Comply or Die

by Tony Hutchinson

  Banners were held aloft:

  ‘Police Cover-Up’

  ‘Justice for the Five’

  ‘No to Alley-Gates, No Restriction of Movement’

  ‘Save the Riverside Wildlife and Fauna’

  And Sam’s particular favourite... ‘Student Debts, Students Deaths, Society in Denial.’

  The gathering was noisy but peaceful. Traffic and pedestrians had been diverted away from the area, as a precaution.

  Sam stood there, concentrating on the screens. One small incident was all it took, one idiot, and the crowd dynamics would change.

  And bang on cue, that idiot appeared, running out of the crowd to hurl an open tin of gloss paint at one of the police stations windows. As the window shattered and white paint flew from the tin, a young cop ran and rugby tackled the paint thrower to the ground.

  Cue mayhem.

  Two students, now with chequered scarves covering their faces, ran and pulled the uniform cop off the paint thrower. Police officers sprinted forward, barging into a slender young woman, sending her crashing to the floor. Scuffles were breaking out as the mood turned.

  Two police vans hurtled around the corner with blue lights flashing and sirens blaring. Cops in full riot gear jumped out and quickly formed a well-drilled three-sided formation, using their reinforced plastic shields to push the crowd back. Three mounted officers joined them, horses a brilliant asset at crowd control.

  A student threw a stick from one of the banners, spearing a cop in the cheek, blood flowing instantly following impact. Banners were dropped as the students were forced backwards, the cops kicking the sticks behind them as they advanced.

  A ‘snatch squad’ of three riot police broke through the shields, grabbed the spear thrower, spun him round and dragged him backwards, the wall of shields opening up and letting them back through to the police side of the cordon.

  Students banged their fists on the shields as they were pushed backwards towards a high wall. Pandemonium. Some shouted abuse, most screamed to be let out of the crowd. The majority, as was usually the case, hadn’t come for aggravation.

  The shields formed three sides of a square; the wall formed the fourth.

  The students were penned in, corralled.

  The riot cops were now able to step backwards, extend the perimeter of the square, but the students were going nowhere.

  Their dispersal was now a matter for the Public Order Commander.

  Sam left the Command Room. The on-duty uniform Inspector would be inundated with complaints of heavy-handed policing, police brutality, false imprisonment; just another day at the office.

  Ed walked into Sam’s office and told her about the interview with Billy Wilson.

  ‘We’ll see Tom King tomorrow then,’ she said. ‘Get a witness statement off him, even if it’s lies. Gives us something to have a go with later if he comes into the frame.’

  ‘Much happen at the demo? I heard it moved to Seaton nick.’ He sat down opposite her.

  ‘Everything was fine and dandy until some half-wit threw a tin of paint through one of the windows. Gloss all over one of the locker rooms but luckily no one was in there. He got locked up. Debbie Strong got hit in the face by a flying stick. That one got locked up as well.’

  ‘Good,’ Ed said. ‘We had plenty there, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah. I think some are still penned in. They’re only letting a few go at a time.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I’m going for a drink with Bev if you fancy a quick one,’ Sam offered.

  Ed scowled. ‘I promised Sue a while back I would stop drinking on a school night. She’ll not be happy if I can’t even get past Monday.’

  Sam stood up and took her jacket from the peg.

  ‘I thought you were in the bad books?

  ‘I am.’ He looked at the wall clock. 7.50pm. He’d been there since 6.35am. ‘Bollocks,’ he said flatly. ‘Hung as a sheep and all that.’

  ‘Hey, don’t let me stop you getting house points.’

  ‘See you in the Golden Eagle.’

  An hour later, Bev Summers was on a high stool in Sam’s kitchen. Both had limited themselves to one drink in the pub – driving. They weren’t driving now.

  ‘You sure it’s okay to stay?’

  ‘I’ve got four bedrooms. Course it is. Now…’ Sam bent down, opened the door of her wine cooler.

  ‘Hey, nothing too expensive, it’s a Monday. Okay to smoke?’

  ‘Carry on,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll be joining you. Just open the door.’

