Ruthless Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘Did you meet him on a regular basis?’

  ‘Just a couple of times a week. He shouldn’t have been out, not really. But he said staying in was driving him mental.’

  ‘I need to make this an official interview, Ritchie, with DC Carter taking notes. What you say could be really important to us.’

  Ritchie nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

  ‘How did you meet?’ Rae asked.

  ‘In a bar in town. It’s a place where gay people go. It was only a month or so ago and it was my first visit there. It was Rob’s first time there too, he’d only just arrived back in the town. We got talking. He seemed to like me, even though he’s ten years older.’

  ‘Did you visit him at his house?’

  ‘Yeah, a couple of times. He only came out occasionally, when being shut up there really got to him. Look, what happened to him?’

  ‘I can’t give you the full details, but he was stabbed late on Friday night, at the station.’

  ‘Was it a hate crime, you know, ’cause he was gay?’

  ‘No, we don’t think so,’ Rae said. ‘It was more likely to be linked to the reason he was under protection. We’re pretty sure he was stabbed just after he got off the last train. Apparently, he’d used that train a couple of times before. Did he ever say why?’

  Ritchie was silent for a few moments. ‘He never really said. I kind of thought it might have been an ex-partner, but I never knew for sure.’

  ‘Did he travel all the way from London?’ Rae asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. He let slip once that he was about to visit a woman he knew in Southampton. He clammed up about it though, and never said anything else.’

  ‘Do you know what his line of work was, Ritchie?’

  ‘He used to work on the fishing boats, here in Weymouth. Then that all stopped, and he did something else. He never told me what it was, just that he’d walked out on it, and he was keeping quiet until things settled down. That was all he said.’ His lip quivered. ‘He was a really nice guy. I liked him a lot.’

  Rae saw that he was really distressed. ‘This is off the record, Ritchie. Was he your first boyfriend?’

  ‘Yeah. I feel a bit lost now, to be honest. I never knew what I really felt about him until he wasn’t there anymore. I feel a lot worse than I thought I would.’

  Rae handed him her card. ‘Phone me if things get too bad. I’ll be back in touch anyway because we need you to make a formal statement. And, please, think through everything he told you. There’ll still be some little clues that might not seem important to you, but could help us a lot. By the way, we think he was limping when he got off the train. A witness at the station said he’d seen him before, and that he was limping then. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ritchie said. ‘He’d hurt his leg while he was working on one of the fishing boats. That’s what he said happened. That’s why he’d given it up and found different work. Whoever took him on said that his leg injury didn’t really matter. He wouldn’t talk much about that work though, except that it obviously didn’t work out. He clammed up when I asked him about it.’

  Chapter 13: Oxford

  Friday evening

  Jade Allen stood in the ticket hall at Oxford railway station, craning her neck and trying to spot George in the crowd of people coming through the ticket barrier. She was taller than average but was finding it difficult to pick him out among all those people. She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognised the familiar dark, spiky hair and cheerful face. He’d seen her too — not difficult considering the coat she was wearing, her favourite bright red, crushed velvet one that had been a birthday present from her grandmother. Her father teasingly described it as being made from curtain material.

  At last, George was standing in front of her. She flung her arms around him. ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I’ve missed you too. Work has been a bit mad this week and I’ve been really looking forward to this weekend. So, what’s the plan?’

  Jade grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the exit. ‘We’ll head back to the college and check you in. I’ve got you one of the guest rooms for the weekend, like I said. Dump your stuff, do what you need to and then I thought we could head out for a Thai meal in this great place off the High, with a couple of friends I’ve made. Then we’ll maybe do one of the pubs and head back to the college. There’s a sort of social and disco in the common room, and I ought to show my face.’ She paused. ‘I’m so glad to see you.’

  He kept smiling. ‘Anything you want to do is fine by me. So, you’ve already made some friends?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Not just the other medics at Keble, but some of the students who’ve got rooms near mine. I’m lucky, I’ve got a really lush room.’ She pulled him close again. ‘Listen, I know you’ve officially got a guest room, but we can be flexible about that. It’ll take us about twenty minutes to walk there. Is that okay?’ Jade was almost jumping up and down in her excitement.

  ‘I’ve been sitting on a train for a couple of hours. A walk will be good. A walk with you will be even better. And I especially like your idea of being flexible.’

  Jade was so full of happiness that she thought she might burst. Her first week had gone really well, on both the work and social fronts. She’d joined several Keble-based clubs and societies, including a salsa class, and Oxford SU Womcam, a feminist group that spanned the whole university. She’d enjoyed several ice-breaking parties, had got off to a good start with her tutor, had already managed to visit a couple of good pubs and sent reports about them back to her parents, and had still found time for several long phone conversations with George. True, it often felt that she was trying to balance too many balls in the air, but wasn’t that what life was about at her age?

  ‘Have you ever been to Oxford before, George?’ she asked as they strolled towards the city centre.

  He shook his head. ‘No. And it wasn’t even worth thinking about trying here when I was doing my university applications, not with the grades I was likely to get. I’m a bit overawed by it all, to be honest.’

