Slow Burn (2010)

by Conrad Jones

  Richard was sitting at his desk working; the only light in that room came from the screen of his laptop computer. He`d been searching for information about limited companies that he`d found on the register at the Companies House website. The list contained all the corporate details of every tax-paying company registered in the United Kingdom, and Richard had found over a dozen associated firms connected to Malik Shah`s empire.

  “Apparently crime doesn’t pay, this list would prove otherwise,” Richard said. He picked up a Yorkie chocolate bar and snapped off a thick chunk. He forced the chocolate briquette into his mouth in one piece, and struggled to chew on it. His white cotton shirt was open at the neck, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows revealing pudgy hands and forearms.

  “How many of his companies have you found, Einstein?” David looked over his shoulder as he worked. He noticed that his younger brother was sweaty, a strong odour drifted up to him.

  Richard held up his hand while he tried to break down the contents of his mouth, making David smile. It was a full minute before he could reply. “Four registered to Malik alone, and another nine associated companies with the others listed as directors, and company secretaries.”

  “They`ve been busy bees haven’t they?”

  “The drugs trade is obviously flourishing.” Richard clicked on his e-mail message box. “We`ll wait for contact from Ashwan Pindar.”

  David moved closer to the screen to read the information. The companies ranged from computer software retailers, to aggregates and mineral exporters. They all looked well established and financially buoyant. Einstein stored the information onto a memory stick, and shut the programme down.

  “I`ve got all the names and addresses we need. Once Ashwan has found his dealer on his lawn, things should start to move pretty quickly,” Richard bit another chunk of chocolate from the bar.

  They`d dumped the dead body of Abdul Salim on the lawn of Ashwan`s family home, and then waited patiently for a reaction to their gruesome message. “What do you think he will do?” David asked thoughtfully.

  “I think he`ll be very offensive, threatening, and downright rude to be honest!” Richard chomped as he spoke. “I think he`ll shit his pants and phone Malik Shah, especially when he realises his son is missing.” The brothers laughed as they looked at the screen. “I don’t think Shah will be very happy about his dead dealer, do you?”

  “I think that he`ll soon realise who is in charge, and that the police are all over his business interests, that will change his mind.” David turned his head toward the door. He could hear muffled sobs coming from deeper in the basement.

  “Does he have to do that?” Richard frowned his distaste at the noise, as he typed a ransom request to Ashwan. He pointed the angry dealer in the direction of his dead employee`s pocket. In it, he would find a memory stick, which contained some very disturbing photographs of his son, Mamood. Richard knew that dumping Salim`s corpse on Ash`s garden would have the desired effect, especially when he realised that the killers had his son. It had been simple finding an e-mail address to contact Ash, and sending untraceable messages via multiple servers was easy to do. By the time Ashwan had seen all the photos of his son, he would be dancing to whatever tune Richard played.

  “We`ll see how he reacts when he opens the picture file.” He sent the message. A muffled cry echoed down the corridor. It was creepy in the darkness.

  “Mamood doesn’t sound happy. Nick has been telling him what his father does for a living. He has some of the police photographs from punishment hits they have been associated with, and he`s spelling out how his father was involved. I think it`s a habit he picked up in prison, mentally torturing his cellmates. ” David said. Nick had developed an evil streak during his spell in prison.

  “I think it`s strange. The poor young lad will never look at his father the same again!” Richard feigned concern. He shuddered at the thought of what Nick was doing to Mamood, but somewhere inside the fact that he was suffering pleased him. It would go some of the way to paying the debt that Ashwan, Malik and the others owed to Sarah.

  “Don`t worry there is nothing that will link back to us.”

  “He hasn`t let Mamood see his face. I almost feel sorry for the boy.” David raised an eyebrow in surprise. Richard shrugged and shook his head. “Well he will be suitably enlightened when he leaves here. I wonder if he knew what his father was involved in, not what he expected, I`ll bet you. He`ll never look him in the eye again.”

  “Just remember that they never had a second thought for Sarah. None of them did. Tell him to hurry up will you. We need to go over the ransom money pickup again.” Richard turned on the light illuminating a large workshop area. There were two long tables in the centre of the basement, neatly stored tools hung on a pin board nailed to the wall.

  “The rest of the devices are ready to go.”

  David walked to the first table and looked closely at an oil filter.

  “Will this fit onto their cars?” David asked.

  “No, but it will fit onto their delivery vans, and there`s enough Tovex in there to blow a vehicle to bits. It would never be spotted, and it would take a forensic team a month to piece the remnants of the filter back together.”

  A pile of large padded envelopes sat next to the filters. David reached for one. They were letter bombs, ready and waiting to go.

  “Don`t touch them, David,” Richard shook his head and his fat cheeks wobbled as he spoke. “They`re stable, but the circuit wiring isn`t fixed yet.”

