The Secret Fear

by Solomon Carter

  “Ed? What is it?”

  “I’ve got those results you wanted. And I’m rather pleased to confirm my suspicions were correct. The effects I saw on Mr Sen’s body were caused by henbane. Toxicology proved the presence of Hyoscyamus niger in Baba Sen’s liver, stomach, and blood. A very rare death this, by UK standards.”

  Quentin sounded proud and pleased as punch. Hogarth felt differently. “To be honest, Ed, I don’t know whether to be pleased or to punch a wall. I’m about to interrogate our only real suspect, and death by poisoning messes the whole thing up.”

  “Be that as it may, you need the facts to find your killer. There were signs of real aggression in the beating, in addition to the calculated use of poison. Could it be that your killer wanted to make doubly sure the man was dead?”

  “Seems a little extreme to my mind, but thanks all the same,” said Hogarth. “The man I have in mind doesn’t look like a make-sure kind of person. He doesn’t look like much of anything. And all that violence doesn’t exactly mesh with poisoning, does it?”

  “That’s your department, I’m afraid, inspector. But in case it helps, here’s the rest of what else we know. Toxicology indicates that the henbane had not been administered just once, but over a sustained period as we suspected. From the other elements in Mr Sen’s system, we can confirm that the henbane was hidden in the ginger tea, of course – forensics confirm it. The tea must have been used to disguise the flavour. And I’ve got a pet theory that Mr Sen probably didn’t even mind the poison too much. Like those Turkish teens, he might have even enjoyed his poison. There would have been a pleasurable effect in earlier doses – there was a reason why teenagers abused the stuff back in the eighties – and I think Baba Sen was probably feeling the same benefits. A mild, pleasant intoxication, an almost drunken high, if you will. But the final dose that killed him was far stronger. The killer had probably softened him up in readiness for the killer dose.”

  “And that’s a totally different method of killing than bashing a man over the head. Poisoning like that takes time. Planning. And maybe... regular access to Baba Sen’s tea... It contradicts everything else we’ve got.”

  “You still needed to know,” said Quentin.

  “Yes. I suppose I did.”

  “There’s no suppose about it, inspector. I’m sure you’ll get them in the end.”

  Hogarth ended the call but stayed where he was, pressing the phone to his lips. The poison didn’t work with Izmir as the killer. Hogarth began to see the whole case coming apart before he’d even put it together. The poison? How did Izmir get access to it? And then the ginger tea? Then there were the very mixed messages from the violence and the ‘A’ carved into Baba Sen’s head. But the violence hadn’t killed the man... the poison had. Then there were Sen’s secret payments to Turkey... Hogarth was more than perplexed. He was struggling. But he had to focus on what he knew before he lost hold of the case altogether. Izmir had a set of possible motives, a weak alibi, and there were secrets and possible evidence placing him at the scene. Hogarth crumpled his brow, determined to hold on to the crumbs he had. At this point, hope was becoming part of his strategy. It was weak but he dared not show it, or there was a chance he would lose it all.

  MIRAY WATCHED HOGARTH as he walked into the cash and carry. He slid his phone away. She was restacking the catering size oil cans on the front bay and Hogarth wondered if she knew where they really came from. She gave him a quizzical look, a half-frown.

  “Where did you go?” she whispered.

  “I had to deal with an emergency,” he said, glancing at her, then away. A meaningful look could have been dangerous for her. “Be warned, Miray” he added. “This is about to get heated.

