by Paul Gitsham
‘I want my Kara, Kangha and Kachera back. You are violating my religious freedoms.’
‘Your bracelet, comb and underwear are currently being tested by the forensic unit, along with the rest of your clothes and your watch. They will be treated with respect and if possible returned to you.’
Was that a faint flicker of disappointment in the man’s eyes? His deliberate use of the Punjabi names for three of the ‘five Ks’ central to Sikhism had clearly been done to flat-foot Warren, but you didn’t work in West Midlands Police for any length of time without picking up such important knowledge. Had Warren scored the first point in this opening salvo?
‘Mr Singh, I am sure that you are aware that there was a significant amount of civil unrest Saturday afternoon. If you could help me eliminate you from the inquiries by telling us where you were that would be very helpful. Then perhaps we could return your items to you and let you go on your way.’
‘No comment.’
He sat back in his chair and stared defiantly at Warren.
‘OK, interview terminated.’ Warren stood abruptly, flicked off the PACE recorder and walked straight out the door without so much as a backward glance. ‘Don’t go anywhere, will you?’ he tossed over his shoulder as the door swung shut behind him.
* * *
‘That spooked him,’ commented Tony Sutton as Warren joined him in the control room, where he stood in front of a bank of blank TV monitors.
‘The look on his face was pure surprise before the door closed behind you and the screens shut off.’
‘No doubt he was expecting me to go at him for longer.’
Sutton was largely working the Islamic Centre arson, however Warren wanted his perspective and requested he watch the monitors.
‘What have you got so far?’
‘We’ve got his Kirpan, covered in what we presume is Meegan’s blood and Singh’s fingerprints on the handle. SOCO did a presumptive blood test on some smears on a tracksuit from his laundry basket and they tested positive at the scene. I’m going to ask Grayson to authorise a quick turn-around for DNA tests. It’ll be worth the expense if it means we get a suspect in custody and can scale back the investigation.’
‘Sounds sensible. Any CCTV yet? Jimmy Meegan claimed he saw an Asian man wearing a turban hanging around the rear of the shops near the alleyway.’
‘Nothing. We haven’t even found him at the protest.’
‘Mobile phone?’
‘It’s being looked at as a priority. It’s a smartphone so hopefully we’ll be able to track its location. We’ll need an extension to custody though.’
Sutton frowned. ‘You’ll get it, but they’re going to ask you to place him directly at the scene eventually.’
‘I’d settle for somewhere nearby or even in the crowd at the moment.’
Warren glanced at his watch.
‘I’ll let him sweat overnight, then I’ll go and rattle his cage again. Maybe if we show him what we’ve got so far he’ll confess.’
Warren agreed with Sutton’s sceptical look – his gut was telling him that Binay Singh Mahal wouldn’t break so easily.
Tuesday 22nd July
Chapter 21
Eight a.m. and Warren was finishing his second cup of coffee. He’d been late home again the previous night, having stayed to watch Newsnight with the team. ACC Naseem had done his best, but the interview had been a bruising experience for Hertfordshire Constabulary. Not surprisingly, the BAP had declined to take part and so the interview had ended up with the increasingly uncomfortable senior officer taking fire from both Councillor Kaur and a representative from the Muslim Council of Britain, with nowhere to deflect it.
‘Superintendent Walsh will step down within twenty-four hours,’ predicted Tony Sutton after the interview was concluded. ‘They’re going to agree with Councillor Kaur that her decision to redeploy the officers from outside the Islamic Centre left it vulnerable to attack and hang it all on her.’
‘Well, it did,’ Hardwick said. ‘Surely that was the one place under the most threat from the BAP? I can’t understand why she decided to pull the officers away from there.’
‘The BAP weren’t a threat to the Islamic Centre at the time,’ said Sutton. ‘They were over a mile away in the town centre. As far as Walsh knew, all forty-three of them were fighting protestors and her riot control officers, she couldn’t have known that some sneaky bastard with a can of petrol was on the loose.’
