The Secret Fear Page 9

  “Too late for that, I’d say. That ship must have sailed a good while back. Okay. We’re not looking at a robbery. Smack-heads and alkies don’t get up at four in the morning to rob a kebab shop for a hundred quid. They don’t get up until lunchtime, period. This is something else altogether.”

  “But I’ve worked in Southend a few years now and I’ve never heard of the Atacans.”

  Hogarth nodded. “That’s a bit reassuring. But not much. If one of the Atacan brothers did want to disappear, they’d keep a low profile for a while. A year or two at least.”

  “You’re sticking with this theory, aren’t you?” said Palmer.

  “It pays to be cautious, that’s all,” said Hogarth.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it before?” she said.

  Hogarth took on the look of a troubled man. “For one, I didn’t know for sure. I still don’t... Look. I’m not the superstitious type, but when it comes to the Atacans, let’s just say that I never wanted to even mention their name until I had to. But since you’ve gone and dragged it out of me, there we go.”

  “Don’t worry. I think it could be something else. The Yuksels and the Sens clearly have some history.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they do. But why is Miray here?”

  Palmer frowned in thought.

  The office door opened and in came DC Simmons chatting to PCSO Kaplan over his shoulder. The young PCSO waited respectfully by the door as Simmons made for his desk

  “We don’t bite, Kaplan,” said Simmons, with a smile. “Come in.”

  Hogarth raised his eyebrow at Palmer. Palmer nodded. Simmons was flirting. They spent a moment watching the body language and smiled as Simmons took his seat and looked back at them.

  “Sir, I thought Kaplan should be here as she was involved in the case most of this morning.”

  “Did you now,” said Hogarth. “Well, I’m glad you’ve been doing some thinking at least, Simmons.”

  DC Simmons’s train of thought was moving so fast he failed to notice the sarcasm.

  “Guv, I’ve been wondering if crime scenes looked at the strip curtains at Authentic Kebab?”

  Hogarth grinned.

  “Let’s hope John Dickens has a mind as laser focused as yours, eh?”

  “It’s worth flagging, guv. It’s just that I noticed some of the strips have a tear on them and it kept snagging me as I went through.”

  “Maybe they like you, Simmons,” said Hogarth, winking at Palmer. A guarded smile flickered on PCSO Kaplan’s face.

  “All the same, I really think it’s worth a look.”

  “Fine. I’ll mention it to Dickens and see what he says. Anything else you noticed?”

  “Not yet. But, if we are going to interview them, I thought Kaplan might be good to keep around.”

  “Even more thinking, Simmons,” said Hogarth.

  Simmons cottoned on and shook his head.

  “And there I was hoping to interview them in English,” said Hogarth. He stood up from his chair and stretched, ready to face battle. “We’ve softened them up for long enough, I suppose.”

  “What if they say something in Turkish.”

  “You have a point,” said Hogarth, with a nod. “You’d be welcome to join us, PCSO Kaplan.”

  The young woman nodded, a hint of pride on her face.

  “And I’d like you to be on the lookout for any further mention of the word Atacan,” said Hogarth.

  “Atacan? What does that mean?” asked Simmons. Hogarth shot Kaplan a look and she kept quiet. Broadcasting the name didn’t seem such a good idea. Not at this stage.

  “All in good time. Let’s just see what happens in these interviews, shall we? If we play our cards right, all will be revealed. Speaking of revealed, Simmons, why don’t you make the calls to Dickens and Marris and see if they’ve got any news for us. You can use your curtain idea as a way in – otherwise, Dickens will bite your head off.”

  Simmons didn’t look keen. “Okay, guv,” he said and watched as Kaplan followed them out of the door towards the interview room. His eyes lingered on the nape of her neck where a trail of soft downy dark hair had sprung loose from her working-day bun. Simmons blinked and picked up the handset. “Here goes,” he said, and he began to dial.

  As they turned the corner into the poorly lit corridor of the interview rooms, Hogarth called Palmer back. “Quick word, Sue, please.” Kaplan looked back once but was savvy enough to walk on to give them some privacy. She stopped near the first interview room door.

