The Common Enemy

by Paul Gitsham

  Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘A six-year-old with a swastika drawn on his neck. Can you believe it? I told him it wasn’t right. That it wasn’t funny. But he ignored me. As usual.’

  She took a long drag on her cigarette, the Family Liaison Officer deftly passing her an ashtray before the ash spilled onto the carpet.

  ‘Thank you, Kevin.’

  Her eyes turned inward for a second, as if trying to retrieve her memories.

  ‘Tommy was just a copy of his old man. If Ray had been a better man – a nicer man – Tommy could have been a lovely boy.’

  ‘What about Jimmy?’ asked Warren, eventually.

  Meegan let out a long sigh. ‘He was different. He… enjoyed it.’

  Her eyes were misty and Warren could tell that this was the first time she had voiced thoughts that had lain upon her mind for years.

  ‘The hatred was always there in Jimmy. From the day he was born, he seemed angry at the world. All babies cry, but when Jimmy was hungry he seemed so furious. Even Ray was surprised sometimes. If Tommy was upset, Ray would take him for a walk in the pushchair and he’d soon be sound asleep. Not Jimmy. If anything, he’d be screaming louder when he got back than when he left.’

  Stubbing out the cigarette, she fished the handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose.

  ‘Jimmy was unkind to other children.’ Her tone dripped with understatement.

  ‘Both boys liked a fight – and Ray encouraged them to stick up for themselves. But Jimmy fought dirty. I remember being called in by the school when he was in reception. He’d only just turned five. There’d been some sort of disagreement. Nothing major, but it had ended up in a scrap. Despite his size, it took two teachers to drag Jimmy off the boy. Thankfully, nobody was seriously hurt.’ She paused. ‘A few days later Jimmy got himself a lunchtime detention for damaging the other boy’s work. The teacher left him alone in the classroom for a few minutes; when she came back, Jimmy had taken her extra-sharp scissors from her drawer and had cut the other little boy’s brand-new coat into little pieces.’

  She shook her head, her gravelly voice barely audible.

  ‘What sort of a five-year-old can hold a grudge that long and be so devious?’

  It was a hypothetical question.

  ‘People will say that it’s our fault our boys turned out the way they did. Maybe they’re right.’ Her eyes snapped back, her stare penetrating him. ‘I know why you’re here. You’re here because you’re going to release Jimmy’s name to the press. You’re hoping to stop Tommy’s funeral tomorrow becoming a magnet for every hate group in Europe. And you’re here because you want my help. You think that Jimmy is going to turn up on my doorstep.’ She sniffed. ‘You want me to betray my last remaining child.’

  ‘Mary…’ Warren wasn’t sure what to say. She was right. He was there because the press release was already hitting the inboxes of reporters across the country and he didn’t want her to hear news of the developments second-hand.

  And she was right; maybe Jimmy Meegan would turn up on his mother’s doorstep, looking for her help. Had the drugs made him that unstable? Perhaps he’d just phone his mother. Warren admitted as much.

  ‘Tomorrow I am burying my first child.’ She paused for a moment. ‘My second child is as good as dead to me. If you want me to help you bury him, just give me a fucking spade.’

  Friday 1st August

  Chapter 78

  ‘Well done, Warren.’ Even over the speakerphone the relief in ACC Naseem’s voice was palpable.

  ‘It was a team effort between Middlesbury and colleagues in Welwyn, especially Inspector Garfield,’ replied Warren modestly.

  ‘Of course. Is he with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, he’s got his hands full with the Hate Crime Intelligence Unit keeping an eye on the attendees for Tommy Meegan’s funeral.’

  ‘Well, I imagine that the revelation that he was killed by his own brother has taken the shine off that somewhat.’ Was that a trace of a smile in the man’s voice?

  ‘I hope so.’

  The decision to release a photograph the previous night of Jimmy Meegan and reveal that he was wanted in connection with his brother’s murder had been as much a political decision as a policing one. The story had been reported by the late-night news and even one or two of the more nimble morning newspapers; equally importantly it had been picked up by social media and by the time Warren met his team in his office that morning, it was already being shared widely. The impact on the day’s funeral had yet to be seen.

