Comply or Die

by Tony Hutchinson

  Ed looked at her over the rim of his mug; self assured, shiny brown hair, subtle make-up. He sipped his tea. ‘Is that what you think happened?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Bethany said. ‘I just thought she ran away with Sukhi. He was nice. She’d meet him on a Friday. We used to go to the shops together. It was the only day she could get out. I couldn’t even ring her at home.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ed asked. ‘She had a mobile, access to social media.’

  ‘Yeah right. Is that what they told you, her family? She had a mobile at school. That was just so they could all check up on her. That phone was taken from her as soon as she got home and given back to her on a morning.’

  Ed said: ‘She tell you that?’

  ‘She did. Again I didn’t believe her. I rang the phone one Saturday. Her brother answered and went mental with me. Told me his sister didn’t associate with white slags.’

  Ed sat there, impassive. There was no mention of any of this in Bethany’s first statement. The bright-red warning indicators of an honour-based system began flashing in his head.

  ‘I told the police about the phone, her not having it after college, but they didn’t write it down, said it wasn’t relevant,’ Bethany said. ‘They were just interested in whether Aisha had a boyfriend, whether I knew the lad on the CCTV.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course I knew him, but I didn’t tell them that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘After Aisha told me about the marriage I read an article in a magazine about honour crime. Funny how one minute you know nothing, the next you’re seeing and hearing about it everywhere. I knew what honour meant in Aisha’s world. She told me. The police never mentioned that to me. They told me Aisha ran away with a boy. If that was true, there was no way I was going to help them find her, send my mate into a marriage with some old bloke from India.’

  Ed smiled and shook his head at the same time; smiled because this young woman had grasped the concept of honour, shook his head because his uniform colleagues had not.

  ‘The boy, Sukhvinder, he’s never been seen since.’

  ‘I know, so they got away,’ Bethany said. ‘I knew he’d take care of her. They were in love. I just hoped she’d call me.’

  ‘You told the police officers that you’d last seen Aisha at college. Your last lesson finished at 2.30pm and then you had gone your separate ways. Is that right?’

  Bethany stared into Ed’s eyes.

  ‘Can I ask you something? Do you believe this honour thing exists? Do you believe she could have been forced to marry? That was what she was worried about, worried that they’d take her to India and leave her there.’

  Ed leaned in towards her. ‘I do. And I’ll tell you why. I’ve spent most of my adult life married to a Sikh.’

  Her eyes widened faster than a child’s kaleidoscope. ‘Really? Wow…so you know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I do,’ Ed said. ‘So if there is anything you haven’t told us, now’s the time. I won’t necessarily tell Aisha’s parents, and you won’t be in any trouble.’

  Bethany stood up and walked to the Formica workbench, took her phone off charge, tapped in her password, and clicked on an icon.

  ‘Here,’ she said, bending down next to him, showing him her phone. ‘I took this on the afternoon she went missing. I was going to show it to her the following Monday, tease her, you know, pretend I would show her parents, her brother.’

  Ed looked at the picture. ‘Will you email this to me, and any others you’ve got?’

  A series of rapid nods.

  Ed focussed on the photograph. Aisha at the bus stop stood on her tiptoes, hands clasped around Sukhvinder’s neck, kissing him. What horrified him was the Asian man, traditional dress, standing on the other side of the road. A sense of foreboding overwhelmed him. Aisha’s dash for freedom needed to have succeeded. That man would undoubtedly know her parents. Ed shivered. Had he just seen The Kiss Of Death?

  Chapter Ten

  Sam was sitting at a table on the stage in the media briefing room, half-way through her prepared statement. The usual suspects from local TV, radio, and of course, Darius Simpson from the Seaton Post, were assembled, a couple of agency photographers walking around, flashes lighting up the room. There was also a regionally based reporter from one of the ‘redtop’ nationals.

  ‘We are keen to trace Jack’s movements between 9pm on Saturday and 4.05am on Sunday, and would like to hear from anybody who was in the town centre, or on the tow path, or who may have spoken to Jack between those times, to contact us. Viewing the town-centre CCTV is an obvious line of inquiry for us.’