  “Sir?” said Sue, looking at Hogarth. He bent his head in a conspiratorial hunch and lowered his voice.

  “Look. I don’t want to appear melodramatic...”

  “Or superstitious,” said Palmer.

  “Whatever. But when I was at the Met – even when they were past their prime – the Atacans were still extremely dangerous. Just try to keep the name under your hat until we find something. The last thing we need is someone like Simmons shooting his mouth off and causing a drama. We really don’t want to give anyone a tip-off. I’m serious, Sue. There could be repercussions, and we don’t want that.”

  “Then maybe we should question the Yuksels about why this Miray woman works with them? That might give you the answer we need.”

  “And it would also tell the Atacans that we’re on to them. We need to tread very carefully here. We interview them about what we know. Wait until they slip up and reveal it themselves.”

  Palmer looked at Hogarth. She wondered if he was playing her, keeping her away from a sensitive topic to keep his old-time girlfriend out of harm’s way. But as Hogarth had said, time would soon reveal all. If he was playing her to safeguard Miray, that would eventually come out too.

  “Agreed?” said Hogarth.

  Palmer nodded but remained unconvinced.

  “Is there anything else?” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Any other subject I should leave alone in the interviews, sir?”

  “Not at all, Palmer. Go for your life,” he said, clapping his hands together and walking past Kaplan, his voice booming.

  “So then, where should we start? Who’s the lucky boy?”

  Palmer drew up alongside Kaplan and looked at her with pity in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” said Palmer. “You’ll get used to him after a couple of years.”

  Kaplan looked unsure whether to smile or not, so instead, she opted for a safe nod of the head.

  Seven

  “Where were you between the hours of four am and six am this morning?” said Hogarth. The interview room was well lit and the lightbulb fizzed with an oppressive quality Hogarth had come to appreciate. Izmir Yuksel looked nervous but defiant. The young man looked from Hogarth to Palmer and then to PCSO Kaplan who stood at the back of the room, watching from by the wall.

  “So, am I under arrest?” said Izmir.

  “You already know you’re not. I’ve made it plain. You’re here helping police with our inquiries. You do want to help us, don’t you, Izmir? After all, I don’t think it would be in your family’s interests to see your father get into trouble, do you? I mean, he did come very close to crossing a line back there. When self-defence turns into assault – that’s a grey area. And legal matters can be so time consuming. No to mention costly. Can bite chunks out of the bottom line.”

  Izmir shook his head. “But my father didn’t do anything. That man attacked us! Why are you so focused on us?”

  “As yet, Izmir, I’m not focused on anyone. I’ll speak to Mr Sen soon enough. But seeing as there is such animosity between your family and the Sens, that seems like a good place to start.”

  Izmir sighed and looked at Kaplan. “Why is that woman here?”

  “As a witness, Mr Yuksel. Her presence could prove useful for us both. Got a problem with that, have we?”

  Izmir Yuksel shrugged.

  “Good. Now, please answer the question. Where were you between the hours of four am and six am this morning?”


  Izmir shrugged.

  “Normally, I sleep at this time, like any sane person...” said Izmir.

  “Normally? But not this morning...?” said Hogarth, a spark of light catching in his eyes.

  “Sometimes I have other things to do.”

  Hogarth watched and waited.

  “I had a business meeting.”

  “A business meeting. Of course. A business meeting between four and six am,” said Hogarth. The room stayed silent.

  A hint of a blush seemed to pass like a faint morning mist over the young man’s face.

  “Not all business meetings need to be conducted in person,” said Izmir.

  “Care to elaborate, Mr Yuksel?”

  The man sighed. “Part of my role in the business is locating new products. I act as a buyer for the cash and carry. Sometimes I go home to Turkey, but mostly I prefer that I do not go. Flying all the time can be costly, and things are easier like this. I do fly, but many things can be accomplished through technology. Skype, WhatsApp, all of that. It’s easier.”

  “Home, Mr Yuksel? And there I was thinking you were a Southend boy.”

