As if Nick’s memory of Ashraf’s onslaught on the bully wasn’t enough, the sudden appearance of Ron Allen at his desk made Nick feel even more apprehensive. He hadn’t seen Ron since the Hearing, and he had been avoiding the confrontation that an interaction with Ron would inevitably bring.
Ron stood bearing down on Nick making his lofty presence felt. He was a looming, hulk of a man with an aggressive obtrusive manner that discounted everybody else’s. If there was an archetype for the type of overbearing, intimidating, loutish officer, then Ron would fit it perfectly, and there was a very thin line between the job of detective and career criminal, which he seemed to straddle rather carelessly between. Nick did not enjoy spending time or engaging with the man, but his career meant he had to call Ron partner and so he succumbed begrudgingly. There was a big part of him that relished the idea that McNeill had asked him to follow this investigation discreetly and on his own. If Ron were involved it would have been anything but discreet, for as McNeill had told him, Ron was too much of a blunt instrument.
“Haven’t seen you around. You avoiding me?” Ron jested as he scouted the paperwork on the desk and Ashraf’s image on the computer screen.
“No mate,” Nick replied as he closed the paperwork file on the desk and minimized the file on the computer screen.
Ron pulled a chair from the neighbouring desk and slumped down on it, making his intrusion felt even more.
“So, I heard you were reassigned. McNeil’s thrown you a big juicy one to get your teeth into. Seems the reward can be large for Detectives with the right skills. And you seem to have all the right skills,” Ron waxed.
“Skills?” Nick scoffed.
“I risked everything for you because of that little stunt you pulled with Tyson,” Nick exclaimed, facing up to Ron. Nick’s words managed to deflate Ron’s incendiary tone.
“Munroe been to see you?” Ron quizzed.
“No,” Nick replied solemnly.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. I’ve noticed the two of you and your little chats. You’d better keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you!” Ron threatened, leaning in toward Nick.
“I know how to handle Miles,” Nick reassured.
“You better!” Ron barked furtively, “You are just as guilty as I am, and I won’t go down alone.”
Ron pushed the chair back forcefully as he stood up, glaring at Nick as he walked off.
10
The doorway to the gym was unassuming, and Nick could have easily missed it. The entrance consisted of an aluminium glass door that had streaks of dirt from the street. Nick pushed the decrepit door, which screeched open, grinding as it scored the green vinyl floor. He stepped through slowly and released the door. It slammed with a loud wallop drowning out the roar of the high street car and bus traffic. A long gloomy staircase led upward from the doorway. Nick summed up his courage and took a deep breath as he ascended the staircase unsure of what awaited him at the end of it. He had not checked in his position or logged the phone call like he should have. He did not know what to make of the phone call from Ashraf or the apparent information that he had for him.
Had something changed between them? Was Ashraf prepared to forget the past and make amends? Had Adilaah’s death made him realise certain truths?
These questions permeated Nick’s thoughts as he ascended the flight of stairs, eventually reaching the top and arriving into a large roof space that was dominated by a large boxing ring in the middle. Nick carefully paced his way through the myriad of red and blue floor mats, squat benches and weights, along a path that led toward the centre ring. Nick watched as one of the fighters, a young Afro-Caribbean man rhythmically pounded on a Speed bag and seemed to jab harder as he studied Nick. Not far away another trainee fighter thumped at a heavy hanging punching bag, each strike delivered with a ferociousness that stemmed from a pent-up rage.
Nick could feel the entire building super-charged with a fury-laden venom, coupled with a dry and dank combination of sweat and bleach. He felt the distinctive preponderance of distrust and disharmony which left him unsettled, almost as if they could smell he was a detective and made that him immediately unwelcome. Ashraf had seen him as he first entered but shifted his attention back toward the two sparring fighters, circling each other in the ring. Nick walked up to Ashraf with determination, eager to get this encounter over and done with.
Ashraf extended his hand as Nick approached. Nick stared at it, as the gesture took him by surprise. He reluctantly shook it sensing Ashraf was just as nervous as he was, as their sweaty palms locked together. Nick’s keen eye noticed a sparkling gold Moon and Star emblem on a chain around Ashraf’s wrist.
