by James Raven
It had certainly been an evening of high drama, Temple reflected as he stared dreamily through the window at the busy streets of the capital. It had begun the moment he arrived at New Scotland Yard and since then it had been one shock after another.
He didn’t know what to make of this latest development, though. Was it coincidence that Yousef Hussain had suddenly turned up at Heathrow? Or had he fled there from the scene of the latest motorway attack? And if so did that mean that he was somehow connected with Martin Renner?
Temple wanted to talk it through with Vickery, but the DCS spent the entire journey making and receiving calls on his mobile. He spoke to the Met’s Operational Command Unit at Heathrow and told them to check all their CCTV cameras to see how Hussain arrived at the airport. He gave them the registration of the stolen BMW and asked them to retrieve Hussain’s luggage if he had any.
He also took calls from the Home Secretary and the head of the Counter-Terrorism Command, both wanting to know what was happening. Vickery told them he was on his way to question Hussain, but added that there was now some doubt as to whether he was the sniper.
‘To be honest, events are taking us in two different directions,’ he said at one point. ‘It remains to be seen where we’ll end up.’
Paddington Green police station is just ten minutes from London’s Oxford Street. It’s a grim 1960s building with sixteen cells located below ground level, plus CCTV cameras throughout.
It’s the only purpose-built unit in the country for suspected terrorists and over the years the cells have housed dozens of suicide bombers and IRA activists.
Temple had been there on only one occasion in the past and that was to interview an Islamic fundamentalist who had been involved in a plot to blow up an oil refinery near Southampton.
It hadn’t changed much since then, except that the walls had been painted a brighter colour and the floors were polished to a shine.
He and Vickery were expected and were told that Yousef Hussain had already arrived. He’d been accompanied by two officers from Aviation Security at the airport and was in the process of being checked over in the sterile medical examination room.
Hussain had been carrying a large rucksack when he was apprehended at the departure gate. The contents had been emptied out on a table for Vickery to examine, along with his clothes. The DCS slipped on a pair of latex gloves before he touched anything.
Hussain’s passport was in the name of Imran Rehman. It looked genuine and in the picture Hussain had a beard and his hair had been shaved off.
‘It’s a crude but effective disguise,’ Vickery said.
One of the Aviation Security officers said they’d become suspicious because Hussain looked nervous and started sweating when he was asked questions by a customs officer. So they pulled him over and quickly discovered his true identity.
Hussain’s rucksack also contained his one-way flight ticket to Pakistan which had been purchased at 7 p.m. that very evening at the airport using a credit card assigned to Imran Rehman. There was also a dog-eared copy of the Koran, a wallet with £500 cash in it and a small prayer mat. There were no spare clothes and nothing to link him to the motorway shootings. The clothes he’d been wearing consisted of a leather jacket, denim jeans and a polo sweater.
In one of the coat pockets there was a balled-up receipt from a MacDonald’s restaurant in Catford two evenings ago.
‘Even terrorists can’t resist the allure of a Big Mac,’ Vickery said.
‘What do you reckon he was doing in Catford?’ Temple asked.
Vickery shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s where he’s been staying since he left the flat he shared with his accomplices. We need to find out.’
Vickery asked for everything to be sealed in plastic bags and sent to the lab for analysis.
He then collared one of the Paddington Green CID officers and showed him the MacDonald’s receipt.
‘Check this out,’ he said. ‘Looks like Hussain was there only two nights ago and MacDonald’s are bound to have security cameras. See if you can pick him up before and after his visit. We’re desperate to trace his movements.’
Vickery and Temple then grabbed a coffee and sandwich in the canteen and Vickery started bashing his mobile phone again. Temple felt exhausted. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to make them water, then popped a couple of caffeine pills into his mouth. It was often the only way he managed to keep on top of things when he’d had hardly any sleep.
He made a quick call to DC Marsh. She was still at Martin Renner’s flat and he hadn’t turned up and neither had the BMW that had disappeared from the motorway. Temple then called the hospital and was told that Angel was asleep, but doing OK. She hadn’t had any more seizures, thank God.
It was almost midnight when the two detectives were led along a corridor and into an interview room. A harsh fluorescent light painted everything a dull yellow. There was a table with two chairs on either side. A microphone hung from the ceiling ready to record the proceedings and there were video cameras on two of the walls, plus a large two-way mirror on another.
They sat at the table and Temple’s stomach was cramped with anticipation. While they waited for Hussain to be brought in the DCS said that he would lead the interrogation.
‘I don’t expect him to be very forthcoming,’ Vickery said. ‘Often as not the only way to get a straight answer from these fuckers is to torture them.’
A few minutes later Hussain was ushered into the room. He was handcuffed and wearing a grey cotton jumpsuit.
With the shaved head and beard he looked nothing like the man in the photograph that had been shown in newspapers and on the television. He was just under six feet tall and olive-skinned. His eyes were black beads in a round face. He sat opposite Vickery and curled his lips in a mirthless grin.
Vickery wasted no time. He switched on the recorder and said aloud the date and time.
