At first the trip had been exciting. They’d made out they were flying to Serbia on holiday. Kamal’s father had explained that Serbia was trying to build links with Iran and encouraged holiday visits. Once they were in Serbia, they slipped out of their hotel one night and made their way to the first in a series of hostels in Belgrade, then across to the west of the country. That was when Kamal first realised the true power of money. There were people of other nationalities also trying to move west, but many of them had very little cash, certainly not enough to pay for rail and air tickets. Kamal’s family were among the favoured few because they could pay. His father’s professional status as a graduate engineer, and his ability to negotiate deals in English, meant that the family moved relatively quickly through central Europe and into France. They travelled on false passports purchased in Iran and sewn into a pocket hidden in the lining of one of their suitcases. France wasn’t their final destination however. His father was one of Iran’s top bridge construction experts and his year in Southampton, studying for a master’s degree in civil engineering, had decided him that England was where his family would settle. He’d admired the freedoms open to people in Britain: to work, study, think, vote, read and even worship in any way you chose. Of course, France had these freedoms too, as did the other countries of Western Europe, but Kamal’s parents both spoke fluent English, and the rest of the family were almost as good. His Uncle Saman, Roya’s brother, ran a café and his Aunt Jenny, who was British by birth, managed a garden centre. Kamal’s family would have a place to stay with them. His father explained all this to Kamal as they moved slowly westwards, from city to city, country to country.
Kamal idolised his father. To Kamal he was everything a good father should be — wise, calm and principled. He loved his mother too, but she was quieter and more nervous about the upheaval. She was also well-educated, with a degree in agricultural science. But she’d never been outside Iran before, and she came from a devout Islamic family. Leaving the country in the way they had meant that she was turning her back on her family and the tight-knit society of the mosque.
So here they all were, hunched up in a small boat that was starting to pitch and roll as it made its way towards the supposedly safe shores of southern England. The journey seemed endless to Kamal, and he started to pray. At last, he too fell into a light doze.
* * *
Kamal awoke with a start as the boat lurched and a mass of water crashed over the side, soaking him and filling the bottom of the boat. He felt Arshi slide away from him in the swirl of water, but he managed to grab her leg. He thought his father was holding onto her from the other side, but it was impossible to be sure in the dark. Where was his mother? She’d been sitting on his other side, but she wasn’t there now. The boat lurched again, and someone crashed into him. He heard his mother’s voice shouting in his ear. ‘Kamal, is that you?’
He reached forward, felt her arm and squeezed it. What was going on? He managed to turn his head and peer over the side. A line of white foaming surf was visible in the moonlight and the sound of crashing water seemed to drown everything. They were making landfall on a wave-lashed beach with the boat sideways on to the shore. In the dim light he could just make out shapes lurching about as people in the middle of the boat were thrown from side to side. He gripped the edge of the boat even tighter with his free hand. Some people had already been thrown out of the boat and were floundering in the deep water, even the adults were up to their necks. They were hampered by the bags they were trying desperately to hold onto, and weren’t making much progress, even the ones closest to the shore. As each wave retreated, it would suck at their legs causing them to topple. Several small children were being tossed about in the rough surf like rag dolls and were in danger of drowning. There was a continual grinding noise, as if thousands of teeth were being gnashed together, drowning out many of the screams and shouts. Was it the sound of rough water on small stones and pebbles?
Belongings and people alike were soaked. He felt his father’s lips at his ear, shouting. ‘Kamal, we must move. Keep your backpack on. Cross the boat. Climb out the other side. Stay with your mother. I’ll take Arshi.’
