Scratch Deeper

by Chris Simms

  ‘I’m with the Greater Manchester Police.’

  ‘Police? This isn’t a call about plumbing?’

  ‘No. I’m calling about an incident last night. In Bury.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you – I’m up in Cumbria. Is this to do with my house? Have I been burgled?’

  It’s not him, Iona thought. He wasn’t driving the van. ‘There’s no need for concern, sir. Do you own a work van?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it with you at the moment?’

  ‘No, Lee has it. Don’t say he’s crashed it, is that it? He’s written the thing off?’

  ‘No, there’s no cause for concern, sir. There was a road traffic accident last night at a junction in Bury. Your van wasn’t involved, but CCTV from the scene picked up the vehicle going past. We believe the driver may have witnessed the collision.’

  ‘Lee?’

  ‘Is that an employee of yours? Does he have the keys for it?’

  ‘Yeah, Lee Madsen. If I’m away, I leave it with him in case of any call outs. You want his number?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘So . . . there’s no problem? I mean, no one’s died?’

  ‘No, everyone’s fine. We’re trying to find out who was at fault, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. OK, I have his number here. Shall I read it out?’

  ‘Thanks. And if you have an address for him, that would be great, too.’

  A check on the PNC showed Iona that Lee Madsen, twenty-two years old, had three previous convictions. One for shoplifting and two for burglary. Served eight weeks in a young offenders’ institute back in 2006. Kept himself clean, since then. He’ll also have, Iona reflected, experience dealing with the police.

  Minutes later, she was standing in front of a semi-detached house, regarding the two buzzers outside the front door. She was familiar with the arrangement. The front door would lead into a communal hall. There’d be two doors beyond – one giving access to the flat on the ground floor, one giving access to the flat on the first floor. The fact Madsen’s buzzer was for the first floor was good, she decided. Assuming she could get him downstairs to answer her call, there would be no need to enter a property on her own that could well contain three violent males.

  She took another look at the van parked on the other side of the road. It appeared like it was fresh from a car wash and she wondered if the inside had been cleaned just as meticulously.

  She lifted the flap to the letterbox and peeped through. Stairs in front, no sound of a TV or radio drifting down. She pressed the button and listened as an angry buzz rang out.

  Straightening back up, she waited. No response. She pressed again, following it with a quick succession of bangs with the heel of her hand. The skin was still tingling when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

  ‘Who is it?’ a voice asked from the other side of the door.

  ‘Police. Open up, please.’

  It opened a fraction and a young man with messy hair looked out to see a warrant card inches from his face.

  ‘Open it properly, would you?’

  Eyes that were still puffy from sleep momentarily tried to focus. He then checked over her shoulder and looked back at her with a frown. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You know what it’s about, Lee. Open the door.’

  He delayed for a split second longer, then swung it back. Iona put her warrant card away, taking in his bare feet, tracksuit bottoms and baggy T-shirt as she did so. He was about six feet tall. The fact he was also two steps above her gave him a massive height advantage. Worse than that, his crotch was not far from the level of her face. ‘Who’s upstairs, Lee?’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Who else is in your flat?’

  He shook his head. ‘No one. Why?’

  ‘You lying to me, Lee?’

  ‘No, it’s just me,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Take a seat on the stairs behind you. I think we can get this sorted here.’

  He rubbed at his sternum through his T-shirt. ‘You what?’

  ‘Sit on the stairs. It’s there or the station. You decide.’

  He backed away, reaching behind him with one hand and lowering himself slowly on to the third step up. ‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’

  Iona caught his look of defeat, rapidly getting the impression he was no ring leader in what had occurred the previous night. She stepped into the hall, careful to keep the door open. ‘Shortly after eleven thirty last night, your works van was observed waiting on Hudcar Street. Were you the driver? Your boss said the keys are entrusted to you when he’s up in Cumbria.’

  He hung his head and started picking at the stubble on the back of his neck, playing for time.

  Aware the person living in the ground-floor flat could be listening, she whispered, ‘At the moment, he believes you might have been witness to an RTA at a junction somewhere in Bury. Answer my questions, he carries on believing that and you keep your job. Muck me around, Lee, and – given your previous convictions – losing your wage will be the least of your worries. Were you driving that vehicle?’

  He raised his head and she could see he was trying to appraise the situation. That’s right, Iona thought. I’ve just offered you a deal. ‘Lee, if I was here just to haul you in, it would be with a couple of uniforms and a patrol car. I’m on my own.’ She sensed the time was right to dangle him his get out. ‘Now, I reckon you were dragged into driving for the other two. My witness says you played no part in the incident in that cut-through. I doubt you even wanted to be part of their plan.’

  He dragged a hand down the side of his face, little finger catching on his bottom lip, peeling it down to reveal his lower teeth for a split second. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Names, Lee. Who were they?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  She got out her mobile. ‘I don’t have time to mess about. Do I call your boss first or my colleagues back at the station?’

  Lee sagged sideways against the wall. ‘I don’t know who the headcase was, all right? Gary, that’s what Martin called him.’

  ‘Who’s Martin?’

