A Time Honoured Killing

by Samesh Ramjattan

“Miss Khan, I realize that this must be difficult for you, but I must stress the need to complete this report in earnest.”

  “Yes,” Adilaah mumbled barely able to open her mouth to form words from her injuries.

  “I understand your inability to speak, so you can just agree or disagree to any of these questions, but if you can provide any details, we would appreciate it,” The Constable said objectively.

  Nick paid close attention as Adilaah nodded.

  “You’ve indicated to the investigating Officer that you were attacked in your home, but you refuse to name your attacker,” The Constable continued.

  Adilaah remained still and silent.

  “Are you protecting somebody? Is it because you fear a further attack or reprisals?”

  Adilaah vehemently shook her head in denial, as tears began to form in her eyes.

  “Miss Khan the nature of your injuries suggests an attack of the most violent nature. By protecting the attacker you risk this happening to other individuals, innocent people whose trauma or even death might be prevented by your testimony.”

  Adilaah began to well up as the tears began to stream from her traumatised face, and Nick could barely contain his own remorse for her predicament.

  “You don’t have to make this so hard on yourself. Your attacker is known to you?” The Constable probed further.

  Adilaah nodded reluctantly.

  “Is it a family member?”

  Adilaah nodded again, as Nick took a deep breath, his heart breaking for Adilaah’s torment.

  “Now take your time,” The Constable coaxed, “Can you tell me who it is? You are safe here. No one can hurt you.”

  Adilaah vehemently shook her head in denial unable to let the truth reign free.

  “Miss Khan please. You’ve been raped. You’ve been beaten and been in coma for three days. Don’t let this person get away with this unpunished. Is this really the person you want to be protecting? Find the strength to face this, to face your attacker…” The Constable convinced.

  Adilaah sat silently as she looked up to the camera. Her eyes made contact with Nick’s as her might rose from within, encouraging her to utter the all-important truth.

  This time the words resonated with Adilaah on a primal level and suddenly she found doubtless resolution and boundless strength. She opened her mouth, struggling to pronounce the words, but then uttered them nevertheless.

  “My father. My father did this to me!” Adilaah lamented, seething with rage and scorn.

  Nick clicked on the mousepad and paused on the image of Adilaah’s distraught frozen face. He stared into her anguished hollow eyes as her ghostly image stared back at him reaching out like a spectre from beyond the grave.

  17

  Sleep evaded Nick as he lay in bed wrestling with the image of Adilaah’s forlorn and embattled face. It haunted him to the core, upsetting his conscience and constitution. The rape had clearly happened after they had separated. He had told her to go back to her father and the life that came with it. He told her that she was more in love with that, than him. They were words said in anger. He did not mean them. He knew that she loved him as much as he loved her, but he wanted to have her all to himself. Now he regretted those harsh, selfish words. For she was clearly not in love with the brutality and fear that was her existence. In him she saw an opportunity to have some semblance of a normal life. Most of all, to have love.

  Nick closed his eyes as he tried to find solace in that thought. He had been her only love. Her only hope. He turned over to his side and pulled the covers over his head as a means of escape from the precluded reality that was his bedroom and travelled back to another time.

  Then there she was, holding a book in her hands. Her face was plump and healthy, full of youthful exuberance and life, free from the purple swollen bruises that bore the brunt of her father’s onslaught. Nick’s breathing shallowed and he focused on the memory of her words:

  Thou hast said that Thou wilt torment me,

  But I shall fear not such a warning.

  For where Thou art, there can be no torment,

  And where Thou art not, how can such a place exist?

  The rotating wheel of heaven within which we wonder,

  Is an imaginal lamp of which we have knowledge by similitude.

  The sun is the candle and the world the lamp,

  We are like forms revolving within it.

  A drop of water falls in an ocean wide,

  A grain of dust becomes with earth allied.

  “Thou wilt torment me. But I shall fear not such a warning. For where thou art, there can be no torment,” Nick whispered the words back from memory. He had heard Adilaah recite those words and so did Nadir.

  Nick sprung out of bed as though he had become possessed by a demon and raced naked through his hallway and across to a pile of books unceremoniously stacked in the corner of his living room. He waded through each title, tossing the ones that did resound with his search. Then suddenly he stumbled across the book that he was searching for, reading the title as he examined it: The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. It was still in its original ribbon wrapping, as he gently caressed it stirring up the memory of how he received it from Adilaah.

  ~

  Adilaah stood in a hallowed light almost in the same spot where Nick was kneeling over his pile of books. She placed the white leather-bound book in his hands as if she was handing over something sacred and of value. Then she handed him a card.

  “Read the inscription,” Adilaah said affectionately. Nick opened the card it read:

  Don’t remember the last day,

  Don’t cry for the future,

  In the past and in the future don’t believe,

  Live today and don’t lose in the wind your life.

  Nick sighed heavily as the words were written for him to read that very moment, in his present state.

  Then he remembered asking, “Can I open it?”, as he beheld the book, and she replied,

  “Open it when I’m gone.”

