Best Friend, Worst Enemy

by Menon, David

  ‘I’ll be urging my comrades on the council to vote in favour of the mosque because it’s the right thing to do, Nina’ said Craig. ‘I won’t be acting to please the bigot brigade or to pander to any racism following the bombing. So get over it’.

  ‘There’s going to be a stink whichever way the vote goes’ said Nina. ‘And I know that some of the Labour councillors are planning to vote against’.

  ‘You’ve got to them then?’

  ‘We’ve appealed to their sense of balance’ said Nina. ‘Some of them aspire to be MP’s and MEP’s. You know how it works, Craig’.

  ‘I don’t play games, Nina’.

  ‘Not unless it suits your own purposes. I mean, when you were going after the Manchester North nomination and there was serious competition, you were glad of the party machine’s help then’.

  Craig responded with anger induced measured tones. ‘I shall ignore the implication of what you say about me and my career. Compromises sometimes have to be made but this would be a compromise too far. The very idea that Labour councillors, and I repeat, Labour councillors, could even think of pandering to populist bigoted opinion to vote against the building of the mosque is absolutely abhorrent to me’.

  Nina smiled resignedly. ‘How did I offend the Gods so much that I got sent you?’

  ‘Oh you love me really’ said Craig. ‘But look, is it all just about election results and pliable MP’s who act like they’ve come off some new Labour production line? Is that it for you, Nina? Is it nothing to do with what elected members do with the power that the people give them?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that one to be honest’ said Nina. ‘Sorry’.

  *

  DI Tim Norris had been called out in the absence of DCI Sara Hoyland who was on sick leave following the Manchester Piccadilly bombing to attend the location of a city centre flat where a woman had been found murdered.

  ‘Have you spoken to the boss, Tim?’ asked DS Adrian Bradshaw who was accompanying Tim to the call.

  ‘Yes’ said Tim who was driving. ‘I went to see her yesterday as a matter of fact’.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s ... coping’ said Tim who’d been impressed by how Sara had been. She was determined to get back to work as soon as she could. Tim wasn’t surprised by her way of getting on with it. He knew Sara. He knew her well. They had history. Not a particularly illustrious history when it came to their personal lives but one that neither of them could escape from. It would bind them forever.

  Tim and Adrian arrived at Victoria Court which was situated at the top end of Deansgate near the cathedral and they were met by a uniformed constable called Steve Buchan. Steve talked nonstop and was clearly desperate to impress the plain-clothed officers. He took them into the apartment and had the respect to take his hat off when they entered the bedroom. A young white girl in her early twenties was lying like a discarded rag doll in a mass of her own blood, on top of the bed she’d presumably been sleeping in. She was wearing a short black silk slip, her finger and toe nails were painted dark red, and her hair was shoulder length and natural blond.

  ‘What can you tell us, June?’ asked Tim of the pathologist on site, Dr June Hawkins. Tim liked June. In her late fifties and still with a stunning figure that many younger women would kill for, June took care of herself and delivered a no-nonsense approach to her work. Tim often thought that if he wasn’t married he might see about June. He’d always had a thing about older women. When he was sixteen he’d had an affair with a married woman who lived down the road and was in her early forties. He’d learned an awful lot from her.

  ‘Well she’s dead’ June stated, flatly.

  ‘You don’t say’.

  June smiled. ‘You know my humour, Tim. As you can see from the mess on the wall behind, she was shot, twice, once in the head and once in the chest. I’ll need to get her back to base before I can tell you much else but I’d say she’s been here overnight. There is evidence she had sex before the lights were turned out’.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Adrian questioned.

  ‘There are stains on the sheets’ June replied as if talking to a stupid child. ‘I’m not a rocket scientist which is a good job seeing as we don’t actually need one to work out the fundamentals’.

  Tim smiled. Adrian probably didn’t realise but he’d just been put firmly back in his place by a woman of vastly superior intelligence.

  ‘She looks like she was pretty shocked by what happened’ said Adrian.

  ‘Well being shot at close range tends to do that to a person’ June commented as she gathered her kit together.

