City of Sinners

by Dhand, A. A.

Harry hesitated.

  ‘I thought you said “anything”?’

  ‘You let the girl go and I’ll dance to any tune you want.’

  ‘I believe you. But what would be the fun in that?’

  ‘Aisha is only twenty-one,’ said Harry. ‘There’s a lot of power in this room. You name your price.’

  The killer paused. On screen, Aisha remained still. Harry focused on her, willing her to help him find her.

  Come on, kid, give me something.

  Anything.

  ‘Let’s play a game,’ said the killer.

  He put the phone down, camera facing the floor so everything went black.

  Harry could hear movement.

  Suddenly Aisha reappeared on the screen, a close-up of her face. Harry could see where the gag was biting into her lips, the tear tracks down her cheeks.

  Tariq shouldn’t be seeing this.

  ‘A game. One I think you’re going to like.’

  The view moved quickly, suddenly. Harry took a breath.

  The killer appeared on the screen.

  Dressed in a full burka.

  Harry let out his breath.

  Damn.

  Harry’s eyes moved quickly, trying desperately to scour for any details about him or their location in this new shot.

  Nothing.

  ‘Shall we play?’ he asked, his tone now altogether more sinister. He produced a small plastic container.

  He removed the lid and placed the container on Aisha’s thigh.

  She screamed, and Tariq shouted, ‘No!’

  Aisha’s body went stiff, she held herself as still as possible. The killer brought the phone closer towards her so they could see clearly what was happening.

  The three of them crowded around the phone as a solitary wasp, looking as if its wings had been removed, crawled on to Aisha’s thigh. Harry’s stomach dropped. He knew what was coming.

  ‘She’s allergic,’ Tariq whispered, his voice laced with fear.

  The killer spoke up again. ‘Fifty-fifty, Harry,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘If she dies, you’ve got no leverage. Why are you doing this?’ Harry said, panicking.

  ‘It’s fate, isn’t it. Not down to me.’

  ‘Please,’ Tariq said suddenly. ‘I have money.’

  ‘He speaks again and she dies!’ snapped the killer. ‘I’m talking to Harry.’

  Frost took Tariq to the far side of the room. Harry hoped he could be persuaded to leave the room; they should never have let him stay for the video-call.

  ‘Aisha,’ said Harry, ‘keep calm, you’re doing a brilliant job. Look at me,’ he urged, ‘stop moving in that chair. It’s going to unsettle the wasp. Please, Aisha, you can do this. Block it all out. Just you and me, kid. Just you and me.’

  Aisha stared at the screen, straight at Harry.

  The wasp paused for a moment. Then crawled further up her thigh, towards her underwear.

  Aisha clenched her teeth, her legs started to tremble.

  ‘At me,’ said Harry forcefully. ‘Eyes on me, Aisha.’ Harry softened his voice, even though he wanted to scream. ‘Trust me. Just stay still.’

  The ordeal lasted another thirty seconds before the killer scooped the wasp back into the container. He loomed large on the screen, putting his hand lovingly on Aisha’s head, stroking it gently.

  ‘You ever lost anything you loved, Harry?’

  Harry thought about his family.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Then we have something in common.’

  The killer came towards the screen, his eyes close to the camera.

  ‘We’ll play again tomorrow morning, Harry. Ten a.m. Whether she lives or dies is on you. Get some rest. You’ve had a busy night. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow; it’s going to be a big day.’

  Harry focused on the eyes.

  Nothing familiar about them.

  ‘Why me?’ he asked.

  ‘Because you started all this. And you want to save this city, don’t you? A city of sinners. They don’t deserve to be saved.’

  FORTY-SIX

  BRUISED.

  No, broken. Harry felt broken after the phone call.

  He and Tariq remained in the room, the silence deafening.

  The ACC had left to update the team and Conway was chasing down the mast-cell-site data in the hopes of locating Aisha’s phone.

  All Harry could hear was the air conditioning unit, ticking over. He didn’t know where to begin.

