Deadly Terror (Detective Zoe Finch Book 4)

by Rachel McLean

  She smiled, looking down at the tray then back at Sofia. It held a teapot, a dinner plate with a bowl placed over it, a glass of orange juice and a second plate with toast.

  “I’d rather eat downstairs.”

  A shake of the head. “My instructions are to bring it to you. You aren’t well.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Even so, you should rest.” She held out the tray. She knew as well as Sofia did that if she brought the tray in, Sofia would be able to slip past her.

  Sofia took the tray. It was heavy. “Thank you.” She considered dropping it and shoving the housekeeper out of the way. But if Titi had locked her in here, chances were he’d locked the doors to the outside too. She would have to wait.

  She nodded at Mrs Brooking, who took a step backwards, her eyes on the door.

  “I’ll come back to get the tray in an hour.”

  Sofia shrugged. If she could put the housekeeper at her ease, make her think she was behaving herself, then maybe she would get an opportunity. If the outer doors were locked, Mrs Brooking would have a key.

  “Thank you,” she repeated. She took the tray into the room, her skin tightening as she heard the key turn in the lock behind her.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Randle gestured to Zoe to stay behind as people peeled out of the briefing. She ignored the puzzled look Dawson gave her.

  “Sir,” she said when they were alone.

  “I hear you went to see Lesley.”

  “I did.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s… she’s recovering, sir. Better than I expected, to be honest.”

  “Good. She’ll need to take some time off. We’ll have to find someone to head up this unit in the meantime. I can’t do it forever.”

  “No, sir.”

  She had a moment of panic: would he promote Dawson?

  “D’you know who you’ll be bringing in, sir?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know when I do, don’t worry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good. And another thing.”

  “Sir?”

  “Frank’s on the airport, you’re on the station. I suggest you stick to your own patch.”

  “I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “You haven’t examined the evidence and you don’t know the context. Stick to your own area of responsibility in future.”

  “With respect, sir, I did go to the airport during the incident, so I do have some context. You took me there.”

  “I know I took you. I wouldn’t forget a thing like that. But that was different. Incident response and investigation are entirely separate areas of work. Stick to finding out who the New Street bomber was. Your team are working social media?”

  “Connie and Rhodri are trawling through all the photos and video they can find. There’s a hell of a lot to work through, most of it useless.”

  “And you’re looking at narrowing down to images of the woman just before she detonated the bomb?”

  “Not just then. Anything from when she entered the station to when the bomb went off. The building was quiet by then. I don’t imagine people would’ve been recording.”

  “No.”

  “And we’re trying to trace her steps backwards before she arrived at the station. Identify where she came from, using the CCTV trail.”

  He frowned. “Any joy with that?”

  “We’ve got her walking past the ICC, then the trail goes cold.”

  “You have footage of her all the way from the convention centre to the station?” That was a twenty minute walk.

  “We do. I’m trying to find anything from before that, maybe a residential address.”

  He pursed his lips. “Did she stop on her route to the station? Talk to anyone?”

  “No. She’s very determined, walks steadily. At that point, she doesn’t show any nerves at all.”

  “Right.” He sighed. “Well, carry on seeing if you can get better quality images from the station. Report back to me as soon as you have anything.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Direct to me. Don’t wait for the briefing, this is important.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  “Is that all, sir?”

  “One more thing. You said you’re going to visit the witness again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take Sergeant Osman with you. It’s good to have two sets of eyes and ears on this kind of thing.”

  “I was planning to.”

  “Good.” He nodded dismissal and she left the room. In the team office, Connie and Rhodri had opened another pack of Hobnobs and were both sitting in front of Connie’s computer. Ian sat alone at his own desk.

  Zoe grabbed a biscuit. “You look as if you’ve got something.”

  “I’m not sure, boss,” Connie said. “But we’ve found some video on Facebook that might show the man who pushed her off the escalator.”

  Zoe glanced at the door. “Our instructions are to drop that.”

  “I know, boss,” Connie replied. “But what if he was working with her? Don’t you think it’s worth finding out who he is?”

  “OK,” Zoe said. “But make sure you work on the images of the bomber, too. I’ll need something to take to the next briefing.”

  “Course, boss,” said Rhodri.

  “Go on then.”

  “Sorry?” Rhodri looked puzzled.

  “If you’re both sitting at the same desk, you can’t be working different angles, can you?”

  “Oh. Right, sorry boss.” Rhodri gave Connie a shrug, grabbed a handful of Hobnobs and pushed his chair round to his own desk. He sniffed and turned on his computer.

  “Right,” Zoe said. “Ian, I want you to come with me to see Sameena Khan.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Mo was alone in the team room again, writing up his notes from the raid the previous evening. Dawson had told him he wasn’t needed in the briefing, given he wasn’t working the terror investigation.

  Sheila had made calls to local forces, trying to find out whether the missing women from the brothel on Curton Road might have moved to another patch. There was no sign of them anywhere in the city. Chances were they would disappear, swallowed up by the city’s underworld like so many women before them.

