Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  The volume of opposing chants escalated, “Racists out! Racists out!”

  A missile was thrown towards the speaker, narrowly missing him as he flinched, ducking to avoid it. Both Caslin and Holt stepped forward, vainly trying to support their fellow officers in pushing the sides apart. A man screamed for Caslin to step aside, he was flushed with rage and cut a physically imposing figure. Caslin bellowed at him to step back. An arm brushed past his face from behind, striking out at the man, Caslin was trying to control. Instinctively, Caslin turned, reaching out to grip the jacket of the man throwing the punch. Something struck the back of his head, he didn’t know what. Almost all perception of the big picture was lost as the small contingent of police threatened to lose what little control they’d had up until now.

  Glancing up, Caslin saw one of the placards launched over their heads, coming down into the nationalist ranks. A roar of anger followed and the crowd surged forward. Pushed off-balance, he stumbled backwards losing his grip on his charge as well as his footing. A gap opened up between himself and the uniformed constable alongside, as the group pressed onto them. A fearful shout went up nearby but from whom, he didn’t know. Feeling a kick to his back, Caslin grimaced. That was followed by something striking the side of his face. Whatever it was, fist or missile, it stung and brought tears to his eye. Trying to re-establish contact with his colleagues and maintain the line, Caslin reached out. The nearest officer attempted to link arms. Another surge came. This time from the rear and the link was broken. Caslin tripped on an unseen kerb and fell forward. He hit the ground harder than anticipated, the force of the swell pushing him down at speed. The instinctive reaction was to panic, fear flashing through his mind but he fought against it.

  Caslin tried to stand, only for the movement of those around him to knock him back. Someone took a firm grip of his jacket and he was hauled back onto his feet. Relieved to see Terry Holt pulling him upright, he conveyed his gratitude with a nod of the head. Sirens greeted them, arriving from beyond the city gates. The blue lights of two vans and several patrol cars approaching were a welcome sight. Managing to regain their composure, the two officers returned to the fray. Scuffles were breaking out as the illusion of control was given over to unfolding chaos. The crowd became a blur of angry faces. Some were masked with only their visible fury highlighted in their eyes.

  The newly arrived reinforcements formed up and drove forward into the crowd. The spearhead moved to draw Caslin and the other isolated colleagues back into the relative security of the ranks. Almost as swiftly as the situation had deteriorated, a semblance of order was restored with the scuffles breaking up.

  Caslin retreated from the line, spotting the duty commander arriving to take charge and marshalling the increasing uniformed presence. He was relieved to be clear. Looking around, the speaker who’d incited the crowd was nowhere to be seen. The anger and aggression from each side was still vocal but further violence was deterred by the volume of the police presence. Several key antagonists from both sides were targeted and pulled away from their associates. Most were dragged kicking and screaming into custody.

  “Are you okay, sir?” Holt asked, pointing to the side of Caslin’s face. He reached up and felt something wet. Inspecting his fingers, he found blood but figured it to be superficial. Holt passed him a tissue and Caslin pressed it against the side of his head, near to the temple. His ears were ringing and he felt a little dizzy. “Pity some of us didn’t care to get involved,” Holt added with an edge to his tone.

  Caslin looked back, in the direction of the building. DS Hunter stood in the doorway. Seeing both of them watching her, she turned away and dropped out of sight. Caslin removed the tissue. It was saturated with blood, failing to stem the flow.

  “Well, we’re all a bit out of practice when it comes to crowd control,” Caslin replied, brushing away the comment. Looking around, he was confident that everything was back under control. Across the street, the Maybach was still there. That piqued his curiosity and Caslin began walking towards it. Reaching for his pocketbook, he was intent on noting the vehicle’s registration. The action proved difficult with only one hand. The engine started and before he could get into position to view it, the car moved off. Not at speed but with gradual acceleration. Coming past where he stood, Caslin eyed the passenger seated in the rear who remained impassive, focused on the road ahead with not even a glance in his direction.

