Читать книгу The Common Enemy - Paul Gitsham, Paul Gitsham - Страница 22

Warren’s conversation with Garfield had given him much to think about. The man’s hypothesis about the BAP’s motivations was intriguing. He looked at his watch. It was already after 9 p.m. The first twenty-four hours were over. Every fibre in his body wanted to go to bed, but he decided to speak to the team one last time before he left. It was a bad habit and his wife would tell him off – that was what email was for, she always said – but experience told him that small, important details that might come out in conversation may not be recorded in an email.

Heading back upstairs, he entered the section of the building allotted to CID. It might have been late on a Sunday evening, but the office was still packed.

Dusk at this time of year was perfectly timed for the candles outside the Islamic Centre to appear on the late-night news. Earlier in the evening Tony Sutton had tuned the wall-mounted screen at the back of the office to BBC News with the sound turned low. Now he turned it up, switching off the garbled automatic subtitles.

The crowd featured in the panning shot had been gathering all afternoon, the pile of flowers and soft toys growing taller by the hour. Numbers had swelled after lunchtime prayers as minibuses from other towns brought in more Muslims to pay their respects. They were soon joined by several dozen members of a local church and a nearby Hindu temple showing solidarity with their Muslim neighbours. By mid-afternoon there were at least three hundred people gathered, the crowd representing a mixture of Muslims and non-Muslims, residents of Middlesbury and those who had travelled from outside. Many carried placards bearing the Twitter hashtag #Justice4Muslims.

‘I don’t know whether to be pleased at the show of unity across so many faith communities or dismayed by the fact that they seem to be united against the police,’ Grayson had muttered before stomping back to his office.

The centre was still an active crime scene and surrounded by tape, however the dozen or so officers policing the crowds that had gathered for the candle-lit vigil were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. It wasn’t working.

‘Where were you when those animals torched the place?’ yelled a bearded young man into the face of one of the officers standing in front of the entrance to the community centre’s driveway. To her credit, she didn’t so much as flinch. The man was showboating for the TV cameras, who duly obliged by zooming in.

‘Emotions are running high outside Middlebury Islamic Centre, the scene of yesterday’s arson attack that injured eight and left an eighty-nine-year-old and her three-year-old great-grandson fighting for their lives in hospital,’ intoned a grave-looking reporter.

‘Crowds have been gathering all day to pay their respects and send their prayers and best wishes to those hurt in the attack. Middlesbury’s close-knit Muslim community are understandably upset and worried by yesterday’s attack but some are also concerned by the wider implications. Imam Danyal Mehmud leads prayers at the community centre.’ The camera panned back slightly, revealing the young imam. He looked sick.

‘Can you describe how residents are feeling at the moment?’

‘Umm, obviously we are shocked and saddened, and we pray for the recovery of those injured yesterday.’

‘What are your thoughts on calls for the officer in-charge of yesterday’s operation to be suspended? Should there be an inquiry into the decision to remove the guard from the Islamic Centre in favour of policing the town centre?’

Mehmud licked his lips, trying to find appropriately diplomatic language.

‘Ask the police why they are spending so much money protecting white fascists marching through our town centre and won’t lift a finger to help innocent Muslims?’ The young man with the beard had somehow pushed his way in front of the camera again.

The camera-operator nimbly twisted to keep Imam Mehmud in shot whilst blocking the intruder.

‘Obviously, we welcome any inquiry into the events of yesterday…’ started Mehmud.

‘It’ll be a whitewash,’ interrupted the man with beard again. ‘The police don’t care about Muslims. They never have done. They may as well have given a box of matches to those fascist scum.’

‘It should be pointed out that a spokesperson for the British Allegiance Party has categorically denied any involvement in yesterday’s arson attack,’ the journalist interjected hastily.

‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they?’ The unknown bearded man was now centre shot again and it was clear that the reporter had been told to go with him.

Sensing he now had an audience, the man puffed his chest out.

‘The government and the police are quick enough to close down so-called hate preachers but won’t touch groups like the BAP who call for Muslims to be locked up or deported and set fire to their mosques or put bricks through their shop windows.’

Again the reporter interrupted swiftly with, ‘A charge which the BAP deny.’ Her expression froze for a moment, evidently listening to a disembodied producer instructing her to move away from the angry young man before he said something even more defamatory.

‘I believe we can go over to our correspondent Steven, who has been joined by Councillor Lavindeep Kaur.’

The camera cut, but not before the bearded man flashed a handwritten placard bearing ‘#Justice4Muslims’ and started shouting about the ‘fascist police’.

The abrupt change was dealt with smoothly by the experienced correspondent, who wasted no time introducing Councillor Kaur. The councillor expressed her sympathy and support for the victims of the fire and drew attention to the wide variety of people, across all sections of society, who were condemning the violence both in person and online.

‘Do you agree with calls for the suspension of the officer in charge of yesterday’s policing operation, and calls for an independent inquiry?’

Kaur adopted a concerned look. A middle-aged Sikh woman with jet-black hair, she wore a smart black trouser suit, a pale blue scarf her only splash of colour.

‘Far be it for me to suggest how the police should deal with internal disciplinary matters such as these. However, I think the people of Middlesbury – indeed Hertfordshire as a whole – have a right to ask questions about the decisions made yesterday. Decisions that led to an obviously vulnerable target being left unprotected and which ultimately resulted in an innocent toddler and his great-grandmother being seriously injured. The officers in charge of those operational decisions must be prepared to justify them.’

‘Sounds like a bloody lynch mob,’ grumbled Sutton quietly.

On screen the original reporter had ditched the vocal bearded man and found somebody else to interview.

‘Since when have the BBC interviewed masked protestors?’ asked Sutton, aghast. ‘And what about Danyal Mehmud? He barely got a word in edgeways.’

