by Rashad Salim
“Cause of death?” PC Enfield asked.
“He was strangled,” Richardson said. “Not only that, he was raped too. Before death.”
“Any DNA traces of his killer? Semen? Saliva?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no. Booth said the killer most likely wore gloves and contraception.”
I sighed and put my hand around my cup of tea. I wondered what the killer’s motive was and why he had picked Malhotra. Was it just convenient or was there something specific about Malhotra that attracted his killer?
“Were there any witnesses?” Burton asked. “Anyone who might have seen someone suspicious near the crime scene?”
“Unfortunately, not much in the way of witnesses just yet,” Richardson said.
“What about CCTV in the area?” I asked.
Richardson shook his head. “No luck there, I’m afraid. Nearest CCTV was a long way off.”
“One second,” Enfield said and raised his hand. “When I spoke to the lad who discovered the victim he mentioned something about a white van driving past.”
“Ah, yeah,” Richardson said. “He did add that he couldn’t be sure if it meant anythin’.”
“But we could have a look,” Enfield said.
“And it could take you all year lookin’ for somethin’ that might be nothin’. Let’s move on.”
“Do we have any leads?” I asked. “Possible known suspects?”
“I’ve already submitted a request for previous sex offenders currently living or working in the area,” WPC Burton said. “Hopefully, something will turn up linking one of them to our case.”
“Make sure you look out for the same modus operandi,” Richardson told her. “Also, cross check with other police departments in nearby areas.”
“What do we know about the victim, besides his statistics?” Enfield asked.
Richardson prompted DI Rahman to answer that.
“I’ve spoken to the family and a few friends already and nothing noteworthy was brought up. No particular enemies that came to mind, nothing risky about the boy’s behaviour or lifestyle. Seemed like a straight arrow.”
“What about the day he went missin’?” I asked. “Was there anythin’ there?”
“I’ve got the details here,” Richardson said, looking down at some of the papers in front of him. “He went out to play football with some mates, they all went home, two of them accompanied Rishi on the walk home. The last ones to see him were his two friends who say he was in good spirits before they went their separate ways.”
“Where was this?” I asked.
Richardson sifted through the papers until he found the details. “They say it was the corner of Park Road and Winston Road.”
“I know that place,” Enfield said.
“Okay, people, so here’s the plan for today,” Richardson said. “Burton, check all the records. Enfield, help her out with that. Rahman, see what else you can find out from the boy’s friends and family. Cole, you and I are gonna pay someone a visit.” Before I could ask him who we were visiting, he ended the meeting. “That’s it for now.”
Richardson left the room, Rahman followed him. Burton and Enfield stayed behind and got busy discussing their tasks. I finished my tea and walked out.
Rahman had finished talking to Richardson and made his way out of the hall. I approached Richardson now that we were finally alone.
“Where we goin’?” I asked.
“To the hospital.”
8
Asim
The first class we had that Monday morning was PE and I dreaded it a lot more than I usually did.
It was mixed with other classes and meant we mixed around with all the other boys in our school year. PE classes were always chaotic. Something about the physical aspect of it all brought out the worst in us boys. I’m not going to pretend I was above it all – I was prone to misbehaving during games too when egged on by my friends but I had my limits.
It was the macho boys, posturing and challenging each other’s masculinity and alpha status that concerned me. Fights seemed to break out almost every week.
When I showed up in the changing rooms quite a few of the boys patted me on the back for the alleged bravery I had showed in discovering the corpse. Others began discussing how they would’ve fought off the attacker responsible for murdering the boy I found. This led to quite a few of them demonstrating self defence manoeuvres on each other, which escalated into scuffles.
We had football practice during that PE lesson and the scuffles that had started out in the changing rooms had transferred onto the football field.
Ravinder had possession of the football and a boy from another class tackled him. Ravinder lost control of the ball and whacked the other boy with the back of his forearm.
Our teacher, Mr Mitchell, blew the whistle just as the other boy shoved Ravinder.
I watched all this from the sidelines where I sat with the few boys who had either forgotten their PE kits, were too ‘sick’ to play or had been injured in the game.
I was there because neither team wanted me on their side.
“What the hell are you lot playin’ at?” Mitchell screamed at Ravinder and the other boy.
The two boys argued back and forth before Mitchell threatened them both and told everyone in the game to keep it clean.
At the end of the lesson, we all went back into the changing rooms. While we changed back into our uniforms Mr Mitchell entered the changing room and said a few words to certain boys as he passed them.
The bell rang and it was break time.
“Alright, ladies!” Mitchell boomed so everyone still in the changing room could hear. “Get a move on!” He clapped his hands. “I want you stinkin’ lot out of here right now!”
