The Binford Mysteries

by Rashad Salim

  “Does that surprise you?” Neil asked him. “I’m sure if you’ve been listening to the gossips in this town you’ve heard enough jokes about me to last a lifetime. I know I have! Now if you don’t have any more questions, leave me in peace!”

  He shut the door before we could say anything. Richardson and I looked at each other dumbfounded.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s go. Was a waste of time anyway.”

  We went back to the car but before I got in I took one last look at his house.

  “Wonder if there was a reason he didn’t want to let us in?” I asked Richardson.

  “Aside from the fact that he was a miserable old git? Who knows?”

  “I dunno,” I said and got in. As Richardson started the car up I kept my eyes on Neil Roberts’ house. “Maybe he was hiding something from us.”

  31

  Asim

  As soon as I met up with Omar on the way to school the next morning, I told him I had been grounded by my parents.

  “For what?”

  “For being a boy, that’s what.”

  “Oh, man. That sucks.”

  “What about you?” I asked him. “How are your parents takin’ it?”

  “Not as bad as yours.

  “What you gonna do this weekend then?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I’ll be going out either if you ain’t coming out.”

  “You could come around mine,” I said.

  “And do what? Play Super Mario for the millionth time?”

  “Unless you wanna go hang out with Max,” I said.

  He laughed. “Shit, I don’t think he wants to hang out with either of us anymore.” We walked in silence for a while. “...I think you should talk to him.”

  “About what?”

  “I dunno, maybe apologise.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “’Cause he’s your best friend?”

  “Not anymore he ain’t. That’s your job now.” I grabbed him in a headlock and ruffled his curly hair.

  I had treated it like a joke but I knew he was right. I had to apologise to Max. I had to say something to patch things up with him. I just didn’t know how to go about it.

  I thought about approaching Max as soon as I saw him but I didn’t get the chance until after morning registration and by then I had lost my nerve.

  Then at break time I thought about getting him alone so we could talk in privacy but I couldn’t find him.

  I found Shazia though.

  I was walking through the cafeteria, scanning the crowds for any sign of Max, when I spotted Shazia sitting at a table with her friends. She looked my way and I waved at her. I smiled but she didn’t smile back. She turned back to the group conversation. Since I was on my own and she was with all her friends I felt self conscious about going up to her. So I walked on.

  During afternoon registration, Mrs Taylor told us the school counsellor would be available with additional staff if we needed someone to talk to about how we were feeling about Ravinder’s murder. It was a nice gesture but pointless because nobody wanted to see a counsellor – especially at the urging of the teachers.

  Later, I overheard some of the tough boys at the back of my Maths class talking about how they were carrying knives, knuckle dusters and other weapons.

  I didn’t usually talk to these boys but made an exception considering the circumstances.

  “How’s that gonna help?” I asked one of them, the alpha male of the group.

  “You wanna bend over and let some white man bum you senseless, that’s up to you.”

  His friends chuckled at that.

  “What if he takes your blade off you and shoves it up your arse?” I asked him.

  His friends chuckled even more at that.

  The hoodlum glared at me. “He can try. He won’t take me alive.”

  “You can say that again.”

  There was tension in the air now. Nobody spoke.

  “...What do you suggest we do instead?” one the others asked me. “Just let this freak hunt us down like some bitches?”

  “I don’t think packing a blade is gonna make a difference,” I said. “Just make it worse if he uses it against you.”

  “You’re such a pussy, Asim,” the alpha male said. He started laughing. “You got no balls. You could have a bazooka and it wouldn’t save you.”

  His friends laughed.

  I turned back around and ignored them for the rest of the lesson.

  The way they talked about the killings made me wonder what world they were living in. They talked about how certain older guys they knew – older brothers of friends and cousins – were going to patrol the streets looking out for the community’s boys and how these clowns wanted to join in.

  I wondered if they would’ve been reacting this way if they didn’t fit the same profile as the victims so far. The choice of victims was something everyone from the press to teachers and students had discussed.

  Would there be as much fear out there if the serial killer had targeted girls instead?

  Boys’ being preyed on was something new – at least to most people in Binford. Some people couldn’t process it – like the hoodlums in my Maths class who felt more threatened by the possibility of being sexually assaulted than being murdered.

  The murders definitely had an impact on the way people interpreted victims of crime. I wondered if the girls in Binford were relieved they hadn’t been targeted and felt stupid for thinking such a dumb thought.

  When the Maths class ended it was home time. The day was over and I felt the shackles of the weekend already. I raced to the school foyer where I knew Max would pass on his way out.

  On my way to the foyer I spotted Shazia in the corridor. She was with two of her girlfriends but I wasn’t going to be discouraged from talking to her this time around.

  “Hey, how’s it goin’?” I asked, smiling at her.

  “It’s fine, thanks,” she said and walked a little faster.