  ‘I know him from when I was inside. He’s not a mate – he just turns up every now and again. Usually trying to tap me for booze or whatever.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  ‘I don’t know. He dosses about, no regular place.’

  ‘Have you got a surname for him?’

  ‘Rushton.’

  Iona jotted it down. A check on the PNC would show up if he really was NFA. ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Like I said, he was called Gary. Geordie accent, just out. Said he was inside for robbing a shop.’

  ‘Out from where, Strangeways?’

  Lee stayed slumped against the wall. ‘Somewhere Newcastle way, for all I know. Martin just turned up with him. They wanted a ride. I didn’t think they were really going to . . .’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘You know, go looking for Arabs or whatever.’

  ‘That’s what it was? An unprovoked attack? The first two poor sods you could find?’

  ‘They weren’t poor sods,’ Lee said under his breath.

  Iona let the comment pass. ‘Where did you see them, the two men who were attacked?’

  ‘On Woodhill Road. One was carrying a takeout. When they turned down the alley, Gary said to stop the van. He went after them, Martin followed. I didn’t want to, I swear. Gary said to wait on the next street, where the alley came out.’

  ‘Who’s was the baseball bat?’

  Lee picked at the skirting board. ‘Mine.’

  ‘What happened in the alley?’

  ‘They didn’t really say . . .’

  ‘Something happened. Half the neighbours heard it going off. Who was it you had to help back into the van?’

  He looked at her. ‘The little one – has he said about stabbing Gary? I bet he left that bit out, didn’t he?’

  Iona kept her expression blank. �
�Gary was stabbed?’

  ‘Yeah – the little one with the shaved head did it.’ He hauled himself up into a sitting position. ‘He didn’t mention that to you, did he? Vicious little fuck – you want to arrest him.’

  He thinks the two people they attacked have made a report, Iona thought. She studied her notebook. ‘Where did the knife come from?’

  ‘He was carrying it – the shorter one. Don’t let them act the poor little Pakis because that’s bollocks.’

  ‘You know the knife belonged to the shorter one with the shaved head?’

  ‘That’s what Martin said. The little one ran off to start, left the lanky one behind. Then he reappears to properly fuck Martin and Gary up. That Gary, he’s got muscles jumping off him. The one with the knife smashed him, Martin said. Smashed both of them.’

  ‘The lanky one and the shorter one; could you identify them if I were to show you a photograph?’

  Lee’s eyes shifted suspiciously. ‘What? You going to charge them?’

  Iona tilted her head, hinting it may be a possibility. ‘Could you identify them?’

  ‘The taller one, probably. The short one was on the other side of him as they went past. Didn’t see him.’

  ‘What about when you first saw them – on Woodhill Road, before they entered the alley?’

  He shook his head. ‘We were behind them. Only saw their backs.’

  Iona wanted to stamp a foot in frustration. Is no one able to get a good look at the companion’s face? ‘What about Martin and Gary?’

  ‘Not sure. They were closer, for sure. Had to have been if he stabbed Gary in the arse cheeks.’

  Iona floated a glance to the top of the stairs. ‘Where are they now?’

  He shrugged again. ‘Not a Scooby-Doo.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I dropped them off on the other side of town. Fucking glad to get rid and all.’

  ‘Didn’t they need treatment at a hospital?’

  ‘Gary wasn’t going to A and E. Not for a stab in the arse.’

  ‘So you dropped them off where?’

  ‘On the Manchester Road, near Fishpool.’

  ‘You don’t know where they went?’

  ‘No.’

  She held eye contact until he looked down.

  ‘Believe what you want,’ he said. ‘But that’s what happened.’

  Iona cursed to herself. The pair would be lying low, that’s if they were still in the area. Two more people who could potentially identify Ranjit Bhujun really was in the country – and both wanting to avoid the police. Damn it! She closed her notebook. ‘Keep your phone on, Lee.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘For the moment, it is.’ She stepped back outside and pulled his front door shut.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Speeding round the M60 on the way back to Orion House, Iona found herself switching to Radio 5 Live. She glanced at herself in the rear-view mirror. Why are you doing that? You never listen to this station. A studio discussion was underway, several commentators dissecting the essence of the latest speech made at the conference. Are you, she wondered, expecting the programme to be suddenly interrupted? A voice to announce that, due to unknown developments in the city centre, coverage is suspended?

  The panel concluded their analysis and the presenter began to talk about upcoming highlights – tomorrow’s being the most talked-about. Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and – according to unconfirmed reports, the new Labour leader himself, Daniel Tevland – all on stage together. To Iona, the announcement seemed more like a portent. She sped up, anxious to be back at her desk.

  Up in the main office, the atmosphere was noticeably tenser, even with half the desks empty. Euan had told her it was always like this once a major operation got underway – everyone praying that, if anything happened, it wasn’t while they were on shift. Things wouldn’t relax until the event was officially over.

  She approached her desk with a mounting sense of discomfort. There was the yellow Post-it note stuck to her screen. Abruptly, she found Wallace’s intrusive, yet impersonal, way of communicating annoying.

