The Last First Time

by Andrea Bramhall

  Sammy shook her head. “No. Kate told me that women are crazy. She didn’t mention that it was all grown-ups.”

  Alison and Gina laughed again. It felt so good to laugh away the hurts and the truths she’d learnt in the last hour. She glanced up to the ceiling. She didn’t know if she believed in God or in heaven; she’d never really formed a definitive answer. But she smiled up at the sky and offered a silent thank you to Pat. If not for meeting her, she wasn’t sure she’d have been ready to listen to her mother. Not yet, anyway.

  Now they had time. Time to heal and get to know each other.

  Maybe even time to be a family.

  Chapter 12

  Kate parked her Mini on Vancouver Street for the second time that day and climbed out, Gareth at her heels as Vinny and Mel edged by, slowly looking for a second spot. They’d decided to bring Mel’s car too, as four coppers and one potentially uncooperative witness-slash-prisoner in a Mini was just asking for trouble. She and Gareth waited well back from the view of the big bay window for Mel and Vinny, before leading them all to the door. There was a lot more noise coming from inside than there had been earlier. She checked her watch. Six fifteen in the evening.

  She pushed the doorbell, and a few moments later, she was greeted by a scowling Tariq Ahmed.

  “What do you want?” he sneered.

  “Mr Ahmed, we have some questions we need you to answer.” She stepped back a little to clear an exit from the building for him. “Would you come with us, please?”

  He snorted at her. “My family has just sat down to dinner. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Family sat down to dinner? Is it just me, or does that so not sound like a family in mourning? “I’m very sorry to intrude, Mr Ahmed, but I’m afraid I must insist.” She stepped closer, reading his body language. She knew what was coming.

  “Go away.” He gripped the door, clearly ready to slam it in her face. “Kaffir,” he added and threw his shoulder into swinging the door closed.

  Kate was ready and had her booted foot jammed against the plinth to stop the movement.

  He growled in frustration and stepped forward to push her out of the way. As he cleared the doorway, Gareth and Vinny grabbed his arms, then tugged him past Kate and onto the garden path, twisting his arms behind him.

  Children’s faces appeared at the window, looking out at the scene, their shock and fear evident in the wide-eyed stares and fists stuck in their mouths.

  Vinny spun Mr Ahmed around so he was facing Kate again.

  She nodded towards the window. “Mr Ahmed, don’t make your children watch you getting arrested. Please, calm down and come with us quietly to help us with our enquiries.”

  His lip curled contemptuously and his eyes narrowed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  Kate sighed and nodded her head. “As you wish. Tariq Ahmed, you are under arrest on suspicion of conspiring with terrorists to commit murder. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but you may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you say can be used as evidence. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

  He threw his head back and worked his jaw. Kate could see it coming and dodged to the left, avoiding the mouthful of spit he hurled her way. The venom and hatred she could see in his eyes was more than enough to confirm his involvement to her. What kind of man could do that? Regardless of everyone else who died, his own daughter did too. Could he really have been involved in that? Surely no father would condemn his daughter to such a fate.

  “Do you understand, Mr Ahmed?” She waited for him to nod his assent before turning and leading them out of the garden. Her Mini was parked closest, so Gareth and Vinny bundled him into the back, Gareth climbing in beside him while Vinny took the front passenger seat.

  “Meet you back at the station,” Mel said as she headed for her own vehicle.

  “Right,” Kate said to her back as she got into her car and pulled on her seatbelt, all the while wondering why Mel had even bothered coming along with them. Kate could have dealt with the situation just with Gareth and Vinny.

  She shook her head, turned on the car, and pulled away from the kerb as an awkward silence filled the car.

  It should have taken ten minutes to get back to the station, but the maze of closed roads around the town centre resulted in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So instead they sat, waiting. Waiting for the lights to turn green, then red, then green, and finally red again before they inched forward and through the junction. Then they waited as the car crawled towards the roundabout, all the while the silence growing thicker, heavier, darker until it was wrapped around them like a boa constrictor, crushing them. She could almost see it—the sinewy body wrapping around Ahmed’s wiry frame and squeezing. His eyes bulged, and his breathing had become laboured under its weight. Silence could be as powerful a tool of interrogation as questioning sometimes.