Everyone started leaving. The changing room was almost empty. I was about to walk out with Omar when Mr Mitchell raised his hand and stopped me.
“Hang on, son.”
I wondered what he wanted.
“...I need a word with you.”
I panicked. I thought he was going to give me another lecture on my lack of commitment to sports.
One of the reasons why I was hardly ever chosen when it came to teams picking players was because I could never be bothered. Yes, I was a shit footballer but what set me apart from most of the other boys was that I never tried. It didn’t matter what the sport was – football, cricket, rounders – it was always the same with me. I didn’t like to sweat.
Omar looked at me. I nodded for him to go.
Soon I was alone with Mr Mitchell.
“Sit down,” he said.
We both sat down on the long bench beside us.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, trying to put some feeling into it. “I just wasn’t feeling too good today.” I was about to expand on my bullshit but he raised his hand to stop me.
“No, no it’s not that. Don’t get me wrong. You could do a lot better. That much is true. I mean look at Omar. He’s a fat tub of lard alright but next to you, he’s Gazza!”
I laughed at that and he smiled.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Suddenly it was clear what he was referring to.
“I heard about you two on the weekend.” I said nothing so he added, “And that lad you found.”
“What about it?”
“I was just wonderin’ how you stumbled upon him?”
“Did you read the papers?”
“Here and there, yeah.”
“Then you know.”
“Oh...I just wanted to hear it from you. That’s all.”
I stood up. “You can thank my football skills for that.”
He stood up too and smiled.
We headed out into the open and I told him how I kicked Omar’s ball into the canal by accident.
“Good thing I wasn’t Gazza, hey?”
I got ahead of him and walked out where Omar had been waiting for me.
We went to the canteen and I wondered if none of
my teachers could hold back their curiosity when it came to dead kids.
9
DC Cole
We were in Richardson’s car and on our way to the local hospital when I asked him why he hadn’t told the rest of the team about the sex offender we’re visiting.
“I didn’t want to mention it just yet. Right now it’s just a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“The nonce’s name is Lawrence Wilson. He did time for a string of sex attacks on boys in the late seventies. He was released a year ago and has been workin’ as a cleaner at the hospital since.”
“What was the extent of the attacks?”
“Molestations, flashings and one or two more serious offences.”
“He strike you as a killer?”
Richardson looked at me. “You never know, do you?”
No, I thought. You never do.
“He pled guilty and served eleven years. I checked out his records. He underwent therapy and rehabilitation sessions in prison. Apparently, he made a lot of progress. Sounds like he was given a Blue Peter badge, don’t it?”
We had almost reached the hospital.
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“That’s the thing,” Richardson said. “A couple of months ago I checked him out as a suspect in another molestation case and I found out he lived on the same road as Rishi Malhotra.”
Richardson parked the car near and we got out. Once we were inside, we headed straight past the reception area and through a few waiting areas.
One of the first things I did when I transferred to Binford was to check out the Accident & Emergency wards of the local hospital. I wanted to get as much information as possible on the locals’ need for emergency medical assistance.
We reached a front desk where Richardson spoke to the woman about seeing the head of that ward, Mr Norris. She lifted a phone and summoned him.
Norris showed up soon after and led us to a secluded part of the hospital where a man in black uniform mopped the floor.
“Lawrence,” Norris called out.
Lawrence Wilson stopped mopping and looked at us. He was around five feet ten and skinny. He had a pasty face and greasy looking hair. You couldn’t tell he was a sex offender but he made you wonder. His mouth fell open when he saw Richardson.
“Lawrence, these men are with the local police department. They just want to talk to you for a few minutes, okay?”
Wilson gripped the mop tight and nodded.
“Please,” Norris said to Richardson. “Take into consideration his sensitive disposition.” And then he turned to me. “Lawrence has been a fine worker and has been an absolute gentleman since he joined us. Don’t rattle his cage needlessly.”
Richardson thanked Norris and waited for him to leave. Once Norris had left, Richardson walked up to Wilson and I saw the cleaner’s eyes widen. He took a step back.
“What do you want?”
Richardson stood less than three feet away from him.
“How’s life?” Richardson asked.
“Fine.”
“How you spendin’ your time these days?”
Wilson drained the mop in the bucket and ignored Richardson’s question.
“...You like it here, Lawrence?”
Wilson looked at him and then at me. “...It’s okay. No one bothers me.”
“And that’s important, isn’t it?” Richardson asked.
Wilson said nothing.
“No one bothers Lawrence and Lawrence bothers no one, isn’t that right?” Richardson asked.
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “...Why are you here?”
“We just wanted to ask you a few questions,” I said.
Richardson looked at me and I wondered if I had made a mistake. He hadn’t hinted that he would do all the talking and I would just watch. I thought to myself, if that’s what he had been expecting then why did he drag me along if I wasn’t needed?
