Rathi Khan still didn’t look happy, but he made no more protests. Instead, he asked, ‘So, what next, Inspector?’
‘We’ve found those skinheads you said harassed Chandra.’ Rathi Khan nodded absently as if he already knew that. Apparently the leak had spread. ‘No luck on that front yet, I’m afraid, but investigations are continuing.’ Casey told him. ‘But if, as I now suspect, that doesn’t come to anything, we’ll extend our investigation to checking out other well-known local troublemakers and generally widen the scope of the investigation.’
He didn’t add that they had already narrowed the case. If this turned out to be a ‘domestic’, it was essential they thoroughly investigated Chandra’s friends and family, in-laws, out-laws, secret lovers, if any. With the added complications of the race element, Casey really didn’t want to invite politically-correct criticisms, but he had no choice. He just hoped when they finally reached the truth that PC interference didn’t end up twisting it beyond recognition.
But after the entire force had been so unfairly branded as institutionally racist, he would be under even greater pressure to find a quick and ‘satisfactory’ conclusion to the case. Satisfactory to whom, had, as yet, not been made clear, though he was sure that given time it would be. But, whatever the pressures brought to bear, Casey was determined that the victims would get justice, however unpalatable in certain quarters the truth of that justice might turn out to be.
He got up to leave and the still splendidly silent Catt followed suit. It was clear they were going to get no more from Rathi Khan today. Mr Khan preceded them along the hallway. But before they reached the entrance, Casey glanced to his left where he noticed a half-open door. It seemed to be given over to a collection of colourful idols. Briefly, he glimpsed Rathi Khan’s mother deep in a reverie before the shrine. She was oblivious of the intruder at her door, her gazed fixed with fervent intensity on the room’s shrine, she began a monotonous chanting as, unheeded, tears slipped down her cheeks.
Before Casey could discreetly move on, Rathi Khan appeared beside him and quietly pulled the door shut, with the comment, ‘Our shrine room. I would appreciate it if you would allow my mother some decent privacy in which to mourn. She has been deeply upset by our tragedy. After my son, Chandra was her favourite grandchild. She and Chandra shared a special closeness.’
Casey nodded. He felt he deserved the rebuke for having intruded on such grief.
Mr Khan opened the front door and ushered them out. He was about to close the door behind them when Casey paused on the threshold, blocking the door. ‘I nearly forgot to ask where you were that morning, Mr Khan. Perhaps you took your car to the garage? Mrs Ghosh said it was giving you some trouble.’
Mr Khan frowned at this as though he thought his assistant had been altogether too chatty. ‘It was nothing much. Just a loose battery connection. My son had it fixed in a jiffy.’ With great dignity, Rathi Khan met Casey’s gaze and quietly told him, ‘I was at my office all that morning, Inspector, as usual. You can check if you wish. My main office is above my shop in Great Langley.’ This was a middling-sized town three miles to the west of King’s Langley.
Gathering the rest of his still-impressive dignity about his now slender frame, Rathi Khan asked simply, ‘Now that you are satisfied that myself and my family are, like Chandra and Leela, innocent victims in this tragedy, you will be setting yourself to catching whoever did this thing?’
Casey’s reply was equally simple. ‘Yes, Mr Khan. Of course. We won’t rest until we find whoever committed this evil act. Let me assure you of that.’
Rathi Khan nodded, said, ‘That is what I expected,’ and shut the door softly behind them.
Catt grimaced as they walked to their car. Released from the Brown-Smith imposed vow of silence when Casey interviewed any of the Asian community, he complained, ‘Just our luck to get this case. Whatever we do we’re going to be in the wrong.’
They climbed in the car. Casey glanced at him and rebuked mildly, ‘Just as well to recognise the fact and deal with it.’
‘Wish I could feel confident that the brass would give us decent support. Any support. I just wish I didn’t have the feeling we’re being set up for a fall.’
It was a wish Casey could echo. But becoming paranoid would achieve nothing.
Obviously irritated by Casey’s lack of response, Catt quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘So, do you think the super’s got an ulterior motive for landing us with the case?’
