by John Morris
Less than one minute later, a senior officer came rushing into the foyer. “Stand down everybody. Orders from the top, allow these people through as they are. Commander, apologies, we seldom get visitors holding so high a station. The interview room is available. Please follow the Detective Inspector.”
As they walked, Dan said, “Just as well we are on the same side as them. I wonder how they are treating the two girls.”
They were shown into an imposing room, where one girl cowered in a chair, trying to look small. Dan said, “I’ll see both girls together, if you don’t mind.”
“That is not our policy, Commander.”
“What part of that phone call did you not understand? This is my interview, my policy, so please bring the other girl at once. I need to study how they interact with one another. We call it profiling.”
The officer was obviously unhappy, but did as instructed. Dan set his phone to voice recording, and took a chair opposite the girl. He said, “Don’t be scared, we’re not with that lot. We just want a little chat. You do speak English, don’t you?”
“Yes, a little. Thank you.”
The other girl was brought in, and they ran to hug each other. Dan gave them a moment before asking them to sit down. The interpreter was busy writing notes, and whispered, “The girls spoke in their native tongue, Hausa. They said nothing of note, except being worried about each other. I’ll give you a full transcript before we leave.”
Dan began in a friendly fashion. “We are not police. I am with the security service, and I want to ask you a few questions. Please relax. My name is Dan, and my colleague is a translator, called Maye. Please speak in the language that suits you best. Your names are Siri and Sana?”
The girls nodded, but were apprehensive. Dan said, “Please, we only want to talk.”
He leant forward as if bowing to them, and whispered, “This room has video cameras, and they record what we say. If you have a secret to tell, whisper it to me.”
Dan pulled back, stretched, and said in his normal voice, “Have you prayed today?”
The translator offered Dan a bag, and he gave a prayer mat to each girl, and sat a compass-like device on the table. “As a sign of good faith, I will allow you a few minutes for prayer. Mecca is in that direction.”
Dan pointed his finger, echoing the display of the Islamic compass, and nodded at the translator, who repeated his words in Hausa.
They looked startled but smiled before going about their devotions. Dan looked directly at the cameras, smiled, and said, “The prayer mats and compass now belong to you girls, but I do not know if the police will allow you to keep them. They are now your property, regardless.”
He was speaking as much for the information of the police listening in, as for the girls. The prayer break gave Dan the opportunity to speak quietly with the translator in preparation for the coming interview.
The girls returned to the table, looking a little more confidant. Dan began the interview, setting a pattern in motion. He would ask a question, one girl would reply, and the other reply afterwards. Sometimes they spoke together, or in alternating sentences. The translator always spoke Dan’s words in their language, unless they waved the translation aside. As with other Nigerians Dan had known, their English proved to be very good, if African in dialect.
Dan began. “Tell me about your lives, before that night?”
“We were happy, both at school, which is wonderful for women, and we had happy families, a lovely life.”
Sana spoke. “Yes it is true. My family were so proud of me, as few women are educated. I dreamt of going to university, but then the Shai mugaye came, and everything was destroyed.”
The translator said, “That means ‘Satan’s evil ones’ in Hausa.”
Dan said, “Tell me about that night, please. I need to understand. I’m sorry if it brings back painful memories, but I need to understand how these people work. You are both from Chibok?”
Siri spoke first, as usual. “Yes, that night, we can never forget. We all thought we would be killed. They were mean, fired at anyone. We were herded like animals, and beaten for no reason.”
Sana spoke next, adding to the story. “It was horrendous. They put us in a truck, and I looked back. They lined the men up and shot them, women too. Both my parents are dead.”
Her tears came, and soothing words ensued. Dan allowed them a moment, before gently pressing forward. “I need your help. You have been with these men. Tell me what life was like with Boko Haram. I know it was most unpleasant, so speak openly.”
“We grew up fast, learned about the ways of men. We were raped and beaten every day. The pretty ones like us became favourites, and we were passed from one man to another, many in the same hour. I felt defiled. It was a journey into hell, except the hell never stopped.”
Sana added, “They are not Muslim, they cannot be, because they had sex with us. It is against Allah’s wishes. I don’t understand how they could do it to us. I learned to switch my mind off to the sex, but some girls could not cope. I hated the constant beatings. Usually there was no reason, they almost broke me. But for my sisters, I would have fallen. We were treated as slaves, chattels of war.”
Dan continued to get them to talk about their experiences, often adding a few words to ease the story along. “Was there no way out?”
“Only one: death. We were taught their version of Islam, which conflicted with our own. But we had to do as they said, or be killed. Some girls were beheaded.”
Sana added, “Our days were long, filled with chores, rape, and beatings. In between, they subjected us to learning their version of Islam, and we had to. Either that or die.
“Then they made some sort of deal with ISIL, and they started training us to become suicide bombers. At last we had the chance to escape through death.”
Dan’s stomach churned as he studied their faces. They had been happy to have that choice. He fixed his face and smiled back. “How did you come to England?”
