by Jack Slater
‘Shafiq Ahmed. You’re under arrest.’
Pete stepped forward, pushing the door wide.
‘Turn around. Put your hands behind your back.’
Ahmed complied, thoroughly cowed. Pete cuffed him and, with Jane leading the way, followed Ahmed back along the landing and down the stairs, right hand clamped tight around the rigid centre of the cuffs.
‘What is the charge?’
Pete heard the question coming from the wife, rather than from the man in front of him.
Jill replied, her voice low.
Ahmed himself said nothing as they took him outside. Jill shut the door after them and they crowded around him as they walked him the few feet to Pete’s unmarked car. Jill sat in the back with him while Jane reached for the radio as Pete started the engine.
‘DCs Feeney and Miles. Stand down. Repeat: stand down. Suspect in custody.’
‘Received,’ Dick’s voice came back.
‘That was easy,’ she said to Pete.
‘Yeah. Too easy.’ He stopped the car and reached into his jacket as his eyes went to the man in the seat behind him. ‘Take this with you and search the place. Top to bottom. Attic, cellar, garden shed: the lot.’ He handed her the warrant and reached for the radio. ‘DC Feeney from DS Gayle. Hold fire. You can all help Jane search his place.’
‘Roger.’
Jane took the radio from Pete. ‘Come round. I’ll meet you out front.’
‘Will do.’
She handed the mike back and stepped out of the car. ‘See you later then, boss.’
Pete gave her a nod.
The man they had arrested still hadn’t spoken. As Pete reversed the car then swung it around in a three-point turn, he glanced in the mirror again. Ahmed was looking down at his lap.
‘Cat got your tongue, Shafiq?’
Ahmed looked up and met his gaze. His eyes were dull and empty-looking as if he’d withdrawn from the world.
‘Nothing to say? Nothing to ask?’ Pete persisted as he drove away down the street.
Ahmed blinked then looked away out of the side window.
Pete shrugged. ‘Best read him his rights then, Jill.’
‘Boss.’ She turned to face the man beside her. ‘Shafiq Ahmed, you’ve been arrested on suspicion of the unlawful killing of Sunil Pati, contrary to common law. You do not have to say anything…’
Ahmed reacted at last. His head came up, eyes frantic. ‘What is this? I’ve killed no one. Especially not Sunil. He was a friend.’
‘…but it may harm your defence,’ Jill went on as they passed the cross-street.
‘No. No. I did not kill Sunil. When did he die?’
‘…if you do not mention when questioned...’
‘Between ten and eleven last night.’ This time it was Pete who interrupted her, answering his question.
‘…something that you later rely on in court.’
‘Then I can prove I am innocent.’
‘Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘How?’ Pete asked, slowing the car as he approached the main road, signalling right towards the city centre.
‘I was working until midnight. The car will tell you. And my phone. Its GPS.’
‘Do you understand the rights I’ve quoted to you?’ asked Jill.
‘I am telling you, I did not do this!’
‘But do you understand the rights I quoted?’
‘Yes. Please. Call the office. They will tell you.’
‘So, why did you do a runner when I came to speak to you this morning? To the extent of breaking the law as you did so?’
‘I was… That was you?’ He shook his head. ‘I thought…’
‘You thought what?’
Ahmed sighed. ‘That you were someone else.’
‘Well, whoever you thought I was, there’s no excuse for dangerous and reckless driving. And there’s no denying it either. I was behind you, remember. And dash-cams don’t lie.’ He pointed to the one at the base of the windscreen.
‘But my job! My family. I must earn money to feed them. To house them.’
‘You should have thought about that before you took off like a bat out of hell up a busy shopping street, putting people’s lives in danger, shouldn’t you?’ Pete wasn’t going to give him any quarter. Not at this stage. He needed him on the defensive. ‘Where is your phone?’
‘At home. In the bedroom. I was changing.’
Pete reached for the radio. ‘DS Gayle for DC Bennett.’
‘DC Bennett. What’s up, boss?’
