by AD Davies
“Most people of your rank stand when I enter.”
“Well…” Alicia gestured to her stomach.
“I thought it shouldn’t inhibit your work.”
“Very well.” Alicia stood and saluted. “May I help you?”
“Ma’am.”
“Sorry?”
Paulson pulled her jacket tight, as if some imagined wrinkle made her itch. “You can address me as ‘Ma’am.’ Or ‘Chief’, or even ‘boss’, although I prefer that last one reserved for more … competent officers.”
“Sorry, maaaaa’aaaaam, what can I do for you, maaa’aaam?
“You’re out of here in less than three hours. You think you can be insubordinate like this?”
“Maaaa’aaaam, I don’t know what you mean.”
Paulson swallowed. “What did you do?”
“As I said—”
“I know what you said. But you know what I mean. How come your rep was unable to attend? And why can Professional Standards not find a stand in?”
“May I sit?” Alicia asked.
Paulson waved to the chair.
Alicia sat and projected the very image of innocence. “I could detail the unfortunate events, boss, like the terrible food poisoning that suddenly took my formal SCA rep home sick. I could remind you that the other union rep on duty today tried to start his car but sadly couldn’t get it going, and of course the unfortunate loss of his pass which meant he couldn’t sign out a pool vehicle. I could also explain that of the two union reps in this building, one is also sick, and the other—my good friend Sergeant Ball—is tied up with a serious investigation into a bicycle theft…”
Paulson literally growled.
Alicia said, “But, Chief, I’m sorry to say, it just boils down to one simple thing: I’m more popular than you.”
“What?”
“People love me, maaaaa’aaaaam. I do my job, and I do it damn well. I don’t need to change my personality to be successful, which makes working with me an absolute joy. They know it, and they spread the word. Like they know you want to shut down our division and sell us off to the public schoolboy brigade at MI5. So I’m sorry, but … that’s it. Professional Standards can’t do their interview, so I’m going to see out my last day as an active member of the team.”
“You’ll stay right where you are until seven p.m. Then you’re done.” Paulson turned on her heels and departed in a hurry.
“I can’t.”
Paulson halted. Turned her head only. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t forget, boss, I’m on loan to Sheerton. You let them run the investigation with mine and Backfill Bobby’s input. I fall under Daniel Nixon’s purview, meaning…” Alicia rapped the desk in a drumroll as she stood. “He gave DCI Murphy operational control, and DCI Murphy…” Another drum roll. “Likes me lots. So I’ll be in on the interview.”
“What interview?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
* * *
Bill Khan never liked the term “Philosopher Bill” but it fit. It was too simplistic, too pat. But the others, including Jacob, had all at some point consulted him on one matter or another. Jacob took care of their spiritual needs, those who decided the Bible was a good enough touchstone to cleanse their soul and guide them into the light, but Bill was more practical than that. He had nothing against the Christian route, but it relied too much on the notion of an almighty being that could think things into existence, then set a bunch of arbitrary rules for His creation to follow.
All a bit Disney for Bill Khan.
Which was, in part, why he observed Excelsior Academy from his vantage point by the road, having stopped off on his way back from the village. The school was set into a valley, one so wide it hardly qualified, but during his research into this place, he considered the geology as well as the other physical issues.
Sitting cross-legged on the car roof, using Jacob’s high-powered binoculars, Bill counted the armed police. Ten, so far.
Too many.
But there were ways around that.
He noted the time they changed over, never a full complement in and out, but partial shift changes, which jibed with previous notes he and others made.
This one had been the most difficult to tempt over to their cause, but it would also be the most important. He wasn’t actually sure if they would stop here, but he suspected if the wealthy nobs could bring this much protection down based on what amounted to guesswork, they’d rain hellfire after the event.
A van pulled up beside him, unmarked. Two men in front.
Oh.
