by Rashad Salim
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.”
“Javed!” Rizwan stepped in and shook hands with the man and they talked a little. I should’ve known my brother would move in the same circles as these macho freaks.
The six of us – I, Rizwan, Salman, Javed and his two friends – walked out onto the street.
“We’re gonna keep an eye on things from now on,” Javed told Rizwan.
Rizwan nodded in approval.
“Just you boys?” Salman asked and laughed.
“‘Course not, bro. There’s loads of us. The whole community. At least fifty brothers from around here.”
“Like Neighbourhood Watch?” I asked.
Rizwan nudged me to the side to keep me out of the conversation.
Javed looked at me. “Somethin’ like that.”
“Is it all legit?” I asked.
Javed said nothing.
“What kind of stupid question is that?” Rizwan asked me. “Don’t listen to this child,” he told Javed.
“No offence,” I said. “I was just wondering if the police know about it.”
“If the police were doin’ the job we wouldn’t have to do it for them,” Javed said.
The boys all said their farewells, shook hands with Rizwan and Salman and left us.
“Come on. Let’s get home before these get cold,” Rizwan said, referring to the hot kebab rolls.
When the three of us got inside the car, Rizwan looked over his shoulder at me sitting in the backseat and told me how much of an embarrassing brat I was. “Seriously,” he said. “Try not to be such a faggot all the time.”
“What?”
“You don’t wanna take karate lessons, fine. But don’t be so negative about others steppin’ up to guard all you snotty little shits.”
“Go easy on him,” Salman said, “This is a really scary time.”
Rizwan looked at him. “For all of us, bro. This affects all of us.”
I felt like shit and didn’t say anything for the rest of the journey.
There was a lot of fear in the community over the last seven days – which seemed to get worse with each passing day – and the threat was very real.
I just didn’t know how to deal with it. And I could see neither did anyone else.
34
DC Cole
I was about to go home for the day when Clark rushed into the office and told me and Richardson there was an emergency.
Richardson almost dropped the papers he held when he heard that. “What is it?”
“Got a call on the radio from PC Enfield. Something’s going on at Park Road. There’s a mob outside someone’s house.”
Richardson frowned. “Park Road? Where do I know that from?”
It came to me instantly. “Rishi Malhotra. It was the last place he was seen.”
We jumped from our seats and scrambled to get our jackets on.
“So what’s this about the mob?” Richardson asked Clark.
“I don’t know the full details yet,” Clark told him while he walked us out of the office. “Enfield said there’s a mob outside someone’s house. Someone they’re accusing of being involved in the murders.”
“Where’s Enfield now?” I asked.
“Said he was on his way to the scene when I spoke to him.”
Richardson told Clark to stay at the police station in case he was needed while the two of us went down to investigate the incident.
Richardson sped all the way there with the siren on.
“What d’you reckon?” I asked him while he drove.
“It could be the one,” he said. “Or it could be nothin’.”
“What if it is?”
“Then we better get there before they tear him limb from limb.”
When we got to Park Road we saw the mob on the pavement and road. We got as close as we could before getting out of the car. The mob consisted of around thirty to forty Asian men standing around the house of their target.
Two police cars were parked nearby and several officers were trying to calm the mob but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
At least they managed to keep them away from the target’s house.
We approached the mob and saw PC Enfield keeping some of the mob back.
“What’s goin’ on?” Richardson asked him.
“Good thing you showed up,” Enfield said. “These men claim that the occupant of this house is involved in the schoolboys’ abductions and murders.”
We looked at the mob. They were still shouting and flapping their arms about in a rage. I noticed none of them were armed and was grateful for it. We wouldn’t have been prepared to tackle the mob if they were.
“When I showed up there was only about twenty of them,” Enfield said.
Now the mob was almost twice that size. We had to disperse the crowds quickly.
“Who’s in charge here?” Richardson asked Enfield.
“That fella there.” Enfield pointed at an Asian man in his early forties, who was backed up by a dozen members of the mob.
