Comply or Die

by Tony Hutchinson

  ‘All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,’ Ed quoted Orwell with a grin.

  ‘You never cease to amaze me,’ Sam said, closing the car door.

  All animals are equal, Ed thought as he watched her drive out of the HQ car park, unless you happened to be a young girl growing up in a traditional Sikh family. Then you weren’t equal. Then you were a second-class citizen.

  He drove home, considering what indicators he would look out for tomorrow with regards to the missing girl. He’d sit down with Sue tonight, explain what was happening, perhaps get her input. Ellen was away for the weekend.

  He had tried to spend more time with his wife, but whatever he did would never be enough. Truth of the matter, she had never wanted him to rejoin the police. If she’d had her way, he would still be in her family’s business, and while they were financially comfortable, had he stuck with the firm, as she kept reminding him, they’d be millionaires.

  Convincing Sue money wasn’t everything, that sanity was more important, was an ongoing battle.

  Sunday 13th April 2014

  Ed was drinking tea and unwrapping a two-fingered Kit-Kat when the office phone rang. He was reading the Missing From Home file while he waited for Paul and Bev.

  ‘Anything interesting overnight?’ Sam’s voice came down the line.

  ‘Thought you were having a lazy day.’

  ‘I always ring control room when I’m off just to see what’s happening. Easier than trying to catch up when I come back in, and it gives me an early heads up if there’s a potential job for us. I knew you were in, so I thought I’d ring you. I’m wandering around the garden centre at the minute.’

  Ed swallowed a piece of biscuit.

  ‘Never had you down as a Charlie Dimmock.’

  He scrolled through last night’s incidents.

  ‘Quiet night by all accounts, certainly on the crime front. There was a fatal. Traffic dealing. Uniform in Seaton St George had a bit of a job. Student fell into the river. Pissed by all accounts.’

  ‘Another one?’ Sam said. ‘How many’s that? Five in six months? Will they ever learn?’

  ‘Hey, it’s always somebody else’s fault,’ Ed said. ‘Council’s for not building railings, pubs for doing 2-for-1 drinks, ours for not having foot patrols along the riverbank and cops in boats. Everybody’s fault except the students for throwing more down their neck than they can handle.’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Male. Not formally identified yet, well not according to the Control Room Incident Log. Has a driving licence in the name of Jack Goddard, student card in same name, University Seaton St. George.’

  ‘Who’s dealing?’

  ‘The bold Inspector Wright.’

  ‘Why need Britain tremble?’

  ‘As much as I’d like to talk about Inspector Never, I’ve got to go, Bev and Paul have just walked in.’

  Bev Summers and Paul Adams were both well-respected members of the Murder Investigation Team. Paul was a relatively new addition, a young ambitious officer. Bev joined the job at 18 in 1991 and wore her wrinkles with pride.

  All three of them were casually dressed in jeans and shirt.

  ‘I’ve got the Misper file,’ Ed said. ‘I suggest we get to know what’s in that and go from there. Sam wants a full briefing in the morning. You both know my views. They haven’t changed since she went missing. I’ve always had a bad feeling about this… so get the kettle on and let’s make a start.’

  ‘What we looking for?’ Paul said.

  ‘I’m interested in the family,’ Ed told him. ‘What are the dynamics? And I want to get the sequence of events clear in my mind. From there we can look at an investigative plan.’

  The three of them were standing by the window, kettle on the windowsill, desks and computer terminals filling the long HOLMES room.

  ‘See Newcastle managed to keep it down to one,’ Bev said, like Ed, a life-long supporter.

  ‘You know,’ Ed said, ‘Where are we now? 2014. Twelve years ago I was watching them in the Champions League. I went to Barcelona, Milan... ’

  Bev interrupted: ‘You’ll never see a Mackem in Milan.’

  Ed smiled. ‘Dead right. The nearest Sunderland ever get to Europe is Southampton away but that’s the same for us these days. Beaten at Stoke. To think Bobby Robson got sacked for finishing just outside the top four.’

  ‘Did you say you wanted another tea?’ Paul asked, living proof not all North East men were football fanatics.