  Dawson pushed open the office door and slammed into his chair. “Well that was a barrel of laughs.”

  Fran gave him a wary look and went to her own desk, which was as far from Dawson’s as it was possible to get inside the cramped office.

  “Not making much progress?” Mo asked.

  “Your mate keeps butting in with wild theories. Doesn’t know when to stick to her own job.”

  Mo smiled. Zoe could be at her best when she was coming up with wild theories. He made a mental note to speak to her later, find out what she was thinking.

  “So I hear your toms have disappeared?” Dawson said.

  Mo bristled. The women weren’t ‘toms’, they were prostitutes. Sex workers. Victims.

  “The house was empty.”

  “Looks like your investigation has drawn a blank then.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Have you got any leads right now? Any sign of these women, or the men that DS Griffin thought was running them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Anything you can be working on once you’ve finished that report?”

  “Not immediately. But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Right then. I want you with me and Fran, on this airport investigation. There’s more to be working on here, and the pressure’s on.”

  Mo sat up. At last he was being involved in the biggest case Force CID had worked for years.

  “I’m happy to help, boss.”

  “You’re not helping, DS Uddin. You’re doing your fucking job.”

  “Of course.”

  “Right then. Come on.” Dawson stood up.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To in
terview the wife of a terrorist. She’ll trust you, it’ll make it easier.”

  Fran looked up from her desk, her eyes meeting Mo’s. Mo knew why Dawson thought the woman would trust him.

  He sucked in a thin breath. “I need to finish this report.”

  “That can wait.”

  Mo ground his teeth together. He stood up, ignoring Fran’s expression, and followed Frank out of the room.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Hello Mrs Khan. I’m sorry to bother you, but we had a few more questions. This is Detective Sergeant Osman.”

  “Oh.” Sameena Khan looked back into her house. “Come in.”

  Zoe threw her a smile and walked past her into the kitchen. She stopped in the centre of the room, Ian standing next to her.

  “How are you?” she asked. “How’s Jamila?”

  “She’s fine. Teenagers, you know. Made of rubber. I’m… OK.” Sameena fingered a gold chain at her neck.

  “We won’t take much of your time.”

  “It’s alright. Do you want a coffee?”

  “White, two sugars please,” said Ian. Zoe glared at him and he gave her a shrug.

  “Black for me, please,” Zoe said as the woman turned away and started emptying coffee grounds from a filter machine. At least it wasn’t instant.

  “Take a seat,” Sameena said. She gestured towards the bar stools. Zoe pulled one out and Ian took the one beside her. Sameena placed mugs in front of them and stood opposite.

  “How can I help you?”

  “We’ve been watching the CCTV footage from Saturday. When you spoke to the woman.”

  Sameena’s brow flickered. “Yes.”

  “When you first spotted her, she was coming off the escalators, is that right?”

  “Yes. She crashed into Jamila.”

  “Did you see her trip, or stumble?”

  “I…” Sameena looked away. “I’m not sure. The first thing I remember is her coming off those escalators, heading for us. I wasn’t really looking at her, I only spotted her out of the corner of my eye.”

  “Did you notice anyone else on the escalator?”

  “I wasn’t looking at the escalator.”

  Zoe sipped her coffee. It was good. “There was a man,” she said.

  “Well, there might have been,” added Ian.

  Zoe frowned at him. “Behind the bomber, on the escalator. From the CCTV it looks as if he might have pushed her.”

  Sameena looked blank. “Sorry. I didn’t see anything. I can ask Jamila, if you want?”

  “She’s not at school?”

  “I thought it best for her to stay at home a few days.”

  “Of course.” Zoe looked towards the door.

  “I’m not going to call her down now,” Sameena said.

  “Sorry?” Zoe replied. “You just said you’d ask her.”

  “I’ve got her off school because I’m worried she’ll be traumatised. I’m not subjecting her to a police interview.”

  “This isn’t an interview, it’s—”

  “I’ll ask her later. I’ll call you, if she remembers a man.”

  “If you could do that as soon as possible, please,” Zoe said.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Zoe downed her coffee. She stood up. “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs Khan.”

  Sameena looked from Zoe to Ian. “There was a man, though. Not on the escalator, but I saw her looking at a man, across on the other side.”

  “You did?” Ian asked.

  “Go on,” Zoe said.

  “She was looking at him. He was looking back at her, from what I could tell.”

  “How far away were you from this man?” Ian asked.

  Sameena shook her head. “He was outside John Lewis. We were next to Caffé Concerto, on the other side.”

  “So about fifty metres.”

  “I guess so.”

  “That’s a long way,” he said. “In a busy station.”

  “Can you remember what he looked like?” Zoe asked.

  “He was wearing a hoody and a cap. He scratched his neck, and I saw a tattoo.”

  Zoe’s skin tingled. “What kind of tattoo?”

  “He was fifty metres away, like your colleague says. I have no idea.”

  “OK. Anything else you remember about him?”