  Tariq leaned forward, put his head in his hands and rested it on the table.

  ‘First my wife. And now Aisha. I’m going to lose her,’ whispered Tariq. ‘Aren’t I?’

  Harry wanted to say no. But he couldn’t give the guy false hope. Tariq Islam might have been the Home Secretary but in this moment, he was simply a father.

  Harry stayed silent.

  ‘Do you have kids?’ Tariq asked, keeping his head on the table.

  ‘A boy,’ said Harry.

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘You want to protect them, don’t you? From the shit that goes on in the world. As fathers, it’s our job.’

  Tariq looked up at Harry. ‘What am I supposed to do now? She’s my little girl. I promised my wife that I would protect her.’

  Harry tried to give as much confidence to his voice as possible. He knew the chances of getting to Aisha while she was still alive were slim. But they weren’t impossible. ‘Don’t give in,’ he said. ‘There are over a hundred dedicated officers in this city fighting for her. Including this one.’

  Harry smiled at Tariq. ‘Don’t give in. We’re not.’

  Tariq looked around the room. ‘Is this place secure?’

  Harry frowned. ‘Secure?’

  ‘Are we alone?’ said Tariq, nodding towards the ceiling.

  ‘Yes. No monitoring in here.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Hundred per cent.’

  ‘Good,’ said Tariq and leaned forward, dropping his voice. ‘I read your file.’

  Harry raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Amazing what you can learn in ninety minutes on a plane from London to Leeds–Bradford.’

  ‘Yeah. I guess you’re used to pressurized briefings.’

  ‘I’ll say.’ His hand went to his forehead, Harry watched him closely.

  ‘Hell of a file you’ve got. You know I used to be paramilitary?’

  ‘I do, sir.’ Harry couldn’t help himself, and added, ‘Group 13? Right.’

  Tariq smiled. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read.’

  ‘I don’t. But, if you were involved in anything … let’s say … delicate, might be wise to disclose it now.’

  ‘This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Why does he contact you?’

  ‘Honestly, sir, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Your file is one of constant boundary-pushing. I can read between the lines.’ Tariq paused. ‘I know you’re the kind of officer who will do anything for a result.’

  Harry wasn’t sure he liked the implication but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure where this was going.

  Tariq drew himself up.

  ‘I want you to know that if this case comes down to you needing to make a call that takes you a little outside of the rules, I’m okay with that. I’ve got your back, personally. And politically. I can ensure there won’t be any repercussions. I want my daughter back. At any cost.’

  Harry saw the change in his eyes. Friendly, approachable, to steely. Almost sinister.

  ‘I’m all-in here. There are no half-measures.’

  It was the truth.

  Tariq nodded, turning to leave the room.

  ‘Since we are off the record here,’ Harry said.

  Tariq stopped in his tracks, turning back to Harry.

  He nodded.

  ‘There is something else I’m working on. Not related to this case. A little … personal.’

&nb
sp; Harry was thinking about his inevitable future clash with Ronnie. One day, they were destined to collide.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let’s just say, if I bring Aisha home. If I put myself on the line – and I mean everything on the line – could I count on you, when the time comes, to put yourself on the line? For me?’

  ‘Does it relate to this case?’ asked Tariq, immediately suspicious.

  ‘No,’ said Harry vehemently. ‘It’s … a personal matter.’

  ‘Any more details you can give me?’

  ‘Do you really need any?’

  Tariq shook his head. ‘You bring Aisha home and I’m in your debt. You have my word.’

  ‘You know what a kasam is?’

  Tariq smiled. ‘A sacred promise on my life? Bit old school, Harry.’

  ‘Do you want to give me your kasam?’

  Tariq leaned closer. ‘Harry, you bring my daughter home and you’ve got my kasam, my word, my solemn promise that I will owe you one favour – any favour you want.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘FIVE HUNDRED METRES!’ said Conway bursting into the room, jolting Harry and Tariq from their delicate conversation.

