Slow Burn (3 page)

 “Hey! Leave him alone!” A dog walker interrupted the melee.

 “Mind your own business, Mister.”

 “I`m calling the police, I know which school you are from.” The dog walker ran toward a red telephone box. He fumbled for change with shaking fingers. Someone was taking a terrible beating, and he wished he had the courage to do something about it himself, but he was no fighter. He called the emergency services and ran back toward the fight. The boys were a writhing mass of arms and legs. The body on the floor twitched with every blow.

“I`ve called the police and an ambulance!”

“Leave it Ash, split up and let`s go!” Malik Shah gave the order to leave, and the attackers scattered in different directions.

The Good Samaritan kneeled next to Richard Bernstein and covered the injured victim with his coat while he waited for the ambulance to arrive.

“You hang on there. The police are on their way. You`re safe now.”

 Richard was semi-conscious when the ambulance team cut off his clothes and dressed his wounds to stem the bleeding. He remembered thinking that his mother would be mad that they`d cut his grey duffle coat. It had cost a fortune. The ambulance journey was a blur of blue flashing lights and sirens. His mind became numb as the drugs circulated through his broken body, and seven names flashed through his mind over and over again.

Chapter Four

The Major Investigation Team

“Morning, Will.” Superintendent Alec Ramsey walked into a large open office space, which housed the Major Investigation Team. It was just past seven in the morning and he was all set to face the trials and tribulations of the day ahead. They were three floors up in the fortress-like Canning Place building, situated on the banks of the River Mersey. It was the home of the county`s uniformed and Special Departments senior hierarchy. The MIT office was L-shaped, and the windows were full length, giving it a bright and positive feel. The ambiance helped to lift the team`s spirits as the cases they investigated were the worst possible. It was all too easy to become de-motivated when the details of a gruesome case weighed heavy on their minds. Chasing human monsters could be relentless and frustrating. A handful of dishevelled looking detectives were sat in a semicircle around DI Will Naylor`s desk area.

“Morning, Guv,” Will replied. He looked tired and his appearance was shabby. It was a sharp contrast to his usual razor sharp demeanour. His shirt collar was undone, and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dark stubble suggested that he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. In contrast, the Super looked and smelled like he had just stepped out of the shower. The scent of Fahrenheit wafted in with him.

“Have you been here all night?” Alec raised his eyebrows, knowing what the answer was.

“We`ve been doing some digging, Guv.”

“Well if one of you good men would like to put the kettle on. I`ll make you all a brew and you can fill me in on what you`ve found out, and then you will all go home, get showered and shaved, have a few hours sleep, and I don’t want to see you until this afternoon. Is that clear to everyone?”

“Right, Guv,” a ginger haired detective saluted and headed into the kitchen area. “Does everyone want coffee?” he mumbled as he left the group.

“By the look of them we`ll need the full pot,” Alec shook his head and patted each of them on the back as he followed. He was proud of his team. In his opinion, they were the best detectives on the force, and their dedication and commitment never failed to impress him. He returned a few minutes later with a pot of strong black coffee. The ginger officer followed him with a tray holding six mugs. “Right then, what`s so important that you haven`t been to bed?”

Alec poured coffee into all six mugs, and handed them out to each of his detectives in turn. He picked up the last one for himself and sipped the scalding black liquid as he waited for his DI to gather their findings together. He looked through the full-length window and watched a ferry leaving the Pier Head, white foam frothed behind it as it headed across the river.

 “The plates on the van were genuine, Guv. It`s registered to a landscape gardening outfit in Sussex. We ran the usual checks and the company doesn’t exist. The postcode belongs to a derelict factory unit, which hasn’t been used for five years or more according to the local plod.”

“Sounds a little too clever for our skinhead goose-stepping friends,” the Super commented. Top of the list for the Counter Terrorist Units were Neo-Nazi organisations. Alec knew that they would be interrogating every name on the activist list for the next few weeks. There would be some tough skinheads wetting their pants right now.

“Uniform division have come up with zilch as far as known extremists are concerned, and the intelligence service say there has been little to no information from their undercover agents regarding planned activity for the groups they monitor,” Will sipped his brew. “The Counter Terrorist Units are working closely with MI5, but so far no one has claimed responsibility, making it unlikely that it`s a political gesture.”

“Okay, we thought as much.” Detective Superintendent Ramsey doubted from the off that the bomb was the work of right-wing groups. It was too sophisticated.

Will continued. “Initial reports from forensics on the van and the bomb fragments are very interesting, Guv.”

The Superintendent raised his eyebrows and slurped his coffee. “I`m all ears, Detective,” he smiled. Will Naylor`s tenacity made him chuckle to himself. His enthusiasm rubbed off on his team hence they had not been to bed yet.

“The fertiliser mixture was a very special blend. It had been cooked and dried to remove all the moisture, and then mixed with aluminium powder and diesel. Forensics haven`t seen a mixture that well prepared since......”

“Northern Ireland,” Alec Ramsey interrupted. Everyday fertiliser absorbs moisture from the atmosphere, and will not burn or explode as a result. There are only certain grades of ammonia, or nitrogen-based compound, which are suitable for bomb making, and they need careful painstaking preparation before they can be turned into explosives. The Superintendent was familiar with bomb makers` signatures. “Every bomb maker has their own individual method of mixing the ingredients, some more successful than others. Cooking and mixing the fertiliser is the sign of an experienced bomb maker.”

“Exactly, Guv. They have also found evidence of a mercury motion switch, and remnants of a photocell trigger switch. Forensics reckon this one was created by an expert, nothing of this type has ever been attributed to any extremist group.”

“A mercury switch would have triggered the bomb if the van was towed away, and the photocell would have detonated the bomb if the back doors were opened.”

