Part 3 (1/2)

'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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+rt, 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 bulls.h.i.+t.' The CID detective at Kathy's side glared at Danny. 'You'd better wipe that smile off your face and start telling us the truth, Danny. Who set this up? Was it your cousin Barbaros?'

'No, no, it's nothing to do with Barbaros. What's this all about anyway? What's this guy supposed to have done?'

The two police stared at him for a moment, incredulous, then Kathy spread some photographs of Sloane Street out on the table. 'Whereabouts did you wait for the man yesterday afternoon?'

Danny looked at the pictures, then pointed at one, builder's scaffolding erected on the footpath. 'That would be the place, I reckon. I pulled in between the poles.'

'And how long were you waiting there?'

'Ten, fifteen minutes?'

'So you witnessed the murder.'

'Murder?'

Kathy leaned across the table. 'Not a hundred yards from where you were waiting, your mystery client grabbed a woman and threw her under a bus. That murder.'

Danny looked shocked. 'You're kidding me.'

'And then he ran up to you and jumped on the back of your bike and you drove him away from the scene, making yourself an accessory to murder. That murder, Danny, the murder that's going to put you inside for twenty years.'

Danny's jaw dropped, he shook his head. 'Swear to G.o.d . . . I had my helmet on, didn't hear or see nothing.'

The CID man gave a snort of disgust and half turned away, as if he couldn't stand much more of this.

Kathy said, 'Who's the man in your flat?'

Danny shrugged. 'Dunno. Friend of mine asked me to let him sleep on my floor for a couple of days, till he gets a lift up north.'

'What do you know about him?'

'Nothing. He doesn't say much. I reckon he's African, the way he talks.'

'He doesn't seem to have any papers.'