuminating, Izmir,” said Hogarth. He stood up from his chair and laid his hand on the back of it. He looked down at the young man. “Because to me that sounded like a threat. In fact, you sounded like a little boy in the playground, telling another little boy to be careful, or his daddy will beat them up. Not very scary, if you ask me.”

  Izmir glowered at him.

  “And as for your morals, and your duty, Izmir. I know you lied to us in that interview.”

  “Lied. When did I lie?”

  “You lied about the supplier. I asked your father and he covered for you, but I could see it wasn’t true. He hasn’t got a clue what you’re up to, has he?”

  “You have nothing,” said Izmir, blushing.

  “And this WhatsApp group of yours, Izmir. I’m no aficionado of this stuff. You knew that. But I’m a quick learner. And what I’ve learned, is this WhatsApp sucks all your contact data through to your phone. Which is how we found Istanbul S - aka Salman. The mystery man with two Facebook profiles and no background. Mysterious, ghostly, Salman, a man who barely seems to exist.”

  “He exists alright,” said Izmir. “He’s a good man. He just doesn’t hang around much on social media.”

  Hogarth nodded. “And what about the others?”

  “Others?” Izmir shifted in his chair.

  “There were others in your WhatsApp group. The ones you didn’t tell us about. Others who you haven’t called for a long time. We could track them if we wanted. What would we find? More empty social media accounts. More ghosts from Istanbul? Or maybe a clue to Baba Sen’s killer?”

  “No,” snapped Izmir. “You wouldn’t find anything.”

  “Who was the other person on that call, Izmir? Who?”

  Izmir turned pale. He coughed into his fist.

  “Nothing and no one connected to this mess. Because they have nothing to do with it.”

  “Like it had nothing to do with ordering the latest in Turkish food supplies from Istanbul. Ten out of ten for thinking on your feet, Izmir, but as excuses go it stank all day long.”

  “I made that call!”

  “But why? And to who?”

  “That’s none of your business!”

  Hogarth paused. “Any reason why you or anyone you know should be making large payments, thousands of pounds, say, back to Istanbul?”

  Izmir frowned, he looked confused “No... why?”

  Hogarth changed tack. “Truth time, Izmir. It’s starting to matter, now. Think about it as a way to curry my favour before the axe finally drops.”

  “I owe you nothing,” said Izmir.

  “Did Baba Sen ever make any regular cash payments to your father – and if he did – for what reason?”

  “Did Orcun Sen tell you this?! Lies! The man should be ashamed. I know nothing of this.”

  Izmir’s shouting drew a loud knock at the door before it burst open and old man Yuksel rushed into the room. Hogarth saw the stern frown and face full of hatred. In the same instant the door closed behind him, Hogarth caught a sight of the other man – the man in the suit, walking away. He saw only the man’s back. Then the door was closed. Old man Yuksel was in the room with them.

  “What the hell is going on in here?!!” spat the old man, his thin grey hair flicking forward as he spoke.

  “This policeman is making all kinds of wild accusations,” said Izmir.

  “Then he is making another mistake,” said the old man.

  “Funny you should say that, Mr Yuksel. Your son said something very similar.”

  The old man glared at his son before he returned his gaze to Hogarth.

  “Get the hell out of my shop. If you have something credible against us, then use it. Arrest us. If not, inspector, I’ll make sure your life becomes a living hell.”

  “Threats, Mr Yuksel. Some veiled and some not so veiled. Dear me, solicitors, court cases, complaints – I’ve been threatened with it all before, Mr Yuksel. It doesn’t wash with me. I know your son is hiding something” Hogarth approached the door but turned back to face Izmir before he reached the door handle.

  “The other person on that call, Izmir. They are another very active WhatsApp user, aren’t they, Izmir? But this person doesn’t have a Facebook account. They don’t even have a name. Care to tell me who they are before things get any worse? Or is that another of your little secrets?”

