The Hope That Kills (A DI Fenchurch Novel Book 1) Read online

  ‘It was a mere turn of phrase, my dear Simon. Has all the hallmarks of a rage attack.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Watch out!’ Nelson dumped a desk on its side, blocking the view from the door. He panted as he got out his Airwave Pronto and tapped the stylus against the touchscreen. ‘DS Reed said we’re not sure if this girl’s—’

  ‘Good heavens.’ Pratt pawed at the device. ‘Where can I get my hands on one of those?’

  ‘We’re trialling it just now. Be a while before you’re trusted with one.’ Nelson raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, is this girl a prostitute?’

  ‘Right, right. Well, I’m not so sure. She’s very young but. . .’ Pratt brushed the back of his hand across his mask, the blue Nitrile glove squeaking. ‘I’ve seen them younger, more’s the pity. A telltale sign would be evidence of hard drug use, but her arms are clear of track marks and her gums are clean.’ He pointed at a SOCO dusting a few metres away. ‘We did find this, though, which confuses things somewhat.’

  Fenchurch craned his neck around. A purple ‘Hello Kitty’ bag lay on the carpet tiles. The zip was open at the top, with a similarly branded notepad peeking out. ‘That hers?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘I want no assumptions made here.’

  ‘As if I would.’ Pratt cleared his throat. Took another couple of attempts to dislodge whatever was in there. ‘Assuming it’s hers, though, it looks like she’s a schoolgirl.’

  ‘I’ll get someone analysing the notebook.’ Nelson clicked the stylus off the Pronto’s screen again. ‘You got a time of death?’

  ‘I’ve got cause of death, blood toxicology, an ID and a list of all of her sexual partners.’

  Nelson frowned at him. ‘How’ve you got that?’

  ‘I’m winding you up.’ Pratt laughed. His suit crinkled as he raised a long thermometer. ‘Body temperature is five degrees centigrade, which is a few degrees above what passes for room temperature in this place. That gives me . . .’ He tilted his head from side to side, clicking his tongue. ‘Sometime last night. Ten o’clock? Well, there or thereabouts.’

  Nelson scribbled it on his Pronto. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Think we’ve found the murder weapon.’ Pratt held up an evidence bag. A Stanley knife. Congealed blood smeared the small triangle of blade sticking out of the grey-blue metal case. ‘Our American cousins would call this a boxcutter. Unfortunately, whoever did this treated this young lady as a box.’

  ‘And it matches the wounds?’

  ‘They’re consistent, but I shall arrange for Mr Clooney to confirm it’s our weapon, of course.’

  ‘ASAP, please. And check for prints and DNA.’ Nelson took the bag and stared at it. ‘What a bloody mess. It’s either what killed this poor girl or we’ve got another death elsewhere.’ He handed the bag back. ‘Any DNA traces on her?’

  Dr Pratt waved at the body. ‘Mixed in with the blood on her abdomen is what we think is semen.’

  ‘Semen?’

  ‘It would appear someone ejaculated on her.’

  ‘Before or after death?’

  ‘Impossible to tell.’ Pratt drummed his fingers on his suit. ‘Once Mr Clooney and his team are finished with her, I’ll have a look in Lewisham. Then we’ll run a blood toxicology and all that good stuff.’ He knelt back down again and fiddled in his medical bag.

  A tap on Fenchurch’s shoulder accompanied by a blast of aftershave. ‘Simon.’ A Scottish snarl.

  Fenchurch took a step back and twisted to the side. ‘Boss.’

  DCI Docherty was prodding a gloved finger at a vanilla Airwave. The blue SOCO suit hung loose off his skeletal frame. ‘Just spoken to the City of London Police.’

  ‘Told you they’d be sniffing round, sir.’

  ‘Aye, looking for some bloody glory.’

  Flashlights bounced off the ceiling tiles. ‘This building’s on the City boundary, boss.’

  ‘Anything on Mansell Street’s ours. Besides, they’ve got neither the resources nor the expertise to deal with this.’ Docherty’s voice echoed around the room. Too loud, as ever. Everything had to be shouted. ‘Need you to get on with this while I argue the bloody toss with them.’