  ‘So Jimmy Meegan lured his brother to that alleyway where he’d already stashed some spare clothes along with the stolen Kirpan. I presume that he was also responsible for the broken CCTV camera?’

  ‘We assume so.’

  ‘He then stabbed him, bagged his blood-soaked clothes and switched the England shirt he’d been wearing during the riot for an identical one, before chucking the bag of clothes onto the roof of the chippy and walking cool as you please to The Feathers for a pint. That’s cold.’

  Warren wondered if the details of these latest cases would end up in the book that the Assistant Chief Constable was rumoured to be writing, ready for publication when he retired.

  ‘We’re still waiting for forensics to prove that he was wearing those clothes, but there is plenty of circumstantial evidence linking him to them if the DNA is too mixed to separate. Not least the fact that video footage from the day of the riot shows him picking up blood on his England shirt from punching a protestor, and those spots magically disappearing hours later in the pub when he was informed of his brother’s death. Hence the receipt for two identical England shirts in his waste bin. He could claim that he got changed in The Feathers, but he plainly has no bags with him during the day and apart from a couple of very brief trips to the toilet he wouldn’t have had an opportunity to swap shirts.’

  ‘Except during that period when he was finding his way to The Feathers.’

  ‘The jury will laugh him out of court if he tries to claim that. They’ll want to know exactly why he decided to get changed, where he got his spare set of clothes from and what he did with his old ones – given that an identical shirt was found concealed near the murder scene.’

  ‘So the motive for the killing was a response to blackmail?’

  ‘Possibly. We won’t know for sure unless Jimmy confesses, but I think that he and Tommy had a falling out over the political direction of the party. Jimmy’s neighbours reported several late-night arguments between the two men about the time that Binay Singh Mahal started talking to him. Unfortunately, they couldn’t make out what was being said. I think Jimmy threatened to expose his links to Sikhs Against Jihadis, which would probably have resulted in him being ousted as leader of the party.’

  ‘How would Jimmy know about that?’

  ‘Well, according to Marcus Davenport, Jimmy was well known for unlocking people’s phones when they left them unattended and messing about with them. He could have stumbled across the messages. Alternately, Tommy could have told him; after all, he was expecting fifty Sikhs to turn up and protest alongside them. I can’t imagine he was going to simply spring that on Jimmy at the march.’

  ‘So what about these compromising photographs?’

  ‘I’m still waiting for confirmation from Forensic IT that they aren’t just a figment of Marcus Davenport’s imagination, but I suspect that Tommy confronted Jimmy about them, and used it as leverage to make him keep his mouth shut about Tommy’s flirtations with Sikhs Against Jihadis.’

  ‘Which caused Jimmy to flip.’

  ‘Maybe flip is the wrong word, given the complexity of the plan that he hatched. It certainly wasn’t some heat-of-the-moment thing. We believe he hacked his brother’s phone and impersonated Binay Singh Mahal to lure Tommy down that alleyway. He also fooled Singh Mahal into going out to make a call from that phone box, so he could be mugged.’

  ‘Why did he rope in Marcus Davenport? That seems like a bit of a weak link. You know
what they say about two people being able to keep a secret as long as one of them is dead.’

  ‘Good question. I suppose he may have been planning to bump off Davenport at some point in the future, but the main reason I think was cowardice, because for all his arrogance I doubt he has the balls to pick a fight with an unknown person on his own. And he probably knew Davenport was too frightened of him to say no.’

  ‘Well, it all sounds pretty plausible. Keep on plugging away, and let’s hope Jimmy Meegan turns up soon. We’ll speak face-to-face, later, after the funeral.’

  Warren thanked him and hung up, before walking out to join the rest of the team. Despite everything, there were still things bothering him.

  * * *

  ‘So we accept that Marcus Davenport took compromising photos of Jimmy Meegan, which were then somehow emailed to his brother Tommy, and that this may or may not have been a factor in Tommy’s killing?’