  Izmir smiled. “And I am. But my family’s home and the base of our suppliers is in Istanbul. Not only Istanbul but other places in Turkey too. But Istanbul is the heart of everything. It’s where most of our contacts and suppliers work.”

  “So you had a Skype call with a supplier this morning? At what time?”

  “Not Skype. WhatsApp. But yes, I did a call at half past five this morning. And not with a supplier either, but the man who acts as our buyer on our behalf. He knows the kinds of things we are after and he had another batch of samples to show me. But before that, I was asleep.”

  “Half five. Bit bloody keen, aren’t you? If I had a full day’s work ahead of me, I wouldn’t be getting up at the crack of dawn to do extras. Why so early?”

  “Because that’s when my contact can run the meeting. He freelances for us. It’s part-time work. He has another full-time job.”

  Doubt showed on Hogarth’s face.

  “Everyone works differently, Inspector. And in Turkey, many people have more than one job. It is the same here now.”

  “Five thirty still seems early.”

  “But does seven thirty seem so early to you?” said Izmir. “It was half five here, but half past seven in Turkey when we spoke. There’s a two-hour time difference.”

  “It’s early enough for me,” said Hogarth.

  “Mr Yuksel, I take if you can prove this call took place?” said Palmer.

  “Of course,” said Izmir. “Every call is logged. There’s a permanent record on my phone – and if not on my phone you could check with WhatsApp itself.”

  “WhatsApp?” said Hogarth. “You mentioned Skype before. Which was it?”

  “I only used Skype as an example, Detective Hogarth, to show how commonplace such things are. Look, please... I can assure you that I one hundred per cent did not kill Baba Sen. At five thirty I made this call to my usual contact, the man who sources stock on our behalf. Before that I was asleep. After that, I showered, took my time, and got ready for work.”

  Hogarth looked at Palmer.

  “With your permission, Mr Yuksel, we’d like to verify all of that.”

  “I’d be very happy if you did.”

  Hogarth’s eyes settled on the man’s face. Izmir Yuksel looked soft-faced, nowhere near as hard and soldierly as the Atacans. Even the aggressive look of his father wasn’t clear in the young man’s features. The man met his eyes and let him look.

  “I didn’t do it,” said Izmir.

  Hogarth felt more coming, so he stayed quiet. Palmer did the same.

  “But look, it wasn’t hard to dislike them because they hated us and bad-mouthed us. Even so, I didn’t wish them harm.”

  “They bad-mouthed you?”

  “Not me, personally, But us – the Yuksels – yes. Yes, they did.”

  “But why would another Turkish family who clearly have a need to buy things you sell – why would they have cause to bad-mouth you?”

  Izmir’s mouth formed a slight sneer.

  “You never knew that man, did you, inspector? I know the customers all loved him, they thought he was a lovely friendly man, always smiling. That was his reputation, yes. I know it was. That’s why they called him Baba Sen. Because they said he was like a father to their customers. But none of those people really knew who he was.”

  Hogarth turned to Kaplan. She nodded. “Baba. Turkish people say baba or babacigim instead of dad or father. It shows a lot of respect and affection.”

  “But we’re not talking about Turkish people liking this man or not. We’re talking about his customers,” said Hogarth.

  “Exactly,” said Izmir. He glared at Kaplan from the back of the room. “Now I see why she’s here. She’s a spy.”

  “She’s a police officer doing her job, Mr Yuksel, just like the rest of us. Now, you were saying?”

  “It was all an act for the customers. The truth was that he was a jealous, small-minded little man. You know why he bad-mouthed us? Like my father says, he saw we were doing well, and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t handle it. He was jealous. He told people we were profiteering from local Turkish businesses, but of course, we weren’t. We were only a supplier. We sold things to them. It was a two-way street. Supply and demand. But the Sens are vindictive and jealous.”

  “All of them?”

  “I didn’t say all of them. But you saw that man attack my father.”

  “I saw a man who was beside himself with grief, Mr Yuksel. Someone had just murdered his father...”

