A Time Honoured Killing

by Samesh Ramjattan

  Nick arrived at the car as the rest of traffic began to slow and stop. Nadir was alive and breathing, but unconscious. Nick leant slowly on the side of the car as the other officers arrived on the scene. His heart was pounding, and he could barely get enough oxygen into his weary lungs but at least he had something to show for his efforts.

  ~

  Nick studied Nadir through the one-way glass window, as he sat stoically at a small steel table in the compact interrogation room. His knee was throbbing. He had not had the time to ice or administer any medication, and the pain seemed to amplify his contempt of the suspect. Running only made him seem guilty, and if the lead that Ashraf had furnished was false, then why did Nadir seem so naturally antagonistic. A pronounced floodlight bathed the suspect and several CCTV cameras were focused on him, catching every vital detail. Nick could see the edginess in the subject. Something told him that this was no average murder suspect, and the intent in his wrath filled eyes indicated he wanted to be in that room, almost like he was ready for a confrontation. Nadir had a dark complexion with chiselled high cheek bones, a solid jaw line and striking brown eyes. His hair and beard had overgrown but he was still recognisably handsome with coffee skin and strong defined physique.

  Nick’s introspection of the situation was brought to end as McNeil opened the door and breezed in with a sublime charisma.

  “Is this the subject?” McNeill quizzed.

  “Yes sir. Full name is Nadir Suleiman, a-k-a Ismail Kader,” Nick answered briskly. “Interpol believes he might also be Imran Zaheer, wanted for an assault in Amsterdam. Traveling on a forged Egyptian passport. Entered at Harwich, June 2014.”

  “Where’s this one from?” McNeill inquired with a tone of abhorrence.

  “Iraq. Kurdish Sir. Twenty-two years old. Details are sketchy, but A-T-B think he was an informer to Saddam’s Republican Guard,” Nick answered diligently.

  “Status?” McNeill barked.

  “Two rejected asylum applications,” Nick replied flatly.

  “Should be sending him home in no time,” McNeill smirked. “Let’s see what he knows, shall we?”

  Nick nodded as he closed the dossier and opened the door to the interrogation room slowly. He wasn’t prepared for McNeill’s close supervision of the case and while he understood his superior’s political motivations, he couldn’t understand why he would want to be present for the questioning of the suspect. It’s almost as if McNeill had wanted the outcome of the questioning to go one way, and that was for Nadir to be guilty. That would illustrate the slick efficiency of Scotland Yard in a case of such high standing. McNeill could use it as a shining light with the media, demonstrating his leadership and vision was yielding results and he could persevere with his autocratic style of leadership. Of course, this would bode well for Nick – a young new ethnic-minority detective who attacked the case with such a ruthless sense of accomplishment and zeal. The grandeur of that outcome gave him premature goose bumps, but there was still the gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach, which for some reason he could not dispel.

  Nick entered the room and pulled out one of the chairs adjacent to Nadir and sat down. He placed the dossier in front of him and then lifted his head up making full eye contact with Nadir, almost as if they were opposing poker players trying to conceal their cards from each other. A few moments of silence passed as each glared at each other almost as if they were sworn enemies.

  Nick then broke the engagement as he flipped open the dossier and gently removed a picture and placed it before Nadir. It was a picture of Adilaah’s corpse.

  “Explain your relationship with this woman,” He said bluntly.

  Nadir lowered his defiant stance as he studied the picture and the grief on his face betrayed his indignation as he placed his hand on the glossy image almost as if he was touching the real body.

  “You do know her,” Nick persisted. “That’s because you killed her!”

  “I want a solicitor,” Nadir said calmly.

  “Only the guilty need solicitors,” Nick replied.

  Nick placed a digital recorder on the table and activated it. A voice spoke; “There’s a dead girl. She’s in Flat 42, 322 Great Cambridge Road. Come quickly.”

