The Common Enemy

by Paul Gitsham

  ‘Are those records archived?’

  ‘No, we securely destroy them five years after the student leaves or when they turn twenty-one, whichever comes later. Key data is kept obviously, in case of requests for references, helping replace lost exam certificates, or child protection issues, but the reams of paper about a student’s behaviour, their internal test scores etc. are destroyed. We just don’t have the space.’

  ‘Mr Singh attended around the turn of the century. What records do you have on him?’

  Sims pulled across her laptop and input a password.

  ‘He joined us in September 1998 as a year seven, from one of our local feeder schools. He left us in July 2003 after completing year eleven.’

  ‘So he didn’t stay on to sixth form? Where did he go after finishing here?’

  ‘I’m afraid that information isn’t recorded on our system.’ She paused. ‘Binay didn’t really fit. He sat his GCSEs, but as I recall he didn’t live up to his potential.’

  Warren was surprised. ‘You remember him?’

  ‘I never taught him, but some pupils you never forget. I was newly qualified when he started. Let’s just say he made a name for himself and built quite a reputation over the years.’

  ‘Not in a good way, I take it?’

  ‘No. I don’t recall most of the details, but his name was almost permanently on the detention list and I remember him getting into trouble for fighting a lot. He also stood out in appearance.’

  ‘Because he was Sikh?’

  ‘Yes, he started school wearing one of those small cloths that young Sikh lads wear before their hair is long enough to need a full turban, I think they call them patkas. By the end of year eleven he had a full beard and turban.’

  ‘Was he the only Sikh pupil?’

  ‘As far as I remember. Things are different now of course. He had a sister, but I think he’d left by the time she came in. I taught her – sweet girl.’

  ‘Do you know if he was especially observant back then?’

  ‘I’m sorry, there have been rather a lot of students since.’

  ‘I can imagine. My wife is a teacher, I don’t know how she remembers so many ex-pupils. Is there anyone else who might remember him?’

  Sims pursed her lips. ‘We lost a lot of staff a few years ago.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘Let’s just say it wasn’t our decision to convert to an academy. A lot of teachers decided they couldn’t face being under special measures and jumped ship.’

  ‘But you stayed?’

  There was a sudden flash of steel behind her smile. ‘I like a challenge.’

  Etheridge cleared his throat. ‘And you’ve certainly met that challenge. Deputy Head, then Head. Last year’s OFSTED inspection was a good with outstanding features.’

  Warren acknowledged her accomplishment then continued. ‘And did anyone else remain?’

  ‘A few, but unfortunately we don’t keep timetable data on past pupils so I couldn’t tell you who taught him.’

  Warren tried to hide his disappointment.

  ‘No, wait, hang on, it says his form group from year seven to eleven was HS – that’s Henry Schneider. He still teaches maths and computing three days a week. He’s retiring next summer.’

  * * *

  Warren’s luck was holding, it seemed. Despite a warning from Sims that he usually spent the summer vacation in the South of France with his wife’s family, Henry Schneider agreed to meet Warren that day.

  ‘Our daughter has just had a baby – our first grandchild – so we decided to spend the first half of the holiday playing Grand-Mère and Granddad before going to France.’

  Schneider didn’t look old enough to be a grandfather, with the healthy glow that came from an active lifestyle, good genes and the pride of a new grandparent. To Warren’s untrained eye, the mountain bike propped against the hallway looked like an expensive piece of kit, and the man’s baggy shorts showed off an impressive musculature for a man of any age, especially one approaching retirement.

  ‘Jenny Sims tells me you want to talk about one of my old pupils.’ He led Warren into the kitchen and handed him a glass of icy water from a cooler in the fridge. Warren gratefully swallowed half of it in one gulp. The weather had cooled slightly over the past few days but it was still uncomfortably warm.

  ‘Binay Singh Mahal.’

  Schneider sighed. ‘Such a waste. I remember him very clearly. He was in my first form group when I joined the school. I can still picture them on their first day in year seven; blazers too big for them, pencil cases full of brand-new equipment, scared stiff that they were going to get a detention for not doing their homework and still putting their hand up to ask if they needed to underline the title and date.’

  He smiled fondly. ‘Of course it doesn’t last. By the end of year ten, some of them had spent so much time in the isolation unit they deserved a blue plaque from English Heritage and tried to avoid me where possible. Of course, at the year eleven leavers’ ball they all wanted a photograph with me and there were tears.’ He smiled unselfconsciously. ‘Me too, I’ll admit.’

  Warren smiled back. Susan felt the same way; complaining about the behaviour of some of her pupils all year then trying not to cry on the last day of term when they moved on.

  ‘What do you remember about him?’

  ‘He had a lot of potential, but it all came to nothing. There were moments that I really thought he wouldn’t make it to the end of year eleven. Fighting, defiance towards teachers, refusing to do homework. I had his parents in at least once a month towards the end. When he turned sixteen we sent him home on early study leave – it was either that or wait until he did something really stupid and got himself permanently excluded. I didn’t think he’d turn up for his exams, to be honest, but he did and despite everything, didn’t do nearly as badly as I’d feared. Enough to get him onto a college course or into a job, at least.’

