The Common Enemy

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Emotions are running high outside Middlebury Islamic Centre, the scene of yesterday’s arson attack that injured eight and left an eighty-nine-year-old and her three-year-old great-grandson fighting for their lives in hospital,’ intoned a grave-looking reporter.

  ‘Crowds have been gathering all day to pay their respects and send their prayers and best wishes to those hurt in the attack. Middlesbury’s close-knit Muslim community are understandably upset and worried by yesterday’s attack but some are also concerned by the wider implications. Imam Danyal Mehmud leads prayers at the community centre.’ The camera panned back slightly, revealing the young imam. He looked sick.

  ‘Can you describe how residents are feeling at the moment?’

  ‘Umm, obviously we are shocked and saddened, and we pray for the recovery of those injured yesterday.’

  ‘What are your thoughts on calls for the officer in-charge of yesterday’s operation to be suspended? Should there be an inquiry into the decision to remove the guard from the Islamic Centre in favour of policing the town centre?’

  Mehmud licked his lips, trying to find appropriately diplomatic language.

  ‘Ask the police why they are spending so much money protecting white fascists marching through our town centre and won’t lift a finger to help innocent Muslims?’ The young man with the beard had somehow pushed his way in front of the camera again.

  The camera-operator nimbly twisted to keep Imam Mehmud in shot whilst blocking the intruder.

  ‘Obviously, we welcome any inquiry into the events of yesterday…’ started Mehmud.

  ‘It’ll be a whitewash,’ interrupted the man with beard again. ‘The police don’t care about Muslims. They never have done. They may as well have given a box of matches to those fascist scum.’

  ‘It should be pointed out that a spokesperson for the British Allegiance Party has categorically denied any involvement in yesterday’s arson attack,’ the journalist interjected hastily.

  ‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they?’ The unknown bearded man was now centre shot again and it was clear that the reporter had been told to go with him.

  Sensing he now had an audience, the man puffed his chest out.

  ‘The government and the police are quick enough to close down so-called hate preachers but won’t touch groups like the BAP who call for Muslims to be locked up or deported and set fire to their mosques or put bricks through their shop windows.’

  Again the reporter interrupted swiftly with, ‘A charge which the BAP deny.’ Her expression froze for a moment, evidently listening to a disembodied producer instructing her to move away from the angry young man before he said something even more defamatory.

  ‘I believe we can go over to our correspondent Steven, who has been joined by Councillor Lavindeep Kaur.’

  The camera cut, but not before the bearded man flashed a handwritten placard bearing ‘#Justice4Muslims’ and started shouting about the ‘fascist police’.

  The abrupt change was dealt with smoothly by the experienced correspondent, who wasted no time introducing Councillor Kaur. The councillor expressed her sympathy and support for the victims of the fire and drew attention to the wide variety of people, across all sections of society, who were condemning the violence both in person and online.

  ‘Do you agree with calls for the suspension of the officer in charge of yesterday’s policing operation, and calls for an independent inquiry?’

  Kaur adopted a concerned look. A middle-aged Sikh woman with jet-black hair, she wore a smart black trouser suit, a pale blue scarf her only splash of colour.

  ‘Far be it for me to suggest how the police should deal with internal disciplinary matters such as these. However, I think the people of Middlesbury – indeed Hertfordshire as a whole – have a right to ask questions about the decisions made yesterday. Decisions that led to an obviously vulnerable target being left unprotected and which ultimately resulted in an innocent toddler and his great-grandmother being seriously injured. The officers in charge of those operational decisions must be prepared to justify them.’

  ‘Sounds like a bloody lynch mob,’ grumbled Sutton quietly.

  On screen the original reporter had ditched the vocal bearded man and found somebody else to interview.

  ‘Since when have the BBC interviewed masked protestors?’ asked Sutton, aghast. ‘And what about Danyal Mehmud? He barely got a word in edgeways.’