  By the time they arrived at the station and he’d been booked in, Clare and Timmons were waiting outside the interview room where Ahmed sat…waiting some more.

  “Has he said anything?” Timmons asked.

  “No, sir,” Vinny said. “Spat at your main woman here, mind.” Vinny clapped Kate on the shoulder. “She’s got under his skin, just a bit, if you ask me.”

  “We didn’t, but that’s good to know, Vin,” Clare said with a smirk to take the sting out of it.

  Vinny just shrugged it off as Clare turned to look at Kate. “What do you think? You up to questioning him?”

  Kate gave the question the proper consideration it needed. It would be tough going in there. No doubt about it. She was going to accuse him of planning the bombing that could have killed Gina, had seriously hurt Stella, and had cost the life of his own daughter and the lives of twenty-one innocent victims. Including Gregory Walsh. The proper consideration took less than half a second. “Without doubt.”

  Clare nodded. “Vinny, go in with her.”

  “Actually, ma’am, I think another female officer would be better,” Kate said.

  “Why?”

  “I think it offends him. To be questioned by a woman. I think it will throw him off balance even more and increase our chances of getting an emotional outburst from him. And that’s the only way he’s going to give us anything.”

  Clare and Timmons exchanged looks.

  “Good thinking,” Timmons said and tapped her forehead with his knuckle. “I’ve got my eye on you, Brannon. You’ll be after my job next.”

  Kate grinned. “Nah, I wouldn’t want your office until it’s been aired for a year or two at least.” She chuckled as he threw back his head and laughed heartily. It sounded out of place, but at the same time it sounded right. When everything felt wrong, sometimes it was the tiny things that made the world slip back into shape.

  “Okay, then, you and me,” Clare said.

  Kate shook her head again. “No, you have too high a rank. It shows him respect. It’ll make him feel important to have someone so high up the chain in there. We need to make him feel insulted. I want a standard PC, someone who looks young, fresh-faced. Maybe even like they’re on their first job.”

  “Belt and braces.” Timmons stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Brown fits that description pretty well. Looks young enough and only a PC, as requested.”

  Kate had to agree, and while she didn’t like the idea of working with her closely, needs must. “She does.”

  Timmons seemed to watch her carefully before he spoke, “Right. Brown?”

  “Here,” Mel said as she slipped into the corridor, slightly out of breath.

  “You and Brannon, interview room one.” He pointed a finger at her. “Follow Brannon’s lead, and do not screw this up.”

  Mel frowned but said, “Yes, sir.”

  Timmons pushed open the door to the video suite, holding it open for Clare. He looked at Kate. “Earpiece in for this one.”

  Kate nodded, slid into t
he video suite, grabbed one of the earpieces that would allow her to receive comments and direction from them, and picked up a second for Mel. “Do you have a photo pack ready?”

  Timmons shook his head. “What do you want in it?”

  Kate swallowed and told him what she needed, then watched his jaw clench.

  “Jackson, Collier, get it sorted. Brown, you wait outside until they’ve got it all, then take the file into Brannon.” Each of them nodded, and Gareth and Vinny set off to gather what she’d asked for.

  “Is his brief here yet?” Kate asked. As he’d been arrested, they had to wait for his solicitor to arrive before they began questioning him.

  Timmons nodded. “Five minutes ago.”

  “Then I’ll go and start the tape while I wait for Mel.”

  Timmons grinned and tapped her forehead again. “You do that.” He winked at her and let the door close behind her.

  “Looks like you’ve fallen on your feet.” Mel’s voice had the hard edge of bitterness to it. “Do you have to blow him every day or just once a week to get him to treat you like that?”

