Dead Man's Shoes (DI Fenchurch Book 7) by Ed James

Author:Ed James [James, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Dog Books
Published: 2020-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

15

Schneider Consulting’s offices were a damn sight fancier than the Met’s in Scotland Yard, even though Edwards House dated back to the mid-nineties, versus the Yard’s much-more recent renovation.

Rows and rows of desks sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by glass-walled partner’s offices and meeting rooms like this one. Fenchurch felt like he was on one of the ships on Star Trek compared with Leman Street.

If you stretched your neck, you could just about see the Tower over the Thames. While Tower Bridge was obscured by a neighbouring building, the white-painted external walls were covered with arty photos of the famous landmark in the fog and mist.

Ashkani checked her watch again. ‘Shall I go and see if I can find him?’

‘Will that speed anything up?’ Fenchurch sipped from his paper cup. Tasted like high-end mineral water, rather than coppery stuff out of a tap. ‘How were Damon Lombardi’s parents?’

‘As you’d expect. Grieving. Asking about the body, all the usual stuff. They seem like nice people, though I’m glad I don’t have to head out to Ramsgate again any time soon.’

‘You get anything useful?’

‘They didn’t know much about his life, if that’s what you mean. Certainly not about the debts, anyway. Thought he was doing well. Good job, hobbies, friends.’

Fenchurch held her gaze for a few seconds. ‘But no mention of his love life?’

‘Correct.’

‘Think there’s anything in that?’

‘Not really. I mean, I didn’t tell my folks about Dean until we got engaged.’

‘True, but I introduced Abi to mine after our third date.’

‘I guess everyone’s different, sir. I bumped into Loftus back at the station.’

‘Oh, and?’

‘Don’t know, sir. He said you were speaking to Dawn?’

‘We had to visit her. To ask her about Micah Wiley’s case.’

‘I worked it too.’

‘She said. Was Loftus asking you about that?’

‘No. I think he was there to see DCI Bell.’ Which made sense. Maybe too much sense. ‘But he said you were up in Hampstead?’

‘We were. Was he asking if I’ve been delegating anything?’

‘No, but he asked if we’d dug anything up about the Hermione Taylor case.’

‘Okay, so next time he asks you, tell him to call me.’

‘Will do.’

‘Dawn told me you worked the Micah Wiley case?’

‘I did. What—’

The door clattered open and a kid in a pinstriped suit powered in, all smiles and eye contact and fizzing with energy. Young enough that he would abuse caffeine to get stuff done, rather than using it to just about cope with whatever life threw at him. But he was stacked and everything bulged, like when a rugby union player wore a suit. He thrust out a hand to Fenchurch. ‘Barney Richardson, pleased to meet you.’

‘DCI Simon Fenchurch.’ He felt like he’d placed his hand under a steamroller. ‘And this is DI Uzma Ashkani.’

The kid was barely out of university, but he’d picked up all the mannerisms of a forty-something golf club member. He eased off his jacket and hung it carefully on the coat rack by the window, then slumped into the chair at the end, swivelling his phone around in his fingers.

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