  ~

  But now it was time Nick thought, as he pulled the ribbon off and let it fall casually to the floor. He carefully opened the book as the flood of anticipation overwhelmed him. He studied the first page and he recognised Adilaah’s handwriting. Her words came to life as he read them:

  My escape is my journal and its words. The poems are my carriages, transporting me away from my father’s hand.

  Nick turned to another page.

  I fear for my life. I think he is going to kill me.

  Then he briskly turned to another page and more of her confessions saw light;

  He told me he loves me, and I wish I could have said the same. I wish I could love him like a normal girl. I am so trapped.

  Nick turned his attention to the facing page,

  I wish he would kill me. I can’t stand this anymore. I wish I were dead!

  Nick slammed the book shut. He could take no more of her torment. The book was full of Adilaah’s harrowing experiences, and he hated the fact that he was powerless to do anything about it while she was alive. She had come to him and she needed him to help her escape her situation. But he had done nothing. He just wanted to love her and have her for himself without regard for what she was going through and how impossible it was for her to escape. Instead he turned her away and sent her back to her tormentor. He was just as guilty as the one who had smashed her skull in, for she came to him for protection. She knew that they wouldn’t dare harm a policeman, particularly one that had such a history with the family. But for Mahmoud Khan such indiscretions could not go unpunished and as soon as he regained control over her after their affair, he beat her and raped her to remind her that he was the master in her life, one that she could never escape. One that she still could not. For all he knew, she might have tried to contact him, after the abortion, but he was submerged in his work. He used ambition as an antidote to the heartbreak and loss that he felt for her. By that point Carley was firmly in his life.

 
; 18

  Nick didn’t really want to do it but his new partner, DCI Ron Allen had told him that this was an important lead and he needed to follow it up. Nick was nervous. He had never met nor interrogated an informant before, and it’s not like they taught this in a class at the academy. This part of the job took instinct, tenacity and maturity. It came with experience, years of dealing with these kinds of people on the street. Many of these people were simply looking to trade useless information for money or protection because that were in a jam and could lose their lives without a new-found allegiance with a police constable. This why Ron sent him on his own, to see if he could succeed. A test to see if he had the right stuff that equated to detective material. And Nick knew that he had to impress his new partner.

  Ron had only given him a brief description of the informant. All he said was she was blonde with a ‘fuck-off’ attitude and that he would know her when he saw her. As he approached the door to the café, Nick paused and took a deep breath. He was nervous yet, strangely excited. This is what he had always wanted to do since being a little boy and seeing his heroes on so many TV cop shows. He pushed through the weathered wooden door and was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of fried eggs and grilled bacon. The smell filled his nose and travelled straight down to his stomach awakening a fervent hunger pang. It was almost lunchtime and the cafe was almost full, so the place must have been good, and judging by the wonderful aromas, he didn’t have to guess why.

  Nick carefully surveyed the place, noting any suspicious persons or reactions. His training had started to fuel his natural instinct and strangely the assertion and authority in his presence instantly made the onlookers realise he was a detective, albeit a trainee. He looked around slowly, carefully analysing the appearance and body language of each individual, but none seemed to fit the description of his informant. He made another sweep, but this time he caught sight of someone who had occupied a table by herself. She had her head buried in her arms, lying face down on the table, and did not see Nick walk in, but on his second pass she clocked him and realised he was her contact. Their eyes met and he slowly moved toward her table. She watched him strangely transfixed. She was wearing a scruffy bobble hat, a worn sweat shirt over a tight skirt and fish net stockings, covering a skinny, pouting figure. Nick gazed at her too, as he moved to confront her, catching a portentous stare from the greasy cook who Nick could only guess was the owner. She removed her bobble hat to reveal tightly pulled back platinum blonde hair, and Nick couldn’t help but admire her emerald blue eyes set in her white slightly freckled face.

  “Ron with you?” She asked, somewhat bluntly.

  “No. I’m alone,” Nick replied dryly as he sat down.

  “But I needed to talk to him,” She said impatiently and began to fidget with the overly long sleeves on her grubby sweat shirt, scratchy at her forearms.

  Nick could tell that she had been using for a while, and she was on a solid come down. She was edgy and twitchy, and it wouldn’t be long before she would need the welcome relief only the cooked contents of a needle would provide.

  Just then a middle-aged wrinkled leather-faced waitress appeared before them with a less than courteous manner.

  “You gonna eat?” She barked, as she stared at Nick’s companion with outright revulsion, making it clear that she was not welcome.

  “All day breakfast, please,” Nick answered quickly, diffusing the situation.

  “What about her?” The waitress replied with indignance, hardly making any eye contact with the girl.

  “She’ll have the same,” Nick replied briskly, his manner dismissing the impertinent woman, “And tea,” he shouted as she stormed off. Then he smiled at the girl across from him and she cracked an empty smile in return, an expression she had clearly not used in a while.