  ‘Please.’

  The door burst open.

  ‘Tea on?’ Sam Parker marched into the room.

  ‘I thought you were having a lazy day?’ Ed said.

  ‘No plants took my fancy and I finished my Hemingway book last night, so I’m on track with my course work. Thought I may as well come in. You said it’ll take a couple of hours, so here I am. Save you having to brief me in the morning. No sugar for me, thanks Paul.’

  Paul nodded.

  ‘Which Hemingway?’ Ed asked.

  ‘What? Oh. ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’.’

  ‘You can’t beat a bit of Spanish Civil War,’ Ed said.

  ‘Maybe I should take you along to my course, what with your knowledge of Orwell and Hemingway.’

  ‘Don’t you think I spend enough time with you here without spending more when I’m off?’

  They both laughed.

  Tea drunk, last night’s TV discussed, the four of them sat around Sam Parker’s desk.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘What have we got, Ed?’

  ‘Aisha Bhandal. 18 years. Goes to college Friday 13th December 2013. Leaves college at 2.30pm... ‘

  ‘Anyone superstitious?’ Sam said.

  All three shook their heads.

  ‘Normally gets home at 5.30... '

  ‘Sorry Ed.’ Another interruption from Sam. ‘As a matter of interest, do Sikh’s celebrate Christmas?’

  ‘Over here they do,’ Ed said. ‘They’re not Muslims. Different religion all together. But, and this is the big but, don’t go thinking it’s just Muslims who have the culture of arranged, and as a consequence of that, forced marriages. It’s not.’

  Ed picked up his mug.

  Sam looked at Bev and Paul.

  ‘Do you both understand the difference between an arranged marriage and a forced marriage?’

  ‘Think so,’ Bev said. ‘One’s with consent, one’s not.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ Ed said, ‘in its most simplistic terms. In the main it’s girls, although about 15% of reported cases are male.’

  ‘Really?’ Paul took a pen from his pocket.

  Ed nodded. Most people coming at the issue for the first time never thought about it happening to men.

  ‘Really,’ Ed said. ‘Think of homosexuals for starters. Homosexuality is frowned upon. That could be a trigger for a forced marriage, but there are others.’

  Sam pulled her chair closer to the desk.

  ‘You said in its most simplistic terms?’

  Ed nodded. ‘Bev’s right, but the girl who agrees, who consents just to keep the family happy or consents through overt or covert pressure, is that arranged or forced?’

  ‘Fair point,’ Sam said.

  ‘I’ve read Davinder’s statement, the dad,’ Ed said. ‘He describes a happy family. Aisha goes to college on that Friday morning and is not seen again. The college confirm she was there that day and left after lessons finished. Like I said, 2.30pm.’

  ‘Any comments on the family in the file?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Not really,’ Ed told her. ‘They haven’t asked the right questions to be fair. A PC has asked about honour, but in a bull-in-a-china-shop way. That’s what the family latched on to in the press conference.’

  Ed paused. ‘Look I’ll formulate some questions. The father is saying they embrace the British way of life, but there are ways we can test that because I don’t believe him.’

  ‘Okay. Anything else?’ asked Sam.


  ‘Yes. Aisha’s captured on CCTV walking around the shopping centre. That footage was used in our TV appeals but it doesn’t sit right with me.’

  ‘Why?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’m wondering if her parents knew she finished early. Her friends from college say she was a nice girl, but never met them outside college. Is that Aisha’s doing or her parents? I fancy the latter.’

  ‘Who was the guy she was last seen with?’ Sam asked.

  ‘In the shopping centre? Believed to be Sukhvinder Sahota. He’s not been seen since that day either.’

  ‘Has he been reported missing?’ Bev piped up.

  Ed shook his head.

  ‘He’s a student too. No next of kin on his student file. He owns a Fiesta though, so we’ve flagged that up on the PNC.’

  The Police National Computer would allow every force to know Eastern were interested in the car.

  ‘So, is she last seen in the shopping centre?’ Bev said.

