by Rashad Salim
Rizwan and Salman were deep into a discussion about weightlifting when I noticed a bit of a commotion outside, a little further up from the restaurant. A bunch of Asian men in their twenties were jumping around and heading closer to us. I couldn’t tell if they were arguing or celebrating but when they got closer I realised they were rousing each other up to go somewhere.
“What’s that all about?” I asked Rizwan.
He looked over his shoulder to see for himself. “Who knows? Is the cricket on?”
I knew the crowd forming couldn’t have been anything to do with sports or something else trivial. This looked serious.
“Wait a second,” Salman said and adjusted his glasses. “That’s my cousin there!” He pointed at one of the young men and ran outside.
Salman and his cousin exchanged a few words. His cousin looked pissed off. Salman nodded and ran back inside. He stopped at the doorway of the restaurant. “They’ve caught ‘The Binford Snatcher’!”
He ran back out after the mob. His outburst had caught the attention of all the other diners. They all looked at each other in shock. Rizwan and I exchanged looks too.
“Better get this to go,” he said, referring to his samosas. “Come on!” He grabbed one in each hand and chased after Salman.
I scrambled to put my jacket on and took off too. I caught up with Rizwan and Salman and noticed we weren’t the only ones leaving the shops of Binford Lane to follow the mob.
“Who is he?” I asked Rizwan.
“They’re sayin’ he’s some child molester they’ve cornered.”
We followed the mob who rushed down one of the side roads off Binford Lane.
“I think they’ve got a hold of him outside his house,” Salman said.
“Who is he?” I asked Salman. “Does anyone know him?”
He had no idea. I wondered if anyone did.
We were trailing behind the mob and they were slowing down. I ran around the side to see what was up and saw they had met up with another mob of young Asian men.
One of the men who were already there had a nosebleed. He pointed at one of the houses we had stopped by. It was a two storey block of flats.
“The bastard’s in there!” said the man with the nosebleed.
All around us people were shouting.
It turned out that they had confronted a man they suspected of being ‘The Binford Snatcher’ after his neighbours had told them he was a convicted paedophile and that the cops had been visiting him recently.
They had tried to apprehend the man themselves, but he struck the bleeding man in the face before fleeing home.
Some of the men had invaded the suspect’s garden and were knocking on his door and windows. They shouted death threats at him for a few minutes while Rizwan, Salman and I stood on the other side of the road.
“He’s definitely cornered,” Salman said. “Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I don’t think there’s a back garden for him to be jumping the fence.”
“What if Max is in there too?” I asked Rizwan.
He looked at me and exchanged looks with Salman. I knew they were thinking the same thing.
I watched the suspect’s windows, eager for any sign of him but there was none.
Eventually a light was switched on inside behind the curtains, reigniting the mob’s anger.
The sound of police siren filled the air. My senses told me I should run but I had to stay if I wanted to see the Snatcher myself.
Two police cars arrived and approached the mob, before the officers got out.
“Move back!” One of the cops shouted at the mob. “Move back, right now!”
The cop’s instructions where met with a chorus of murmurs from the mob and the crowd of spectators around us. People scattered back.
The cops approached the Asian man with the nosebleed and questioned him. Two of them then walked up the garden path and pressed buttons on the door intercom. They didn’t get any answers. After conferring with each other for a minute they retreated back to their patrol cars.
It was only then that I noticed two white men exiting a car nearby and recognised them. I thought if they were here then that definitely had to be ‘The Binford Snatcher’.
I held my breath as DI Richardson and DC Cole walked up the suspect’s garden path.
52
DC Cole
We were totally unprepared when we got the call there was an angry mob outside Lawrence Wilson’s residence.
“Better get down there before they do him in with their pitchforks and torches!” Richardson had said.
We got there as fast as we could and I braced myself. Unlike the last time outside Karim Zaib’s house, this mob looked ready to burn down Lawrence Wilson’s home.
Richardson told the uniformed officers to cordon off the building from the street. The officers sealed off the area quickly and kept the mob back.
Wilson wasn’t answering the intercom. I assumed he was so panicked about the threat outside his door that he was hiding under his bed. Maybe he had heard us and thought we had come to arrest him. We called out to tell him we weren’t here for that but there was still no response.
Richardson was about to appeal to Wilson again when the sound of glass shattering jolted us.
I spun around and saw the mob throwing stones at Wilson’s home.
Richardson radioed back to the other officers at the scene to tackle the mob and disperse the crowds.
The officers confronted the mob just as a police van appeared in the distance. When it arrived the sight of it scared off a lot of the mob – they backed away quite a bit as the van reached us.
“Open up, Lawrence!” Richardson shouted one final time before another officer picked the door lock and stepped back. Richardson walked in and I followed with the uniformed officer behind us.
We walked up the steps to Lawrence’s flat and Richardson banged on the door.
“Police!” Richardson shouted. “We know you’re in there! This is your last chance!”