‘The whole day was a debacle,’ opined Hastings. ‘If you ask me, much of the responsibility lies with Inspector Garfield’s team. Superintendent Walsh was given duff intelligence on the numbers attending and she planned accordingly. If their figures had been even close, she’d have had triple the number of officers there and they could have kept a presence at the Islamic Centre. I can’t imagine those cowards would have torched the place with two officers sat outside.’
Hardwick wasn’t convinced. ‘Surely Walsh could have used her initiative? The numbers of counter-protestors predicted in her briefing must have sounded suspiciously small. Why not err on the side of caution and deploy more officers?’
Sutton beat Warren to the punchline. ‘Money. An operation like that costs tens of thousands of pounds. If she’d ignored the intelligence and doubled the number of personnel deployed, and been proven wrong, she’d be in front of the Chief Constable justifying all the money she squandered. She was stuck in an impossible position.’
‘Which just confirms what that masked protestor was saying about our priorities; we’ll be spending a fortune next week protecting Tommy Meegan’s mates as they turn his funeral into a bloody Nazi rally. You can see why people are so upset,’ said Hardwick.
‘Not to mention the need to protect all of our other minority communities from reprisals when the nature of the murder weapon becomes public knowledge,’ said Hastings.
‘Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,’ summarised Tony Sutton.
‘What do you think, boss?’ asked Hastings.
‘I think it’s about time we all went home and got a good night’s sleep.’
In truth, Warren thought that all of them had raised good points, but he was the most senior officer in the unit after Grayson and he didn’t feel it appropriate to share his views with junior ranks.
One thing was certain – the pressure to solve the two cases was only going to intensify.
Unfortunately, Binay Singh Mahal didn’t intend to make it easy for him. A night in the cells hadn’t changed his attitude and true to form he went on the attack immediately. Again, his lawyer didn’t look as though he fully agreed with the decision.
‘My client would like to file a complaint about a lack of sensitivity towards his religious needs.’
Warren repressed a sigh. He already knew where this was going, the custody sergeant had tipped him off.
‘And what have we done to offend Mr Singh now?’ Warren tried to keep his voice professional; it was all being recorded and could be obtained through a Freedom of Information request. The police had a bad enough reputation when it came to the treatment of minority ethnic suspects as it was.
‘My client was offered halal food. He is a Sikh not a Muslim and his religion specifically forbids the consumption of ritually prepared food. He finds this lack of cultural awareness offensive and feels that an organisation such as Hertfordshire Constabulary should be investing more in training rank and file officers to understand the needs of the entire community that they serve, even those that make up a relatively small proportion of the population.’
Singh had barely moved a muscle since Warren had restarted the interview. Now the faintest of smiles played around his lips.
‘Mr Singh was offered a choice of food from our standard menu, which contains food items suitable for a wide-range of needs, both religious and medical. Food can be prepared to comply with halal and kosher requirements if requested, but is not routinely served as such. And of course, vegetarian options are available if inmates want to be cer
tain that they are avoiding kutha meat.’
Again the flicker in Singh’s eyes. That was two points Warren had won in the battle of wills between the two men, but he had yet to elicit anything important.
‘Mr Singh, I asked you to describe your whereabouts on Saturday afternoon. I am offering you that opportunity again.’
Singh took up his habitual pose of folded arms and said nothing.
‘My client has already chosen not to comment on that matter, as is his right.’ The solicitor looked pointedly at his watch. ‘Mr Singh was arrested at 6 p.m. yesterday, over twelve hours ago. I’m sure that I don’t need to remind you, DCI Jones, that you will need to release my client when twenty-four hours have elapsed or request an extension for a further twelve hours.’
‘Don’t worry about that extension, Mr Stock. I already have it.’ Warren opened the manila folder he had brought into the room and passed over the sheet with DSI Grayson’s neat signature at the bottom.
