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

by Rashad Salim

  “...A while back – a couple of months ago – I met this geezer while I was at the pub.”

  “Which pub?” I asked.

  “My local. Anyway, we got talking and I remember telling him about how I was a plumber and how I’d done all kinds of DIY work – construction, electrical and plumbing.

  “And this geezer he tells me he’s a carpet fitter and we talk about that for a bit. He tells me he’s new in Binford and asks me what it’s like and I tell him. I end up telling him my life story and this surprises me because normally no one gives a shit about anyone else’s life story, do they?

  “...Anyway, at the end I go home and don’t think anything of it. Then about a week later I see him again. He walks in and comes right up to me. We have another long chat until finally it’s time for me to get a move on. He joins me outside, says he wants to show me something in his van. He says he needs my advice so I think ‘sure, why not?’ and we go down to his van that’s parked up right near the pub and he opens the van and pulls out a roll of plastic sheeting.”

  I looked at Clark. His was focused on Roberts.

  “...He asks me what I think about it,” Roberts said. “And I look at him and I think ‘fuck me it’s a roll of plastic sheeting, how amazing?’ He sees me giving him a funny look and he laughs. Says he never bought it himself and that he usually gets his plastic sheeting from some supplier he’s had for ages. But he wants me to take a look at it, get a feel of it, and tell him if I think it’s okay just in case there’s something iffy about it that he hasn’t noticed.

  “So he unrolls it and I give it a good feel, checking that it’s not damaged or anything like that. You get a lot of sneaky wankers out there trying to shift dodgy tools and equipment all the time because they can’t return it for proper refunds and I check to see if that’s the case with this roll. I’m well thorough. I check for scratches and tiny holes and what have you.

  “In the end I hand it back to him and say ‘splendid!’” Roberts demonstrated with giving us a thumbs up gesture. “‘There you go, mate. It’s all hunky dory’ and then I go home and don’t think anything of it.

  “I never saw him again,” Roberts said, almost wistful about it. “I did wonder if he’d pop in for a pint or two for about a week after that time – I thought ‘he’s new in town and says he likes this pub, he’ll be back soon and I’ll be seeing him often’ – but I never did. That was months ago. Eventually I just reckoned he’d found another pub and put it down as our paths just passing each other and now he’s back on his way.”

  “Great story,” I told him. “Was there a point in there somewhere?”

  “The plastic you say the boy was wrapped around in – I wondered how my fingerprints got on it. And then it came to me that it was from that time that geezer had me touching up that plastic roll. I mean, I might be wrong but I can pretty much bet my life on it that the plastic he had ended up around that lad.”

  Clark and I exchanged looks. I knew where Roberts’ story was going from the moment he mentioned the plastic sheeting but there was a problem.

  His story had been so elaborate that it stank of bullshit. He’d had three days of peace and quiet to cook up some fairytale to prove his innocence and this is what he could have prepared.

  “...I’ve gotta admit that’s some farfetched porkie, you just gave us.”

  “Wait! Wait!” Roberts smacked the table with a fist. “I left out the most important bit.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “This geezer – who, let me remind you I never ever saw again – when I handed the roll of plastic back to him I saw he had put on them plastic gloves. The kind that doctors wear during surgery, you know what I mean? I remember thinking he was being well careful about not getting any stains on the plastic. I think I even laughed at him but he never said anything. He just put the plastic back in the van and smiled.”

  “You sure about all this?” I asked. “I mean you were drinkin’, right? Both times you saw him?”

  Roberts narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not a heavy drinker... well, not when I’m out.”

  “What was this man’s name?” Clark asked.

  “I can’t remember to be honest. Think it might have been Tony. Tom? Sorry.”

  “What did he look like?” Clark asked.

  “He was white, obviously. Around forty, I reckon. Big fella. Over six foot.”

  That sounded like a million men and nothing like Neil Roberts.

  “What was he wearing?” Clark asked. “Both times you saw him.”

  “He was casual. The usual shit. T-shirt and jeans, trainers. He had a cap on though. I definitely remember that. It was like he was afraid to take it off – I think he was bald underneath and trying to hide it.”

  “What kind of cap was it?” Clark asked.

  “One of them baseball caps. It weren’t cheap looking neither. It was like from America or something. You don’t see them that often around here.”

  I was scribbling all of this down in my notebook while he had been talking. Surprisingly, we had managed to get quite a lot of information from Roberts.

  The problem was there was nothing solid.

  Clark asked him the name of the pub and Roberts told him.

  “Anyone else see him?” Clark asked.

  “Dunno.”

  “He talk to anyone else while you were there?” Clark asked.

  “I don’t think so. Apart from the barmaid, I don’t think he chatted to anyone else. Just me in the corner on my own.” Roberts seemed self conscious about that last part.

  “What about the van?” I asked him. “You must remember that, right?”

  Roberts nodded. “It was white. One of them white vans were the door slides open on the side instead of two doors at the back.”

  That piqued my attention like nothing before.