There was no answer.
We had to see Lawrence. From the second we had arrived at the scene and seen how he had assaulted someone – even if it was in self defence – we had to talk to him and get his side of the story.
Richardson gave the uniformed officer the signal and the officer used a battering ram to smash Lawrence’s door open. The sound of the door splintering was loud enough that it echoed in the corridor. If Lawrence Wilson really was hiding under his bed he would’ve been fully aware now we had entered his home.
We walked in on guard just in case he attacked us – whether in resisting arrest or if he had mistaken us for the mob who were still outside.
“He might be armed,” Richardson whispered as we entered.
He led the way inside the flat and I was right behind him.
Nothing looked out of place in the living room except for Lawrence Wilson.
He’d hung himself with a skipping rope knotted around a chin-up bar between walls.
53
Asim
Richardson and Cole had been inside for quite some time. It was dark now and not as many spectators left around us. Other policemen, in white forensic suits, had entered the premises since Richardson and Cole had gone in but no one had come out.
I had been anxious ever since I heard the killer had been caught and didn’t think I could handle the suspense any longer. I didn’t understand why they hadn’t come back out yet.
When I saw an ambulance arrive and two paramedics got out, I started to panic.
It was bad enough they sealed off the area with crime scene tape. It made me shudder.
Why did they need an ambulance? ‘The Binford Snatcher’ hadn’t been injured, according to the man he had attacked.
The medics entered the premises.
I had enough of waiting for answers and crossed the road before Rizwan could stop me.
I approached one of the cops guarding the premises and asked him if he knew what was going on. He told me to go home
and he wasn’t polite about it.
I took a step back but stayed where I could see into the outer doorway of the building.
Rizwan caught up with me and told me we should go now but I refused to leave.
“Come on,” he said. “I gotta drop Salman off too.”
“Then go.”
He gave me a stern look.
“I’m not going until they tell me somethin’. What if Max is up there, eh?”
Rizwan looked at the building and nodded. “Alright.”
Another five to ten minutes passed and none of the officers had come out yet.
“My friend went missin’ a few days ago and he might be in there,” I said to the police officer guarding the scene. “Can’t you just tell me if he’s been found?”
“I already told you I can’t give out any information like that. Now piss off.”
I lost all patience and an idea popped into my head. I turned to the remaining spectators – and there were still at least twenty people standing around – and shouted, “They found the missin’ boy!” over and over again.
That caught the cop by surprise and when the crowds started coming he glared at me.
“What’d you think you’re playing at?”
“I wanna speak to DI Richardson and DC Cole right now!” I turned to the crowd and started shouting again. “Maqsood Abdullah must be in there! Why is an ambulance here?”
That triggered enough of a discussion among the crowds that they started confronting the cop about it. When I saw he was distracted I ducked under the tape and ran towards the Snatcher’s home.
54
DC Cole
“I don’t fuckin’ believe this,” I said to PC Enfield.
We were in the corridor outside Lawrence Wilson’s flat while Richardson and the other officers were inside dealing with the suicide situation.
“Better believe it,” Enfield said. “I heard he had a history of mental illness and I might be wrong about this but I don’t think this is the first time he’s tried to top himself.”
Richardson called us in. We entered the flat where Wilson was still hanging in the air.
“You need to see this,” Richardson said. He was in Wilson’s bedroom.
I entered. He wore the latex gloves and showed me a stash of child pornography photographs he found under Wilson’s bed.
Richardson looked at me disgusted. “So much for turnin’ over a new leaf, hey?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I had some experience with vice crimes but I didn’t think I’d ever used to finding the incriminating evidence involved in those cases.
“There’s more.” He walked over to a transparent evidence sack on the hallway floor. He pulled out two smaller transparent bags. “Who do you think these belong to?”
Richardson held out the bags for me to see. They each contained an item – a small sized male underpants and a broken necklace.
I thought of Maqsood Abdullah, Ravinder Singh and Rishi Malhotra.
Richardson snorted and put the bags back. We returned to the living room where Wilson still hung in the air.
Richardson stared at his corpse. “Good riddance, I say. Witnesses told the other officers how he fled inside. Escaped a beating out there. He probably killed himself when we first arrived.”
“...Think it was him then?” I asked.
Richardson had suspected Wilson of being the Snatcher all along and now we had found potential evidence to prove it. “Could well be.”
“What about Roberts?” We still had him in a cell back at the police station.
Richardson said nothing and walked out of the flat. I followed him.
“If only we got here a little sooner...” I had to lean against the corridor wall.
There was a rumble of noise outside. I remembered there were still a lot of people out there waiting for Lawrence Wilson to come out and face them.
Richardson looked out a window and called me over.
I moved to the window and shook my head.
Asim Patel had run past the cordon and was running towards the flat.
“This boy’s addicted to dead bodies!” Richardson said. “Grab him before I do!”
