The Retribution

by Shankar Kashyap

  He stood there surveying the scene while waiting. ‘There’s something missing here.’ He thought, but couldn’t put a finger on it.

  “I have the forensics here Sean.”

  Sean turned to the photographer and said, “Does that camera shoot a video?”

  “Yup, but not a very good quality one.” The kid said. “But I have a good one in the car. I can go and get it.”

  “You do that. I want you to take a video of the whole house starting with the sitting room in the front.” Sean said. And turning to Tanya, “I want to show you something.”

  He knelt down again signalling the girl to do the same.

  “Once these have been photographed, I want you to send these to the lab.”

  She looked at him wondering why. “That looks like a spoon with a bit of Marmite left ….” Stopped half the sentence when she noticed the syringe. “Oh. I see what you mean. Do you think that is what I think it is?”

  “Yeah. I do.” Sean replied. “If it is, we will have the drug squad goons trampling all over here. I want to get as much info as I can before they get here.”

  He had been taken off the drug squad ever since the investigation the year before. They had not found any proof for their claims of misuse of confiscated drugs. But he was still taken off the squad.

  “It would be the best, for your own benefit. The force has lost its confidence in you.” The commissioner had said after the enquiry was finished. His own chief, James Stoker also had come in for criticism and both of them had been moved to homicide full time. His job had gone to a Mick Mills, ‘half assed upstart,’ according to James. Sean had no confidence in Mick Mills capacity as a drug enforcement officer.

  “Looks like there is enough residue in the spoon to get what we want. I’m sure the syringe and the needle will also give us enough to see what was inside.”

  “That is good. Has anyone been through the dead guy’s pockets?”

  “No. Not yet. I am finished with the powder in there. I’ll see what I can get out of his pocket.”

  “Thanks Tanya. That might tell us who he is.”

  Both of them went back into the sitting room and Tanya took out a couple of steel forceps from her bag and knelt down next to the body, avoiding the wide pool of blood around the body. It had spread almost up to the middle of the room. The bulge on the back pocket of the jeans meant a wallet. She had difficulty pulling the wallet out of the pocket down with the forceps at first. There was caked blood on the back of the jeans and the wallet was stuck inside. She took a knife out of her bag and started to scrape off the dried blood from the pocket opening. It took her nearly half an hour to get the pocket open and pull the wallet out. The wallet was bulging with twenty pound notes sticking out and several bank cards. She managed to pull them out and took it over the coffee table in corner to dust it for prints. She took out the cards and the money with forceps along with a colour photo of a beautiful Indian girl and dusted them for prints as well. The driving license said his name was Dev Sharma of George Street, Leicester.

  “He is from Kenya!” Tanya exclaimed.

  “Yeah. There are a lot of Indians here who have come from Kenya. Mainly shopkeepers.” Sean said.

  “So, do you think he is a shopkeeper?”

  “Could be. It is not the first time we have come across some shop keepers who also did a bit of drug peddling on the side.”

  Tanya was examining the Armani jacket on the large settee. She was going through the coat pockets as she spoke.

  “Wow! Look at this chief!” She exclaimed. She was holding a wad of twenty pound bills in her forceps and finding it difficult to grasp as it was so thick. Sean’s eyes widened.

  “There must be at least a thousand quid in there!” He said.

  The photographer kid had just come into the room then and whistled loudly.

  “Bloody hell. That’s a lot of money.” Sergeant said loudly. “Guess that rules out robbery as the cause.”

  “We got a Sherlock Holmes here.” Sean said with an undisguised sarcasm. “I better call the chief and fill him in.”

  He called Philip Stoker on his mobile. He must have just woken up as his voice sounded groggy over the phone. Sean filled the chief with what he had learned so far.

  “So, you think it could be drug killing?”

  “I am not sure, chief. There is something missing here. I can’t put my finger on it.” Sean replied.

  “What do you mean?” James asked.

  “It somehow does not add up. The dead guy is a well-dressed bloke from what I can see. He is wearing expensive clothes and there is an Armani jacket. Not the kind you would associate with this place. The neighbour thinks the owner must be a shopkeeper. I don’t know many shopkeepers going around in an Armani jacket either! I think there maybe drugs involved.”

  “They are getting more sophisticated Sean. Keep looking till I get there.” James replied and as an afterthought continued, “I suppose you got to tell that idiot Mick Mills. I can just see him streaking back to the commissioner about homicide interference.”

  “I have not done it yet, chief. I was going to wait till I been through the house once properly. You know how they are. Bull in a china shop. We won’t get any decent clues or prints once they romp through the house.”

  There was a noise on the other side of the line, like a muffled cough.

  “I did not hear you say that Sean. You better let them know as soon as you can.” The phone went dead before Sean could protest. He just grunted to himself and went back to the sitting dining room where Tanya and Charlie were still busy.

  “Tanya, have you finished dusting the sitting room?”

  “Yes, Sean. You can go through them if you want to.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Sean said and went into the sitting room.