  ‘No problem. There’s a mother out there who’s lost her daughter.’ Fenchurch cracked his knuckles through the gloves and walked off. He took one last look at the victim, now surrounded by a gang of crime-scene photographers, and waited until Nelson caught up with him. ‘Thanks for taking the bullets from our friendly neighbourhood pathologist, Jon.’

  ‘Pratt by name, Pratt by nature.’

  Chapter Three

  Reed was leaning against the building’s exterior wall, talking on her mobile. She raised a finger at Fenchurch and turned away.

  A young uniform held out a clipboard to them. ‘I need you to sign out, sir.’

  ‘Did DS Reed pass the Crime Scene Manager role to you?’

  ‘She did, sir.’

  Fenchurch did the honours and pressed the form back into the officer’s stomach. ‘There you go.’ He started off across the bus station.

  Glowing City towers dominated the skyline. The lights of the Minories’ pubs and bars twinkled in the distance, busy with Wednesday night after-work idiocy. Nearby drinkers were shouting into the night sky, howling at the moon.

  Fenchurch stared back at the building and sighed. ‘What the hell happened in there, Jon?’

  Nelson just shrugged.

  Reed appeared, clicking her clamshell phone shut and swapping it for her Airwave Pronto. ‘That’s my mother-in-law staying an extra three hours, guv. Anyway, I’ve got twenty officers on their way over from Leman Street and Brick Lane.’

  ‘Good work.’ Fenchurch held her gaze until she looked away. ‘It goes without saying we need to identify the victim. Kay, you’re managing the street teams.’

  ‘On it.’

  ‘Get a team going round the street girls down Commercial Street and Whitechapel High Street. Find out if our victim is a prostitute or not.’

  ‘Already on it.’

  ‘Good, good. Pratt reckons she was killed at ten o’clock last night. Someone could’ve been working late or out drinking and spotted those two enter that infernal place.’

  ‘No problem, guv.’

  ‘And I want you to check with the local schools.’

  ‘Control are getting the out-of-hours numbers for me.’ Reed pocketed her Pronto. ‘If that comes to nothing, I’ll get people into the schools first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Good work.’

  A clatter came from over by the building. Pratt was lugging his medical bag out of the door. He splashed his foot in a deep puddle and waved his hands around like he’d just lost his life savings.

  Fenchurch looked back at Reed. ‘You said the security guard found her. Has anyone spoken to her yet?’

  ‘Not in any detail.’ She pointed over to a small hut at the edge of the bus station. ‘That’s her office, guv. Her name’s Selma Burns.’

  Fenchurch knocked on the door and waited in the dank corridor. A tall gunmetal-grey cabinet dominated the space. The green walls were more chipped than painted. ‘You lead in here, okay?’

  Nelson nodded slowly. ‘You think she could know something?’

  ‘This is East London, Sergeant. Everybody knows something.’

  Nelson tried the door. It swung open. Inside, the mid-grey wallpaper was torn and hanging off. Even worse than the corridor.

  A woman sat at a wooden desk covered in CRT monitors. She was playing with an iPad Mini, a card game filling the small screen. Rolls of flab stretched the buttons on her white blouse close to popping. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Selma Burns?’

  ‘That’s me.’ She smiled at Nelson, her lines deepening. She ran a hand through her blonde hair, exposing grey roots. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘DS Nelson and this is DI Fenchurch.’ He flashed his warrant card. ‘We’ve got a few questions about the body you found in Little Somerset House.’

  ‘I’ve alread
y given a statement.’

  ‘And we appreciate that. Unfortunately, we need to ask more specific questions.’

  Selma gestured at a stack of chairs on the far side of the room. ‘Take a seat.’

  Fenchurch stayed by the door.

  Nelson grabbed a folding seat and cracked it open. He sat next to her and got out his Pronto. Then patted down his suit. The stylus was in his trouser pocket. ‘Can you start with finding the body, please?’

  ‘This again . . .’ Selma shook her head to the heavens. ‘I found the girl when I was doing my rounds. I manage a few buildings in this neighbourhood. I visit them every night to check nobody’s dossing there. My portfolio shrinks by the year. Supposed to be demolishing the whole lot.’

  ‘And Little Somerset House is part of this portfolio?’