  Glimpses of the interviewee beneath her black face mask, bandana and oversized sunglasses suggested a blonde woman of indeterminate age. Her baggy long-sleeved shirt, devoid of any identifying logos, successfully concealed her figure and comparison against the interviewer suggested unexceptional height and build.

  ‘I’m joined by Kay – not her real name – who claims to have been part of the group of counter-protestors involved in yesterday’s demonstration. My first question is why we should listen to you when you are not prepared to reveal your face?’

  The protestor’s polished response suggested the question had been anticipated.

  ‘Unfortunately, we have no choice. We supposedly live in a free and democratic society, but the state routinely tracks and follows those of us who wish to protest peacefully and exercise our right to free speech.’ The protestor’s accent gave Warren no clues about her upbringing, although he freely admitted to still struggling with accents outside the West Midlands where he’d spent his formative years.

  ‘Members of the British Allegiance Party who marched yesterday say the same thing, but they are willing to show their faces. Why should you be treated any differently?’

  ‘We are forced to wear face masks to protect ourselves from reprisals, both from the fascists and the authorities. As we saw yesterday, the police are willing to use excessive force on peaceful counter-protestors to allow the BAP to express their hateful views.’

  ‘Views that are protected by the same right to free speech that you yourself cite.’

  ‘Hate speech should not be protected speech. In fact, we have lawyers studying transcripts of the BAP’s address with a view to demanding a prosecution on the grounds of inciting racial hatred.’

  ‘Much has been made of the police discontinuing the patrol outside the Islamic Centre and how that may have left it open to attack. Could you tell us some of the views that you are hearing about that decision?’

  The masked protester straightened her shoulders slightly.

  ‘Many of us think it is symptomatic of the institutionalised racism that still exists within the police and their widely held view that the concerns and well-being of minorities are less important than those of others.’

  There were ripples of disgust from the officers watching the TV. Fortunately, the reporter was too professional to let the slur go entirely unchallenged.

  ‘That’s a rather sweeping statement.’

  ‘Kay’ shrugged.

  ‘How do you answer charges that the actions of the protestors in breaking through the police line meant that the officer-in-charge had no choice but to call in as many reinforcements as possible?’

  Again ‘Kay’ shrugged. ‘Yet more evidence that the police’s priorities on Saturday were wrong.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that the police should have allowed protestors to assault the marchers? After all, there is clear footage of protestors throwing stones and bottles at both the police and the BAP.’

  ‘Kay’ paused, realising the dangerous waters she suddenly found herself in.

  ‘At last some balanced journalism,’ somebody muttered from the back of the office.

  ‘No, what I meant was the police had clearly under-resourced yesterday’s operation, even though it was obvious that there was potential for significant trouble…’

  ‘Caused in part by the actions of some of the counter-protestors,’ interjected the reporter.

  ‘… caused by the police not taking seriously the concerns of local residents – from all sections of the community – who have repeatedly said that they did not wa
nt fascists marching through their town.’ She paused for breath.

  ‘If the officer in charge of the operation and his or her superiors had taken the threat posed by the BAP to minorities seriously, they would have deployed enough officers to not only adequately police the march but to protect the targets of this group’s hatred. Not just the Islamic Centre but the synagogue, the Afro-Caribbean centre, meeting halls for the Sikh and Hindu communities and pubs and bars associated with the LGBT community among others.’

  ‘Anywhere else you’d like us to stand outside?’ grumbled the voice from the back again. Warren decided not to turn around but made a note to address the discontent later.

  ‘That would be an expensive operation at a time when police budgets are under increasing pressure,’ noted the reporter.

  ‘You can’t put a price on people’s lives,’ the protestor responded primly. ‘I’m sure that with enough motivation Hertfordshire Constabulary could have policed the event proportionately and cost-effectively.’

  ‘But doesn’t that require the cooperation of all parties involved?’

  ‘Of course. We made it clear that we would be counter-protesting at the march; yesterday was entirely predictable.’