  Sam poured the wine into two large Riedel glasses, sat on a stool opposite Bev and put the bottle into a silver wine bucket full of ice.

  ‘Seems ages since we had a girlie chat,’ Bev said. ‘I know Christmas was tough.’ Her voice trailed away.

  Sam held the glass to her lips, but didn’t tip it far enough for any of the wine to slide towards her mouth.

  Bev waited. She and Sam had known each other years, known each other since Sam was a young PC. Sam had been promoted three times but it hadn’t affected their friendship. Sam had insisted on it.

  ‘I just wonder if I’ll ever move on from Tristram?’ she said quietly. ‘It’s been… God I lose track of time.’ She took a large glug from the glass, swirled the wine in her mouth, and swallowed. ‘I still don’t sleep brilliantly. Every dream I recall, he’s in it. One day I want a new relationship; the next I can’t even bear the thought of starting again. And where would I start?’

  ‘I’m not going to say give it time, because you already have,’ Bev told her. ‘I never wanted a long-term relationship, not where they moved in anyway. I’m not having some bloke moving in, then taking me to the cleaners when we split up.’

  ‘God I never thought about that.’

  ‘Hey, we’re both good catches,’ Bev smiled. ‘Decent jobs, nice cars, houses paid for... and not forgetting bodies! They might be ageing a bit, especially mine, but nothing’s dropped through childbirth.’

  Sam pointed at her thighs. ‘We’ll both still be tight down there.’

  The bout of laughter began.

  ‘Maybe you should let Darius Simpson and his blond mop find out,’ Bev said.

  Sam tried to speak through the giggles, glassy eyes focussed on Bev.

  ‘Can’t imagine him doing that,’ she said. ‘Looks too innocent. Probably thinks oral sex is when you talk about it.’

  They threw their heads back, laughing like horses neighing.

  ‘I can’t breathe,’ Sam said through the laughter.

  Bev shrieked, her voice much higher than normal.

  ‘He’s so posh he probably thinks fellatio is a character from a Shakespeare play.’

  Sam banged the black granite top, bent forward, and tried to inhale.

  ‘Stop it…Oh my God, I’ve got a mental picture now.’

  ‘He’ll be here like a shot if I ring him.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Sam waved her hand in front of her face, composed herself. ‘He’s a decent bloke, but… you know.’

  ‘I know… he’s not Ed.’

  Sam lifted her head. ‘God, is it that obvious?’

  ‘I’m one of your oldest friends,’ Bev said. ‘It’s obvious to me, probably not to anyone else. Does he know how you feel?’

  ‘No,’ Sam shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve never said anything. He’s married. He wouldn’t do anything. He’s not that type.’

  She took the bottle out of the ice bucket, poured a little into each glass. ‘And I wouldn’t want him to. It would just cause too much shit; too much shit for him at home, too much shit for us both at work.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘There’s a chemistry,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. I think he does, but it’ll never happen.’ She glanced at the microwave. 10.10pm.

  ‘What do you think about Aisha then?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Sam said. ‘I hope Ed’s wrong. I hope she’s not dead. We’re going to see her parents tomorrow. Introduce ourselves. We’re here to help
find your daughter... the usual, but it’ll give us a feel for them.’

  ‘And Jack?’

  ‘You know as well as I do how tough it is to sort when they’re found in the open.’

  She sipped the wine.

  ‘A missing Asian girl and a body in a river,’ Sam said. ‘Two of the hardest type of jobs to box off and we’ve got them both together.’

  ‘Nightmare,’ Bev agreed. ‘Did you hear how Debbie Strong’s doing?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Sam told her. ‘Strong by name and all that. Couple of stitches.’

  ‘Stitches?’ Bev said, a smile breaking out. ‘Well I bet her new girlfriend will be impressed... the butch touch.’

  She took a slow drink from her glass.

  ‘Oh by the way, I was in custody when they brought them in,’ she said. ‘Elliott Prince threw the paint.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday 15th April 2014

  Sam rubbed her bloodshot eyes as Ed walked into her office.

  ‘Good night then?’

  ‘God Bev can still drink.’ She massaged her temples. ‘My head’s busting and she looks like she’s gone to bed with a cup of cocoa and a book and slept for 12 hours.’