‘Pick up the suspect’s phone while you’re there, Jane. And check the GPS history on it. He claims to have been elsewhere when Pati was killed. Have you found anything yet?’
‘Still looking, boss.’
‘OK. Keep me posted.’
‘Roger.’
Pete looked in the mirror as he approached the roundabout at the bottom of Heavitree Road. ‘So, Shafiq. Is there anything you want to tell me? Because if you’ve been a bad lad, we’ll soon find out. And deals aren’t made after the evidence comes in.’
*
‘Dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
Pete shook his head. He was sitting across from Shafiq Ahmed in Interview Room Two on the ground floor of Heavitree Road police station, DC Jill Evans beside him, the digital recorder running. ‘And here we were assuming you were innocent until proven otherwise. Looks like we’ve proved it, doesn’t it?’
They had known before they set out to arrest Ahmed that he hadn’t killed Sunil Pati: he was not a white female. But they needed to question him about Pati and he was certainly guilty of something, so the killing was as good an excuse as any to put the squeeze on him. And now Jane and the boys had found exactly what he was guilty of. Stashed in the false bottom of his wardrobe, they had recovered wads of cash and everything needed, including the product itself, to package and distribute cocaine.
‘I am telling you, I killed no one,’ Ahmed insisted.
‘What happened? Did he find out about the drugs? Threaten to report you to us? Or did he know all along? Was it a falling out among thieves, as it were?’
‘No! I told you. He was a friend. He knew nothing of this thing.’
‘And what about your wife? She must have known about it. Was she an active part of it or did she just sit back and allow it to carry on?’
‘She is nothing to do with this. She knows nothing.’
‘She does now, even if she didn’t before – which I find hard to believe,’ Jill added. ‘What’s going to happen to your kids now, with both of you inside?’
‘My…? No! You cannot. My wife knows nothing. She was no part of this. You cannot charge her.’
‘Oh, yes, we can,’ Pete told him. ‘It was happening in her home. She must have known about it, even if she had no active part. That makes her an accessory. She could get a couple of years. Which puts your kids into the system. And, as felons, you won’t get them back.’
‘You cannot do this. You must not do this!’
‘Then tell us what we want to know.’
‘Oh, God.’ He put his head in his hands, took a deep breath. Then another. ‘Sunil was…’ He looked up at Pete. ‘He was my source of the drugs. He knew people in Birmingham. In London.’
‘So why was he targeted?’ Pete demanded, leaning forward, his elbows on the table between them. ‘Did he not pay his suppliers? Did he shortchange them? Or was it something else? Because this was a murder. It wasn’t just an attack that went too far.’
‘I do not…’ He stopped, brows knitting into a frown.
‘What?’
‘He was a friend also of the other man who was killed. Ranjeet Singh. He, I have heard bad things about.’
‘Such as?’
‘With women. He would… What do you say? Come on to them. Be forward. Even…’ He shook his head with a grimace. ‘An evil man when he thought he could get away with it.’
‘But what’s that got to do with Sunil Pati?’ Jill asked.
/>
‘They were friends. I would meet them sometimes. I saw how they looked at women. How they talked about them. I wonder if, perhaps, Singh encouraged Sunil in that direction.’
‘You wonder or you know?’ Pete asked.
‘I have no proof. Just looks. Comments. Laughs. Like that.’
‘Was there ever anything specific?’ Jill asked. ‘From Sunil himself?’
Ahmed shook his head, then stopped. Fixed his gaze on Pete. ‘There was one time. He had taken a young woman home. Helped her in with her shopping. She had a very short skirt. He made comments about…’ His voice trailed off.
‘About?’ Pete pushed.
‘Her body. He had followed her up the stairs. Looked up. You know.’
Jill leaned in. ‘You’re a very shy man for a drug dealer, Mr Ahmed. Is that all you can tell us about Sunil? Or would you prefer to talk to Sergeant Gayle on his own?’
He looked from one to the other and back again. ‘There is… Yes, please.’
Pete looked at her. Raised an eyebrow.
‘Very well, Mr Ahmed. I’ll go and get a coffee. Do you want anything? Sarge?’