  Jade poked him in the side. ‘Don’t be. Most of the students here are very normal, though some can be a bit intense. The Hooray-Henry types are in a minority now, in most of the colleges. And we wind up anyone who sounds too posh or snobby. Anyway, I’ve always been brought up by Mum and Dad to value a person for qualities like kindness and empathy rather than status. And you’ve got those in bucketloads. That’s unless you’ve been kidding me for the past few months.’

  He poked her back. ‘Yeah, that’s me. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Seriously, Jade, I do sometimes feel a bit of an outsider in the police. Your mum didn’t exactly talk me into it, but she gave me a lot of encouragement. It wasn’t something I’d ever thought of doing when I was growing up. I sometimes worry about how well I’m doing.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’ve got mad Rose for your boss, haven’t you? She’s famous across the whole of Dorset, though everyone seems to think a lot of her.’

  He smiled. ‘I wondered what I’d let myself in for at first, but you’re right. She’s very human and warm-hearted underneath. As well as being a total nutcase. She told me you were a nugget of gold and I needed to treasure you.’

  ‘Well, I hope you do everything your boss tells you. Actually, there is someone you might be interested in meeting if there’s a chance, though she might not be around much at the weekend. She’s one of the law tutors and her speciality is in the international treaties and declarations that apply to political asylum and refugees. She was at one of the fresher shows and I had a chat with her. She was interested in all the FGM stuff that Hannah and I do.’

  ‘Are you doing the right subject, Jade? I mean, here you are set to study medicine, yet all your activities are connected to civil liberties and human rights. I’ve thought that before, but I’ve never been brave enough to say anything.’

  Jade snorted. ‘What, and do Law, like my mum
did? You must be joking. No, it might be important to me, but I really do want to be a doctor. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, ever since I went to stay with my gran when I was small. She’s not a doctor but she’s the practice manager of a surgery in Bristol. I went in with her a couple of times and she found me little things to do. It was great. But it would be perfect if there was a way to link the two things.’ She gripped George’s arm tight. ‘We’re just coming up to the Martyr’s Memorial. It was built to commemorate three bishops who, in Tudor times, were burned to death for their beliefs. Queen Mary wanted the country to revert to Catholicism, and these bishops resisted. The actual spot where they were executed is just round the corner outside Balliol College.’

  George looked up at the monument and shook his head. ‘Bad times.’

  ‘I wonder if I’m in the wrong college,’ Jade mused. ‘I knew vaguely that Keble was named after someone famous in the nineteenth century but didn’t bother finding out what this John Keble stood for. He was one of the leaders of the Oxford Movement, which wanted a partial return to Catholicism, though not a full-blown merger with Rome.’

  George turned to look at her. ‘Does it matter that much these days? My dad was a lapsed Catholic. He spent most of his life resenting the indoctrination he’d been subjected to as a child. It doesn’t really mean much now, does it?’

  Jade nodded. ‘And quite right too. Protestants aren’t really any better either. Every religion tries its best to brainwash children when they’re at their most vulnerable. Their fairy tales about heaven and hell and the creation appeal to young children. It’s such rubbish.’

  ‘Yet people fall for it,’ George added.

  ‘Well, it’s a comfort blanket, isn’t it? But one that too often ends up leading to prejudice, torture, abuse and even murder. Almost anything is justifiable if it’s carried out in the name of some religion or other, and it’s hard to argue with people who think they’re in possession of the truth.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, it’s time we got moving. I’m getting hungry.’

  * * *

  Jade had been right about Professor Alice Linklater. She held several positions in the university. As well as being a tutor in Jurisprudence at Keble, she was a prominent expert on human rights law, particularly in an international context, and she spoke at seminars and conferences across the world. Her current concern was the plight of asylum seekers and refugees fleeing conflict in Africa and the Middle East, people who had no choice but to take flight from their homes but who were all too often treated with contempt by comfortably-off westerners with their saloon bar opinions on migrants. It was a term that she herself used in discussing the crisis. An issue that was complex and involved real human suffering was dismissed out of hand, as if people had no right to seek to escape violence and destitution. Was there still such a lack of imagination among so many British people that, despite the media coverage, they couldn’t see the human turmoil and misery that went on in much of the world?

  Alice also acted as a counsellor to women students who felt themselves at risk from the predatory behaviour of a few of their male counterparts. She worked with male students too, advising on what was acceptable, helping to write leaflets and pamphlets that were distributed in common rooms across all the colleges of the ancient university. Everyone gains from being non-exclusionary, she often said. Men and women all benefit from a better understanding of the issues surrounding human interaction, no matter what their gender.

  She had popped into the college, along with her husband, on their way home from a concert in the Holywell Music Room. After chatting with several of her own law students she was on her way out from the common room when she met Jade and George, who were just arriving. Jade gave her a cheery smile.

  ‘So, who’s this, Jade?’

  ‘My boyfriend, George, Professor Linklater. He’s visiting for the weekend.’

