‘No, I’m a Manc,’ she’d said.
He’d shrugged, then nodded. ‘Well, you do all right for one of them.’
The thing with Abu Omar had happened, and Jake had been forced to take some time off. Time off, rather than suspended from duty, was the rumour. Then Rashid had said they were all coming together, in this place, and demanded to see Jake. The hierarchy hated it, but she’d heard it first-hand.
‘He seemed fine,’ she said now, in response to Jake’s question. ‘Perfectly all right.’
Jake sighed. ‘I think it’s time to call it a day,’ he said. ‘I’m making no sense at all, least of all to myself.’
5
TUESDAY
In truth, Zaki was a pain in the arse. Needy. Garrulous. In your face. Nasty piece of work into the bargain. Sup with a very long spoon. But a source, nevertheless, and once he’d been a useful one, if not in Jake’s area of business.
Zaki had been a police informant before being introduced to Jake in the scramble to squeeze the juice from every potential lead to extremists in the community. Once a prominent figure at the mosque, he was never ostentatiously religious but an acquaintance of all the leading personalities.
It was heroin that had brought him into contact with the police. They had an informant – a user himself – who claimed that Zaki had established a new line of supply and was muscling in on the market. A rival, so word on the street had it, had disappeared and it was whispered that Zaki was the man.
Zaki was hauled in. He claimed he’d met some Turks who wanted to ‘lead him astray’, as he put it. Jake had watched the video of the original interview and seen Zaki smirking. No, he didn’t want a lawyer present. He’d committed no crime. As soon as he’d realized what these guys were about he’d broken off contact. Anything else was just dirty rumour. Couldn’t someone be allowed just one moment of weakness in life?
He’d known he’d insulated himself effectively from evidence. The original police informant also suddenly changed his mind about Zaki. But he feared for his standing in the community, and it was this that Dave Philpott, his eventual handler, discerned. A long relationship, characterized by misgivings on the police side judging from the frequent case reviews, ensued, at first focused on drug dealing in the city and latterly on what Zaki called ‘the young hotheads’ in the city.
Before all this Zaki had worked for the council, managing the dwindling estate as the authority diligently divested itself of its holdings in line with government policy and budget cuts. Jack of all trades, he’d had to dabble in it all – buildings maintenance, plumbing, electrics, telecoms – as the crumbling fabric crumbled further with zero investment. He said he’d known he would be made redundant and had prepared for his next life, as a businessman. He hoarded his contacts and networked assiduously.
He’d used his redundancy cash to reinvent himself, setting himself up in a one-man import-export business that dealt with any commodity that yielded a profit. Reinvention was Zaki’s thing, like survival. He was a creature who adapted quickly and without fuss to the changes in the world. He surfed waves, he followed trends, he reckoned the odds, he spread his bets. He was a man to be reckoned with, at least in his own version of his life.
Mobile phones from China, soft furnishings from the Indian subcontinent, discounted luxury cars to Dubai and Bahrain. Okra, Jake could remember: at one stage Zaki had cornered the market locally for okra from Africa for sale to curry houses. And then to heroin.
Jake hadn’t probed Zaki’s attitude to Islam deeply. There was hardly any need, it seemed. Zaki would be guided by expediency. The religion into which he had been born had become an opportunity for networking, for respectability. There was rarely a need to look for anything profound in Zaki Ibrahim.
‘I know everyone,’ Zaki would claim, and it seemed he did. But in fact he seemed to have the opposite of the Midas effect: people he highlighted or about whom he was asked for an opinion often left the city, moved away from the mosque or disappeared altogether. Or they shunned Islam. Jake had long suspected that Zaki’s powers of eliciting information were far too crude for his purposes. But he was tolerated, as a kind of freebie.
Dave Philpott brought Zaki to the safe house.
‘Sorry about the early start, Zaki,’ said Jake.
