The detective, p.32
The Detective, page 32
‘Yes, for now. So, what’s happening with you and Maliha?’
I felt myself go red.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, come on, Kamil. You’ve been weird from the first day you got her text. You may as well tell me. Are you trying to rekindle things with her? At the same time as you’ve been declaring how much you want me?’
‘I do want you! Maliha and I are just friends. Can’t I have women friends?’
‘You can have whatever you choose. But it looks to me that now you have your new job and you’re earning a decent wage, you don’t need me anymore. Especially since your beautiful lawyer fiancée is back on the scene. You can both make a go of it. Just do me the courtesy of telling me straight. It’s the least you can do.’
‘I don’t know where you’re getting all this from,’ I muttered. ‘I’m going to bed. And anyway, you kept saying you weren’t interested.’
She pushed her face into mine. I could smell the wine on her breath. ‘You are such a … gaadha!’
My lips twitched in a half-smile. Anjoli rarely broke into Bengali and her pronunciation of ‘donkey’ with a London accent was charmingly sexy.
That was the wrong reaction. She yelled, ‘You find that funny? Didn’t you see I couldn’t go out with you when you were so dependent on me? Working for me and living with me. And you didn’t even pay rent. How could I also become your lover? It would be much too much. Talk about co-dependency. But once you got your proper job …’
‘You mean …’
‘Jesus. For such a brilliant detective, you can’t see what’s right under your nose, can you? And anyway, what does Maliha have that I don’t? Besides flawless skin, glossy hair and all her illusions? You’re such a fucking idiot.’
‘If it didn’t take you two bottles of red to be able to talk about your feelings for me, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?’
I regretted my words as soon as they left my lips, but she was already halfway up the stairs. I heard her door slam, and she didn’t emerge for the rest of the evening.
She was absolutely right. I was a gaadha.
CHAPTER 41
Saturday morning.
After a fitful night, I sat at my desk in the station the next morning, reliving the events of the previous day as I waited for Tahir to come in. I’d have to try to make it up with Anjoli. If she really was interested now, then I had to let Maliha go and commit. She hadn’t emerged from her room when I left for work, but I needed to sit down with her and persuade her of my feelings. Yes. I could make it work!
But any joy I felt at the prospect dissipated as I recalled the sly smile with which Baker had asked to see his lawyer. What was he cooking up? He must have something up his sleeve, or he wouldn’t have cooperated with us. I had a growing fear it might be connected to my being, in his words, ‘very helpful’. I’d certainly done enough to merit a severe dressing-down, if not something worse. And given my visa and residency in the UK were now tied to this job, that didn’t bear thinking about. The chink of light I saw with Anjoli was getting overwhelmed by the storm clouds heading my way. I’d just have to batten down the hatches and make it through.
‘Kamil! Have you gone deaf?’
Tahir stood in front of my desk and brought me back to the present. I started. ‘Sorry, boss. Was a million miles away.’
‘I’ve been calling for you.’
‘What’s up?’ I gathered myself. ‘Have CPS authorised charges?’
‘We have a problem.’
‘What?’
‘SO15 came in this morning and took David Baker away. I think his lawyer is trying to do a deal regarding the stolen technology. Rogers wants to see us.’
Was Baker playing some sort of ‘get out of jail free’ card? Was I his ticket to freedom? And would that result in my being kicked out of the force? And the country?
With trepidation, I entered Rogers’ office behind Tahir and saw Protheroe sitting there, which set my teeth on edge. ‘I’ve briefed the sergeant,’ Rogers said as we walked in. ‘The Home Secretary wants to see me. She would like a complete report of where we are with the case.’
Protheroe avoided my eye. I’d be knighted before I’d get any kudos from him.
Rogers looked at me. ‘DC Rahman. You stole the chip from the evidence locker and gave it to David Baker. You do know that is a criminal offence, and not just a sackable matter?’
‘I know, sir,’ I mumbled. ‘I believed I had no choice, as a civilian was in danger. And we apprehended him.’
‘The ends do NOT justify the means.’
‘No, sir.’