Then a car with serious horsepower—a Volvo by the look of it—raced round the bend and halted in front of him. Four men in body armour spilled from the van and two from the car, all aiming Glocks his way and yelling, “Armed Police,” and, “Get down,” and things like that.
Bill’s plan had been interrupted but not killed completely. Even though he wouldn’t be able to guide proceedings, it didn’t mean they would not be executed properly.
He smiled as he hopped down from the roof, smiled as they cuffed him, face-down in the dirt. His only concern was whether he would be able to act properly if and when the opportunity presented itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Interview commences eighteen-hundred hours,” Murphy said. “Detective Chief Inspector Donald Murphy conducting the interview. Also in attendance…”
Alicia and Stevenson introduced themselves for the recording, as did Kuno Kae, highlighting her role and her client’s presence. Without additional commentary this time.
Alicia thought she looked tired.
Beside Murphy rested two box files and four manila folders, plus a tablet computer should they require it.
Murphy asked, “What’s the plan?”
Bill said, “No comment.”
“Then where?” Stevenson asked. “Please, just tell us—”
“Billy boy,” Alicia butted in.
Sandwiched between Murphy, who sat in the official position opposite Philosopher Bill, and Stevenson who perched on the end as an “observer”, she touched Stevenson’s leg out of sight of the others. Squeezed. He took a breath and he looked almost happy for the interruption. But he needed to shut up. He was on the verge of begging, and that wasn’t like him. For all his insecurities about stepping into Alicia’s shoes, he hinted at the competence expected of a detective sergeant in the modern Police Service. But he was still human, and now his desperation was seeping through, allowing a manipulator like Bill Khan to treat it as rocket fuel to his ego.
“Billy.” Alicia rested her elbows on the table, her legs akimbo to accommodate another acrobatic display within. “Billy, Billy, Billy.”
Head tilt. Angel-smile. Fists under her chin to highlight her dimples.
Perfecto.
Kuno said, “I don’t hear a question, DS Friend.”
Wider smile.
Bill crossed his arms and let his own smile through that scraggly excuse of a beard.
Double-perfecto.
“Bill,” Alicia said. “You’ve won. You’ve made your point. You have the ability and will to manipulate others into doing your bidding. And when you do, the people you’re upset with sit up and take note. And we know you’re targeting the school. You have someone inside, and they’re going to do something horrible. Sniffer dogs haven’t located a bomb, haven’t found an iota of ammunition. A little weed, but nothing to get upset about. Meaning…” She shuffled forward, leaning closer to the man opposite.
Bill mirrored her body language, sliding his folded arms toward her, shoulders lowered. Two people sharing a secret.
Intimate.
He said, “Meaning…?”
“Bill,” Kuno said.
“Meaning no comment.” He sat up again, arms to his side, but his narrowing eyes suggested a “touché” as if she’d nearly tricked him. “I have nothing to add.”
Alicia sat up. Inside her, Junior flipped and head butted her liver. Her foot pressed
on to Murphy’s to indicate she wasn’t done. Once the baby settled, Alicia breathed through a narrow gap in her lips, exaggerating the blowing noise. Bill glanced at her stomach, then back to her eyes.
Right.
She said, “A dead child is a sad thing, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” Bill said, frowning.
Kuno touched his arm and they exchanged eyebrow-pops.
Bill said, “No comment.”
“You like seeing children bleed?” Alicia asked.
Bill shook his head. “No comment.”
“A dead teenage girl is a beautiful thing, is it not?”
“No,” Bill hissed, then composed himself. “No comment.”
She was getting to him. This time her kick to Murphy’s shin was a signal.
“You know,” Murphy said, “if you ‘no comment’ your way through this whole thing, it won’t end well for you. Or the kids at Excelsior.”
