‘I can’t get away from work today.’
It was eight o’clock on Monday morning and Zeke, the security guard who had come forward to ID Sean as ‘Shane’ – a supposedly casual acquaintance at the gym – didn’t sound enthusiastic at the prospect of another audience with ‘the Feds’. But when Flyte said sweetly that it was no problem, she could come to his workplace, he managed to find some space in his schedule.
She had a hunch that Ezekiel Drew hadn’t told her the whole truth about his dealings with Sean Kavanagh – ‘dealings’ being the appropriate word. Of course she ought to inform Willets of her suspicions and have Zeke attend the station for a more formal interview, but her gut told her that the combination of Dean Willets and the inside of a nick would make him clam up for good.
She and Zeke met in the same cafe up in Kentish Town, the air thick with the sweet-savoury smell of bacon. But this was a very different Zeke: jumpy and defensive. ‘I already told you everything I know,’ he shot at her before she’d even sat down.
‘There’s just a few things I wanted to clear up,’ she said reasonably. ‘We now know the guy whose image you recognised in the paper was Sean Kavanagh, a Met police officer.’
No reaction.
‘Sean’s death is now the subject of a murder investigation,’ she said. Seeing Zeke unconsciously clenching his jaw muscles, she felt a little flare of excitement: this was a man under stress. ‘We need to find out who killed him and bring them to justice. Remind me, why did you call him Shane when his name was Sean?’
Zeke shrugged and looked away. ‘I dunno. It’s what people called him. Maybe I heard it wrong.’
‘You also said he didn’t advertise the fact that he was a police officer. Why do you think he wanted to keep it quiet?’
‘I don’t know!’ Anger fraying his voice. ‘The Feds aren’t exactly flavour of the month round here, y’know.’
She smiled. ‘You see, I’ve been wondering if there’s another reason. That he was perhaps engaged in some activity which as a police officer could land him in serious trouble.’
Zeke blinked.
Leaning across the table, she hardened her tone. ‘We believe that Sean Kavanagh may have been using anabolic steroids. A restricted Class C substance that it is illegal to produce or supply.’
‘I don’t know nothing about that.’ But the look he threw at the door, instinctively checking for an escape route, suggested otherwise.
Flyte saw the sheen of sweat under his eyes. ‘I think that you were selling him those steroids and when you found out he was a police officer, you used it to blackmail him.’
For a moment Zeke looked bewildered – before pulling a grin so wide it revealed a gold pre-molar. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, lady.’ He shook his head. ‘It was Shane who was selling the ’roids.’ His smile faded. ‘But it’s no surprise that you go: “the black guy must be the dealer”.’
Flyte stared at him, experiencing the vertiginous feeling of being utterly wrongfooted. Going by the sudden relaxation in his demeanour he appeared to be telling the truth.
She kicked herself for her schoolgirl naivety: it had never occurred to her that Sean – a police officer – would be the one selling the steroids, committing a criminal offence.
‘Do you have any evidence of that accusation?’ she asked stiffly.
‘How could I? It was eight years ago. I only bought them off him a few times and they made me depressed, so I went natural.’ He slapped his little pot belly. ‘My days of getting shredded are ancient history.’
Of course, even if Sean had been the dealer and Zeke just one of his customers, he could still have been blackmailing him – and for even higher stakes.
‘Did you ever threaten to report his activities to the police?’
Zeke looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’m no grass. I’m only telling you now cos he’s dead.’
Flyte felt deflated: his body language had changed to one of somebody with nothing to hide. ‘If what you’re saying is true, who else was he selling to?’
‘Loads of guys,’ said Zeke. ‘Whenever Shane come in the gym the word went round’ – he adopted a conspiratorial whisper – “Candy Man’s here!”’
‘So you had the impression he was selling a lot of product?’
‘Uh-huh. He was minted, you know, always wearing designer threads and talking about fancy restaurants he’d been to.’
‘Did you ever see him with a girlfriend? Or his fiancée Bethany?’
‘Nah.’ Zeke examined his fingernails, closing down again.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have been trying to blackmail him?’
‘I never heard nothing like that,’ said Zeke, checking his phone screen. ‘Look, I need to get back to work.’
Flyte finished her tea to give Zeke a five-minute head start. The last thing she needed was anyone from work spotting her with a witness before she’d worked out how to share the steroids lead with Willets.