The Aladdin Trial

by Abi Silver

  Ahmad’s tongue clicked noisily against the roof of his mouth.

  ‘Two beautiful and very large and bulky rings were found at your house on Monday. Do you know how they got there?’

  Ahmad shook his head.

  ‘Can you even hazard a guess?’

  ‘I didn’t take them. I told Mrs Hennessy to give them to her daughter, but she didn’t want.’

  Constance shifted in her seat abruptly and almost dropped her laptop. Judith sighed.

  ‘You knew about the rings?’

  ‘She left them in the bathroom.’

  Judith snorted. ‘You really expect me to believe that she left two valuable rings lying around in a hospital bathroom?’

  ‘It was a private bathroom, and she did. They were on the washbasin.’

  ‘How did they get to your house then? On a magic carpet?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe the police put them there.’

  ‘And why on earth would they do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. You work it out. You are my lawyers. I didn’t take the rings.’

  Judith marched to the far corner of the room, closing her eyes tightly before returning.

  ‘OK, Ahmad. I believe you, I think, although as Constance has told you, it may be hard to persuade the court you didn’t take them. But let’s leave that topic for now. There was a newspaper report a couple of days ago which claimed that you had a brother who was an ISIL fighter, a commander.’

  Judith waited for Ahmad’s response, which didn’t come.

  ‘Ahmad?’ Constance spoke gently. ‘Is there any truth in the newspaper report?’

  Ahmad clenched his fists tight against his thighs.

  ‘I saw it, the newspaper story. The policemen, they saw it too.’

  ‘Did they do anything to you?’ Constance sat forward in her seat.

  ‘It’s not what they did.’

  He turned to Judith.

  ‘I do not have a brother. Qabbani is a good family name in Syria. I do not have family who fight for ISIL.’

  ‘Can you think of any reason why the people who wrote the newspaper article might think you do?’

  ‘No.’

  Judith consulted her notes for the first time since she had entered the interview room, putting them away again after a quick review.

  ‘I have been warned this is not a popular theme with you but, if we advise that it would help your defence – and at the moment you do need a little help – will you allow your wife to give evidence on your behalf?’

  ‘That is a very easy one, Miss Burton. As Miss Lamb can tell you, my wife does not leave the house and she does not speak. She would be of little assistance, even if I were prepared to agree to this. Instead you could you check the Oyster, like I asked.’

  ‘Were you a lawyer when you lived in Syria or in some former life?’ Judith couldn’t help the sarcasm which crept into her tone.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or a judge perhaps?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Now I finally know that you have answered two questions straight for me this morning. May I suggest you leave the investigation to me, please, and you focus on answering my questions. But, as you have asked, yes. They are still running through the Oyster records. And Inspector Dawson is locating the CCTV at your railway station and at Hampstead. It will help if we can show you just walking home, as usual, without a care in the world, but it won’t save you.’

  Ahmad looked to Constance for reassurance.

  ‘Who can we ask to give evidence for you at trial, Ahmad? Who are your friends, at home, at the hospital?’ Constance was keen to defuse the prickly atmosphere.

  ‘I speak to some of the nurses. Lottie is the one I know the best. Lottie Li. We talk a bit. She will tell everyone she likes me. And Maia, she is the other cleaner, from Romania. She will say nice things about me too.’

  ‘The admin staff? Or HR? The person who employed you?’

  ‘No. She is not a good idea. I once lost an apron. She told me about how much people like me cost the health service each year.’

  ‘We’ll follow up those two witnesses for you, then,’ Judith confirmed. ‘I think that’s probably all for now. Is there anything you need?’

  ‘Please tell my wife that I am OK. And my daughter.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Constance chipped in. ‘Your neighbour, Suzy Douglas, she is taking Shaza to school each day with her daughter. You don’t need to worry. Would you like me to arrange a visit? We might be able to organise a home visit for you, in the circumstances?’

  ‘No.’ Ahmad stood up and knocked his chair over. He picked it up hurriedly and stood leaning heavily against it.

  ‘I don’t go home till I am a free man.’

  Judith rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

  ‘OK,’ Constance replied. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I like to read the newspapers. I particularly like the Times. Can you let me have some more to read please?’

  Judith and Constance exchanged glances.

  ‘Yes of course. Let’s see what we can do,’ Judith replied.

  * * *

  ‘You were a bit hard on him, weren’t you?’

  Judith and Constance sat upstairs at the police station, pondering how the interview had gone.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘He was only trying to help when he reminded me about his Oyster. It might be really useful.’

  ‘I don’t like my clients to give me advice. Call me old-fashioned. But I shouldn’t have lost my cool, you’re right. We got some interesting stuff though, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes. How did you think of the book?’

  ‘It was easy. The other questions, although he was glib, he had no difficulty answering them. That one, he hesitated. And I was on to a winner given that we knew Mrs Hennessy couldn’t have bought it herself.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘What? That he bought her the book? Not in itself, but it suggests a relationship developing between them. It will be easier for the prosecution to concoct some kind of hypothetical motive.’