  I thought about the white van man Asim Patel told me about when he discovered Rishi Malhotra – the Snatcher’s first known victim.

  The problem was neither Asim nor Roberts could give us a decent description of the man I was convinced was ‘The Binford Snatcher’.

  56

  DC Cole

  “Think he was tellin’ the truth?” I asked Clark as soon as we left the interrogation room.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Could be a load of bollocks to send us barking up the wrong tree, right?”

  I laughed.

  “It crossed my mind too,” he said. “...Shit, I just thought of something!”

  “What?”

  “Lawrence Wilson!”

  I was baffled.

  “He doesn’t know about Lawrence Wilson committing suicide.”

  “So?”

  “Wilson is apparently our new prime suspect, right? You lot said there was evidence found in his flat, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And Lawrence clearly doesn’t fit the description Roberts just gave us. Wilson was a skinny runt. It’s doubtful he’d have been able to overpower those boys – they’d have given him a slap and made a run for it if he tried anything. The man we’re looking for is big.”

  “Like Roberts himself?” I said.

  “Or the man he claims to have met at the pub.”

  “So how are gonna use Wilson’s death in there?” I nodded to the interrogation room.

  “We ask him if he knows anyone by the name of Lawrence Wilson and check his reaction.”

  “What’s that gonna tell us?”

  “A lot if he says he does know him. We’ll keep probing and digging. And if he says he doesn’t know him – and we find out that the two of them did know each other then we know this line about the man in the pub was total bollocks.

  “Someone he invented to clear himself. Someone about the same size, Cole.” He emphasised that last part. “Wilson couldn’t have done those murders on his own. Maybe he and Roberts were partners.”

  I took it all in, thinking it over and seeing how it all fit.

  We walked back
into the interrogation room.

  Roberts was surprised to see us again so soon.

  “Sorry, Neil,” Clark said. “Just forgot to ask you something. Nothing serious.”

  “What is it?” Roberts looked nervous as if he feared the worst.

  “Do you know anyone by the name of Lawrence Wilson?” Clark asked.

  “...I don’t think so,” Roberts said, concentrating hard.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  He was still deep in thought. “...Yes. I don’t know anyone by that name.” He looked at us. “Is that him?” he asked. “Big geezer, about my size.” He raised his hand in the air to demonstrate the height. “I don’t think he said his name was Lawrence though.”

  Clark laughed. “Lawrence’s not a big fella by any means. Thanks, anyway. We’ll look into what you said and get back to you, okay?”

  I was surprised at how politely Clark talked to Roberts. The man was accused of murder and Clark talked to him as if he was our boss. But it worked. Roberts seemed to relax.

  As soon as we left the room Clark turned to me. “That fella hasn’t got a clue.”

  57

  DC Cole

  Clark and I returned to the office and updated Richardson and Rahman with what we had learnt from Neil Roberts.

  “Smells like bullshit,” Richardson said.

  “I know, I was thinkin’ the same thing,” I said.

  “He’s just tryin’ to cover his own arse,” Richardson said. “He knows we’re onto him and if he really does know Lawrence Wilson – which I seriously do think is the case here – then he knows he’s done for. He’s just clutching at straws.”

  “We still have to check his story out,” I said.

  “Be my guest,” Richardson said.

  “What do you think?” I asked Rahman.

  “We’ll look into what he said, see if there’s any truth to it, but I doubt it too.”

  Richardson pointed his hand at Rahman. “See?” He lowered his hand and leaned forward in his seat to look at me closer.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Clark said. He waited until he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “The killer is usually known to the family somehow. Either a relative or a family friend. Sometimes a neighbour, right? And we’re pretty sure this has all been the work of the same person too, right?”

  “How would one of the boys’ neighbours or relative know all three of them?” Richardson asked. “From what we know, none of the boys’ families knew each other. They’re not even the same religion either, are they Rahman?”

  “No,” Rahman said. “Rishi was Hindu, Ravinder was Sikh and Maqsood is Muslim.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m getting at,” Clark said. “How would this killer know all three boys or their families? We know Rishi went to a different school to the other two so we know it’s unlikely to be a teacher. It has to be someone else.”

  “Like who?” I asked.

  Clark looked at me. “Roberts said the man in the pub said he was a carpet fitter. What if that’s our killer’s job?

  “Roberts could’ve been lying about all that,” Rahman said.

  “Yeah,” Richardson said.

  “But let’s just take his word for it now – we’re definitely gonna check and find out,” Clark said. “So what if these boys recently had their carpets changed?”

  Rahman, Richardson and I all looked at each other. There was definitely something to that logic.

  “Rahman, can you please check with the families about whether they had their carpets changed and fitted in during the last twelve months?”

  “Of course,” Rahman said.

  Clark thanked him and turned to me. “And can you check with any of the local carpet fitters if they know anyone who fit the description Roberts gave us?”

  “Sure.”