  “Excuse me?” Kate whirled around, glad she hadn’t opened the door to the interview room yet.

  “You heard me.”

  “I did. And at the risk of repeating myself, excuse me?”

  Mel stared at her belligerently. Daring her to deny the accusation.

  Well, Kate had no problem with that. “DI Timmons is the best DI I’ve ever worked with. Yeah, he’s a bit politically incorrect. Yeah, he’s a bit old school. But he’s a copper who respects hard work and results. You bring him those, and he doesn’t care who’s doing the bringing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Believe what you like, Mel. But Timmons is a good bloke who respects his team and knows how to get the best out of us.” She looked Mel up and down. “We don’t have to perform sexual favours for him to try and improve our careers.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s that going for you, by the way?”

  Mel’s face darkened further. “Fuck off.”

  “No thanks. Like you said, I’ve landed on my feet here. Moving away from Norwich, away from you, was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

  “You bitch.”

  Kate shook her head sadly. “Maybe. But maybe it’s something you should think about a bit. What do you want, Mel? I mean, you’ve fucked everything up at Norwich. Clare’s moving up further and further, and you’re still a PC. You’ve been in three years longer than I have, you passed your sergeant’s exam two years before I did, but you’re still on the bottom rung. Not even moved over to CID. You’re stagnating there, and it’s making you bitter and jealous. And you know what? That’s fine by me. I don’t have to deal with you beyond this task force. But maybe it should bother you.” She grabbed hold of the door handle. “Now, do not fuck up this interview, or you will regret it.”

  “What will you do? Tell all your little friends that I hurt your feelings?”

  Kate shook her head. “Timmons will bury your career. You’d be lucky if you get to be a PCSO by the time he’d be finished with you, and any hopes you have of advancement…forget it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Kate shrugged. “Try it and see.” She pushed open the door and closed it shut quietly behind her. She leant back against it, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. How had she ever been blinded by those blue eyes and that dimple? How could she have been so stupid not to see it before? All Mel cared about was herself, and it had never been clearer to Kate how close she’d come to ruining her own life with her ex. As painful as it had been, Mel sleeping with Clare had been the biggest favour either of them had ever done for Kate. It had taken off the blinkers and let her escape a relationship and a job that was getting her nowhere.

  Now she had everything she had dreamed of: a job she truly loved—well, on most days—colleagues who cared for and respected her, and a boss who respected her for the job she did and the skill she’d shown. Who clearly cared for her well-being too. And that was before she even started to think about Gina, and Sammy, and Merlin. When she’d left Norwich, her life had been empty. Now she was rich with love and fulfilment, and she was fucking proud of everything she’d achieved in just a few short months. Bring on the next fucking year.

  She straightened up and crossed the room, taking a seat at the table, across from Ahmed and his solicitor. Pressing the button on the tape recorder, she waited for the loud beep to end before she spoke.

  “It’s Sunday, the thirteenth of December, the time is seven twenty-four p.m. I am Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon. Gentlemen, please identify yourselves for the tape.”

  “Mr Chris Oxford, solicitor,” said the suited man next to Ahmed.

  Ahmed stared at her belligerently.

  “Mr Ahmed?”

  He said nothing.

  “Very well. For the record, also in the room is Mr Tariq Ahmed. We are still awaiting the arrival of a colleague, so we shall just wait a few moments, if that’s okay with you, gentlemen?” Kate didn’t require an answer. Not that she expected one anyway. Ahmed wasn’t going to talk to her. Not yet.

  It was ten minutes before Mel arrived, slid the file in front of Kate, and sat in the chair beside her.

  Ahmed’s sneer grew.

  “For the tape, Police Constable Melissa Brown has entered the room at seven thirty-four p.m., and we are now ready to begin this interview. Mr Ahmed, at your home this evening, you were arrested on suspicion of conspiring with terrorists to commit murder. You were read your rights. You are still under caution at this time. Do you understand?”

  He said nothing.

  “Mr Ahmed, you must answer the question.”