  The smell of the smoke was still quite strong in there. He dare not open the windows yet. He started to go through the little chest of draw in the corner and the draw under the coffee table in the middle. Nothing. They were completely empty. There was a three seater settee against the far wall of the room with a brass stand next to it. He knelt down on the floor and took out his little torch he always carried in his jacket pocket. There was nothing under the settee either. He lifted the seats off the settee. There it was. Tucked under the middle seat cushion, yet another wad of money. He did not pick it up. He wanted Tanya to dust it for prints. He left it there and looked up at the stairs in the corner of the sitting room at the stairs leading up. The stairs creaked as he went upstairs. There were three bedrooms, two of them still bare, with no furniture. The master bedroom had a double bed, a large pine cupboard, desk, chest of draws, a dressing table and mirror.

  He stumbled on the little stool in front of the dressing table and nearly fell over. Cursing he leaned forward to pick up the stool from the floor. That is when he noticed that the cupboard door was partly open and the bottom draw of the chest was also open. He walked over careful not to touch anything and opened the cupboard door with his torch. The cupboard had a couple of designer shirts and jeans neatly hung on the rails. There was a neat row of polished shoes on the floor of the cupboard. Just as he was turning away from the cupboard he noticed that one of the shirts was out of alignment and sticking out a bit more than others. He tried to push the shirt back into line with no luck. There was something stopping it going back and was stopping the door from closing properly. He gently pushed the jacket sideways to see what was stopping it going back. There was a row of card board shoe boxes neatly piled up at the back of the cupboard.

  ‘Hmmm. That is interesting. I wonder what that could be?’ he said to himself under his breath. The boxes might have his socks and cufflinks. He had noticed the sleeve of the dead guy downstairs with silver cufflinks under the jacket. ‘Better get Tanya up here to get some prints.’

  He moved onto the chest of draws with a half open bottom draw. He knelt down on the ground to take a closer look. He opened the draw using his torch again and shone the torch
inside. He whistled again. There were underwear, socks and handkerchiefs neatly folded and a stash of cash in twenty and ten pound bills.

  He was sorely tempted to open one of the boxes to see what was inside. He had to force himself to get up and walk downstairs to get Tanya and Charlie. He was very thoughtful as he came off the stairs.

  “What is the matter Sean? What did you find upstairs?”

  “I am not sure yet. Have you found out who this Dev guy is, yet?”

  “I have been making some calls Sean. No one has come back to me. It is still a bit early. They are looking at the driving licence records. We should know who he is soon.”

  “Tanya, we got some more work upstairs.” Sean said turning to Tanya. Both of them trouped upstairs to the bedroom. “Can you dust those boxes and the cupboard for prints please? I want to have a look inside those boxes before the drug squad arrive.”

  “Sure Sean. It will only take a few minutes.”

  As soon as she finished ducting the boxes for fingerprints, Sean took out one of the boxes in the cupboard and opened it. It did not really surprise his to see ten little brown paper packets arranged neatly inside the box. He opened one of them carefully to find a very fine white powder. He took a pinch and tasted to the horror of Tanya watching him closely.

  “Just as I thought. It’s got to be pure Heroin. There’s plenty of stuff for your lab here Tanya.”

  “Don’t you think we should wait for the drug squad, before we take anything?” She was getting worried at Sean’s brazenness.

  “Of course we should. The boss should be here any minute too.” Sean replied, wishing she would go away. That stuff looked premium class. He would not mind slipping a couple into his pocket. There was plenty in those boxes for the drug squad, he thought. The other three boxes turned out to be empty. “Come on, we better get downstairs and wait for the rest.”

  He put the packet back into the box as he found it and quickly walked downstairs just in time to hear vices coming up from downstairs.

  “Why wasn’t I called before?” Unmistakable gruff voice of Mick Mills berating the young sergeant, Peter Marshall. “I hope you buggers haven’t messed up everything.”

  “No, Mick. Only the forensics have been dusting for prints and taking pictures. No one has touched anything.”

  “Are you sure?” Sean could make out the smirk in his voice. “I am sure that …”

  He cut short in midsentence when he saw Sean come down the stairs.

  “You are sure of what Mick?”

  “Nothing. I was just making sure these guys haven’t messed up any evidence.”

  “No, they haven’t.” Sean would not disguise his irritation in his voice. “Everything as they were when the first police came here.”

  Mick did not reply, but turned to the sergeant and said, “What is this about drugs then?”

  “There were some in the dining room floor and there is some upstairs too.” Tanya replied standing in the corner where she had been since coming downstairs watching the two men.

  “Have you run them through yet?”

  “Give me chance. We have only just found them an hour ago.”

  “What else have you found?”

  “There is plenty of cash stashed away in the house.” Tanya replied again. Sean had lost interest and hoped Philip would hurry up.

  Mick continued his questioning Tanya and the young sergeant while Sean wandered around the house aimlessly before eventually walking out at the back. He thought he would go for a walk. The winter was already setting in and the sun was yet to come up. There was mist in the air and a freezing cold breeze blew away the remnants of uneasiness he had felt since Mick had walked in. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and pushed his hands deep into his pockets as he walked briskly down the alleyway. Instead of turning into Harrison road, he continued down George Street. That was the name on the driver’s license in the dead guy’s wallet.