“Once we volunteered, they took a group of us up through Chad, and gave us to ISIL in Libya. They were nasty people, but we weren’t there long, and were imprisoned for most of the time. The next day guards came and took a few of us. I don’t know where the others went, but we were sent to a plane, and arrived in England, carrying our suicide vests, our only possession.”
Sana said, “I was scared, but such a relief to be away from Shai mugaye. I was going to blow myself up, but not take too many others with me, when a strange thing happened, it was as if we were expected. The woman spoke to us in Hausa, and offered us life, but only if we surrendered to her.”
Siri said, “Yes, same for me. It felt like Allah was offering to spare us, Assalaamu Álaykum.”
“Yes, I felt that too. Maybe he has other plans for us.”
Dan let their banter continue for a moment, they were reanimating as people, and he wanted to indulge their coming back into the world, but not too much.
He interrupted and said, “I’m thirsty, and could do with a coffee, strong, milk and sugar. Translator? Girls?”
They spoke their wishes, and Dan asked the translator to knock the door and present their request. It was a distraction, but also an offer of friendship.
Dan stretched back, clicking bones in his back and shoulders, as he showed a relaxed persona. Once the translator was in earshot he spoke. “Tell me everything you can about your flight, your time in England.”
“Well, it was rather late when we left, and almost daylight, but the night got darker, and we landed somewhere. We were there for hours, and not allowed off, even for a pee. Our seats were hard, and lined both sides of the cargo plane. It was not nice. They filled up the centre with lots of carriages, packed full of stuff.
“Much of it was whisky and cigarettes, drugs as well. I feel so ashamed. Boko Haram forced us to drink, smoke things, and take drugs. I feel humiliated. I have sinned, even though I could do nothing to prevent them. We can never go home. My parents would kill me.”
Sana said, “They weren’t Muslims, not good ones like we are. They used those evils to loosen us up, before raping us, oh so many times. My life is worthless. No man will take us as wives. Dying is a release.”
Sensing the moment slip, Dan interjected, slapping his hand on the table for effect. “They were Muslims, but then you don’t know you were in Morocco, did you?”
The girls’ faces looked stunned. “M… Morocco!”
“Yes indeed. What can you tell me about that, the rest of the flight…”
Dan cajoled and worked his witnesses to the best of his ability, learning their ways, and keeping a level path through the girls’ highs and lows of retelling.
They came to the last item on Dan’s list, the house they stayed at. The girls spoke openly about their experience. “It was a staging place, but we were reasonably well looked after. The man in charge was Muslim, but not radicalised like all those we had met since leaving our village, and we almost felt safe, and sort of enjoyed our time there. We were offered a room each, but chose to sleep together.”
Siri said, “I locked the door after dinner, and put a chair under the handle. We could hear the owner moving about downstairs, and then he came up to the bathroom, and went into another room.”
Sana added, “It was good sleep, although we woke often because of strange noises, usually outside. Do people in this country ever go to sleep?”
“Sometimes, but not everyone at the same time, our society is twenty four hours you know.”
“Wow. I can’t believe.”
“What about when you both woke up the next day?”
“I will never forget it. Our room overlooked the rear garden. The sun shone down on us, warming us, as if a new life had begun. We prayed, then went down for breakfast, and the man was cooking English style, it was strange, but good to eat.”
Dan smiled, and encouraged the girls to speak, knowing everything they said was being recorded by his mobile phone, as always. Inwardly, his mind focused on a map he had studied in detail. The house they had been taken to was 42 Acacia Avenue, and it faced south. The rear bedroom would never see the morning sun. The police were tearing number 42 apart, and had found nothing. It was the wrong house.
Dan leaned forward and whispered, “You went into a house, then where did you go to end up where you slept. Whisper.”
As a distraction, Dan had his mobile in his hand, and was setting up his final play. Sana whispered, “We went in the front door, and were told to wait for a while. We were not allowed to do, or touch anything. Then we were given drapes to wear, and shown out the back. We walked down an alley a few houses left, and in the back way to the house on the other side.”
Dan said, “Thank you. That is all I needed. One last thing before I go, do you recognise any of these people?”
Dan showed them a slideshow of the faces Bernie had sent him, and he counted by picture number, as he recorded the girls’ verbal responses. He learned a lot about a few of the men pictured.
Once finished, he wished the girls well, departed quickly, and before the local plod could interrogate him. Their refreshments never did arrive.
Chapter 30 ~ A Home of Their Own
Before taking off, Dan tasked Bernie to follow up on the house switch the girls were involved with, and was soon in possession of a short video showing their movements after arrival. He chuckled. Because of the aggressive police tactics, the girls had not told about the change of house. Certainly no detective had thought to ask.
He was late back home, because he had already paid a visit to the householder and house in question, 53 Salmond Avenue. His team were already working on ownership and residents, known associates, and local police information channels.
The owner, as it turned out, said, “I was just doing a favour for my nephew, Sunil Khan. He had rescued those two poor girls you know. Frightened of their own shadows they were. They were only here two nights, and hid in one room, even though I gave them a room each. They were scared. Are you from Social Services, looking out for them?”
“Yes. I’m concerned for their welfare, may I come in?”
