Criminal Revenge (11 page)

“Mr Bernstein, we acted with Sarah’s best interests at heart.”

“You raped her again in public. You put her in that room knowing full well what would happen.” Mr Bernstein began to shake. His voice cracked with emotion. He pointed a shaking finger towards the courtroom. “You let me take her in there, knowing she would be humiliated in front of me, her father.”

“Mr Bernstein,” Aspel tried to placate him, but he took his wife by the arm and guided his daughter through the watching crowd.

The waiting area remained silent for long minutes as the embarrassed detectives followed them at a distance.

“Do you think we endear ourselves to the people we do business with?” Malik turned angrily and waved a gloved hand around the hallway as Lana ran up the stairs. She was hysterical.

“Do you think I care?” she screamed. “Get out of my house, you animals, and if Mamood isn’t back here tomorrow, I’m calling the police, and to hell with the both of you!” The bedroom door slammed closed.

“Get changed, Ash. We need to find out who is doing this.”

An hour later, they were driving along the dock road, heading north. To their left were acres of unused dockland, silted-up canals and rusted anchor rings. On the right towered ancient warehouses, once the centre of international trade, now derelict and deserted. Malik indicated and turned his BMW off the main road, steering it between two giant grain stores. The buildings were twelve storeys high, built from chocolate-brown brick. He slowed the vehicle and turned off the headlights. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they saw two Asian men sitting in a Mercedes a few hundred yards away, down an alleyway. The driver flashed the headlights and pulled the vehicle away from the kerb, driving towards them slowly.

“We’ll find out who is fucking with us, and we’ll wipe them off the planet. Do you have the balls to do this, Ash?”

Ash looked at the approaching vehicle and swallowed hard. He recognised the two men inside it. They’d been with them since their school days. They didn’t have the IQ to help run the organisation, but they were loyal to Malik. They used them as hired muscle, stone-cold killers whom they employed when they needed to ‘disappear’ somebody. Ashwan was tired of the killing. He was tired of being on the wrong side of the law, and he was tired of Malik Shah. They were no better than the men that had killed his dealers in the blink of an eye, and kidnapped his son. He had chosen to live in this world, and financially it had been kind to him, but when you worked with vicious animals, it was easy to be bitten. For the first time in his life he wished he’d chosen a different path. Lana would never be the same again, how could she be?

“What are you going to do with Abdul’s body?” Ash was shaking as he replayed the night’s events in his mind. “I cannot involve the police. They said they would kill Mamood if I didn’t do as they said.”

“You know how it works, he’s on his way to feed the fishes tonight,” Malik replied. They disposed of bodies the same way every time. The corpses were strapped to gym weights with duct tape and then wrapped tightly in several rolls of chicken wire. The wire ensured that the weights never dropped off the body, no matter how rotten it became, and it allowed bottom feeders and crustaceans to devour the corpse through the mesh. The body of Abdul Salim would be gone in less than a month.

“You don’t know who has your son, Ashwan. I’m going to find out who they are, and then we’ll get Mamood back.”

“How can we find out who they are?”

“We’ll ask some of your enemies first-hand.” Malik turned to the road. The Mercedes was nearing.

“I don’t know what you have in mind, Malik. I’m so confused, and they said they’ll kill him if we don’t follow their orders. Where do we start? ”

“Shut up, you tart! I follow no one’s orders.” Malik was fuming. This wasn’t the first incident of this kind. Although he hadn’t realised it at the time, some of the trouble that his bookkeeper had experienced had been the beginning of something bigger, but Ashwan didn’t know that yet. Amir Patel had received blackmail demands, death threats, and his haulage company had been attacked. Malik had kept it a closely guarded secret. Any sign of weakness in this business could be fatal. Rival gangs in the city would smell blood from a mile away, and they would circle his empire like vultures, waiting for it to become weak enough to devour. Amir had asked Malik to help him, and he had made some enquiries, but they had drawn a blank. Demands for money had been made, and three tractor units had been torched as a warning. Malik had ordered Amir not to pay any monies under any circumstances. He had been convinced that the blackmailers would make a mistake, sooner or later. A week later Amir and his wife had been blown to bits at the opening day of the mosque. A coincidence? Malik didn’t believe in coincidence. Now Ashwan was being attacked. The level of violence being used was escalating, and they’d kidnapped his son. Someone was playing with fire, and people who played with fire got burnt. Malik was going to burn them himself. “Who was the last person you had an issue with?”