‘Time will tell,’ was all that Casey said. But like the cynical ThomCatt, he too, believed the super had his own agenda. And offering his sturdy support if - when - things got sticky was unlikely to feature too strongly. As Catt had said, for them, it was a no-win situation. In the middle, between the racists, race-card players, the force brass and a pontificating media, he was already being criticised from all sides while he tried to do his job. But, yet again he forced thoughts of these unfairness’s to the back of his mind, aware that if he let such worries affect him too deeply then Chandra and her little daughter might lose any chance they had of receiving justice.
Chapter Thirteen
Catt reminded him that he wanted another chat with Angela Neerey about Mark Farrell. ‘You don’t want to give the super the chance to accuse you of neglecting one of his preferred suspects in order to harass Rathi Khan.’
Casey had been wool-gathering. Absently he said, ‘Preferred suspects?’
‘White ones. I reckon BrownJob would happily extend Macpherson’s remark to include the entire indigenous population as being constitutionally racist.’
Casey glanced at him. ‘Tom, if you don’t tone down your resentment you’ll find yourself in front of another disciplinary board.’
‘Maybe I should get out of the force altogether,’ Catt muttered. ‘Let’s face it, they don’t want honest-to-God-coppers like you and me any more. It’s so much easier to make criminals out of those we catch - like motorists - than go after the real villains. All the brass want is pen pushers who can spout the right gobbledegook and spin to the media and accountants who can fix the arithmetic so the crime figures look good..’
Casey sighed. ‘I don’t think things have quite come to that pass yet.’ But Catt was right about one thing; he had neglected this aspect of the investigation and after ringing Angela Neerey on his mobile to check she was at home, he instructed Catt to head for Ainsley Terrace.
‘Mark Farrell?’ Angela Neery wiped her little boy’s sticky face after his lunch and put him to play on the kitchen floor.
He seemed a cheerful child and beamed toothily at the two policemen. But then, Casey remembered Angela Neerey had said that she, unlike Chandra, had been lucky to have a contented baby. Happy to play by himself, his chatter and laughter as he built his building blocks up only to knock them down again made a warmly domestic background noise to their conversation.
‘Yes. I knew him. He came round to Chandra’s flat a couple of times when I was there. An intense young man, I thought. Seemed to have a high opinion of himself.’
‘Did Chandra say whether they were anything more than friends?’ Catt interjected. Frustrated by the vow of silence imposed on him from on high, Catt was evidently determined to question someone. Casey, conscious of his sergeant’s need to get rid of some of his frustration, was happy to let him get on with it. Catt was fortunate that the witness should come in the attractive person of Angela Neerey.
‘Lovers, you mean?’ Angela Neerey picked up her steaming mug of tea and blew on it while she considered. ‘I wouldn’t think so. Chandra always said she had had her fill of men. I said to her once that Mark seemed smitten and she just laughed, rather bitterly, I thought, and said he reminded her too much of her late husband. Anyway, her family would kill her, she said, if she took up with a white boy and life was grim enough for her already, without even more complications.’
Catt nodded. ‘What about Farrell? How did he take her rejection?’
Mrs Neerey shrugged. ‘Chandra never said,
but as he still came round and was perfectly friendly, I imagine he accepted it well enough.’
On the surface, maybe, was Casey’s immediate thought as he recalled the sullen expression Farrell had worn when he had spoken of Chandra’s rejection of him. It seemed to be a thought that Catt shared for now he asked Angela Neerey about it.
‘Even when he found out that Chandra’s father was trying to arrange another marriage for her?’
‘Was he?’ She frowned. ‘As to that, I’ve no idea. It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Chandra never mentioned such a possibility.’ She gave a shrewd glance at the silent Casey over the rim of her mug. ‘I suppose you’re wondering how Mark Farrell took the news?’
Casey nodded.
‘I wish I could help you, but I’ve no idea. But as Chandra had already made clear to him that she wanted only friendship he had no reason to take it badly. No mention was ever made of it between them while I was there.’