  Nick watched her manner and under the objectionable junkie exterior there was something else, an enduring palpable sense of herself that had fallen prey to something which she had no choice over. But she would never let it overtake her. In her eyes she bore the last vestige of her unwavering strength. And Nick could see that. Perhaps he was the only one who could see it. The waitress didn’t and judged her otherwise, seeing only a street skank that was unwelcome in the cafe. Though, Nick had made a strange connection with her, and maybe it was because he felt sorry for this creature who was clearly a survivor that now seemed like a damsel in need of rescuing. In any event, this personal connection would help him pry the information from her. But something told Nick that she would be more than just an important informant that could provide the valuable inroads into a notorious gang leader and criminal. She would be something more than that.

  “Nick,” he announced gallantly to her, as she relaxed and composed herself.

  “Carley,” She said blissfully.

  ~

  Carley couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the night as she sat at the deserted bus stop patiently awaiting the number one-two-one bus. But the wait did not bother her as her thoughts were filled by Nick and the necklace around her neck. Uncharacteristically she felt like a schoolgirl besotted by a boy and revelling in an adolescent daze. It had been a long twenty-four hours, and even though she ached from fatigue, it was worth it.

  Carley stretched out her tired arms and rolled her stiff neck, massaging some relief into them. A figure appeared from the mild night air and sat slowly and calmly on the red moulded plastic seat. Carley immediately retracted her arms, permitting the stranger enough space to sit comfortably next to her in the compact space. He wore a large black hooded sweatshirt over baggy denim and white trainers. They looked expensive, Carley thought, but paid no attention to it. The route she lived on was full of unsavoury and weird characters, and by all accounts she used to be one. She reached in between her bosom and removed the necklace, admiring its alluring beauty and the significance it held for her. The hooded figure caught glimpse of the necklace, but as Carley turned to face him he turned away, returning to his frozen stature, with head drooped forward and hands buried deeply in his pocket.

  Carley looked around and the streets were deserted, as a strange sense of apprehension seemed to descend upon her. She could not understand why, but she suddenly felt the figure next to her meant her harm and that she was in mortal danger. She looked at her watch, and then slowly turned her attention to the hooded figure, but she could not see his face. Her unease became more prevalent as she began to rock back and forth, not knowing whether to run or wait for the bus.

  Suddenly in the distance the headlights of the red double-decker illuminated the dark lifeless street and Carley breathed a sigh of relief. She sprung to her feet and moved closer to the edge of the pavement, signalling its stop. The bus came to a serene halt in front of the stop and Carley could barely wait for the doors to slide open before she flung herself inside and tapped her Oyster travel card on the reader. Hastily, she headed up the winding stairs to the second deck and plonked down into a seat, watching the stairwell, to see if her hooded companion would follow. There was no sign of him and Carley breathed a sigh of relief as the bus groaned off.

  Carley watched as the bus made its way along its usual route, resting her head on the window. The vibration on her temple helped relax her and her eyelids began to become heavy and droop slowly. An array of street lights and illuminated shop facades paraded by as Carley fell into a trance-like half sleep. But she awoke with a start as the familiar surrounding became unfamiliar and she realised she had gone passed her stop. Quickly she pressed the button to get the bus to stop.

  The bus began to slow down, and Carley rose from her seat, bobbing around as the top deck swayed and she plodded down the stairs in an exhausted amble, finally reaching the double doors in the middle of the coach, ready to disembark.

  Then there he was! She spotted him sitting in the rear of the lower deck, his head lowered, and face unrecognizable. Carley panicked as the middle doors slid open, and the hooded figure rose to his feet too. She froze in front of the open doors
and the chilly wind filled the bus. She tentatively looked back at the hooded figure as he had stopped by his seat too, his face still obscured.

  “Are you getting off love?” The bus driver bellowed.

  Carley sprung from the bus hurriedly and the doors closed behind her. She galloped away in the direction of her shared house. It wasn’t far, but it was at least ten to twelve minutes walking, and in this neighbourhood, nobody would open the door if she suddenly screamed out in peril. She ran as fast as she could as the bus sailed past her. In her panic she couldn’t tell if the hooded figure had alighted or remained on board. He was probably still on board and she was just being paranoid. He was just some innocent man who was too shy and that had made him seem sinister. Her tired mind was just playing tricks on her she thought. How foolish.

  But then the bus slowed and stopped ahead, and Carley froze. How could this be? It never stopped unless it was at a designated stop. Unless the bus driver had come face-to-face with the same man that gave an otherwise streetwise Carley the chills, and he stopped to let him off, not wanting to risk his own skin.

  Carley watched as the doors opened and almost as if it was in slow motion, the hooded figure alighted, one foot at a time and then stood shrouded in shadow a few metres before her. The bus sped off and Carley gulped as she looked around anxiously. The figure just stood and watched her.

  Then she hurriedly darted left into one of the small alleyways between the large foreboding houses of the street. Carley ran as fast as she could, using the shadows for cover and searching for a place to hide from her pursuer. Before her stood a sealed archway on the side of a house and she planted herself in it, holding her breath and trying to silence her panting. As she quietened, the eerie silence of the street pervaded, and she popped her head out slowly trying to see if the hooded figure was still on her tail. Carley reached into her pocket and removed her phone, dialling Nick’s number and holding the phone to her ear but got the voice of his answerphone.