by Rashad Salim
There is no doubt in anyone’s mind, especially after this never-before-heard account of the investigations, that Asim Patel was integral to all three victims’ cases. Although his involvement in ‘The Binford Snatcher’ murder investigations was regretful, I find myself in the unexpected position of being grateful for Asim’s relentless curiosity with the abductions of his classmates. Had it not been for his obsession with learning the truth, George Mitchell and Paul Jones may never have been caught.
Asim
By the time ‘The Binford Snatcher’ crimes were stopped, three teenage boys had been abducted and abused – two of them later murdered, an innocent suspect had committed suicide, one of the leading detectives working on the investigation had been murdered by one of the two men responsible for the crimes and that murderer was then killed by me.
Death had come to Binford that summer and left its mark.
The media had flocked to the town and hounded us and everyone we knew.
The fallout from the crimes was unprecedented. The police were blamed for not having prevented the crimes, the press was criticised for exploiting the crimes and Binford Secondary School was targeted by everyone for not having detected a serial killer among the staff.
Mr Mitchell laid all the blame on his accomplice Paul Jones. Not only had he been a sadistic pervert but he was a coward too and I was glad he was sentenced to over thirty years of prison time. I don’t know how I feel about him being murdered inside before completing the first decade of his sentence.
Although it was twenty-five years ago, so much of what happened still remains fresh to me. In a lot of ways it’s as if it all happened yesterday. I have tried not to relive those days and wasn’t ever interested in discussing the crimes of that summer with anyone – not the media or even any charities that dealt with victims of crime.
I rejected every offer that was made to me at the time because the horror of it all was still fresh. To me, talking about it was just like prolonging it, keeping it going on forever.
Looking back on it now, I am shocked at the boy I was during all of it. So much of what I did – and not just killing someone in self defence – still feels unbelievable.
The media made me out to be Max’s great saviour. The person who put a stop to the murders but none of that would have been possible if it hadn’t been for the tireless work and intervention of DI Richardson and DC Cole.
DC Cole put his life at risk for us boys and DI Richardson paid with his.
I remain eternally grateful to both of them for what they did despite the difficult times I had with them early on in the murder investigations.
I never thought I’d tell this story – it took me twenty-five years before I was ready to do so – but now that I have, I am glad that I did.
Having said that, this is the last time I’ll say anything on the matter.
I feel it’s best to let the matter rest for good.
I always said I loved Binford despite all the horrors that have happened in this town and I mean it. Despite being urged by many to move out of Binford, somewhere far away, for a fresh start and get some distance between the bad memories of the summer of 1991, I still live here.
Today, I’m happily married and have two children – a boy and a girl, both primary school pupils. I run a convenient store on Binford Lane and business is good despite the ups and downs of the recession.
To many local residents, ‘The Binford Snatcher’s crimes are a distant memory and many of the younger residents are completely unaware that those crimes ever occurred, which is fine by me.
I have a good life and I give thanks to god for my fortune. My only regret is Max.
Max did eventually recover from his ordeal but our friendship didn’t.
You could say our friendship ended the last time I saw him before he vanished. It’s still a sore spot for me that we had parted ways that day after a heated argument.
He moved to Pakistan with his family when the summer ended, just like his father had planned all along. I was sad to see him go but knew it was a good thing for him to escape the world’s prying eyes.
I thought I’d see him when he was at the hospital right after we had rescued him but he wasn’t accepting any visitors. It was the same later when he was discharged.
I never saw him before he departed to Pakistan.
About a year before I was approached to tell my side of ‘The Binford Snatcher’ story I was outside my shop when a car slowed to a standstill across the road. The driver was alone and although I hadn’t seen him in almost a quarter of a century I recognised him instantly.
I didn’t know why Max had come. He must’ve heard about my shop and decided to take a look for himself. There had been so much I wanted to say to him but in that moment all I could manage was a smile. I didn’t know how he’d react.
He gave me a nod and returned my smile – albeit not as wide as the one I’d given him – and then he drove away.
I haven’t tried to contact him and I don’t think I ever will. I just hope he has managed to overcome what he went through that summer. That’s all I want.
Q & A with Rashad Salim
Q: Why are the Binford books a series if the characters are different in each book?
A: Each book shows a different plotline but they all take place in the shared Binford-verse. Some characters will make repeat appearances in later books in the vein of Frank Miller’s Sin City and Ed McBain’s The 87th Precinct.
Q: Do I have to read the books in order of release?
A: No, they can be read in any order.
Q: I did a Google search for Binford. There isn’t one in East London. Why?
A: It’s a fictional town. A composite of all the beautiful parts of East London.
Q: What made you want to be a writer?
A: The love of literature. Money and fame too.
Q: Where do you get your ideas?
A: Everywhere.
Q: Who are your favourite crime writers?
A: Lawrence Block, Walter Mosley, Joe R. Lansdale, Michael Connelly and James Patterson.
Q: What are you working on now?
A: Planning the next books in the Binford series for publication in summer of 2017 and more literary fiction release under the pen name Rash Salim.
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