“What do you mean, an issue?”

“Fucking hell, Ash! Who did you last have trouble with?” Malik was becoming frustrated with Ashwan. Over the years, he had been his right-hand man, ever since school. Ash had been handy with a knife as a youth, and was quick to use one if there was trouble. As Ashwan aged however, he had mellowed, and he now avoided violence. He was becoming squeamish, and that made him a liability. Malik, on the other hand, had not tired of the violence.

“I’ve had no trouble for months, what are you getting at, Malik?”

“Listen to me. You repeat this to no one, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course I understand.”

“Amir was being blackmailed.”

“What?”

“He was blackmailed. Someone torched his lorries and demanded money. Then he received death threats, about two weeks before the bombing at the mosque.”

“I thought it was a terrorist attack?” Ashwan was stunned as he tried to process the information.

“I think someone made it look like one, to send a message to us. At least that is what I suspected, until Mamood was kidnapped and Abdul Salim was shot and dumped on your lawn. Now I’m sure that we’re being targeted. Somebody is coming after us, Ash, and they’re very clever people. ”

“I can’t think straight.”

“You need to think, Ash.”

“Nobody comes to mind that would have the audacity to attack Amir, and then kidnap my son.”

“What about that trouble in the Eagle and Child?” Malik was making reference to a minor dealer that had strayed into a pub in Ashwan’s area a few months earlier. Dealing on Ashwan’s turf was a dangerous game. Ash sent his heavies to wait for him. He was given a good beating, robbed of his drugs and his money, and then sent to hospital with his thumbs in his coat pocket. Ash’s men had used a carpet blade to remove his digits.

“Bruce Mann?” Ash said thinking about what Malik had said. “He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t dare.”

“You had his thumbs cut off, Ash. He might be coming after us.”

“He is stupid enough to have a pop at us, but this takes planning and a level of intelligence.” Ashwan whispered to his himself as he thought about it. “Do you think he would be capable of this?”

Malik smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “If you cut my thumbs off, I’d kill your kids and make you watch, just for a starter.”

“He is well connected, and he knows most of the shit that happens in the city,” Ash could see possibilities. Bruce Mann was a freelance gangster, never affiliated to any of the city’s crime families, but always around the periphery. He sold drugs and guns to teenagers: his reputation as a scumbag was well established. If he hooked up with a one of the big families, then it was a possibility that he could be responsible.

“Do you think it’s worth talking to him?” Malik smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye. Ash knew that look; it meant that Malik had a surprise up his sleeve.

“Yes, definitely, it’s worth talking to him.” Ash nodded his head repeatedly. “He may not be involved, but he may have heard who is.”

The black Mercedes pulled up next to them. Malik walked to the boot of the car and opened it. “Let’s ask him then.”

Ash looked inside the trunk at the bloodied, gagged face of Bruce Mann. He was trussed up like a chicken in a roasting tin, and from the state of his face, he had already been asked some questions. “Get in.”

Malik closed the boot and walked around to the rear passenger door. Ashwan followed him and climbed in behind his boss. It seemed obvious that Malik was already one step ahead of the game, for now anyway. Ashwan would have to trust his instincts.

Superintendent Alec Ramsay frowned as he headed away from his desk. He checked his appearance in a cracked mirror that clung perilously to the back of the office door. His slate-grey suit was crisp and sharp, two-buttoned with narrow lapels. He wore a fresh grey shirt, open at the neck, and he took a dark silver tie from a hook above the mirror and placed it through the collar before knotting it neatly. There was a rap at the door and he had to step back to avoid being hit in the face as it opened. Detective Inspector Will Naylor poked his handsome head around the door. His short black hair was styled and gelled into spikes.