‘I have no alternative but to suspend you while we decide what course of action to pursue.’
Shit. Shit. Shit. Somewhere inside I’d expected this, but not accepted it. My heart felt like it had left my body. This couldn’t be happening to me again. First Kolkata and now here. On my first damn case. It seemed that waitering was all I was bloody good for. But suspension was better than dismissal. There lay hope. Tahir gave me a sympathetic glance, while to my immense surprise Protheroe said, ‘He didn’t have much of a choice, guv. And he did crack the case. We should give him a break. He’s a good cop.’
Rogers must have seen the agony on my face because his voice softened. ‘Look, I understand, Kamil. Baker had your girlfriend, and that put you in an untenable situation. And I agree, you have done good work on finding that chip and collaring Baker for the murders. But we have to go through procedure and hold a proper enquiry, you know that.’
I gave him a nod, and a relieved ‘Thank you, sir.’ Rogers hadn’t asked me to leave his office, so I stayed put as he said, ‘David Baker says he has uploaded everything to the cloud and if the government wants it, they have to agree to his demands.’
‘Which are?’ said Tahir.
‘His lawyer is preparing them. The Home Secretary would like a direct briefing from me this afternoon.’
‘I don’t see how he can avoid prosecution, sir,’ I said, seeing Baker slipping from our grasp. ‘He killed four people.’
‘You think I don’t know that, lad? But Priscilla Patrick only ever does what’s in her own interest. And I wouldn’t put it past her to let him go if she thinks the technology he has will further her political career. Becoming PM is all she cares about.’
‘I wonder …’ I worked out how to phrase an idea that had just formed in my mind. ‘We may have a small bit of leverage?’
‘Go on.’
‘I am privy to some information and …’
‘What is it?’ said Protheroe.
I didn’t trust Protheroe’s new, friendly mien, which he was undoubtedly putting on to show Rogers that he looked out for his junior officers.
‘It’s very sensitive, sir,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should keep the circle small?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Home Secretary might want to keep it confidential. DI Ismail knows, but perhaps I could speak to you in private?’ Rogers looked irritated, then waved Protheroe and Tahir out of the room.
Tahir gave a slight smile, and Protheroe looked like he was sucking a lemon as he walked out. I might have just made an enemy for life. Fuck it, Protheroe would never be my best buddy. And my career was on the line.
‘Well, as you know, sir, we found much older human remains near the first victim’s body and …’
I told him the entire story of Anjoli’s quixotic quest and how her doggedness had revealed the truth about Avram’s death, ending with the revelation that his stolen daughter had been Priscilla Patrick’s ancestor. ‘… maybe that’s something she won’t want to come out and we can use it to persuade her to do the right thing if she gets wobbly about Baker?’
‘What wouldn’t she want coming out?’
‘That Peter Pennyfeather was not her revered great-grandfather but was a baby-stealing murderer. I’ve been reading her interviews. She’s referred to him several times as one of the true English entrepreneurs who ‘made Britain what we are today’. It won’t help her career for this truth to come out. And the fact she has Jewish heritage, given her history of anti-Semitism. If she wants to be PM, she won’t want any hint of hypocrisy to taint her bid.’
Rogers considered this. ‘It’s cling-film thin. But then she has made a career out of bashing immigrants to win the right-wing vote. And I have heard her talk about Pennyfeather. I suppose there’s no harm in having an ace up our sleeve. If she’s going off the reservation, we can try it. All right. Write me a confidential memo and I’ll discuss it with her.’
‘Yes, sir.’ I turned to go, then said, ‘Actually …’
‘What?’
‘I wonder if it might be helpful for me and Anjoli – the woman David kidnapped – to come and see the Home Secretary as well.’
His forehead wrinkled. ‘Why?’
That was a good question. Why had I asked? My brain caught up with what my subconscious had been trying to tell me.
‘Anjoli knows all the details and she might elicit some sympathy, since she was also the victim of David Baker’s kidnapping. And it might be better coming from her than from a serving police officer? The Home Secretary won’t have any power over her.’