‘You know me, Mr Winter. Twenty-four/seven. Duracell bunny.’ As ever, he was immaculately turned out, black hair swept back on a wave of gel, long-lashed eyes sharp and alert, expensive blue suit, crisply ironed white shirt. Pungent aftershave applied much too liberally. A broad smile that showed startling white teeth. Jake felt still more tired looking at him.
‘So what’s the word, Zaki?’
‘A lot going on, Mr Winter. A lot. I was saying to Mr Philpott. This inquiry has stirred everybody up. Everybody’s looking round for the informants. Not good for our business, I can tell you.’
Dave raised his eyebrows. ‘We’re careful, Zaki. We look after you.’
‘No, no, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t implying nothing. You treat me good. I feel safe. Just saying I got to be careful about going round asking questions. Don’t want no trouble. I’m just saying.’
‘No one wants you to do anything risky,’ said Jake soothingly. ‘Business good?’
‘Can’t complain, like. You know, stuff here and there. Got to be busy-busy, if you want to make your way in the world.’
‘But doing all right, are we?’
‘Not too bad. Depressed economy, Brexit and all that. I keep my head above water.’
‘Not thinking of going back to your old business, are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The smack, Zaki. Those big bad Turkish boys leading you astray.’
‘Why? Who’s been spreading lies?’
‘No one. Just pulling your plonker.’
‘Ha. Well, I’m not going near that stuff again. Learned my lesson.’
‘Good to hear.’
‘Been away at all recently, Zaki?’ asked Dave.
‘Why?’
‘I only ask because I tried to text you last week. Didn’t get a reply.’
‘As it happens, I did get away for a few days. Didn’t sort out my roaming properly, so didn’t get your message until I got back. Sorry. It was only a couple of days before we were supposed to meet, so I –’
‘That’s all right. Go anywhere nice?’
‘Yeah. Croatia, as it happens. Last-minute booking. Spur of the moment.’
‘It’ll be lovely out there this time of year. Bit of winter sun?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Hot, was it?’
‘Compared with here it was. But you know me. I love the sun. Can take any heat. I just lap it up.’
‘Who did you book with?’ asked Jake. ‘I’m thinking of taking a week off soon, so if you’ve got any tips …’
‘I forget. It was one of them last-minute websites. The hotel was lovely, four star and all that. Can’t remember the name of it for the life of me, though.’
‘When you have a moment, look it up,’ said Jake. ‘I’d be interested.’
‘Right you are.’ He beamed at both men.
‘And you do know that you need to tell us if you plan to go away, don’t you? We don’t want to worry about you unduly. Always looking out for your welfare. And none of us wants you to have an awkward time at immigration anywhere, do we?’
‘No, Mr Winter. Forgot. Sorry.’
‘No need to apologize, Zaki. Slipped your mind is all. Lot on your plate. What’s the temperature like on the street? Apart from the inquiry, I mean.’
‘Things are all right. This thing’s got people talking, though. That guy there now giving evidence. He’s some kind of bastard, they’re saying. Not one of your lot, is he?’
Jake smiled. ‘It’ll soon blow over. Like the weather. But how are things more generally?’
‘Tensions are high, I can tell you. People are expecting the backlash any minute. Muslims are fearful. Some of the young boys
are saying we should get our retaliation in first.’
‘The police are doing their best to make sure there’ll be no backlash,’ said Jake. ‘Any specific names of people trying to stir up trouble?’
‘Nah. It’s all hot air. People need to shout. It’s the ones who don’t shout you need to be careful of.’
‘Quite.’
‘So, anything bubbling under at the moment, Zaki?’ asked Dave. ‘Any ones to watch for the future? Any boys who aren’t shouting who need looking at?’
‘Nothing I can think of. Sorry.’
‘You can’t help it if there’s nothing going on,’ said Jake. ‘And we wouldn’t want you making stuff up, would we?’
