Beneath the Bleeding (32 page)

‘It’s the boots,’ Carol said, pouring water on teabags.

That and the swish of their musclebound thighs rubbing together. So in they come, and as soon as they see me, it’s “on your bike, love,” like I was a journalist or something. I was out of there before you could say jackbooted fascists. And before they’d let me come back here, they made me sit down and type up my interview product. Like I was going to sneak off and not let them look at my homework.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought I was leaving them SO12 arseholes behind when I moved up here.’

Carol handed over the teas. ‘We have to co-operate,’ she said. ‘Which is not to say we can’t also plough our own furrow.’

‘Speaking of which, where’s the rest of the crew?’

‘Paula and Kevin are out there following up on the A1 Electricals van, see what they can get ahead of the CTC. People have a way of clamming up when the men in black kick the doors down,’ Carol said. ‘I’m not sure about Sam. He was checking out CCTV in the Vestey Stand last time I saw him.’

‘He’ll be off following some red-hot lead he doesn’t want to share with the rest of us poor imbeciles,’ Chris said dryly.

‘He’s his own worst enemy,’ Stacey said without looking up. ‘He does it for all the right reasons.’

Chris and Carol shared a look. Neither could remember Stacey ever commenting on any of her colleagues. Her complete refusal to gossip was legendary. ‘Later,’ Chris mouthed conspiratorially at Carol. She slurped a mouthful of tea and breathed deeply. ‘I tell you, I never want to see the likes of that again. I still can’t get my head round the carnage. Thirty-five dead, they’re saying. I never thought I’d see that in Bradfield.’

‘It’s amazing it wasn’t more,’ Carol said. ‘If he’d planted it at the same spot on the opposite stand where there were just seats instead of corporate boxes, there would have been hundreds dead.’ She closed her eyes momentarily. ‘It’s too horrible to contemplate.’

‘There would have been more if the crowd hadn’t behaved so well. I expected more crush injuries. I tell you, I know it’s a cliché, but it is things like this that
bring out the best in people. Did you see that woman on Grayson Street, set up a trestle table outside her house, making cups of tea for people? Spirit of the Blitz an’ all that.’

‘And sometimes it’s the unlikeliest people who end up being heroes,’ Carol said. ‘I saw a bloke this afternoon-one of the paramedics was taking him to an ambulance, he’d taken too much out of himself getting people out of the wreckage. And I knew this bloke. He used to be one of us till he got drummed out of the Brownies for planting evidence in a murder inquiry. He’s the last person I would have had down for helping anybody other than number one. So I suppose we’ve all got it in us to do the decent thing.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Except maybe the men in black.’

Right on cue, one of the foot soldiers stuck his head round the door. ‘You got a DCI Jordan anywhere round here?’

That would be me, officer. How can I help you?’

‘You’re wanted down Scargill Street. Some spot of bother with one of your lads?’ He began to retreat but Carol stopped him with a look that would have corroded tungsten.

‘Who wants me?’

‘Whoever’s in charge. Look, I’m just the messenger, all right?’ He breathed heavily and cast his eyes upwards. ‘You already know all I know.’

‘I’ll finish my bloody tea,’ Carol muttered. But the defiance was only skin deep. Within five minutes, she was out the door, leaving Stacey and Chris to wonder what the hell Sam Evans had done this time.

They didn’t have much time for speculation. Not long after Carol’s departure, Paula and Kevin burst
in, looking pleased with themselves. Kevin, who was walking like a man with a bad back, made straight for Stacey, then opened his jacket and took out a laptop. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘The bomber’s laptop.’

Stacey raised her eyebrows. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘From the bomber’s bedroom.’

‘Alleged bomber,’ Paula cut in. ‘Yousef Aziz. He was certainly driving the van and wearing the overalls earlier today.’

Chris came over and prodded the laptop with her finger. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to have this.’

‘No, and I don’t think we’ll be hanging on to it for long, so I need to get as much off it as I can,’ Stacey said, reaching for it.

‘How did you get that away from the men in black?’ Chris said.

‘Speed,’ Paula said. ‘We were in and out before they got there.’ She explained their progress from Imran Begg to Yousef Aziz. ‘I suspect the CTC guys freaked them out so comprehensively it took them a while to give up Aziz and his address. They’re so bloody scary, it’s counter-productive when you’re dealing with decent law-abiding people. They just freeze up. Which worked to our advantage. We got a good twenty minutes with Aziz’s brother Sanjar, and the CTC were just turning into the street as we were driving out of it.’

