The Binford Mysteries: A Collection of Gritty Urban Mystery Novels (3 - BOOK BOX SET)

by Rashad Salim

  I hadn’t realised how emotional I had gotten talking about Max. It was embarrassing talking about how you felt about another boy especially in front of adult strangers.

  “You gotta find him,” I said, looking at them both.

  Cole nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll do what we can.”

  “Asim, I’ve been thinkin’,” Richardson said. “Do you think there might be someone who may have harmed either Ravinder or Maqsood on your behalf?”

  I frowned and asked him what he meant.

  “Someone who thought they were doin’ you a favour,” he said.

  “No way,” I said. “Everyone knew me and Max were tight. Why would anyone do that anyway?”

  “Just think about it,” he said.

  “I don’t know anyone who would do somethin’ like that. Definitely no one capable of that either.”

  “Okay,” Richardson said.

  “Don’t forget – I never knew Rishi Malhotra existed until I found him in the canal. And that was pure bad luck since I accidentally kicked Omar’s football down there.”

  Richardson nodded. I thought that appeased him a little if nothing else I said had.

  The two of them stood up and told me to contact them if I heard from Max. Then they left.

  “What did they want?” Rizwan asked when they were gone.

  “They wanted to know if I knew anythin’.”

  “What did you tell ‘em?”

  “What I knew – nothin’.”

  I went up to my room and collapsed into bed.

  Max had been abducted – there was no doubt about that. I thought about what would happen if his body was found in the canal too and wished it had been me instead.

  45

  DC Cole

  We were all at the major incident room early on Monday morning. When I walked in and saw the state Richardson was in I wondered if he had even gone home the night before. He was bleary eyed and slouched in his chair. He was going over all the case files we had for Rishi Malhotra, Ravinder Singh and Maqsood Abdullah.

  DI Rahman and PC Enfield were updating each other on the latest developments in the Abdullah case.

  Clark was staring at the various charts on the wall.

  There was a Duty Roster on the wall showing who was meant to be in at what time but it had been totally ignored. Everyone was all over the place at all times. We were all scrambling, reaching out for whatever clues we could get and they had mostly proven to be elusive so far.

  The several metres wide Progress Chart beside the Duty Roster didn’t look too good either. It had every notable piece of information displayed and the developments in all three cases so far.

  I thought Clark was staring at the Progress Chart when I approached him. When I got closer I saw he was studying the giant map of Binford beside the charts.

  “See anythin’ new?”

  “Just trying to see if there’s a pattern in the last known locations the boys were seen.”

  I saw those parts of town had been circled in red ink.

  “Anythin’?”

  Clark shook his head and moved away from the wall.

  “Any other patterns?” I asked.

  “Richardson’s been trying to determine if there are any patterns in the dates the boys were last seen but no luck there either. The intervals between the dates the boys were reported missing didn’t show anything.

  “What we do know is there were eight days between the time Rishi Malhotra went missing and when he was found. And there were only two days between the time Ravinder Singh went missing and when he was found.

  “Maqsood Abdullah’s been missing less than 24 hours. If he was abducted by the same person who abducted the other two boys – and there’s a good chance that he was – then this person is now waiting less time before killing his victims. Means there isn’t much time left for Maqsood.”

  The thought that Maqsood could be on the verge of being murdered as we spoke made me feel hopeless. It was almost as if all we were doing was collecting the victims’ corpses’ after the killer had finished with them.

  “What about the dates between when all three boys were reported missin’?” I asked. “Anythin’ there?”

  “Who knows? Rishi went missing on the 4th of this month, Ravinder on the 14th and Maqsood on the 20th. All I can say is the time between abduction/murder cycles is getting shorter.”

  My mind raced ahead and I caught myself trying to predict when the killer would take his 4th victim – this before the 3rd victim was even found. I admonished myself for the pessimistic thinking and dismissed thoughts of the future. I had to concentrate on what we were dealing with in the present.

  “What if he’s changin’ his MO?”

  Clark said nothing.

  “What if we don’t find anythin’? Not even a body this time?”

  “The possibilities are endless. It’s a waste of our time coming up with outcomes.”

  “Think he might use the canal again?” I asked. “He used it the first two times and we weren’t prepared for that.”

  Since the second time, when Ravinder Singh was found, 24 hour police patrols covering the canal as possible had been arranged, in case the killer showed up again.

  “Three times the charm, hey?” Clark said. “But maybe not. As I said, anything’s possible.”

  “What about the choice in victims? We know it’s not a random selection of victims. All three were Asian schoolboys – two of them classmates.”

  “That’s the only obvious thing we know,” Clark said. “The first thing that stuck out.”

  “You know how you said the killer was most likely Asian?” I asked.

  Clark nodded.

  “And we know most serial killers don’t kill outside their race, right?”

  He nodded again.

  “Well, at the conference, Richardson said he had a feelin’ that the killer was right there hidden in the audience.”