  “That’s your voice. You made the call a few minutes after the time of death. After you fled the scene?” Nick said furtively as he cast his eyes onto the picture of Adilaah’s lifeless corpse. Then he gazed back at Nadir who had looked back at Nick with a feeling of remorse. Then without provocation, a bottled fury seemed to erupt from the pit of Nick’s being. In his mind, Nick saw Adilaah’s smashed skull mixed in with the image of her lingering beauty as she stared back at him from his memory. He saw how Nadir in a spurt of malevolence picked up the Islamic Sculpture and pound into his beloved’s head. He launched out of his seat and grabbed Nadir by the scruff of his muscular neck and slammed his surprised face onto the table. He felt like doing it again and again, until the murdering Cretan would plead out a confession, and Nick might then decide to stop. But then he realised that the session was being recorded on CCTV while McNeill watched, and he abated, bringing the suspect up face-to-face with his own.

  “You killed her, didn’t you?” Nick growled.

  “I didn’t kill her,” Nadir spoke patiently, “But I can tell you who did Nick.”

  Nick let go of Nadir as he realised that he had known much more than he led on and indeed the encounter had a personal agenda. He sat down slowly, composing himself as the air of police professionalism returned. He glanced over at the black glass showing only his own pallid reflection.

  “I know everything. About you. About Adilaah. Your whole affair,” Nadir whispered, realising he had the gobsmacked detective exactly where he wanted him.

  12

  Nick was unsure if McNeill had caught Nadir’s end remarks, but he could not see him as he swiftly instructed that Nadir be taken back down to the cells. He was panicked that Nadir’s knowledge of his and Adilaah’s affair would jeopardise the whole case and leave him smeared in the process. Nadir could only be held for twenty-four hours before he had to be charged or released, and it was only a matter of time before they had to let him have access to counsel, and no doubt he would use his knowledge to plea bargain.

  This would expose the case to all sorts of scrutiny, including his qualification and experience in dealing with a case of this magnitude, not to mention the knowledge of the affair finding its way back to Mahmoud and Ashraf, who he knew wouldn’t act so sublimely as he might have liked. Also, there was a good chance that he might unwittingly find himself a suspect, sinking deeper into this tangled web of deceit, ending up fired and in the very same cell block as Nadir.

  As he walked down the brightly lit corridor with rows of formidable iron doors to the holding cells, Nick couldn’t help but feel like a puppet in a drama that seemed to be enacted without his control, and he knew Nadir’s bombshell would have catastrophic consequences.

  Nick painfully limped along the buffed vinyl floor, accompanied on his journey by a chirpy, portly prison officer who had a curiously cheery disposition. He had rambled on about his fondness for gardening as Nick tried to sift through his fleeting thoughts. Nick wondered what real use this old-timer would be if he was suddenly overcome by the inmates, and how his passion for gardening would help fend off a vicious onslaught. Nevertheless, the old man’s advice for maintaining a perfectly pruned and pert rose garden in the face of uncertain climate held a particular resonance for him. Nick envied the humble gardener as he studied the man’s nametag reading a contrite – Stanley.

  “The trick is,” Stanley laboured on. “Give your roses plenty of love.” He looked directly into Nick’s searching eyes. Nick couldn’t help but feel that Stanley’s droll words were lined with a hidden meaning. Maybe he was trying to tell him the rose was a symbol for the truth, and in the midst of adversity, it could only thrive with unconditional love. Or perhaps, the rose was Adilaah and his love for her was the testament to adversity and in
that he would find truth. On the other hand, perhaps, those words were simply the ramblings of an overzealous, slightly senile old fool who shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Nick was too tired to figure it out at this point.

  The sun was setting through the sparse sets of windows as the duo stopped in front of the cell door that housed Nadir. Stanley peered in the tiny window on the door to ensure all was safe to enter, and then with shaking hands inserted a key and unclicked the cumbersome door.

  Nick walked slowly into the glib and tiny cell to find Nadir kneeling on a prayer matt facing what little he could see of the diminishing sun in devout prayer. Stanley retreated behind him leaving the two men alone in the cell as Nick courteously waved him off. It was against policy to be alone in a cell with a suspect, but Nick’s humane pleas, and the promise of a bottle of Single Malt to the Captain of the guards managed to allow him a few minutes of privacy. He hoped that alone in his cell, Nadir might be more cooperative and eager to tell him the truth behind Adilaah’s murder, which might help him silence the nagging doubt he had over Nadir’s involvement.

