The Sergeant was stropping the razor, whistling as he did so. When he had finished he said, “You talk too much. Siddown.” And when Tim hesitated, “We could handcuff you, but that mightn’t be so comfortable.”
Tim sat down. Shorty, who was acting as barber’s assistant, had run some hot water into a basin and made a rough lather with the yellow soap which he slapped onto Tim’s face and neck. Then the Sergeant, using the razor ruthlessly removed what seemed to be most of the layers of skin left by the nail brush. It was horribly painful and the tears ran out of Tim’s eyes, but the menace of the razor kept him from moving.
“Hair now,” said the Sergeant. His assistant produced a pair of scissors and chopped off, not unskilfully, the surplus hair above Tim’s ears and down the back of his neck.
“Lovely,” said the Sergeant. “Get dressed. You can clean your own boots. Why should we do all the work?” He produced two brushes and a tin of polish. “Clean ’em good. We don’t want another bollocking, do we?”
Shorty agreed that one bollocking was enough.
“You get us into trouble again,” said the Sergeant, “and we might get cross. When we get cross, we sometimes do things we’re sorry for afterwards.”
Tim polished diligently. The policemen relaxed with a cigarette.
“I wouldn’t call it Guards’ standard,” said the Sergeant. “But it’ll have to do. Mustn’t keep the old man waiting.”
“Not good,” was Colonel Craik’s verdict. “But a bit better.”
Having pronounced this judgement he dismissed the two red-caps. Tim knew that they were not very far from the outside of the door. The Colonel got out of his chair and came round the desk, approaching until his face was not more than twelve inches from Tim’s. Fascinated, but repelled, he could see the threads of purple in the red cheeks, the tufts of hair in the nostrils, the very faint yellow tinge which indigestion had painted round the eyes, the gold-capped teeth which showed when the Colonel opened his mouth to roar at him, “Stand to attention when I’m talking to you.”
Tim jerked back and stiffened.
“Didn’t they teach you how to stand to attention in that mob of yours? Chest out, stomach in, shoulders back. Do you want me to have the Sergeant in to give you a lesson?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well, then.” The Colonel padded back to his chair. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you. And the quicker you answer them the quicker we’ll have finished with this pantomime. You’re friends with a Pakistani girl called Shazada, aren’t you?”
“I know her, sir.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you. Are you a particular friend of hers?”
“I—well, yes, sir. In a sort of way.”
“You used to meet in that stable. Trespassing on War Office property, incidentally.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She’d arranged to meet you there last night. Didn’t know you were otherwise engaged, perhaps.”
When Tim hesitated the Colonel extracted a photograph from a drawer in his desk and laid it on the desk, turning it so that Tim could see it. He saw Shah, trapped in the flashlight, an expression of stark terror on her face. It upset him more than anything that had happened so far. There was a thick feeling in his throat, as though he was going to be sick. Words would not come out. The Colonel saved him the trouble of answering. He felt in the drawer again and pulled out a strip of blue fabric.
“Left that behind,” he said, “when she was getting through the wire. All right. We know she was there. What was she doing? Not meeting some other chap, was she?”
“No, sir.”
“It was a private meeting place. Just for the two of you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So what did you do?”
Tim stared at him.
“Screw her, boy? Roger her? For God’s sake, do you want me to draw you a diagram?”
“Nothing like that, sir.”
“Then for God’s sake, what did you do?”
“We—we used to talk.”
For some reason this answer seemed to please the Colonel. He relaxed in his chair and said, “Really? What did you talk about then? Stealing explosive from that shed?”
The switch was so unexpected that Tim almost jumped. This was the one thing he must never, never, admit to. The consequences were unthinkable.
He said, “Nothing like that, sir.”
The Colonel got up and walked towards the window. He said, “Come here.” When Tim followed him he saw that there was a cup-hook fastened to the woodwork. From it was hanging a key which he recognised.
“I want you to give me a demonstration. Show me just exactly how a key falls off a hook.”
“I don’t really see how it could, sir.”
“But you told Sergeant Alnutt that it had fallen off and you were putting it back. Right?”
“I noticed it on the floor and thought it must have fallen off. It’s rather a dark corner. Perhaps someone made a mistake. Thought they’d put it back, when they hadn’t.”
“It is a dark corner,” agreed the Colonel. “And it’s on the other side of the room from your bed isn’t it? And when you came off guard your one idea would have been to get back into that bed, wouldn’t it? So how did you happen to see a key lying on the floor in a dark corner on the other side of the room?”
Tim had no answer left.
The Colonel said, “You’re lying, boy. You’d helped yourself to the key. You used it to open that explosives shed and take out four bags of cordite. Correct?”
Tim could only shake his head.
“Better admit it now. If you don’t, you’re simply wasting time. My time; my men’s time. I don’t like that, nor do they.”
Tim started to say something, but the same sick feeling prevented the words from coming out. The Colonel stared at him for a moment. Then he seemed to make his mind up.
“Sergeant!”
The two red-caps were instantly back in the room.
“Look after this man, will you?”
“Sir.”