And if it worked, having some leverage over the Home Secretary could help if they ever decided to deport me. I could see Rogers weighing up the pros and cons. It could give him deniability and allow him to put the blame on me if it backfired. Which was a risk I had to take. It didn’t matter precisely which way I got fucked. I was getting used to it.
Finally, he said, ‘It’s irregular, but all right. We’re supposed to meet her at 3 p.m. at her office in the House of Commons. I’ll put both your names on the list.’
Did this mean I wasn’t suspended? I decided not to push my luck and ask, so just thanked him, and exited smartly.
CHAPTER 42
Saturday afternoon.
‘Maybe I should have brought some TK flyers and coupons to hand to MPs and these people,’ said Anjoli as we waited outside the House of Commons for Rogers. ‘Could be good for business. Look at this crowd. Guess the Guardian article really struck a chord.’
I looked at the placards that read NO FACIAL RECOGNITION, STOP BIG BROTHER, and END DIGITAL STRIP SEARCHES. A group of noisy protesters waved signs as they shouted for the Home Secretary to resign.
‘What an OTT police presence,’ she continued, pointing at around twenty-five police officers in yellow hi-vis vests. ‘This is a peaceful protest, and they’re being intimidated by the cops. You should have let me wear my T-shirt.’ I’d had to dissuade her from wearing her Anjoli special: Super Callous Fascist Racist Tories Are Atrocious. ‘But it is quite exciting, I must admit. Who’d have thought you’d be hobnobbing with the Home Secretary just a couple of weeks into your job? Even if she is evil. I might join the protesters after our meeting.’
I felt nauseous. We hadn’t addressed her outburst the day before, and I had no idea what to do or say about it. But she seemed to have recovered, and I had to compartmentalise for now. ‘Well, I’m about to be fired, so I should enjoy my moment in the sun.’
‘You’ll persuade her with your brilliance, and she’ll promote you to DCI and Tahir will end up reporting to you. Wait and see.’
‘Yeah, right. Anyway, it’s all down to the work you put in to find Avram and Malka’s murderer.’
Rogers arrived in his full dress uniform, making me feel underdressed in my off-the-peg suit. ‘Good, you’re here. Let’s check in. It’s quite a palaver.’
We went to the side gate and, after showing our ID, they ticked our names off a list. Then we were led into a Portakabin where we were checked off another list and taken through security. We were then shepherded to a third room, where they issued us with security passes on lanyards. Finally, we ascended the steps into a large, vaulted hall. Rogers walked ahead and Anjoli whispered, ‘Take a picture of me!’
‘I can’t! Rogers will see. We’re here on business, not as sightseers.’
‘Oh, come on.’ She thrust her phone into my hand. I took a couple of quick shots of her against the background of the ancient chamber.
A young woman walked up to Rogers, said, ‘Our lady and mistress will see you now,’ and we followed her down a narrow wood-panelled corridor lined with doors emblazoned with ministerial names, some of which I recognised and many I didn’t. The woman stopped in front of a door with a sign saying ‘The Right Hon. Priscilla Patrick’ and we entered. There were two other women at a desk in the anteroom and our guide rapped on the door of the main office. ‘They’re here.’
The three of us trooped in after her into the Home Secretary’s domain, which was tiny, even smaller than Rogers’ office, which wasn’t palatial by any means. I was surprised, having expected something a little grander.
‘Thank you for coming all the way in to see me here instead of at Marsham Street. We have an emergency Saturday sitting, and I have a vote soon,’ Priscilla Patrick explained.
‘That’s fine, ma’am,’ said Rogers. ‘This is DC Rahman who helped find the killer and, er …’
‘Anjoli Chatterjee,’ said Anjoli.
The Home Secretary was a short woman, but what she lacked in the vertical she made up for in the horizontal. Dressed in a bright blue jacket, she looked curiously at Anjoli and me, shook our hands with a firm grip and sat back behind her desk, which was scattered with files and photos of her family. I gave her credit – she had genuine presence – you could feel the power in the room. It was exciting. I wondered if Anjoli felt it, too.