  ‘But was it? According to sources involved in yesterday’s counter-protest, steps were made to conceal the true numbers of protestors planning on turning up to the march.’

  For the first time, ‘Kay’ seemed to be lost for words.

  ‘According to an email seen by the BBC, organisers were told to “keep it quiet” and “not let the pigs get a handle on numbers”. In fact, they were deliberately told to “go old school and keep clear of social media” and make arrangements by word-of-mouth.’

  ‘Hah! Burned!’ came the voice from the back.

  Suddenly on the back foot, ‘Kay’ mumbled something about not having seen the email and being unable to comment. The journalist let her stew for a moment before thanking her for her time and returning to the studio.

  ‘Could have gone worse, I suppose,’ said Sutton.

  ‘Well, at least we’re trending on Twitter,’ said Gary Hastings, holding up his smartphone.

  ‘Is that a good thing?’ asked Warren.

  Hastings scrolled for a few seconds and winced.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Well, let’s leave Twitter to sort itself out.’ Warren raised his voice slightly, and pointedly addressed the back of the room. ‘I shall repeat the Assistant Chief Constable’s instruction, “stay off social media”.’

  A few muttered assents, including from the back corner, were enough to satisfy him.

  A brief circuit of the room revealed nothing urgent that couldn’t wait until the following morning and so Warren decided to check his email for anything pressing and finally head home.

  The blinking red light on his telephone console told him that he had a voicemail waiting for him.

  ‘DCI Jones, it’s Andy Harrison here. Check your email, we’ve found the murder weapon. I’ve taken a photo and sent it to you.’ The man’s voice sounded more serious than Warren could ever remember. ‘If it’s what I think it is, the shit’s about to hit the fan big time.’

  Warren’s gut tightened as he typed his username and password into his computer then clicked straight to the message from Harrison, with its attached image.

  Warren felt as if he’d been punched.

  Middlesbury was going to burn.

  Monday 21st July

  Chapter 13

  ‘It’s a Kirpan. A ceremonial knife worn by baptised Sikhs.’

  A groan rose from the officers assembled for the 8 a.m. briefing.

  ‘SOCO have already done a presumptive blood test on the stains on the blade and it’s come up positive. We’ll need a DNA match obviously, and Professor Jordan will be checking it’s consistent with the wound, but I wouldn’t want to bet against it.’

  The knife on the screen had a wicked-looking curved blade made from stainless steel. A blade covered in blood. The handle was made of brass with elaborate engravings in Indian script.

  ‘They’re using acrylate to pull some partial prints off the handle. Hopefully there will be enough reference points for a positive match. They also found a dark blue nylon fibre caught on the edge of the blade. It doesn’t match anything on the victim and they’re trying to exclude contamination from the bin.’

  DSI Grayson cleared his throat, taking over from Warren.

  ‘Confirmation that the leader of the BAP was murdered by an individual from one of our minority communities has the potential to spark rioting or even worse.’

  ‘I thought the BAP were marching against the new super mosque?’ said a middle-aged sergeant on loan from Welwyn. ‘What would one of them be doing with a Sikh knife?’

  ‘The BAP are a threat to anyone who doesn’t fit their notion of what modern Britain should consist of,’ answered Warren, uncomfortable with the man’s usage of the tabloid term ‘super mosque’. ‘There were counter-protestors from lots of different sections of the community.’

  Grayson took over again. ‘We can all imagine the significance of this find – and the need for discretion.’

  He looked around the room, making eye contact with everybody present. ‘I shall repeat what ACC Naseem said yesterday: there will be no contact with the press or the general public without my direct say-so. Any queries are to be directed specifically to the press office. Have I made myself clear?’

  There were nods all around the table.

  * * *

  ‘This is bad news, Warren.’ The two men were sitting in Grayson’s office. ‘You were in that meeting yesterday. That was a clear warning about the future of Middlesbury CID if we don’t solve this quickly. It’s personal for all of us.’

