Shame the Devil, page 1
Shame the Devil
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
A Letter from Graeme
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Graeme Hampton
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
For Rachel and Michael – one day you’ll both be old enough to read this book.
Prologue
It’s so high up she can glimpse the river in the distance, slipping its way through the city like a silver eel.
It’s summer; she can feel the sun on her face and smell the pollen in the air, and for the briefest of moments she smiles at the receding memory of happy times. But then her thoughts turn, as they always do, to that fateful day when the happy times ended.
She replays the events again and again, as fresh and jagged now as when it happened.
The image of a child’s face is imprinted on her brain…
The guilt has rooted itself inside her. It’s like a leaden weight tied around her stomach.
She looks down. There are people below pointing up at her. Pointing and shouting, but she can’t hear what they’re saying. She doesn’t care anyway.
She hears a noise behind her and glances round, slightly startled.
A middle-aged man in a T-shirt is standing a few feet away, reaching out his hand and speaking to her. His mouth moves but the words sound like he’s under water. There’s a woman behind him, dark-haired and frowning; talking into her phone.
The man in the T-shirt is edging closer.
She looks down again. There are more people staring up at her. An excited crowd has gathered now; all eyes turn in her direction.
She can sense the man behind her is close now.
It’s only when she hears someone scream that she realises she’s falling.
Falling.
Heading straight for the ground below…
Chapter One
It was getting dark by the time Detective Inspector Matthew Denning turned into Porter Street. It was a typical suburban street in Stratford, east London. Cars lined either side, while identical rows of terraced houses stretched along the street. As he looked around, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
He looked around for a parking space. Predictably, he couldn’t see any. At least the strobing blue lights of the two police cars blocking the middle of the street told him he was in the right location.
He should have been having dinner, but his MIT – East London Major Investigation Team – had drawn the short straw and was working late.
Beside the two squad cars, a thin line of blue police tape danced slightly in the evening breeze. A couple of uniformed officers were turning back motorists and pedestrians who were complaining about the closed road. He decided to abandon his silver-grey Ford Focus in the middle of the street. It wasn’t like anyone would ask him to move it. It was already starting to drizzle when he stepped out the car and headed over to nod his acknowledgement at the two uniformed officers manning the outer perimeter. One of them, a man, in his early twenties, recognised Denning and lifted the police tape allowing him to duck underneath.
The address he’d been given was for a ground-floor flat. The building was a typical terraced house, since divided into two flats. The outside of the building was painted a musty yellow colour, and looked like it would benefit from a bit of TLC.
CSIs were already busying themselves. He looked around for Sheila Gorton, the crime scene manager. Before Denning had a chance to speak, DS Deepak Neeraj appeared from inside the house.
‘You’re here, boss,’ Neeraj said. He was dressed in his standard black leather jacket, with a checked shirt visible underneath. His hair, as always, had been gelled to perfection. ‘I’ve only just got here myself. I’ve just been chatting to the uniforms. A bloke’s been stabbed. Paramedics tried to save him but there wasn’t a hope.’
‘What are we talking about here, Deep? Robbery? Attempted burglary?’
Neeraj shrugged. ‘It’s a right mess in there, boss. His partner called it in. She’s not saying much though. She’s with a neighbour now.’ He jerked his head towards the house next door. ‘The paramedics reckon she’s in shock.’ He paused for a second. ‘They’ve got a baby too.’
Denning slipped on a pair of protective shoe covers and a white forensic suit. The entrance hallway was narrow, barely the width of the front door. A trail of blood led to the door to the flat. He squeezed along the narrow hallway and entered. Although the outside looked a little shabby, the interior was pleasantly decorated: light walls and modern furniture. Small but homely.
The body was lying in the living room. A male, aged in his mid-twenties, by the look of it. It was obvious he’d staggered from the front door where the attack took place into the flat’s living room, where he’d died. Gorton raised a hand as soon as she spotted Denning enter the flat. She made her way over to join him. ‘Not a lot of room in here to work,’ she grumbled. She nodded at a grey-haired, bearded man in his fifties who was tending the body. Denning recognised him as Dr Baker, the pathologist. It must be serious for him to come out. These days police budget cuts meant pathologists were becoming an increasing rarity at crime scenes.
‘Stabbed once,’ Baker said, nodding a greeting at Denning. ‘In the stomach, puncturing the abdominal aorta. Quick and very messy.’ Denning looked at the trail of blood that had followed him into the living room of the tiny home. ‘He was still breathing when the paramedics got here, but there wasn’t much they could do. The wound was too deep and the blood loss too great. He didn’t stand a chance.’
Denning turned to Gorton. ‘I take it we’ve got a name?’