  Hogarth walked briskly down the aisle. He saw Izmir Yuksel watching him from the counter as he passed along the aisle of coffee machines, chip fryers, and utensils. He slowed to a halt by the utensils and took a look. Izmir watched him. Hogarth’s eyes traced over the knife sets until he found what he was looking for. A thin-bladed cutting knife with a black plastic handle. The cheap looking item was in a plastic blister pack and the usual cardboard packaging had been ripped out. Hogarth picked up the pack, looked at it more closely and turned it over in his hand. There on the flipside of the blade, right beside the base, was a white printed word in very small text. Shqipëri. Hogarth recalled the same word from the pallets at the Basildon warehouse. His eyes narrowed and he put the knife pack back on the peg with the others. He turned and smiled at Izmir. The young man seemed awkward and self-conscious, exactly the way Hogarth wanted him. Hogarth walked towards him but his confidence was soon flipped. Before he reached the counter, Yusuf Yuksel stepped out of the office with a look of defiance on his face. Hogarth gave it right back to him, but then Devirim Atacan stepped out at his side. The man with the feral, hawkish face made no gesture, gave no tough-guy folded arms, no sneer, nothing. All he did was watch as Hogarth approached and the threat in his eyes was enough to chill the blood. Hogarth swallowed and hoped his fear didn’t show.

  “See. It’s the detective again. Always the detective. It’s almost if he is obsessed with us, don’t you think, Devirim?” They spoke in English, so Hogarth knew it was all for show. For Hogarth’s consumption.

  “He’s making a mistake,” said Devirim.

  Hogarth stopped and turned his attention to the two men at the doorway.

  “There’s no mistake, gentlemen. I know exactly what you are. Both of you. I’ve seen you at work.”

  “Knowledge is nothing. Evidence is what counts,” said Devirim.

  “And all I need is proof of a murder,” said Hogarth.

  The old man shrugged and gave Hogarth a dismissive, Don Corleone expression. “Then I say we have nothing to fear at all. Whoever killed that man is nothing to do with us. Be it on his own head.”

  “You’re sure about that, Yusuf?” said Hogarth. “Even if the body was left with an infamous mark scored onto the head?”

  Devirim frowned and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...” But something seemed to dawn in the man’s dark eyes as he spoke. Hogarth nodded slowly at his understanding. “The letter ‘A’ ring any bells, Mr Atacan?”

  “Don’t make the mistake of trying to frame me,” said Devirim.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t make a mistake like that. But someone certainly did.” He left Atacan and Yuksel simmering as he turned his eyes to Izmir.

  “It’s Izmir I’m here to see. But you know that, don’t you, son?”

  The young man’s mouth opened as if he intended to speak. Before he could reply the shop door opened again behind them. Hogarth and the others turned to look as DS Palmer approached. Hogarth saw she was in a hurry.

  “Guv, glad I caught you.

  Hogarth groaned. “Melford didn’t send you, did he?”

  Palmer frowned and shook her head “It’s not that,” she said, “it’s—” But Hogarth interrupted her.

  “No bother,” he said, and clapped his hands. “Right, Izmir, where can me, you, and DS Palmer have a little word. In private.”

  Hogarth emphasised his last words, and Izmir looked at his father, and then at Devirim Atacan. “We could go upstairs.”

  Old man Yuksel spat a string of loud Turkish words at his son but Izmir replied in English.

  “No,” said Izmir. “Just let me talk to them upstairs. I can handle this.

  “It’s not clever. They will try to twist your words against you.”

  “I can handle myself, father,” said Izmir.

  Old man Yuksel didn’t look happy. But Palmer had a suspicion why the young man was only too eager to get away from the shop.

  “So why didn’t you bring your spy?” said Izmir.

  “Oh, I think we’re well past that, don’t you?” said Hogarth. He pulled Izmir’s smartphone from his pocket. “And here’s your phone. I think we’ve got all we need from that.” Hogarth let the implication of his words ferment in the young man’s brain. Izmir said nothing.
Izmir led them towards a door at the back of the counter, but Hogarth paused by the office door.

  He put his hand on the door handle and opened it before anyone had a chance to stop him. The old man said something and Izmir stared after him, but Hogarth dipped around the door and came out with a black suit jacket draped carefully over his arm. Izmir’s brow dipped low over his eyes.

  “This jacket is yours, isn’t it, Izmir?” said Hogarth, his finger tracking near the silky material beside the buttons.

  Izmir nodded. “Why do you want that?”

  “In case you get cold,” said Hogarth. “Why else?”

  Izmir and the old man exchanged a frosty look before the young man turned away for the staircase door.