“Yes, Guv.”

“That bomb was going to explode no matter what happened.”

“It was, so why risk being close to the van to trigger it by remote?” Will pushed his sleeves up as he asked the question.

“Unless they were targeting someone specific?” Alec Ramsey answered thoughtfully. He stroked the dimple on his chin with his thumb. “What does the guest list tell us?”

“We`ve checked, and double checked the guest list for the opening of the mosque,” Will handed a list of names to his Detective Superintendent.

“Anything interesting?”

“Nothing at first glance, Guv.”

“Nothing stands out at all, until we looked at the casualties.” He handed another shorter list to Alec. Alec sipped his coffee as he read the list of names. The list contained the two photographers, the traffic warden, and the Patels. At first glance, it was not a remarkable list.

“The photographers and the traffic warden are collateral, so I`m assuming that the Patels have something more to them than meets the eye?”

“Correct, Guv.” Will handed a pile of papers over as he explained. “Amir Patel is the director of two limited companies, both haulage businesses with international contracts.”

 “Looking at this everything seems to be above board,” Alec flicked through details information downloaded from Companies House, and the Inland Revenue sites.

  “It is, Guv,” the ginger detective nodded as he spoke. “I`ve been through it with a fine toothcomb. His tax returns are submitted on time, his VAT is spot on and he has never appealed any decision that has gone against him.”

  “What are you saying, Smithy?” the Superintendent looked up from the paperwork.

 “It`s too neat and tidy, Guv.” Carl Smith, or Smithy as he was known, had spent years on the fraud squad, before joining the MIT. “He`s turning over millions, and never questions a single tax demand. It`s screaming `don’t look at me`. If I was laundering money, then my accounts would look like that.”

 “So we can rule out the Inland Revenue as possible suspects,” the Superintendent joked. The group of detectives laughed and the coffee pot was refilled, and then shared out between them.

“That`s not everything, Guv,” Will said, taking another gulp from his mug. The caffeine was having the desired effect. “Patel is also on the board of directors for another six limited companies. Now this is where it gets interesting.”

 “Come on, come on,” Alec made a winding motion with his arm. “Get to the point, Smithy wants to get to his bed, eh Smithy?” The detectives laughed. They liked working with the Superintendent; he got the best out of people.

 “Two names appear on the director`s lists again, and again, Malik Shah, and Ashwan Pindar.”

“Their names have cropped up many times over the years, drugs, prostitution, one or two gangland murders that I can remember, but the Patels don’t mean anything to me.” Alec shrugged.

 “They didn’t to me, until Smithy remembered Shah was being investigated in the late nineties, linked to importing engine blocks full of smack from the Far East.”

“What happened,” Alec turned toward the ginger officer.

“Nothing, Guv, there was nothing concrete and he walked. He didn’t even get charged, but Patel was questioned about a large sum of cash which was deposited into his business account at the time. I had to follow the money trail, but it was a dead end. He bought legitimate properties in Spain and the Algarve with it. The DI was adamant he was money laundering, but they couldn’t touch him, Guv.”

“It`s all a bit tenuous at the moment, but if Shah and Pindar are smuggling heroin into the country, then a couple of international haulage companies under their umbrella would be handy,” Will looked excited as he spoke. “I`ve spoken to the DI at the drugs squad, and he thinks Shah and Pindar are responsible for bringing in most of the heroin and ecstasy that comes into the country. They`ve been watching them for years, but so far they haven`t put a foot wrong.”

 “Well now that changes everything,” Alec ran his fingers across the dimple in his chin. “This could have nothing to do with the Mosque being a target, the evidence tells me it`s a hit?”

 “It makes sense, Guv. What do you think?”

 “I think you have all done a good job. Now go home and get some sleep, we`ll crack on later this afternoon.”

 The detectives moved as one, packing up papers, moving files and putting on jackets. Superintendent Alec Ramsey watched the team drift off toward the elevators. As they left, the day shift were beginning to arrive. He greeted them and headed to his office to mull over the new information. It was going to take the investigation in a completely different direction. It looked like Malik Shah and his associates could be the targets, and that changed everything. At the moment, CTU and MI5 were running the show, but if the bombing turned out to be the assassination of a high profile crime family member, then it would fall to MIT to investigate. Detective Superintendent Alec Ramsay felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had a gut feeling that this was going to get messy.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mamood/Present day

A week after the bombing at the mosque, Mamood checked his reflection in the mirror. He smiled to check that his teeth looked clean. They should be, he had brushed them four times since getting home from school. His hair was jet black and shone with freshly applied hair gel. It was cut short at the sides and back, and spiked on top. Mamood stood side on to the mirror and breathed in, pushing his chest out and tensing his biceps. He was only fifteen, but he played most sports at school and kept his figure toned by lifting weights. His dad had been tough all his life and he pushed Mamood to follow his lead. Mamood looked up to his father, and respected him for what he had achieved in his lifetime. He always wore designer clothes, holidayed abroad regularly, and changed his Porsche every year. One day Mamood would enter the family business, whatever it was they did, and he would have all the flash trappings of wealth that his father had. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what his business entailed, only that it was an import, export company. Whatever he did, it paid a shitload of money.

 In a few years time he would be borrowing his father`s car to pick up his dates, and a few years after that he would have his own. The future was bright. Mamood was vain, to say the least, and he worked hard to keep his appearance manicured. He opened the wardrobe door and flicked through his favourite shirts. The white Armani was very cool, but it could become marked where he was going. He selected a navy blue Versace and slipped it on, fastening the buttons up to the neck, leaving his gold chains visible. A pair of faded Levis and his new Air-Walk trainers finished the ensemble. He picked up the letter and read it again. Perfume wafted up to him from the pastel coloured paper.