by Menon, David
It was almost five thirty and his caseworker Ruby had already gone home. Ruby was such a bloody star. She’d taken all the events of the last few days in her stride, so much so that she’d hardly passed comment on any of it. She was not only a good friend but a loyal worker and one that he’d miss if he had to give up representative politics. Holly had given up her volunteering stint. He couldn’t blame her. She’d opened both the envelopes carrying the threats and it must’ve been traumatic. He wouldn’t actually miss her presence though. They’d never really hit it off.
The first thing he heard was a thud against the front door. It wouldn’t be Dean who’d gone to collect the car from the garage where it had been having its service done. He had a key and he never forgot it. He went downstairs and opened the inner door to the porch area. The front door was painted red obviously and he opened it without much thought, thinking it might just have been something blown against it on this windy afternoon. The slaughtered body of Scott the policeman who’d been standing guard outside the office fell straight onto Craig. He’d been shot in the chest and the first thing Craig did was feel for a pulse. He found it although it was weak and barely there. Scott was holding on but he was unconscious. He called out for help but all he could hear were various people screaming. They’d obviously seen what had happened but Craig wasn’t thinking of his own safety. He just wanted to do right by Scott. He called for an ambulance and then he asked to be transferred to the police. They said they’d both be there as quickly as they could. He dragged Scott the short distance inside where he felt he could keep him warmer and the door closed shut.
‘There was nobody there for my son’
Craig swung round and came face to face with Gerald Hill who was pointing a revolver straight at him.
‘Who are you?’ asked Craig, in absolute terror. He could feel his heart beating but he wanted to stay as calm as he could. The guy must’ve got in through the back somehow.
‘I’m Gerald Hill’.
‘Yes, the police told me about you’.
‘Did they tell you about my son?’
‘Yes, they told me about your son’ Craig answered. The man looked withered and drawn as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was dressed in a pair of light blue jeans and a black zip-up jacket. His hands looked steady enough though considering he’d just tried to kill one man and seemed intent on killing another. Craig was desperate to hear the police and ambulance sirens.
‘You killed him’.
‘Mr. Hill, I voted for what I thought was a just war’.
‘You followed the party line licking Tony Blair’s arse without thinking about who was going to have to go out there and face those bloody savages! Just like it was with my granddad. My Nana said he was never the same after he came back from Palestine. The Jews kidnapped and murdered his best mate. Then they have the bare face to call everyone else a terrorist when their own state was built on the combination of a UN mandate backed up by terrorism. How easily they forget when they’re intent on pointing the finger at some other poor sod and how easily the likes of you don’t give a damn about my son’.
‘That’s not true, Mr. Hill’.
‘Oh but it is true, Mr. Sutherland’ Hill insisted. ‘My Granddad’s mate and my son were sent out to die in faraway lands because of politicians like you. Well it’s got to stop! Do you hear me? You can’t keep doing it! We’re the working class of this country and you can’t keep getting away with doing it to us. Somebody has to stop you’.
‘Mr. Hill, I promise I will listen to everything you have to say if you put that gun down’.
‘Get down on your knees’.
‘What?’
‘I told you to get down on your knees’.
‘Mr. Hill, this police officer is lying here in a critical condition’.
‘I said get down on your knees’.
Craig did as he was told and he wanted to cry. He felt no bravery in the face of this man’s tragedy and the pain it had caused him. Where were those fucking police and the ambulance?
‘Now I’m going to make you beg and plead for your life like my son probably had to’.
‘Mr. Hill ... ‘
‘ ... I said beg and plead for your life!’ Hill demanded.
‘Alright, alright, I’m begging you, Mr. Hill, and I’m pleading’.
‘For your life’.
‘For my life’.
‘Why is it worth anything?’
‘Because I’ve tried to do my best for people’.
‘Did you do your best for my son? Did you?’
‘I did what I thought was right’ said Craig in a voice that he was managing to keep calm despite the fear that was coursing through him. All he could think about was Dean, his parents, his brother and sister, his nieces and nephews. Was he only minutes away from never seeing any of them again?
‘You voted for a war we could never win!’ barked Hill.
‘Alright, I voted for a war that on reflection we might not be able to win’.
‘And what are you using for that reflection, Mr. Sutherland? The barrel of my gun?’
‘That’s not fair’.
‘Not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fair. What’s not fair is my son dying because of you’.
‘Mr. Hill, put the gun down and we’ll talk’.
‘It’s a bit late for that, my friend’.
‘But it’s not too late for this police officer’ Craig pleaded. ‘The ambulance will be here any minute and so will the police. He’s losing more and more blood and needs help. If he dies and you kill me too then how is that going to help your wife get over her loss? Have you thought about her in all this? How’s she going to feel when her son is dead and her husband is in prison for the rest of his life?’
‘She’ll understand’.
‘Oh will she? Have you asked her by any chance?’
Hill hesitated. He had no idea what his wife thought because he’d never talked to her about the extent of his feelings. He’d just got lost in his own desire for revenge.
