by John Mead
Alima stopped, Matthew’s expression still unsympathetic, still judgmental, just like her father who criticised every little thing she did and made her feel she achieved below his expectations of her. ‘Oh, fuck you!’ she told him suddenly angry and unrepentant, she got up to pour herself another wine, not offering him any. ‘Just sod off and go tell your little police friends what a real fuck up I am.’
Instead Merry stood up, took her in his arms and kissed her, tugging at her dress so it slipped off her shoulders, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, the direction of which she pointed out with her foot.
Thank God that men think with their dicks, she thought to herself, relaxing again, blanking her mind to put up with the hour or so that lay ahead.
20
It was going to be another hot, late spring day. Matthew’s daughters were rushing their breakfast and his wife, Kathy, was preparing for the school run while snatching mouthfuls of her own food, insisting he take it easy. Merry watched the domestic scene counting his blessings but also pondering the debit side. He had explained his lateness home yesterday and the various bites, scratches and bruises Alima had inflicted on him during their rough sex as having been the result of his helping two British Transport Police officers arrest a violent drunk.
Kathy had been both aggrieved that he’d gotten involved, at the same time admiring his heroism for doing so. She obviously had no recollection of his having arrived home many years ago, when they were only a few days from their wedding, from a weekend conference with similar injuries due, he’d told her, to slipping on the hotel stairs. Then as now he’d swept Alima off her feet, she had been a speaker at the conference and they had chatted first over lunch then dinner, winding up having cocktails in the bar. She’d explained that her Muslim heritage required her to be modest in public while her Christian half allowed her to drink and flirt. They had discussed the book she was researching, about the good and bad of sexual violence, they laughed and were comfortable in each others’ company, like old friends.
Having sex that weekend seemed natural, they recognised a kinship in each other. Matthew had literally never even fantasied about having sex in the way he did with Alima, it was wild and feral yet they came to it without hesitation. For days afterwards he had thought long and hard about phoning her, throwing everything out and running to her, even after his wedding he kept thinking back, asking himself had he done the right thing. However he couldn’t hurt Kathy, he knew he loved her.
What Alima offered was something passionate and intense but not love. Now he had two daughters there was no doubt in his mind he’d made the right decision, even assuming Alima would have wanted him. Yet Hassan pulled at his wild side which was so deeply hidden within himself he barely knew it was there. He had no doubt that his casual, short-lived affairs and one night stands were no more than some desire to recapture that intense passion. Rarely did he come close to doing so, they just led to frustration and guilt.
As he watched the girls and his wife finish their whirlwind breakfast ritual, kiss him goodbye and rush out the door, Matthew was completely certain that, after last night, he had banished any residual desires he had for Alima. A philandering arsehole he might be but he realised on which side his bread was buttered and was content with domestic bliss and a passionate, loving wife.
Julie Lukula was also contemplating her love life. She had come to work early, wanting to drive to Manchester that afternoon so she had a full weekend with her mother, and was working through the last of the CCTV clips Gillian Porter had left unchecked, due to her early departure from the team. Julie had avoided Alima as much as she could yesterday and was now Alima free for two nights and Julie realised the drug of their lovemaking was wearing off. Had she been so naive to mistake the physical chemistry and passion of their lovemaking as something more meaningful? She didn’t think so, love had been there, perhaps only fleetingly but it had sprouted then withered as Julie’s doubts had surfaced, like weeds strangling the new growth. Her doubts, however, were proving hard to pin down in concrete terms. There were certain character traits Julie disliked: Alima’s self-centred world view, her attempts to manipulate the case, her occasional flashes of arrogance. However there was something else, something that fuelled Julie’s suspicious nature that she couldn’t put her finger on. Then it was staring her in the face.
Porter had labelled a whole series of CCTV clips from the different locations as ‘Headscarf – Hijab’ they had all been marked as reviewed and followed up by Hayden, apart from one, nestling in a batch of CCTV clips from the Berner Centre. And there, caught on a street cam, was Doctor Hassan in a hijab, pausing outside the hair and nail bar, possibly leaving it, in the act of putting on a pair of sunglasses.