  ‘And did he?’

  Schneider shrugged. ‘No idea.’ He smiled sadly. ‘You know what teenagers are like. They live in the moment. Despite all the promises, very few keep in touch after they’ve gone. I did ask his sister what he was doing, but she didn’t seem to know.’

  ‘So do you know what went wrong? Why did he change? Was it just a teenage thing, do you think?’

  Schneider shook his head. ‘No, I can tell you exactly why he changed and even the date when it happened.’

  ‘The date?’

  ‘Yes, a single day. September the eleventh 2001.’

  Chapter 60

  Tony Sutton was struggling to keep the frustration out of his voice.

  ‘Why am I only just being told this now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, we’re in chaos at the moment. Fire investigation is outsourced to a different supplier to trace evidence collection. Since they were two different cases, nobody thought to join the dots until I did a case review.’

  Sutton let out a calming breath. It wasn’t Harrison’s fault, and he should be grateful that the experienced CSI had made the connection. At least this time. Would they be able to rely on this happening in the future?

  ‘Thanks, Andy, sorry I snapped.’

  ‘Completely understandable, sir.’

  Sutton hung up. Despite everything he was starting to feel excited.

  The phone rang again and Sutton braced himself for more bad news. This time it was the custody sergeant and the news was good.

  ‘Rhodri’s found his tongue,’ Sutton told Hastings. ‘I guess that smarmy lawyer of his has finally persuaded him that this won’t disappear after twenty-four hours like last time and he’d better start being helpful. He’s going to be in for a nasty little surprise.’

  * * *

  Warren eyed the councillor coolly. The woman’s bluster about being kept in the station for several hours like a common criminal whilst Warren disappeared off was just that. The earlier threat of arrest still hung in the air and the last thing Kaur wanted was for the affair to go any further than this room. There was a knock
at the door. Tony Sutton.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, I knew you’d want to know this immediately.’

  Warren stood up.

  ‘Interview paused. Don’t go anywhere, Councillor, we haven’t finished yet.’

  Ignoring the protests of Kaur and her lawyer, Warren followed Sutton out of the room.

  ‘Forensics just got back to me.’ He handed over the report that had been emailed.

  Warren read it silently, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  ‘Good work, Tony.’

  ‘I spoke to the Super on my way down. We’ve got enough. He’s on the phone to the CPS as we speak. But we may want to hold back, Philip Rhodri’s lawyer has indicated that he’s ready to talk.’

  Warren took a deep breath. ‘Good. Listen to what he has to say, then arrest him. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve finished here. Now stand back and get ready to duck, the shit’s about to hit the fan.’

  He reopened the door to the custody suite.

  ‘This is intolerable, DCI Jones. You have no right to insist that my client remain. I shall be lodging a formal complaint with your superior officers.’

  Warren ignored the furious lawyer, turning instead to the heavily perspiring local councillor.

  ‘Lavindeep Kaur. I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice…’

  * * *

  In a different interview suite, at the opposite end of the building, the name of Philip Rhodri’s accomplice in the white car, when it came, was barely audible, and Tony Sutton insisted that he repeat it for the benefit of the tape.

  ‘I didn’t do it.’ Rhodri’s voice was close to breaking.

  ‘Didn’t do what, Philip?’

  ‘I didn’t kill Tommy Meegan.’

  Sutton smiled slightly. There was no warmth in his expression.

  ‘Who said anything about Tommy Meegan?’

  Rhodri blinked in surprise.

  ‘Philip Rhodri, I am arresting you on suspicion of arson and for the murder of Syeda Fahmida…’

  * * *

  Two arrests in the space of one hour meant that Warren and Sutton had a huge amount of work to do in a very short period of time.

  Sutton had worried that once Philip Rhodri realised that he was no longer trying to defend himself against his implication in the murder of Tommy Meegan, and was now on the hook for the deadly arson at the community centre, he might clam up and start ‘no commenting’ again.

  The opposite was true. Through floods of tears he’d laid out everything that happened. By the time he finally finished, it was well after 10 p.m.

  ‘If what he says is true then it means that we got it all wrong about the murder of Tommy Meegan.’ Warren’s groan turned into a yawn; the two men had reviewed each other’s interview transcripts to make certain that they both had the complete story.

  Tony Sutton tried to stifle his own yawn.

  ‘I’ll get some blank paper and turn the coffee urn on.’

  ‘And I’ll get an extension to custody sorted, I think we’re going to need some more time to sort this mess out.’

  ‘Grayson will be pissed; he thought the whole thing was wrapped up.’

  Chapter 61

  ‘Are they trying to bleed us dry?’ Gary Hastings was rarely a shouter, but the letter from the water company on top of the landlord’s bombshell had left him in despair. It was already after 10 p.m. and he’d hoped to do another couple of hours of preparation for his interview on Wednesday before bed, but he knew he’d have to be in the office early the next morning. He thrust the bill onto the table, where Hardwick was seated. It must have been delivered after she returned from the walk-in centre otherwise she’d have picked it up from the mailbox herself.

  ‘Gary…’ she started.