Richardson and I approached that man and introduced ourselves to him. The man identified himself as Mr Zulafqar Ahmed.
“What’s the purpose of all this?” Richardson asked him. “Why are you here?”
Mr Ahmed pointed at the house. “That man who lives there, Karim Zaib, is a danger to
the children of this community and every community!”
The crowds jeered and shouted in agreement.
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“We know all about him. He has been stalking many young boys in the past.”
“What evidence do you have against him?” Richardson asked.
Ahmed said nothing.
“Anythin’ to back up your allegations about his involvement in these murders?” Richardson asked.
“I don’t have time to be doing your job for you, Mr Officer!”
Richardson was about to say something when someone among the mob threw a stone or brick at the house and smashed a window. Richardson flinched and snarled in the direction where the weapon had been hurled.
“Alright! Back now! Right now! Everyone leave right now or you’re all under arrest!” Richardson gestured to some of the other officers to get the mob away from the house.
The officers started prodding the mob further and further backwards until they had dispersed and scattered into smaller numbers.
“Leave this to the professionals, Mr Ahmed,” Richardson told him. “Go home now.”
Mr Ahmed and his companions turned around and walked away from us.
Richardson called Enfield over. “Keep an eye on things while we go in and check this out.”
Enfield nodded.
Richardson and I walked up the garden path and he rang the doorbell twice. “Open up! It’s the police!”
35
DC Cole
In my peripheral vision I caught a movement at the downstairs window facing us. The curtain had twitched. Seconds later, the door opened slowly.
A grey haired Asian man in his fifties appeared. “Are they gone?”
“Yes,” I said.
Richardson and I introduced ourselves to him and asked him to identify himself.
“Karim. Karim Zaib.”
“Do you live here, Mr Zaib?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“May we come in?” Richardson asked.
“Of course.” Zaib opened the door for us. “Please do.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He seemed desperate to keep us there as if the mob would return the moment we left.
I followed Richardson down the hallway as Zaib led us into the living room. Nothing stood out when I looked around at our surroundings.
“That was quite an angry mob out there, Mr Zaib,” Richardson said. “Can you tell us how it all started?”
“Yes, of course,” Zaib said. “I was returning from the shops when I noticed I was being followed by some youngsters-”
“Youngsters?” Richardson asked.
Zaib looked at Richardson carefully. “As I was saying, some young men were behind me and I remembered seeing them earlier too.”
“Had you seen them before?” I asked.
“Yes. A few times.”
“Where?” Richardson asked.
“Different places around town.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“Well,” he took a moment to think about this. “...I think I saw them near the field near Lancaster Avenue and then again off Binford Lane. Anyhow, when I realised I was being followed, I thought they were going to rob me...”
“What did you do then?” Richardson asked.
“I walked as fast as I could. I tried to run but they were younger and faster, of course, and they catched up with me. They started shouting and calling me bad names. Lots of bad language.”
“I can imagine,” Richardson said.
“Thank god I managed to get away. I got inside and locked all the doors and windows. Just in case.”
“I see,” Richardson said. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
Zaib looked stunned. He looked at Richardson and then at me, lost for words.
I remembered PC Enfield telling us one of the residents nearby had phoned the police.
“The police?” Zaib said. “...I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. You must understand there was a large gang outside. Angry men making lots of noise and distracting me. It was quite a lot for an old man.”
He was nowhere near sixty and looked fit enough. He was trying to paint himself as a frail old man and was hopeless at pulling it off.
“What were you doin’ at the field, Mr Zaib?” Richardson asked.
“Which field?”
“The one near Lancaster Avenue,” I reminded him.
“You said you first saw those young men at the field,” Richardson said. “What were you doin’ there?”
Zaib got all flustered. My impression of him was getting worse by the second.
“I don’t know, I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember what you were doin’?” Richardson asked incredulously.
Zaib said nothing.
“Does that happen often, Mr Zaib?” I asked. “You forgettin’ what you’re doin’ or why you’re at certain places?”
“I suppose that’s common among the old, isn’t it?” Richardson said.