“Nice suit, guv,” Will smiled.

“Are you taking the piss?” Alec straightened the knot and pushed his hair off his face. He wasn’t sure if his younger colleague was passing a genuine compliment, or having one of his sarcastic moments. DI Naylor was his own worst enemy; his cutting wit was sometimes too acidic for those around him. Alec Ramsay thought he was amusing at times, and hilarious at others. They had the same sense of humour.

“Giorgio Armani?”

“Giorgio ASDA, more like. Twenty-five quid for the suit and a fiver for the shirt and tie set.”

“Bargain, never would have guessed,” Will smiled again.

“Piss off!” the superintendent laughed as he stepped towards the door. “The wife bought it.”

“That’s why it looks alright, guv. Cheap and cheerful.”

“I can’t get anything in the pockets.” Alec slid his hands towards the side pockets, which were still stitched closed.

“You get what you pay for, guv.”

“Have you had the lowdown on this meeting?” Will asked as they walked through the open office space that housed the Major Investigation Team. The team had been increased to nearly fifty experienced detectives working a mixture of ongoing cases, but the majority of them were investigating the mosque bomb.

“I’ve had bits and pieces, but nothing solid. Chief Carlton is strutting about the station like a cat on hot bricks, something is going on.”

“What’s all the fuss about?”

“The uniformed division have been talking to MI5, and it seems that they have come up with a lead on the mosque bombing, they want to bring us up to speed.”

Alec straightened his tie tight against his collar. He hated wearing neckties, but they were mandatory at joint department briefings unless uniform was stipulated.

“MI5 are sharing information with the police department? Wonders will never cease.” Will smiled widely. His teeth were straight and white, and his green eyes sparkled when he laughed. Superintendent Ramsay was aware of the rumours about his young detective inspector’s sexual conquests. It seemed that he was a big hit with his female colleagues, both the single women and the married ones too. All that aside, he was the best detective on the force, and Alec knew he would mellow with age, providing he didn’t fall foul of the senior hierarchy beforehand.

Alec shrugged the comment off and opened the door to the conference room with his swipe card. Only officers with security clearance could gain access. Inside was an unusual mix of military uniforms, police top brass and Secret Service personnel. Chief Carlton was talking to the joint taskforce personnel and the divisional commander. He saw them enter and signalled them to come over, pointing to two empty seats next to him.

“We’re just along for the ride today,” the chief smiled at Alec as they sat down. He blanked DI Naylor completely, and couldn’t hide the look of contempt on his face. “The Agency director has got the bit between his teeth about something, let’s hope it’s important.”

“Any whispers from the spooks?” Alec asked, referring to the intelligence agencies.

“They have some snippets of information, but nothing that they want to divulge. The want to hold on to it for themselves, so I’m not holding my breath that we’re going to hear anything spectacular,” the Chief said sarcastically.

“I can’t wait,” Will grinned as he looked around the room. He had a low tolerance level for these formal gatherings.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Intelligence Agencies’ director called out over the buzz of voices. “We are ready to begin.”

The general din died away as the attendees took their seats. The picture of the wreckage from the mosque bombing appeared on the main screen. Six smaller screens displayed more of the crime scene images, taken in the aftermath of the atrocity.

“I’m sure that you’re all familiar with the crime scene pictures, however, I’d like to recap the findings as they stand at the moment.” The director glanced around the meeting room to gauge the mood of his captive audience. Careers could be ruined by boring the pants off everyone at the joint department briefings. “The device was a very sophisticated fertiliser bomb, placed into a stolen vehicle, which had been customised to purpose.”

The screen changed to a close up picture of the wrecked van’s interior. Two pictures, taken from different angles, flicked on, and then moved to the smaller screens.