  ‘What?’ said Harry, getting to his feet.

  ‘Aisha’s phone. It’s within five hundred metres of Trafalgar House.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain.’

  Conway left the room, Harry and Tariq followed close behind. They entered a smaller room where the HMET team were crowding around the map of the city centre. DI Palmer had temporary charge of Harry’s team whilst he was on restrictive duties.

  A perimeter had been drawn on the map where Aisha’s phone signal had been recorded.

  ‘Any clues from the Facetime, Harry?’ asked one of his colleagues. ‘We’ve been briefed. Anything to add?’

  Harry told them the video-call hadn’t revealed anything other than a shitty dark room.

  The DCIs each took responsibility for searching a quadrant of the circle and left the room, marshalling their respective teams as they went.

  ‘Sir,’ Conway said to Tariq.

  ‘Please, it’s Tariq.’

  ‘Very well. Can we lose the close-protection unit?’ She nodded towards the four burly guards. ‘You’re as safe here as anywhere and I really need to keep as much of this as possible classified. I’m sure you understand?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Tariq and discharged his men to take a break.

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘It’s Tariq,’ he said again.

  ‘Apologies. Would you be more comfortable in …?’ She gestured to a meeting room with a coffee machine.

  ‘I’m fine right here. Please, don’t exclude me.’

  Conway nodded and turned to Harry.

  ‘When was the last time you slept?’ said Conway.

  ‘You expect me to go home?’

  ‘There’s a couch in my office. You fry yourself too early, you’re no good to anybody.’

  ‘I’ve had four hours’ sleep in the past twenty-four hours. I’ve got another few in me yet. Let me help.’

  Harry glanced at Tariq. Whilst he had no jurisdiction here, Harry was hoping for an olive branch.

  ‘With the new resources we’ve got, we should apprehend Gurpal Singh very soon. You should go home and get some rest.’

  ‘Everyone’s focusing on Gurpal, right?’ said Harry, pointing to the circle on the map. ‘Let me into Aisha’s life. Who’s doing victimology? Outside enquiries? All the victims have been students; either the college or the university. Let me help with that.’

  Conway told him a team of DCs had been allocated the task and were preparing to leave HMET.

  ‘Let me head that up. If you need me, I’m less than a mile away. I can’t just sit here, Clare, having my lunch.’

  He used her first name, hoping for a reprieve from being stuck in the office.

  Conway nodded.

  An officer entered the room and handed Harry’s phone to him. They’d cloned it. If the killer called, Trafalgar House would be listening.

  Conway stepped out, heading for the operations room.

  Harry also made to leave.

  Tariq stopped him. Dropped his voice. ‘Good luck, Harry. Think on what we spoke about.’

  Bradford University’s atrium was made entirely out of glass. As Harry approached he could see hundreds of students all having their lunch.

  He had sent the two DCs he had been allocated to the main student reception area to see what information they could pull about Aisha – any clubs and societies she was part of.

  Harry entered the Richmond Building and waited for one of three lifts to hit the ground floor, observing the students.

  A couple stealing a kiss.

  Someone reading a book.

  Dozens tapping away on their mobile phones.

  Harry, you bring my daughter home and I will owe you any favour you want.

  Harry rubbed his hand across his face.

  More confused than tired.

  He needed a break in this case.

  Deep down, he didn’t believe he was going to catch one.

  This guy was taunting them.

  He knew he was going to get caught. And he would choose exactly when and how.

  The question was, how much damage could he inflict before that happened?

  Harry checked the news headlines on his iPhone.

  Nothing about Aisha Islam. The press moratorium was holding.

  In the main office of the pharmaceutical department, Harry introduced himself to a receptionist and asked to see the head of department. He also asked for a student roster for Aisha Islam’s course mates.

  The head of department, Professor Norman Bishop, introduced himself to Harry with a firm handshake. They left the reception, headed down the main corridor.