Dave left with Zaki to return him for his next meeting while Jake waited for the car that would take him back to the inquiry. Another trying morning. At some point he and Dave would have to square what Zaki had said with the alternative version of reality: that Zaki had been living it up in Turkey the previous week talking heroin with old associates. Or not square, as the case might be. Trouble was, these alternative facts were backed up by immigration records and flight manifests. At least a shot had been fired across his bows. Even Zaki couldn’t fail to pick up the messages they’d been broadcasting.
The hoary old chestnut about speculating to accumulate might have some truth. In fact, Jake had always been an advocate of the steady, mundane conduct of the business, believing it would bear eventual fruit, rather than making spectacular attempts to pull rabbits out of hats. But it could be wearing. For every gold nugget there were a million pieces of rubbish and complications galore. Sometimes there were no gold nuggets.
‘Take us through your decision-making processes,’ said Mr Kerr. ‘You have certain protocols for this between yourselves and the police, I understand.’
‘That’s right. I’m sure the details are in the documents submitted to you.’
‘We’ve read the documents. I’m trying to probe what it’s actually like on the ground.’
‘It’s just as the documents state. The Executive Liaison Group decides the direction. Everyone takes their lead from the ELG. Each meeting is documented for the record.’
‘Even if matters are proceeding rapidly?’
‘Even then.’
‘This seems rather a stately and bureaucratic set of affairs. One would rather anticipate that sometimes the reality on the ground would overwhelm your ability to make decisions. That what happened here?’
‘No. The ELG meetings are to set the direction. Specific responsibilities are vested with relevant bodies. And if things move very quickly in the direction of some kind of … event, the police officer in charge will take control.’
‘Event. Is that what you think of this as? An event?’
‘No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to describe for you how the process works. An event doesn’t necessarily mean an attack, or an atrocity.’
‘What else could it mean in this context?’
‘Well, erm …’ He could not instantly think of an example. ‘For instance … if some conspirators weren’t planning an imminent attack but prepared some kind of device that was assessed by the police to be potentially unstable and unsafe. They would probably decide to intervene at that point.’
‘I see. So what informs your decisions? What’s the most vital thing to you? Catching the perpetrators in the act? Collecting intelligence about terrorist organizations? Protecting your source?’
‘First of all, I don’t make the decisions. The strategic decisions are made above me. The police are the only people who are enabled to and have the duty to make arrests. So they make the final decisions. And the underlying principle is that throughout, for everyone concerned, the overwhelming concern is to protect public safety.’
‘I see. So it’s the police’s fault, is it?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’ He strove to keep exasperation from his voice. ‘Everyone involved has a personal responsibility to protect the public. That’s why we exist.’
‘And in this situation, no one more than you.’
‘I suppose so, yes.’ He looked down.
‘Public safety,’ mulled Mr Kerr. ‘Didn’t go so well for you, did it?’
Jake looked straight at him. ‘No. You’re absolutely right. You have to do everything within your power. You have to give it your best judgement.’
‘Best judgement wasn’t good enough on this occasion, though, was it?’
‘I suppose not. But I tried my best.’
‘Accidents will happen. That what you’re saying?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘The best-laid plans? Everyone makes mistakes? Is that the best we can offer the survivors and the victims’ families? Really?’
‘No. Listen to what I’m saying.’
‘Please,’ said Mr Kerr. ‘Let’s not get tetchy. That would be most unbecoming. I have been listening carefully and in one sense you’re transmitting loud and clear. Process is everything. In another sense, I wish I could work out what on earth you are saying. And I’m sure most of us share that frustration. Bit of a cold fish, aren’t we?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You’ve laid out your position with crystal-clear evasiveness. You’ve used your officialese to express anything but contrition. You’ve not uttered anything that could be construed as an apology. It’s arguable that you’ve been concerned with two things: saving your own skin and obfuscating. Or are the two connected?’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘In what way is it unfair? Is it any less fair than going about your daily business at your local railway station only to meet your death because of the incompetence of our intelligence services?’
Jake did not answer immediately. Then: ‘I think you’re trying to compare two different things. Of course I’m sorry. My sorrow is such that I can’t express it in terms that make any sense. I failed, and I’m trying to work out what I did wrong.’