“Thanks for coming,” Ashraf said cordially as he retracted his hand.
“No problem,” Nick replied as he sensed a friendlier tone in Ashraf’s voice that belonged to the friend he once knew. “So, you train fighters here?”
“Yes. My cousin’s training for the Welter-weight title,” Ashraf answered.
“Any good?” Nick ventured.
“See for you yourself. He’s the one in blue.” Ashraf said and pointed at the more dominated fighter in the ring. Nick then turned his attention to the boxer decked in blue shorts and gloves. To Nick, he seemed more agile and quicker on the attack, moving around the ring with more speed and virility. That was the depth of Nick’s assessment of the boxer with his limited knowledge of the sport.
“Do you remember when we would play fight in my room?” Ashraf recollected gleefully.
“Didn’t feel like playing to me!” Nick laughed. “And besides, you always won.”
“You always dropped your guard,” Ashraf replied. “That’s when I struck.”
Nick smiled politely at Ashraf, whose words seemed far more loaded than perhaps he had intended. He always felt that Ashraf had perceived him weaker when they were boys, almost as if he had wanted to protect his best friend. But somehow Nick felt that Ashraf gained some kind of gratitude from it, as though Ashraf revelled in it and that was the only reason they had been friends, so that he could dominate Nick and make him feel inferior.
Indeed, Nick was the only person with whom Ashraf could be superior with, for everybody else had made him feel inferior. His father seemed to have a possessive love for his favourite, and that was Adilaah, with little emotion to spare for his son. Nick had known nothing of Ashraf’s mother, what happened to her, and the subject was never brought up. And even the many servants seemed to treat him with an irreverent disregard stemming from the knowledge that if his father didn’t really care then why should they. Nick was his only remorseful ally, and that is why Ashraf latched onto him so strongly, for he was the only one who had shown Ashraf any affection and devotion, despite the fact that Ashraf took every advantage to exploit and abuse his vulnerabilities.
Ashraf had led Nick into an office at the rear of the gym that sported a large window which oversaw the entire space.
“You know I want to help in any way I can,” Ashraf said as he closed the door to the office.
Nick nodded slowly, unsure of where Ashraf was going with this.
“We found Adilaah’s killer,” Ashraf declared.
Nick gazed back at Ashraf, perplexed and shocked, as he spoke, “What are you talking about?”
“The flat where Adilaah’s body was found, belonged to an Iraqi family who allowed a man named Nadir Suleiman to live there. He’s a Kurdish refugee,” Ashraf carefully pointed out.
“How did you find this out?” Nick enquired, unsure of how to process this revelation.
“A witness,” Ashraf said. “He saw this man with my sister. When he learned who Adilaah was, he came forward.”
“Who is he? I need to question him,” Nick said resolutely.
“He won’t talk to the police. Just us,” Ashraf advised.
“I need a signed deposition…” Nick uttered, but Ashraf was quick to intervene.
“We took care of everything,” he said as he held a brown envelo
pe in front of Nick. “Like I said we would.”
Nick tentatively took a hold of it and removed a photograph of Nadir Suleiman. Instantly the contours of the man’s face brought recognition into Nicks mind. This was the same man whom he glimpsed in the crowd at the scene of the crime, who seemed to be particularly invested in him.
More glossy photographs occupied the contents of the envelope and Nick removed them. He studied them carefully as each one harboured another sordid revelation. The first pictured Adilaah and Nadir in each other’s arms, then next showed them in passionate embrace. Nick shuffled hastily through them as each photograph prompted anguished jealousy, causing a subdued rage to well up within.
“You were having her followed?” Nick asked as he looked up at Ashraf.
“My father felt it was for her own good,” Ashraf replied convincingly. “And as it turns out, he was right.”
“They were romantically involved…” Nick voiced disconcerted.
Ashraf was silent for a moment, staring at Nick as he considered his reply. “Adilaah didn’t always do as she was told.”