“Actually…” Bill clasped his hands on the table top. “You arrested me for no reason. Under anti-terror laws, for hanging around a property you only think is some sort of target. Which, by the way, I know nothing about.” He shook off another of Kuno’s cautionary touches. “It’s okay, can’t deny I was up on that hill, looking. Sometimes, Kuno, it just needs saying.” Shifting his gaze between her and Murphy, he said, “You got cops all over, but you don’t know. You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’m about. I inspire people.”
“Bill,” Kuno said again.
“Inspire,” Alicia said. “Inspire them instead of doing the work yourself. You find people without hope, people who are hurting, who see no way back in today’s world. An extreme homophobe who hates gay people but is surrounded by them wherever he goes, openly being gay and happy and in love. Persuade him to kill on your command, then kill himself so it’s all the more glorious. Add to that the community event pitted against the extreme hate group you prodded and goaded into attending, and you have the opportunity for…”
And Alicia felt herself spinning. Not a bad spinning, but like at the centre of a tornado. A tornado of epiphany.
She said, “Chaos. It’s about chaos, isn’t it?”
Bill glanced at Stevenson for some reason.
Stevenson took the cue. “Chaos.” He thought a moment, then, “The Jafari guy. Islamic activist, not a terrorist. Terrorists are too easy. Take someone who believes in his community, in his religion in its purest form … turn him.”
Bill moved to Alicia now, mouth open half an inch, yellowing teeth glimpsed behind his lips.
Stevenson said, “Play on his fears, his doubts. Make him kill, then persuade him his life isn’t worth living behind bars. In his religion, his life is nothing but a dress rehearsal for eternity, so what difference does it make? Die now or die in fifty years, it’s all the same.”
He’d clearly been listening to the interviews with Omar, picked up on the hints at his psychology, the same ones as Alicia.
He said, “Then the protests. Anti-Islam, anti-fascists, at loggerheads, but nowhere near the problems you’re hoping for.”
“So you step it up,” Alicia said. “Straight away, you trigger the black community. A rash decision maybe? A rare break in your cool? Temper get the better of you because your riot never occurred?”
Bill licked his lips and closed his mouth. Swallowed. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Not ‘no commenting’?” Murphy said. “Because what you gave was admissible as evidence.”
“I don’t know anything about any riot.”
“Oh really?”
Murphy presented the first box file, opened the lid to reams of paper. “I am showing the suspect item one-four-A. The print out of intelligence recovered by Cyber Crime Division at the Serious Crime Agency relating to a virtual private network operated by the Institute for Reformation of Men of Violence. It shows not only communications with encrypted social media that coincides with social media use by all three confessed murderers—Mitchell Vaughn, Omar Jafari, and Benjamin Grodin—at the same time. It cements profiles on extreme left and right forums, where we understand you pitted both sides against the other using not one but multiple profiles.”
Alicia wasn’t happy with Bill right now.
Raised chin = defiance.
Unwilling to answer to an authority he did not recognise.
Crossed arms, clamped jaw = scared to speak.
Not scared of the police, but scared of giving something away. What was it?
Tensing chest muscles = display of masculinity.
To master the little lady at the centre and intimidate the other men.
“You wanted discord,” Murphy said. “The only thing is, we can’t find anything relating to the next attack. We can’t figure out what you’re planning with that school, and we’ve vetted everyone in there. Staff, students, contractors. Nothing on your server indicating a wider plan, no protest group activity. It’s like…”
A frown on Bill’s forehead, a squint = confusion and anticipation.
Bill didn’t understand. Did he think he’d covered every base?
“You don’t need it,” Alicia said. “The attack, with you free, it’s going ahead. And you don’t need to sow discord because a school of dead children is enough to push the public toward whatever you’re hoping to achieve. Is that it? Is it that simple, Bill? Chaos? Fear? Punishment of the mega-rich? You think killing their kids will win you favours with the public?”
Bill dropping his eyes to the table = defeat.
“No comment,” he said.
He had someone on the inside, ready to act. But no way to control him. Or her. And now, in here, with no way to coordinate things, even if there were others helping him … this was the end for him.
