plates off the draining board.
‘Stupid bugger,’ Mickey roared. He grabbed the legs and heaved. For a moment there was no movement, but then the man shot backwards into the room. He gave a shriek as his face connected with the window frame. Blood spurted from his nose as Brock caught him and they lowered him, howling, to the floor. Brock wiped a hand across his face, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
Mickey said. ‘You all right, Chief?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Brock went over to the sink and ran the tap while one of the local cops behind him said, ‘This isn’t Danny Yilmaz.’
According to the Ugandan driver’s licence they found in the man’s pocket, he was Peter Namono, a resident of Kampala, though he seemed unable or unwilling to confirm this as he sat moaning on the floor, clutching his bloody nose. One of the locals took a call on his radio and turned to Brock. ‘Our lads have picked up Danny Yilmaz. They spotted his bike outside the Haringey Sport and Social Club. They’re taking him to the station.’
Brock dabbed at the bloodstain on his shirt with a grubby cloth. ‘I’m getting too old for this. Next time I’ll leave the exciting bits to you lot.’
They all laughed.
Danny Yilmaz was waiting in an interview room when they arrived at Tottenham police station.
Kathy conducted the interview with one of the local detectives while Brock watched on a screen in an adjoining room. Danny was small, wiry, dark, with curly black hair that covered much of his face, which appeared prematurely aged. He appeared to be mystified by why he was there. Kathy cautioned him and asked him if he had given a lift to a man in Sloane Street the previous day. Sure, Danny said, it was all perfectly straightforward. He had his own courier services company, Shazam Limited.
‘Shazam,’ Kathy repeated.
‘Like in Captain Marvel, yeah?’
‘Go on.’
‘This bloke hired me to give him a lift. Said he’d need me to be available for the whole day Thursday, from Chelsea, to run him around. I spent the day hanging out down by the river, waiting for him to call, dead boring, but he’d paid in advance. Then, about four he gives me a ring, tells me where to wait for him on Sloane Street, and to call him when I get there. Soon after he comes running out of nowhere, hops on the bike and tells me to get going, up to Camden Town tube station, where I drop him off. That was it.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Couldn’t tell you. He had his own helmet in his backpack. I’d brought one for him, but he didn’t need it.’
‘What else?’
‘Um, dark grey shirt, jeans . . . oh, and gloves. He was wearing black gloves.’
‘But you’d seen him before, when he hired you, gave you the money.’
‘No, no, that was somebody else.’
Something changed in Danny’s posture and appearance. His expression of helpfulness became brighter.
‘Who?’
‘No idea. I only spoke to him on the phone. He said he had a friend coming to London, needed someone to drive him around for the day. Offered me twice my going rate, so I wasn’t complaining.’
‘What name did he give you?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘How did he know about you?’
Danny looked mildly offended. ‘I have a website, don’t I?’
‘So you made yourself available for a whole day on the strength of a phone call from a man who didn’t even tell you his name?’
‘He paid in advance, didn’t he? What else could I do? The cash came round by courier that afternoon.’
‘When did this happen?’ Kathy asked.
Danny ruffled his hair, pondering. ‘Monday? Tuesday? Tuesday, I think.’
‘Two days before the job.’
‘Yes, that’d be about right.’
‘And you had a contact number for this client?’
‘Yes, sure!’ All eagerness, Danny pulled a phone out of his pocket and handed it over.
‘This is bullshit.’ The CID detective at Kathy’s side glared at Danny. ‘You’d better wipe that smile off your face and start telling us
‘Stupid bugger,’ Mickey roared. He grabbed the legs and heaved. For a moment there was no movement, but then the man shot backwards into the room. He gave a shriek as his face connected with the window frame. Blood spurted from his nose as Brock caught him and they lowered him, howling, to the floor. Brock wiped a hand across his face, tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.
Mickey said. ‘You all right, Chief?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Brock went over to the sink and ran the tap while one of the local cops behind him said, ‘This isn’t Danny Yilmaz.’
According to the Ugandan driver’s licence they found in the man’s pocket, he was Peter Namono, a resident of Kampala, though he seemed unable or unwilling to confirm this as he sat moaning on the floor, clutching his bloody nose. One of the locals took a call on his radio and turned to Brock. ‘Our lads have picked up Danny Yilmaz. They spotted his bike outside the Haringey Sport and Social Club. They’re taking him to the station.’
Brock dabbed at the bloodstain on his shirt with a grubby cloth. ‘I’m getting too old for this. Next time I’ll leave the exciting bits to you lot.’
They all laughed.
Danny Yilmaz was waiting in an interview room when they arrived at Tottenham police station.
Kathy conducted the interview with one of the local detectives while Brock watched on a screen in an adjoining room. Danny was small, wiry, dark, with curly black hair that covered much of his face, which appeared prematurely aged. He appeared to be mystified by why he was there. Kathy cautioned him and asked him if he had given a lift to a man in Sloane Street the previous day. Sure, Danny said, it was all perfectly straightforward. He had his own courier services company, Shazam Limited.
‘Shazam,’ Kathy repeated.
‘Like in Captain Marvel, yeah?’
‘Go on.’
‘This bloke hired me to give him a lift. Said he’d need me to be available for the whole day Thursday, from Chelsea, to run him around. I spent the day hanging out down by the river, waiting for him to call, dead boring, but he’d paid in advance. Then, about four he gives me a ring, tells me where to wait for him on Sloane Street, and to call him when I get there. Soon after he comes running out of nowhere, hops on the bike and tells me to get going, up to Camden Town tube station, where I drop him off. That was it.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Couldn’t tell you. He had his own helmet in his backpack. I’d brought one for him, but he didn’t need it.’
‘What else?’
‘Um, dark grey shirt, jeans . . . oh, and gloves. He was wearing black gloves.’
‘But you’d seen him before, when he hired you, gave you the money.’
‘No, no, that was somebody else.’
Something changed in Danny’s posture and appearance. His expression of helpfulness became brighter.
‘Who?’
‘No idea. I only spoke to him on the phone. He said he had a friend coming to London, needed someone to drive him around for the day. Offered me twice my going rate, so I wasn’t complaining.’
‘What name did he give you?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘How did he know about you?’
Danny looked mildly offended. ‘I have a website, don’t I?’
‘So you made yourself available for a whole day on the strength of a phone call from a man who didn’t even tell you his name?’
‘He paid in advance, didn’t he? What else could I do? The cash came round by courier that afternoon.’
‘When did this happen?’ Kathy asked.
Danny ruffled his hair, pondering. ‘Monday? Tuesday? Tuesday, I think.’
‘Two days before the job.’
‘Yes, that’d be about right.’
‘And you had a contact number for this client?’
‘Yes, sure!’ All eagerness, Danny pulled a phone out of his pocket and handed it over.
‘This is bullshit.’ The CID detective at Kathy’s side glared at Danny. ‘You’d better wipe that smile off your face and start telling us
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