  ‘Seriously? Three per cent? For doing what?’

  She tried again, but Hastings was in full flow now. ‘I was looking at our council tax bill the other day and they claim that that rise is due to an increase in the council’s contribution to policing. Really? What are they spending it on? Not us, that’s for sure, we’re getting a one per cent pay increase this year. Maybe we should become Members of Parliament, they’re asking for eleven per cent.’

  ‘Gary, we need to talk.’ Her voice was almost drowned out by the roar of the tap as Hastings filled the kettle.

  ‘I spoke to DCI Jones today about overtime and he said I should be concentrating on my selection interview.’ He sighed, loosening his tie. ‘I suppose he’s right.’

  ‘Gary…’ Hardwick tried again.

  ‘I know you’ve been feeling ill, but do you reckon you’ll be able to pick up any extra hours?’

  ‘Gary. I’m pregnant.’

  The sudden silence was broken only by the sound of running water.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘“Shit”? I tell you I’m pregnant and you say, “Shit”?’

  ‘No. I mean, that’s wonderful,’ Hastings stammered. ‘Bollocks.’ The kettle had now overflowed and was spraying water all over the counter. He hastily shut off the tap, before grabbing a tea towel to mop up the mess.

  ‘I can’t believe you.’

  Hastings dropped the tea towel.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was stressed about money and I said the first thing that came into my head.’

  ‘That was the first thing that came into your head? How much money a baby – our baby – was going to cost?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Gary. You’re no good at it.’

  Hardwick stood abruptly.

  ‘Karen, I’m sorry.’

  She marched towards the bedroom, pausing only to throw over her shoulder. ‘It’s due in March by the way, assuming you give a toss.’

  The door slammed.

  Hastings sat down heavily.

  Pregnant? He couldn’t believe it. More importantly, he couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth. He placed his head on the table and groaned.

  Tuesday 29th July

  Chapter 62

  The main briefing room was standing room only. Warren and Sutton had stayed up until the early hours and were now confident that they could explain much of what had happened on the fateful day. A dry run with Grayson had received his approval, and they had been given the go ahead to charge by the Crown Prosecution Service.

  Philip Rhodri had already confessed to his role in the day’s events and Councillor Kaur was taking legal advice; the question was whether Binay Singh Mahal would put his hands up. A confession wasn’t necessary, but Warren knew he wouldn’t feel fully satisfied unless he got one. Furthermore, there were still significant unanswered questions. Today would bring some closure, but the case was far from complete.

  Unfortunately, Hastings had pre-booked personal leave to prepare for his upcoming sergeant’s interview and would likely miss out on the fruits of all his hard work. However, Warren was pleased to see that Karen Hardwick was back, although she looked very pale under her make-up.

  After running through the state of the case so far, Warren assigned everyone their roles and wished them luck, before dismissing them.

  As everyone filed out of the room, John Grayson made his way to the front, accompanied by Theo Garfield, who looked grim.

  ‘Good work, Warren. But before you get stuck in, we need to have a chat.’

  * * *

  Warren had been half expecting the conversation, nevertheless he was surprised at the number of senior officers packed into Grayson’s office.

  ‘Good work, Warren,’ started ACC Naseem, rising to shake his hand.

  ‘Well, I had a lot of support from my team and Inspector Garfield.’

  ‘Of course. I’ve spoken to the Crown Prosecution Service and they seem confident that the charges will stick. Are you similarly confident?’

  Warren hid his surprise. ‘Of course, sir. Do you have doubts?’

  He sighed. ‘No, John has shown me everything and it looks as though you’ve got your man. Or rather
, men.’

  Warren said nothing. He could guess what had kept the senior officer awake last night.

  ‘You know this is going to be explosive?’

  It was a rhetorical question.

  ‘If we handle this wrong the BAP and the far-right will leap on it.’

  Warren felt the last vestiges of satisfaction start to ebb away. However, he was unsure what was expected of him; he said as much.

  ‘Do your job, Warren. Solve these damn cases. And keep it quiet. The last thing we need is the BAP and other groups playing the victim card.

  ‘We need to control how this information enters the public domain. I’ll be briefing spokespeople from all of the different communities and groups involved this afternoon with a view to developing some sort of strategy to minimise the inevitable shitstorm heading our way. We do not need anybody from inside the investigation helping their favourite journalist scoop his or her rivals. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Crystal.’

  ‘Spend whatever you need, jump whatever queues need to be jumped, this is our number one priority. On August the first Tommy Meegan is going to be buried in his local church and every nasty little racist on the continent is planning on turning up for the wake.’

  Chapter 63

  Binay Singh Mahal’s opening salvo was as bombastic as usual. Warren batted away his solicitor’s observation that Singh Mahal had been in custody for almost twenty-four hours with reference to the extension he’d had authorised that morning.

  ‘Mr Singh, we can put an end to this very quickly if you could tell us your whereabouts on the afternoon of Saturday, July the nineteenth.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘According to your previous statement and that of Councillor Kaur, you were preparing langar at the Sikh Community Centre – a statement that she has now admitted was false. You also stated that you left early to watch the football but were unable to recall the match.’