Casey had been hoping that, in spite of his doubts, Gough and Linklater’s confessions would check out and bring a speedy conclusion to the case so he hadn’t investigated Farrell’s alibi. But now, that hope was receding. The information Mrs Neerey had supplied was ambiguous. Just because Farrell had given the appearance of acceptance didn’t make that acceptance a reality. Maybe it was time to see if his alibi held up. Checking his story would be a time-consuming business as he had been on the continent, travelling round all over the place. But with Superintendent Brown-Smith, the ethnic community and the media all demanding a speedy solution he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
Angela Neery changed the subject. ‘I suppose it’ll be months before we have a new neighbour at 5a.’ She gave an oblique nod in the direction of Chandra’s blackened flat.
Casey, aware of Rathi Khan’s money troubles, thought it only too likely. And as Catt seemed to have run out of questions, Casey answered her. ‘Pretty unpleasant, I imagine, living so close to a burnt-out ruin.’
‘Yes. Especially when I think about poor Chandra and the baby dying in there. It’s a constant reminder. If only I’d noticed the fire earlier, they might have been saved.’
‘I doubt it.’ Casey attempted to console her. ‘The petrol meant it took hold quickly. I doubt if anyone could have saved them.’
She gave him a brief smile as if she appreciated his words of consolation. ‘I gather it’s a complete wreck in there.’
Casey nodded and added, ‘Fire’s a funny thing. That idol that Chandra had in the corner escaped damage almost completely.’
‘Idol?’ She looked puzzled.
‘You don’t remember it? A blue Krishna figure, about so high.’ He measured 18 inches with his hands.
‘Can’t say I ever noticed it. Maybe Chandra brought it in from one of the other rooms. She liked to swap things around. She smiled. ‘You never knew whether you’d be sitting under the window or behind the door from visit to visit. She liked to keep busy. I suppose it took her mind off her troubles. She and Leela tended to live and sleep in the back. She found it quieter. I remember her saying that the front room was her glory hole. Being nosy, I looked in once and it was piled high with stuff. I imagine the idol you spoke of came from there and she just brought it out for a change.’
‘Perhaps so. Can you remember when it was that you looked in that room?’
Angela Neerey gave him a puzzled glance, but she answered readily enough. ‘It was the day before the fire. The Friday. Why do you ask?’
Casey shrugged. ‘No particular reason unless it’s desperation to find some answers.’ Angela Neerey’s reference to the front room of Chandra’s flat being ‘piled high with stuff’ made him question Rathi Khan’s possible involvement in an insurance fiddle. Surely, if he had arranged such a thing he would have ensured his daughter’s belongings or most of them at least, were removed? Unless, of course, he had learned from the previous fire at another of his premises that fire-damaged contents were finely raked through by the fire investigators who were trained to identify what wasn’t still in situ.
They hadn’t learned anything that would put them further forward and time, like Superintendent Brown-Smith, was pressing. They still had much to do. He glanced at his watch. ‘We must be going.’ He was anxious to learn if the absent vicar that Gough’s girlfriend had mentioned had returned to his flock and wanted Catt to chase up on it again. It was surely beyond time that he provided Brown-Smith with some firm leads even if he had yet to find firm answers.
He drained his mug and put it down on the kitchen table. ‘Thanks for the tea and the chat.’
Angela Neerey pulled a face and whisked her little boy off the floor where he had been about to help himself to the cat’s lunch. ‘I wasn’t much help.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ Casey replied. ‘Besides,’ he smiled his rare smile, ‘coming to see you has given me a chance to get out of the office for a while.’ And away from the intrusion of the media who used every ruse to get put through to him.
She laughed. And as the once again silent Catt looked on in amusement, she gave Casey’s tall, rangy figure a discreet onceover, and told him, ‘You know where to find me if ever you feel the need to escape again.’
‘That vicar’s still errant,’ Catt told Casey when he returned to the office much later that afternoon. ‘His wife finally admitted she’d forgotten to mention that we needed to speak to him when he rang her. But I’ve got one piece of news for you, anyway. Dean Linklater’s out of it.’ Catt took a comb out of his top pocket and ran it through his windblown hair. Like a tabby cat’s, it was several shades of tawny and like a cat, he was always preening it. Casey swore his sergeant was unaware he even did it, or how often.