  ‘That’s what I’m told to call it. I manage Bain Dawes and Latham Houses as well. Done it since they shut them down ten years ago. Might be eleven now.’

  ‘That’s a long time.’ Nelson waved at the banks of monitors. ‘And I take it you spend the rest of the time watching the CCTV.’

  ‘Well, I would. Problem is it doesn’t work.’ She tugged at a cable coming from a tape machine. ‘The feed from the buildings died three years back. I’ve been nagging my supervisor to get it repaired. It’s fallen on deaf ears like everything else in this bloody place. They just don’t want to spend the money.’ She blew air over her face. ‘They’re building a skyscraper on this site. Can’t remember the name but it’ll swallow up the bus station, too. Been at it for years but it’s ground to a halt what with all that austerity business.’

  ‘There are quite a few buildings going up around here, though.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. Used to manage half of them before they knocked them down.’

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘Hutchison and Barker.’

  ‘The security firm. I’ve heard of them. We’ll need a contact there.’

  Selma scowled at him. ‘My supervisor’s called Jason Smith.’

  Nelson tapped a note on his Pronto. ‘Who owns this place?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘You’ve worked here ten years and you don’t know who owns it?’

  ‘All I know is it’s some big firm. I think it changes all the time. It’s not my business to ask questions.’

  ‘You got any idea who that girl might be?’

  ‘The way you’re talking, it’s like you think I done it.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course I bloody didn’t!’ She stabbed a finger on her iPad. ‘Never seen her in my life.’

  ‘Did you see anyone leave? Say last night, about ten.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You ever find any used condoms in that building?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It’s a straight question. Did you find any contraceptives in there? Used or otherwise.’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘What about near the body?’

  ‘I found nothing.’

  ‘Do you get many prostitutes in there?’

  ‘A few. It’s mostly kids from the flats on Mansell Street, though.’

  ‘But you do get prostitutes in here?’

  Selma sucked in a deep breath. ‘My boss told me to keep quiet.’

  ‘Keep quiet about what?’

  ‘Between you, me and him.’ Selma thumbed across to Fenchurch. ‘Those hookers have been using this place for years.’ She bared her teeth. ‘If girls want to use this place for a quick bit of how’s your father, I’m not stopping them.’

  ‘You could speak to the police.’

  ‘Been told not to.’

  ‘This boss of yours tells you not to do a lot of things. You wouldn’t be taking a backhander from the girls, would you?’

  She slammed a meaty fist on the tabletop. Her iPad jumped in the air, flipping around ninety degrees. ‘My orders are to keep any dossers out. That’s it.’

  Nelson got to his feet. ‘I’ll get a colleague in here to add all that to your statement.’

  ‘Thanks for your time, Ms Burns.’ Fenchurch left the room first and started off down the grimy corridor. ‘You were a right charmer in there, Jon.’

  ‘Learnt from the best, haven’t I?’

  ‘And you’ve learnt from me.’

  ‘I was going to use that line.’

  ‘Why I got in there first.’ Fenchurch stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘Think it’s worth looking into her background?’

  ‘Much as I don’t like the fact she’s been ordered to turn a blind eye, I don’t think she knows anything.’ Nelson put his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll track down this Jason Smith geezer. And look into the ownership of that place. Doubt it’ll give us much, but you never know.’

  ‘Decent idea. I’m going back to base. I want to get to Docherty before Mulholland does.’

  Chapter Four

  Fenchurch turned right onto Leman Street, rain hissing off his tyres. The new tower climbed into the sky, its ground floor still not finished. Across the road, cranes dragged another new skyscraper up to ground level. The new London, climbing out of the worst parts of the old.

  Ahead, Leman Street was dark and mercifully empty. He powered through the lights and passed even more new buildings. The painted white brick of the Garrick Theatre was now a rare antique in the area. He took a right then a quick left. There we go. A free space just by the red-brick station’s rear entrance.

  One of the civilian staff out on a smoke break gave a mock salute accompanied by a wink.

  Fenchurch threw his ID lanyard around his neck and got out of his car. Still hadn’t fixed the crack in the security door’s glass. He entered the building and flashed his credentials at the desk sergeant. ‘Evening, Steve.’ A grunt and a buzz as the gate opened. Then he started the long climb up the back stairs. The light on the first floor was blinking. Almost a regular pattern. Just not.