Patrick’s assistant produced a pad to make notes as her boss gestured for us to sit. ‘So, tell me about this David Baker. Have you found out where he uploaded the algorithm to?’
‘Not yet, ma’am, we are still looking,’ said Rogers.
‘His lawyer has been on to us. He wants full immunity and £10 million in cryptocurrency if we want to get our hands on the Aishtar technology.’
That was worse than I’d thought.
‘He has killed four people, ma’am, and kidnapped another,’ said Rogers.
‘I’m aware of that, Superintendent Rogers. But this technology is critical to the country, and we can’t afford to have it fall into the hands of our enemies. We might save thousands of British lives if we have it, and that outweighs the death of four individuals, however regrettable that was. Do fill me in on the details. I’m interested.’
I looked at Anjoli, who was ready to interrupt, but I nudged her to keep quiet. I could tell she was disgusted, as was I, listening to this woman making it sound like the four deaths had been a mere inconvenience. I wished I could use Ari Levy’s VR technology to bring her inside the room where I had seen his and Yael’s bodies, drenched in their own blood. Then she’d see for herself how ‘regrettable’ it was.
Rogers talked her through what David Baker had done and how we had caught him. To his credit, he told her I had been the one to crack his alibi, and that earned me a chilly smile from Patrick. She was living up to her Prissy Priscilla soubriquet – a blow torch wouldn’t melt this woman.
After Rogers had finished, Patrick said, ‘Well, that is quite a story. Four Israelis dead and—’
I could sense Anjoli tensing next to me again, but Rogers interrupted, ‘Mr Ram was a British citizen, ma’am.’
‘Ah, yes, so he was.’
Not truly British, I could imagine her thinking.
She continued, ‘And this Mr Baker is an American?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She thought for a few moments, then said, ‘Well, I don’t know that I have much choice in the matter. Our security services tell me we must have that technology. It has already stopped three attacks we know of. We have the terrorists in custody.’
‘Potential terrorists, I assume? Had they committed any crimes before they were arrested?’ said Rogers.
The Home Secretary gave him a look that would have frozen the surface of the sun. ‘The analysis provided a probability of 93.8 per cent. Regardless, we can pay Baker off and chuck him back to America, then he’ll be their problem, not ours. I’ll have to deal with the fallout in Israel, of course, but they need our support in Iran, so they’ll fall in line.’
I was simultaneously shocked and unsurprised at her unapologetic cynicism. How much of her decision was linked to the benefit of the nation and how much to her mounting the next rung on the political ladder? Four people had died, but to this politician, all that mattered was a transaction to be brokered. It could be factored using basic, cold cost-benefit analysis, which allowed for no variables, no nuanced reasoning. No humanity.
‘If that’s what you wish, ma’am, then we will defer and let you handle it your way,’ said Rogers. ‘But this case has garnered a great deal of publicity and we’ll have to come up with a story for the press. Especially as Mr Fleishman has already been released from custody.’
Clearing my throat, I found my voice and said, ‘Also, ma’am, there is no guarantee David Baker won’t sell on the tech after he releases it to you. The Americans will want it and there is a global market for it.’
She looked at me in surprise, as if I had broken some unwritten rule by speaking. ‘Yes, I know that. My people tell me they can ensure he doesn’t make a copy of what he has uploaded – he hasn’t had access to it since you arrested him, so there won’t be any existing copies. We’ll get him to download it in a secure location, under observation by our techs, then erase whatever he uploaded.’
The thought of this ordinary-looking woman in front of me having the power to surveil the entire country was terrifying, but I said nothing. I was swimming in waters that were too deep for me.
‘So, thank you again for coming in, Superintendent Rogers. I’ll think about this and decide. If that is all …’ said Patrick, standing up to indicate we should take the hint and leave.
Rogers got up.
Was this it? The murderer of four people would walk free, the UK would become the most extreme surveillance state in the world, and all we could do was meekly leave?
Just as we were about to exit, Rogers turned. ‘My colleague here wanted to bring you up to speed on a related issue. I’ll step out to use the facilities while he does, if I may.’