  It was yet another suburban street lined with neat terraced houses with a tiny yard in front masquerading as a garden and a small steel gate. At the far end of the street there was a corner shop selling groceries. Despite the area being considered a ghetto for the Asians, it was quite cosmopolitan in appearance. The first large building he came across was an old stone built church, with the year 1908 carved on the front and a spire, which had seen better days. The grey tiles over the roof had been had green moss at the edges. As he passed the church on to the next street there was the Sikh temple with orange flags flying on top in cold October breeze. He turned right and decided to go back on the next road, Wrexton Street. As soon as he turned into the street he saw a larger building with saffron flags flying on top. The entire building was decked with colourful lights and buntings everywhere almost covering the front. It must have been a community hall in the past turned into a Hindu temple. There was a yellow board on the wall proclaiming it to be “Sri Krishna Mandir.” It is the festival of lights for the Hindus. The area of Belgrave would be decked out for the festival and the main shopping area would be closed off for festivities. ‘Not much of festivities in Dev Sharma’s house this year.’ He thought to himself.

  Sean stood in front of the temple for a minute wondering what was inside. It was completely deserted at this time of the morning but would be heaving later in the day for the festival. He had never been inside a Hindu temple in his life despite being in Leicester for the past twelve years. ‘There must be at least ten of these in this area alone’, he thought. He walked close to the front of the temple. There was a small car park at the front with large steel gate with a heavy padlock stopping anyone getting to the little front door. He stood there for a minute holding onto the cold steel gate. He took out a crumpled packet from his jacket and lit a cigarette.

  He stood in front of the gate with the cigarette in his mouth, started thinking about the dead body in the burnt house. There was something not quite right, he thought again. But could not put his finger on it. He scratched his head and nearly burnt his hair in the process. But still nothing. There was this dead body wearing designer jeans and an expensive pink shirt, Gucci shoes and a Rolex watch in a dilapidated house, in a rundown area of Leicester. Whoever had killed him were not after his money or the drugs in the house. They had plenty of time to go through the house and steal anything they wanted. They had enough time to try and set fire to the place. He had not seen any signs of forced entry at either the front or the back door. The dead man obviously knew the killers.

  ‘This is too much for this time of the morning’ he thought. He was beginning to get a headache again. He stubbed the cigarette on the ground and started to walk back to Harrison Road. There was an army of cars and vans in front of the house by the time he got there. He looked at his watch. It was turning eight. ‘My god. I have been here nearly three hours!’ he said to himself.

  The street was now cordoned off with police ribbons everywhere and a large crowd had collected just outside the cordon. He recognised a couple of journalists among the crowd, who recognised him and started to walk towards him.

  “Sean.” One of them shouted. Sean tried to ignore him and increased his pace. She ran towards him still shouting. “Is it true someone has been murdered inside that house?”

  The other journalist also started to run towards him.

  “Come on Sean, you can speak to us.”

  Soon there were a couple of photographers pointing their cameras at him with flash bulbs going off in his face. He covered his face and didn’t say a word. He had learnt to keep his mouth shut in front of the journalists. He had not forgotten the mess that they landed him in a drug heist a couple of years ago. He ignored the front and went straight to the alleyway and the back door. Philip was already there talking to Mick Mills as he entered the sitting room.

  “Where have you been?” Philip asked as he entered the room.

  “Out.” Sean replied.

  “What was all that noise outside?”

  “The press is already outside.” Sean repli
ed. “I saw those idiots from the Chronicle and the Mail already with their photographers. It won’t be long before the TV is here.”

  “Why all the media interest?” Philip asked. “What do we know about this dead guy?”

  “We know his name. It is Dev Sharma and he lives in George Street according to the driving license and he is loaded.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is exactly what I said. He is obviously loaded. He is wearing expensive designer clothes, wearing an even more expensive Rolex watch and there was at least a grand in his jacket pockets.” Sean replied.

  “Wow!” Philip said. “That is not someone you would find in a place like this.”

  “Exactly, chief. It does not add up.”

  By the time Sean finished briefing Philip it was another hour, as he wanted to see everything for himself. Mick Mills rather uncharacteristically kept himself in the background. His team had already loaded the cardboard boxes from the upstairs bedroom into the yellow police boxes and carried them into the van waiting at the front. The forensics had moved the body to the morgue for post-mortem. They were still waiting for the guys at the headquarters to get some info on the dead man’s driving license.

  “I suppose we better speak to the press outside.” James said as they neared the front door.

  “I got a couple of leads I want to follow chief.” Sean said. “I will file a report later.”

  “What leads?” Mick wanted to know.

  Sean just looked at him without answering.

  “You carry on Sean. I’ll see you later at the headquarters.”

  Lenny

  It had taken Lenny nearly an hour to walk to David’s apartment. He did not know where to go. He could not very well go to his girlfriend’s flat. Not after the recent fight after losing the last job. She had thrown him out of the house screaming never to come back. David and Vanessa were good friends and they would take him in, he thought. It was still early in the morning and all the lights were out. He had to knock several times before he could hear movements inside the house. There were already a few irate neighbours shouting down to stop the racket. Vanessa opened the door bleary eyed, with the chain still on the door.