  Bishop’s office was chaotic. Files, papers and empty cups filled the desk. Bishop offered Harry a drink. He declined and got straight to the point, asking to see a copy of Aisha’s timetable, a list of her classmates and who her form-tutor was. Bishop probed about the urgency. Harry told him it was a private matter.

  Bishop handed Harry the information he’d asked for. Harry took a quick scan of the papers and saw Aisha’s name.

  ‘Any idea who Aisha was friendly with?’ asked Harry.

  The prof shook his head. ‘I’ve got hundreds of students within this department. Her form-tutor might know, but even then, they only meet with the students once every few months.’

  Harry grimaced.

  ‘Her lab partner might know, I suppose,’ said Bishop.

  ‘Her what-now?’

  ‘The students are paired up with a lab partner, who they usually work with throughout the course.’

  ‘Do you know whose Aisha’s was?’

  ‘It’s done alphabetically. So, whoever is above or below her on the student list would be her partner.’

  Harry focused on the list and counted down in twos until he hit Aisha’s name.

  ‘This girl, Rabeena Akthar. Would this have been her lab partner?’

  Bishop took a quick glance.

  ‘Likely, yes.’

  ‘I need to speak with her. Right now.’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  JOYTI VIRDEE WATCHED as the doctor left her husband’s room at the hospital.

  The surgery was scheduled for the following day. It was high risk, apparently. But by the look on the doctor’s face, it was also the only thing that would give Ranjit a chance at a proper recovery.

  Joyti walked to the window, which gave a wide view across Bradford. She discreetly checked her watch. Nearly one o’clock. Saima would be here soon. Joyti’s heart skipped a beat and she looked towards the heavens; white, threatening snow. It made her think of the ice cream Aaron had eaten the day before.

  ‘I-cream,’ she whispered and smiled.

  From behind, Ranjit’s voice sounded tired. As tired as Joyti, who hadn’t slept much.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘D
o you know how long we have been married?’ said Joyti, resting her hands on the radiator underneath the window, grateful for its warmth.

  There was a delay as Ranjit worked it out.

  ‘Thirty-eight years,’ he said.

  ‘Thirty-nine.’

  He reconsidered and nodded.

  ‘Back then, I never for one minute thought we would leave India. Never considered we would have to figure out how to live in a country where we were strangers. Do you remember when we took the keys to our shop?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How, on our first day, half of the customers cancelled their newspaper deliveries? Funny to think we were the first Asians on the estate.’

  ‘Worse than that, you remember that old man who died in the shop? Very first morning?’ said Ranjit, stifling a laugh. ‘He saw the coloured people and dropped dead of a heart attack.’

  ‘I thought the shop was cursed.’

  ‘My mother started chanting prayers and waving around incense to purify the store from the man’s death. The ambulance people were still there and word got around she was a voodoo witch.’

  Joyti shook her head and smiled. ‘The worst opening day we could have had.’

  ‘You wanted to leave.’

  ‘I did. I never thought the white man would allow us to live there. Not after that.’ Joyti grimaced at the memory of how tough those early months had been. ‘But we did okay. Worked hard. Made them see us as people. Just like them. Even if you did wear a turban and have a beard.’

  ‘I joined their pub. Played snooker and darts with them. Got drunk with them.’

  ‘Wasn’t easy, though, was it?’

  ‘I was determined we would make it a success.’

  ‘You never let me wear Asian clothes in the shop. You trimmed your beard. Learned the accent.’

  Ranjit switched to English. ‘Yes, love,’ he said, and laughed.

  ‘We changed. Didn’t we?’

  ‘We had to.’

  ‘Do you think we lost some of ourselves? In the change?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, if we hadn’t taken that shop. If we had stayed in India, how might our lives have been different?’

  Ranjit’s face took on a serious look.

  ‘I know what this is about,’ he said finally. ‘Let’s not revisit the past.’

  ‘If you have your operation tomorrow and it goes badly, do you want to leave this world without at least trying with Hardeep?’