But his mother already had his arm in an iron grip. She hauled him upright and across the narrow boat, bumping into the people still floundering in the middle of the vessel. She pushed him up to the rail and told him to hold tight, and then she jumped out, pulling him after her. In her youth she’d been a strong swimmer, so the waves held no fears for her. The water was icy. Cold and soaked as he was, it was still a shock. She began to move slowly, step by step, braced against the suck-back of the retreating waves. Kamal followed suit, pushing his feet down hard onto the seabed. Amid the people floundering in the crashing surf, Roya remained upright, hauling Kamal after her. He couldn’t see his father and Arshi. It was like a nightmare, a hellish dream, people falling over, gasping and shrieking all around them. As they reached the shallows, he could see a man wade back into the water in an attempt to rescue some of the drowning children. People lay sprawled across the shingle, exhausted and gasping for breath. He spotted his father over to their right, carrying a petrified, sobbing Arshi. The family of four embraced and huddled together for a few moments.
Kamal heard more shouting. He turned just in time to see the boat swing around again, lurching wildly. A larger wave struck the boat just as it listed to one side under the weight of the people preparing to jump off. Several were flung into the water, including a couple of small children, and were then dragged under by the backflow as the water from the retreating wave sucked their legs from under them. Kamal’s parents returned to the water and began to haul the children out. From where he was sitting, it was impossible to see what was happening. All the while, Arshi was crying at his side.
Trusting in his parents’ ability to swim, Kamal breathed more easily. But his relief was short-lived. Several things happened in quick succession. His parents had waded back to the boat a second time to rescue the remaining children when a huge wave bore down on them like an express train and hit the boat sideways on. It rose up, and then toppled onto the two rescuers, the deck rail catching them both and knocking them under. Kamal stood up, shouting, and ran into the water. He couldn’t see where his parents had gone. Then something hard struck him on the head, and he lost his footing.
* * *
Someone was shaking him. People in uniform. Police? And nurses and doctors. He struggled to sit up and looked around for his parents. A little further on was a row of lumpy shapes laid out on the shingle, each covered by a blanket. Arshi was beside him, coughing. Someone, a hazy figure, seemed to be talking to him.
‘I’m Kamal Bahrami. This is Arshi,’ he said in English. ‘Where are my parents?’
The paramedic glanced at a police officer standing nearby, who shook her head. Kamal caught sight of his mother. Lying on a stretcher, she was being carried towards an ambulance. Her eyes were closed, and she had blood on her face.
‘Umi!’ he called. Then in English, ‘That’s my mother.’
The police officer bent down to him. ‘Your mother?’ She took his arm and helped him to stand. ‘She’s alive but we think she’s badly injured.’
He craned his head, looking around frantically. ‘Where is my father?’
She shook her head. ‘We haven’t checked everyone yet. Do you want to go in the ambulance with your mother?’
‘Yes, but where is my father? Where is he?’
‘Go in the ambulance just now. We’ll find you in the hospital.’
* * *
Sergeant Rose Simons watched the last of the ambulances leave and then leant on the shoulder of her boyfriend, a member of one of the paramedic teams also in attendance at the beach.
‘I can’t cope with this, Tony. Dealing with drunks and thieves is one thing but a tragedy like this is something else. It’s the sheer bloody hopelessness of these poor people that gets to me. I mean, think how far they’ve travelled to get here, only to have this happ
en. Do you think the mother of those two poor kids will pull through? Her injuries looked pretty bad to me.’
He grimaced. ‘I reckon she’s got a fifty-fifty chance, Rose. She’s got a couple of broken ribs and a fractured pelvis. It all depends on the damage the ribs have done to her lungs and whether she’s got other internal injuries. I really didn’t like the look of her. There was something seriously wrong. That’s why we got her off in the first ambulance. And then there’s her mental state if she does pull through. She probably doesn’t know her husband’s dead. Still, just think, Rose. These people have crossed most of Europe to get here. They’re pretty tough. Jesus, I wish I could get my hands on the people who organise these boats.’
‘Me too,’ Rose growled. ‘They’re nothing but cold-blooded killers.’ She pointed to the upended boat, which had been pulled clear of the roaring surf. ‘That thing’s not fit for crossing the Channel with half a dozen people on board, not at night when the sea’s like this. And how many were packed into it? Thirty? It makes my blood boil. It’s sheer bloody murder. Putting young kids through that. I can’t put my anger into words.’ She shook her head in despair. ‘Four people dead. Four desperate people who gambled with their lives and lost.’