  David nodded and smiled. The table stretched fifteen yards, and it was littered with mobile phones, vehicle stereos, digital cameras and an assortment of homemade limpet mines. They were all explosive devices manufactured from the fertile mind of Richard Bernstein.

  A Blackberry on the desk rang, and the screen flashed. David reached for it.

  “BANG!” Richard shouted, and grabbed David`s shoulder. He jumped back from the table.

  “You wanker, Einstein!” he laughed. David shook his head as he looked along the benches. They were lined with a plethora of household objects; every one of them had been converted into a deadly explosive device. “Nice work, Einstein. Nice work indeed. We are going to blow Malik Shah and his house of cards to smithereens.”

  “It`s payback time bro!”

  “We`ve waited a long time.”

  “I know, but it`s the right time,” Richard said seriously. “We had to wait for Nick`s release. They ruined his life too.”

  CHAPTER Fifteen

  Sarah Bernstein/ School days

  Detective Sergeant Aspel raised his head toward the grey clouds that obscured the sky, and breathed in deeply. He was trying to calm down, but it wasn’t working. His job was becoming more impossible every year, and the frustration had already given him two ulcers, and an alcohol problem. Two months ago he would have lit up a Marlborough when he was stressed, but he had quit and now he used breathing techniques to make the cravings go away. It was having limited success.

  “Does it work?” Detective Wallace asked.

  “Does what work?”

  “The deep breathing, does it work?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want a cigarette?” Wallace took his packet of Bensons from his brown leather jacket. He constantly tempted his boss to lapse back to smoking, much to the annoyance of his superior. “Go on have one, it`ll make you feel better.”

  “Fuck off, Wallace.”

  “Charming, I`m sure.” Wallace drew deeply on his Benson and made a fuss of blowing the smoke out slowly. It drifted on the breeze toward his ex-smoking colleague.

  “I don’t know how you smoke that shit,” Aspel frowned at his colleague. Bensons were the strongest end of the cigarette market, and certainly not the detective`s smoke of choice. “If I ever smoke again it will not be that crap.”

  “You know you`ll probably get hit by a bus?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Now you have given up smoking, you`ll
probably get run over by a bus, instead of getting lung cancer.”

  “Thanks for that encouraging thought, with friends like you who needs enemies?”

  “What do you think the Crown Prosecution clowns will do?” Wallace asked seriously, all levity gone from his voice. The Crown Prosecution Service had the final say as to whether a case would be taken through the courts, or not. Their role was to protect public finances by highlighting cases with weak evidence, or evidence that couldn`t be submitted. If they felt that a prosecution would not end up with a conviction then they would not step into the courtroom. The police were constantly at loggerheads with them.

  “We`ll have to wait and see.” Aspel closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. When he opened them he was looking into the stony gaze of Queen Victoria. Her bronze statue was situated outside the main court buildings in Liverpool city centre. The passing of time and the salt air had turned the metal statue green. “The whole thing revolves around Sarah Bernstein`s testimony. The boss thinks that she will be crucified in a courtroom.” He looked at his wristwatch. There were groups of people scattered over the square, some of them shopping, others having a break from work. Life in the big city went on regardless of the traumas taking place in the city`s courthouse.

  Wallace stumped out his cigarette and the detectives walked in silence back toward the courtrooms. They showed their identity cards and bypassed the queue for the metal detectors, which provided the first line of defence against terrorists and hit men. The queue moved slowly as people waited patiently inline. The Bernstein family were inside, seated to the left hand side of a large waiting area. Four courtrooms led from the lobby area, and a number of interview rooms and anti-chambers were situated to the rear of the ground floor. The entire area was panelled with dark walnut, making it seem austere and intimidating. It was the type of place that made people speak in whispers automatically, almost cathedral like. The detectives navigated their way through the seating area, attracting several abusive comments from local lags and their families. Many of them had encountered the officers before during their criminal careers. The seating area was full of people waiting, wearing a mixture of cheap suits and designer sportswear. As they approached the Bernstein family, a cloaked court usher entered the waiting area and called their name. Mr Bernstein stood and acknowledged the court official.

  “Mr Bernstein?” the usher greeted him. His wispy grey hair greased back against his mottled scalp. He was tall and skeletal, and his black cloak of office made him vampire-like. “We need your daughter, and either you or your wife as the responsible adult.”

  “We would both like to be present,” Mr Bernstein replied. He glanced nervously at his wife. Mrs Bernstein nodded her head in the affirmative. She wanted to be next to her little girl while she suffered this terrible ordeal.

  “I`m afraid that it must be one or the other. We have to keep the meeting as informal as possible.”

  The detectives neared the family and Mr Bernstein turned to greet them. Detective Sergeant Aspel shook his hand firmly, and he noted how clammy his hand felt. He was obviously worried for his daughter.

  “They are saying that we both can`t go in with Sarah?” Mr Bernstein was looking for some support.

  “It`s probably better if you go, Mr Bernstein. Your wife doesn’t need to hear the gory details.”