  Warren remained silent. He’d worked for Grayson for three years, and whilst the two men were hardly close, he could see that the older man needed to get something off his chest.

  Grayson stood up, and walked to the window, staring out onto the car park below.

  ‘Tommy Meegan was an arsehole. Part of me is relieved that he’s dead. But the fallout from this could be devastating.’ The man’s shoulders bunched as he gripped the window ledge.

  ‘If it turns out that he was killed by a minority, then it’s playing right into the far-right’s hands. Some of these bastards still want a race war, and now they’re the victims. With the power of social media behind them this could give them exactly what they want.’

  He turned and Warren saw a rare crack in the man’s usual composure.

  ‘The Stephen Lawrence murder was a turning point in this country, I truly believe that. Not just the institutionalised racism charges, Lord knows the police have got a lot more work to do on that score, but for the public’s perception of what it can be like to be black in this country. That poor boy was simply waiting for a bus and those animals killed him, just because they could. It shocked our society, Warren, and made people start to see these racist thugs for what they are. The legacy of that killing was to expose the nasty, filthy underbelly that still exists in some quarters.

  ‘It’s why the BAP have been looking for new targets. We know that every time some so-called Islamist extremist commits an act of terror, the number of attacks on Muslims jumps. If the murder weapon does turn out to be a Kirpan, it’ll be open season on our Sikh community also, and anyone else with brown skin and a beard. Will we see a surge in popularity for groups like the BAP?’

  ‘I’m also worried about copycat killings,’ said Warren. ‘What if we see a rise in vigilante justice? At the moment, the anti-fascist crowd limit themselves to counter-protests; what if the murder of Tommy Meegan is just the first?’

  Grayson was silent. When he eventually spoke again, his voice was quiet. ‘This goes no further than this room, you understand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘ACC Naseem has asked for a report into the likelihood that this might be the start of concerted action against individual members of the far-right
. There are those within the anti-fascist community who publicly state that the laws regarding hate speech and racially motivated violence do not go far enough, and that the police do not have the resources – or the motivation – to deal with the problem. Until last week, the feeling was that these people were all mouth and trousers, but now we’re starting to wonder if there might be real intent behind the computer screens.’

  ‘Shit,’ breathed Warren. ‘That’s all we need, vigilantes taking the law into their own hands.’

  The situation was worse than he’d feared; where would it end? Far-right extremists and overzealous anti-fascists attacking and killing one another would be bad enough, but what about the general public? What about those innocents in the wrong place at the wrong time? Could the hatred between these groups really undo all the progress made since the Eighties?

  Warren vividly remembered the Bradford riots in 2001. On the face of it, modern day Middlesbury was as far removed from the Bradford of a decade and a half previously as one could imagine. But society had changed enormously in that time, not least with the rise of social media. Could Middlesbury really be at the epicentre of a new explosion of violence? The fact that senior officers had gone as far as commissioning a study into the likelihood of such a scenario, told Warren that it was more than idle speculation; no wonder he had been sworn to secrecy. If the media got wind that such a report was being prepared, the headlines would be explosive.

  ‘Maybe I’m overreacting,’ said Grayson. ‘Maybe the progress made since Stephen Lawrence was killed is too great to be derailed by this one act, but I don’t mind telling you, I’m scared, Warren. For Middlesbury and for Britain as a whole. And for my kids.’

  Grayson picked up the photograph that sat on his desk.

  ‘You know my family, Warren. You know it’s personal to me. When our boys started going out in the evening, Refilwe and I would lie awake until we heard them come in. They’re only a quarter black, but you can see it in their features. It would certainly be enough for those bastards to take exception to. We tried to play it down of course, but we still had to talk to them about it: keep an eye out for trouble, don’t react to provocation, and if in doubt run.’ He smiled grimly. ‘All things that my wife is singularly bad at. Touch wood, nothing’s ever happened and we stopped worrying about it so much once they went to university. Things have moved on, we told ourselves. But now…’