  Hogarth heard the old man bark for Miray. He gritted his teeth as he heard the old man give her a string of orders, as he and Palmer followed Izmir up the rickety steps to another floor above. The door below opened behind them. They looked back to see Miray smiling awkwardly.

  “Your father wants me to come with you. To make tea.” Izmir tutted.

  Hogarth stared at her and her smile wavered. “There’s really no need,” he said.

  “Yes, there is,” she said emphatically. “Besides, no matter who holds the keys, that is still where I live.”

  “So long as making tea is all he wants,” said Izmir.

  Miray climbed past Hogarth and Palmer to reach Izmir’s shoulder.

  “It’s all he’ll get,” said Miray. She took the key from Izmir and opened the door into a dim and threadbare apartment and led them down a creaking hallway to a dining room with a very old-fashioned table and chairs.

  “You can use this room. And don’t worry yourselves, I’ll make the tea and wait in the sitting room. You won’t be disturbed.”

  Hogarth nodded his thanks. He knew the woman had been ordered to act as spy for the old man, but she wasn’t playing along. Hogarth gestured to the dining table and shut the door firmly behind them. Izmir sat down opposite them and meshed his fingers together, putting his elbows on the table.

  “What now?” he said.

  “Don’t bother with the tough guy act, Izmir. That stopped working a very long time ago. I know who runs the show here, and I know what you are up to. All of you. This is a filthy scumbag racket from top to bottom,” said Hogarth. “And we’ve seen the evidence.”

  “And I have a witness who backs it up,” said Palmer.

  “That has nothing to do with me,” said Izmir.

  “No, sunshine. You just work here, do your father’s bidding, and turn a very blind eye. I can see that. I got the vibe from you a while back. Which is why I’m wondering what it would take for you to get involved in the first place.”

  “I’m not involved.”

  “Yes, you are. Whether you like it or not. You’re here. You know what they do here. You’re an accomplice to everything we’ve seen... and then there’s the not so small matter of Baba Sen. Because right now that trumps everything. And the way I see it, you’re in that up to your neck.”

  “That’s not true. None of it’s true,” said Izmir.

  He swallowed and sat back in his chair. He looked at Palmer and saw something there which made him frown. A hint of a smile graced Palmer’s face.

  “You’ve got secrets, Izmir,” said Palmer. “And they’re beginning to come out.”

  Izmir twisted his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “Your alibi is shaky,” said Hogarth. “And your contacts for your alibi are like ghosts. You can’t prove they exist. If they don’t back it up, you’ll go down for murder.” Hogarth was taking a chance, bluffing and he knew it. But Izmir looked fearful.

  “They’ll back me up.”

  “How? Istanbul S. He could be anyone. He could be one of your mates taking a bung to back you up. Your old chum walking the streets of Istanbul isn’t going to help you if he can’t stand up to testify in court. Here’s a question for you,” said Hogarth. “Does he even exist?”

  “He does!” said Izmir, indignantly. “Of course he exists. And he is a very good man.”

  Hogarth smiled. “A very good man is a friend of yours? Funny. Because you’re not a very good man, are you? You’re secretive, you’re a liar... and I think you could be a killer too.”

  “No. I was on that call. It happened, I tell you.”

  “But the timing of the call doesn’t help you because you can’t prove where you were when you made the call, and you can’t even prove your contact exists – can you?”

  “If I have to prove it, I’ll expose Salman.”

  “Expose him as what?” said Hogarth. “It doesn’t work for you if you bury your only alibi. Do you see your problem, Izmir?”

  Izmir gulped and nodded. There was a moment’s silence before Palmer leaned in and changed tack. Hogarth watched her, intrigued.

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way, does it, Izmir?” said Palmer. “I don’t think you’re entirely to blame for your father’s business. I’m not sure you even approve of his business. Maybe you don’t even approve of who he associates with...” She let her words hang in the air. Hogarth read the young man’s response and saw Palmer was right.