Catt put his comb away, and perched on the edge of Casey’s desk. ‘Turns out he was at a job interview at the time the fire at Chandra’s flat was set. A letter was delivered for him this morning. His mother opened it. I’ve just been round to see her again. She insisted Sergeant Allen contact me while I was out on the trail of the vicar. Apparently, little Dean hadn’t told her about the interview. “Wait till I see him,” were her final words before she slammed the door behind me.’
‘Idiotic youth. I’ve a good mind to charge him with wasting police time,’ said Casey. ‘He’s definitely out of it?’
Catt nodded his sleek head with its freshly-restored style. ‘I spoke to the Personnel Officer at DIY Warehouse. Dean was there for around two hours, from 11.30 to 1.30 in the afternoon.’
Casey’s eyebrows rose. ‘Why so long?’
‘He had to take tests as well as attend the interview. Seems employers these days have little faith in the education system or their certificates. The Personnel Officer would have maundered on forever if I’d let him, about the appalling standards of literacy and numeracy in their job applicants. You should have heard him when he got on to the subject of arithmetic. Seems he’s had half a rainforest of wood wasted because their skills with a steel measure are on a par with their English.’
Catt rose, insinuated himself with a feline grace in the visitor’s chair, and added, ‘Poor man’s older and wiser so now he tests them before he takes them on.’
With a sudden weariness, Casey lowered himself into his own chair.
‘And did Dean get the job?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. Honest employment might help get him out from under Wayne Gough’s malign influence.’ Casey shook his head. ‘The boy’s an all round loser. Tries to be Mr Macho and fails. Tries to be conformist and fails at that as well. Caught between his forceful friend and his forceful mother, I suppose, and tries to please whichever one he spoke to last. Get rid of him with a suitable flea in his ear,’ said Casey as, having remembered he had another appointment, he stood up again. ‘We’ll bail him on the other arson cases. I want you to check on Mark Farrell while I’m out. See if he has any history of violence towards women.’
‘You’re going out? But-’ As his mouth turned down Catt gestured silently at the latest pile of report
s awaiting their attention.
‘Sorry, ThomCatt, but you’ll have to make a start on them on your own,’ Casey told him. ‘I’ve got an even more pressing assignment. Another local community meeting.’
‘Ah.’ Catt pulled a face. ‘Your regular mea culpa bit to the Asian community, I suppose?’
‘Something like that.’
Catt shook his head. ‘Sooner you than me. Macpherson and his wretched Report have a lot to answer for. How we’re supposed to find the killers of that poor girl and her baby beats me, when I’m forbidden to even speak to any of the Asians involved and the ones you speak to supply only half answers while their community leaders waste precious time lecturing you that could be spent on catching the killers. Wait till you tell them we’ve had to let Dean Linklater go.’
Two hours later, Casey was back. He looked tense, his shoulders hunched under his ears. He’d even bought a packet of cigarettes, though he rarely smoked.
Catt raised his gaze from the mass of reports he had been studying and eyed the cigarettes. ‘That bad huh?’
Casey nodded and slumped in his chair. Naturally enough, on learning that Linklater wasn’t to be charged with the killings, the local Asian community hadn’t taken the news well. There had been a sudden angry surge towards the platform and for a little while things had turned ugly. And while the Asian community had stopped short at lynching him and Brown-Smith, he wasn’t so sure they would do the same when it came to Linklater. Their anger had been so intense that it needed an outlet. It wouldn’t take much for them to take the law into their own hands, search out Linklater and lynch him.
Fortunately, between them, he and Brown-Smith had been able to convince them that Linklater really hadn’t been responsible for the fatal arson. Of course the hotheads had done their best to increase the already bubbling tensions by shouting, ‘No, but he did the others or are you going to deny that as well?’ and almost set the rest off again. He didn’t know how long the more restrained leaders would be able to keep them in check.
Up in Flames Page 15
