Error of Judgment
Page 19
‘I’m going to cut you, Rhodes!’
‘No. There’ll be no cutting.’ Crow’s tones were level and professionally undisturbed. He stood watchfully, making no move in Sadruddin’s direction as the Arab backed against the coat rack, his dark eyes flickering from Rhodes to the policeman. ‘You’ll just tell us where you were the night Rosemary Harland died.’
Sadruddin opened his mouth, sneering, but Rhodes broke in quickly. ‘He was with Sally. He’d called her up, said he wanted to see her, and like the fool she is, she went. I lied earlier, when I said I was with her. I was trying to protect her but in fact I was just protecting him. He was with Sally, mixed up with a group of skin-poppers, and he was blocked out of his mind, and she brought him to the Polytechnic—’
‘Liar!’
‘He stayed the night there—’
‘Rhodes, I’ll kill you!’
‘You remember, Inspector, you remember yourself, the morning of the demo! You grabbed me out of the crowd, didn’t you? If Sadruddin had been there he’d have been leading the action! But I was the one in the middle, wasn’t I, and remember how we were milling around? We were waiting, wondering where the hell he was, but he was an hour late. Well, that’s where he was! Still inside Burton, where he’d stayed all night.’
Soundlessly Sadruddin leapt. His surge carried him to the far wall and on top of Rhodes, as the student raised an arm to defend his face. The Arab was clinging to Rhodes, arms and legs, scratching like a cat and then the coat peg gleamed dully, grey-black, as it rose and fell and Rhodes screamed, dragging himself and Sadruddin sideways. They fell, crashing to the ground in the corner of the cloakroom and Crow and Wilson ran forward to drag the struggling pair apart. Sadruddin came up spitting and cursing in Arabic, his hair wild, loosened from its knot, falling crazily in his eyes and Crow and Wilson fought with him until the stocky Yorkshireman got a lock on Sadruddin’s arms, to force him, still cursing violently, to his knees.
Rhodes was moaning, slumped in the corner with one hand to his face. Crow bent over him, breathing hard at the unwonted exertion. Blood welled from the cut on Rhodes’s face, seeped between his fingers and Crow straightened. He nodded curtly to Wilson.
‘Hold him. I think I saw a phone at the office when we came in here.’
He strode out of the cloakroom. There were two men standing in the corridor staring at him, one with spectacles and green cord shoes, one with a beard and black eyes. They watched impassively as he walked past them and headed for the office. He opened the door and marched in, taking up the telephone without a word to the gum-chewing girl clerk paring her nails over her typewriter. Her false eyelashes went rigid and her eyes were round as she heard Crow’s call.
He went back to the cloakroom. The two men had gone. The cloakroom was silent but for Rhodes’s faint groaning and Wilson’s heavy breathing, catarrhal in the confined space. Sadruddin, buckled over forward with his long black hair touching the ground and his head and shoulders bowed, looked almost as though he were praying but for the fact that Wilson stood splay-legged above him, fiercely gripping his wrists and elbows behind his back. Crow picked up the coat peg that Sadruddin had wielded and slipped it into his pocket. He spoke to Wilson and the grip was relaxed. With a jerk the sergeant dragged Sadruddin upright, and wearily the Arab rose, scrambling to his feet. Crow wasn’t deceived. He had no doubt that Sadruddin was a long way from submissive yet.
‘All right. Want to talk?’
Sadruddin’s eyes glinted with malice. A light sheen of sweat covered his face, making it shine like polished leather.
‘About what? I thought you had all the answers.’
‘Most of them. We’ve got enough on you to book you anyway. Suspicion of drug pushing. Assault and battery. Suspicion of murder.’
‘You must be crazy! Why the hell should I want to kill Rosemary Harland? And this other character — I don’t even know him.’ Anger hardened Crow’s voice.
‘You didn’t have to know him, just know that he had something on you.’