  Sam believed in avoiding jargon. Nothing turned viewers off more than cops talking in language that the average man in the street didn’t understand; if members of the public switched off, her appeal was in vain, potential witnesses lost.

  Redtop got in first. They always did. ‘This is the fifth young person to die in the river in the last six months. Some students are saying their deaths are not accidents. Five young men: five deaths. Is Eastern Police considering a possible link, that they may have all been murdered?’

  Sam looked directly at him. She’d anticipated this.

  ‘As I have already pointed out, Jack was assaulted before he went into the river. He did not drown. The other tragic losses of lives were the result of drowning. We will always keep an open mind, but the evidence at this stage is that only Jack was assaulted.’

  ‘But of course the others might just have been pushed in?’ Redtop said.

  ‘Anything is possible, but there is no evidence to back that up, and without evidence all we have is speculation,’ Sam smoothly held her ground.

  In a room full of journalists and media, Sam was now in a one-to-one with the Redtop... and Redtop wasn’t stopping.

  ‘The council have announced this morning they have no plans to put up fencing along the tow path, but might erect large gates to block entry to it after a certain time. Any views, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘That is a matter for the council,’ Sam said. ‘While there maybe some input from Eastern Police, it is not something I will be involved in.’

  ‘Are you going to increase patrols along the river?’

  ‘There will undoubtedly be a greater police presence over the next couple of days as we search for witnesses and evidence,' Sam said. 'If you are asking me will there be a long-term increased police presence, then I’m sorry, but you’ll need to ask the Divisional Superintendent with policing responsibility for that area.’

  ‘In light of the five deaths in six months, do you think he should have been present today?’

  Sam had to admit Redtop was quite the operator.

  ‘The purpose of today is to seek information and search for witnesses into the tragic death of Jack Goddard,’ she said evenly. ‘It is not to discuss policing arrangements, or council policy, with regards to the tow path.

  Redtop nodded. He’d made his point.

  The background questions followed: what type of person was Jack, how was his family coping, could they have a picture?

  Sam left the stage, ready to do one-to-ones with local TV and radio.

  ‘Can I have a quick word Sam?’ Darius said.

  ‘Of course. You were quiet in there. Post not interested?’

  ‘All the questions I had were asked; the angle about the deaths being linked. Some of the students are up in arms. You know, serial killer on the loose.’

  Sam sighed. ‘I know.’

  ‘Look, the activists among them are organising a demo.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No. They’ve tipped me off because they want coverage. 5pm tonight. Outside the Town Hall.’

  ‘Town Hall?’

  ‘Yeah, one of the things they’re protesting about is the council’s announcement this morning that they’re considering alley gates at the entrance to the tow path.’

  He ran his hands through his mop of blond hair. ‘They’re saying it’s a br
each of their human rights, that closing the tow path would mean they’d have to walk the long way round, which for a lot of them would add an extra half-hour to their walk home?’

  Sam didn’t try to hide her contempt.

  ‘Pleeease! Have they got nothing better to think about?’

  ‘Sam, they’ve thought this through,’ Darius said. ‘This way they’ll get the anti-police students who think the cops are ignoring a serial killer and won’t spend money on an extra patrols, the human rights activists who think the gates are an interference with their liberty, and the environmentalists who’ll say putting up the gates will destroy the plants and wildlife in the hedgerows the council will have to dig up. They’ve got all the anti-establishment bases covered.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Sam sighed. ‘Any idea of numbers?’

  Darius shook his head.

  ‘No. But this will spread like wildfire on social media. Nearly every student will fit into at least one of the protest categories.’

  ‘Okay, cheers Darius,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll need to make these one-to-ones as quick as possible, warn uniform. We don’t want to get caught with our pants down.’

  She smiled inside as a red surge spread from Darius’ neck.

  Once all the interviews were finished, Sam went to ACC Teal’s office and updated her on Aisha, Jack Goddard, and the demo.