  ‘It’s Alice, not Professor, particularly on a Saturday night in the JCR.’ Alice turned to George. ‘Are you a student somewhere else, then?’

  George laughed. ‘No. My student days are long gone. I’m a serving police officer in Dorset, though I did a degree in Business Economics at Bournemouth University. Not quite as illustrious as this place.’

  ‘A police officer in Dorset?’ Alice frowned, and then her expression cleared. ‘Jade, does that mean . . .?’

  ‘Please don’t ask me, er, Alice. It just gets too embarrassing sometimes.’

  Alice smiled. ‘Yes, I can understand that. We’re all a bit touchy when it comes to our parents. But we do know each other, even if these days we just exchange Christmas cards.’

  ‘I know. It was me that addressed the envelopes last year. Um, there was something I was wanting to ask you, Professor. Next year I can choose an option towards my degree. Would there be anything in medical jurisprudence, do you think?’

  ‘I expect so. I think we’ve run something like that a couple of times in the past. Leave it for a few weeks and then check with the Dean. Let me know if they say no, I can always try to cobble something together for you. But right now, you need to get yourself in there and enjoy the evening.’ She cocked her head in the direction of the thump of music inside. ‘That’s Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Come on, Teddy, we can do this, can’t we?’

  Her husband, silent up to this point, rolled his eyes. ‘If you insist, dear.’ He turned to Jade and George. ‘This was her favourite in the days when we went clubbing, what, some twenty years ago now.’

  Alice poked him in the ribs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it too. I recall you had some special moves to this one. “Relax. Don’t Do It . . .” She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door.

  Jade and George followed them into the JCR and onto the small, packed dance-floor. Jade still glowed with happiness.

  Chapter 14: The Boat

  Friday night

  Out on the water, the night was cold. At least the wind wasn’t particularly strong, the waves not particularly high. So Kamal Bahrami kept telling himself, huddled down against the side of the boat alongside his younger sister, Arshi. She was whimpering. He could feel the tremors that ran through her small body, followed by the occasional heaving sob. Kamal tried to be brave, but it was hard not to cry. He must not break down in front of all these other people, though from the look of them they were all frightened, every single one of them packed into the overcrowded boat. Back on shore, he’d heard his father asking how long the crossing would take. Just two or three hours, according to one of the men pushing the boat out to sea. But that man had remained ashore, which from the worried frown on his father’s face, could mean he was lying. Only one of the trio of men had come with them. Kamal wondered if this was normal. Was one crewman enough on a boat like this, packed as it was?

  The men had provided everyone in Kamal’s family with a lifejacket, which he knew had cost his father more money. He’d seen the anger on the faces of some of the other migrants. They’d all been told lifejackets were included in the original payment, but when they were about to board the boat the men had demanded more money. Some of the families had already spent all their cash and were forced to travel with no protection. Even the few jackets that were provided were of poor quality, and Kamal, young as he was, guessed that the vests he and his sister had been given wouldn’t be of much use if they ended up in the cold water, swamped by waves. They were already taking on water. It was carrying so many people that the boat was sitting far too low. Every time a bigger wave struck the side, water would slop into the vessel where it mixed with the muck already sloshing around Kamal’s feet. At least the stiff breeze blew away some of the smell — sour body odour, vomit, shit even. Some of the men tried to scoop the foul liquid out with tin cups and whatever containers they could find. But the wind blew some of the muck straight back at them, mixed with sea spray. This fine mist soaked everything on board, including the passengers. No wonder Arshi had spent the entire sea crossing in tears. This was hell, and it was getting worse.

  H
e tried to remember his geography lessons. Didn’t the gap between England and France get wider further west? So, why hadn’t they crossed at the narrow part? He recalled a conversation between his father and another man during the journey through mainland Europe. That man had argued that it would be better to take the shortest route, but Kamal’s father had seen newspaper stories that told of boats being intercepted at sea and the people on board taken back to France. He thought there was a better chance of getting to England further west, even though the Channel was much wider there. Kamal’s father was an engineer and had spent time at the university in Southampton, so he knew that part of England well, along with people who lived there. He’d know where they were when they landed. Kamal’s uncle and aunt lived in a coastal town called Weymouth. They’d offered to help, once the Bahrami family were ashore.

  Arshi’s tremors had ceased. Kamal looked down and saw that she was finally asleep, though her face was still pale and pinched beneath the damp blanket. Maybe she’d sleep through the rest of the trip. He had a feeling they were only halfway. No one was allowed to shine a light, so he couldn’t check his watch, but they seemed to have been in the boat for more than two hours. He took off his glove, pulled a grubby handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. His mother, Roya, turned to look at him, so he gave her a weak smile. Kamal had listened to some of his parents’ late-night conversations when they’d thought he was asleep. He had heard his father imploring her to please agree to leave Iran, and his mother resisting those pleas. She’d finally given in when a neighbouring family had been rounded up for taking part in a protest. They’d never been seen again, and reports reached the neighbourhood that they’d all been killed. His mother finally agreed to go.

  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.