I had to suppress laughter.
“I think I had just gone for a walk, right?”
“You tell us.” Richardson stared at Zaib.
“I went out for fresh air and was returning when I spotted them.”
I nodded and thought about my next question carefully.
“Are you aware of the murders of Rishi Malhotra and Ravinder Singh?” I asked.
Zaib looked at us like he was baffled.
Richardson looked at him like he wanted to slap him. “The schoolboys, Mr Zaib!”
“You do watch the news or read the newspapers, don’t you?” I asked.
Zaib got all flustered again. He shifted his attention back and forth between me and Richardson. “Yes, yes, I watch news.”
“And you know about the murders?” I asked.
“Yes. I do.”
“What do you know about them?” Richardson asked.
“That ...they happened.”
“Would you know anythin’ about them that could help us?” Richardson asked.
“I don’t understand. How do you mean?”
“Any information you know which could help us solve the crimes,” I said.
“I only know little bits from the news. That is all.”
Richardson pulled out a photo of Rishi Malhotra. “Did you ever see him around?”
Zaib looked at the photo nervously and shook his head before looking away.
“Are you sure?” Richardson asked.
Zaib nodded and looked down.
“That strikes me as a little odd,” Richardson said. “The boy in the photo is Rishi Malhotra. He went missin’ two weeks ago and was found murdered last week. He was last seen on the road you live.”
Zaib twitched nervously. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You sure you never saw him?” I asked him. “Not even once? He used to walk past your house all the time.”
“I might have passed him once or twice but I can’t be sure. I pass schoolboys all the time.”
“I bet you do,” Richardson said.
Zaib winced. “School children are everywhere. How am I to know them all?”
Richardson stood up. I got up too.
“Thanks for your co-operation, Mr Zaib,” Richardson said. “It was a great help.” He started making his way out and I followed.
Richardson got to the front door. He opened it and turned to face Zaib again. “If I were you, I’d keep away from the field – at least for a while. And stay away from young men if you want to stay in one piece.”
Zaib said nothing.
“And if you get any more trouble, next time make sure you call us right away.”
We walked out and headed for the car.
“Fucking weirdo,” Richardson said, getting into the car. “What you make of him?”
“Gave me some bad vibes.”
“Same here,” Richardson said.
“Got me curious why he never made the call himself.”<
br />
“Probably ‘cause he didn’t want to bring attention to himself. Who knows what he did to really get that mob’s attention.”
“Might have to look him up,” I said. “See if he’s known.”
“Even if he is, I doubt he’s our killer,” Richardson said.
“What makes you say that?”
“He might not be the helpless old man he makes out to be but he definitely lacked the strength to perform manual strangulation – Rishi Malhotra’s cause of death. Takes quite a bit of strength for that and that’s somethin’ he obviously ain’t got.”
“Good point,” I said. “I wonder what he was really doin’ at that field.”
“Really evasive about that, weren’t he?”
“He was definitely hidin’ somethin’,” I said and desperate to know what it was.
36
Asim
I thought I’d spend the whole weekend indoors, doing my homework and watching Eddie Murphy films but my dad had other ideas. Around lunchtime on Saturday he said there was a big conference happening at the town hall and we couldn’t miss it.
He insisted I go and Rizwan came along too. It was organised by the local authorities.
When we arrived at the town hall and went inside it was packed with local residents. There had to be over a hundred people in the audience before the conference even started.
At the front of the hall was a long table where the panel consisted of several speakers – cops, politicians and teachers.
My dad and Rizwan took a side near the front while I went to the toilet. On my way back I was surprised to bump into my PE teacher Mr Mitchell.
“How come you’re here, sir?”
He smiled. “Just helpin’ out I suppose. Thought I’d come down and offer my support.”
“I see. Shame about the football sessions being cancelled,” I said, even though it was obvious I hadn’t given a shit about that unlike Max.
He had spent more time on the football field in recent months than he ever before. Only after the sessions had been cancelled did it occur to me he was seeking comfort in the game after everything going on at home.