  Why can’t he leave a voicemail or an email like anyone else? Why this ridiculous little system of paper notes? Part of her suspected the answer; it got him out of his office on the floor above, allowing him to prowl around, monitoring those below him.

  Call by when you get in. P.

  She wanted to scrunch the square of paper up, throw it in her bin and claim, when asked, that it must have detached itself and drifted to the floor. Still, she consoled herself, at least the clipping of Baby wasn’t back. Turning on her heel, she set off for the stairs.

  ‘Enter.’

  She pushed open the door and stepped into his office. ‘Just got back, sir.’

  ‘Close the door, Detective.’

  After doing as he asked, she turned to see him gesturing at the chair beyond his desk. What Jim had revealed to her the previous night came flooding back and she couldn’t look at him as she crossed the room.

  ‘So, take me through the delights of Bury on a Sunday morning.’ He leaned back.

  ‘Pretty quiet to be honest, sir.’

  ‘Figures. What was the score?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The football match. Who won?’

  ‘Oh, I crept away at half time. Once I knew neither Bhujun was there.’

  ‘Anyone score while you were there?’

  ‘The Mauritian team got one.’

  He looked disappointed. ‘And the mosque?’

  ‘Well, as I said, I only parked near it for a few minutes. I did observe two women leaving it via an entrance at the back. I think you’re right that they have separate doors for males and females.’

  ‘Probably.’ He neatened a stack of papers, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. ‘It could be very easy getting a visual confirmation if this cleric is in there.’

  ‘The women I saw, they were wearing traditional dress. Their heads were covered.’

  ‘Yes, you’d need to go togged-up. A hijab and long-sleeved dress would do. You wouldn’t need to be peering out from one of those letterbox numbers some of them wear. Not unless you wanted to.’ His lips twitched with a small smile. ‘What I’m getting at, Detective, is you need to start approaching this more under your own initiative.’

  ‘You’re saying I should go in there alone and without back-up? Surely there are protocols—’

  ‘There you go again, Detective. If you want your hand holding, you should have stayed in uniform. We don’t mollycoddle our officers here, whoever they are.’

  Whoever they are? Iona wasn’t sure what he meant. That I’m female? That I’m mixed race? She looked questioningly at him but he was busy examining a sheet on his desk once again. The silence started to drag. ‘Meaning what, sir?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You said, whoever they are. Do you think I expect to be treated differently? And if so, why?’

  He was smiling again. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘You said . . . you implied that I was –’

  ‘Do you expect to be treated differently, Detective?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Good, because that’s not how things work here. The officers who get ahead here – in my team – they’re not shy about stepping up to be counted. They don’t need any encouragement.’

  It was like he was speaking in riddles, she thought. Deliberately using vague language. Deciding to change tack, she said, ‘On the day Vassen Bhujun and his accomplice were seen outside the Central Library, they showed up on CCTV footage at the tram terminal in Bury.’

  He looked up sharply. ‘Really?’

  ‘On leaving the library, they caught a tram there.’

  ‘To Bury?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He appeared to be surprised by the information. ‘That’s interesting.’ Crossing his legs, he picked at the stitching of his shoe. ‘All the more reason we get an assessment of what’s going on in
that mosque.’

  ‘I’ve also learned that – when they caught the tram into Manchester in the morning, they were carrying a rucksack.’

  ‘How did you discover that?’

  ‘A contact in the control room,’ she replied. ‘He went through the morning footage for me.’

  If Wallace was impressed at her show of initiative, it didn’t show. ‘Facial on this accomplice?’

  Iona shook her head. ‘My point is this: that’s a four-hour gap. And when they show up outside the library, the rucksack is gone and Vassen is shaking his hair like he’s getting dust out of it.’ She looked at her boss. ‘What if they’ve been in a tunnel during that time?’

  Wallace rolled his eyes. ‘Hang on. Vassen’s shaking his hair, so they’ve been in a tunnel? What about he’s arranging it after having been in the shower at his gym? Or he’s been having it oiled or lacquered or whatever his type do? You’re jumping to conclusions again, Detective.’

  ‘There was an incident among the overnights in Bury. A violent altercation between two white males and two Asian males. All of them fled the scene. The description of the two Asian males fits our men. A witness heard a name very similar to Ranjit being called out.’

  ‘Very similar to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But not exact?’

  ‘Well, he was in his flat. It was through the glass—’

  ‘Detective Khan? Admirable work, but the threats currently sat here on my desk are real, they’re credible and they apply right now. Let me mention a few.’ He placed a forefinger on one of the intelligence reports. ‘The threat from Irish-related extremism is currently high, due to recent phone intercepts between three members of the Continuity IRA. We’ve got a few domestic single-issue groups causing concern. Plane Stupid, according to a well-placed source within the group, are intending to obstruct ministers at the main entrance with some kind of stunt. Combat Eighteen are planning to gather in Albert Square tomorrow, no cameras there, so we don’t expect them to stay in that location. Something just came in about Father’s For Justice – one particular individual who’s just gone off the radar. Those are our home-grown extremists. The threat from international terrorism is moderate; want the details?’

  She opened her mouth but he spoke over her.