When Flyte got back to the office, she asked Willets about Bethany Locke’s disappearing act but he was dismissive. ‘She’s probably gone to Southend on some hen do,’ he said.
But then he’d never been able to accept the idea that a woman could have killed Sean and hidden his body. Flyte wasn’t so sure: Bethany could be lying about her involvement in the steroids dealing, and she had motive as the betrayed fiancée. From their first encounter, Flyte had her down as a hard case, someone who might count among her social circle the sort of person who could disappear an inconvenient corpse.
Back at her desk, she kept reopening the image of Luke’s note, puzzling over his gnomic scribble, which resembled a thorny equation from a school chemistry lesson.
When Seb returned from Luke’s flat, he went straight to Willets’ desk and she saw him handing over an evidence bag containing the Moleskine notebook from the freezer. He was trying to look nonchalant, which made her feel guilty for putting him in a position where he had to fib to Willets.
She was too far away to hear what they were saying but it was obvious Willets was questioning Seb, seeming taken aback at how thoroughly he’d searched the place. But after a brief exchange, Willets set the bag aside and carried on tapping at his keyboard. Catching Seb’s eye as he walked back to his desk, she mouthed, ‘Sorry!’ Getting an awkward grin in return.
A few minutes later, Willets shook the notebook out of the bag and used a pen to turn the pages. When he reached what she would bet was the final note with its cryptic abbreviations he seemed to become very still, before casting a would-be casual glance around the office. Luckily, she was half hidden behind her screen. Maybe it was just her paranoia but something about his body language set her nerves jangling.
Where had Bethany Locke got to? Her disappearance might not necessarily be sinister but Flyte remained convinced that she was withholding information about Sean’s death.
She pulled up the transcript of her interview and started to read through it, pausing at the point where Bethany mentioned the incriminating message she’d seen on Sean’s phone, and Willets’ supplementary question.
What was her name? he’d asked.
And Bethany’s reply: Who?
It had been the obvious follow-up but Flyte remembered Bethany looking totally blank for a moment before saying: Oh . . . Zara, I think. As if she’d said the first name that came into her head.
Why would she do that?
She reread Willets’ question. What was her name?
Her name. Was that what had thrown Bethany? Because the question should have been his name? Zara pulled out of the air because the real name had been Zeke.
Had Cassie Raven’s hunch about Sean and Zeke been right after all?
Going over to Willets’ desk, she said, ‘Bethany’s still not answering so I’m going to drop in on Ezekiel Drew, the security guard who went to Sean Kavanagh’s gym?’
Willets squinted up at her, looking preoccupied. ‘I thought you said that was a dead end, the guy didn’t even know Kavanagh’s first name?’
‘True. But he did buy steroids off him a couple of times so I want to push him on who else was buying, whether the staff knew, etcetera.’ Which was true – if they really had been lovers Zeke would likely know more about Sean’s business than he’d been letting on.
Willets turned back to his screen with a shrug. ‘Knock yourself out. I’ve got a Zoom with the NCA about steroid gangs.’
*
Zeke’s phone kept going to voicemail and he wasn’t replying to texts, but she remembered Luke Lawless mentioning that he worked at a wine and spirit warehouse, and after a bit of googling she found the only place that seemed to fit the bill. It was called Drinkzone, and it was five minutes’ walk from the cafe where they’d met previously.
It was nearly 5 p.m. by the time she’d found the place. Praying he was on duty today she texted him: I’m outside your warehouse. Shall I come in or would you rather meet me out here?
That got his attention. Less than ten minutes later, she saw him crossing the car park towards her.
As he drew near, she said, ‘Sorry to turn up unannounced but I have left you a ton of messages.’ Trying not to sound accusatory.
‘Yeah, sorry, I’ve had a lot going on.’
She had to stop herself staring at his face.
Around his eye socket and reaching halfway down his cheek the skin was purple. Bruising that looked to be a couple of days old.
It was two days since Luke Lawless had been murdered.
He took her around the corner where there was a tiny park with a few benches.
‘I’ve come across something on the Sean Kavanagh investigation that I wanted to run past you, see if it rings any bells?’
‘OK,’ he said, sounding guarded.
She showed him a screenshot of Luke’s final note, with its jumble of abbreviations.