  “How was Maths?” I asked her, knowing all students in our year had Maths classes at the same time. It was a boring question but it was all I could think of.

  She didn’t answer.

  I thought she might not have heard me in the noisy corridor. “You ready for the exams then?” It was meant to be a joke but she didn’t laugh or even smile.

  She rolled her eyes and said, “Who is?”

  I laughed it off but I was getting more nervous. It felt like she was trying to get away from me.

  “Don’t you have a home to go to?” One of her friends asked me.

  “On my way now,” I told the girl. I turned back to Shazia. “Hey, I wanted to tell you somethin’.”

  I didn’t come right out with it because there wasn’t anything in particular I had to tell her. Aside from how I was madly in love with her.

  Shazia didn’t take the bait. She clearly wasn’t interested.

  I was annoyed now. “Shazia?”

  “Leave me alone, you weirdo,” she said.

  The words stopped me in my tracks. She hadn’t even looked me in the eye.

  I grabbed her arm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Now can you let go of me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said and let go. “I just thought...”

  “You thought what?” Her expression was blank. There was no hate. Just indifference.

  I felt her friends staring at me, burning holes into me with their judging eyes.

  My mouth had gone dry and I could feel myself sweating.

  “I thought we...” I looked at her, willing her to understand what I meant. “...ya know?”

  She gave me an empty smile and her friends began giggling.

  I could feel myself going red from embarrassment.

  “Asim, get real,” she said and walked away.

  Her friends nudged past me. “You ain’t that famous,” one of them said as she passed.

  They left me in a daze. I watched them leave in confusion, no
t sure what just happened.

  After a moment I snapped out of the humiliation and soldiered on to the foyer, telling myself there was more to my social value than my tendency for finding dead bodies.

  I didn’t have to wait long before Max arrived at the foyer.

  “Bruv, we need to talk.”

  He looked at me like I was wasting his time. “About what?”

  “Come on, man. Why you gotta be like this?”

  “Like what?”

  I felt the tension between us rising. I didn’t want to escalate it so I tried a different strategy. “I heard you’re going to Pakistan after the summer.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Who told you that?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He ignored the question.

  “When were you gonna tell me you were movin’ out there?”

  “What difference does it make?” he said. “What do you care anyway?”

  “Are you serious?” I was losing my temper again. “You think I don’t care?”

  He sighed and looked away. When he faced me again he had a tired expression.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Do you wanna go?” When he didn’t answer, I repeated the question.

  He tried to step around to pass me but I blocked his path. “If you don’t wanna live out there, you should say somethin’.”

  He narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to me. “You think my dad gives a shit what anyone else has to say? It’s already done!”

  I felt bad for him and was going to say something but he talked right over me.

  “Anyway, you got your life. You got Shazia. What do you need me for?”

  I was gobsmacked. I stood there in shock, thinking of something to say but when I tried my mouth fell open and nothing came out.

  I wanted to tell him how I didn’t have Shazia – how she didn’t give a shit about me.

  I wanted to tell him that he was the best friend I ever had and I’d miss him if he moved to Pakistan, even if only for a year.

  I wanted to tell him I was sorry about everything and that we should put all the drama behind us and go back to hanging out like nothing bad had happened between us.

  But I didn’t get the chance.

  He looked at me and said, “Have a nice life,” and walked away.

  I stayed in that spot for ages, wondering what I could’ve said but didn’t.

  32

  DC Cole

  Chief Stein summoned Clark, Richardson and me into his office on Friday afternoon.

  “I’ve been hearin’ from quite a few people this week – the local schools, community leaders and the mayor’s office. They all wanna know what we’re doin’ about these murders.”

  None of us said anything.

  As usual, I stood while Clark and Richardson sat in the two chairs opposite Stein.

  “The media’s also been on our case. Our press office can barely handle all the enquiries they’re havin’ to take from all over the place. They’re hearin’ from overseas too. CNN, would you believe, have been callin’ up. First time that’s happened. ”

  “We’re workin’ around the clock,” Richardson told him. “All of us. We even got other officers assistin’ us with certain tasks. But we’re stretched.”

  “You’re always stretched,” Stein said.

  “I think what Richardson is trying to say,” Clark said, “is that we’re doing our best.”

  Stein nodded. “These murders have put Binford on the map and I don’t like that.”

  “I was thinking,” I said, “since this investigation has grown in its depth and has demanded a much wider focus-”

  “What he’s trying to say,” Richardson said, “is can we get more help from other departments? Can Scotland Yard send down some of their best murder experts?”

  “Overwhelmed, are you?” Stein asked Richardson and then looked at me.

  “Guv, you know we could do with the help,” Clark said. “Don’t get us wrong, we’ve all worked murder investigations before but a serial murder like this – I think we need some external perspective on this. A fresh pair of eyes.”

  “Point made,” Stein said. “I’ll look into it but I’m not gonna promise anything. The Yard’s already got a few of its elite forensic staff on these cases. I’ll put in a few requests but we would’ve had investigators from other London teams by now if they could be spared.”