  ‘I mean it looks like someone came in here and just fired a gun, no questions asked’ said Adrian, his voice full of mild rebuke. He didn’t share the enthusiasm of everyone else in the force for June Hawkins. He thought she was a patronising bitch who seemed to like spending her time trying to make police officers look stupid.

  ‘I agree’ said June. ‘That’s how it looks’.

  The forensics team were all over the apartment, particularly the bedroom, picking up whatever traces of other human beings that they could.

  ‘Who called this in?’ asked Adrian.

  ‘Oh, that was the cleaner, sir’ PC Steve Buchan answered. ‘Lena Kosminski. She has a key to the place and turned up this morning to do her usual. She found all this instead’.

  ‘Do we have an ID on the deceased?’ Adrian pressed on.

  ‘According to Miss Kosminski who’s through there in the lounge in a bit of a state as you can imagine, her name is Melanie Sanders and she’s the girlfriend of the man who lives here’ Steve Buchan revealed. ‘Miss Kosminski has seen her here many times’.

  ‘And who is the man who lives here?’ Tim asked.

  ‘His name is Robert Jackson, sir’ Buchan answered.

  ‘Robert Jackson?’ Tim questioned. ‘Why do I know that name?’

  ‘He’s a journalist at the Manchester Evening Chronicle’ said June as she took her protective gloves off. ‘He writes on politics. He’s bloody good too’.

  ‘So where is he now?’ Adrian wanted to know.

  ‘That’s what we need to find out, sir’ Steve Buchan responded. ‘According to Miss Kosminski he was due back from an assignment in America on Saturday afternoon and his neighbours have confirmed that they did see him that evening. We’re checking flight records and CCTV footage. His neighbours also saw Melanie Sanders and said that everything between her and Jackson seemed normal’.

  ‘But they didn’t see anything or anyone else?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Apparently not, sir’.

  ‘Or hear anything untoward?’

  ‘No, sir’ said Buchan. ‘There were no reports of anything’.

  ‘Any sign of anything missing?’ asked Tim.

  ‘According to Miss Kosminski, Mr. Jackson always had his laptop on and wherever he went, it went’ said Buchan. ‘And it’s nowhere in the flat, sir’.

  ‘So it must’ve gone with him’.

  ‘It seems that way’.

  ‘Tim?’ said June. ‘Far be it from me to potentially tread on your toes but this to me looks like a kind of contract killing’.

  ‘Go on?’ said Tim.

  ‘Those weren’t just random shots, one through the head and one through the heart. Whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing to ensure a quick, clean kill’.

  FIVE

  Craig hadn’t stopped all weekend. He’d been on a tour of the eerily quiet Piccadilly station with a group of fellow Manchester MPs to look at the extensive damage that had been done. More than half the station would have to be completely rebuilt and it was going to have to remain closed for a long time yet which was going to cause a lot of transport headaches for the city. These however were logistical and structural inconveniences. The death toll from the bombing now stood at fifty-nine and many more were still on the critical list in hospital. Craig and Dean had been to see those who were from the constituency and, wherever possible, they�
��d also visited the families of those who’d been killed. An overwhelming sadness hung over the city like the blackest cloud and Craig knew it was up to him and his political colleagues to show the kind of leadership that would get the city out of its current malaise.

  He’d managed to save Saturday evening for him and Dean to try and relax a little and just be together. They’d watched ‘Vera’ which was their latest favourite TV detective series starring the wonderful Brenda Blethyn and her handsome Italian looking sidekick. Then they went to bed and made love before Craig had to head, early on Sunday morning, to the BBC Media city studio complex in Salford to be interviewed live by presenter Roger Johnson about the bombing and its impact on the city. They had lunch, as arranged, at Dean’s Mum’s house and then Craig spent all afternoon on the phone, mainly to party members who were split into two groups. Either they feared a backlash against Muslim members of the party or they were supporting such a backlash. Accusations were being made of a conspiracy by Muslim extremists to take over the party. Craig didn’t believe there was any truth in that whatsoever but he had to listen and try to console people enough to see reason. It was his job as a politician and a supposed leader of the community. But sometimes, like in the present situation, it felt like that leadership would be falling on very deaf ears. People were raw and emotional. They had no patience with reason.