“The pictures show that steel plates had been welded into the interior of the vehicle, one against the driver’s side here, and one to the floor here, directing the blast towards the front of the mosque here.”

The director removed his blue suit jacket, and pushed his shirtsleeves off his wrists as he pointed to the parts of the picture that he was referring to. The vehicle chassis beneath the plates was virtually intact; the rest of it shredded into metal ribbons. Welding plates into a car bomb allowed the bombers to ‘aim’ the shrapnel at a specific area to maximise the damage.

“Witness statements indicate that the majority of the attendees had left the building before the device was detonated,” the director paused for effect. “First impressions are that the bombers’ timing was off and they missed the bulk of the crowd. Originally we thought the four fatalities were unfortunate victims of a terrorist attack which was aimed at the mosque itself.”

“This sounds like there is a ‘but’ coming,” Alec whispered to Will.

“Maybe he’s not as stupid as I think he is,” Will replied. Chief Carlton smirked at the comment, although he didn’t want to acknowledge that he found the young detective’s comment amusing.

“After thorough investigation we discovered some anomalies that may shine a different light on things.” The director switched the picture on the main screen. The image of two unrecognisable corpses appeared. “The two victims here are Mr and Mrs Amir Patel. They took the full force of the blast.”

The image changed again and three burnt-out tractor units appeared. “This picture was taken by Amir Patel’s insurance company two weeks before his untimely death. The lorries were deliberately set on fire. At first the local police force were open-minded, considering both arson and insurance fraud.”

The picture changed again and this time an image of Mina Patel appeared. She was dressed in traditional Pakistani wedding attire, her eyes were dark and beautiful, and her smile was enchanting. It was a stark contrast to the crime scene pictures of her broken body.

“A quick look at the finances of Patel’s haulage company showed that the business is in good shape, very good shape, and so fraud was ruled out. Further investigation following the bombing led the team to interview the mother of Mina Patel. She revealed that in the weeks running up to the bombing, Mina was worried about Amir’s behaviour. She said that he had been secretive lately, and during one domestic argument he told Mina that he was being blackmailed.”

Alec raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “The plot thickens, why don’t we know this?” he whispered.

“We do, guv.”

“I know we do, Will. What do they think we have been doing for the last three days?”

“Sharpening our pencils, and scribbling in our little notebooks, like good coppers are supposed to do,” Will whispered sarcastically. The chief turned away pretending that he wasn’t smiling.

“With the help of our colleagues in MI6, we explored the right-wing extremist theory for the bombing, and we turned up nothing irregular. We have undercover operatives in most of the far-right organisations. All the usual suspects can account for their whereabouts. So we have to look for another motive for the bomb, and we started to look at the four victims as possible targets for the attack, not the mosque.” The director shrugged his shoulders.

“Apart from the lack of an extremist motive, do you have anything else to indicate the Patels were the target?” Chief Carlton asked.

“We have Patel’s laptop. It’s being analysed as we speak. That may reveal something concrete that we can work on. What we do have though, is this.” The director changed the images again. The image of a dead Asian teenager appeared on the screen.

“This is Ali Rasim, known to his friends as Rozzo. Rasim was a teenager, shot dead near the city centre shortly after the bomb. We believe he was a lookout, a drug runner for a local dealer. When his body was found following an anonymous phone call, there was a note stuck to his forehead. The dealer that he worked for is one Abdul Salim. He’s been reported as missing by his father.”

The screen changed again, and a close up of the note appeared. The message had been scrawled in biro, and then stuck to the dead teenager’s head with chewing gum.

THIS SCUMBAG WORKED FOR MALIK SHAH AND ASHWAN PINDAR. IF YOU DONT TAKE THEM OFF THE STREETS THEN WE WILL

“Malik Shah and Ashwan Pindar are known to us. They are business associates of the Patels. We have been investigating them and their businesses for some time, but on the surface they are clean as a whistle. We have whispers of information that they finance organised crime, but we can’t pin anything on them. Our colleagues at MI6 have been tracking them for some time too.” The director gestured to his representative from the intelligence service. The MI5 man was dressed in a blue tailored suit, with a blue silk tie to match. His silver hair was gelled back from his face. Agent Spence coughed before speaking.