  ‘Yes. We don’t know where she goes from there. The cameras outside the centre are pretty sporadic.’

  ‘Have they all been checked though?’ Sam demanded.

  Ed’s eyes were moving about like a spectator at a tennis match.

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘There’s the first line of enquiry,’ Sam said. ‘I want all the CCTV doing again.’

  Paul grimaced. Someone was going to get that shit job, and around this table, as the youngest in service, he was odds-on favourite.

  ‘Okay,’ Ed said. ‘One of her friends at college, Bethany…’ Ed flicked through the few statements attached to the file. ‘Bethany Stevens. She says Aisha had mentioned a marriage, and how she was worried about going to India, but of course the family denied that.’

  ‘Let’s revisit Bethany,’ Sam said, ‘and at some point, Ed, you and I are going to introduce ourselves to Mr and Mrs Bhandal.’

  ‘If the answer does lie within the family, there are a couple of potential triggers here,’ Ed said.

  ‘Go on.’ Sam stood and walked to the window.

  ‘The boy she’s with has not been found. The suggestion is that either they ran away together, or he has caused her harm. From the family point of view, walking in town with a boy is shameful behaviour, affects the family Izzat.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Paul looked up from his writing pad.

  ‘Izzat. Honour. That could be a trigger for the family to cause her harm, or spirit her away. The other is the fact that she’s even in the town. The question has never been asked, but I have a feeling her family thought she was at college. I suspect she never told them college finished early on a Friday.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Bev asked.

  ‘Buys her some freedom. You have no idea the life some of these girls lead. They’re exposed to Western society, Western freedoms, on a daily basis, when they go to school or college, but when they go home, it’s like stepping back in time. They’re back in rural India, back to being second-class citizens.’

  ‘Poor kids,’ Sam said, turning to look out of the window: bright blue sky, wispy cirrus clouds, and contrails from a commercial aeroplane. She hoped Aisha was looking up somewhere, enjoying the sunshine.

  ‘What a life. What was the reason the family waited until Monday before reporting her missing?’

  ‘This is a huge indicator that something’s not right,’ Ed said. ‘Her father told the police the family thought she must have gone to stay with friends for the weekend. Without them knowing about it? Not a cat in hell’s chance would they allow that to happen. Not look for her? She was allowed to stay out all night? Without her telling them? No chance. Families like that control their daughters. She wouldn’t be allowed out for the weekend even if she asked their permission. They would fear being talked about in the Gurdwara.’

  Ed saw the puzzled look on Paul’s face.

  ‘Sikh temple…the boy, the shopping centre, the deceit about college finishing early on a Friday, any one of those is enough for them to kill her.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Paul said.

  ‘Girls have been killed for wearing jeans, make-up, becoming too westernised, having a mobile. Izzat is more important to these people than their own kids. Unless Aisha managed to make a run for it, we’re looking for a body.’

  Chapter Four

  Inspector Mick Wright was determined to use the death of Jack Goddard to improve his reputation.

  He’d already organised a ‘Special’ – a post-mortem conducted by a Home Office Forensic Pathologist. It would take place later that morning. Forget the cost. It would come out of the Major Incident budget, out of Sam Parker’s budget, but she couldn’t argue. A young man dead in the river. A fall or something more sinister? He was just being thorough. Never again was Parker going to criticise him.

  He hated the CID, a bunch of poseurs and piss-heads. Uniform did the real work, around-the-clock policing, not just cherry-picking jobs. CID got everything they wanted – staff, equipment, the lot. On Jack Goddard’s death it was him and two PC’s. If Parker were doing it, she’d have a full team.

  It was the same when he’d been on the Accident Unit as a PC. He’d deal with a fatal collision alone. They’d have an army on a murder. Why did society treat road death victims as the poor relation to murder victims? Try explaining that to the family of a teenager killed in his mate’s car while the driver walked away.

  Jack Goddard was the same age as his son, went to the same university. He’d ask his son tonight whether he knew him. West Midlands Police delivered the death message in the early hours to Jack’s parents. Fortunately Jack had not changed the address on his driving licence.