‘Nice work,’ Chris said. ‘So how’s it looking? The usual? Young bloke gets his head turned by the mad mullahs and the Al-Quaeda quartermasters fix him up with the necessary?’

Paula sat down on the desk next to Chris. ‘I don’t
know. His brother was adamant that Aziz wasn’t into that stuff. According to Sanjar, Yousef was dead set against fundamentalism.’

‘We can’t judge Yousef on what his brother says,’ Kevin said. ‘Look at the London bombers. Their friends and families acted like they were gobsmacked. OK, I didn’t find a bomb-making manual in the bedroom, but I didn’t get that long in there, and some of the newspapers and books were in script I couldn’t read. We’ll have a better idea when the CTC have stripped the house back to the bricks and gone through every piece of paper.’

‘They’ll know,’ Chris corrected him cynically. ‘Who knows what they’ll decide to tell us.’

‘You don’t need them, Stacey said absently. ‘You’ve got his laptop and you’ve got me.’

‘Go, Stacey,’ Kevin said, punching the air. ‘Where’s the DCI, by the way?’

‘Down Scargill Street,’ Chris said.

‘Of her own free will?’

‘Kind of. I think Sam’s dropped a bollock. One of the men in black came in and said there was a problem with one of her lads. And since you’re sitting here, chances are it’s not you.’

Paula raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh shit. Poor old Sam. What do you think is worse? Pissing off the Imperial Storm Troopers or having to be rescued by the chief on the warpath?’

Carol had never seen anything like it. Scargill Street had been transformed into a citadel under siege. Armed police guarded every exit and a police helicopter hovered above, its spotlight pinning her
shadow to the ground as she approached. It took a full three minutes for the guard on the back door to get her entry clearance, and when she walked into the familiar hallway, another armed officer was waiting to escort her. ‘I thought it was supposed to be secret, where you hold your terrorist suspects?’ she said conversationally as they marched through deserted corridors towards the custody suite.

‘It is a secret. We don’t tell the media.’

‘You’ve got a city-centre police station better guarded than Buckingham Palace and you think people won’t notice?’

‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’ he said, taking the turn that Carol knew would bring them to the cells. ‘They’re not allowed to print it.’

Give me strength.
Carol closed her eyes momentarily. ‘I thought it was somebody staging an attack that you were worried about.’

‘We’re not worried,’ he said, in a tone that said the conversation was over. He knocked on the door that led to the custody area. A moment passed, then they were buzzed in. The guard opened the door for her and stood back. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Someone will come and get you.’ He slammed the door behind her.

The familiar area was empty apart from the custody sergeant sitting behind the desk, his paperwork in front of him. To her surprise, Carol recognized him from the first investigation she’d ever worked for Bradfield Police. She walked over, saying, ‘It’s Sergeant Wood, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right, ma’am. I’m surprised you remembered. It must be, what…? Seven years?’

‘Something like that. I didn’t expect to see one of ours working the desk.’

‘It’s the one concession they made to the notion that somebody has to guard the guards,’ Wood said. ‘I’m supposed to make sure nobody’s human rights get breached.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Like I could stop them doing anything they wanted behind closed doors.’ Before Carol could reply, a loud buzzer sounded. Wood waved her urgently to one side. ‘Against the wall, please, ma’am. For your own good. Now you get to see the grunts in action.’

Three corridors radiated off from the custody area like the tines of a trident. The clatter of heavy boots on hard flooring came first, then four of them with semi-automatics at port arms came running round the corner at the far end of the corridor. All in black riot gear, all with shaved heads, all terrifying. They stopped outside a cell door and began chanting, ‘Stand up, stand up, stand up.’ The noise seemed to go on for a very long time, though it could not have been more than half a minute. Carol could feel the adrenalin coursing through her, the fearsome sound reverberating inside her chest, and she was one of the empowered. How much worse must it be for anyone under arrest?

The lead grunt threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. Three of them disappeared inside while the fourth filled the doorway. Carol could hear more shouting. ‘On your feet. Against the wall. Face the wall. Spread your arms. Spread your legs. Stand still, you fucker.’ On and on, an endless barrage of commands. At last, the door man moved away and two of his colleagues backed out of the cell. The third
person out was a young Asian man, eyes wide, jaw set. He was trying to look through his guards, but they kept thwarting him by thrusting their faces towards his.