‘On what grounds? You’ve arrested my client on what appears to be the flimsiest of excuses and have presented no evidence of any wrongdoing. Why exactly is my client under arrest?’
Warren opened the folder again and removed a colour photograph of Tommy Meegan.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
Singh looked at the photograph. He licked his lips and glanced towards his lawyer, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. Warren watched with interest. Singh clearly wanted to deny any knowledge, but the dead man’s features had been all over the news and the internet for hours before Singh’s arrest. He’d have had to have been living in a cave in the middle of nowhere not to have seen it.
‘Yes.’
‘Could you name him for the record?’
‘He’s that Meegan bloke. The fascist who runs the British Allegiance Party.’
‘And have you ever met Mr Meegan?’
‘No. Never.’
‘Again, would you describe to me your whereabouts on Saturday afternoon?’
Now the look on Singh’s face was one of incredulity.
‘Are you fucking serious?’
Stock cleared his throat.
‘No comment.’ Singh resumed his familiar pose, affecting a look of bored disinterest. But Warren could now see something else in his eyes. Worry. It was as if it was only just dawning on the man that his arrest the previous day had really happened. That he was potentially in a lot of trouble.
Warren pushed another photograph across the table. An establishing shot of the mouth of the alleyway where Meegan had been found. Blue and white crime scene tape hung limply across the entrance. The body had been removed, but splashes of red were still visible.
‘Do you know where this is?’
Singh ignored the picture.
‘No comment.’
‘Have you ever visited this location?’
‘No comment.’
‘What about on Saturday afternoon?’
‘No comment.’
Stock cleared his throat again. ‘DCI Jones, Mr Singh has made it clear that he does not wish to disclose his whereabouts on Saturday afternoon and I would ask you to stop badgering him.’
Warren ignored the man. Stock was no fool, he knew exactly where this was heading – as did his client – and he was desperately trying to stall for time. No doubt there would be a request for a break any moment to regroup and formulate a strategy. It would be an exaggeration to say that Singh was on the ropes, but he was certainly heading that way and Warren wanted to land another couple of punches before they rang the bell.
‘Mr Singh, you are a baptised Sikh, am I correct?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘And so I assume you follow the five Ks? Obviously you wear a Kara and Kachera and carry a Kangha. You wear a turban, so I presume your hair is Kesh?’
Before Singh could answer, Stock interrupted.
‘I fail to see what Mr Singh’s religious observances have to do with the matter at hand.’
Yesterday, the lawyer had apparently been largely ignorant of his client’s beliefs, but he’d probably spent a few hours on the internet since then. He no doubt suspected where Warren was headed.
‘Do you carry a Kirpan, Mr Singh?’
Again, Stock interrupted.
‘As you are no doubt aware, DCI Jones, there are exceptions in common law for observant Sikhs to carry a ceremonial knife under their clothes as part of the requirements of their faith.’
‘Do you carry a Kirpan, Mr Singh?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘You weren’t wearing one when we arrested you yesterday. Could you tell me where the knife is?’
Singh’s eyes darted towards Stock, who looked helpless.
‘No comment.’
‘Perhaps you could describe the knife to me?’
‘No comment.’
Warren removed the final photograph from the folder.
‘Do you recognise this knife, Mr Singh?’
‘I want a break.’
* * *
‘Nice sucker punch.’
Tony Sutton had been watching the interview on the monitors again. He passed over a mug of coffee.
‘But is it enough?’
Sutton sighed. ‘I doubt it, I don’t think he’s going to confess based on what you’ve shown him.’
‘He’s a weird one,’ said Warren. ‘I arrested him on suspicion of murder yesterday and yet today it was as if he was only just realising we were serious, and not just arresting him because we didn’t like him.’
Sutton looked thoughtful. ‘I agree, it’s a strange reaction all right. If he’s guilty you’d think he’d have been shitting himself from the moment you smashed his door in, not now.’