‘This interview is being recorded,’ he went on. ‘I am Detective Chief Superintendent Owen Vickery of the Counter-Terrorism Command. The other officer present is Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Temple of Hampshire’s Major Investigations Team. We are in the interview room of Paddington Green police station and we are interviewing Mr Yousef Hussain.’
He paused there to see if Hussain would react, but he just sat there, motionless, staring straight ahead.
‘I understand you’ve waived your rights to be represented by the duty solicitor,’ Vickery said. ‘Is that correct?’
Hussain spoke in a voice that was hoarse and gravelly and without emotion. There was just the faint trace of an accent.
‘I don’t need a solicitor,’ he said. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Vickery leaned towards him across the table. ‘Then why were you about to flee the country?’
Hussain looked from Vickery to Temple and then back again. He moistened dry lips with a sharp, pink tongue.
‘I was going to Karachi to see my family,’ he said. ‘There’s no law against that, is there?’
‘So why get a one-way ticket?’ Vickery said. ‘And why use a fake passport?’
Hussain shifted in his chair and pumped out his chest. A vein started to tick on the side of his forehead.
‘No comment,’ he said, after a second.
Vickery jabbed a finger at him. ‘I think you were going to Karachi because you panicked after things went wrong with your latest attack on the M4. You stole a car, drove to the airport, bought a ticket. If you hadn’t been rumbled at customs you’d be in the air now.’
Hussain laughed. ‘I haven’t been anywhere near the M4. And for your information I’m not the sniper, despite what the papers say.’
‘So how did you get to the airport?’
‘By Tube from central London.’
‘Then how come there’s no Tube ticket amongst your belongings?’
‘I threw it away.’
‘So where in Central London did you get on the tube?’
‘I can’t remember. What does it matter a
nyway?’
Temple listened to the exchange with interest, content to be an observer. He was struck by Hussain’s presence. He had an aura about him, a sense of calm malevolence that was quite disturbing. In that respect he was like other terrorists Temple had come into contact with. Even when the world was falling in on them they remained arrogant and defiant. It was as though they were able to withdraw behind a protective shield that could not be penetrated by threats and intimidation.
‘I really don’t see the point of dragging this out,’ Vickery said. ‘Why not make a full confession? We already have enough on you to make sure you go to prison for a very long time.’
‘You know nothing.’ Hussain spat the words. ‘You only think you do.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Vickery said. ‘We know you have links to Al Qaeda and that you’ve been running a terrorist cell in this country since you returned from a training camp in Pakistan. We found bomb-making equipment in the flat where you stayed. We have incriminating emails and recorded phone conversations about an imminent operaton, which your Somali accomplice told us refers to the sniper attacks.’
‘And you believed him?’ Hussain said with raised eyebrows.
‘Why would he lie to us?’
Hussain gave a short, stunted laugh. ‘Because it’s what he wanted you to think. He was playing with you, claiming credit for something he wasn’t involved in just to confuse you. And obviously you fell for it.’
‘If that’s true then what have you really been up to?’
Hussain puffed out his lips and shook his head.
‘No comment.’
‘Grow up, for fuck’s sake,’ Vickery snapped. ‘We’ll find out soon enough anyway so you might as well tell us now. And if you cooperate it’ll work in your favour when you eventually face trial.’
‘If there’s a trial,’ Hussain said.
‘Oh, there’s no doubt about that, my son. You’ll face trial and be convicted. And even your beloved Allah won’t be able to help you there no matter how many times you pray to him.’
Hussain gave Vickery a sneering look of contempt. ‘I’ve changed my mind about a solicitor,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying another word until I get one.’
Vickery drilled into him with his eyes. ‘If that’s how you want to proceed then I’ll go and sort it.’
‘But not the clown on duty. I want my own solicitor.’
Vickery’s nostrils flared. ‘What’s the name and number?’
‘I’ll call him myself,’ Hussain said. ‘I know I’m entitled to one phone call.’
Vickery gave a resigned shrug and announced for the benefit of the recorder that he was suspending the interview. Then he flicked the machine off.
‘I’ll have a phone brought in,’ he said to Hussain. ‘But tell your brief to get his arse over here pron to.’
Vickery then got to his feet and signalled for Temple to follow him out of the interview room. In the corridor the DCS struggled to hold in his anger and frustration.
‘So what do you think?’ he said.
‘I think he’ll be a hard nut to crack,’ Temple answered.
‘That’s what I think,’ Vickery said. ‘We need to trace his movements. Find out how he got to the airport for starters. If he arrived in the stolen BMW then he’s our man. If he travelled on the Tube then he’s probably not. The airport and the Underground are saturated with CCTV cameras. It shouldn’t take us long to pick him out.’
At that moment Temple’s phone rang. He snatched it from his pocket. It was DC Marsh with the latest news about Martin Renner.
‘He’s just turned up at his flat, guv,’ she said. ‘And he’s in a right state.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s pissed. Completely legless. Somehow he’s managed to stagger home from wherever he was.’
‘What’s he got to say for himself?’