  ‘That seems to be about the size of it, boss,’ agreed Tony Sutton.

  ‘So the question is, who else was involved in the transmission of the photos? IT are trying to trace the route that the photos took after they left Goldie Davenport’s phone but we may need to go old school on this.’

  Warren wanted his team to thrash their way through all the possibilities before Davenport’s potential lies coloured their judgement.

  ‘First possibility is that there’s no such person and Goldie Davenport did it all himself,’ Hastings suggested.

  ‘He would certainly have a motive,’ suggested Sutton. ‘He knows what a psycho Jimmy is; he could have planned the whole thing to get rid of Tommy so he could have a clear run at his missus.’

  ‘That involves a lot of assumptions on his part,’ countered Hardwick. ‘Could he really be confident that Tommy would confront his brother with them and then be killed by him?’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t planning on the killing; maybe he just wanted to destabilise the party and take over himself? That Goldie Davenport is a lot more intelligent than we’re giving him credit for, mark my words. Plus it sounds like he had the ear of both brothers. Who knows what he was whispering in them?’ Hastings was unwilling to let his idea be dismissed without a fight.

  ‘It seems a hell of a gamble,’ said Warren. ‘By claiming he was blackmailed, Goldie has just implicated himself in a serious racially aggravated assault. He’ll probably be charged with GBH and anything else the CPS can pin on him.’

  ‘Bellies Brandon,’ suggested Hardwick. ‘He was probably present when the assault took place, so he’d know all about it.’

  ‘What’s his motive?’

  ‘See above. I reckon there’s a lot more going on there than meets the eye. Again he could be angling to capitalise on any disruption and take over.’

  ‘I can’t say he ever struck me as particularly ambitious.’

  ‘Like I said, there’s more going on there. Plus, it could be the same motive as we ascribed to Goldie; give him the photos of Jimmy, get him to confront him and get rid of the man shagging his wife.’

  ‘See above, for objections,’ said Hastings, receiving a dig in the ribs for his trouble. ‘Besides which, he doesn’t strike me as a man who believes that revenge is a dish best served cold.’

  ‘His little temper tantrum when the chief broke the news about his wife’s affair could have been staged,’ suggested Sutton. Warren winced, his shoulder twinging on cue; it certainly hadn’t felt like an act.

  ‘OK, we’ll put it to him and see what he says. Who else?’

  ‘I guess anybody else who was there the night of the assault,’ said Hardwick.

  ‘Could any of the anti-fascist crowd have found out what happened that night? I can imagine the likes of Philip Rhodri would have been ecstatic if those photos had come into their possession,’ suggested Sutton.

  Warren frowned. ‘I agree, but I’ll need some help joining the dots. How would Rhodri or somebody similar know to even blackmail Goldie into taking the photos? I can’t imagine he bumped into Jimmy whilst clubbing one night, suspected he might be gay and decided it was worth a punt.’

  ‘I’m sure if we dig hard enough on the internet there are rumours floating around about Jimmy’s preferences.’

  ‘Even then, how did he, or they, know about the assault?’ asked Hastings. ‘I think we can agree that Goldie isn’t making that part up, he’s not that daft. Rhodri, Binay Singh Mahal or anybody else in their social circles are hardly likely to have been on a night out with Goldie when the attack happened and what are the odds that Philip Rhodri, or his brethren, were a member of the football team that just happened to stumble across a lagered-up Goldie and his gang? It’s too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘I tend to agree,’ stated Warren. ‘However, we should make it a priority to find out who was there that night. I think the paperwork accompanying the victim’s statement listed his team mates and their girlfriends. Let’s see if there are any interesting names. We’ll re-interview Bellies Brandon and Goldie Davenport and see if they can make any suggestions. We should also try Philip Rhodri, seeing as he’s so cooperative at the moment. And Binay Singh Mahal, for what it’s worth.’

  It had been some days since the last confirmed sighting of Jimmy Meegan and Warren was impatient to have him in custody so that he could be charged and the whole sordid affair finished. In the meantime though, the funeral of Tommy Meegan was only hours away and Warren was as nervous as everyone else about what lay in store.