  “Anything interesting?” Holt said, coming to stand alongside and reading Caslin’s expression.

  Caslin shrugged, making a mental note of the licence plate. “It’s been an interesting day, Terry.”

  “Too right,” Holt replied. “You ought to get your face looked at.”

  “I will, later. Why don’t you finish up inside,” Caslin replied, pointing back towards the flats and putting his pocketbook away. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he felt unsteady on his feet.

  “I think I’ll run you to the hospital first. Just in case,” Holt said. Caslin was about to object but feeling a trickle of blood run down the side of his face, dripping off onto his arm, encouraged him to change his mind.

  “All right,” he agreed.

  ***

  It was already pushing 9 p.m. by the time he pulled the door to his apartment, in Kleiser’s Court, closed behind him. Flicking the light switch with his elbow, illuminated the hallway. His face felt tender and he tentatively lowered himself to his haunches and emptied his arms of everything he was carrying. Walking to the bathroom, he pulled the cord and went to inspect himself in the mirror.

  Turning sideways to get a better look, he was dismayed. What he’d initially thought to be a minor wound now sported seven stitches and a deepening colour that would soon be a mixture of black, purple and yellow, as the bruising manifested. The cut ran forward, for an inch, across from the base of his temple and narrowly missed the corner of his eye. Being a Saturday afternoon and considered a low priority by the triage nurse, Caslin spent four hours waiting to be seen at the hospital. There followed a trip to the X-ray department, an inordinate wait for the results and the application of the sutures themselves.

  At least the wound was sealed and provided he kept it clean, no infection should follow. Opening the cabinet in front of him, he took out a blister-strip of paracetamol.

  Leaving the bathroom, he went into the kitchen and began rooting through the cupboards. Not finding anything suitable, he opened the fridge, locating a half-used pack of raw beef-mince at the rear. Taking it out, he tipped the contents into a bowl.

  Returning to the hall, he knelt down and unhooked the latch to the front of the pet carrier. Opening the door, he coaxed out the cat with the promise of food. It gradually emerged. Having spent a lot of time in the safety of the confines of the crate and indeed, Caslin’s car, the traumatised creature was now far calmer. He wasn’t really a cat lover nor a fan of any pet if he was honest but it proved a bit late in the day to arrange any alternative. Holt flatly refused to take it, claiming allergies as an excuse, so what other choice did he have so late on a Saturday evening?

  Picking up the pack of dressings and alcohol solution, the staff at the hospital had furnished him with, Caslin went into the living room. Tossing the package onto the sideboard, he threw his keys alongside it. Reaching for a glass, he took the stopper from a bottle of Macallan and poured a healthy measure. Crossing to his chair, he sank down. Popping a couple of tablets from the strip, he put them in his mouth and swallowed hard. Washing them down with some whisky, he closed his eyes.

  The thudding pain behind his eyes was irritating but nothing he wasn’t used to. He heard movement alongside him and opening his eyes was surprised as the cat leapt up onto his lap. His first thought was to brush it aside but as he reached forward, it nuzzled against his hand, purring in an almost hypnotic, repetitive chant. He smiled and instead began stoking it.

  “If you insist,” he said quietly.

  The intercom buzzed. Caslin glanced at the clock. It was late f
or a personal call but not late enough for the weekend drunks to be messing with him. The cat was reluctant to move and so, Caslin slid it off to one side, depositing it onto the chair as he stood. Finishing his scotch, he placed the empty glass on the coffee table and headed to the front door. The movement caused the banging in his head to intensify once again.

  “Hello,” he said, activating the intercom.

  “Hi Nate, it’s me.”

  Caslin was momentarily thrown, hearing the voice of his ex-wife, “Erm… Karen. Yes, of course. Come on up.” He released the exterior door and heard her pass through it before he disconnected the speaker. Chiding himself for not having called her earlier, as he’d planned to, he took a deep breath. Unlocking the front door, he quickly stepped back into the living room. Scanning the interior, he judged the standard acceptable for a visitor, even one as particular as Karen. Returning to the hall, he pulled the door open to see her out on the landing. She stood with her hands before her, nervously rubbing her palms gently together.

