Death Message

on the phone?’

It was warm in the interview room. In the silences, Thorne could hear the sound of water rushing through the hot-water pipes; a counterpoint to the rain clattering on to the flat roof above them. He wondered if the other three were sweating as much as he was.

He stared at Hakan Kemal. ‘Does that upset you? Your sister coming to us, telling us that you were the man responsible?’

Kemal crossed his arms. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at Gina Bridges as though he’d only just noticed she was there.

‘Come on, that must really hurt. That must really piss you off. Christ, I know how I’d feel if it was my sister. Especially as you were the one who was keeping an eye on her. It seems to me that you were the only one looking out for her. That’s about right, isn’t it? You were the one member of the family who genuinely had her best interests at heart.’

A small nod. Thorne could see that Kemal’s fists were clenched beneath his arms; pressed against his ribs.

‘Do you think Harika betrayed you?’ Thorne saw the reaction; glimpsed a tender spot to dig away at. ‘Do you think she’s taken Sedat’s side against you, against your family?’

Kemal began to rock slightly. He opened and closed his mouth.

‘Do you think she’s disloyal?’

‘Yes…’

‘Do you think she’s let you down?’

‘She is ungrateful.’

The word had been all but growled out. Thorne took a beat. ‘Why do you-?’

‘I did it for her.’ Kemal was shouting; his fists out in front of him on the table. ‘It was because of what he did to her.’

‘You killed Deniz Sedat? That’s what you’re telling us?’ Kemal nodded. ‘For the tape…’

‘I killed him.’ Quieter again.

Kitson exchanged a glance with Gina Bridges. The solicitor gave a small shrug, as if to say, ‘Well done.’ Kitson leaned forward. ‘Was Sedat abusive towards your sister, Hakan? Are you saying he raped her?’

Kemal looked awkward, kept his eyes on Thorne. ‘He did things to her… sexually. Unnatural things.’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Thorne said.

‘Sodomy.’ Kemal grimaced, lowered his voice. ‘He sodomised my sister. Sedat was an animal.’

Thorne looked at Kitson. So this was why Hakan Kemal was uncomfortable talking to a woman. He turned back to Kemal. ‘I can understand that you were upset, but what Sedat and your sister did is not illegal…’

‘What he did to her.’

‘Whatever. It’s not a reason to kill someone.’

‘He was grinning while he told me about it,’ Kemal said. ‘Standing at the bar in this nightclub, with all his friends gathered around him. Bragging about what he’d done. Leaning in close, stinking of aftershave, and telling me how he bent my sister over and took her. How it hurt her at first, but how she liked it and begged him to do it again. Laughing while he told me, enjoying himself…’

‘This isn’t about your sister at all,’ Kitson said. The blood was rising to her face as she spoke. ‘This is about you.’

‘No…’

‘You didn’t kill Sedat because of what he did to your sister. You killed him because he told you about it. Because he disrespected you.’

Kemal waved his hand, trying to shut her up. ‘No, no. He disrespected both of us.’

‘You’re the animal,’ Kitson said.

Then it all came pouring out. How Kemal had gone to the Black Horse that night, intent on confronting Deniz Sedat, with a carving knife taped inside his coat. He told them that he’d been planning to kill him in front of his sister, but that he’d taken the chance when Sedat had come out into the car-park alone at the end of the evening.

By now, Thorne and Kitson were convinced that Harika had seen it happen anyway. That she’d come into the car park a little earlier than she’d first claimed and seen her brother leaving the scene; perhaps even witnessed the murder itself.

‘I moved in close and looked at him,’ Kemal said. ‘When the knife was all the way in. I made sure he could see how much I was enjoying myself.’

There was plenty of time to get the rest of the details later, and Kitson was on the point of winding things up when Kemal leaned across and began to confer with his solicitor.

Gina Bridges listened, then grimaced, as though she were only asking the question because she was obliged to do so, and already knew the answer. ‘Mr Kemal says that he would like to make a deal.’

‘I’m very happy for him,’ Kitson said.

‘He says he has information.’

Thorne smiled politely. ‘Tell him to save it up; use it to entertain his cellmate.’

‘I know things,’ Kemal said. ‘Drug deals, places where money gets lost, all sorts. I hear these things from Sedat, from his friends, different people.’

‘Not our department,’ Kitson said. ‘Write it all down and we’ll pass it on.’ She verbally terminated the interview and switched off the tape.

Bridges gathered her papers together. Thorne stood up.

‘What about a murder? That’s your department, yes?’

Kitson rolled her eyes at Thorne. ‘You’ve got thirty seconds.’

‘A young woman and her son, killed in June. They were run over in Bethnal Green, but it was not an accident.’

Thorne sat down again. He could feel something prickle at the back of his neck. ‘Whatever you think you know, Hakan, your timing’s bloody awful.’

‘I know who killed them…’

Kitson winked at Bridges. ‘Unfortunately for your client, that’s one we’ve more or less put to bed.’

‘I cannot tell you the names of the men in the car,’ Kemal said. ‘But I know who gave the order.’

‘I told you,’ Thorne said, ‘you’re too late. Not only do we know who the man is; he’s dead himself.’

Kitson pushed back her chair.

‘No, no.’ Kemal was waving his hands again. ‘He is certainly not dead. Not the man who organised the murder.’

Thorne looked at Kitson. So, maybe Martin Cowans hadn’t given the order. But if not him, then it had to have been Tucker or Hodson. Kitson shrugged.

‘Go on then,’ Thorne said. ‘What’s his name?’

When Kemal spoke, Thorne felt as though the breath had been punched out of him; as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

He tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Aware of Kitson’s eyes on him, of everyone’s eyes on him, Thorne slowly asked Hakan Kemal to say the name again.

Kemal could see that something was happening. He hesitated, then said, ‘Zarif…’

THIRTY-FOUR

The speed camera got him doing fifty-five on the Camberwell Road. He swore and slammed his hands against the wheel; like his mood wasn’t bad enough already. He put his foot down again to make it through a set of lights, and left it there. He’d keep an eye out for any more cameras, but he certainly wasn’t worried about being pulled over. He could easily sort out any jumped-up fucker on traffic duty; was right up for a ruck, if it came down to