Authors: Campbell Hart
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Crime Fiction, #Noir
***
Arun Khan had been shot in the left shoulder blade after trying to escape arrest in Lochgelly, Fife and was being treated at the Queen Victoria Hospital in Dunfermline. The Police statement said his injuries weren’t life threatening, although it would take three to four months until he would have the full use of his arm. At home, his personal computer had been impounded, the house searched. Officers had found an ounce of grass and a hard drive full of illegally downloaded movies. Even if nothing was found on the PC, there was enough evidence to bring charges against him, even if they weren’t the ones originally intended.
Arun had been put in a single room under guard. Outside through the frosted glass door panel he could see the black silhouettes of two men in suits talking to the white smocked outline of one of the medical staff. After a couple of minutes the door opened and a man in his 50s came in, followed by a younger woman. They looked like cops.
“Arun Khan? My name’s DI Greg Monteith, this is my colleague, PC Jean Hopkins. We’re here from the Counter Terrorism unit of the Specialist Crime Division. As a matter of some urgency we need to discuss your activities.”
“Is this about my stash, man? I’m not a dealer; it’s just for personal use.”
“We’re not interested in that Mr Khan. We’re here about the computer.”
“My computer?”
“It would be easier on you if you came clean and told us why you’ve been looking at illegal material.”
Arun’s face darkened, “Oh man, this is embarrassing.”
“Just tell us what you know.”
“It’s just porn, man; everyone looks at it. That’s why they invented the net.”
Greg Monteith was losing his patience with the boy, “Do you think this is funny son? People are dying out there. You’ve been looking up sites related to terror groups – this is about as serious as it gets for you. It’s time to start talking.”
“Terrorism? No man, you’ve got me all wrong. I’m not into all that.”
“We’ve seen your computer. We know exactly what you’ve been looking at.”
For about a minute there was complete silence in the room, until Arun conceded with a mumble.
“What was that?”
“Just a couple of sites.”
“What sites?”
“Jihad International and AQ Central.”
“Both terrorist sponsored.”
“I was only looking. You always hear people going on about them. I just wanted to see what was on them.”
“Your files suggest you spent quite a long time looking.”
“It seemed exciting.”
“Did you find it exciting when those people died in Glasgow?”
“No man, that’s not what I meant. I spend all my time at home. I can’t get a job. I’ve tried. I must have applied for 30 in the last month. I keep getting knocked back – too many people chasing too few jobs. All I’ve got is too much time on my hands. So what do I do? I search the web for stuff to pass the time. No harm done.”
“Do you think it would be OK to look at child pornography?”
“What? No way man! That’s out of order.”
“There are all sorts of material available online. Most of it is harmless, but in your case you’ve been looking at highly illegal material. PC Hopkins could you read out the links please.
“About the international struggle; how to make improvised explosives; knowing your enemy; the role of the cell; online communities – the list goes on.”
“I’m not a terrorist. I was just looking.” Arun was feeling distinctly uncomfortable; he hadn’t been expecting the questions.
“You don’t deny looking at these pages?”
“No.”
“When you are well enough to leave the hospital you will be transferred to Govan Police Station in Glasgow where you will be charged under the Terrorism Act. Be in no doubt Mr Khan that your actions are serious, and given the events of the last few days, security is of national importance.”
By the time the officers had left Arun Khan had slumped back on his bed, with tears in his eyes. The next day his picture would be on the front page of every newspaper in the UK.
***
At the Forensics Department, the attention had switched to the second blast which had been picked up on the CCTV footage.
“It’s that guy in the back row. Can we get a better look at his face?”
“Sorry boss,” Caroline Aitken had been pouring over the footage and the available evidence for the best part of 36 hours, “But his face is obscured by the Military cap. He’s in uniform, but we don’t know who he is.”
“We must know. He’s in the enclosure at the Cenotaph which is exclusively reserved for the ‘good and the great’. He should be accounted for.”
“There’s a floor plan worked out beforehand for who goes where. The space occupied by our mystery man should have been taken by Brigadier John Mason. He called off due to illness. The assumption must have been that this was his replacement. We can’t ask the people around about him because they’re all dead. We’ve asked the survivors but so far, no joy.”
“What can you tell me about the blast?”
“It was a secondary explosion, most likely triggered by the first blast.”
“What does that mean?”
“At first the explosions might appear simultaneous but if you pause the film at the moment of detonation like so,” Caroline stopped the round toggle dial when the white light appeared. “You’ll see that the mystery man is still here. It’s not until a little while later, about half a second, that blast number two takes place.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that either our chap was waiting to detonate his C-4, or that the force of the explosion caused a chain reaction.”
“Isn’t it possible that the two bombs were electronically linked?”
“It’s possible. If there were two electronic detonators synced and primed to go off in tandem that would do it. But if you look at the mystery man’s face he doesn’t seem to be expecting anything and at any rate the explosions don’t happen simultaneously, they’re consecutive. It looks like the second bomb was set up by the blast of the first. It might be that this guy didn’t know what was happening until it was too late.”
They sat and stared at the image. The second explosion did the most damage to the surrounding crowd. The freeze frame showed the head of the ceremonial granite lion cracked in two, the debris causing serious injury to those nearby. Regimental flags had been ripped to shreds by the shards of sharp stone which had ricocheted through the crowd.
“I’m still struggling to find a ‘why’ in all this.”
“Well that’s your job, John. I’m just here to piece it all together.”
“Thanks Caroline. If you can send me details of the second man I’ll issue a photo fit. Hopefully we’ll be able to identify him pretty quickly.”
“Good luck.”
Arbogast had been called to see Graeme Donald. The note said it was urgent.
“We need to talk John.”