  Mick had spoken to Clive Goddard on the telephone, a short, difficult conversation. Weren’t they always? His parents were already discussing emptying his digs. Distraught, they were en route from Birmingham. They had provided Jack’s student address. He must remember to update the message, certainly before the likes of Nosey Parker got wind of it.

  He read the statement from Alex O’Connell again. He didn’t want to miss anything.

  At 4.05am I was walking along the south-side tow path by the river after a night out with my friends.

  He skim read the friends’ names. It never ceased to amaze him why young girls walked home in the early hours along a river tow path. Alcohol usually had something to do with it, although the officer who took the statement had said Alex wasn’t too drunk.

  I was walking in a westerly direction towards Stanhope Road. I was texting my friends Charlotte Swains and Tracey Davies who had ‘pulled’ in The Jolly Roger. I wanted to make sure they were safe.

  I looked up from my phone and my attention was drawn to something in the river. It was floating, but had got snagged in the weeds on the opposite bank to where I was stood.

  I immediately knew it was a body. It was approximately six metres away. There is street lighting, and my view was unobstructed. The body was floating face down in the river. It appeared fully clothed, but the T-shirt had ridden up at the back. I couldn’t tell whether it was male or female, although by the size I suspected it was a male.

  Mick Wright shook his head. What a waste.

  At no time while I was on the tow path did I see anyone else until the arrival of the police. I did not hear anything untoward.

  At the time I was wearing a red sleeveless silk top, black shorts, and silver thigh-high boots.

  At least she would be easy to eliminate if anybody else on the tow path mentioned seeing her.

  Mick Wright scribbled in his book: no follow-up witnesses as a result of Alex’s statement, no CCTV on the tow path. His phone rang. The pathologist was at the mortuary.

  ‘Do you know Mick Wright’s doing a Special?’ Sam asked, returning from the toilets. ‘He’s just rang me.’

  ‘Know nothing about it,’ Ed said.

  ‘It would have been nice if he’d ran it past me before he spent a few grand of my budget. I’d have said yes. Can’t be too careful, especially with all th
e attention these student deaths are getting in the Post.’

  The Seaton Post had until quite recently been an evening paper, but like so many provincials it was now on the streets in the morning. Cost savings no doubt.

  ‘At least Darius hasn’t gone along with the serial killer theory bandied about by a lot of the students,’ Sam said.

  ‘Darius Simpson,’ Ed grinned. ‘The Seaton Post’s intrepid sleuth who swoons at the mere mention of your name.’

  ‘Behave yourself.’

  ‘Anyway, he knows better than to print garbage. Students trying to get police patrols on the tow path. We all know why they fall in.’

  Sam’s mobile rang.

  ‘Hi Julie… yeah that’s fine. Thanks for the call… yeah keep them right.’

  She ended the call and looked at Ed.

  ‘Julie Trescothick’s the Senior SOCO doing the PM. She just wanted to make sure we knew about it.’

  ‘Good girl is Julie,’ Ed said. ‘Right, back to Aisha… I think we should also re-interview her friends at college.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Sam said. ‘Bev, can you start that off. Get their names. Let’s start revisits first thing. Paul, grab the CCTV.’

  Paul raised his eyebrows and nodded. He knew he’d cop for that job.

  ‘Ed, let’s go into my office.’

  Sam sat on her chair. ‘Still think she’s dead?’

  Ed spoke as he pulled out a chair.

  ‘The more I read, the more I find out about it, yes, unless she got away. If she got away, she might be okay. Whether they’d send bounty hunters after her, who knows.’

  ‘Bounty…would they? Send bounty hunters?’

  ‘People in that community get paid to track missing girls down. It’s not unheard of.’

  ‘Jesus, it’s a different world.’

  ‘It is,’ Ed said. ‘I see from the Misper file her phone’s not been used since she went missing, and what little money she had in her account’s not been touched. Her debit card’s not been used. Not good signs with normal Missing from Homes, but in Aisha’s case potentially the opposite. She’d be too scared to leave any sort of trail. She’d know they’d be coming after her.’