I rushed down the stairs. By the time I got to the entrance Asim was about to enter the building. I blocked his path and grabbed him.
“Let me go!” he kept shouting.
I had my arms around him and tightened my grip just in case he managed to give me the slip too. “Where the bloody hell d’you think you’re goin’?”
“Is Max up there?” he asked, still trying to shake loose. “Is he?”
The officer on guard duty rushed towards us and an Asian young man trailed behind him. I recognised him as Asim’s elder brother. The two of them pulled Asim back and I let go of him. They tried to restrain him but he was struggling too much. The boy was hysterical.
Richardson appeared beside me. Both of us were puffing and panting.
“You bastards! Is that my friend’s body up there?”
I could see the impression he must’ve had if he had believed Lawrence Wilson was ‘The Binford Snatcher’. Although, an upstairs flat would be a very difficult place to smuggle a boy into and then keep captive for three days.
I waited until Asim had lost all energy in trying to wriggle free.
Richardson walked up to him and Asim stopped struggling. His brother and the police officer let go of him.
“...There’s no sign of Maqsood Abdullah in that building,” Richardson said. He took a few steps towards the spectators loitering about in the area and repeated the statement again, much louder this time.
Asim stared at Richardson. I don’t know if he believed him or not but he relented. He was breathing heavy and only managed to give Richardson a nod.
“Take him home,” Richardson said to his brother.
His brother put his hand on Asim’s shoulder and led him away.
“And I don’t want him sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong ever again!” Richardson called out after them. “...Or I’ll have him arrested!” He turned to face me. “Can you believe that little fucker? At this rate, we won’t have to watch him – he’ll keep finding way to come to us!”
55
DC Cole
Richardson and I had radioed ahead and informed Clark and Rahman of Lawrence Wilson’s suicide and the evidence that may have been related to our cases.
When we arrived at the office Clark approached us first.
“There’s been a development with Neil Roberts. He says he wants to talk to us.”
Richardson and I exchanged looks.
“I’m assumin’ he wants his solicitor present for that, right?” Richardson asked.
“Actually, he wants to speak to us as soon as possible and didn’t mind if his solicitor was there or not.”
Richardson was stunned. “Really? He said that?”
“Apparently, he said he had nothing to hide.”
“Has he given a hint about what it is?” I asked.
“Something to do with the evidence we had on him. Said he wanted to explain himself.”
“Could’ve opened his gob sooner,” I said.
“Yeah, well now he’s willing,” Clark said. “And if you fellas don’t mind I’d like to ask him a few questions. Maybe he’ll let his guard down around me. You never know, right?”
I looked at Richardson.
He rubbed his chin and gave it some thought. “Go ahead.”
“You want to join me?” Clark asked me.
“Sure.”
I tried to sneak a glance at Richardson to see his reaction but he caught me and smirked.
I didn’t know what to make of that. I wasn’t sure if he was thinking we would have it under control or that we’d be hopeless without him in the interrogation room.
We had kept Roberts for three days in a holding cell in the station. He was due to be moved to Belmarsh Prison in a day or two. The notion of being sent to prison must have finally sunk into his
head so he had decided to comply as a last minute effort to stop that.
Clark and I went to the interrogation room where Neil Roberts waited.
“Think he’s cracked?” I asked before we entered.
“Probably, but I doubt it. Maybe he’s going to finger someone else. Let’s find out.”
Roberts sat behind a table and had his head bowed when we entered.
“Evening, Neil,” Clark said and took a seat on the other side of the table. “How you feeling?” There was a friendly tone in Clark’s voice like he was visiting a patient in hospital.
I sat beside Clark and observed Roberts.
“I’ve been thinking,” Roberts said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. To make sense of all this and I think I might be able to explain myself.”
“Please do,” Clark said.
Roberts shifted his gaze from Clark to me.
“Go on,” Clark said. “Don’t be shy. We’re listening.”
I admired the way Clark had a nurturing method of interrogation. It was a stark contrast to Richardson who seemed eager to trap the suspects from the get-go.
“I didn’t have anything to do with any boy’s murder,” Roberts said, totally deflated. Leaving him to let the consequences sink in for a few days had made a huge difference to his bravado pre-arrest. “I know another one went missing while I was here.”
His solicitor would’ve told him that. No doubt they would use that in their defence.
I thought about the time we had arrived at Roberts address to take him in for questioning and the time Maqsood Abdullah went missing. There was at least an hour’s window of opportunity. Roberts could’ve taken Abdullah before we arrived.
“You called us down here just to tell us that?” I asked.
He winced and tried to regain his composure. “Sorry, I’m still finding this hard. I’m under a lot of pressure here.”
“We understand,” Clark said. “Go on now. Tell us what you’ve got for us.”
Roberts looked at us and hesitated, as if thinking carefully how to word his comments. “I’ve been thinking. About my whole life and all the mistakes I made, wondering how it led me here, trying to find out what I’ve done to get where I am now.