“I’ve a few good leads on the case I’d like to talk through with you.”
“It’s not about the case, it’s about you.”
“What about me?”
Arbogast noticed that Donald had made himself at home at Norrie’s old desk pretty quickly. His old boss’s PC had been replaced by a light weight laptop which was currently open, with the light of the screen casting a faint glow under the Chief’s jaw.
“I’ve been sent something which concerns you,” Donald spun round the laptop for Arbogast to see.
Arbogast gasped. He was looking at a freeze frame of himself and Annabelle, “I have to say, this is not the kind of thing I expect from my top guys.”
“Listen, sir, I can explain.”
“I don’t need an explanation from you John. I need to make one thing clear though. I will protect you on this but only as long as I can keep this an internal matter. Do you know who is circulating this video?”
“I am assuming it’s the girl, Annabelle.”
“Then you need to sort this out. If the video goes to the tabloids it will be game over for you. Do you understand?”
Arbogast nodded.
“OK, well let’s leave it at that for now. You’d better hope this goes away.”
Arbogast took that as a cue to leave and pushed back his chair to get up.
“Oh and congratulations by the way.”
“Congratulations for what, sir?”
“On Rosalind’s news.”
“No-one deserves the promotion more than she does.”
“The promotion,” Donald was laughing. “No I meant about the baby,” There was a pause, “She hasn’t told you?”
Arbogast stared back blankly, “No she hasn’t. Maybe you’ve picked it up wrong.”
“I imagine you’re right. Goodbye.”
Outside the door, Arbogast stood and listened. He could hear Rosalind’s voice from the office next door. She was talking about the case. It was as if nothing had happened. It would explain her moods of late. He considered trying to talk to her but decided against it. His mobile was ringing. It was Sandy Stirrit.
21
The release of the photo-fit of the man at the centre of the second explosion had the unintended consequence of starting a national debate. The media had been careful at that point not to suggest the attack had been linked to Al Quaida. The evidence suggested this was a home grown attack involving a single white man. There had been incidents involving minorities which had been largely condemned but the mood seemed to be changing. The description of the man was fairly non-descript:
The third point was the most contentious; reporters wanted to know if ‘dark skinned’ equated to ‘Arabic’. The inference was that the George Square incident had been an Islamic attack.
Arbogast was getting tired of being asked the same thing again and again; it was bullshit, “I can’t believe you’re asking me this, Sandy.”
“It’s a fair question, John. The picture suggests this might be a bone fide international attack. It’s looking a lot like the airport bombing in 2006.”
“That’s total speculation, and you know it.”
“You know people are worried. The fact that you’ve issued a photo-fit of this guy proves you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Sandy, there’s nothing conclusive about that picture. He looks dark skinned, but we’re working off CCTV footage taken from 100 feet away. Our guy doesn’t feature in the TV shots we have and so far we haven’t been able to speak to anyone that can remember seeing him.”
“We’re within our rights to speculate. It’s public interest.”
“Of course it is. Remind me of that again when the reprisal attacks start up on ethnic minorities, which have already happened by the way. One guy was killed, Sandy; killed for working in a shop. We picked up two boys for that. They thought they’d done the right thing. Watch this space. There will be more of the same and you guys can shoulder the blame.”
“It’s a legitimate story. We run what’s new.”
“All I’m saying is that we don’t know much about the man in the cap. Jock Smith was the pivotal figure; his explosives triggered this. It will help us to identify the group, should there be a group, if we can pinpoint who the number two is. We need your help on that, so give me a break and let’s get going with this. So far you seem to be missing the point.”
“Are you doing interviews?”
“Not right now. The case comes before media.”
“You’ll need to help us out with something.”
“You’ve got the photo and the press release. That’s it for now,” He hung up.
Arbogast had arranged to meet Norrie Smith at the gates of the Necropolis.
“Why here, boss?”
Norrie smiled, “I’m not your boss anymore, John.”
“Listen if it means anything—”
“—I know, I know, and thanks; but you don’t need to say it. We both knew it was in the post. Donald’s got experience.”
“He’s bent.”
“We don’t know that, and you’d do well to keep your mouth shut on that front.”
“It might be too late for that.”
Norrie stopped walking midway across the Bridge of Sighs, “Tell me you haven’t been stupid?”
“I can’t take that guy. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He’s been a Chief Constable for the last five years. More important than that, he’s your boss.”
“I’ve tipped off the press about him. I think we can get you re-instated.”
“Do you see where we are?”
“Somewhere quiet to talk?”
“We’re in a graveyard. This is where people go after they’ve died. I’m still walking but that’s me as far as you’re concerned; a dead man walking. Don’t jeopardise your own career for me. I’m being well looked after.”
“But this is your case.”
“It was my case. Its Donald’s now. He’s got the ear of your other half too and that could play in your favour.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
“Has something happened?”
“Someone’s going out of their way to try and destroy me. There’s a video. It’s a sex thing from an ex. Her name’s Annabelle Strachan. We hooked up the other day by chance. I didn’t know it was happening but she sent it to Rose.”
Norrie had stopped in his tracks; he looked disgusted, “What were you thinking?”
“You’re not the first person to ask that. Donald’s got it too.”
“And he’s still keeping you on the case?”
“He says unless it appears in the press he’ll back me.”
“He’s got dirt on you John; that’s not a good place to be. One wrong move and perhaps the video will find its way to the media.”
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t even think why she would want to do this to me. We were an item a few years back. It didn’t end well but it was the right thing at the time; nothing which would explain this.”
“Let me do you a favour. Do you know where she lives?”
“The video was from a house in Paisley. I assume that’s where she lives.”
“You need to stay out of this, but I can help. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find out. Whatever you do, though, don’t get any more involved than you already are.”