  Izmir’s eyes flicked towards his father. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do. There’s no way you couldn’t. You just don’t want to say in front of your old man. Tut tut. All these secrets of yours, Izmir. I bet Daddy is going to give you a right good spanking once he learns them all. Or maybe he does already...”

  Hogarth gripped the door handle. He felt the old man’s violent anger pouring off him in waves and glanced once in the old man’s direction.

  “Anger management, Mr Yuksel. Someone recommended it to me once. I reckon you should give it a try.”

  “I’m warning you, man!” said Yuksel. “Whoever said I needed to use solicitors to carry out a threat?”

  Hogarth raised an eyebrow. A chill feeling rose up his body, but Hogarth pushed it down. “Get a grip, Yuksel...”

  Just as he turned for the door, Hogarth saw the photographs on the wall. “Ah, the car wash business, Mr Yuksel. I’d say you must turn over a heck of a lot of cash with that. Cash businesses are always very interesting to look at. Some of my colleagues love ‘em to death.” Hogarth grinned. “Revenue Inspectors, mainly.” His eyes drifted across to the image of Yuksel and his wife. The tuxedo and the cocktail dress. Very glamorous. And then he caught the face of the accidental photobomb behind them. For a moment Hogarth was perplexed. Silenced. And in the next moment, the image made sense and he felt poleaxed. He stayed silent as his feelings reacted to the sight of a very familiar face. Not one he knew directly, but one he had seen many times in the past. The pale brown eyes, the solid cheekbones, the strong square chin. The man was one of the Atacans, without a doubt. But it wasn’t Ferkan... He scanned the other faces from the neighbouring group, but they were facing away and just out of shot. He looked at their tanned hands and the backs of the heads and he knew one of them had to be Ferkan. Palmer was right. The unknown Atacan in the image was looking at the Yuksels with an interest that said he knew who they were.

  “What is it?” said the old man. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Hogarth struggled to block out his emotions as he turned to face the old man. The spark of menace he had felt in the old man’s anger had a new edge. Maybe it had always been there, but now Hogarth felt it was real. He couldn’t think of a single word to say. Instead, he turned to Izmir and pointed at him.

  “Last chance, Izmir. I want to know the identity of that caller from your WhatsApp group. I also need you to be able to prove you were at home and nowhere else when those calls were made. A WhatsApp video call isn’t an alibi, Mr Yuksel. Nice try, but it’s a call you can make from anywhere. And without knowing who those people are, it’s as good as worthless.”

  “I know where he was. He was with me, at home.”

  “Both times?” said Hogarth, quietly.

  “What do you mean, both times?”

  “A police officer was attacked last night at Authentic Kebab,” said Hogarth.

  “What?” said the old man.

  “Yes, Mr Yuksel. It seems the killer returned to the sce
ne, possibly to retrieve something. Then he attacked one of my officers.” His eyes flicked to Izmir. “If not for Orcun Sen’s intervention it could have been another murder.”

  The old man frowned and looked once at Izmir.

  “My son is innocent. He was at home with me.”

  “Both times?” said Hogarth.

  “Both times,” said old man Yuksel, with a look of defiance. But there was a glint of uncertainty in there too. Hogarth shook his head.

  “Those contacts, Izmir. I want them. Especially the unknown number. If you’re lucky it might even help clear your name. If not, alibi or none, it’s beginning to look like your goose is cooked.”

  “Not ours, inspector,” said Yuksel, his eyes searching for the hint of fear Hogarth knew he had seen before. Hogarth gave the man a bitter look and pulled the door open. As the door swung, he saw a suit jacket hanging from a coat hook on the back. It ruffled as the door swung back. A glint of colour from the folds appealed to Hogarth’s eye. He wanted to get away, to take a breath, to escape the claustrophobia and the threats. But the colour in the black jacket held him a moment. There. A fraction of glistening orange tucked behind the black button on the coat. Hogarth blinked, his mind racing. He couldn’t let them realise what he had seen. He swallowed as he stepped out of the office and slammed the door. Immediately, there were the voices of father and son raised in argument behind the door. Hogarth shook his head and reminded himself to take Kaplan with him next time. The cold feeling of Yuksel’s threats were sinking into his mind and body, oozing deeper with each moment. He saw Miray looking at him from across the shop and read the troubled look behind her smile. It was starting to make sense. He flashed his best approximation of a carefree smile her way before attempting to walk on. She walked towards him but Hogarth wished she hadn’t. From now on he had to keep up appearances.

