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Ethan Cain

Detective Inspector Ethan Cain studied the body as dispassionately as he could. Even so the sight of it caused something to stir in the pit of his stomach.

Megan Fuller was still lying on the kitchen floor with a gaping hole in her throat. The blood that had spilled onto the lino was now dry, but some still glistened inside the wound and between her thin, purple lips which had been cut from a blow to the mouth. Her nose was broken and her pale, lifeless eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.

She was wearing a navy-blue blouse and tight jeans. Her long brown hair was fanned out around her head and had soaked up some of the blood.

‘The bloody shoe-prints belong to the father,’ Detective Chief Inspector Redwood said. ‘The poor sod will have to live with what he saw here for the rest of his life.’

Cain lifted his gaze from the floor to the back door, which stood open. Nigel Fuller had gained access by smashing one of the glass panels and reaching for the key left in the lock.

Any dad would have done the same in his position, Cain thought. After all, he must have believed there was a possibility that she was still alive. Trouble was he had contaminated the crime scene and they would never know for sure if he had inadvertently destroyed any crucial evidence.

‘There’s no other sign of a break-in,’ Redwood said. ‘So there’s a good chance she let the killer in.’

Cain turned to his boss, who was standing in the doorway. Redwood was in his early forties, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. Dark stubble bristled on his face and his eyes were bright blue and slightly bulging.

He was a hard-nosed individual with a short temper and a gruff voice. He didn’t drink or smoke and rarely socialised with the team, preferring the gym to the pub.

As the senior investigating officer he was in charge of the investigation, and Cain knew he’d do a thorough job. Redwood was fairly new to the Met, having moved down from Manchester five months ago, and he’d brought with him an impressive reputation. Unlike Cain he still viewed police work as a worthwhile vocation rather than a relentless grind on behalf of an unappreciative public.

The gaffer was the kind of copper that Cain used to be before disillusionment set in and he was told he’d probably never be promoted beyond the rank of detective inspector within the Met. And long before he fell into the trap of wanting to spend more money than he earned.

‘Megan suffered a single stab wound to the throat,’ Redwood was saying. ‘The doc says the blade must have been a minimum of fourteen millimetres long. It cut through the trachea and hit the cervical vertebrae. The killer then sliced downwards and ripped open the thyroid gland and the oesophagus. It’s a safe bet the knife was taken from the block over there on the worktop.’

It was a six-knife block and one of them was missing. Cain had already been told that there was no sign of the murder weapon. Officers were searching the house, the front and back gardens, and the surrounding area, although in all likelihood the killer or killers had taken it with them when fleeing the scene.

‘There are no signs of a struggle in any of the other rooms,’ Redwood said. ‘But it does appear as though the house has been searched. Drawers have been left open and the contents dropped on the floor. Having said that we don’t know if anything has been stolen but this doesn’t look like a burglary gone wrong to me.’

Redwood had had time to acquaint himself with the scene, having arrived an hour ago. Cain had been delayed by traffic hold-ups in Clapham. He needed to look around for himself and get a feel for the place.

‘Come out into the back garden,’ Redwood said. ‘The SOCOs want to get back in here and I need to tell you and the others what else we’ve got.’

The others were detective constables Rachel Fisher and Toby Dean, who had also just arrived and were already waiting in the garden to be briefed.

They all stood on the patio, out of the way of the scene-of-crime officers who were dusting and swabbing every inch of the house.

Redwood pulled down the hood of his overall and took out his notebook. He began by telling them what they already knew – that the victim was 32-year-old Megan Fuller who lived alone in the house and was well known as a TV soap actress.

‘Estimated time of death is between ten thirty and midnight last night,’ he said. ‘The neighbour to the right apparently heard raised voices around ten but no screams. The house doesn’t have a video security system but there are some CCTV cameras around here so I want them checked.’

Cain was fairly certain that a person or car approaching the house would have been caught on camera at some point. He himself had turned into Ramsden Road from Balham High Road and had spotted at least two cameras at that junction alone. But last night it had rained so there was no guarantee that any footage would be useful.

‘What does the father say?’ Cain asked.

‘I was just coming to that,’ Redwood said. ‘I’ve only had a brief conversation with him, but he’s with one of the neighbours so we can talk to him again before he’s taken home.’

‘Did he tell you why he turned up here this morning?’ Cain said.

Redwood nodded. ‘Megan sent him a text last night at twenty past ten, which was presumably just before she was killed. Her phone was in the kitchen and I had a quick look before it was bagged up.’ He lowered his eyes and read from his notes. ‘She wrote, and I quote: “Can you come over early tomorrow, Dad? Need to talk to you.” He then replied that he’d be here about seven. Mr Fuller also says he had a conversation with her earlier in the evening during which she said she’d had a bust-up with her ex-husband Danny Shapiro and that Shapiro threatened to kill her.’

Cain felt a flash of heat in his chest. He had known it was only a matter of time before Danny came into the equation, but he hadn’t expected this.

‘I don’t need to remind you who Danny Shapiro is,’ Redwood went on. ‘Or that he’s more than capable of committing murder or getting one of his henchmen to do it for him. He’s therefore our number one suspect. Megan’s phone shows that she made a call earlier to an unregistered mobile number that’s in her contacts under the name Danny. That’s why a team should be descending on his flat in Bermondsey about now.’