As they marched away, down the passage, down two flights of stairs, along the ground floor passage, towards a room at the back of the building, Tim could not keep his eyes off those thick sticks. They were going to hit him, he knew. An old soldier in his platoon, who had been in the military prison at Aldershot, had told him that they could hit you really hard, really painfully, but so cleverly that it left no mark.
“In here,” said the Sergeant. Except for a table and a few chairs the room was empty. The Sergeant picked up a chair, placed it so that it faced the window and said, “Siddown. And don’t get up until I say you can. Or else.” He went out and Tim heard the bolt on the outside of the door being shot.
It was some time before he realised that the room was very cold. There seemed to be no heating at all. He would have liked to get up and move round to restore his circulation, but he was afraid to do it. There was a glass panel in the door and any move he made could be observed. Several times he had heard feet passing in the passage. Sometimes they stopped outside the door, before moving on.
He began to shiver. Only part of it was the cold. He had had very little sleep for two nights and had been badly frightened. As he sat there, staring out at the wilderness of grass and bushes outside the window, he was shaken by a series of uncontrollable shudders which started round his ribcage and ran down his arms and legs.
Shah had been picked up by a military policeman and a policewoman when she left the shop at the lunch interval. She had offered no resistance when they motioned her into the car. From something the man said she understood that it was to do with trespassing and causing damage to War Office property. Tim must be involved in it, she thought, and this was a sort of comfort to her.
She was taken into a building which she knew was a police headquarters and along a passage. When they stopped she saw that they were outside a door with a glass panel in it. Since she seemed to be expected to do so, she looked through the panel an
d saw Tim. He had his back to her and something seemed to have happened to his hair, but she knew it was him. She saw that he was shaking. Her two warders were moving along. She ran after them and grabbed the woman by the arm.
“What have they been doing to him? Can I speak to him?”
“Not now,” said the woman. “Come along, we don’t want any fuss, do we? The Major wants a word with you. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“But I must speak to him.”
“Afterwards, perhaps.”
The tone in which this was said did not admit of argument. She followed them upstairs. The room they were making for was the one next to the Colonel’s on the second floor. A pleasant-looking grey-haired man got up from behind the desk, came across, said, “Miss Shazada, isn’t it? Come in and sit down. No need for you two to stay.”
Shazada had made up her mind before they were out of the room. She said, “I know what you want. I’ll tell you the whole thing.”
“Well, that’s friendly,” said the grey-haired Major.
“It wasn’t Tim’s—I mean Sunley’s fault. It was mine.”
“Let’s go slowly. Then I can make a few notes.”
It didn’t take very long. Twenty minutes later the Major was saying, “Fine, fine. I’ll get something typed out and you can sign it. That can be done later. I expect you want to get back home now.”
“You mean I can go?”
“Of course. I’ll come down with you, then there won’t be any trouble.”
When they were approaching the door with the glass panel, she said, “Could I—please—have a word with Sunley?”
“It’s irregular,” said the Major, with a smile. “But you’ve been so co-operative, we might stretch a point. Five minutes only.”
He unbolted the door, opened it and saw Shazada dart through. Then he rebolted it and walked slowly back to his own room. He found Colonel Craik waiting for him. “I think we shall get what we want now, sir.”
The Colonel said, “Carry on, George. I leave it to you. Let me know as soon as it’s over. I’ve got a game of golf waiting for me and unless I’m on the course by three it’ll be too dark to finish.”
A short time afterwards, when Shazada had departed, the two red-caps came for Tim. They seemed, he thought, less aggressive than before. When they reached the second floor there were a number of further surprises. They did not make for Colonel Craik’s office, but stopped at the door next to it, knocked and opened it without waiting for an answer. The grey-haired man, who wore the crowns of a major on his service jacket, said, “Leave him to me, Sergeant,” and, when the men had stumped out, “My goodness you are cold, aren’t you? Come and sit by the fire.”
It was a proper fire, of coal and logs. The Major drew up two chairs to it. He said, “The central heating in this building is a disgrace. Either it roasts you or it freezes you. The latter, in your case, I guess. I expect you could do with some hot coffee.”
There was a Thermos flask on the desk. The Major filled two china mugs, said, “Milk and sugar? Fine. That’s how I like it.” Tim found himself clasping the mug with both hands. He was still shaking.
The Major said, “Now, I’ve got a surprise for you.” He fetched a box-shaped machine from his desk and pressed a switch. Tim found himself listening to his own voice and to Shah answering him. Short, gasping sentences, each of them interrupting the other; sentences which incriminated both of them beyond hope of contradiction.
“Should have warned you, perhaps,” said the Major with a smile. “Most of the rooms in this building are bugged. This one, too. Miss Shazada was talking to me here just now. I could play what she said back to you, if you liked.”
Tim shook his head. He had no intention of withholding anything. Any resistance he had left had melted in the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the coffee and the warmth of the Major’s smile.
“I got most of it from the young lady, but there are still one or two pieces you can fill in.”
He was an easy man to talk to. Most of his interruptions were helpful. “I imagine you’d no idea the stuff would be used to kill people. Just to give them a fright.”