  Chapter 79

  The scale of the security surrounding the funeral of Tommy Meegan rivalled that seen on match days; somewhat ironic given the man’s convictions for football hooliganism. However, in the end it was unnecessary.

  ‘It really took the wind out of the far-right’s sails when they found out Tommy Meegan was killed by his own bloody brother. Apart from his old dear, the crematorium was empty. As for his status as a cause célèbre, my colleagues in the Social Media Intelligence Unit report lots of activity overnight,’ said Garfield. He sounded jubilant, as he filled in Warren, Sutton, Grayson and ACC Naseem.

  ‘The BAP looks as though it’s dead in the water, with as many factions as they have members, whilst the rest of the three-letter acronym groups are scrabbling to disassociate themselves from the shitstorm. Intelligence had suggested that as many as thirty members of continental race hate groups were headed our way, but our colleagues at Dover report that none of them arrived in the end.’

  ‘How is the search for Jimmy Meegan going?’ asked Naseem.

  ‘Early days, sir,’ replied Warren, ‘but we’re confident. He’s burnt a lot of bridges within the far-right community; these guys might fight like a sack full of rats, but Tommy Meegan was one of their own and it’s doubtful Jimmy’ll get a warm reception if he turns up asking for help. We’re questioning all of his acquaintances again and we’ve even spoken to his mum, although from what I’ve seen, she’s so angry she’ll be calling us, not the other way around. He hasn’t made any large cash withdrawals recently, so unless he finds a source of funding, he’ll soon be skint.’

  ‘Good work, keep at it. The sooner this bastard is locked up, the better. In the meantime, I shall be trying to repair some of the damage done to the local community.’

  Unsurprisingly, the most senior Muslim police officer in the county had taken charge of rebuilding relationships. He’d already made a discreet visit to Imam Mehmud and passed on his condolences and best wishes to his family. Warren wished him luck.

  There had already been some positive developments, even before the afternoon’s much publicised meeting between the Muslim Council of Britain and Sikh Council UK. Local Sikh business owners, horrified at the actions of Binay Singh Mahal, had pledged several thousand pounds to help repair the damage to the Islamic Centre. A working party of young Sikh men had scrubbed the graffiti from the memorial that morning. Meanwhile, a local church had cleared out its under-used hall and invited Imam Mehmud to use it for as long as necessary. Numerous local councillors – including a pr
ominent Jewish businesswoman – had pledged their unqualified support for the new mosque and community centre.

  To think for one moment that the simmering tensions between the local communities could be solved overnight would be naive, but Warren couldn’t help feeling optimistic for the future of his adopted town. And the irony that the hateful actions of a few might – in the long term – lead to less distrust between the people they tried to drive a wedge between made Warren feel better than he had in days.

  Making their excuses, Warren and Sutton left Grayson’s office.

  ‘Sirs, can we have a word?’

  Gary Hastings and Karen Hardwick looked nervous.

  ‘We’ve got some news.’

  * * *

  With a loud ping, the champagne cork bounced off the light strip and everybody assembled in CID cheered. You could say what you like about DSI Grayson, mused Warren, but he was always generous. He’d sent his PA off to find three bottles of fizzy plonk and a huge engagement card in the half-hour since Hastings and Hardwick had shyly made their announcement and he was now busy filling polystyrene cups.

  Warren looked around the room and smiled. The atmosphere had been heavy over the last few days, and the stresses and strains of his and Susan’s repeated disappointments had robbed him of much of his own good humour. The brief respite would do the team good.

  He glanced over to the far corner, where Hardwick was excitedly showing off her new ring to some of the support workers. To his left, Hastings was being teased by a couple of DCs from Welwyn.

  ‘Pregnant is she, Gary? Did her old man march you at gunpoint to the jeweller’s?’

  Fortunately, Tony Sutton stepped in to spare the young officer his blushes.

  ‘Well if she is, Johnno, at least we’ll know he isn’t shooting blanks like you.’