  ‘You’re obviously out of practice, not match fit,’ Ed said, sitting down.

  ‘Something like that… What about you? Everything alright when you got home?’

  ‘She went ballistic,’ Ed said. ‘I had one more pint after you and Bev left. Two pints and you’d think I’d been out all night. I should have just come round yours and got pissed. Wouldn’t have been any worse. Anyway…’

  Sam looked at the sadness in his eyes, swallowed hard before she spoke. ‘Elliott Prince was locked up yesterday.’

  ‘Really? What for?’

  ‘He threw the paint through the window.’

  ‘Elliott Prince?’ Ed said. ‘You sure? He’s the last kid I’d expect to do that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You haven’t seen him,’ Ed told her. ‘He’s the kid you knew from day one at senior school would get bullied. Little, fat, freckles, and ginger. If he turned out to be a geek, he’d have a full house.’

  ‘Well it was definitely him,’ Sam said. ‘Get down and see him. He’s at court this morning. Do an intelligence interview with him…tell you what, we’ll both go. I could do with the fresh air and I can’t be bothered with these emails at the minute. Then we can go and see Aisha’s parents. I’ve got their phone number from the file.’

  The prisoner was brought into an interview room.

  ‘Elliot, this is Detective Chief Inspector Parker,’ Ed said. ‘Sit down. We want to conduct an intelligence interview. We don’t want to ask you about the paint. Do you understand?’

  A nod.

  ‘The T-shirts you were all wearing. What’s their significance?’

  ‘They’re just a laugh?’ Elliot said.

  Sam leaned in close. ‘As a woman I find them highly offensive. I find you highly offensive.’

  She allowed her words to linger in the confined room. ‘How many are in your pathetic little club?’

  His eyes stared at the grey linoleum, his speech unsteady and slurred like a Saturday night drunk. ‘About 12 of us.’

  ‘And if I was a pathetic little boy wanting to join, how do I do that?’ Sam asked.

  ‘There was just the five of us originally, the ones who live together,’ Elliot said. ‘Well that’s not strictly true. There were four. I joined when I went to live with them. I was last there. It’s why I’ve got that tiny room. It’s not even a room really, there’s not even a window.’

  ‘What you live in a cupboard?’ asked Ed. ‘Like Harry Potter?’

  Elliot raised his head. ‘I suppose so, but I just wanted to live with them. Sound lads. So I was the fifth member, Glen and Jack then let others join, if they thought they were sound.’

  He stared at Ed, the words leaving his mouth faster than a swarm of flies fleeing a chemical spray.

  ‘Look, it was just a laugh, just banter,’ he gabbled. ‘They wore pink ‘Pussy Patrol’ T-shirts in ‘The Inbetweeners’ movie. No harm in it.’

  ‘Tell that to the DCI,’ Ed said, indicating Sam.

  Prince’s eyes dropped as Sam leaned in again.

  ‘You approached a group of girls in the Jolly Roger. One of them told you to fuck off. Seen them before?’

  He looked at her. ‘Think so. About town... campus. Never spoke to them though. Glen and Jack always fancied themselves around the girls.’

  ‘Did you argue with anyone that night?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Jack argued with the doormen,’ Elliot answered. ‘Threw the dregs of a pint over one of them but I left. I didn’t want to get beat up.’

  ‘Have any of your group, what’s it called… Mortimers. Any of that group been beaten up before?’ Sam pushed.

  ‘No, not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Do you do anything other than walk around in your stupid T-shirts sexually harassing women?’ Sam said evenly.

  ‘We don’t sexually harass anyone.’ Elliot looked offended.

  Sam shot forward, her face inches from his as he squirmed backwards, trying to increase the distance.

  ‘What, so saying ‘I suppose a fuck’s out of the question’ is not sexual harassment?’

  ‘I never said it.’

  Sam moved away from the table.

  Elliott sighed heavily.

  Ed handed him his business card. ‘Think of anything else Elliott, anything, like why would someone want to kill Jack, let us know. Okay?’

  Another nod.

  Friday 13th December 2013

  I burst through the door. Mam was at the Gurdwara, Mia was in the sitting room.