Sadruddin raised his head. His lean face was etched with an anger tempered by the touch of fear, the skin tight-stretched along his jaw as he glared at the police inspector, and the man holding him.
‘You stupid, thick apes! You can’t see farther than your noses! You’re just so bound up with prejudice that you’re grabbing at me, making me the target! You looked around and you thought drugs, that means students, and you thought students, that means a wog, and the train led straight to me, didn’t it, straight to me! That’s how it worked, and that’s how you headed for me, motivated by prejudice and something else, just as unhealthy, I’ve no doubt!’
Crow opened his mouth to reply, but uncharacteristically Wilson broke in, his voice thickened with anger.
‘You bloody foreigners are all the same! You come rushing in here, into this country, for the freedom you can’t get in your own land and you push drugs and you disrupt our colleges, and kick our coppers and you play hell with our laws and then scream prejudice as soon as anyone lifts a finger against you! If I had my way you’d have been horsewhipped and shipped back to where you came from long ago! Long before you ever had the chance to corrupt a kid like the Woods girl, or murder Rosemary Harland!’
Sadruddin cooled. He stood there and his head was high, his mouth twisted under the moustache. Contempt for the policeman was clear in his eyes. He half turned his head to grimace at Wilson.
‘Well, Sergeant,’ he said grimly, ‘you really underlined it for me, man. And the Inspector — does he follow your book?’ He winced as Wilson tightened his grip on the captive arm but Crow could see Wilson’s face and knew that the anger in Wilson was again under control after that violent outburst. Crow breathed deeply, and straightened his long back.
‘We’ll carry on with this down at the station,’ he said and turned to help Rhodes to his feet.
‘You’ll never make it, man,’ came the voice from the doorway.
Chapter 6
The man with the beard stood casually at the door, his hands dangling in front of him. Wrapped around the knuckles of his left hand and caressed by the fingers of his right was a filthy bicycle-chain. Dirt and grease stained his hands and the front of his jeans. Just behind him stood three more men; one was the bespectacled youth. He had now removed his glasses and his eyes seemed large and red-rimmed, too brilliant and apparently swimming with tears. Crow received only a vague impression of the others concerned; his eyes were fixed on the man with the beard.
‘Don’t take on anything you can’t handle, son.’
The coolness of his tone had no effect upon the bearded student; he scoffed openly and raised both hands until they were level with his chest, belligerently. ‘There’s nothin’ here I can’t handle, man, nothin’ at all! Now jus’ leave the boy alone and we’ll go our ways, eh?’
Sadruddin gasped slightly as Wilson twisted at his wrist, thrusting him forward slightly. Crow’s expression hardened as he stared at the group in the doorway.
‘You people had better step out of the way. We’re police officers and we’re taking this man to the station for questioning.’
‘No. That’s where you’re wrong. You fuzz, you’ll be lucky to get out upright if you try that one!’
‘We’re taking him. We want this man at the station for questioning in relation to—’
Wilson gasped as Sadruddin lurched suddenly, swinging around and driving his free elbow into the sergeant’s stomach. Sadruddin called out in pain as he did so for Wilson did not relinquish his grip in spite of the sudden assault, but the two of them went cannoning against the wall, and the bearded man leapt forward also, sweeping into Crow and sending him lurching off balance. Crow shouted, but Sadruddin was driving Wilson against the wall and screeching as the students ran into the cloakroom, pushing Crow aside and thrusting at the sergeant.
‘They’re trying to stop the demo — get him, he’s breaking my arm!’