  Nick strolled in cautiously as he surveyed the meagre contents of the cell. Nadir had been permitted a shower and was issued the prison-standard grey sweatshirt and trousers, which was decidedly more comfortable and cleaner than his indigent street wear. He was now clean shaven and had sculpted his black hair into a flowing mane along the back of his head. Nick waited patiently as Nadir continued to bow in ritual toward the sun concluding his prayer.

  “I’m glad you came,” He said as he opened his eyes. “Sit.” Nadir offered.

  Hesitantly Nick moved to a chair that stood across from the bed and, with relief, slid into it taking the weight of his aching leg. Nadir got to his feet, rolled up his prayer mat and placed it neatly on the bed, as he sat down. He was much taller than Nick and sat with a purposeful poise that told Nick he had probably served in the military and was of some standing.

  “I didn’t kill her,” Nadir confirmed calmly.

  “Witness testimony says otherwise,” Nick replied.

  “I loved her,” Nadir admitted as Nick stared at him. “So did you.”

  Nick stared at Nadir unsure of how to reply.

  “Don’t be so surprised. Everyone loved her,” Nadir exclaimed. “Anyway, she told me.”

  “How did you meet?” Nick probed, attempting to maintain his composure.

  “Street shelter. She helped me get off the street. She arranged that flat through her connections. We started to talk, then meet and you know…” Nadir reflected dourly. “She loved to read poetry.”

  “Adilaah wouldn’t…” Nick intervened, dismissing Nadir’s story.

  “Associate with me? Why?” Nadir protested. “Because I have nothing! That is what she needed, someone to treat her like a person. I had nothing to give her and nothing to take from her. Just respect for who she truly was.”

  Nadir went silent as his emotions cracked his stoic exterior and his eyes became glassy as he stared out the small window. The light haloed his prominent features and Nick could tell that there was a weight of truth in his words, almost as if the recollection of Adilaah’s form brought salvation that bathed his weary soul.

  Nick somehow felt the same emotion building, weakening his disparaging resolve as he spoke.

  “So what happened?”

  “You know what happened!” Nadir snapped as he gazed purposefully at Nick.

  “The brother?” Nick questioned with slight dread.

  Nadir nodded slowly as the ugly truth settled in.

  “For what reason?” Nick argued.

  “Self-preservation. Honour. Think about it. Adilaah’s body was conveniently found in the flat where we are seen together. And how did you find me?” Nadir countered.

  “Ashraf. Said a witness came forward,” Nick blurted.

  “A witness who is being influenced. How hard with that be for them?” Nadir reasoned.

  “It doesn’t make sense. Besides its your word against theirs. And there’s enough in the docket to charge you!” Nick pointed out.

  “Then they have won, and Adilaah, the truth, my innocence will be lost,” Nadir exclaimed despondently.

  “I can’t do anything. I’m sorry,” Nick responded blankly.

  “You can. Adilaah was once beaten within an inch of her life. She had to go to hospital and a police statement was taken. Check your files.”

  “There’s nothing in her files. Believe me I’ve checked,” Nick retorted.

  “It’s there. Just hidden away. Only one man could have enough influence with the police to have them buried to protect his public reputation.” Nadir declared.

  “Mahmoud…” Nick muttered slowly trusting his nagging intuition.

  Nadir nodded, realising the implications of his accusation. Nick rose from his chair and slowly walked over to the cell door, and then stopped before asking bleakly.

  “Is it yours?”

  “What?” Nadir replied cluelessly.

  “The baby,” Nick said firmly as he faced Nadir again.

  “She was pregnant?” Nadir smirked dismissively, as he stared at the stark floor, considering the revelation. “I doubt it. We never went that far…”

  “You almost had me convinced,” Nick scoffed and waved at the CCTV in the cell.

  “I didn’t want to do it this way, but she was wearing it,” Nadir waxed furtively as the amicable tone became antagonistic once more.

  “What?” Nick answered defensively.