  “It sounds very difficult for you,” said Miray. “Is Izmir really implicated in any of this?” She nodded to the door.

  “Some things aren’t stacking up, Miray. But, it’s early days yet. I just wish I knew where the lies finished and the truth began...” He glanced away. “Still... if I knew that, I’d be head of the Met instead of chasing hoodlums in this backwater, eh?”

  Miray grinned. “I think you’re doing a good job.”

  “Hah,” said Hogarth. “I’ll let you know when this case is solved.”

  Hogarth’s jacket started buzzing again. He was only too glad to take the call. On screen he saw a message for two missed calls from the station, and this time Palmer was calling. Hogarth’s chest tightened.

  “Miray – I’ve got to go.”

  “Fine, Joe. You go.” As Hogarth hurried away, the woman’s eyes trailed after him. Her smile faded and her eyes became serious. Hogarth marched the length of the shop with the mobile pressed to his ear. Old man Yuksel stepped out of the office and looked across at Miray. He nodded with a stern face and, meekly, Miray nodded back.

  Hogarth escaped from the shop into the cool air.

  “Sue? Did you call me before?” said Hogarth. He felt the pressure in his chest. It had been there ever since he’d seen the face of an Atacan staring back at him from Yuksel’s photograph.

  “No, guv. That was Melford. Why didn’t you pick up? Melford’s completely lost it. We need you back now.”

  “Bloody hell, but we’ve got a murder case on here, and it’s getting worse. What part of that does he not understand? I haven’t got time for his bloody funny business, whatever’s happened...”

  “I know, guv, but this time it’s important. It’s not just another flip-out at the station.”

  Hogarth gritted his teeth as he got into his car. He slapped the steering wheel and turned the key in the ignition and hit start. The car coughed into life.

  “What now?”

  “That stuff about crimes against local businesses. Remember that?”

  “Poppycock, Sue. Total nonsense. I think he was making it up as he went along.”

  “I don’t think he was,” said Palmer.

  “Well I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Hogarth.

  “No, he wasn’t making it up, guv. It’s just happened. We’ve had an incident. One of the convenience stores near Thorpe Bay. Mayberry Convenience Stores. There’s been an attempted robbery. The DCI wanted you to attend.”

  “What? Send the uniforms. They won’t need me on hand unless it turns into something worse.”

  “I think you’d better go, guv. The DCI is waiting for you there himself.”

  “What’s he playing at? Fine. Whatever. I’m on my way. But this Baba Sen case is getting seriously dark, Palmer. If you’ve got anything on old man Yuksel bring it along. I need to hear it.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “The Atacans. It wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Reports of their demise have been greatly exaggerated. Which means we’re all in the crap. Meanwhile Melford wants to eat up our time with his existential crisis.”

  “The Atacans? You’re sure?”

  Hogarth grimaced. “I’m sure. Okay. Mayberry’s, Thorpe Bay. See you in ten. But send Melford home if you can.”

  Hogarth hung up. The tightness in his chest was still with him. Now Hogarth knew it wouldn’t go until the case was closed, until the latest Atacan menace had been dealt with. And there was no telling how long that was going to take. Until then, Hogarth already knew he would be able to think about little else.