Spinning painfully against the racks, with coat p
egs digging into his back, Crow saw Wilson raise a heavy foot, kicking out as the three students attacked him, tearing at his clothes, pulling his arms away from the struggling Arab. Crow grabbed at a shoulder and pulled and the student turned, his head thrusting almost automatically at Crow’s unprotected face, but the inspector jerked back and the man’s forehead came into contact with the side of his jaw only. The force of the blow was enough, nevertheless, to send Crow stepping backwards momentarily, half dazed, and then there was a brief shout as Sadruddin was pulled free of Wilson’s grip. Like a maddened, roaring bull, the sergeant surged forward again, reaching out for the students with angry hands but a green cord shoe kicked him in the stomach and he folded, jack-knifing forward with his head down. Crow, recovering, staggered forward to intercept the students as they headed wildly for the door but Wilson was straightening again and impeding him. They collided, and the students poured out into the corridor, shouting in excited triumph.
‘Get after them!’ Crow was gasping for breath and cursing; he threw a quick glance in Rhodes’s direction but the student was standing against the wall still clutching his face. His features were chalk-white against the red smear of blood. Crow lurched after Wilson, pounding out into the corridor. The main doors of the building were open and a scared girl stood with one hand to her mouth and the other raised as though for protection as the escaping students rushed past and out of the corridor.
The wind scurried builders’ dust against Crow’s eyes as he ran out into the yard: extensions were being carried out and the yard was littered with concrete rubble and planks, scaffolding clips, tubular scaffolding poles and loose broken bricks. He was in time to see Wilson stumbling over some rubble after the group of students and Crow caught him up as he reached the corner of the building. It stood on the perimeter of the campus and Sadruddin and the others were running wildly for the centre of the campus rather than away from it. A moment later he realised why. A car was pulling up not thirty yards from where he stood; it was the squad car Crow had sent for by phone.
‘Get after them!’ He was yelling to the wide-eyed driver and the officer with him, pointing after the fleeing students. ‘We’ll lose them in that blasted crowd!’
Across the campus sward was a milling group of students. At the periphery they were drifting aimlessly, wandering, some girls and men indulging in horseplay, one or two embracing as they walked. But nearer the looming teaching blocks, straggling across the car park, and bunching near the steps of the Administration building four hundred yards away the students were more numerous and more clearly motivated. They had massed together there, militantly, and there was some semblance of purposive action apparent. But heads were already turning at the advent of the running group, and the pursuing policemen. Straggling shouts arose, and Crow heard Sadruddin’s name and he cursed. If Sadruddin reached those lines long before his pursuers he could easily be lost in the press.
Wilson’s legs were shorter than Crow’s but he was younger and the men kept pace, side by side, gasping. A few students put out their hands but then leapt back as with a roar and a whining klaxon the squad car surged past Crow and Wilson and lurched and bounced after the racing fugitives. Someone fell, the boy, with the glasses and the green cord shoes, but the running policemen ignored him as he rolled. They were after Sadruddin; the others could wait — there’d be time later.
Sadruddin was plunging into the outskirts of the crowd on the car park. Contrary to Crow’s expectations and fears, he wasn’t lost to sight. He would have wanted anonymity at this moment but his entry into the student groups was catalytic: the students moved inward, swelling like a wave, twisting and lifting as arms went up and Sadruddin’s name was called in welcome. Wilson and Crow thrust their way into the fringes of the crowd and the bearded man was suddenly turning, facing them, uncoiling his chain. Another student lurched excitedly into him, throwing him off balance, and Crow felt a savage pleasure as he drove his bony knuckles into the man’s stomach and ran past. The chain looped through the air and someone shouted a warning but the policemen were past and thrusting their way among the students.
Sadruddin was twisting and turning into the mass of students like a rabbit into corn stubble; he was lost to sight but waving arms and turning heads showed Crow the direction of the Arab’s flight. Dissociated yells punctuated a growing murmur as Crow butted along, thrusting men and women out of the way, and Wilson plunged along just behind him. A wall of young men surged up ahead of them and broke again, crumbling at their forceful progress. But the message was filtering through.
‘They’re after Sadruddin! They’re trying to break it up!’