  Nothing.

  Kate looked at his solicitor. “Perhaps you should advise your client to answer the question so we can move on.”

  Oxford nodded and leant over to whisper in Ahmed’s ear.

  “No comment,” Ahmed said.

  It was a start. “Thank you. For the tape, that was Mr Ahmed’s voice. This morning, my colleagues and I informed you of the death of your daughter in the bombing incident at the Ann Summers shop in King’s Lynn town centre yesterday morning. Is that correct?”

  “No comment.”

  “As part of our duties, we carried out a search of your property and found a number of items of interest to us.” She slipped the picture of the ball bearing from the file and placed it on the table. “This is a picture of an item entered into evidence, reference AHVS1802. Do you recognise this item, Mr Ahmed?”

  “No comment.”

  “It was found in your daughter’s bedroom.”

  “No comment,” he repeated with a smirk twisting his lips.

  “On top of her wardrobe.”

  “No comment.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Tests show that it has traces of explosives on it consistent with those used in yesterday’s attack. Did you know your daughter was hiding a suicide vest in your house, Mr Ahmed?”

  “No comment.”

  “Were you aware she had explosives in there while your other children slept in the same house?”

  “No comment.”

  “Your son—your eleven-year-old son—sleeps in the room next to Nadia’s, doesn’t he?”

  He frowned. “No comment.”

  “Lucky, lucky, lucky boy.” Kate slipped the picture from the file that haunted her. She swallowed down the bile and emotion that rose again and would render her unable to do the job she needed to do as she turned the page and set it down in front of Tariq Ahmed. “This little boy wasn’t quite so lucky.”

  Ahmed’s jaw and throat worked as he swallowed back whatever words he wanted to spew at her. He sat back on his chair, pulling away from the image of Gregory’s pushchair as much as he could. Oxford blanched, his colour draining at the sight, and he scribbled notes across his pad, clearly trying to distract himself from the image.

  Kate knew it would never work. That picture would stay with him for the rest of his life.r />
  “I’m showing Mr Ahmed KLHS80936, a picture of one of the victims of the bomb blast. Gregory Walsh was two years old, Mr Ahmed. His mother had been in the card shop next door, to buy Christmas cards for her family, when your daughter detonated the explosives that had been in your house. An innocent baby.”

  “My daughter was an innocent victim too. Not the monster who did this. I do not deserve this abuse. I have done nothing.”

  Kate placed a third picture on the table, the same one she’d shown Mrs Ahmed earlier. “KLHS003657, a picture from CCTV footage before the bomb went off. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

  “Yes. See? She was just a victim of this hideous crime too.”

  Kate set another picture down, the expanded view of the first picture showing Nadia Ahmed with her burqa held open to expose the modified suicide vest—the explosives, wires, and blocks of shrapnel taped to it all clearly visible. “KLHS098736, a picture showing the device and the individual wearing it. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

  “No comment.”

  She tapped the image. “Is this or is this not the same girl you just identified as your daughter in image KLHS003657?”

  “No comment.”

  “Is it?” She let her voice rise, she wanted him to think she was getting frustrated with him and too emotional to think clearly. She wanted him to think he had the upper hand.

  The growing smirk on his face let her know she was on the right track. “No comment.”

  She pulled another picture from the folder and placed it on the table. Then she waited until his gaze dropped from hers and fell to the page. He scraped the chair backwards and jumped to his feet, pointing at the picture and hurling a string of fast-paced Arabic at her until he landed against the room’s back wall.

  “KLHS078956, a picture of human remains from the blast site. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

  The picture was truly horrific, and Kate was eternally grateful she hadn’t eaten anything all day. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it down if she had. All that remained of Nadia Ahmed was captured in that image: Her head, her left shoulder, and half of her arm had been severed from the rest of her body and blown clear. The rest of her body had been torn apart by the shrapnel strapped to her. The force of the explosion had made her own bone fragments into weapons dug out of bodies of the dead and injured alike.