She nodded. ‘Kieran Judd, aged twenty-eight. His partner’s called Cassie Bane. She’s been moved next door. Number forty-two.’ She threw a sad look at Denning. ‘They’ve got an eighteen-month-old baby. Luckily, he was in the kitchen having his dinner at the time. That’s where Cassie was when it happened.’. ‘She’s still in shock, so I’m not sure how much she’ll be able to tell us.’
‘Right now,’ Denning said, ‘anything at all would be useful.’
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
‘She must have heard something?’
‘Apparently not. She heard the doorbell go, but she had the radio on, so whatever passed in the way of conversation between them was unheard by her.’
Denning glanced out the window and saw the crime scene investigators’ van pulling up. He knew that within minutes the whole area would be sealed and turned over to Forensics. He took one last look at the body. The flat looked so normal: neat, tidy; pictures on the wall and books on the shelves. Normal. Ordinary. These were the words that shouted at Denning. Why would someone want to kill Kieran Judd?
* * *
Number forty-two Porter Street was the mirror of its neighbour. A uniformed officer led Denning and Neeraj along a similar narrow corridor into the tiny flat. Cassie Bane was sitting on a sofa staring blankly at a mug of cold-looking tea. She was in her early twenties, straight hair, tied back in a pony tail. The neighbour introduced herself as Beth Marshall. She was slightly older than Cassie; Denning reckoned she was in her early thirties. She was short and slim with curly hair. She asked them if they wanted anything to drink, which they declined.
‘Where’s the child?’ Denning asked.
‘He’s sleeping in our bedroom.’ She nodded at Cassie. ‘Poor love wasn’t in any
Denning sat down next to Cassie, while Neeraj sat on a chair by the window. ‘Cassie, I’m Detective Inspector Denning and this is Detective Sergeant Neeraj. We need to ask you a few questions about what happened.’ She stared at her mug for a moment, then looked up at Denning, an empty look on her face.
‘I’ve been over it all already. I told one of your officers…’ She was referring to the uniformed PC Denning had spoken to earlier.
‘I know. And I understand it’s difficult to talk about it again, but we need to know what happened.’
Beth reached out and placed a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. ‘Do you want another cup of tea, love?’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I was making dinner. Nothing special, just a pasta thing out of a jar. I’d just fed Arthur.’
‘Arthur?’
‘Her kid,’ Beth said.
‘OK.’ Denning smiled at her. ‘Go on. Take your time.’
‘The doorbell went. Kieran was in the living room watching the news. He said he’d get it. The next thing I knew he was staggering back into the flat saying he’d been stabbed.’ She shuddered slightly and rubbed a hand over her face. ‘He was bleeding and clutching his stomach. There was just so much blood.’
She looked like she was going to cry. Denning didn’t want to push her, but he needed to know exactly what had happened. Right now, everything was so vague.
‘I’m sorry, Cassie. I know this isn’t easy. I just need to ask some more questions, then I’ll go.’ He looked up at Beth, who was standing by the door looking concerned. ‘Did Kieran say anything else when he came back into the flat?’
Cassie shook her head. ‘He just said he’d been stabbed. I ran over to him, then he collapsed on the floor. I dialled 999 straight away. He was unconscious by the time the ambulance arrived. The paramedics tried to save him but there was nothing they could do. I begged them to take him to hospital, but he wasn’t breathing.’ She clasped a hand to her mouth. ‘There was so much blood. Everywhere.’
‘You didn’t hear any voices when he answered the door?’ Denning asked. ‘The person who did it, did they say anything?’
She shook her head again. ‘I was in the kitchen. I had the radio on. Capital. It was still Drivetime. A song had just started: George Michael, I think, ‘Spinning the Wheel’. I didn’t hear anything. Just a cry when he was stabbed.’
‘Can you think of anyone who want to kill Kieran? Is there anyone he’s fallen out with recently, or has anyone threatened him?’
‘No. He had a silly argument with the bloke across the road about parking, but it was nothing.’
Denning looked at Beth. ‘It was all something and nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s a small street. He owns two cars and a van. He takes up way more space than he should. We’ve all complained but nothing ever happens.’
‘We might need to speak to him. What’s his name?’
She pulled a face, then said: ‘Calum Nelson. But I’m pretty sure he’s got nothing to do with this. I mean he’s a selfish prat, but he isn’t aggressive. Well, he shouts a bit, but that’s all.’
‘Which address is his?’
‘Across the road. Number thirty-one. He’s not in because his lights aren’t on.’
Denning made a note. He glanced out the living room window: neighbours were twitching at windows, curtains pulled back just enough to try and make it too obvious they were rubbernecking. He spotted a couple of what looked suspiciously like journalists gathering on the street outside. They were trying to engage the uniformed officers in conversation, but from the looks on the journalists’ faces they were getting very little to work with.