She was finding it hard to clear her brain of the scenes of raw emotion she’d witnessed when some of the migrants realised they’d lost loved ones to the cold, foaming water. The man who’d lost his wife. The sets of parents who’d each lost a child. The two children who’d lost their father and might yet lose their mother as well. The injured, with broken bones, head wounds and internal injuries. The desperation of such people, causing them to risk everything to seek a haven away from the wars and disputes that ravaged their homelands. It was all too much. She turned and trudged back to the line of vehicles. At least George, her young protégé, had been spared this awful experience. Rose had developed an almost maternal feeling for the young man and was glad he was off for the weekend, visiting his girlfriend in Oxford. She spotted a familiar car pulling in at the back of the line of vehicles and went over to it. But when Sophie Allen climbed out, she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Sophie looked at her. ‘Was it that bad, Rose?’
She shook her head. ‘Worse. But there may be something useful for you to go on. There’s a young lad called Kamal. Some of the others told me he took photos of his journey from Iran on a small camera he had with him. The thing is, ma’am, his father died trying to rescue some other kids and his mother’s in a really bad way. You’ll need to go easy on him.’
‘Rose, I’m not that much of a blunderbuss, am I?’
‘No. Sorry, ma’am. Spoke out of turn.’
‘It’s okay. The first forensic unit will be arriving any moment now. Once you’re happy that the place is secure, go get some sleep. I’ll visit the hospital with you later in the morning. Will you be alright for that?’
Rose nodded. ‘I had a few words with this boy Kamal last night before he went in the ambulance with his mum. He speaks English really well. He doesn’t know about his father, though he may have guessed.’
‘Has there been any sign of whoever crewed the boat?’
‘No. They expected a crew of two or three but there was only one on board. From what we could tell, he was the first out of the boat, well before the passengers realised that things were going wrong. There’s no sign of him.’
‘Any description?’
‘Short, bearded. He’s got a squint.’
‘Well, we need to put out an alert for him.’
‘Already done, ma’am. Abandoning those people in conditions like that is tantamount to murder.’
‘I’m not disagreeing with you, Rose.’
* * *
Dorry O’Brian was cold, hungry and in a state of near-panic. He’d been first off the boat, jumping into the sea as soon as he’d realised that they’d been driven further east than the planned landing spot. Instead of a relatively benign sandy beach with a shallow approach, the stiff breeze had driven them onto the steep shelf of Chesil Beach. Eighteen miles of pebble. He knew what that meant. Almost certain disaster. Most of the migrants on board had their eyes shut and weren’t aware of their proximity to the shore. He’d checked his life vest, the only professional quality one on board, grabbed his backpack with his personal belongings in it, waited until the boat had turned side on, and slipped over the side.
The water came up to his chest, but his life vest kept him from going under. He’d timed it right. There was a lull between waves, and he made rapid progress through the water. He was in the shallows when the waves started getting bigger again. Even so, the strength of the backflow was frightening. He reached the shingle beach and looked back. The people on the boat were starting to panic. One was pointing to him and shouting something. Did they really think he was stupid enough to go back and help? It’d be suicidal. He’d done the best he could for them. They were on their own now.
He headed up the beach and found a rough path among the dunes. He couldn’t see much in the darkness but if he kept the sea directly behind him, he reckoned he’d be okay. He was moving up a shallow rise, trying to follow the narrow track. He thought he could see the dark shape of trees ahead and to the left, but he decided to keep on going for another few minutes. He was still cold and wet and wasn’t getting any warmer, despite his rapid pace up the incline. Finally, he stopped beside a clump of bushes, only just discernible in the weak moonlight. He trudged around to the lee side, dropped his pack on the ground and removed a carefully wrapped plastic binbag. He pulled out a bundle of dry garments and a towel, stripped off his sodden clothes and laid them close by, then quickly towelled himself dry before pulling on the new ones, topped off with a windproof jacket. He was nothing if not well-prepared. He quickly gathered his wet things, feeling for them in the dark, and stuffed them into the backpack, hoping they were all there. He hurriedly ate a biscuit, took a gulp of water from a bottle, slung his backpack across his shoulders and set off westwards.