‘Brave talk for a man who should be pleading for his life’.
‘Well you know what? I’m not going to give you any shit about sharing your pain or knowing how you feel because I’d be a liar on both counts. But I will tell you that I thought I was doing right by my country, my party and my Prime minister in voting to support what we were doing because the war over there would make us safer over here. That’s my job as a member of parliament, Mr. Hill. I do what I believe to be right for my constituents and the country as a whole but I can’t tell you if it was right to go into Afghanistan. I can’t tell you if I made the right decision to vote the way I did because I honestly don’t know in the light of what we know about the situation now. And if you don’t believe me then that’s your problem to deal with’.
‘Do I take that as the confession of a dying man?’
‘Oh well look if you’re going to do it then fucking get on with it!’
‘Get on with what?’
Dean’s voice came from behind Hill who swung round, giving Craig the opportunity he’d needed to jump and overpower him. He managed to wrestle the gun off him and kick it well out of the way. But Hill was a strong man who retaliated by sending his elbows into Craig’s stomach and knocking him off balance. Dean went for Hill who brought his arm up and whacked Dean in the face with such force it sent him straight against the wall in absolute agony. Hill took advantage of Craig’s panic over Dean and went for his throat. In a matter of only seconds he’d tightened his grip round Craig’s neck so much that Craig couldn’t even whisper any words out. Then Dean somehow found the strength to kick Hill hard in the groin which drew a loud gasp and the loosening of Hill’s grip around Craig’s neck, thus giving Dean the opportunity to slam Hill in the small of his back with his foot and push him face down flat onto the floor. When the police arrived a moment later Craig was sitting up, supported by Dean, and trying to get his breath back. He looked up and watched them arrest Gerald A
rthur Hill. Then the paramedics came and began doing all they could to save the life of the young police constable who was still lying in a pool of his own blood.
*
Sara had made representations to the court that Yitzhak Goldstein should not be granted bail and they agreed. But when she questioned him further the old man showed that he still had something of the fight in him.
‘You will one day need to atone for showing me, an old man, no mercy, detective’ he charged. ‘As it is my whole community will be turning against you’.
‘Is showing mercy big in your family then, Mr. Goldstein?’ Sara retorted. ‘I mean, do you think your father showed much of it to the soldier he murdered all those years ago?’
‘I will not have you provoking my client in this way!’ snarled Yitzhak’s lawyer Solomon Levy, ever present and imposing. ‘You must desist, detective, or I will advise my client not to say anything further’.
‘Oh pipe down, Levy’ said Sara. ‘If you want to defend a man who’s been obstructing the police with their enquiries since day one then go ahead but don’t expect it to make you my best friend’. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Tim Norris, who was sitting next to her, couldn’t help but smile at her candour. It encouraged her especially as Levy’s face looked like he was about to explode. ‘Anyway, I’m here to offer your client a deal’.
‘Go on?’ said Levy.
Looking straight into Yitzhak Goldstein’s eyes she said ‘If Mr. Goldstein here were to tell me the identities of the two men in the photographs that I’ve showed to him before and I’m showing him again today, and everything he knows about them and their activities in and around Manchester, then I will forget about the obstruction charge and charge him solely with the possession of illegal firearms. If Mr. Goldstein co-operates then he may save himself a prison sentence. But if he doesn’t then I will personally make sure they throw the book at him. So Mr. Goldstein, what’s it to be? Or as they say on television, deal or no deal?’
‘I will need to consult with my client’ said Levy. ‘In private’.
‘Of course’ said Sara, trying to sound the model of restraint and friendly co-operation and then changing instantly back into her more belligerent mode. ‘You’ve got one hour’.
Tim was sitting with Sara in her office when the call came through from Solomon Levy telling her that his client, Yitzhak Goldstein, would not be co-operating.
‘Damn and blast the stupid old ... fucker!’ she exclaimed.
‘I take it he’s not playing ball?’ asked Tim.
‘No he fucking isn’t’.
‘Well I think we should put a tail on Solomon Levy’ said Tim. ‘He’s well connected within an already very tight knit community. It might turn something up?’
‘Yes, I agree’ said Sara, who was going over everything that Jacob had suggested to her about who might really be responsible for the bombing and the recent murders which she now firmly believed were linked to each other. She started dialling the appropriate number on her mobile. ‘I’ll get on to it. If Solomon Levy has got a song to sing I want to make sure he sings it to us’.
*
Sara went round to see Craig Sutherland the morning after he’d been released from hospital. They’d only kept him in for the night and when she saw him he looked a little shaken but otherwise he was fine. Dean sat beside him on the long sofa in the living room of their Newton Heath house, looking very protective of his lover. He’d brought some tea in a few moments earlier and Sara sipped hers whilst sitting in the large low armchair that made up the black leather three-piece suite. It was one of those terraced houses that had a small yard type space at the front with a low wall separating the property from the street. It had been thoroughly modernised on the inside Sara noticed, from the black and silver galley style kitchen she could see at the back of the long and narrow open plan ground floor, to the bold Hockney prints that covered the larger part of the two facing walls in the dining room. Sara had always got on well with gay men. She’d been told on more than one occasion that she was a bit of a fag hag and she thought that was probably true.