Pete shook his head. Ahmed didn’t respond, so Jill stood up and left them alone.
‘For the tape, Detective Constable Evans is leaving the room,’ Pete said. ‘Now, Shafiq. Man to man. What else is there you can tell me about Sunil Pati and his dealings with women?’
‘My wife. You will not charge her?’
Pete tilted his head. ‘If we find no evidence she’s handled the drugs or the cash, then no.’
Ahmed’s eyes closed, then opened again, meeting Pete’s gaze. ‘Sunil told me once that he had… had sex… with a young white girl. School-age. Fourteen. He had other friends. I do not know them. But they were involved in that thing. Grooming. They had connections, I think, to somewhere… Peterborough. Leicester. Where this was a big thing.’
‘And when was this?’
‘Couple of years ago.’
Pete sat forward again, his stomach twisting. ‘Do you know who any of these friends were? Or any of the victims?’
Ahmed was shaking his head. ‘I think some may have been relatives. Cousins. I told him: this is wrong. He seemed… not sorry, but he never spoke of it again.’
‘And you didn’t report it?’
‘Report what? A rumour? A man bragging about something he shouldn’t have?’ He shrugged. ‘I have been in prison once. And you must understand – this is normal where we come from. India. Pakistan. Bangladesh. All these places. Girls are married as young as eleven or twelve. Sometimes younger.’
Pete felt the anger heating his brain and clenching his jaw. He fought it down. ‘It may be normal there, but you’re not there. And there’s a saying: “When in Rome…” This is England. I don’t care who you are or where you’re from – you choose to live here, you abide by our laws, not those of your home country. The same as I would expect to abide by your laws if I was to live there.’
‘Of course. I know this. I told him. I have children.’
Pete smiled. ‘I have to say, there’s a certain irony in that, coming from a convicted felon, Shafiq.’
‘What I have done does not harm children, Sergeant Gayle. I simply fill a niche in the market. If there was no demand…’ He shrugged.
At least that last part was true. ‘All right. How about that coffee now? Or tea?’
*
‘This is getting bloody worse, not better,’ Dave complained. ‘Instead of narrowing the suspect field, we’ve widened it.’
‘Well, at least we’ve restricted the drug supply in the city even more,’ Jane said.
‘Yeah, with the help of whoever killed Sunil Pati.’
‘Saves trying him,’ Dick pointed out.
‘Yeah, that’s not really the attitude we’re supposed to be taking here,’ Jane said.
‘Practical, though. Especially with all the cutbacks and such,’ Ben put in with a nod to Dick.
‘You’re too young to be so cynical,’ Jill told him.
‘He’s not as young as he looks,’ Dave said.
‘Regardless…’ Pete interrupted the exchange. ‘We’ve got a white female suspect. She’s not likely to be working with a bunch of Indian drug dealers. So, it’s either a people-trafficking thing connected to Sunil Pati’s paedophile friends or it’s about payback for sexual assault and rape.’
‘How likely is it that one person’s been attacked by two different taxi drivers, though?’ Dave argued.
‘Not very,’ Pete admitted. ‘But have you got a better solution?’
‘Maybe one of them was on behalf of a friend,’ Jill suggested.
‘Or both of them,’ Ben added. ‘And it doesn’t need to be a friend.’
‘What – we’ve got a hitwoman in the city now, have we?’ Dave asked. ‘You’ve been watching too much telly, Spike.’
Ben shrugged. ‘If it’s good enough for one, it’s good enough for both.’
‘In the meantime,’ Pete said, ‘having just spent half an hour in the dark with Graham, what I can say without having to speculate is that she knows the city. She walked over the footbridge, across the quay and up Lower Coombe Street to South Street. From there, she went into Cathedral Square. And vanished.’
‘Great,’ said Jane.
‘How long after did you keep looking?’ asked Dick.
‘Until midnight.’
‘And no likely candidates at all?’ Dave asked.
‘A few possibles, but none we could confirm.’
Dave steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Clever girl then. Must have gone into one of the pubs or restaurants. Changed in the toilets.’