  “We don’t have to paint you with the same brush as them,” she said. “Because I suspect you might actually have some noble intentions. But if you do, you’re going to have to compromise on a few things and let them show.”

  “Such as...?”

  “If you can’t tell us about your contact in Istanbul, the very least you must do is tell us about your other contact.”

  “Ah yes,” said Hogarth. “The face behind the unknown number.”

  “Yes,” said Palmer. “We already know they were on the same call as you – they were involved, so maybe they can back up your alibi.”

  “No, please,” said Izmir “I can’t involve them. Let me use Istanbul S”

  “But he’s in Turkey,” said Hogarth. “That’s no good to anyone.”

  “Why won’t you tell us who this person is? Why won’t you use them?” said Palmer. “Because of some warped principle? Because you do have principles, don’t you Izmir? Morals. You believe in certain things,” said Palmer. “Things that your friend Istanbul S believes in too.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Izmir. But his eyes had changed. They looked intrigued as much as defensive.

  “Your friend - Istanbul S. Salman. I think there’s a good reason why his Facebook pages are virtually empty. Am I right?”

  Izmir paused. “Such as?”

  Palmer leaned in. “Because he’s in hiding, isn’t he?”

  Hogarth frowned and looked at Palmer. She met his eyes and nodded. Izmir shifted in his seat.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But I do,” said Palmer. “Istanbul S isn’t one of your father’s business contacts. And nor is he yours. You made that up because you needed a reason to have made that call. And your father didn’t know him either. He backed you up to strengthen your alibi. And I suspect if he knew who Istanbul S really was, he wouldn’t be impressed, would he? Because your father isn’t a political man, is he? You are. Your father really only cares about himself. His business. His wealth. But you believe in freedom, Izmir. Don’t you? In fact, I think it’s something you’d fight for.”

  Izmir’s eyes flashed. “You’re guessing.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” she said.

  Izmir stared at Palmer and said nothing. Hogarth felt a smile coming on but held it in check.

  “You had a group call. There was someone else on the line early that morning. Someone else who was up very, very early here in the UK...” said Palmer.

  Izmir shrugged.

  “Someone local,” she added. “The number your secret contact used belongs to a cheap mobile. Almost impossible to trace if it’s not often used. You know, I happened to visit someone else today who happened to have a mobile phone. A smartphone. I saw they had the WhatsApp icon on their phone. It got me thi
nking.”

  Izmir grinned. “So what? The whole world uses WhatsApp now.”

  “Yes. And this person had two phones. I saw they owned a second phone. A cheap model smartphone It was switched off, but ready for use. It sat waiting by their computer. Like a tool of the trade.”

  Izmir frowned.

  “Do you know who I’m talking about, Izmir?”

  Izmir shifted in his seat. He scratched his face, a nervous tic.

  “In fact, they’re not just local, they’re very local. And I think they believe the same things you do – the same things Istanbul S believes. Tell me, Izmir? Am I wrong?”

  Izmir couldn’t answer.

  “And what does Istanbul S, believe, Izmir?” said Hogarth.

  Izmir rubbed the table surface with his finger.

  “Freedom from oppression, maybe? Freedom and democracy? Things they are prepared to fight for?” Izmir stopped rubbing the table top and looked up to meet their eyes. He sighed and nodded. It was as if the resistance within him had finally snapped.

  “My friend... he works with the Turkish resistance. He is a true democrat, a man of the people working for change... working to save our people from Erdoĝan ... Erdoĝan is a fanatic, a dictator,” he said, quietly.

  “Well, I never,” said Hogarth. “Tell me, Izmir. How does a man like you... a man who believes in liberating his fellow Turks... how does he end up killing one?

  Izmir leaned across the table and gritted his teeth.

  “I did not kill Baba Sen.”

  Hogarth tossed the jacket onto the table. “See this?” he said. He pointed to the fleck of orange beside the coat button. “Can you see it?” Izmir rubbed his chin. “That piece of plastic comes from the Sens’ shop. It comes from the strip curtains which lead out of the kitchen to the back door. This is your jacket. How do you explain that, eh?”