  “We all have grief in our life, but they take theirs out on us. Look. I have told you the truth. I made a video call to Turkey this morning and before that, I was fast asleep. And besides, how could I have gotten to Hamlet Court Road, killed Baba Sen, then got back to West Road to make that call without anyone noticing me, or without missing my call. The call lasted half an hour, inspector.”

  “That’s rather a long call just to place an order with a work colleague.”

  “But not when that work colleague is also your friend...”

  Hogarth read the man’s eyes. The story of the friend and the business contact made sense on a few levels. Friends could be business contacts. Friends would be flexible about hours and if they had little money would gratefully accept a few more lira to make ends meet. Hogarth worked the tale in his mind. There were holes for sure, but it sounded rational and reasonable.

  Izmir nodded. “I influenced my father to employ one of my friends. Can I go now? The longer we are here, the longer we are losing money. One of us needs to go back and hold the fort.”

  Hogarth nodded. “Okay. But we’ll need your WhatsApp credentials, passwords, and access to your phone.”

  Izmir hesitated as he stood.

  “Is that a problem?” said Hogarth.

  “It depends how long you need it. I use my phone for work, remember?”

  “We’ll be as quick as we can, Mr Yuksel. You can leave it with me if you like.”

  Hogarth’s tone was that of an order, not an invitation. Izmir blew out a resentful breath and fussed with his jacket before producing a smartphone. He deposited the device on the table with a heavy clunk.

  “Passwords. PIN numbers... we’ll need all of that too,” said Hogarth.

  Izmir nodded. “Easy enough. My birthday is my PIN.” He gave them the date, a set of six numbers with a date of birth that indicated he was born at the very end of the eighties.

  “And your WhatsApp password?”

  “You won’t need it. Unlock the phone and you’re in. Easy.”

  “Very good, Mr Yuksel.”

  “I hope you get your man, inspector.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, we always do,” said Hogarth. “We’ll be in touch about your phone. Kaplan, please show Mr Yuksel the way out.”

  Izmir face betrayed some frustration. “You should let us both go. We haven’t do
ne anything wrong, and we have more important things to do than this,” he said. Hogarth paused and regarded the man with deliberately narrowed eyes.

  “More important than murder, Mr Yuksel?” He let the words sink in before adding “We’ll be in touch.” Yuksel turned away without adding anything more.

  The door closed behind Yuksel and Kaplan, leaving Palmer and Hogarth alone.

  “No mention of the Atacans there,” said Palmer.

  “Softly, softly, Palmer. You know what they say. Loose talk costs lives.” Hogarth stood up to leave the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  Hogarth picked up Izmir Yuksel’s phone and waved it at Palmer. “To keep Simmons on his toes. You know how he loves little challenges.”

  “Like PCSO Kaplan you mean?”

  “If Simmons thinks Turkish girls are soft and innocent, he’s got another thing coming. Kaplan is probably a lot tougher than she appears.”

  “Is that that the voice of experience?” said Palmer.

  Hogarth raised his eyebrow and walked out of the room.

  HOGARTH BREEZED ACROSS the open plan office where the uniforms were chatting. He heard PC Orton laughing like a drain with a clutch of the usual idiots at the furthest edge of the office. Having long been the butt of Orton’s humour, Hogarth shot a glance at the useless fool as he walked past. But Orton didn’t look sheepish. He carried right on laughing. One day, Orton was going to win a punch in the face and Hogarth wondered if he should be the man to give it. As Hogarth walked, he realised the name Orton had muttered wasn’t his. They were talking about Melford. There wasn’t any succour in that, but maybe it offered a chance to get a new insight. Hogarth walked into the CID room as Simmons put down the phone. He looked nervous and weary.

  “Any joy, Simmons?”

  “Not much, no. I’ve been doing the rounds, guv. Dickens basically told me to get lost. At least Marris at forensics was more polite. They said it’s far too early to expect any results. If I’m honest, Dickens said a hell of a lot more than that.”

  “I warned you. But it’s part and parcel of the job, ours and theirs, Simmons. They do the science, but we need the results. What did they say about your little curtain idea?”