‘I wonder how many of them have security cameras?’ Jill said.
‘Not all, I bet,’ said Pete. ‘But we might get lucky.’
Dave pushed his chair back. ‘Not from here, we won’t.’
Jane looked at Pete. ‘You want me to go with him? Make sure he doesn’t try to have a drink in every place he visits?’
‘What do you mean, try?’ Dave demanded as Pete gave her a smile and a nod. ‘There aren’t that many round there.’
‘Must be half a dozen or more, even without the Clarence,’ Dick said, referring to the old hotel that had burned down some time before.
Dave pointed at him triumphantly. ‘There. That’s not too many for an evening.’
Jane laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ve seen you after half a dozen, matey. You’re no good to man nor beast.’
‘Are you casting nasturtiums at my alcoholic capacity, Red?’
Pete’s desk phone began to ring. An external call.
‘Get out of here, the pair of you,’ he said. ‘And make sure you come back with something more than a bloody hangover.’
‘Aye aye, cap’n.’ Dave threw him a salute and headed out the door, Jane slipping her coat on as she followed him.
Pete picked up the phone. ‘DS Gayle, Exeter CID.’
‘Pete, it’s me,’ Louise cut in, her voice tearful and desperate. ‘Annie’s been attacked.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pete pulled into his drive with no memory of how he’d got there, his mind a whirling turmoil of raw emotions. He ran from the car to the front door, fumbled the key from his pocket and leapt through the opened door. ‘Lou? Annie?’
‘Upstairs,’ Louise’s voice came back to him.
As his feet pounded up the stairs, he heard a sob from Annie that intensified the fear twisting his gut to the point where he had to reach out and grab the banister to stop himself from stumbling, but he kept going. He made the top of the stairs in four huge leaps and crossed to Annie’s open bedroom door.
She was lying on her side, legs curled up, hands covering her face. Louise was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to the door, trying to comfort her, but Pete could see his daughter’s whole body shaking with sobs he could barely hear. He stepped up behind Louise, reached out to touch Annie’s ankle.
‘It’s all
right, love,’ he said gently. ‘I’m here. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you.’
Her crying grew louder and Louise leaned down, taking her in her arms. ‘Oh, baby. Come here now.’
Her slender arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck and Pete glimpsed her face, red and crumpled, wet with tears, half-hidden by her dishevelled hair as she buried it in Louise’s neck.
‘We’re here for you, love,’ he told her as she sobbed out her fear and anguish. ‘Always and for ever, whatever happens.’
He stepped around Louise and knelt beside her, stroking Annie’s back, smoothing her hair while, with his other hand, he held Louise. He was unaware of time passing while they stayed there, Annie crying on her mother’s shoulder while they both tried to comfort her until, at some point, she began to calm down, her shaking easing, her sobs growing more gentle.
‘There you go. Easy does it,’ he crooned.
Annie pulled back from her mother’s shoulder and turned away, pushing herself down into the pillows, her body curling into a foetal position, facing away from them. They still stayed with her, each with a hand resting gently, reassuringly, on her flank and shoulder. Louise met Pete’s gaze. She saw the question in his eyes and her lips tightened. She’d told him very little on the phone and would tell him no more here, now, with Annie in the room. But he could see for himself, she was still wearing her school uniform and her clothes appeared to be intact, undamaged.
Thank God.
If some paedophile had assaulted her, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Yes, he did, he realised instantly. Police or not, he’d go after the son of a bitch and beat him to a bloody pulp. There would be no quarter, no mercy. He’d kill the pervert with his own two hands and to hell with the consequences. He felt his jaw clamp tight as the rage started to take hold. But there was no need. No point. She was OK. He let the breath ease out of him. ‘Who’s for a cup of tea?’
Louise nodded. Annie didn’t react as Pete stood up and headed for the stairs.
By the time he’d made three steaming mugs and brought them upstairs, Annie was no longer crying, as far as he could tell. He set her mug on the bedside cabinet and handed one to Louise. ‘There we go. Get that down you. You’ll feel loads better.’