“What kind of questions?” Wilson asked me.
“Like where were you on Saturday night between the hours of eight PM and midnight?” Richardson asked.
“Why?”
“Answer the question,” Richardson said.
Lawrence looked at him and then at me. “Fuck’s sake.”
I took a few steps closer to him and Richardson.
“Why don’t you just answer the question?” I asked.
He stared at Richardson but then turned his attention on me.
“I was at home.”
“Alone?” Richardson asked.
“Yeah, I was alone.”
Richardson shook his head and smiled.
“Something funny?” Lawrence asked. “You having fun?”
“You heard about the boy we found, right?” Richardson asked.
“Of course.” Wilson was serious now. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
I studied him carefully. I wanted to believe him and if he was lying, we’d find out soon enough.
“And you don’t know anythin’ else about that worth tellin’ us?” Richardson asked.
Wilson said nothing.
“Tell us now,” Richardson said. “While you still can.”
“I said all I had to say to you. Now leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Richardson said. “You better be reachable if we need you.”
Richardson turned away from and gestured for me to join him.
I thanked Lawrence Wilson for his co-operation and caught up with Richardson down the corridor.
“Am I missing somethin’ here?” I asked him.
“As in?”
“As in somethin’ between the two of you,” I said.
“Just the usual copper-offender relationship.”
He was holding back something and I wanted to know what it was but didn’t want to push it just then. We didn’t talk much on the way back to the station.
I spent most of the journey wondering about Rishi Malhotra’s last days and what had happened during the six days between the day he was reported missing and the day he was found dead.
Someone in this town knew something and we had the easy job to find out who they were.
10
Asim
It was lunchtime and I was sitting alone at a bench near the field. I watched all the other kids messing around and having fun. But I was thinking about Rishi Malhotra.
I didn’t know where Omar and Max were and I didn’t care. I needed to be by myself for a little while. I had borrowed a newspaper from one of the other boys, who gladly passed it on to me and was eager on my thoughts on the subject of Rishi Malhotra.
Up until that weekend I hadn’t paid much attention to crime news and while I had come across the occasional piece on murders it was never something I gave much thought. Now I was trying to understand why Malhotra was killed.
I kept scanning up and down the news article, reading the same thing over and over again as if I had missed something the previous times I had read it. The more I thought about it all, the more I tried to guess who he had been. I wanted to know what he was like. The article had his family say the standard stuff families of murder victims say – about how the victim was a good person and how much of a loss it was. But I needed to know more.
“Is it all there?”
I looked up and saw Shazia. Before I could say anything she sat down opposite me.
“Makes you think about life and death, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah...”
“What went through your mind when you saw him?”
Two things came to mind just then.
First, how I thought Malhotra’s corpse wasn’t real. Maybe a mannequin or something.
And second, Shazia sounded a lot like that bitch from the Today, Laura, by asking me that question.
She stared into my eyes waiting for an answer and all I could do was stare back and wish she never looked away.
“How did you find out about this?” I asked her.
“I heard about it. Everyone was talking about it.”
I looked around. “Everyone still is.”
“Only because you found the body.”
I looked at her hands on the bench top. I wanted to take them in mine and hold them while we talked. It was a stupid thought and I looked away as if my thoughts were obvious to her.
“...And not because the boy was our age?” I said.
“Exactly. He could’ve been any one of us.”
“You think so?” I didn’t believe it myself.
There was no way of knowing how Malhotra ended up in that canal. I lived a safe lifestyle. Sure, I messed around and did stupid shit with my friends but for the most part I didn’t think I ever put myself at risk with strangers.
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
A distant memory came to me then and I laughed.
She laughed too. “What is it?”
I looked at her and thought she looked so beautiful in that moment. Her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair in the wind – the way she was looking back at me.
“Ah, it’s nothin’. Just stupid.”
I felt her kick my leg under the bench and she grabbed my sleeve. The physicality of her actions took me by surprise.
“No, tell me!” She was pleading but smiling. “I wanna know now.”
I realised I had her attention. I had Shazia Manzoor’s attention like never before and it made me feel happy despite the grim topic of discussion.
I looked at her and decided to tell her what I had remembered.
“You know when we were little kids – like five or six years old – I remember the whole class was sat around together so the teacher could give us a little talk on strangers.” Shazia leaned closer. “Anyway, the teacher told us to never accept sweets from strangers, okay?”
Shazia nodded, listening carefully.
“And when she asked us if we had any questions, I put my hand up. And she said ‘yes Asim?’ and I said ‘what kind of sweets do they give out?’”
That made Shazia laugh out loud. She had such a sweet laugh I could hear it all day and I couldn’t ever recall making a pretty girl laugh like that before.