  On Monday morning Dean dropped Craig off at Stockport station where he caught the train back down to London. Then Dean headed off to the constituency office to see what the week ahead would bring. It made Dean’s heart feel heavy as he drove through Manchester city centre. Everywhere was on high alert. Armed police were all over the streets and people were scared. They were all nervous about a possible second attack and the security services were warning about it, telling everyone to be vigilant. The G20 international summit of world leaders was due to be held in the city next month and in the media speculation was rife that the bombing was linked to the summit or that the action had been taken in retaliation for British support of French military action in Mali against Islamic extremists. The French president was due to attend the summit. Attention was being focused on extremist Islamic groups and arrests had been made across the northwest of people suspected of involvement. More extreme voices within the rest of the community were calling for internment of all Muslim men of a certain age, just like there’d been in Northern Ireland at the height of The Troubles when all Catholics had been suspected of involvement with the IRA. People were getting away with the most appalling racism and it terrified Dean to think of where it could all end up.

  He’d just got to the office when their latest volunteer turned up for duty. Her name was Holly and she could be quite a challenge who Dean, and Ruby who was the full time case worker in the office, had wanted to slap on more than one occasion. Her Aunt and Uncle were staunch members of the local party and had volunteered her services whilst she was between jobs. She’d trained as a ‘beauty therapist and nail technician’. Dean thought she abused the privilege of being thick.

  ‘Hi Holly!’ Dean greeted from the kitchen area where he was making himself a mug of tea. ‘Fancy a brew?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ came the reply.

  Dean really did have to struggle to be nice to Holly sometimes. They weren’t on the same wavelength at all. She was twenty-three and Dean was only nine years older at thirty-two but it wasn’t age that distinguished them as very different characters. Despite her youth, Holly had already had breast implants and last month she’d had Botox treatment done above her upper lip, making it look like she had a shelf beneath her nose. And she had an obsession with the colour pink. Her car, bought by her Dad, was pink. Her finger nails were always painted pink. Her lipstick was always pink. She wore mainly pink clothes. The ringtone on her mobile was the Aerosmith song ‘Pink’. Sometimes they all went out for a drink from the office after work and Holly didn’t usually join them because she seemed to disapprove of alcohol for some reason. But on the one occasion she did go with them she was asked what she’d like at the bar and had replied rather haughtily ‘Excuse me, I don’t need alcohol to make me interesting and fun!’ Dean couldn’t resist throwing it back at her ‘No love but I need alcohol to make you interesting and fun’. Holly hadn’t quite heard it which was perhaps just as well.

  He brought the two mugs of tea over and found spaces on the permanently cluttered desks. They never seemed to be able to get to the bottom of the pile of paperwork even though Dean had tried his damndest to create a paper free office. He switched on his computer and waited for it to boot up.

  ‘Good weekend, Holly?’

  ‘Oh, mega!’ she exclaimed with her hands splayed and open.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘I did tell you. I went to see Take That’.

  ‘Oh of course, sorry, at the Etihad stadium?’

  ‘Yeah. They were fantastic. There was talk of it not going ahead after the bombing and everything but Gary said during the gig that Manchester needed cheering up so they’d decided to go ahead after all’.

  ‘He wasn’t thinking about all that tax he has to pay back that he tried to avoid then?’

  ‘No’ said Holly. ‘I don’t really get involved with all that. But tell me, Dean, what do you think?’

  Dean was busy putting his code into his computer. ‘About what?’

  ‘Gary Barlow or Robbie Williams?’

  ‘Oh definitely Robbie Williams. Gary Barlow is a good songwriter, I’ll give him that, but his voice is too neat and tidy for my liking. I also think he’s got a rubbish stage presence. Robbie has got a lot more character in his voice and when he struts onto the stage he owns it straight away. There’s an element of danger about Robbie too and I like that in a man’.