Tim accepted this gratefully. He said, “Salim told me, oh, lots of times, that all they were going to do was make a mess of the other boys’ headquarters.”
“Just so. Salim would be Salim Kahn? Did he come with you when you took the powder?”
“Two of them came. Salim and his friend, Javed.”
“And I imagine Miss Shazada does very much what her elder brother tells her, doesn’t she?”
“She’s very fond of him,” agreed Tim.
He was now experiencing great difficulty in keeping awake. When it was finished the Major said, “You haven’t been charged and if you and Miss Shazada go on being as helpful as you have been, there’s no reason you should be. It’s clear now where the real blame lies. We think it would be a good thing if you were out of the way for a few weeks and we’re arranging to have you posted to the RE Holding Depot at York. You’re to go there straight away. When you get there you may be subject to some restrictions. Not allowed outside the camp area. But you’re not under arrest.”
When Tim had gone he opened the door which communicated with Colonel Craik’s office. The Colonel, who had been listening in, said, “Good enough, I think, George. One copy to Tancred at District and one to the Director. I might just be able to get in nine holes if I hurry. These things always take longer than you think they’re going to.”
Chief Superintendent Brace had been summoned to Commander Tancred’s office at District. There he was presented with a copy of the report received that morning from the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions. He had seen such documents before, usually signed by subordinates. This one was signed by the Director himself.
“I have read the statements made by Sapper Timothy Sunley and the girl Shazada Kahn with the comments of Lieutenant Colonel Craik CMP which accompanied these statements. On the assumption that Sunley and Kahn are prepared, subject to suitable indemnities, to give evidence in any proceedings which may follow, I consider that the five Pakistani youths, Salim Kahn, Rahim Kahn, Javed Rahman, Rameez Rahman and Saghir Abbas should be charged with conspiracy to steal government property. There will be separate charges against Salim and Javed of actual stealing and against the other three of receiving property knowing it to have been stolen. Since you will be charging them there will be no question of interrogation, nor do I consider that further interrogation is necessary. They should be invited to consult solicitors and will no doubt be granted legal aid. It is, of course, likely that there will be a further and more serious charge to follow, but this will depend on evidence, not yet available, to connect the stealing of cordite with the explosion and fire in Wick Lane. There are a number of points which need clarification. How did the youths obtain detonators and what sort of timing device was employed? If it was the normal one, based on a clock, it might be possible to prove the purchase of one. Also, in view of some of the evidence given at the inquest we shall clearly need further technical advice on the question of the explosive used. Major Webster must be asked to consider this further. I am assuming that the enmity between these youths and the five youths involved in the explosion will be easy to prove.”
This was the end of the first paragraph. Brace could visualise the Director pausing at this point and taking a deep breath before he penned the final paragraph.
“If it appears that a charge should be brought in connection with the explosion and fire, then this will clearly result in interracial tension. There are political aspects of this which are outside the scope of my present report, but, for a start, I consider that the police should oppose any grant of bail, if only for the protection of the five Pakistanis.”
There was a long silence when Brace had read the report and laid it back on Tancred’s desk as gently as if it was itself explosive. Both policemen were looking down a long, dark tunnel and seeing no light at the end of it. Then Tancred said,
“Some background please. What do these youths do with themselves all day?”
“Salim Kahn is an apprentice workman with Petter & Co., the electrical people. Javed Rahman has a job with Quarrels.”
“Airguns and survival knives. I’ve seen their window. In Camlet Road, isn’t it?”
“Right. Rameez Rahman helps his father. He’s a locksmith, with a small shop in the Pakistani quarter. Corner of Rixen Road.”
Tancred was following this on a street plan. He said, “And the other two?”
“Unemployed.”
“They’ll be the most difficult. You’ll have to have a man watch each of them. I take it they live at home.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have to pick up all five of them together. Early evening will be the best time. Three cars. One for the Kahn house, one for the two Rahman’s and one for Abbas. As soon as they’ve been charged let me know.”
That was on Thursday. On Friday Rahim Kahn came home, as he usually did, to lunch. That he was unemployed was not for want of trying. He had spent the morning in the public library reading the periodicals and making notes of possible jobs. He had already applied for more than fifty.
He said to his father, who also came home from the garage for his midday meal, “I’m getting worried.”
“What about?” said Azam Kahn absentmindedly. He was thinking about a lorry that had been brought in that morning with its gear box in a mess.
“Well, first there was that business about Shah. Did we ever discover what happened that afternoon – when the Military Police took her off?”
Azam removed his thoughts from gear boxes. He said, “No. She hasn’t told me a thing. Except to say that it was a routine enquiry and she was able to tell them what they wanted.”
“Everyone’s now saying that it was something to do with Tim Sunley. The boy she was keen on.”
“If you really want to know, why not ask Tim?”
“Can’t. He’s disappeared. They say he’s been posted away.”
Azam thought about this. Soldiers got posted away without much warning. He said, “So what’s the worry?”
“It’s not only Shah. It’s what happened this morning.”
Trouble Page 21