Death Message

he had money. They wanted Harika to settle down and give them grandchildren. They didn’t like her college friends very much.’

‘So, it was down to you to keep an eye on her.’

Kemal nodded slowly. ‘I kept an eye out, yes. Nothing more than that.’

‘OK.’ Thorne turned to Kitson. The look he got back said keep going, but it was obvious that Kemal disapproving of his sister’s boyfriend wasn’t shaping up to be much of a motive for knifing him to death. It was clear from Gina Bridges’ expression that she was thinking the same thing.

‘Did you know Sedat was going to be at the Black Horse that night?’

‘They went there most Saturdays. Sedat and Harika, and some of Sedat’s friends.’

‘And did you go because you knew Sedat would be there?’

‘I wanted to speak to him.’

‘You normally carry a knife when you’re going to have a chat with someone?’ Kemal looked away. ‘We’ve got your fingerprints on the murder weapon, Hakan.’

Gina Bridges shot forward in her chair. ‘You’ve got somebody’s fingerprints, Inspector.’

Thorne’s eyes hadn’t left Kemal’s. ‘You know whose prints they are, don’t you, Hakan?’

Kemal shook his head. Not a denial. A plea.

‘What happened in the pub, Hakan? Did Sedat not like whatever it was you had to say to him? Did he threaten you? We know what his sort are like, and I’m sure you didn’t mean things to go as far as they did.’

‘It was Harika.’ Kemal leaned across the table. He was breathing heavily. ‘It was Harika.’

Thorne felt the prepay buzzing in his pocket again. A call this time; he recognised the pattern of the vibrations.

He knew who it was going to be.

He lowered his head and whispered to Kitson, told her that he needed to take the call. He apologised quickly to Bridges, and stood up, reaching into his jacket as he pushed back his chair.

Kitson was terminating the interview as he pulled the door closed behind him. From the faces around the table, Thorne could see that Hakan Kemal was the only person in the room not pissed off with him.

It was chaotic in the custody suite: officers queued up, ready to grab a vacant interview room; lunchtime trays were still being ferried to and from the cells; at the platform, two young women screamed at the custody skipper, while the uniformed constable booking them in did his best to calm things down.

The phone was still ringing and Thorne did not want to miss the call. He hit ANSWER while he was negotiating his way through the scrum. Said his name and stepped into the cage – the reinforced entry through which prisoners were brought from the backyard. He’d wanted to take the call outside, but it was tipping down, so he pressed himself into a corner of the cage.

‘Thorne…?’

The word was stretched and hoarse; the tiredness in the voice even more evident than it had been the last time. Thorne covered his free ear with his right hand. ‘I’m here. I got your message.’ He turned in a little towards the metal wall. ‘I saw “Squire”.’

‘Looks like he hasn’t got a care in the world, doesn’t he?’

He’s got plenty to think about now, Thorne thought.

‘Walking his fucking dog…’

‘Listen… I know him,’ Thorne said. He waited for a reaction. Watched the rain bouncing off the cars and vans in the backyard.

‘Probably not as well as you thought, though, right? He’s very good at pretending to be something he’s not.’

A WPC jogged around the corner and stepped into the cage. She stood next to Thorne, swearing and shaking off the rain. Thorne grunted a yes into the phone while he waited for her to move inside.

‘So, what did you do?’ Brooks asked. The simplest question sounded dragged out; desperate. ‘Did you tell him?’

‘I gave him a choice.’

‘That all?’

‘So far.’

‘You hoping he’s going to turn himself in?’

It told him that the man in the video clip was still alive, but Thorne had no easy answer to the question. He knew he wanted to see ‘Squire’ pay for what he’d done, but that was as far as it went. How he paid was a different matter. ‘I don’t know what he’s going to do.’

Brooks released a fractured breath, a short groan. ‘I wish I knew what your game was,’ he said.

‘That makes two of us.’

‘You could always just arrest him.’

‘I’ve got no evidence.’

‘It’s there. You know it is.’

‘You going to give me time to find it?’

The pause before Brooks spoke again made it clear that he was eager to get on with the job. That ‘Squire’ didn’t have too long to make his decision. ‘So, what’s the plan then?’

‘There really isn’t one,’ Thorne said.

‘You’re watching him, I suppose. Waiting for me to come bowling along like an idiot, so you can nick the two of us at the same time.’

Thorne’s ambivalence turned to irritation in a second, and he seized on it hungrily. Staring out at the shitty weather and listening to a murderer telling him what he could be doing. What he knew very well he should be doing. ‘Why the fuck did you send me this stuff? Any of it? You’re not stupid, you know it’s going to get you caught sooner or later. Sending the messages wasn’t just about doing Stuart Nicklin a favour, was it?’

Thorne had to strain to hear the answer. The rain was getting heavier, and Brooks sounded as though he was drifting away. ‘I wouldn’t piss Nicklin out,’ he said. ‘The simple fact is, once this is done, I don’t care what happens. I get caught, I don’t get caught, it’s all the same. Prison isn’t going to make the future any worse for me, so it’s all just a fucking gamble.’ There was another long pause before he spoke again; low and expressionless, like interference from another line. A voice coming through the wall. ‘I’m happy just to wait and see what happens.’

Thorne heard the click and three sharp tones; listened to dead air for a few seconds. He wasn’t exactly happy to wait and see, but he knew he didn’t really have a lot of choice.

Kemal was still talking, but he wasn’t saying very much.

He may have taken advice from his solicitor, of course, or perhaps it was just the fact that the interview had been interrupted. Either way, five minutes back into it, Thorne could see that the impetus had gone, and he knew it was down to him to get it back.

‘You know how we found you, don’t you, Hakan?’

‘The parking ticket.’

‘No, I mean, how we knew that you were the man we should be looking for in the first place?’

Kemal waited.

‘Harika told us.’ He nodded, smiled. ‘Your sister told us that you had killed Deniz Sedat.’

Next to him, Thorne was aware of Kitson stiffening. He knew that she was not wholly comfortable with this approach, that she’d given Harika Kemal certain assurances. But Thorne felt they had to do whatever was necessary.

They’d spoken briefly before Kemal had been led back into the interview room. When Kitson had urged him to tread carefully, Thorne had reminded her that she’d asked for his help. He told her that Kemal was bound to find out that they’d talked to Harika sooner or later and that getting the truth out of him was surely the most important thing.

Kitson hadn’t argued. She had seen that Thorne was fired up. She’d looked at him, said, ‘Who the fuck was that