  It was a slight relief to hear the Chief talk about the possibility of extra officers joining the investigation but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

  “Now what have you turned up so far?” Stein asked us. “It better be good.”

  Richardson and I told him about Lawrence Wilson and Neil Roberts.

  “I think either of them could’ve been involved,” Richardson said. “We’ve got both of them tied to the body dumpin’ site. Now all we’ve gotta do is get the evidence to bag ‘em.”

  Stein thought it over, nodded and told us to get on with it and dismissed us.

  I left his office wishing the forensics department were going to give us something solid on either one of our suspects. In a strange way, Ravinder Singh’s murder had given us clues to Rishi Malhotra’s. The way I saw it, the killer was taking more risks with each murder and more crime scenes meant more potential evidence to incriminate him.

  The only thing that bothered me was if we’d catch him before he killed again.

  33

  Asim

  “Can you believe they took Silence of the Lambs down from the local cinema?” Salman asked us.

  It was Friday evening and was in the backseat of Rizwan’s car. Salman was in the front passenger seat. We were stuck in traffic on Binford Lane.

  “The film’s been banned?” Rizwan asked Salman.

  “No, they’ve just stopped showing it in Binford.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Rizwan said and slammed his fist down on the steering wheel. “I really wanted to watch that. Now we gotta go all the way to fucking Odeon.”

  My mother talked Rizwan into taking me along to Binford Lane to do some shopping.

  I may have been grounded but as long as I had someone older with me, my parents allowed me out.

  My dad, my brother or one of my uncles. Those were my only options.

  “...How can you even think about watchin’ that shit?” I asked Rizwan.

  He looked at me in the rear view mirror. “What?”

  I shook my head and looked out of the window.

  “...My dad’s sending Shakeel to karate classes,” Salman said.

  Shakeel was his younger brother. A few years younger than me.

  “That’s good,” Rizwan said. “We might have to send Asim too.”

  “Fuck that,” I said. “I ain’t joining no karate class.”

  “It’s life or death, fool,” Rizwan said, glaring at me. “You wanna die?”

  “You think kung fu moves are gonna stop ‘The Binford Snatcher’?”

  “There’s no harm in trying,” Salman said.

  “This Snatcher’s targetin’ little boys ‘cause he knows we’d fuck him up if he tried it with us,” Rizwan said.

  “Damn right,” Salman said.

  I ignored them and stared out the window at the pedestrians passing by.

  Rizwan and Salman were four years older than me but sometimes they acted younger. The way they sat around in our living room watching Jean Claude Van Damme films and re-enacting all the karate moves made them as immature as schoolboys sometimes.

  We reached the main convenient stores and parked the car. We got out and went from one shop to another until the car boot was filled with shopping bags.

  “Let’s get some kebab rolls,” Rizwan said to Salman. He looked at me too like he was trying to make up for the heated discussion earlier on.

  “...Sounds good,” I said.

  The three of us left the car and walked to one of the busiest and best restaurants on Binford Lane, Super Savouries. Since it was a Friday night, the restaurant
was packed with long customer queues. There was a TV hanging on the wall beside us so we could be entertained while we waited. Usually that was fine except now the TV was showing a news segment on The Binford Snatcher.

  The segment included footage of the local area and schools. At one point, even footage of Binford Lane, where we were at that point, was shown. Naturally the news segment caught everyone’s attention. Even the guys behind the counter stopped what they were doing and started watching too.

  I looked at the other customers around me. They all appeared to be Pakistani men.

  A few of the other customers started discussing the segment in Punjabi.

  One man used a string of curse words to vent his anger at the murders. Another customer said how much of a tragedy the murders were. People around him murmured in agreement.

  A middle aged man in shalwar kameez said the murders had disgraced the town. His companion, a man a decade younger, replied that he was thinking of moving his family out of the area.

  Rizwan and I looked at each other. I was only thinking about how scared the man had to be to say that but the look on Rizwan’s face made me wonder if he was imagining us moving out too. It made me wonder if the thought had crossed our dad’s mind too.

  I was letting everyone else’s panicked thoughts panic me a little too – from school to the world outside – but it was hard being around everyone’s opinions without being affected by them.

  “If it were white boys getting murdered, the cops would’ve got the killer by now,” a man on my right said to us boys. There were more murmurs of agreement amongst our fellow customers.

  The man who wanted to move out of town turned to the middle aged man beside him and said, “Looks like you having all daughters wasn’t bad luck after all.”

  Eventually our food order was ready. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the place.

  We collected it and headed for the exit. On our way out of the restaurant someone put their hand on my shoulder from behind.

  I stopped and turned around.

  The hand belonged to an Asian guy in his early twenties. He was joined by two other young men. “Don’t you boys worry,” he said. “We got your backs.”