Warren looked at his watch. Even with an extension, the time was ticking away. Since the custody clock didn’t stop during rest periods and Singh Mahal was entitled to a reasonable amount of sleep, realistically they would need to make a decision to charge or release that night. Warren had submitted everything to the Crown Prosecution Service earlier and was awaiting their decision. To proceed, there had to be a reasonable chance of a conviction and, at the moment, Warren was worried that it wasn’t enough.
‘What have the CPS said?’
‘They’re reserving judgement. If we can match the bloodstains on the tracksuit to Meegan then it’s a definite. Otherwise they want some corroboration that he was at least near the scene.’
Warren took a swallow of the coffee. He’d start drafting a request for a further extension. Even using fast-track, the results of the DNA tests were some hours away and who knew when – or if – any CCTV or mobile phone evidence would appear. It could be days, weeks or months.
Warren looked at his watch again. Were Singh and his lawyer just stalling for time now? Sometimes the accused tried to run out the clock, like footballers trying to hold onto a one-goal lead during injury time, but Stock had to know that wouldn’t work here. He might have managed to stall long enough to get a busy custody officer to give up and award police bail for a minor offence, but extensions for serious offences like murder were almost always granted. And the longer he remained in custody, the more likely it was that evidence would emerge that would guarantee he would be charged. Despite all his bluster, Singh and his lawyer were dancing to Warren’s tune and they knew it.
* * *
‘I was mugged.’
Singh pointed at his black eye.
‘When?’
‘Wednesday night. They took my wallet and my Kirpan and left me with this and bruised ribs.’
‘Did you report it to the police?’ A rhetorical question; nothing was recorded on the Police National Computer.
‘What do you think? Asian bloke gets mugged on the Chequers estate late at night. What are you going to do, phone Sherlock Holmes? Why bother? You lot couldn’t give a shit. I only had a tenner in the wallet anyway.’
‘Can you describe your attackers?’
Singh shrugged.
‘Two of them. White, wearing h
oodies and tracksuits.’
‘Anything else? What about how they spoke?’
Singh shrugged again. ‘Normal. They weren’t foreign or from anywhere with a weird accent.’
‘What about their builds? Were they tall or short, fat or skinny?’
‘I don’t remember. It was dark. They pushed me from behind and I fell on my face. I managed to roll onto my back which was when I got kicked in the chest. One of them opened my jacket, took my wallet and removed my Kirpan.’ He stared at Warren pointedly. ‘It’s fixed in its sheath – I couldn’t stab anyone even if I wanted to.’
Warren looked at him hard. Sutton had been correct. No way was Singh going to confess. The excuse sounded flimsy, but the bruising on Singh’s face and torso looked consistent with an attack a few days earlier.
‘Did you tell anyone else that you had been attacked?’
‘Not really. I told my girlfriend I’d tripped on the kerb.’
‘What about the bruising on your ribs?’
Singh sneered slightly. ‘We aren’t married, she hasn’t seen me without my shirt on.’
‘What about co-workers?’
‘Nobody asked me about it.’
‘Whilst we’re on the subject, where do you work?’
Singh paused.
‘Durban’s, the vehicle repairs garage up on the industrial estate.’
‘Interview suspended. Get something to eat, Mr Singh. We’re not done yet.’
* * *
Warren climbed slowly up the stairs. Reaching his office, he phoned the CPS lawyer about charging. He knew exactly what she’d say.
‘Not enough. Now he’s claiming he was mugged and the knife wasn’t in his possession?’
‘So he says. He never reported it.’
‘You say he has bruises consistent with being mugged? That’s pretty strong.’
‘Again, he never reported it.’
‘Well, unless you can catch him directly in a lie, we’ll have to take his claims seriously. Can you find somebody who might have seen him with the Kirpan after he was supposedly mugged?’
‘I don’t think it’s likely. He wears it under his clothes.’
‘What about at night? Did he put it on the nightstand?’