‘Anything?’ she asked, eyeing his face. ‘Abney could be the guy who imported the steroids? Do you recall anyone of that name down the gym? Staff member?’
Gazing down at the image Zeke touched his bruised eye, seemingly unconsciously. He shook his head, but she could see the note meant something to him.
‘Zeke, it could help us find out who killed Sean.’
He met her gaze properly for the first time – his eyes troubled. ‘Are you saying that this has something to do with his murder?’
‘It’s possible.’
After giving her back the phone, he stared down at his hands for a long moment. ‘Abney isn’t a person, it’s a place. Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington. It’s a cruising spot, or at least it used to be.’
Flyte kept her expression neutral. ‘Go on.’
‘Shane – I mean Sean – told me he used to hang out there, said there was a lot of guaranteed action in and around a loo block.’
She left a pause. ‘I have to ask, how long had you two been lovers?’
He blew out a long breath. ‘Six months or so? I thought we might get serious, you know. But then one day he just didn’t turn up to the gym. His phone was turned off. I knew by then that he was a Fed but he never said where he worked. Anyway, it’s not like I’m gonna stroll into the cop shop and start asking for him, am I?’ Having taken the biggest step – of admitting to the relationship – he seemed keen to talk.
‘Did his fiancée, Bethany, know . . . about you two?’
‘Yeah, he told me she saw a text message I sent. They had a big row and he called off the wedding. This happened just before he went missing so when he did his vanishing act I thought maybe he’d got back with her and couldn’t handle telling me.’ He opened his hands. ‘Not that I could complain, being as I was married . . . Then eight years later I see his pic staring at me online.’
‘That must’ve been awful for you.’ She paused. ‘Can I ask what happened to your face?’
He touched his eye as though he’d forgotten about it. ‘My wife thumped me.’
‘She found out that you’re gay?’
He tipped his head. She had no doubt he was telling the truth.
‘Oh, Zeke, I am sorry. How did she—?’
‘I told her.’ A steely note entering his voice. ‘Discovering that Sean was dead, it set me thinking. Nobody really knew who he was. You know he never even told me his real name?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘But then I was the same – living a big fat lie. Anyway I couldn’t go on cheating on my wife. It ain’t right.’
It had often struck Flyte, when some long-married male public figure came out and everybody cheered his bravery, that barely anybody acknowledged how devastating such news must be for his wife and family.
‘Do you think Sean ever considered coming out at work?’
Zeke looked at her as if she’d said something ridiculous. ‘He said if the other cops knew he fucked guys his life wouldn’t be worth living.’
Flyte recalled the homophobic ‘banter’ she’d heard over the years, the way male cops used ‘gay’ as an insult meaning laughable or weak, the conflation of paedophilia with homosexuality . . .
Zeke shook his head. ‘He said that the day someone found out was the day he’d have to pack it in. Not even because of the grief he’d get, but because it would make him an outsider on his own team.’
Having felt like an outsider all her life, Flyte experienced a surge of fellow feeling for Sean, the double life he’d led, the string of girlfriends – the reputation he’d spent so much effort cultivating.
She made a sympathetic noise, stuck for something to say that wouldn’t sound over-personal or patronising. In the end she just said, ‘Thank you for your help, Zeke, I truly hope everything works out for you.’
*
So Cassie Raven’s intuition about Sean and Zeke had been spot on – damn and blast her – thought Flyte as she headed back to the nick.
But Zeke’s revelation raised more questions than it answered. So Abney Park and Hampstead Heath, where Luke’s body had been found, were both gay cruising spots. Were Luke and Sean murdered by the same person? Could the motive be entangled with Sean’s secret life as a gay man? But then she didn’t believe Luke had been gay, even if his killer wanted the police to think he was. The condom found at the scene had been unused – a piece of set dressing. So was it all a smokescreen? Was a steroid-smuggling operation still the real reason behind both killings?
Then there was Bethany, who had lied to them about the nature of Sean’s infidelity. Why would she do that? Thinking of Zeke’s black eye, she pictured Bethany’s likely reaction to Sean revealing he’d been unfaithful to her with men. Had she inflicted the blow that killed him? Or bided her time and hired someone else to do her dirty work?