At first Lukula was incredulous, only after she had printed a series of stills and noted the dates and times, which spanned a period from before the killings occurred up until Lynsey Hensley’s murder, did she start to wonder if this was more than mere coincidence. To be certain she spent a couple more hours checking other CCTV images from the same street cam, finding a number of shots of Alima in different headscarves but with the same sunglasses, come rain or shine.
‘Where’s Julie?’ Swift wanted to know, he’d spent the morning firstly with the chief superintendent and then CPS, mainly on other matters but also mentioning their yo-yoing murder case, which may or may not be moving forward.
‘She’s out, following up on the last of the CCTV footage,’ Rosen explained. ‘I’m not certain if she will be back today as she mentioned wanting to get off early to visit her mother.’
‘Matthew?’ Swift asked, remembering Lukula had told him her mother was ill and he’d agreed to her taking time to visit. Police officers, despite common opinion, still being human and having a life outside the job.
‘Out getting sandwiches, he’s been going through the CCTV footage from the streets around Cowan’s flat on the 14th April, seeing if he can spot Billy or her,’ Rosen felt like he was having to cover for his colleagues though in reality they were both doing their jobs, it was just that they both gave off the same clandestine vibe that they were following up leads of their own.
‘Did he find anything?’ Swift asked, having assured the chief that they were making progress and he was hoping not to be contradicted.
‘From the various expletives being liberally thrown about I suspect not, unfortunately the coverage around Cowan’s flat isn’t that great.’
Swift didn’t have to wait long before Matthew appeared with sandwiches and coffee to which, unbidden, he helped himself liberally.
‘I want a briefing Monday, at ten,’ Swift told Merry between mouthfuls, ‘everyone except whichever pair is on surveillance. We need to decide on a way forward as I can’t justify surveillance for more than a few more days. If Billy Craig’s alibi is still standing by Wednesday I think we should pull Cowan back in and focus on the Hensley killing, as we can link her to that.’ Merry nodded in agreement, slightly aggrieved that half his lunch was going down Swift’s throat. ‘Trouble is, interviewing Cowan is like pulling teeth and, despite what Doctor Hassan believes, I’m not convinced we will get anything,’ Swift drank some sips of coffee, to wash the sandwich down before continuing. ‘The problem is Hassan doesn’t understand the limited time we have with the suspect, nor what a court of law requires from a confession, vague assertions and generalised indications aren’t going to cut it. If we are no further forward I doubt if the chief will approve my spending more man hours on the cost of a further public appeal. I mooted the possibility of a re-enactment and she looked as if I’d suggested hiring Hollywood starlets to play the leading parts.’
The two men munched on, pondering their own thoughts until Merry’s mobile dinged at the same moment Swift’s did. It was an email from Porter with a video attached. It took them a moment or so to work out what they were watching. Porter was in a pub, the Hungerford Arms’ Merry thought, hol
ding her phone and muttering as if making a call but her phone was pointed at a couple sat at a table just down the bar. It was Cowan and Billy Craig. The pair were, heads leaning close, discussing something that couldn’t be overheard by Porter or her phone’s microphone. Then, just as they were starting to wonder if Porter might have tried to get closer to hear something, Jenny Cowan calmly reached into her pocket and pulled out a roll of bank notes, a thick roll of notes with an elastic band to secure them, and passed them to a surprised but happy looking Billy, who gave her a thumbs up and a wink. It was like watching a pair of comedy crooks pass a bag marked ‘swag’ between them.
Julie was getting impatient, she’d wanted to get away before the rush hour started and already knew that wasn’t going to be achieved. Her time at the hair and nail bar had been a waste. The manager and staff vaguely remembered the headscarf-wearing customer, though they were confused as to which of their customers it was. Nor could they pick Alima’s photo out of a selection that Julie had prepared for ID purposes. On a long shot she had tried at the supermarket where the girls worked and the woman on the till was fairly certain, possibly, that it was Hassan she remembered speaking with Lynsey; possibly, maybe, Jody as well. As time ticked on Lukula tried the black youth who had been at Swedenborg Gardens and seen the headscarf-wearing woman.