‘Gerald Hill has made a statement and confessed to it all’ said Sara. ‘The threatening letters to you and the daubing of paint on the houses in Prestwich. The culmination of last night’s events seems to have brought him to his senses albeit a little late in the day. He says he can’t believe what he’s done but he’ll have plenty of time to think about it behind bars’.
‘And was it all to do with his son?’ asked Craig who’d had a full morning already taking visits or calls from his parents and the rest of his family, Dean’s family, Nina Barry and other colleagues from the Labour party including the party leader himself, and of course, the press. Since he was discharged from hospital he’d hardly had time to think about how he actually felt. ‘Or has he shed any more light on what his motives might have been?’
‘No, the trigger was his son being killed in Afghanistan. That and the way his grandfather had been on account of him witnessing the abduction of his mate all those years ago in Palestine’.
‘A mate who was murdered’ said Dean.
‘That’s right’ said Sara. ‘He wanted revenge on politicians who sent our boys to war and you were in the firing line as it were because you are his MP’.
‘And because I voted for the action we’re taking in Afghanistan’ said Craig. ‘But the more I see of its consequences the more I wonder if it’s been worth all the blood that’s been spilt. The Taleban were a thoroughly evil regime, rotten to the very core. But can anyone go in there and truly defeat them? History will tell but I can’t hate Gerald Hill for doing what he did or trying to kill me. I can understand his frustration to say the least at what had happened to his son, I really can, and later Dean and I are going over to see his wife and to offer any support we can’.
Sara smiled. Craig Sutherland struck her as a decent man. ‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate that’.
‘I want to tell her that I don’t believe her husband is a bad man. I just think he came off the rails because he was overwhelmed by grief. Ordinary people pushed into extraordinary situations can react in all kinds of different ways and that’s what I’ll say in court’.
‘I would’ve killed him if I’d had to though’ said Dean who was slightly less forgiving than his lover. ‘But that’s me wanting to protect Craig’.
‘And that’s an understandable perspective’ said Sara.
‘See what I mean about ordinary people pushed into extraordinary situations, detective?’ said Craig. ‘It happens to us all’.
‘Oh you don’t need to tell me that in my job’ said Sara. ‘I’ve seen every kind of person in every kind of situation, believe me’.
‘I’ll bet’ said Craig. ‘But tell me, what’s happening with Yitzhak Goldstein? He is one of my constituents and his wife has been on to my office’.
‘Yes, I know’ said Sara. ‘Well he’s been charged with the illegal possession of two firearms and with obstructing the police with their enquiries because that’s all I can charge him with. I’d charge him with a lot more if I could’.
‘And how old is he?’ asked Dean.
‘He’s seventy-eight’ said Sara. ‘A couple of years ago I dealt with a case involving two elderly suspects and that went all the way back to world war two. I’m firmly of the opinion that just because someone is old is not a reason for them not being held responsible for their actions’.
‘But don’t you think it’s a bit far-fetched to think that someone of Yitzhak Goldstein’s age might be involved in murder and terrorist acts?’ Dean questioned.
‘The guns were found in his attic’ said Sara. ‘But I don’t think he’s involved as such. I think he knows who is involved and I’m playing a cat and mouse game. I’m trying to either force him to tell me everything or draw out the guilty ones. And yes, I know he’s a very old man but believe me, from what I’ve been very reliably informed about already, his incarceration will seem like nothing compared t
o what will ultimately get out’.
EIGHTEEN
Hettie Goldstein wasn’t best pleased to see Sara Hoyland and Tim Norris on her doorstep. ‘You’re hated in this community, do you know that? You’re hated, loathed, people’s skin crawls when they think of you! Good Jewish people have completely lost faith in the police. You’re all Nazi storm troopers just like the Palestinians are all terrorists ...’
‘ ... yes, and both of those assertions are completely absurd, Mrs. Goldstein and you know it!’ Sara stormed back. ‘Now I’ve had just about enough of your decidedly offensive tongue and you’re going to shut up and listen for once in your life. Guns were found in this house that were used in several murders and it isn’t me or any of my other colleagues who have to apologise to the community, Mrs. Goldstein. It’s you and your husband!’
‘Why? We’ve done nothing wrong’.
‘Then why does your husband’s silence suggest that the opposite is the case?’
Hettie paused and then stood aside to let them in.
‘Thank you’ said Tim.
‘Yes, well don’t expect me to make you any coffee’.
‘Oh we wouldn’t dream of it’ said Sara, sarcastically. She and Tim were led by Hettie into the living room where she gestured for them to sit down before sitting down herself. Sara then produced the prints of the two men they were looking for and which had been posted all over the country. She placed them in front of Hettie on the long, low table between them. ‘Now’ said Sara. ‘You know who these two men are. Don’t you Mrs. Goldstein?’