Once in the corridor, he was forced against the wall. One man behind him, one to the side, one in front. The fourth man ranged ahead of them, shouting, ‘Clear!’ every time he passed a doorway. They escorted the prisoner down the hallway, moving at a speed that made him take tiny little steps.

When the lead officer emerged in the custody area, he did a double take and stumbled when he saw Carol. ‘Identify yourself,’ he barked at her, swinging round and shouting, ‘Hold right there,’ back down the corridor.

Carol rolled her eyes. ‘Well, obviously, I’m a cop.’ She took out her ID and gave him name and rank. She jerked a head at Wood. ‘He knows who I am.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he barked in military tones. ‘All clear,’ he shouted. Carol watched while the prisoner was led into the interview corridor and hustled into one of the rooms there. The grunts took up post outside the room.

‘Jesus,’ Carol said, exhaling.

‘Something else, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I hate those bastard bombers as much as the next one, but I wonder what price we’re paying when we fight them like this,’ Wood said. ‘Before this afternoon, I was as gung-ho as anybody else. But what I’ve seen today…This special training they’ve had. I think they come out with three key words-intimidation, intimidation, intimidation. Anybody that gets dragged in and put through this and they’ve done nowt-
well, it’s a recruiting sergeant for the mad mullahs, isn’t it?’

‘I’m losing count of how many times I’ve had to take a deep breath today,’ Carol said. ‘Do you know who I’m supposed to see, by the way? There’s things I need to be doing. Thirty-five people died this afternoon. I don’t see how it serves their families to have me kicking my heels down here.’

‘Didn’t they tell you?’ Wood said, resignation on his face.

‘No, they didn’t. I was just told that one of my lads was in a spot of bother.’

Wood shook his head. ‘Rings no bells with me. Hang on a minute.’ He picked up a phone. ‘I’ve got DCI Jordan here…Well, I think you should make time…With respect, we’ve all got a lot on our plates this afternoon…’ He looked at the phone in disgust and put it down. ‘Give them a minute,’ he said, parodying their tough tones.

A couple of minutes passed, then the man Carol knew only as Johnny came through the door that led to the main part of the station. ‘DCI Jordan. If you’d come with me, please.’

‘Where And why?’ Carol asked, her temper hanging by a thread.

Johnny glanced at Wood. ‘I’ll explain everything in a minute, if you’d just come with me.’

Carol sketched a wave to Wood. ‘If I’m not back in half an hour, Sergeant, call Mr Brandon.’

‘There’s no need to be so bolshie, you know,’ Johnny said plaintively as they climbed the stairs to the main part of the station. ‘We really are all on the same side.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ Carol said. ‘Now, why the hell am I here?’

Johnny led her into a small office and waved her to a chair. He picked up another chair, turned it round and straddled it, his muscular arms folded across the back. ‘I’d really like for us to build some bridges here. It doesn’t help your team or mine if we’re at odds.’

Carol shrugged. ‘So talk to me. Don’t act as if my team is part of the problem. Don’t patronize us. For a start, you could try treating me like a ranking officer by telling me why I’m here.’

‘Point taken. Your boy Sam?’

‘See what I mean? “Your boy Sam.” He’s Detective Constable Evans. Yes?’

Johnny inclined his head. ‘DC Evans was at the stadium. What was he supposed to be doing?’

‘Are you interviewing me?’ Carol said, not even trying to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

Johnny ran a hand over his shaven head, his expression perplexed. ‘Look, he said, sounding exasperated. ‘We got off on the wrong foot. You don’t like us trampling all over your ground, and I totally understand that. I am not interrogating you, I’m just trying to clarify something before it turns into a situation for all of us.’

‘That’s not how it feels.’

‘No. I realize that. We’re not very good at manners. We’re not supposed to be. They knock the etiquette out of us when they train us for CTC. I’m sorry. I know we come off as arseholes, but that’s how we need to be, doing what we do. We’re not stupid, though. We didn’t get our ranks because of our size.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of frankness. ‘One
of our teams found your DC in a quiet corner of the stadium with a young Asian male dressed in overalls. He was clearly questioning him. When our guys appeared, the witness, suspect, whatever, clammed up. And your boy refused to share the product of his interview. So we brought them back here. Since when neither of them has said a bloody word. Apart from their names. Oh, and the Asian wants a lawyer. So, I thought to myself, what’s the best way to resolve this? And I thought of you.’