So they probed some more. Played on the dead children angle, the one that appeared to rattle him the most. It was like he wanted to confess but could not bring himself to do so. The planned murder of kids was distasteful, yes, but a megalomaniacal figure, someone who saw themselves as superior to the rest of the human race, will make a sacrifice like going against his own morality to prove himself right.
But after another half-hour, Kuno Kae demanded a break, so Murphy admitted the armed officer from outside, who cuffed Bill and led him out, hands in front so he could drink the water that would be offered shortly. Alicia, Murphy, and Stevenson followed into the corridor, and on toward the cells. Kuno strode beside Alicia.
“DS Friend,” she said, “I understand this will be your final day before…” She nodded at the bump.
“Right. I’ll stay in touch. Get updates. Just wish the school would cancel that prom.”
“No one knew what Jacob was doing.”
“I know. It was on top of this attack. A separate case.”
“There is no attack,” Kuno said. “These men are good people. Bill wasn’t up there scouting for anything, you must know that.”
“I’m sorry?”
The party stopped at the door to the cellblock while the custody sergeant checked the prisoner back in. Harry Dent, Alicia’s secret Santa recipient again.
Kuno said, “This witch hunt.” Her eyes widened, close to Alicia without threatening her space. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do—flush out the real people, or … appear to be doing something so you can tell your bosses you’ve made progress—”
“That’s not—”
“There’s no other explanation, DS Friend. These men are innocent of whatever you’re peddling—”
“Ms. Kae, you understand you’re lucky to be even here.”
“Excuse me?” The wide eyes switched to a frown. Stepped away.
“Ms. Kae, you’re a part of that Institute.”
Alicia chose her next words carefully. Don’t accuse directly, but try to rattle her.
“We know something is going on,” Alicia said, “but just because you’re a lawyer doesn’t mean you can’t be a suspect too. Right now, there’s nothing tying you to it, but—”
“How d
are you.” Kuno bared her teeth, then composed herself.
The cellblock door clunked as the deadbolts unlocked, and they all followed Bill and the armed officer. Alicia and Kuno maintained their slow pace, eyes front, Alicia only breaking away to wave at Harry. The custody sergeant saluted back with the pen she gave him.
“It’s bullshit,” Kuno said. “I’ll have your badges.”
“Very wild west,” Alicia replied, watching the armed officer usher Bill over to the cellblock.
“Why couldn’t you leave them in peace? Without your unfounded accusations at Norman, now Bill … Jacob did wrong, but it was nothing to do with any conspiracy. None of them are.”
Alicia paused as the custody sergeant read Bill Khan the final standard spiel on his expected behaviour and the consequences of messing up his cell.
“You really believe this,” Alicia said.
Kuno was barely keeping herself together. Holding back tears, her jaw tight. Maybe she retained her own rage issues. Kuno’s husband was a beneficiary of the Institute, after all, and she’d poured her life into the place ahead of a career which, no doubt, could have proved lucrative.
“I have to believe it,” she said.
A commotion sounded ahead, Bill grappling suddenly with Harry Dent, pulling him over the desk. Bill backed off, holding the steel pen like a sword.
“Bill…” Kuno rushed toward him, Alicia waddling as fast as she could.
Having retreated back behind his desk, Harry huffed in frustration, rolling his eyes, while Murphy and Stevenson held their arms out in instinctive placating gestures. Because brandishing a pen wasn’t sufficient reason to draw down on a suspect, the armed cop stepped back three paces, hand on the butt of his Glock 17. That final movement, the securing of his firearm, allowed Alicia to approach with some confidence. No way for Bill to grab it, enough distance for the officer to take Bill out if he charged with the sword-pen.
And Bill faced her. Glanced at Kuno. Returning to Alicia, he smiled serenely and said, “You’re brave, Alicia. But you’re wrong. You’ll never find your answer, and you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering if you got us all. You’ll eventually die, fearing us.”