  ‘I told you he wouldn’t own up to stealing the rings?’

  ‘Agh! The rings. Do you believe she left them sitting around and he honourably advised her to give them away for safekeeping?’

  ‘Yes I do, actually. She was an old forgetful lady, and just because he’s poor doesn’t make him a thief.’

  ‘Yesterday you thought he was a terrorist.’

  ‘That’s not fair. That’s not what I said.’

  ‘All right. I’ll have a quiet word with Dawson about whether they could possibly have been planted. Better me than you. He won’t like it.’

  ‘And the prints on the door?’

  ‘Yes. That’s OK, I think, and authentic. It perhaps even makes Ahmad more human, that he wouldn’t trek down eleven floors to throw away his dirty water. But he hasn’t volunteered any of this, Connie, that’s worries me too. He waits till we already know and then he owns up. It’s really damaging. He didn’t offer that he used to go out on the balcony or that he helped her to the bathroom. How much more stuff is there that we don’t yet know about that could bury him?’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘I’m not sure. He seems earnest and sincere and I tend to think I’m an excellent judge of veracity, as you know. But at this moment, I’m not sure.’

  ‘There is one other thing I should mention.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s probably nothing but he asked for a lawyer, when the police questioned him, right at the beginning.’

  ‘You think he had a guilty conscience?’

  ‘Dawson did, and I think that’s coloured everything he’s done since then. But I asked Ahmad.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘Implied tha
t nasty things can happen to people in police custody. Maybe he had a bad experience and he wanted me as protection, I suppose.’

  Judith sighed. ‘Or, assuming he’s telling the truth, he knew he was exposed, with the book and the rings and being more friendly than he should be. He’s no fool.’

  ‘Do you still want to defend him?’

  ‘Oh don’t panic, Connie. I will keep an open mind for now and it won’t stop me doing all I can to unravel this mess. But do share things with me, especially if you get a bad feeling about them. Trust your instincts.’

  ‘What do you want to do about the “terrorist” article?’

  ‘We have to ask them to retract, to apologise, in clear terms. I have a friend, I’ll give you his details. He will prepare a suitable communication. He won’t charge for it.’

  ‘What about other defence witnesses?’

  ‘Yes. We have very little, unless the nurse can help, or the other cleaner. It’s worth a try. But I won’t hold my breath.’

  33

  Janice called Tracy early on Monday morning. Tracy cursed loudly as she rummaged through a pile of washing to find the phone. Who on earth would call at 7:42 on a Monday? It couldn’t possibly be anyone with children of their own.

  ‘Hello Tracy, it’s Janice. Is this a bad time?’

  ‘Oh, hi Jan! Mondays are always a bit hectic and I’m still catching up from my time off but I have a second. It’s nice to hear from you.’

  ‘I…well, Joe says he hasn’t told you yet, so I thought I would. And I wanted to catch you before you left for work.’

  ‘Told me what? Is it another promotion?’

  ‘No. Much better than that. Can’t you guess?’

  ‘Hmm. Well no, I can’t.’

  ‘We’re getting married.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tracy elongated the vowel sounds as long as she could, to enable her face to get around the concept of Joe and Janice’s impending wedding. Janice misinterpreted the exclamation as a congratulatory one.

  ‘Thanks. It is exciting, I know. I had given up thinking he would ever ask. You know your brother. Keeps things to himself. Anyway, we’re going to have a celebration on Saturday, at the local. Hope you can come. Around eight. Do bring Pete. It was a shame he was ill over Christmas. Joe loves to see him and you know how they spend hours talking about football.’

  ‘Gosh. Janice. I must go. I’m half way out of the door, but that is really great news. I’m so pleased for you, and for Joe, of course. We’ll make sure we’re there on Saturday night. Any idea when the wedding will be?’

  ‘Joe says we should do it straight away; no time like the present. Be nice to have a summer wedding. And, I mean, I am getting on a bit. I did say to Joe, did he want to wait, because of your mum. I mean, it’s so soon. But he said she wouldn’t have minded. We’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Great. Make sure you do.’

  Tracy put down the phone and shook her head slowly.

  Perhaps the news should not have surprised her; like the true gambler Joe was, he was simply hedging his bets.

  34

  Hani Mahmood heaved his bag onto his back and locked his car. He had waited almost fifteen minutes for a parking space in the public car park; all this because he had been delayed by a morning conference in Barnet on diversity in the profession. As he began to snake his way out, carefully avoiding the puddles and mud from last night’s heavy rain, he noticed a young man on a moped, its front wheel on the pavement, talking animatedly on his phone.

  He tutted to himself; the boy had no helmet. Did the youth of today have a death wish or something? Helmets could be purchased so reasonably these days, he failed to understand how anyone would put himself so at risk. He walked on a few paces, then stopped, smiling gently as he contemplated the beneficent act he was about to undertake, and retraced his steps.

  The boy was rifling through a plastic bag when Hani approached but he stopped, squeezed the bag possessively and glared at Hani.

  ‘Did you want something, grandpa?’