  “The locket. The one you gave her. She was wearing it when she was murdered. It’s evidence now, isn’t it?” Nadir continued.

  Nick stared at Nadir with animosity, realising that he was being extorted, as he clearly recalled the Gold Locket around Adilaah’s body at the scene of the murder.

  “I’ll have no choice but to tell them you gave it to her. Your whole affair will become public. Mahmoud will know. You will become a suspect. Your career will be over before it even began,” Nadir said calmly as he lay down on the bed.

  “I’ll leave you to think about it.” He said before he shut his eyes and went to sleep, quite proud of himself.

  Nick could feel frustration building within him. He was in a corner and had nowhere to turn. Nadir knew he had Nick exactly where he wanted him, and he would happily sacrifice the detective and his entire warped existence in favour of saving his skin. Frustration evolved into a bloodthirsty rage and Nick kicked the scuffed white wall with fury as the pious Stanley locked the cell door behind him, leaving the poor old man with a pronounced fright. Nick marched off as he desperately sought solitude and a means to organise his thoughts along with his next move. And there weren’t any that were that appealing.

  ~

  The flat was pokey and compact, and Nick detested living in it, especially when he had Adilaah around. The peeling wallpaper and worn carpet always made him feel somewhat inadequate compared to her opulent lifestyle, and although she constantly told him that she didn’t care where they were, as long as they were together, it still bothered him. He imagined that someday, when he completed his training at the academy, he would move out of this poverty and into a luxurious new flat and show her the life that she was accustomed to. Nick had always wanted to be a detective, just like on TV, and he watched every show he could, trying to emulate his heroes. He was never lonely for he had Jessica Fletcher, Inspector Morse or Columbo to keep him company and provide him with the irreverent raw material and motivation that he needed in his ambition. An ambition that satisfied the emptiness that was left by his constantly working father or the legacy of an absent mother. In the mind of a young boy, he didn’t need them, for as long as he had his TV heroes, whose world he could escape into, his drab misery endowed life did not seem so bad.

  But tonight, she was with him, and he wasn’t going to waste any time on his melancholic thoughts, but rather engross himself in her for as long as he could before she had to run off and be whisked back into her make-believe prison.

 
; Nick took Adilaah’s hand and held it as they sat at a small wobbly kitchen table. He gently caressed the palm of her hand as he placed a small velvet black box into it.

  “What’s this?” Adilaah asked with wonder. She stared at the box in her hand for a moment as she contemplated the contents.

  “Open it,” Nick encouraged.

  She looked at him longingly and parted her luscious lips, sweetly smiling, overwhelmingly touched by the gesture. She ran her finger along the bevelled edge and lifted the lid. Inside lay a shimmering antique Gold Heart-Shaped Locket with a tiny off set red ruby.

  “It’s lovely,” Adilaah exclaimed, as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

  “My father gave it to my mother,” Nick confirmed. “Of course she gave it back when he left.”

  Adilaah studied it, awestruck by its authentic beauty.

  “Here,” Nick said, as he removed the necklace and placed it around her slender neck, stroking her hair and shoulders as he sat back to admire the perfect combination of her auburn beauty and the jewel.

  “You’ll always have my heart,” He said blissfully, his chest heavy with love.

  13

  The Imam’s monosyllabic words echoed as he recited the Janazah prayer. Nick stood a few rows from the front but could still see the funeral ritual. His knee throbbed with pain as he tried to take the weight of it, hobbling in the trimmed wet grass. The sun was reluctantly trapped behind a veil of clouds which made the air fresh and damp from the previous night’s rain. He was surrounded by almost a hundred men-only members of the extended Khan family which meant a desperate competition for personal space. Beside him stood his resolute boss McNeill, motionless and frozen. Nick closed his coat snuggly dispelling the brisk morning air as he scanned the attendees. Many of London’s most wealthy and influential people had put in an appearance, which intimidated Nick somewhat. His scan stopped on the two figures, prominently stood next to the Imam. Nick focused his attention on them examining their reactions for some trace of remorse, but there was none. He wondered whether they felt triumphant that their complex plan to commit the murder of their daughter had helped them keep their position and standing.