  “Hi,” she said quietly. Caslin looked at her, smiling. She returned the smile with one of her own, accompanied by an inquisitive flick of the eyebrows. “Can I come in? Or should we talk out here?”

  Caslin snapped out of it, shaking his head, “Of course, please.” He gestured for her to enter, stepping back to make room. She came past him and he ushered her into the living room. “I’m sorry. I meant to call you but…”

  Closing the front door, he followed her in. She turned to face him, taking in his appearance. “My God, your face. Are you okay?” she asked, concerned, reaching towards his face with her hand. Caslin flinched.

  “Oh, this,” he replied, touching a hand to his cheek, “It’s nothing, really. Looks worse than it is but that’s why I didn’t call. Who’s got Lizzie?”

  “She’s staying over at a friend’s this weekend,” Karen replied, her eyes drawn to Caslin’s left. She inclined her head slightly, indicating towards the armchair. “Since when have you had a cat?”

  Caslin looked. The cat was sitting up, eyeing them expectantly. “That’s… a long story,” he replied.

  “What’s its name?” she asked.

  “I… just call it… Cat,” Caslin said.

  “You have to give it a proper name,” Karen argued. “Is it male or female?”

  “No idea,” Caslin said.

  “You haven’t looked?”

  “I respect its privacy,” Caslin said with a smile. “Do you want a drink?”

  Karen nodded, taking off her coat and placing it across the arm of the sofa, “I could do with a glass of wine. Red, if you have it?” Caslin walked through to the kitchen, returning with a half-decent Bordeaux he hadn’t finished from a previous night. “Sean filled me in on what happened. How much trouble is he in?”

  “With us? A hell of a lot,” Caslin said, passing her a freshly poured glass. He should let it breathe but he knew his ex well enough to know she wasn’t bothered. “With the police? I’ll have to speak to the lead investigator tomorrow or Monday. We can take it from there.”

  “You can fix it?” Karen asked hopefully.

  Caslin smiled, “Anything can be fixed.” He tried to sound upbeat and positive. If the truth be known, on this occasion, his influence might not be enough.

  “I read him the riot act. But, to be honest, my heart wasn’t in it.”

  “I know. He’s had a rough year,” Caslin agreed, the guilt returning. “It feels pretty harsh to go in too hard on him but, at the same time, maybe laying off him has brought us here. Listen, I haven’t eaten. Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m planning one of my specials.”

  “Indian or Chinese?”

  “I figured Indian. They’re closer,” Caslin said with a smile.

  “I’d like that,” Karen said. “It’s good to see you looking well, Nate. This is the best I’ve seen you in ages. Apart from your face being all smashed up. Mind you, most people would say it’s an improvement.” Caslin laughed. “I mean it, though. You look in good shape. You’ve stuck to your twelve steps… and you’ve even got a cat,” she said, sipping at her wine and sitting down on the sofa. Caslin crossed to the sideboard and took out a leaflet for his preferred takeaway restaurant.

  “It is a return to the good old days in many respects,” Caslin offered, passing her the menu. She declined.

  “Whatever you fancy is fine,” she said. “I’m not fussy.”

  “You can’t have been. You married me,” Caslin joked. They both laughed.

  “You see,” she said. “That’s more like the old Nathaniel. Whatever happened to him?”

  “He married you for a start,” Caslin countered. Karen nearly blew wine from her nostrils as she laughed. He turned away from her, crossing to the front window and looking down on the cobbled streets of York’s Shambles.

  The weekend festivities were getting underway as the onset of spring tentatively threatened to come upon them. Just for the moment at least, Caslin was able to put the horrific nature of his day to one side. Scrolling through his contacts, he dialled the restaurant, a smile on his face.