  ‘I couldn’t help but notice that you are riding your motorcycle without a helmet,’ Hani began. ‘I am a doctor and I see people who fall all the time. You should purchase a helmet.’

  The boy laughed nastily in the back of his throat.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Hani swallowed and took a step backwards.

  ‘I… Yes. I am serious, but I can see you are busy. I am sorry to have disturbed you. Do please consider what I have said, about the helmet.’

  The boy leaned over to the roadside and lifted up an object which had been obscured by the kerb. Hani flinched, fearing the boy was about to pick up a stone and throw it at him. Instead he waved a battered helmet in Hani’s direction.

  ‘Why don’t you keep your nose out of other people’s business, rag head?’ the boy shouted.

  Hani started to walk away along the pavement, muttering his continued apology under his breath.

  ‘Is that what you tell your guys to do, wear helmets, before they blow people up?’ the boy shouted louder. Hani walked faster, keen to put some distance between the two of them and hoping no one he knew from the hospital was within earshot. His wife was always telling him to keep his thoughts to himself in public, fearful of incidents like this one. She would have advised him against approaching the teenager in the first place.

  He had reached the pedestrian crossing opposite the shops in double-quick time and was about to step forward when he heard the monstrous roar of a nearby engine. There was a large puddle of water, which had collected by the blocked drain, partly obscuring the zebra’s stripes at the road’s edge, and although Hani leaped back at the noise, the bike sent the muddy water high into the air, soaking his shoes and much of the front of his trousers. The boy did not stop but Hani saw him checking his rear-view mirror and crowing to himself as he accelerated away around the corner and out of sight.

  Hani sighed deeply and took two steps back from the crossing to lean against a nearby wall. Then he extracted a newly-laundered handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his face before attempting half-heartedly to dry his trousers. When he realised it was hopeless, he stood, paralysed, unable to decide what to do next, torn between his strong desire not to appear before his fellow doctors and students in this dirty, dishevelled state and his wish to begin his already delayed work.

  After another sigh he thrust the handkerchief back in his pocket and stared up at the looming hospital building across the road. He suddenly felt the weight of the backpack digging into his shoulders. Checking carefully this time before he stepped forward, he crossed the road and headed in to work.

  35

  Constance was lying in bed fast asleep when her phone rang. She had spent the day working her way through her long list of matters to investigate, and had been exhausted when she got home.

  She grabbed for her bag, lying on the floor next to the bed, and fumbled around till the phone’s blue glow caught her eye. She prised it out and held it to her ear.

  ‘Hello,’ she mumbled, squinting at her clock to see that it was a little after midnight.

  There was silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Hello,’ she repeated. ‘Who is it?’

  She sat herself up in bed. Now she was cross. This was the first time for days she had fallen asleep without difficulty and had slept soundly. She was about to hang up when she thought she heard a low sob down the phone. She turned the screen face up and saw the number and she slowly registered who was calling.

  ‘Aisha. Is that you? Is everything OK?’

  Another low sob, almost a moan.

  ‘OK,’ Constance replied firmly. ‘It’s OK. I’m coming. I’ll be there in around half an hour.’

  * * *

  Constance took a taxi to Braham Terrace this time, the driver dropping her without a word. As she stood o
utside the Qabbanis’ house she could see a gaping hole in the front bay window, close to the door. It was the size of a melon and the shape of Africa, with cracks radiating outwards across the pane. She checked behind her in both directions to make sure no one was hanging around and then knocked lightly on the front door.

  Aisha opened it almost instantly and stood back to let Constance in. She was hunched over and trembling. Constance crept past her and switched on the light in the lounge. A large rock was lying on the blackened carpet. Aisha entered behind her, sat down quietly and tucked her knees up to her chest. Constance noticed the front of one of her slippers was burned right through, her toe peeping out of the hole.

  ‘Are you OK? Here, let me see,’ she said.

  Aisha wiggled her foot and shuddered. Constance removed the slipper very gently.

  ‘Do you have something I can put on this?’ she asked, ‘A first-aid kit?’

  Aisha’s eyes skimmed Constance’s face, then she rose and hobbled towards the kitchen where she opened a sparsely-stocked cupboard and produced a plastic case. Constance found some dressings inside which she applied to Aisha’s foot without any response of any kind, although it must have been painful.

  ‘Did you see who it was?’ A rough shake of the head.

  ‘Any idea who it might have been?’ A light shrug, followed by a muted sob.

  Constance put her arm around the woman and drew her towards her, surprised that she didn’t resist.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll get someone to fix it tomorrow. It’s going to be OK.’

  As the two women sat together in the kitchen, Constance heard light footsteps in the hallway and Shaza appeared, fuzzy with sleep. When she saw Constance, she blinked heavily.

  ‘Hello Contents. Is Daddy with you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. He’s going to be away a bit longer.’

  Shaza blinked at her mother, who hid her damaged foot underneath the other.

  ‘I heard a noise?’ she said, yawning widely.

  ‘Oh, it was just me and your mum chattering, nothing to worry about. Sorry we disturbed you.’