‘I got sent another message,’ he said, when the call was answered. ‘What kind of dog is that you’ve got?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Marcus Brooks knows where you are.’
Thorne had expected a pause, but he’d hoped it might be longer.
‘That’s nice for him.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t sure you’d be around to answer the phone. I mean, he didn’t waste much time with Paul Skinner, did he? With “Jennings”.’
‘Who’s Jennings?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t bother.’
There was silence for a few seconds. Thorne could hear a door being closed. ‘Well, it’s good of you to call, but some of us are working, so…’
‘Every time we talked, you were just trying to find out what I knew, where the case was going.’
‘Doing my job, that’s all.’
‘I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier.’
‘You were hardly being honest yourself though, were you, Tom? I knew you were up to something.’
A sergeant who Thorne had worked with for a few months walked past the table. They exchanged smiles. ‘Why “Squire”? Did you pick it at random? What’s the first name, just out of interest? Seeing as we’re mates and everything.’
‘Is there a point to any of this?’
‘I thought I should let you know, that’s all,’ Thorne said. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, right?’
‘I’ll consider myself warned, then.’
‘You should consider yourself in very deep shit, one way or the other.’
Now there was a longer pause. ‘So, why is it you calling me, then? Why don’t I see the heavy mob kicking my door in?’
‘You should hope that’s who it is when it happens.’
‘Not flying solo on this one, are you?’
‘I’m giving you a chance.’
A laugh. ‘Go on…’
‘Strikes me you might want to think about getting yourself some protection. Taking a walk – no, running – to the nearest station; and maybe, while you’re there, telling them exactly why you need protecting. What you’ve done to deserve the undivided attention of Marcus Brooks.’
‘Or…?’
‘Or somebody else is going to tell them.’
The man on the other end of the phone sucked in his breath fast. It was meant to sound sarcastic; an indication that he wasn’t remotely threatened. But Thorne could hear that he was rattled.
‘Why the fuck should I do anything at all?’
‘Well, why don’t we start with the fact that this conversation is being recorded?’
Thorne hung up, and laid his old mobile phone down on the table. He picked up a fork, then put it down again when it began to rattle against his plate. Pushed the tray away.
He’d pop into The Oak on his way to meet Kitson at Colindale; pick up a cheese and tomato roll.
Maybe get a stiff drink to go with it.
Kitson had explained to Hakan Kemal and Gina Bridges that another officer would be sitting in on the interview. She made the introductions informally, then again for the tape. She asked Kemal if he was feeling OK; if there was anything that he needed before they started. He just shrugged.
‘He’s fine,’ Bridges said. ‘But until such time as you have any hard evidence, we really are doing you a favour here.’
‘We appreciate that,’ Kitson said. ‘Mr Kemal wouldn’t be here at all had his name not been passed on to us by someone intimately acquainted with this offence.’
Kemal looked up.
‘How well did you know Deniz Sedat?’ Thorne asked. Kemal stared back, weighing him up. Thorne had no problem with that. He had the man’s attention at any rate. ‘Perhaps you did business with him?’
‘No,’ Kemal said quickly.
‘But you knew him.’
Kemal looked away again. He was chewing at the inside of his mouth.
‘This is not about drugs, or money-laundering,’ Thorne said. ‘The way things stand, we’re not particularly interested in your business affairs.’
Another good, long look from Kemal. He seemed to come to a decision. ‘Yes, I knew who Deniz Sedat was,’ he said. ‘And where his money came from.’
A glance from Kitson. It looked as though she’d been right: Kemal appeared to be happier talking to a man. ‘So, you weren’t friendly with him?’
‘He thought he was my friend.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He took me to clubs and casinos. Flashing his money around.’
‘This was after he started going out with your sister?’
‘Made out like we were family, just because he was seeing her.’
‘You didn’t like him?’
Kemal’s expression was answer enough.
‘So, I presume you weren’t very happy when he started going out with Harika.’
Opposite him, Kemal sat back in his chair, his lips whitening. Thorne wondered if he was turning on the silent act again.
‘It’s understandable,’ Thorne said. ‘I’ve got a younger sister myself. Claire’s a year or two older than Harika, and no man’s good enough for her. Doesn’t matter who he is, what he does… I don’t think I’m ever going to like it.’ Thorne was aware of Gina Bridges sighing; scribbling something. ‘I do know that if she ever got involved with someone like Sedat, I’d be on him like shit on a blanket.’ He saw the tension ease a little around Kemal’s mouth. ‘She hates it that I get so worked up, but I can’t help it. Our father’s not around any more, so…’
Thorne stared ahead, trying to avoid catching Kitson’s eye. She knew very well he had no siblings.
‘Sedat was not so unpopular with our parents,’ Kemal said. ‘He was Turkish, which is important to them, and 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.