  Chapter 10

  The whir of the machine pumping boiling water through the filter head was a comforting sound, first thing in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window giving the false impression of warmth outside. Once the cup was full, Caslin picked it up and placed it on the warming plate above. Removing the head, he knocked out the contents and refilled it from the grinder. Setting that back into position ready to make another, he was interrupted by the buzzer of the intercom. Leaving the kitchen, he walked down the narrow hall to the front door and lifted the receiver.

  “Morning, sir,” DS Hunter said. He buzzed her through the communal entrance into the lobby. Unlocking the front door, he left it ajar and returned to the kitchen. By the time she had ascended the stairs and entered the apartment, he was already filling the second cup of coffee. Hearing the machine, she came through to where he stood offering him a brown paper bag. Taking it from her, he glanced inside.

  “Nice. Thanks,” he said, admiring the selection of pastries within. Taking a plate down from one of the cupboards, he tore open the bag and tipped them out. The cat appeared from nowhere, leaping onto the table and making a beeline for the plate. Hunter laughed and Caslin scooped it up, placing it back down on the floor. “Remind me to get some cat food later, would you?”

  “I’d also suggest a litter tray,” Karen added, stepping over to the kitchen window where the cat now waited expectantly. She opened it allowing the creature access to the fire escape.

  “Good call,” Caslin replied.

  “I figured you’d want-” Hunter started before stopping as Karen appeared at the threshold of the living room. Hunter was open-mouthed. “I’m sorry,” she said, casting a sideways look towards Caslin. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

  “That’s okay,” Karen replied. “How are you, Sarah?”

  “Very well… Karen. Thanks,” Hunter replied, looking and feeling a little awkward. “You?”

  “Me too,” she replied, glancing down.

  Caslin picked up one of the coffees and crossed the kitchen. Confident he was the only one not experiencing a level of discomfort, he made to pass the cup to Karen but noticed she had her coat across her forearm.

  “I’d better be off, Nate. I know it’s early but I’ve things I need to do.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said warmly.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Besides, you’ve clearly got work to do anyway.”

  He put the cup down on the kitchen table. “No problem. I’ll see you out.”

  Karen held up a hand, “There’s no need really. I know the way.” He smiled, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for last night,” she said, with a nervous smile. Looking to Hunter, she offered a broader smile, “Nice to see you again, Sarah.”

  “You too,” Hunter replied, returning the smile and bobbing her head before looking away. Karen left via the
living room. Caslin picked up the coffee he was intending to present to his ex and instead, passed it to Hunter.

  “Coffee?” he said.

  “Thank you. So…” Hunter said, holding the cup with both hands to warm her fingers, “you and Karen, eh?”

  “Stop it,” Caslin admonished her, turning his back and reaching for his own cup. Internally, he was grinning. “So, what brings you to my door, this early, on a Sunday morning?” Hunter sipped at her drink but found it far too hot for her liking. Putting it down on the table, she fished out her notebook from an internal pocket of her coat.

  “When I got back to the station yesterday, I ran the background on our victim, Farzaad Amin. The initial checks proved accurate. He has no priors, no convictions. According to the national database, he’s not come up on the radar of any constabulary.”

  “No legs in the rumour of child abuse, then?”

  Hunter shook her head, “I’ve also been to the National Crime Agency and they’ve no record in Child Exploitation and Online Protection either. If he’s up to anything, we’ve nothing to substantiate it. I’ve asked Terry Holt to follow up and see if anyone can verify the allegations. Some of the neighbours have documented complaints about the locals, though. Anti-social behaviour in the main. Although, there were two incidences of bottles being thrown, along with racist abuse aimed at the ethnic minority residents of Amin’s block.”

  “Kids?”

  “It would appear so,” Hunter confirmed. “Nothing came of it.”

  “Good work,” Caslin said, leaning against the kitchen counter and blowing the steam from the top of his brew. “What did he do for a living, Farzaad Amin?”

  Hunter returned to her notes, “That’s where I’m struggling. The neighbours implied he arrived here from Afghanistan as an asylum seeker at the end of the mission. Or at least that’s what they believed. If so, until his status was confirmed, he wouldn’t be able to work.”