  “Sounds plausible. But the odds of a relative responsible are unlikely now.”

  One of the first things we considered when Rishi Malhotra was reported missing was the chance a family member had been involved. We initially applied the same logic to Ravinder Singh’s case.

  We could never totally eliminate the possibility of a relative’s involvement, considering how the missing person in these cases was a child. But that was before the cases were linked. The relative angle wouldn’t fit anymore since the boys were not related.

  I told Clark what DI Rahman had explained to me about Asian culture and what was instilled in the youth about respecting and obeying their elders. “I think the boys ended up trustin’ and obeyin’ the wrong person.”

  “Sounds common in abduction cases and potentially applicable here,” he said.

  “So I think it might be a teacher, community leader or someone else in authority. Definitely someone who the kids wouldn’t dare question.”

  “The problem is Rishi Malhotra went to a different school from the other two,” Clark said.

  I nodded. “...So even if it was a teacher at Rishi’s school, he would’ve meant fuck all to Ravinder and Maqsood.”

  We decided to continue the discussion with the rest of the team.

  Since Ravinder’s murder, the investigations had merged and were being led by both Richardson and Clark. I thought we had managed to work as a cohesive team so far and was relieved that Richardson had curbed his resentment of Clark. I’m sure Clark’s expertise must’ve influenced Richardson heavily in that matter.

  Clark and I approached Richardson and Rahman to repeat what the two of us had just discussed when the Chief came out of his office and summoned us.

  The four of us entered Stein’s office and braced ourselves for what was predictably going to be another stressful meeting.

  “I just got off the phone with the Headmaster at Binford. He says half the boys at the school failed to show up.”

  46

  Asim

  Rizwan drove me and Omar to school on Monday
morning. Throughout the whole ride my brother didn’t stop lecturing us on safety advice.

  There was no denying things had gotten worse with each day since this nightmare began with the discovery of Rishi Malhotra’s body.

  And there was no knowing when this crime spree was going to end.

  I had felt awful since I learnt of Max’s disappearance the evening before but I felt a little better sitting with Omar in the backseat of Rizwan’s car.

  I knew Omar was worried about Max as well but he seemed to be taking it a lot better than me. His strength gave me strength.

  Omar had asked Rizwan only one question when the opportunity presented itself between Rizwan’s ranting: “Do you think the police are going to catch the Snatcher?”

  “Doesn’t look like it, does it? There are loads of serial killers who never get caught.”

  Omar and I exchanged looks.

  Up until that moment it hadn’t occurred to me that ‘The Binford Snatcher’ might not get caught. I had been drilled so much by Hollywood films and TV shows where the bad guys always got caught. I had naively assumed killers would never get away with murders in reality.

  When we reached school and got out I noticed there weren’t as many students scattered about like usual. At first I thought we had arrived late but when I checked my watch I saw we had arrived at the same time we normally reached school.

  Omar tugged my arm. “Look!”

  He was pointing at a news van parked around twenty feet from the front gates and a camera crew filming a woman speaking into a microphone.

  It had only been a matter of time before the news media invaded our school and I was surprised they hadn’t arrived sooner.

  “Come on.” I nudged Omar towards the gates. We tried not to look at the news van.

  “Let me guess, whole school assembly,” Omar said as we entered the main entrance.

  I groaned inward and braced myself for more pointless announcements and futile promises from the adults around us that we would be protected.

  It was a sore subject for a lot of us students. We knew we were in danger and that the teachers and the police and all the other authorities were investigating these crimes but how stupid did the adults think we were? They hadn’t fooled any of us. I never recalled coming across any other teenager, either at school or outside, who was convinced the authorities were going to keep us safe.

  The hallways and corridors were scarce with students. I assumed most form room teachers had already led their classes inside for morning registration.

  When we reached our form room there was nobody redirecting us back towards the assembly hall for an emergency meeting. Omar and I met up with a few other boys waiting outside for Mrs Taylor to arrive and let us in. There were murmured greetings but no one fooled around like most mornings. The girls in our class gossiped quietly and pretty much ignored us boys. I glanced at Shazia, who hadn’t looked my way at all, and remembered the awkward conversation we had before the weekend.

  It was then that the eerie feeling of Ravinder and Max’s absences crept up on me.

  Most of us students had our favourite spots inside the classroom and outside in the corridor. We generally stuck to the same spots throughout the school year and I found myself staring at the empty space where Ravinder often stood and was the centre of attention. It was the same with Max. Now, Ravinder’s closest buddies leaned against the wall in silence and I found myself talking to the two boys Max usually chatted to while waiting for our teacher.

  After a while I noticed half our class was missing. It seemed strange that so many people would be running this late.

  “You heard about Max?” a white boy named Paul asked me.

  I nodded and wondered how he knew too.

  “You watch the BBC this mornin’?” he asked Omar.

  Omar shook his head.

  “They were talkin’ about Max and ‘The Binford Snatcher’.”