“I suppose not,” Nick retorted, replacing the photographs into the envelope.
“Why are you giving me this?” Nick asked, thinking that this situation was all too convenient.
“My father trusts you and I know we’ve had our differences, but you are still like family. I know you understand this situation, and how important it is to protect us.”
Nick noticed that there was a degree of remorse in Ashraf’s voice as he spoke and a part of him felt some sort of empathy. There was a glimmer of the friend he once knew speaking with grief about the family that did not treat him as well as he expected, but the one that he had belonged to, defended and loved. Nick fought the compulsion to place an arm on Ashraf. He tucked the envelope under his arm and said, “Thanks,” to Ashraf as he did.
“Nick,” Ashraf called out as Nick turned to exit the office. “For Adilaah.”
Nick considered the words for a moment and smiled vaguely at Ashraf.
~
He could sense what McNeill would say before he dialled the phone, but Nick felt he had better keep the Superintendent in the loop on such an important development. He sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic as he held the phone to his ear, almost choking from the fumes emanating through the open window and sweating in the midday heat. The ringtone only repeated twice before he heard the stoic voice of his boss on the other end of the line.
“Superintendent it’s D-C Shankar,” Nick said quickly as he cleared his throat.
“What can I do for you Detective?” McNeill groaned.
“Sir, I have a lead on a suspect in the Khan murder,” Nick announced proudly, shouting above the sound of the noisy traffic that surrounded his car.
“And?” McNeill replied abruptly.
“A Kurdish illegal named Nadir Suleiman sleeping rough in Kings Cross area,” Nick continued.
“Is it reliable?” McNeill questioned.
“Well that’s just it sir. The information came from Mr Khan’s son, Ashraf, claiming that a witness came to them with the suspects whereabouts,” Nick affirmed.
“So, what’s the problem? Proceed with the arrest,” McNeill said bluntly.
“With all due respect sir, I find it very convenient that the victim’s family managed to produce a witness, suspect and whereabouts, all before we did,” Nick declared confidently.
“You mean before you did,” McNeill scoffed, “The Khans have a vested interest in finding their daughter’s murderer and committing their influence to doing so.”
“Yes, sir but…” Nick intermated nervously.
“We welcome their input detective,” McNeill said deliberately.
Nick remained silently as he realised that his protest was largely inconsequential.
“I hope that I haven’t misjudged you,” McNeill said with a tone of disappointment.
“Not at all sir…” Nick shuffled.
But his words were wasted. McNeill had already hung up and he realised that to keep the newly found status he would have to silence his nagging voice and continue with this lead as though it had made its way strictly through police procedure, rank and file. He sunk deeper into the seat of his car as the traffic reflected his demeanour. He was stagnant and going nowhere.
11
Nick did not know this part of the city well. He had visited Kings Cross on many an occasion, but as for local street knowledge he was clueless. Although McNeill had wasted no time in signing the arrest warrant for his suspect Nadir Sulieman, it took several more hours to mobilise a tactical squad. Nick always loathed dealing with tactical and preferred to do things by himself. Besides the tactical team always seemed to ‘drag’ their heals when it came to dealing with CID, and Nick had to didactically fill in reams of paperwork that probably was a waste of time. However, he had no choice but to subscribe to the procedural bureaucracy if he was to get things moving.
The sun had become obscured by a dark grey blanket of cloud which seemed to make the city dense and stifling. Nick squatted in the recess of a doorway, on a litter strewn side street, which seemed to stink of vile sewer water. The stench was pungent enough to make Nick heave and empty the contents of his meagre lunch all over the small pavement. He reached into his back pocket of his denim jeans and removed a packet of gum. Quickly he unwrapped the confection and goggled up the minty relief, which managed to abate the churn in his stomach. Nick returned his gaze toward a set of arches that stood below a wide railway bridge that led to King’s Cross station. Every few minutes the deafening squeal of train wheels on protesting track shook the structure. Within the arches lay piles of strapped cardboard boxes ready for recycling, mixed with red bags of shredded paper. Nick could see the outline of several figures in the daylight starved alcoves. He stretched his neck out further to see if he could spot his suspect. But Nadir was nowhere to be seen.