  ‘But you wouldn’t call Craig dangerous’.

  Dean smiled at her innocence. ‘I know but you often end up with the opposite of what you think you’re attracted to. When I was younger I wanted to settle down with a big, thick set rugby player. I had this massive crush on Laurence Dallaglio’.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Used to captain the England rugby union team? Oh and then of course there was Johnny drop dead gorgeous Wilkinson, not to mention the sex on legs that is Ben Cohen’.

  ‘I don’t know any of these people’.

  ‘Oh never mind’ said Dean, waving his hand in the air. ‘Anyway, the point I’m making is that the reality of who you fall in love with doesn’t tend to match the fantasy you’ve always cherished. Craig is tall and slim, the opposite of what a rugby player looks like, but to me he’s the greatest man alive’.

  ‘But don’t you miss him being down in parliament all week?’

  ‘Oh God, yeah’ said Dean. ‘That’s why I hate Mondays because it’s the day he has to go back. But it’s his job and you have to be grown up about it. And he’s been an MP all the time I’ve known him so it’s not like I didn’t know’.

  ‘I can’t see either of you two having affairs’.

  ‘No’ said Dean. ‘I could never see that happening either but you never know what’s round the corner. That’s why Craig and I never take each other for granted. We’ve been together a long time but we still work the romance into things’.

  ‘I’ll bet Gary Barlow wouldn’t have an affair either’ said Holly.

  ‘I’ll bet they said that about Ronan Keating but it’s always the quiet ones’.

  ‘I hate men who have affairs. It’s so disrespectful to women’.

  Dean was about to check the messages on the office answering machine but Holly’s words stopped him dead in his tracks. ‘So where does that leave you and your affair with married Marcus?’

  ‘Marcus isn’t cheating on his wife’ said Holly.

  ‘What? He’s married and having an affair with you so how is that not cheating on his wife?’

  ‘He’s cheating on me when he’s with her because he says that if he’d met me first then I’d be his wife’.

  Dean had wanted to burst out laughing not only at
Holly’s breathtaking hypocrisy but also at her pea-brained stupidity. ‘That is a priceless bit of spin, Holly. The leader’s office would be proud of you’.

  ‘Look, Marcus and his wife haven’t had a sexual relationship since their son was born four years ago’.

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes and I believe him’.

  ‘But I thought you said his daughter was two? So what was she? An immaculate conception?’

  Holly blushed the deepest red in a delicious contrast to all the pink there was about her. ‘Oh, that was … well he just gave her one on her birthday. It didn’t mean anything’.

  ‘Of course’ said Dean. ‘Silly old me for thinking that he might be telling you any old crap just to get into your knickers’.

  ‘Dean-o!’

  Both Dean and Holly turned to see Ruby, the office caseworker, come cheerfully into the office. She’d been on leave and had spent a fortnight on holiday in Tenerife with Jack, her fire fighter boyfriend.

  ‘Have you missed me, honey?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘You bet!’ said Dean.

  ‘And can I turn my back for five minutes without bombs going off? Everybody must be feeling really on edge’.

  ‘That’s true they are’ said Dean. ‘But you look great, girl! That suntan is amazing!’

  ‘I wish you weren’t gay’ said Ruby.

  Dean laughed. ‘Don’t tell me that your Jack doesn’t pay you compliments’.

  ‘He’s straight so what do you think?’

  ‘I think that you girls are too demanding’ said Dean. ‘You want cock and compliments’.

  ‘Now you’re making me blush’ said Ruby. ‘So anyway, how are you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good, thanks’ said Dean.

  ‘And you our Holly?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m alright’.

  ‘You don’t sound too certain of that?’

  ‘She’s on her way back down to earth’ said Dean. ‘She went to see Take That at the weekend’.

  ‘And how’s you know who?’

  ‘You mean Marcus?’ Holly questioned a little sharply. ‘Well I never see him at weekends for fairly obvious reasons. He has to stay with her and the kids. It’s so difficult for him to get away’.