Glimpses of the interviewee beneath her black face mask, bandana and oversized sunglasses suggested a blonde woman of indeterminate age. Her baggy long-sleeved shirt, devoid of any identifying logos, successfully concealed her figure and comparison against the interviewer suggested unexceptional height and build.

‘I’m joined by Kay – not her real name – who claims to have been part of the group of counter-protestors involved in yesterday’s demonstration. My first question is why we should listen to you when you are not prepared to reveal your face?’

The protestor’s polished response suggested the question had been anticipated.

‘Unfortunately, we have no choice. We supposedly live in a free and democratic society, but the state routinely tracks and follows those of us who wish to protest peacefully and exercise our right to free speech.’ The protestor’s accent gave Warren no clues about her upbringing, although he freely admitted to still struggling with accents outside the West Midlands where he’d spent his formative years.

‘Members of the British Allegiance Party who marched yesterday say the same thing, but they are willing to show their faces. Why should you be treated any differently?’

‘We are forced to wear face masks to protect ourselves from reprisals, both from the fascists and the authorities. As we saw yesterday, the police are willing to use excessive force on peaceful counter-protestors to allow the BAP to express their hateful views.’

‘Views that are protected by the same right to free speech that you yourself cite.’

‘Hate speech should not be protected speech. In fact, we have lawyers studying transcripts of the BAP’s address with a view to demanding a prosecution on the grounds of inciting racial hatred.’

‘Much has been made of the police discontinuing the patrol outside the Islamic Centre and how that may have left it open to attack. Could you tell us some of the views that you are hearing about that decision?’

The masked protester straightened her shoulders slightly.

‘Many of us think it is symptomatic of the institutionalised racism that still exists within the police and their widely held view that the concerns and well-being of minorities are less important than those of others.’

There were ripples of disgust from the officers watching the TV. Fortunately, the reporter was too professional to let the slur go entirely unchallenged.

‘That’s a rather sweeping statement.’

‘Kay’ shrugged.

‘How do you answer charges that the actions of the protestors in breaking through the police line meant that the officer-in-charge had no choice but to call in as many reinforcements as possible?’

Again ‘Kay’ shrugged. ‘Yet more evidence that the police’s priorities on Saturday were wrong.’

‘Are you suggesting that the police should have allowed protestors to assault the marchers? After all, there is clear footage of protestors throwing stones and bottles at both the police and the BAP.’

‘Kay’ paused, realising the dangerous waters she suddenly found herself in.

‘At last some balanced journalism,’ somebody muttered from the back of the office.

‘No, what I meant was the police had clearly under-resourced yesterday’s operation, even though it was obvious that there was potential for significant trouble…’

‘Caused in part by the actions of some of the counter-protestors,’ interjected the reporter.

‘… caused by the police not taking seriously the concerns of local residents – from all sections of the community – who have repeatedly said that they did not want fascists marching through their town.’ She paused for breath.

‘If the officer in charge of the operation and his or her superiors had taken the threat posed by the BAP to minorities seriously, they would have deployed enough officers to not only adequately police the march but to protect the targets of this group’s hatred. Not just the Islamic Centre but the synagogue, the Afro-Caribbean centre, meeting halls for the Sikh and Hindu communities and pubs and bars associated with the LGBT community among others.’

‘Anywhere else you’d like us to stand outside?’ grumbled the voice from the back again. Warren decided not to turn around but made a note to address the discontent later.

‘That would be an expensive operation at a time when police budgets are under increasing pressure,’ noted the reporter.

‘You can’t put a price on people’s lives,’ the protestor responded primly. ‘I’m sure that with enough motivation Hertfordshire Constabulary could have policed the event proportionately and cost-effectively.’

‘But doesn’t that require the cooperation of all parties involved?’

‘Of course. We made it clear that we would be counter-protesting at the march; yesterday was entirely predictable.’

‘But was it? According to sources involved in yesterday’s counter-protest, steps were made to conceal the true numbers of protestors planning on turning up to the march.’

For the first time, ‘Kay’ seemed to be lost for words.

‘According to an email seen by the BBC, organisers were told to “keep it quiet” and “not let the pigs get a handle on numbers”. In fact, they were deliberately told to “go old school and keep clear of social media” and make arrangements by word-of-mouth.’

‘Hah! Burned!’ came the voice from the back.

Suddenly on the back foot, ‘Kay’ mumbled something about not having seen the email and being unable to comment. The journalist let her stew for a moment before thanking her for her time and returning to the studio.

‘Could have gone worse, I suppose,’ said Sutton.

‘Well, at least we’re trending on Twitter,’ said Gary Hastings, holding up his smartphone.

‘Is that a good thing?’ asked Warren.

Hastings scrolled for a few seconds and winced.

‘No, not really.’

‘Well, let’s leave Twitter to sort itself out.’ Warren raised his voice slightly, and pointedly addressed the back of the room. ‘I shall repeat the Assistant Chief Constable’s instruction, “stay off social media”.’

A few muttered assents, including from the back corner, were enough to satisfy him.

A brief circuit of the room revealed nothing urgent that couldn’t wait until the following morning and so Warren decided to check his email for anything pressing and finally head home.

The blinking red light on his telephone console told him that he had a voicemail waiting for him.

‘DCI Jones, it’s Andy Harrison here. Check your email, we’ve found the murder weapon. I’ve taken a photo and sent it to you.’ The man’s voice sounded more serious than Warren could ever remember. ‘If it’s what I think it is, the shit’s about to hit the fan big time.’

Warren’s gut tightened as he typed his username and password into his computer then clicked straight to the message from Harrison, with its attached image.

Warren felt as if he’d been punched.

Middlesbury was going to burn.