Nick turned his head to gaze in the direction of the two undercover officers who accompanied him. Both stood at the top of the street as it branched off from a busy main road. One of the men shook their head at him, signalling that they had not spotted him either.
Nick sat back into his sprawl on the street in exasperation.
Was the intel that Ashraf fed him reliable? Or was he just wasting his time? A cruel backlash for the things that had happened in the past.
These were just some of the thoughts that raced through his frenzied mind. He took a deep breath as he stood up and looked back the officers. Then he ignored the tactical plan and made a determined march for the arches.
Nick looked back at his back up officers as he reseeded into the dull recesses. The musty odour of rubbish and mucky, unwashed bodies greeted him. Nick could count fourteen men of various ethnic backgrounds lying on the ground or seated in makeshift chairs. Society’s garbage had become their only possessions. Expressions of fear and rejection filled their dejected faces as Nick ventured further into the underworld that was hidden from view. This was London’s shameless offspring, lurking in seedy corners throughout the city. They were the rejects of a social machine that was primed to produce only one type of fruitful citizen. These men who defied the mould were cast out and forced to live a subterranean existence, like parasites on overfed cattle, fighting for the scraps that fell from the devouring jaws of excess. Nick could only pity them and it made him realise how minor his problems really were. Each face told a different story, some pathetic, some scornful and some pious.
But none of these faces resembled his suspect and soon he had come to the end of the arches which had a small hole in the brickwork that led to an overgrown clearing. Nick thought to himself that he had nothing to lose if he looked through it, so with a minor flutter in his gut, he crouched down and slowly stuck his head through the crawl space, arching his back through.
The daylight shone down as his head emerged on the other side, and he panned his head around. A few metres away he caught sight of a figure. Nick focused his eyes o
n the man, who was dressed in tatty trousers, secondhand shirt, blue blazer and plastic sandals. Nick immediately recognised the face as his eyes made contact with those of the man.
It was his suspect Nadir!
They both recognised each other. Nick scampered through the hole as quickly as he could, just as Nadir sprung to his feet and darted his eyes around searching for an escape.
Nick emerged from the hole, almost on all fours, just as Nadir stopped along a brick ledge with a six-metre drop. Nadir turned to look at his pursuer’s progress then took a deep breath and leapt off the ledge, landing and rolling effortlessly in the long fluffy grass below, like some invincible action hero. Nick stopped at the ledge and froze as the height became apparent. He watched as his suspect clawed his way up an embankment along waves of green bush. He could not risk losing him, Nick thought to himself, and summoned up all the courage he could muster and made his leap. His landing was less graceful, and he landed with a pronounced thud that was felt by the sudden sharp pain in his right knee. Nick clasped on the thick of the bush and pulled himself to his feet, as he watched Nadir near the top of the bank. Nick ignored the intensifying ache in his knee and scissor sprung up the bank.
By now the two plain clothes officers had gaged the chase and ran up to meet Nadir on the opposite side of the busy arterial roadway. Nadir saw them and hopped over the steel barrier as cars whizzed by, racing down the road in the opposite direction of the approaching officers, dodging the oncoming cars.
Nick finally reached the top of the grassy embankment as he watched Nadir running between speeding vehicles and narrowly missing being run over. Nick gazed over at the two officers who were trying to stop traffic and cross over to intercept his fleeing suspect. Nick hopped over the barrier, realising that he had no option – lose the suspect or see him mounted by a speeding car, which meant a dead suspect. He dismissed the pain in his knee and pursued along the non-existent pavement beside the road.
Nadir had seen a brief break in the flow of traffic and cut across to the central reservation, as he stopped to look back at the persistent Nick and the other two officers, getting closer. In a blind panic Nadir stepped into the street and suddenly a car slammed into him launching him off his feet, rolling him over the bonnet, and crunching into the windshield. The car came to a screeching halt, as the bewildered driver stared at Nadir sprawled across it.
A Time Honoured Killing Page 8