He wasn’t at home but at college, or so his mother told the sergeant and she also provided Julie with his mobile number. Julie text the lad, saying she needed to speak with him urgently and to be waiting at the main reception. When she arrived he wasn’t there, so she phoned, he didn’t answer, she text again, increasingly frustrated and annoyed. Then asked at reception and was told there was a second reception on the other side of the college. Halfway across the campus, the youth phoned back and, as if in a farce, asked where she was as he’d been waiting and needed to get to his class.
‘Do you recognise any of these women?’ Lukula asked, having finally tracked the youth down and laid the selection of ID photos before him on a low table, between their chairs, in the lobby.
The youth, pleased at seeing the attractive sergeant once again and only regretting that none of his friends were around to see them talking, carefully studied each photo and then tapped one saying, ‘That’s her, the woman I saw at the gate of Swedenborg Gardens.’
‘You’re certain?’ Lukula checked as the CCTV still of Alima outside the hair and nail bar, in a headscarf, wasn’t in brilliant focus.
‘Yes, I even remember the sunglasses,’ the young man beamed, pleased to be helping. ‘Did I mention them before? She wasn’t wearing them but she had them in her hand, just putting them on or taking them off. I remember now because they were designers, not cheap.’
‘OK, what about these, do you recognise any of these women?’ Lukula spread out another set of photos, this time of women without headscarves.
‘That’s her,’ there was no hesitation this time and he pointed straight to Alima. ‘She’s good looking, with or without the headscarf, as her bone structure and her eyes are unmistakable.’ Then seeing the sergeant’s surprised look, the youth added with a shy smile, ‘I’m studying Art and Photography.’ Lukula gave him the full beam of her smile as a reward for his help and had him sign, date and say where he’d seen the woman in the photos before, and explained he’d be called on to give a formal statement, before she dashed off.
Now she could place Hassan at Swedenborg Gardens at the time of Lynsey’s death and, with Merry’s evidence of her researching the girls, it was highly suspicious. However, Julie wondered if she was letting her emotions get in the way and was now reading too much into the evidence, wanting to cast Alima in a bad light. There was no doubt that Alima’s involvement with the case was at an end but did this new evidence add up to more that just coincidence and conniving on Alima’s part? It was already late in the day and Julie needed to reflect on what she had found out, so she decided to brave the frenetic Friday rush hour traffic and head for her mother’s. A day or two of normality, away from the incident room and the others, would help her put her thoughts in order and ensure her perspective of events was reasonable before she went about opening up a can of worms.
‘Hello Billy,’ Merry said amicably as he seated himself opposite the startled Billy who was still in the same seat as when Porter had videoed him and Cowan earlier. ‘Can I get you a pint?’
‘What? Oh, yes, it’s Inspector Merry isn’t it. You startled me for a moment,’ Billy smiled, trying to regain his composure and doing his best to sound as if he had nothing to hide.
‘Sorry, you did look preoccupied,’ Merry’s face a blank and his tone neutral, ‘no doubt you were working out how to spend all your money. I assume you won’t be telling your wife about your little windfall?’
‘What?’ Billy glanced round, wondering how the inspector knew so quickly about the money Jackie had so unexpectedly given him.
‘The money Jackie gave you,’ Merry went on, knowing a few facts were excellent leverage at getting at the truth, ‘to pay you for the alibi you gave her.’
‘No, she didn’t give me anything,’ Billy was quick to deny, not wanting the officer to get the wrong idea, ‘I was with her like I said.’
‘On your wife’s birthday.’
‘Yes, like I said.’
‘You’ll be treating her then?’
‘What?’