  Sam was comfortable with her. Teal had come on promotion from Northumbria Police, which she’d joined as a PC before climbing to the rank of Chief Superintendent. She had replaced Trevor Stewart, who had moved to another force on another promotion taking his sexual innuendos with him. ‘That’s great Sam,’ ACC Teal said. ‘Thanks. You concentrate on Goddard and Aisha, although give more resources to Goddard. Aisha’s been missing since December. Leave the demo to me.’

  ‘Thank you Ma’am.’

  ‘Sam, in here, Monica does fine.’

  She checked her ringing mobile.

  ‘It can wait,’ she said. ‘When we’ve more time I’d like to discuss your plans for the future. Where do you see yourself? How far up the ladder do you want to climb? That sort of thing. I’d like to help you. I believe in looking after our good people, irrespective of gender, and all I hear is that you’re one of the good ones.’

  ‘Thank you… Monica.’

  Sam left the office feeling elated. When Trevor Stewart had occupied it, she invariably left full of fuck.

  Her phone vibrated in her trouser pocket. She answered it. ‘Hi Ed…I’ll be in my office in two minutes.’

  ‘Billy Wilson’s popped in to see us,’ Ed said. He had been sitting in her office, waiting for her.

  ‘What, here? Headquarters?’ Sam put her phone on the desk.

  ‘It’ll be okay. He’s a witness at the minute. There’s an empty office at the end. He’s already in it. Paul brought him up.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Ed,’ Sam said. ‘We shouldn’t be doing it at HQ. This place is non-operational.’

  ‘He’s here now. Let’s just crack on.’

  ‘Go on then, but don’t make a habit of it,’ Sam told him. ‘Just this once.’

  ‘And I’ll fill you in on Aisha later. I’ve seen a camera photo of her kissing her boyfriend at the bus stop.’

  Billy didn’t move when Ed walked into the room.

  ‘Don’t stand up on my account,’ Ed said.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Never mind. This is Detective Chief Inspector Parker.’

  ‘Alright,’ he said.

  Ask a hundred people to describe a bare-knuckle fighter and Ed was convinced they’d describe Billy Wilson: fingers like bananas, ‘love’ inked crudely on one set of knuckles, ‘hate’ on the other, and a nose that had been broken more times than a teenager’s heart.

  ‘I understand you’ve popped in to see us about the young lad found in the river,’ Ed said, sitting down.

  Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

  ‘Thought I’d come and see you, Ed,’ Billy said. ‘Save you the trouble of coming to find me. That’s why I came here. No point in going to the nick in Seaton. They’d have rung you. I’d have to wait. Quicker to come here.’

  ‘Why did you think we wanted to see you?’

  Wilson held both palms up. ‘Come on, Ed. I know the pompous little pricks. They’re in regular. We threw them…’ He corrected himself, ‘escorted them out on Saturday. One of them threw beer over Tom. I’m sure Steve’ll tell you that. It’ll be on the cameras. So I came to see you. Alibi’s watertight. I never did anything to any of them.’

  ‘Time was you’d have decked the one with the beer on the spot,' Ed said.

  ‘Times change,’ Billy answered. ‘You know that, Ed. I can’t hit them any more than you can. CCTV. Mobile phones with cameras and videos. Everything you do’s recorded these days. So everything’s by the book, meaning everybody gets away with being a twat.’

  ‘The young lad didn’t deserve to die,’ Ed said.

  ‘Ed, I agree. If they were taught to be more respectful, they wouldn’t get into trouble. They’d have some manners. That’s the problem these days - no manners, no respect.’

  Sam unfolded her arms, stood straight.

  ‘Save us the lecture on respect and society’s ails,’ she said. ‘Sgt Whelan will take a statement from you. If everything you say checks out, we’ll not need to see you again. If it doesn’t, we’ll see you at a time and place of our choosing, not yours.’

  Sam slammed the door behind her.

  ‘Who rattled her cage?’

  Ed smiled. ‘Don’t cross her, Billy. She’s good, takes no prisoners, if you catch my drift.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like she does.’