‘It’s pretty clear, isn’t it?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘It’s not clear to you what your failures were?’
‘No. Other than the blindingly obvious. I was hoping this process might give some clarity. Perhaps you’re about to enlighten me.’
‘The purpose of this process is not to provide you with solace,’ hissed Mr Kerr. ‘It is to establish the facts and to provide the survivors and families with some assurance that this has been examined thoroughly and openly, that systemic mistakes have been rectified and that those guilty of negligence or misconduct in a public office,’ he looked directly at Jake, ‘are dealt with under due process.’
‘Mr Kerr,’ said the Chair mildly. ‘That’s enough. We will maintain the dignity of these proceedings, please. We will not permit the badgering of witnesses to this inquiry. I think we will break until tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir. My apologies,’ said Mr Kerr, but Jake thought he saw a smirk on his face as he turned away.
‘I feel sorry for the man,’ said Mrs Masoud to her husband later.
He was looking pensive. ‘What?’ he said.
‘I said I feel sorry for him somehow.’
‘How can you? This is the man who is responsible for Aisha and Samir’s deaths.’
‘He isn’t, you know.’
‘Of course I know. Partially responsible, at least. You have to admit that.’
‘I thought he sounded reasonable. He was trying his best. I don’t think our lawyer should be pestering witnesses.’
‘I try to ignore what that man says. He clouds the issue. But he has his job to do. This is the system. He has to push as hard as he can.’
‘I’m uncomfortable with this, Hatem. It seems obsessive. Whatever we do, we won’t bring them back. It just seems like a search for vengeance.’
She always was more balanced than he was. ‘But the truth,’ he said. ‘We want to know the truth.’
She gave this due consideration. ‘That’s right. I want to know the truth. But we should
search for it in a spirit of forgiveness. This lawyer is just trying to cause trouble and to increase his status. This is not what I want. Is it what you’re looking for?’
‘Of course not. There’s nothing we can do about it, though.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘His voice,’ he said.
‘Who? The lawyer?’
‘No. The man behind the screen.’
‘What about it?’
‘Sounds just like someone on TV. Can’t work out who.’
‘No idea.’
They drank their tea.
‘I’ve spoken to the surgery, Hatem,’ she said. ‘I’m going back to work the week after next.’
‘The inquiry won’t be finished by then,’ he said in confusion.
‘I know. It’ll drag on for months. I can’t wait that long. Do you plan to go back to the shop sometime?’
‘I need to see the inquiry out. I can’t see beyond that. I’m awake all night and then drop off just before dawn. Then I wake up suddenly and I don’t know what’s going on. Where I am, who I am. There’s always that moment when I think … I don’t know, not that it’s a dream, but somehow that it’s all right, that it’s unreal. It’s not happening. Then reality strikes.’
‘Perhaps you should see the doctor again.’
‘No,’ he said definitively. ‘I don’t need treatment. I don’t need sympathy. I just need to reach a point where I can grasp it somehow. Where I can hold it in my head, and keep it there without it overwhelming me. I know I need to snap out of this, and I will at some point. I just don’t know when. I’m going to see Tawfiiq. I’ll be back later.’
‘What is it that you see in that young man?’
‘He has a certain serenity in his heart. He’s the only one at the mosque who seems to understand, to really see what I’m going through. He’s the only one I can speak to. When I’m with him he gives me a sense of belief that perhaps one day … As soon as I leave, that feeling disappears.’
6
WEDNESDAY
They waited for the sheikh to speak. He sat smiling beatifically as they assembled, legs apart, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped. Rashid felt a sense of theatrical anticipation and wondered whether the sheikh was in fact an imam, with that sense of drama that attended religious rites, as the man sat there glowing, basking in their expectation. They were attentive. Rashid looked at the sheikh as long as he dared, seeing him also looking back, bestowing his attention on them each in turn, then again, and again, watchful.
A Fatal Game Page 6