  “I`m not sure I do either,” Mr Bernstein said grimly. “I`ll go with her.” He turned to his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. As he pulled away, a tear ran down her face. “Come on, Sarah.”

  Sarah Bernstein stood up. Her hair was braided into two plaits, making her look her age. She wore a bottle green pleated skirt, below the knee, and a green tweed jacket, which hid her bump. To anyone watching she looked like a prim and proper young schoolgirl. The prosecution barrister had been very specific about how her appearance needed to be at the meeting. The Crown Prosecution Service had to be convinced that she had been violated against her will. The slightest hint that sex was consensual would blow the case out of the water. Her mother grabbed her hand and patted it gently; a sudden sob brought more tears to her eyes.

  “This way please,” the usher said firmly.

  “Will you be there?” Mr Bernstein asked the detectives.

  “I`m afraid not, Mr Bernstein. The Crown need to be convinced that we haven`t coerced the victim in anyway. There should be no pressure on the victim during the interview.”

  Mr Bernstein nodded and turned slowly to follow the usher. He waited a moment to allow Sarah to walk in front of him. Detective Wallace saw the look of distaste on his face as his daughter walked away. If things were bad between them now, then this meeting would compound things further, but it had to be done. Wallace had seen enough rape cases to know that the defence lawyers would tear a victim to pieces on the stand if there were any inconsistencies in their allegations whatsoever. The purpose of today`s interview was to verify that the evidence was watertight. Wallace didn’t think that it was, in fact her evidence had more holes in it than a Swiss cheese. He looked at his colleague and the look in his eye told him that he felt the same way.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Major Investigation Team

  Superintendent Alec Ramsey positioned himself to the left hand side of a bank of screens. The suns dying rays were reflecting from the screen, blurring the images for some in the room.

  “Pull the blinds, Linzie please,” Alec called to a raven-haired detective at the back of the room. She was a looker, and several heads followed her shapely form as she crossed to the window.

  “Yes, Guv,” she flicked a switch on the wall and the blinds closed automatically without making a sound. The blinding sun was gone and the room was cooler. There was a tension in the air as the Major Investigation Team prepared to collate their findings.

  “Okay, let`s start at the beginning.” A picture of the Mosque appeared. “What have we got on the Mosque?”

  “The building is owned by the British Muslim Council, Guv.” A bald detective spoke. He had a Mexican moustache that gave him a look of the gay biker from the Village People. “They bought the building from Liverpool Borough three years ago, and refurbished it. It`s significant because it`s the first building in Britain where Islam was practised. The refurbishment was paid for by private donations. We`ve checked the list of donations from local businessmen, and Malik Shah is on there.”

  “How much did he donate?” Alec asked, not knowing what the significance was, but he wanted to know.

  “Undisclosed, Guv.”

  “Has he attended this Mosque?”

  “Not as far as we know, Guv, but we haven’t finished trawling through the visitors` books yet.

  “Does he attend any Mosque?” Alec thought aloud. They needed to build a full profile of Shah, and his associates. Their habits and behaviour had to be studied and analysed.

  “Not that we know of, Guv.”

  “The donation would explain why Imran Patel attended the opening. He represents his boss, Shah.”

  “I think so. Patel and his wife were pictured at the opening of a boxing gym in Huyton, six months ago, and at a nursery school nearby in May last year. Both projects were funded by donations from local Asian businessmen.” The detective looked up from his notes. “Shah`s name is on both lists of donators.”

  “Is he now? He`s a proper Robin Hood!” Alec shook his head. “If he keeps his local community happy, they`re less likely to inform, I suppose. What else on the Mosque?”

  “Pretty much it, Guv.”

  “Okay, the casualties,” Alec clicked the remote and the crime scene pictures flicked onto the screen.

  “Angela Williams, graduated from Chester University, failed her police entrance selection programme due to a chronic asthma condition. She became a traffic warden, last year, and she has no discipline on her record. Her husband is unemployed, no criminal record either, Guv.” Trevor Lewis put down one file, and picked up another. Lewis was a red-faced man, at l
east thirty pounds over his fighting weight. “James Horrace, a forty year old photographer for the Echo. He had one conviction for possession of cocaine, twelve years ago, Guv, and then there`s the Patels obviously.”

  “Okay, Trevor, concentrate on the Patel family. I want to know everything there is to know about them,” Alec nodded to reinforce the point. He was certain Imran Patel was the target, but they had to explore every avenue.

  “What have we got on potential bombers?”

  “I`ve got a list from the Counter Terrorist Unit of possible suspects, Guv,” Nickie Weaver crossed her legs and smoothed her trousers with her hand as she spoke. “There`s a small chapter of Combat 18, based at a pub in Bootle. There are nine registered members, and twenty-three affiliates. Grievous, ABH, burglary, affray, nothing jumps off the page, Guv. CTU have their meeting room bugged, and they have nothing to indicate that they could pull off an attack like this one.”