As the calls were taken up the walls before them became stronger and angrier and refused to crumble; dark faces lowered at them and hands plucked at their sleeves. It was a girl, finally, who brought them to a halt and provided the trigger for the rest of the mob. Sadruddin had reached the steps of the Administration building and Crow was shouting when a girl in a suede coat and brown floppy hat suddenly threw herself at the inspector, clutched him around the neck and sank to the ground. It was unexpected and Crow fell forward on his face, with the girl underneath him, gripping his shoulders. Someone delightedly shouted ‘Rape!’ as Wilson’s impetus carried him forward, stumbling over the struggling bodies on the ground but Crow twisted and shoved himself free from the encircling arms, one hand planted on the girl’s breast as he thrust himself upward and broke her grip. He was on one knee and the girl was trying to kick at his groin when Wilson took him under one arm and helped him up. Crow stumbled away from the girl and Wilson gasped, ‘The Administration building!’ but they were unable to progress farther. A leering, chanting group was forming around them, mouths opening mindlessly, slogans whirling around their heads like bullroarers, arms linked, surging, wheeling, advancing, retreating like a savage mimicry of a Maypole dance. Crow rushed head down at the wall and tried to fight his way through but shoulders and chests butted at him, hands turned him and thrust him until he was colliding with Wilson.
He stood still suddenly and the stamping mob circled them. Wilson was panting furiously at his shoulder as he glared at the young men and women who grinned and sang and danced around him. For perhaps fifteen seconds he stood immobile and the light of triumph shone in the faces moving past him, a triumph buttressed by the euphoria, supported by a sense of power. And he broke it.
‘I want that man for murder!’
There was a waver, and a shudder among those near him, a vacant uncertainty flickering into the faces that jeered at the policemen.
‘Murder!’
He bellowed the word again and it went in like a knife, slicing the life out of the voices, killing the excitement, slashing the urgency and the triumph in their veins until the noise and the movement bled away quietly and slowly, until heads began to turn, back towards the Administration building.
Crow pushed his way forward roughly, caring nothing for anyone who might get in his way. Just as the intelligence had sped through the crowd earlier so the rumour now moved, speeding across the near group, drifting and eddying across the rest of the campus until the students came inwards towards Crow and the steps for which he strode, with Wilson still struggling behind.
‘Sadruddin . . . murder . . . Sadruddin!’ It swirled around their heads, dulling the shouting to a muted sound, the murmur of wind in a chimney, and then it began to rise to a quickening excitement as Crow and Wilson finally reached the steps.
There was no sign of Sadruddin. Three students stood at the top of the steps. Crow ran up to them and they tried to fade, lose their individuality, but he caught one by the arm. There was an uncomprehending, frightened look in the boy’s eyes.
‘Where is he?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘You saw him! Where did he go?’
‘He . . . I didn’t realise . . . he went into the block.’ The boy rallied suddenly as Crow’s fingers bit into his arm. ‘How was I to know? I wasn’t to know, was I?’
‘Sadruddin! Where did he go?’
‘The girls stared at him, incapable of speech or comprehension. A sudden flurry at the door to the room where Rosemary Harland had worked drew Crow’s attention. The rector emerged. His face was pale.
‘Inspector Crow—’
‘Sadruddin?’
‘Ten minutes ago I ordered all doors to the block, excepting this one, to be locked.’ The hardness in Peters’s eyes matched the decisiveness of his tones. He strode forward, stiff-backed. ‘I heard the shouting, saw what happened. He came into the block. He can’t get out again, except this way.’
‘You certain?’
‘Certain!’
Crow swung around, gasping, to Wilson.
The sergeant’s face was mottled red, and his eyes were half closed. ‘Dial — squad cars at once. Everyone available. I want this . . . bloody place sealed off. Completely. Communications?’ He was addressing Peters again as Wilson hurried away in the direction of Peters’s office. The rector nodded firmly.
‘We have an intercommunicating speaker in every room and hall in the block. You want an announcement made?’
Crow breathed deeply, trying to control his speech and the quick pounding of his heart. He nodded.