Within five minutes he’d found the official coast path, its occasional way-markers visible even in the dim moonlight. He was making faster progress now, starting to set more distance between him and the chaotic scene he’d left behind on the beach. There was no point thinking about what was happening back there. In a situation like this, it was every man for himself.
He kept going, walking west until he was well beyond Bridport, and the grey light of dawn had started to seep into the eastern sky behind him. He reckoned that he had, at best, another hour or two before people began to appear with their walking poles, rucksacks, dogs. An hour in which to find somewhere hidden to shelter during the daylight hours. By now he was exhausted and needed to rest. Thank God the weather was dry, though chilly. He spotted a ramshackle barn in a field off to one side of the path. Was that hay piled up inside? Perfect. He crossed the field, checked that no one was about, and entered the small building. He wormed his way behind some bales of hay, pulling some out to cover his body. Then Dorry O’Brian lay down and fell asleep.
Chapter 15: Hospital
Saturday morning
Kamal opened his eyes and sat up with a jerk. Where was he? He saw cream-coloured walls and a white ceiling fitted with rails for curtains, but these were pulled back tight against their frame. Medical equipment was neatly lined up against the bed. He turned his head. There were three other beds in the room. Arshi was still asleep in the next one and the two opposite beds were empty. There was a window to his left, the curtains still closed. Even so, he could tell that the sun was out. A stray beam of sunlight had made its way through a gap in the curtains and illuminated an area of the wall behind Arshi’s bed. She began to stir, then yawned and stretched.
‘Where are we?’ she whimpered. But Kamal was just as confused. After weeks of travelling across Europe, moving from room to room in hostels, cheap hotels and the homes of parental friends, his brain was struggling to keep up.
‘We must be in hospital,’ he said. ‘I think it’s
in England. We came across the sea on a boat last night.’
He stopped speaking as the memories started to crowd in and tears rose to his eyes. He squeezed them shut. He mustn’t cause Arshi to panic. He had to stay calm.
The door opened and two people dressed in blue scrubs came in.
‘So, you’re both awake,’ the man said. ‘You’ve slept for more than ten hours — not surprising considering what you’ve been through. I’m Doctor Shaw and Staff Nurse Shepherd here is in charge of the ward. Would you like something to eat?’
‘Where’s my mum and dad?’ Kamal asked, his stomach a knot of anxiety.
The two medics glanced at each other.
‘Well, your mother is in intensive care after having surgery last night. Your uncle and aunt are outside, waiting to see you. I think they should come in now.’
The man left the room, returning in a few seconds with two adults and a girl. Kamal recognised the two adults from photos that his parents had shown him — his Uncle Saman and Aunt Jenny. The girl must be his cousin, Soraya. They all looked upset.
‘What’s happened?’ Kamal said. ‘What’s happened to Dad?’
‘We were expecting you and then we saw the boat accident on the news. Your father didn’t survive, Kamal. He died trying to rescue some children. We think a huge wave threw the boat on top of them. He was a hero.’
Kamal felt the first tear trickle down his cheek. His head dropped to his chest and he began to sob. Arshi looked shocked.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ she asked in Persian.
Aunt Jenny was already across at her bed and had her arms around the thin girl. ‘Your mother was operated on last night for injuries she got when the boat fell over, but there’s every chance she’ll recover. We have to keep hoping. We’re all so sorry about your father. He was such a good man.’
‘What will happen to us?’ Kamal whispered.
‘You’ll be staying with us while your mother’s in hospital,’ Jenny replied. ‘That was always the plan, anyway.’
RUTHLESS CRIMES a totally captivating crime mystery (Detective Sophie Allen Book 9) Page 10