  I imagined the news report in my head and shuddered.

  “This is so fucked up,” Paul said and shook his head. “My mum was tellin’ me our neighbours – an Asian family – are plannin’ on movin’ out ASAP.”

  Neither Omar nor I said anything.

  “...I dunno how you lot can take this.”

  Paul made it sound like we weren’t struggling to hold on to our sanity.

  I looked at him and felt he was living in a different world to his Asian neighbours. He was so far removed from the crimes of ‘The Binford Snatcher’ that it was just another day for him as far he was concerned. He didn’t match the Snatcher’s ideal victim profile like us.

  Mrs Taylor arrived eventually and led us in. She waited longer than usual before starting the registration. I realised she was waiting for the missing half of the class to arrive but when they didn’t she started without them.

  Once registration was over she didn’t make any statements about Max or any announcements. I saw she was trying to put on a brave front. Maybe it crossed her mind when surveying all the empty seats Max wasn’t the only one who had disappeared.

  English was the first class of the day. A lot of us preferred it over the other subjects but this time hardly anyone concentrated on the class work. Even our teacher abandoned all intention of cracking the whip to stop the gossiping.

  I was trying not to think about Max and focus on the John Steinbeck novel we were studying when I heard someone whisper my name from the table behind. It was Kareena. She was sitting next to her best friend, Shazia. There were six people at that table and they were all looking at me.

  I assumed they were going to ask me if I knew anything about Max’s disappearance – use me to find out whatever I knew that they couldn’t find in the press – and I almost blew up in a rage. “What?”

  “We’re putting together a tribute for Ravinder,” Kareena said.

  “...And?”

  “Well, we haven’t decided yet but we were just going over some ideas and thought you might want to join in.” When I didn’t say anything she continued. “I know you and him didn’t get along but still...”

  “We might paint something,” Shazia said. It was the first time she had spoken to me since she broke my heart. “We came up with this.” She pointed to a sketch one of the better artist amongst them had done on an A4 sized blank paper. It had Ravinder’s name at the centre, which was surrounded by patterns and designs.

  “It’s just something to remember him by,” Kareena said.

  “We’re gonna get Mrs Taylor to hang it on our outside our classroom wall so everyone can see,” Shazia said.

  I said nothing.

  The girls exchanged looks.

  “What do you think?” someone else at the table asked me.

  “We were also thinking about adding...” Kareena scribbled Max’s name under Ravinder’s. “...Max’s name next to Ravi’s so-”

  “What the fuck?”

  The girls looked at me in shock. “We wanted to include Max’s name,” Kareena said.

  I looked at her and Shazia and the rest of the table like they were mad.

  “...What?” Kareena asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Shazia asked.

  I felt my head pounding and took a deep breath before I spoke. I could barely contain my outrage.

  “Are you lot fuckin’ stupid?” I looked at the others at the table.

  They stared back. No one said a word.

  “Max ain’t dead!” I spat the words out at them. “Gimme that shit.”

  I leaned back my chair on two legs and grabbed the A4 sketch on the table. The girls flinched as I took it and screwed it up into a ball.

  “What the hell, Asim?” a boy at the table asked me. “Chill out.”

  “Fuck all o’ you.”

  I went to the bin in the corner and dumped the paper ball. When I spun around, I saw everyone – less than twenty people, at least ten short of a full class – staring at me. I suddenly felt self conscious, embarrassed about snapping the way I did.

  There was
still half an hour left before the end of the class. I didn’t want to spend another minute with these people so I walked out the classroom without the teacher’s permission – something you got into deep shit for doing but by then I was beyond caring.

  The threat of detention was the least of my worries when boys around me were being raped and killed every week in my town.

  47

  DC Cole

  Half the boys at Binford School not bothering to go in on the morning after the third boy went missing should not have surprised me but it did.

  The department’s Press Liaison Officer had informed the newspapers and all media channels about Maqsood Abdullah’s disappearance around midnight and by the time the town’s residents woke up to another week of anxiety, photographs of the boy had been circulated in all the newspapers and shown in all TV news segments.

  We needed all the help we could get and if that meant working with the media, who were also exploiting the crime spree, then that’s what we had to do.

  ‘The Binford Snatcher’ nickname caught on like wildfire, spreading far and wide across the country. It was national news now that he had allegedly abducted his third victim. The case had spread first into other East London towns – by word of mouth from the public and from our enquiries with the authorities of nearby areas. Now that the whole country knew about it we were under a very big microscope.

  Chief Stein had managed to get some assistance from officers at other police departments but all that meant was there were more search parties looking for traces of Maqsood Abdullah. The officers weren’t out there looking for ‘The Binford Snatcher’. That was the job of our team and it hadn’t gotten any easier.

  “Heard back from Clark yet?” I asked Richardson.

  Richardson shook his head.

  He was at his desk, dunking a biscuit into his tea while reading a newspaper article on Abdullah’s abduction.