  “He was white. Heavily built. Looked like a nasty piece of work, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Zoe looked at Ian. He was frowning.

  “You say he was standing outside John Lewis?” she said.

  “He walked away, went towards the Bullring.”

  “Did he speak to anyone? Was he alone?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see any more. He disappeared, it was busy.”

  “That’s fine. You’ve been very helpful.” Zoe jerked her head for Ian to stand up. He finished his coffee and pushed his stool back.

  As they left the house, Zoe caught a flash of movement on the stairs. Jamila listening in, maybe? She turned to the girl’s mother and pressed her card into her hand.

  “If you remember anything else, call me.”

  “You already gave me one of these.”

  “I wanted to be sure.”

  “You don’t have to worry. If I remember anything, I will tell you.”

  “And Jamila?”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Zoe hurried to the car. She needed to talk to Connie and Rhodri, tell them to target the spot where the man had been standing.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The suspect’s wife was in her mid forties, with long dark hair and bulbous shadows under her eyes. Mo gave her a nod and a tight smile as he entered the interview room behind DI Dawson, who didn’t make eye contact with her.

  A man in a blue suit sat beside her, a blank notepad on the table in front of him.

  “You’re not under arrest,” said Dawson. “You don’t need a solicitor.”

  “Given the nature of the allegations against Mrs Sharif’s late husband, my client has asked for legal representation.”

  Dawson rubbed his nose as he sat down. He eyed the woman. “We didn’t say anything about needing legal representation.”

  “It is my client’s right,” said the lawyer. Dawson gave him a silent stare.

  “In that case,” Dawson said, “let’s get this on tape.”

  Mo switched on the recording machine.

  “So.” Dawson leaned across the table, his hands folded on its surface. “For the tape, present are DI Frank Dawson and DS Mo Uddin.” He raised his eyebrows for the woman to continue.

  “Aqib Rasheed,” the lawyer said. “And my client Aatifa Sharif.”

  “Thank you.” Dawson leaned back. He removed his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. His eyes on the woman, he pulled up his shirt sleeves. “So, Mrs Sharif. Aatifa. Can you tell me where your husband Nadeem Sharif was on Saturday?”

  The woman blinked. Her solicitor put a hand on hers.

  “Mrs Sharif has been recently widowed. You know where her husband was on Saturday.”

  “I want to get it from her.”

  “He was on a flight home,” she muttered. “From Karachi.”

  “How long had he been in Karachi, Aatifa?” Dawson said.

  “Three weeks. He was visiting his grandmother and aunts.” Aatifa’s voice was low. She sniffed.

  “Can you prove this?” Dawson asked.

  She frowned and looked at her lawyer.

  “We have phone records,” the lawyer said. “Calls to Pakistan making arrangements for the trip, and then between Mr and Mrs Sharif while he was there.” He slid a sheaf of papers across the table.

  “You were well prepared,” Dawson said.

  “As soon as my client informed me of your suspicions about her husband, I knew what kind of questions you would ask.”

  “Oh you did, did you?”

  The lawyer ignored the question.

  “Did your husband talk to you about his
trip, Mrs Sharif?” asked Mo. “Did you speak to his grandmother or aunts while he was there?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve seen the warrant to search Mrs Sharif’s house,” the solicitor said. “I want to see the evidence behind your allegations.”

  “We discovered explosives residue on Mr Sharif’s skin and clothes,” Dawson said. “After the explosion on board the plane he was travelling on.”

  “Surely any passenger in the vicinity of the explosion might have had residue on them?”

  “The residue was present in a form someone could only have if they’d handled the explosives directly.”

  “And do you have any evidence of where Mr Sharif supposedly got these explosives? How he allegedly got them onto the plane?”

  “We have been talking to the authorities in Pakistan. We will have more information soon,” said Dawson.

  “Well in that case, I suggest you wait until you have more concrete evidence before you hound my client and submit her to an unlawful search of her house.”

  “Under the 2000 Terrorism Act, we can search the house of any individual suspected of terrorist activity.”

  “Oh, I know the Terrorism Act, Inspector. You don’t spend nine years representing Muslims in this city without knowing how the police like to use it to persecute the community and insinuate that activities—”

  Mo placed his hand on the table. His skin felt tight. “Mr Rasheed,” he said. “We have forensic evidence linking your client’s husband to the explosion on Pakistan Airways flight 546, and the deaths of eighty-six people. You can bang on all you like about persecution of the community, but you can’t make that disappear.” He turned to Mrs Sharif. “Please, if you have any knowledge of your husband doing anything other than visiting his family when he was in Pakistan, you should tell us. It’s in your interest to cooperate with the investigation.”

  The solicitor turned to his client and whispered in her ear. She nodded.

  “So?” Dawson said. “What are you going to tell us?”

  “No comment,” she said.

  Mo eyed the solicitor. He gripped the table with his fingertips. “Can you tell us if your husband had any unusual meetings or was out of the house at times he wouldn’t normally be, before his trip?”