“Of course, I’ll put the kettle on. Not often I have visitors. The young ones only come round when they want something. You’ll take it British style?”
“Yes, milk and three sugars.” Dan learned much about Islamic culture, and the way it was changing in recent times. There came a natural break in conversation, he gave thanks, and departed.
It was dark when Dan touched down in Norwich. He made for his car, and spent twenty minutes dictating the day’s events to log. He forwarded official reports to other agencies via official channels, knowing bureaucracy would delay them.
Leaning back, he stretched and ran a memory check of all he had to do. His thoughts drifted to the next phase, and he must have nodded off, because he was jarred awake by his phone ringing. It was a special ringtone reserved for only one person.
“Felicity, I was about to call you, I just got in.”
“Hmm. Where are you?”
“Norwich airport.”
“Good. I’m almost done in the office, so meet me at the Glen Avon Hotel, it’s just off…”
While Dan was waiting in the foyer, he informed both Bristol police and the Met the wrong house was being torn apart. He signed with his new credentials, and officially reported the fact via official channels.
A little later, Felicity arrived. She looked tired, and was laden down with baggage. “Here, let me carry this. Are you okay sweetheart? You look worn-out.”
They showered together, and sat back to recount their tales of work. Both fell asleep in chairs, finally crawling to bed hours later.
Despite their early night, they slept late, their minds and bodies needing the convalescence of good sleep. Dan called room service for coffee, as they slowly came alive that morning. He enquired, “Breakfast? We missed dinner.”
“The both of us. You fell asleep first,” she said playfully.
“No I did not, I was waiting for you.”
Their play brought them both fully awake, heightened by a second coffee. Felicity said, “There’s a truck stop eatery just down the road. Full English breakfast, all grease and unhealthy eating, fancy a bite?”
“Count me in. A man-meal is just what I need.”
They both tucked in to feast of what nutritionalists and doctors would have fifty fits over, greasy, full of saturates fats, and delicious. Felicity said, “This week is the worst, and next almost as bad. Once Karen is in situ, I can stop doing two jobs. My official promotion is set for the first of next month. I just have to survive another long week of hell. How’s it going with you?”
Dan recounted days as short sentences, keeping it brief. This was catching up, not problem-sharing. He reached across and took her fingers in his own, hoping his next words would not cause offence; was she really the one?
“Felicity, sorry, but I need to be at work this morning, half a day at the longest. I hope you understand.”
Felicity tightened her grip on Dan’s hand momentarily, and replied, “So do I. Our jobs, our work, it’s not normal. I never thought I’d find someone who understood, but you do.”
“Likewise. So what’s next?”
“Well, it’s almost nine o’clock, and we need to go to The Furniture Warehouse. It’s like a shopping centre, but only for furniture. We must order a bed today, and a three-piece suite.”
“Why, why the rush. We can take our time.”
“Well, no we can’t. You see, Karen needs police housing, and my gaff is it regards Lower Meddlington. I need to be out of there a week come Friday, but get Brownie points for doing it sooner.”
Dan stared at her. “You’re moving in?”
“It seems to be the best resolution, plus I’ve opted for police housing here in Norwich. I will end up with an apartment, but one within walking distance of work. It will take some time to come through. The thing is, that this weekend, I need to move out of my present home.”<
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“Ah. Leave that to me, that’s boys’ work. Consider it done, Ma’am.” Dan’s cheeky grin elicited a deeper, unspoken sharing.
They left at once, and were two of the few early customers at The Furniture Warehouse. Beds were chosen, as was a lounge suite of composite leather sections, which could be mixed and matched at will. They placed orders for bedding and towels, a magazine rack and coffee table, mainly to Felicity’s taste, and Dan’s expense. All were to be delivered several weeks later, except for a few specific items, such as their bed.
As they left Felicity said, “That’s the basics sorted. You okay with antique furniture? I thought it attend some auctions and flea markets.”
“Yes, old furniture would suit the house much better. But there’s no rush. Maybe we could go together sometime.”
They departed for work, and Felicity rang some hours later. “Dan, something came up, and I must deal with it. Sorry.”
“Do it. This is your job. I’m with the team, debriefing from yesterday, and there’s a lot more I must cover, so I’ll be here for what? Say another hour. See you later.”
Cathy was showing deliverymen where to put the bed when Dan arrived at the house. She had guessed the right room, and Dan took over. “Thanks Cathy, one bed, a couple of chairs, just the basics so we can live here. We’ll wait until the work is complete before delivering, and ordering the rest. Thanks for covering, but why are you here? Your help is much appreciated all the same.”
“Kevin called me, and well, you need a woman here to keep tabs on all these tradesmen. I don’t need paying, but a posh meal in that pub you live in wouldn’t go amiss. Now, the locksmith is due to arrive any minute, so give me some space.”
There were floorboards up all over the place, and the electrician had a full team working on rewiring. “We’ve been through a renovation and discovered that all the wiring in the kitchen had been done using spare parts from the original owner’s boat-building nephew––cloth covered wiring from the 30’s and splices galore.”