‘He probably won’t be there, guv,’ DC Fisher said. ‘He hardly ever stays at the flat.’

‘How do you know?’

‘It’s common knowledge, sir. Danny Shapiro spends most nights at a secret address. That’s one of the reasons he’s been dubbed Mr Paranoid.’

‘This is news to me.’

‘You would have found out eventually, boss.’

‘Yeah, well, I obviously have a lot to learn about London’s leading underworld faces.’ He turned to Cain. ‘Are you up to speed on Shapiro, Ethan?’

Cain shrugged. ‘I know about as much as everyone else, guv. The guy doesn’t trust anyone, apparently, and it’s not hard to understand why. His father Callum was less careful and eventually paid the price. After months of covert surveillance the organised crime teams managed to gather enough evidence to take him down.

‘Shortly after his son took charge of things a rival villain took a shot at him as he left his flat. The bullet missed but it convinced Shapiro that he wasn’t safe there – or anywhere else that people knew about. The flat is still his formal address and he occasionally entertains and holds court there. But we’ve no idea where he lays his head most nights, except that it’s somewhere in London.’

Redwood nodded several times as he mulled this over. Then he said, ‘Well, Shapiro is not our only suspect. Megan has been phoning and texting someone named Sam on a fairly regular basis. I get the impression from the messages that he was her boyfriend up until a short time ago. But it seems they had a falling-out. He sent her a text three days ago in which he apologised for hitting her and promised not to do it again. She responded by saying it was over and that if he came to the house again she’d call the police.’

‘He sounds promising,’ Cain said.

Redwood nodded. ‘We need to find out who this Sam is and where he was last night. We’ve got his number so it shouldn’t be hard.’

Cain found himself hoping that Sam had murdered Megan and that they would quickly solve the case. The thought of having to pursue Danny Shapiro – the man he accepted regular bribes from – made his blood run cold. As long as Danny was in the frame his own duplicity was under threat of exposure.

The detectives then discussed possible motives for murder, one of which was the tell-all book that Megan had claimed she was writing. It was public knowledge because she’d mentioned it in several TV and newspaper interviews.

‘I’ve asked the techies to look for notes and a manuscript,’ Redwood said. ‘It might be that the killer is someone who fears being featured in the book.’

Redwood asked DC Fisher to check Megan’s bank accounts and phone records.

‘There’s been talk of her having money problems,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case then I want to know the extent of it.’

After the briefing, Cain had a quick look around the house, careful not to get in the way of the forensic sweep.

It was much less impressive than he had expected. The furnishings were dated and it looked as though Megan hadn’t been taking care of the place. The rooms were untidy and the stale smell of cigarettes hung in the air.

In the main bedroom the search teams discovered several wraps of cocaine and a leather pouch filled with cannabis. The drinks cabinet in the living room was stuffed with bottles of spirits, most of which were half empty. In the small study at the front of the house a SOCO found something significant after firing up Megan’s laptop. Cain and Redwood responded to his request to go and check it out.

‘I opened up her browser and then her Hotmail account,’ the SOCO said. ‘I immediately came across an email that I think you need to see.’

The email was from Megan to a Yahoo account in the name of Daniel Shapiro. When Cain read it a sliver of ice slid down his spine.

Don’t make the mistake of ignoring me, Danny. A one-off payment is all I’m asking for. I know you can afford it. So if you fuck me about you’ll seriously regret it.

‘It’s a clear motive for murder,’ Redwood said. ‘Shapiro was threatened by his ex-wife so he decided to sort her out.’

Cain felt obliged to play it down for Danny’s sake.

‘I’m not so sure, guv,’ he said. ‘From what I hear about Shapiro he’s not stupid. I can’t imagine he would kill her only days after that email was sent. He’d know how bad it would look.’

‘She might have given him a deadline,’ Redwood said. ‘So he felt he didn’t have a choice but to come here and make sure she didn’t carry out her threat. Or perhaps he paid someone to do it for him.’

Cain felt a shiver of apprehension. He knew that what Redwood was saying made sense and that so far the evidence was pointing to Danny.

‘How well do you know the guy, Ethan?’ Redwood asked.

Cain shrugged. ‘I’ve hauled him in a couple of times in connection with gangland killings but we’ve never been able to pin anything on him.’

Redwood narrowed his eyes in concentration as he turned something over in his mind. After a few moments, he said, ‘I had dealings with a couple of the big-time villains in Manchester. It was always difficult because they’re so well connected. I’m assuming that like them Shapiro has his fair share of friends in high places across London.’

‘I reckon that goes without saying,’ Cain said.

Redwood nodded. ‘In that case we have to assume that he’s got at least one or two of our colleagues in the Met on his books. Which means we have to play this close to our chests. I don’t want him getting wind of evidence we need to keep to ourselves.’

Cain’s stomach folded in on itself. He realised now that he was going to have to be ultra-careful. Redwood was clearly no novice when it came to dealing with criminals like Danny Shapiro who had heaps of cash and lots of clout.

He was aware that the tentacles of corruption reached into the guts of every force in the UK.

So he would know not to trust anyone – not even those officers who were working alongside him on the investigation.

The Alibi: A gripping crime thriller full of secrets, lies and revenge

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