  A privately educated English accent bled through Docherty’s office door. Mulholland had beaten him to it yet again.

  Fenchurch stopped and stared up at the ductwork on the ceiling. Need to be faster next time. He opened the door and cleared his throat. ‘Evening, boss.’

  Docherty got up and tucked his baggy shirt into his loose trousers. Spiky white hair stood to attention, still dark in patches. ‘Nice of you to join us, Simon.’ He held out a bony hand to Fenchurch.

  Fenchurch reached out to shake it.

  Docherty snatched it away. ‘Too slow.’

  ‘You never get tired of that.’

  ‘Never tire of seeing you fall for it.’ Docherty sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Have a seat.’

  Fenchurch stayed standing. Still couldn’t make eye contact with Mulholland. ‘Sir, I want—’

  ‘Just a sec, Si.’ Docherty pointed to Fenchurch’s left. ‘Dawn was asking to be made Deputy SIO.’

  ‘Evening, Simon.’ DI Dawn Mulholland tightened her black scarf then rubbed her hands together, her skin still holiday brown. Older than Fenchurch but looked about five years younger. ‘Do you need me to repeat it?’

  Fenchurch just folded his arms. ‘You’re on nights this month, Dawn.’

  ‘And this case relates to prostitution.’ She smiled. ‘Ladies of the night, as you say.’

  ‘Does it?’ Fenchurch finally locked eyes with her. Dark brown pools, looked like a tunnel down to hell. ‘That’s a big assumption, Dawn. She looks more like a schoolgirl to me.’

  ‘And you’d know?’

  Fenchurch held her gaze then switched it to Docherty. ‘Boss, why did you ask me to attend if I’m not Deputy SIO?’

  ‘Fair point.’ Docherty leaned back in his seat. The metal creaked and rattled. ‘Dawn, Simon’s deputising on this.’

  Mulholland shook her head. ‘But, sir—’

  His eyes drilled into both of them. ‘But I expect you to work closely, okay?’

  Fenchurch sat next to Mulholland and tried not to smile.
‘As if I’d do anything else.’

  Docherty raised his dark eyebrows at Mulholland. ‘You okay with that, Dawn?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘The joys of being on nights, boss. I’ll wait till it’s Simon’s turn.’

  ‘The joys, indeed.’ Docherty drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Anything else I should know from the crime scene, Si?’

  ‘Jon and I just interviewed the guard who found the body.’

  ‘You’ve got a team for tasks like that, you know.’

  ‘DS Nelson led the interview. I just wanted to hear it first hand to see if we’re missing any angles.’ Fenchurch rested against the chair’s arms. ‘She reckons she was instructed not to report any prostitutes using the building. Jon’s trying to get hold of her manager now.’

  Docherty scribbled something on his Pronto. He stabbed the stylus against the screen a few times. Enough force to crack it if he kept it up. ‘Bloody thing.’ He clipped the stylus to the side and dumped it on his desk. ‘Right, children, let’s get a plan of attack together. As far as I know, we’ve got a girl in a derelict building with her throat sliced wide open. What else do we know?’

  ‘Nothing so far. Literally.’ Fenchurch put his hands in his pockets. Gripped his phone and his wallet tight. ‘Still don’t have an ID. She could be a schoolgirl, could be a prostitute. Determining which might help.’ He folded his arms. ‘We need to get a press release out while it’s still fresh, boss.’

  ‘It doesn’t look good to go around asking who a dead body is, does it?’

  Always wondering about how things bloody look.

  Docherty tugged his hair down. ‘Let’s hold off until we’ve exhausted every other avenue. Anything else for now?’

  ‘DS Reed’s managing the street teams. Targeting businesses, pubs and schools in the area. Got a team speaking to the prostitutes to see if they know the victim.’

  ‘Covering all the bases. Good.’ Docherty nodded at Mulholland. ‘Dawn, can your team take over?’

  Fenchurch glowered at him. ‘I’ve only just given them their orders.’

  ‘Aye, and I don’t want your team knackering themselves on day one by pulling an overnighter. There’s a reason I’ve got my three DIs on rotation.’ Docherty grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his seat. ‘But the City of London lot are on their way over. I want you with me.’