  Billy Wilson relayed the events of Saturday night. Ed wrote his statement.

  ‘What’s Tom King like then?’

  ‘Quiet. Confident. Good lad, good craic. Very polite. Likes his footie. Not a big drinker though, too much into his martial arts. Local champion. Drinks Cranberry juice and eats those avocado things like they’re going out of fashion.’

  ‘Is he any good? At martial arts, not eating avocados?’

  Billy, oblivious to Ed’s wise-crack, leaned across the desk and spoke as if he was divulging a secret.

  ‘Ed, I went to one of his fights a few months back. He’s so fast, and his reach.’ He stretched out his arms. ‘He’s like a bloody albatross.’

  He dragged the chair closer to the desk with his backside. ‘But it’s not just his speed.’ He tapped his temples. ‘It’s his focus. Concentration. He’s fearless. He just waits and waits, and then, bam!’ Billy punched the palm of his hand. ‘Fists, kicks, he’s got it all. I wouldn’t tackle him, neither would most of the doormen round here. He’s that good Ed, and he’s just a kid.’

  Ed thought about Tom King. Would a trained fighter need a weapon?

  ‘What about the group of lads?’

  ‘Gobshites. Always wearing them daft T-shirts. Think they’re it. Call themselves Mortimers.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘Never had to throw them out before, but they’re pricks, Ed. Think they’re God’s gift. I could imagine them upsetting all sorts.’

  ‘Enough to kill one of them?’

  Billy pushed his chair backwards. ‘Doesn’t seem to take much these days, Ed. Like I said, no respect.’

  ‘When you next see Tom, tell him to give me a ring.’ Ed passed him his business card.

  ‘I will, but I don’t know he’ll call. Hates your lot.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘His mother suffered years of good hidings from his old man,’ Billy said. ‘Tom saw it all, but was too young to stop it. Used to get a few bats himself. Police would to go to the house but did nothing. One day, after she’d had a good kicking the night before, she snuck up on hubbie when he was having his breakfast and brayed him over the head with a shovel. Brains and blood all over the ceiling.’

  Ed raised his eyebrow. ‘Really? When was this? Where did it happen?’

  ‘Tom went
into care,’ Billy said. ‘Blames the police. Reckons if they’d done their job, the old fella would have been banged up and his mother wouldn’t be in jail. It happened here, Ed, in Seaton.

  ‘King?’ Ed stared at the wall. ‘Name means nothing.’

  ‘That’s because he changed it. Tom Cotton.’

  ‘Pat Cotton! Gordon. Tom was... ’

  ‘Twelve,’ Billy jumped in. ‘Twelve years old and his mother, who he idolised, still idolises, locked up for killing one of the nastiest bastards ever to walk. He was a pussy among men was Gordon Cotton, but a big man around Pat. That kid visits her every fortnight, and I’ll tell you this much, Ed, he can’t stand blokes being disrespectful to women.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘No more killings,’ the speaker shouted into his megaphone, his lisp very pronounced. Sam was in the Command Room adjacent to Control Room, watching the live stream from the CCTV. All those people and they’d chosen the guy with the lisp as their head chanter; talk of politically correct gone mad. She could only imagine what Ed would make of it.

  Six screens, same protest, different viewpoints. The students had left the Town Hall and marched on the police station.

  Sam reckoned there were about 150 people; Darius was right, every type had been attracted, and they weren’t all students at the university. She recognised a couple of activists who’d never finished school never mind gone into Higher Education. Only social media could have produced a crowd this large in such a short period of time.

  Monica Teal had been true to her word and had acted swiftly. There was a serial of one inspector, a sergeant, and eight constables deployed, keeping a watching brief on the demo. Ten cops in total, all dressed in normal uniform, low-key, their objective to ensure that everything passed peacefully.

  Sam knew in the underground car park at Seaton St George police station were two, long-wheel-based Ford Transits, each with a Public Order Serial inside them, kitted out in riot gear. If it kicked off, the police were prepared.