‘Nothing. He collapsed outside his front door. He was sick all over one of the uniforms and he reeks of booze. He won’t be answering questions for a while I’m afraid.’
‘What have you done with him?’
‘There’s an ambulance on its way. We’ll take him to the hospital for a check-up and then let him sleep it off.’
‘Make sure you get his clothes to the lab and check his hands for gun residue.’
‘Will do.’
‘And turn his flat over. Seize every bit of clothing. Get the SOC officers to pore over every inch of the place. Is that clear?’
‘As daylight, sir.’
‘And I don‘t want him questioned until I get there, which will be later this morning.’
‘Understood, guv.’
Temple hung up and gave Vickery the news.
‘This calls for a change of plan,’ Vickery said. ‘You need to get back to Southampton right away and follow up on Martin Renner. I’ll arrange for a car to take you. Meanwhile I’ll keep pressing Hussain and try to get him to open up.’
‘Do you believe what he said about not being the sniper?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Vickery said. ‘But I am convinced he’s been up to something. And if his mission wasn’t to kill people on motorways then we need to find out what the hell it was.’
CHAPTER 42
TEMPLE MANAGED TO get an hour’s nap in the back of the unmarked police car that took him to Southampton.
He arrived home just after four in the morning. It was still dark and a light frost was twinkling on the ground. The central heating was on the night-time setting so the house was freezing. He flicked the override switch and made himself a cup of tea. He drank it at the breakfast bar whilst watching a 24-hour news channels on the small TV.
The carnage on the M4 was the main story around the world. There was intense coverage on all the networks and the same horrific pictures were being transmitted, along with the out-of-date photograph of Yousef Hussain.
It was now public knowledge that he had been arrested and several reporters were reporting live from outside Paddington Green police station. There was no mention of Martin Renner’s motorbike and Temple was pleased about that. He didn’t want a media army camped outside police headquarters when they started to question him.
On screen two people were reviewing the morning papers in a studio. The M4 attack was emblazoned across every front page. There were several editorials criticizing the police for not catching the sniper. A number of stories reflected the growing concern among motoring organizations and business leaders. Tens of millions of pounds were being lost each day because of delays caused by the shootings.
The sniper had created such a state of fear that hundreds of thousands of drivers were choosing not to use motorways, according to the Highways Agency. The impact was most severe in the south of England where deliveries of goods to supermarkets and warehouses were being severely disrupted.
The reward pot for information leading to the sniper’s arrest had soared in the last twenty-four hours and now stood at £2.5m. Temple was sure it was now one of the highest rewards ever offered in the UK. But then the shootings were among the most heinous crimes ever committed. Even now, after everything that had happened, he found it hard to take it all in. The chaos, the bloodshed, the sheer randomness of the attacks. How could the sniper possibly justify what he had done?
Sitting there Temple trawled through the past few days in his head. Everything that had happened seemed unreal. From the discovery of Angel’s blood-spattered car on the M27 to the sight of the crashed helicopter on the M4. Thirty people dead and many more injured. Hundreds of vehicles wrecked and scores of lives destroyed. It had been a hellish week so far. Four days of carnage.
But maybe it was finally over, he thought. Two viable suspects were in custody: a jihadist with links to Al Qaeda who had been planning an attack for weeks. And an army veteran whose son had stolen a sniper rifle from an army base before going AWOL.
Temple felt the evidence against Martin Renner was the most compelling. Surely he had to be the sniper. Why else would
his motorbike have been at the scene of the latest attack?
He must have left it at the side of the road whilst he took up position on the embankment. When things went wrong and he tried to escape he discovered that it’d been taken. So he made his way on to the carriageway and took a car that was parked on the hard shoulder. It all seemed straightforward. There were still too many unanswered questions swimming around in Temple’s head. Was Renner acting alone? Why did he reveal that his son stole a sniper rifle from the army camp? Surely it would have been wiser not to mention it. Or did he hate his son so much that he wanted to shift the blame on to him?
And then there was Yousef Hussain. Could he possibly have been in collusion with Renner? If not then what had he and his fellow conspirators been plotting?
Temple was hoping that all or some of the answers would be forthcoming during the day ahead.
He got up and switched off the TV. His eyes were dry and heavy and he could feel a dull ache growing at the base of his skull. He rolled his head and massaged the back of his neck, then went upstairs. A hot shower partially revived him and he felt the tension leave his shoulders. He felt even better after putting on some clean clothes.
He made coffee and toast and was about to leave the house when he remembered he’d left his car at the station. So he rang for a taxi and while he was waiting he called the incident room. A detective named Brannigan answered the phone. He was one of the newer recruits to MIT. He said that Martin Renner had been brought back from the hospital and was asleep in the one of the cells. DC Marsh had gone over to Renner’s flat to join the scene of crime team who were still there.
‘I spoke to DC Marsh about twenty minutes ago, sir. She said they hadn’t so far found anything incriminating.’
Temple clucked his tongue in disappointment.
‘Did she manage to get any sense out of Renner at all?’
‘I gather not. He was too pissed apparently.’
‘So we don’t yet know where he was before he turned up at the flat.’