  “That baseball cap was the key here,” Clark said. “He might’ve changed his dress sense and even changed his shape but the hat seemed like a long term thing, especially if he’s self conscious without it.” Clark turned to Richardson. “What’s Forensics saying about that evidence found at Wilson’s flat?”

  “They’re goin’ over it right now. They should have something for us either tomorrow evenin’ or the day after.”

  “We’ve gotta push for priority there,” Clark said. “We got DNA from Rishi and Ravinder. They’ll know if there’s a fit there.” He walked over to the door and looked out at the open floor plan. “Where’s Enfield?”

  “He’s running an errand,” Rahman said and walked out.

  Clark nodded followed him out.

  “You and Clark seem to be gettin’ cosy,” Richardson said once we were alone.

  “Just doin’ what we can.”

  “Come on,” he said. “We got work to do.”

  “What about the local companies?” I asked him.

  “Leave it for Enfield,” he said. “...Besides, it’s late. Business hours ended ages ago. Come on, let’s go.”

  I gathered my things and we walked out.

  The tedium of sitting with Richardson in his car while we kept an eye on Asim Patel’s house had already begun to sink in.

  58

  Asim

  I lay in bed and stared at the clock on my bedroom wall. It was 3:15pm on Wednesday afternoon.

  Almost four whole days had passed since anyone had seen Max.

  After we left that paedophile’s flat, someone had phoned my dad and told him what they had seen – two medics carrying a concealed body on a stretcher into the ambulance.

  The pervert had died.

  I wondered if all knowledge of Max’s whereabouts had gone to the grave with that man.

  It was even on the morning news on TV. The details had been vague but they had near enough implied that the man who had died was ‘The Binford Snatcher’ and the speculation around this death had spread everywhere. People were saying he committed suicide to avoid capture and humiliation.

  My mum told me a police officer – the Asian one who had dealt with Max’s family – had phoned us. He wanted to know if we had heard from Max or from anyone else who might be able to help the investigation. He’d asked about me, my mum said. He wanted to know how I was coping with the situation.

  I wondered what had been going through my mum and dad’s minds during all of this and how scared they must’ve been because of me.

  Rizwan had given me a proper lecture in the car on the way home, telling me off about my outburst and attempted entry of the paedophile’s home. He said he didn’t care how worried I had been – there was no excuse for becoming hysterical. I had to admit I had let my paranoia get the better of me and shouldn’t have interfered. He warned me not to say a word to our parents about what had happened with the police back at that scene and how it would only make them more worried about me.

  I needed a drink. The summer was just getting started and it was one of the hottest days of the year so far. I went downstairs to the kitchen. My mum was cooking and asked me how I was.

  I said I was fine but obviously wasn’t. I wouldn’t be fine until Max was back.

  If he was dead I’d never get over it.

  “What are you going to do today?” my mum asked.

  “I don’t know.” I reached into the fridge and got the juice carton out.

  “What about homework?”

  I poured juice into a glass and gulped it down. “There’s plenty of time for that. School’s still shut until next week, remember?”

  She said something about studying for the GCSE exams coming up but I wasn’t interested. There was a newspaper lying on the kitchen table that had caught my attention. The front page headline said ‘The Binford Snatcher Dead’. I picked up the paper.

  “That came in today,” my mum said.

  I skim read the article. There was nothing new in there except for the paedophile’s name, Lawrence Wilson, and his photo. I studied the photo and wondered if I had ever seen him before, either near the school or in town. But I didn’t recall ever
having seen him before. I tossed the newspaper back down on the table and walked out of the kitchen.

  I went to the telephone in the hallway and phoned Omar. I knew he would be home. There was nowhere else he had to be.

  “Seen the news?” he asked.

  “Yeah, seen the papers too.”

  “Can’t believe he killed himself,” Omar said.

  “I was there.”

  “What! How?”

  I told him the whole story – about enjoying a curry on Binford Lane when I spotted the mob and how we trailed them back to the Snatcher’s address, surrounded the place and gave him no chance of escaping. I told him about the police and the medical staff who went in. I left out the part where I tried to invade the building.

  “I thought Max was up there, ya know.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “For a while out there – before the cops came – I thought he might’ve had Max inside. And when the cops went in I thought they were gonna bring him out and everyone was gonna cheer.” The thought seemed so delusional when I said it aloud. “...But it didn’t happen.”

  “...Nah...”

  We were silent for a long moment. I guessed both of us were thinking how it might have been if the cops had rescued Max from the building and how the scene would’ve played out.

  “...So what you got planned for today?” I asked.

  “Stay home and revise for the exams, what else?”

  “How can you think about them at a time like this?” I asked.

  “Look, man. He was my friend too, ya know.”

  “Is,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You said he was your friend. Not he is your friend.”

  “You know what I mean, Asim. Don’t twist my words. I’m worried about him just as much as you are. Don’t go making this all about you now...”

  I knew he was right. I had been coming off self absorbed over these last two weeks but I couldn’t help it. I was barely keeping it together and getting worse by the day.