  HOGARTH SWEPT IN TO the shop car park at the end of Thorpe Bay boulevard. There were two squad cars already on hand, sirens quiet, blue lights still flashing. To one side, Hogarth saw Palmer’s old Corsa looking like a refugee from the junk yard. Parked beside Thorpe Bay’s gleaming convertibles was doing it no favours at all. Then he saw Melford’s status-symbol saloon on the other side. Hogarth parked near the exit and got out of his car, venting some of his frustration in slamming the car door. He marched past a small crowd of well-dressed busybodies on the street corner and marched towards the wide shop front. Palmer was talking to PC Jordan outside, arms folded. Hogarth frowned. Palmer and Jordan looked far too relaxed for his liking.

  “You on a tea break? I thought this was a robbery,” said Hogarth.

  Palmer looked at Hogarth’s face. The lines on his forehead looked craggier and tighter than usual. Even his skin pallor wasn’t right. “Guv?”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a bloody robbery? Looks more like a mother’s meeting to me.”

  “That’s because it turned out to be a hoax, or at least a mistake,” said Jordan. The lad always reminded him of the new England cricket captain. He looked more of a boy than a man. But at least he wasn’t Orton.

  “Sorry, guv. False alarm.”

  “What? Melford didn’t imagine the whole thing, did he?”

  Palmer shot a glance Hogarth’s way. He got the point. He needed to be careful about dissing Melford in front of the rank and file. But Jordan smirked. It seemed Hogarth’s views chimed with those of the uniforms.

  “It was a real call, sir,” said Jordan. “Mayberry’s called for help and I think DCI Melford got involved straight away. It came through the call handlers as a nine-nine-nine job.”

  Hogarth shook his head, not knowing what to make of it.

  “So why did he want us here?” said Hogarth.

  “He said this could be the first of the expected spate of crimes against businesses,” said Palmer, reconstructing the reasons she’d been given. “He wanted us here from the outset, just in case.”

  Hogarth humphed.

  “And he wasn’t that happy you were out of contact,” said Palmer.

  “When is he ever happy? Where is he?”

  “Inside the shop, going through events with the shopkeeper and staff.”

  “Did you get anything on Yuksel?”

  “Nothing. I’ve asked around, but no one had a bad word to say about the man.”

  “Who did you ask?”

  “All the kebab shops who answered their phones,” said Palmer
.

  “No one said anything?” said Hogarth.

  “Nope. None of the takeaway people. I called a few, hoping to hear something like Baba Sen’s opinions. I drew a blank. Sorry, guv. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “On the contrary, Palmer. That might make perfect sense after all. You get back to work. I’ll cover for you with Long Melford.”

  Palmer nodded and Hogarth strode into the shop, hands in pockets, chip weighing heavily on his shoulder. Melford was at the counter beside Matthews, one of the older PCs. A man whose bark was worse than his bite. The bark was about all Matthews had left.

  “Sir,” said Hogarth, announcing his presence. Melford turned, his face dark and moody. There was a pen and pad in his hand but Hogarth doubted it was the one he was interested in.

  “DI Hogarth. You made it then?”

  “I was working on the Sen case, sir. Interviewing suspects.”

  Melford nodded.

  “Why did you want me here, sir?”

  “Because of the threat, Hogarth. The threat to local businesses. You do recall what we were talking about yesterday?”

  “The unspecified threat to local businesses.”

  “Well, here it is. Specified. Unfortunately for us, this robbery was aborted at the last moment.”

  Hogarth glanced at the shopkeeper and his assistant, standing at his side. The men were quiet but seemed to be taking in everything they were saying.

  “Unfortunately, sir?”

  “Yes. Because I’d have much rather caught the bugger red-handed and nipped this in the bud. We can’t have people in this town intimidated and living in fear of robberies.”

  “No, sir. But if it was aborted then it’s not actually a robbery... so maybe we’re still in the clear as far as your business threats are concerned. Who called it in?”

  “We did,” said the older of the two shop staff. His eyes flicked from Melford to Hogarth as he answered the question, but they seemed to gravitate back to the DCI. “We had some concerns and thought about calling the police. The man we saw outside, he looked quite menacing, and he walked into the shop a few times, paced the aisles. He wasn’t the normal kind of person we get shopping in here.”