  ‘Only me.’ No response; just voices from the TV.

  I sprinted upstairs. The house was boiling. Mother never acclimatised to England.

  I yanked open the bedroom door I shared with Mia. Baljit, being the only son, had his own room, bigger than ours, of course. My pink suitcase was under the bunk bed. I had the top one, privilege of rank I used to say to Mia; heard that once in a military drama.

  I grabbed a couple of dresses from the drawers. Some underwear. Stuffed them into the case. The ‘uniform’ I was wearing was the only western dress I had.

  I took a pen and an A4 pad out of my school bag, sat on the bottom bunk and started to write. More like scribble really, balancing the book on my knees.

  Dear Mammy-ji and Daddy-ji

  I am sorry but I cannot stay. I cannot marry that man. I want my own life, on my own terms. I want to go to university. I want to meet a man and fall in love with him.

  I was born here, in England. I have British values. I don’t want to marry a stranger who is way much older than me.

  I hope you understand.

  I love you all, but cannot stay.

  Sat-sri-akaal

  Aisha

  I tore the page out of the book and left it on top of the drawers. They would find it, but not straight away. Mia wouldn’t come up here until bedtime. She would probably be the one to find it.

  I glanced at my watch. 5.50pm. Sukhi should be at the end of the street now. I stopped at the door then turned. One last look. I’ve slept my whole life in this little room.

  Shit. The bathroom.

  I dropped my suitcase and ran on my tiptoes. I grabbed my hairbrush, toothbrush, and deodorant, ran back to the bedroom, bent down, and stuffed them in my case. I turned around again at the door. Justin! Can’t leave Justin. I shuffled under the bed, rummaged amongst the old toys and got the signed photo Bethany had found on eBay. ‘Put it on your wall,’ she’d said when she gave it to me. No chance. A white pop star? Just watching him on the TV would mean trouble if I was caught.

  Run. Get out of here.

  I dropped my case in the hallway, dashed into the sitting room and gave Mia a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘Get off,’ she shouted, as she pushed me away.

  I’ve no idea when I’ll next see her and she�
��s pushing me away. She doesn’t know what’s happening. Fifteen and she thinks she knows everything. I silently promised to come back for her. She’s not being told who to marry.

  Tuesday 15th April 2014

  Sam knocked on the black door of the terraced house. Davinder Bhandal opened it, stepped aside, and beckoned them in. Crossing the threshold reminded Sam of emerging from an aircraft when it landed somewhere hot. The white paint on the woodchip wallpaper had long since faded to yellow, but the dark wood frame surrounding the picture of Guru Nanak was gleaming.

  Sam caught a glimpse of Mrs Bhandal in the kitchen.

  Ed and Sam were ushered into the front room and sat on the sofa. Davinder sat on an armchair. ‘My wife does not speak English. I will tell her what was said after you leave. First, some tea.’ He shouted in what Sam presumed was Punjabi. Almost immediately Parkash Bhandal appeared carrying a gold-coloured tray with upturned sides.

  Head down, she placed the tray on the large mahogany coffee table and without speaking a word, left the room. Her face had been as expressionless as a Victorian servant waiting on her master.

  Davinder passed Sam and Ed a plate, invited them to a vegetable samosa and a cup of milky tea.

  Sam spoke. ‘Mr Bhandal, as I explained on the phone, the purpose of our visit is to introduce ourselves. Myself and Sergeant Whelan are now leading the investigation into Aisha’s disappearance.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘My solicitor is not impressed with the police action. Everything’s been done from the view of Izzat. It is ridiculous. Aisha had a good life. We were perhaps too soft with her. I blame myself. I should have been firmer.’

  ‘So would you describe her as being happy in the lead up to her disappearance?’ Sam asked.

  ‘She was happy all the time. Not just in the lead up, as you put it.’

  ‘I know how difficult it must be Mr Bhandal,’ Sam said. ‘I cannot begin to imagine how you must be feeling. A missing child. It must be heartbreaking. We will do everything we can to find her.’

  He bowed his head, an almost undetectable couple of nods, and wiped his eyes. He didn’t look up.