It always amazed him how these vultures managed to find things out so quickly. He wondered whether yet another London stabbing was really newsworthy, and the thought depressed him.
‘Did you see or hear anything, Beth?’ Denning asked.
‘No. Like I told the uniformed officer… the first I knew was when I saw the ambulance outside. A few minutes later, an officer knocked on my door and told me there had been an incident next door. She had Cass with her and was holding little Arthur. She asked if I would mind looking after them as the flat was now a crime scene. It was then that Cass told me that Kieran was dead.’
‘Does anyone else live here with you?’ Denning asked.
‘No. I’m divorced. I’ve lived here for about a year. Another woman lives upstairs, but she’s a nurse. She’s probably working tonight. She won’t be back until late. Most of other neighbours keep themselves to themselves. Quite a few students live round here, so you get a lot of people passing though.’
‘The doorbell. Is it a communal bell for both your flat and the one upstairs?’
Cassie looked confused for a moment, then came back into focus. ‘No. We have a bell each. We’re forty-four A. Upstairs flat is B.’
‘The bells are clearly marked,’ Beth said. Her voice was trembling. It was obvious from the smudged mascara that she’d been crying.
‘Could whoever did it have pressed the wrong bell by mistake?’
‘The flat upstairs is empty. The guy who lived there moved out a couple of weeks ago.’
Denning was thinking fast. ‘What was his name?’
‘I can’t remember. Tony somebody. Hallam. Yes, that’s his name. Tony Hallam. I don’t know where he moved to. We didn’t have much to do with him. We only moved in six months ago.’
‘Tony Hallam?’ Neeraj was suddenly animated.
‘Recognise the name?’ Denning asked.
He seemed to give the matter some thought. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that name before…’ He shrugged. ‘I can’t place him though.’
‘What about Kieran? What’s he do for a living?’
Cassie looked at Denning. ‘He worked in a gym. He was a personal trainer.’
‘I’ll need the address,’ Denning said. ‘I know it seems unlikely, but there’s a chance he was targeted deliberately. If so, we need to find out why.’
‘But why would someone want to kill Kieran? Everybody liked him. He was popular at work. He went out of his way to avoid fights.’
‘At this stage, Cassie, we have to keep our options open. It’s unlikely this was a random attack. Not if someone rang the doorbell.’ He paused, reluctant to press her too much further, at least for now. ‘Are you certain you didn’t hear anyone say anything? Either Kieran or the person who stabbed him?’
She shook her head again. ‘I’ve told you… I didn’t hear anything after the doorbell rang.’
Beth reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘You can see she’s upset. Perhaps you should come back later.’
Denning agreed. It was obvious Cassie Bane was still in shock. She’d just lost her partner. She had a baby to look after. Her mind was probably doing somersaults right now. The biggest question would be why this had happened to her? She was in the middle of a horrendous nightmare. She was probably hoping she’d wake up and it would all never have happened. Except it had. And it was his job to find out by who.
Chapter Two
Denning started the briefing as soon as the room was quiet. Already there were photos pinned to the whiteboard at the top of the room: the tiny flat; the blood-stained body of Kieran Judd. The scene of violence in total contrast to the homeliness and warmth of the flat.
DS Molly Fisher had been with this particular MIT for just over a year. She’d joined the team only a few months after Denning, and still felt like a bit of a newbie. She’d previously served with CID and after helping to solve a murder, had bagged her promotion to the murder squad.
She watched as the team settled down. This had all the hallmarks of an open-and-shut case. Yet somehow, she had a feeling it was going to turn out to be anything but as straightforward as she thought. She admired Matt Denning as a competent and fair detective, but his designer clothes and expensive haircut made him appear like he belonged in an episode of Miami Vice rather than an east-London-based Major Investigation Team.
‘Kieran Michael Judd, aged twenty-eight,’ Denning said. ‘Stabbed to death on his doorstep. Partner and young child in the property at the time. His partner claims not to have heard anything as she was in the kitchen at the time preparing breakfast and the radio was on. She recalls hearing the doorbell ring at just before eight-thirty. Her partner went to answer the door. She heard a shout, wasn’t sure what it was. Kieran Judd staggered into the living room and it was clear he’d been attacked. Cassie phoned an ambulance straight away, but he died shortly after the paramedics got there.’ He wrote the names Kieran Judd and Cassie Bane on the whiteboard. ‘No witnesses to the actual stabbing, but it seems one of the neighbours spotted someone running along the street at about around that time. Description is vague.’ He glanced at his notes. ‘Hooded male. Didn’t get a look at his face, but said he was average height and running fast, which suggests he was young. We’ll look at whatever CCTV is available and continue with house-to-house enquiries, but what would help at this stage is having an obvious motive.’