“Assuming the Patels were the target, and that their links with Malik Shah were the motive for the attack, then we need to share our information on him with you.”

“Well I never. Information sharing, guv, what’s all that about?”

“It’s the future.”

“Mind-blowing, wish I’d thought of it before.”

“Shut up, Will, this is getting interesting.”

“We have two lines of enquiry open on Malik Shah at present,” he began. “We believe that he finances the shipment of reactivated weapons from Pakistan into Europe, the African continent and the United Kingdom. We also believe that he imports heroin and crack cocaine, using some of the more unfortunate members of the Asian community as human mules.” The agent left the sentence hanging, not wanting to go into too much detail at this point. MI5 were reluctant to share all their information with the uniformed police divisions. “We believe that if you concentrate your investigations on Shah’s local drug activities, then you will stumble across his enemies.”

“Stumble?”

“Shut up, Will.”

“Fucking stumble?” Will muttered under his breath. “So far they have told us nothing that we don’t already know, and we might stumble across the bombers?”

“How far have your enquiries into Shah progressed?” the chief prompted. He tapped his index finger on the desk, irritated. The flippant comment had annoyed him too. MI5 rarely shared all their intelligence with the other departments, much to the detriment of good working relationships between the agencies. Their arrogance was infuriating the police officers in the room.

“They’re still in their early stages.” The agent straightened his tie uncomfortably. He didn’t make eye contact with the chief.

“You mean you’ve got jack shit, or you’re waist deep in this already, and you don’t want a police investigation to interfere in your operation,” Will said tactfully.

Agent Spence turned angrily towards the young detective. There was a mixture of anger and amusement on the faces around the room. Will Naylor had said aloud what most of the senior detectives in the room were thinking.

“I beg your pardon?” the agent sneered.

Alec Ramsay tapped his DI on the wrist, a signal to keep quiet for the moment.

“I think my DI is questioning your motives, Agent Spence,” Alec raised his eyebrows as he spoke. “It’s most unusual for you to call a joint department meeting, and then tell us which direction we should be steering our investigations.”

“We are sharing information, that’s all.”

“You have told us nothing that we don’t already know. Why steer us towards Malik Shah’s drug enterprise?” Alec pushed the point. He had been around too many years to believe that MI5 were cooperating and sharing information without an ulterior motive.

Agent Spence looked uncomfortable. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He looked to his director for help. None was forthcoming at this point.

“As Director Leigh alluded to earlier, on the surface, Shah is squeaky clean. He covers his tracks very well indeed.” The agent reddened as he spoke. He glared at Alec. There was no love lost between Superintendent Ramsay and the intelligence agencies, he couldn’t stand their bullshit. Alec called a spade a spade, MI5 would call it a shovel, a gardening tool or a cultivating implement, whatever suited them at the time. Experience gleaned during previous operations taught Alec that Agent Spence was neck deep in manure every time he opened his mouth.

“Like I said, you’ve got nothing, or you’re covering something up,” Will sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Let’s not waste time here, have you got anything concrete to link Shah with the bombing?”

“We think that he has enough enemies to constitute him being a legitimate target,” the director interrupted. “Ashwan Pindar, Malik Shah, Amir Patel, and half a dozen others are all linked by a group of limited companies.”

“Why blow up the Patels?” Alec shrugged. The theory was identical to his, but he was fishing. “Why not go straight for Malik Shah?”

“We don’t know the answer to that yet.”

“What do you know, director?” Alec pressed the issue. Something was missing. He pointed to the screen, and the picture of the dead teenager. “This looks more like a turf war, drug dealers flexing their muscles, in which case the investigation should stay with us.”