‘Your wife,’ Merry clarified, ‘a belated present. I’m sure she will expect it after I’ve spoken to her, to see what she can or can’t corroborate about that day.’
‘No. What? You can’t,’ Billy objected, wondering what had brought all this shit so suddenly down on his head.
‘I can and will, if I don’t get the truth.’
‘I’ve told you the truth, on my word,’ Billy stated earnestly, even crossing his heart, a hangover from his school days.
‘Your wife is the least of your worries,’ Merry reassured him, the slightest of smiles at the pleasure he would feel when arresting the errant Billy, ‘it’s a long jail stretch for abetting a murder. Do you think your wife will hang around once she knows you’ve been fucking the delectable Jackie behind her back?’
Billy had gone pale and his mouth worked for a moment or two before he stammered, ‘I swear on all that’s holy I haven’t lied, I’ve told you the truth.’
‘That you were with Jackie on the 15th?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your wife’s birthday?’
‘Like I said, the 15th April… no, you’ve got me confused, turned around. It was the 14th,’ Billy felt the pub was revolving.
‘So your wife’s birthday isn’t on the 15th?’ the inspector seemed puzzled at Billy’s confusion.
‘No, the 14th April, my wife’s birthday is 14th April,’ Billy stated, once again certain of his facts.
‘You saw Jackie on the 15th then?’
‘No,’ Billy almost laughed, he was clear about the dates, ‘it was the 14th.’
‘Of May?’
‘Yes, 14th May… no April,’
‘You really don’t seem that certain,’ Merry concluded.
‘You are twisting everything and confusing me,’ Billy’s voice had risen at each step of the conversation and now most of the pub was quiet and listening to his confused answers.
‘It will be good practice for you,’ Merry stated in a clear, loud voice, relishing his role before the audience of the pub’s clientele. ‘When you are stood in the dock, answering charges for aiding and abetting a murder, the prosecution will do all they can to show the jury what a liar you are.’ Billy had sat bolt upright, his body quivering like a bow string, unable to think, no answer coming to mind. ‘I wonder what your wife will say when she’s called as a witness? We’ve already got Jenny dead to rights, of course you know her as Jackie don’t you? Are you sure which girl you fucked and when?’
Billy got up, his back straight, he swivel
led round to find the nearest exit and marched out, rather like some puppet soldier his limbs jerking in an oddly coordinated way.
‘I’ll give you until Monday, to consider your statement then I’ll be down on you,’ Merry called out after him. He waited for a moment and then got up and calmly sauntered out, half expecting the late afternoon pub goers to give him a round of applause for the stirring entertainment.
‘He was rattled,’ Merry explained to Swift on the phone, as he walked back to his car, ‘although he stuck to his story, but only just. He is definitely the weak link of the pair, so if we leave tackling Cowan about the pay-off I think we are more likely to get a result.’
‘I agree, I don’t think she will break cover as easily as Billy. If we keep the surveillance going over the weekend, Billy might just pop round to see her,’ Swift conjectured, feeling that the alibi was about to break. ‘If he does I’ll have them pulled in and we can confront them both.’
‘I would put money on us not needing to wait for a solicitor for Billy. I can’t see him clamming up, he’s close to breaking point. We just need to let him simmer a while, let the thought of a long stretch in prison work on his mind, then I’m sure he will crack,’ Merry stated with certainty, he knew Billy’s type too well, knew he wouldn’t hold up as the pressure built on him.
‘It would be best to catch the pair out but if not we’ll bring him in on Monday in any case,’ Swift almost sounded gleeful, glad to be on the same wavelength as Matthew, he felt the team was firing on all cylinders again after a small bump.
‘At the very worst we can still link Cowan to Lynsey’s killing, although we’ll need more than her prints to be certain of a conviction,’ Merry ruminated, ‘I’m surprised she didn’t try for an alibi on that one.’ Then, considering that Swift seemed happy with the news he’d been given, decided to venture, ‘You know I can’t help feeling that Doctor Hassan’s involvement is simply confusing things.’