Is that the Frozen fan? Sutton nodded towards a picture of a smiling infant in a light summer dress. She hadnt been smiling ten minutes ago when her father had switched the cartoon off and sent her upstairs so they could speak in peace.
Yes, thats Fatima. If I hear Let it Go one more time shes obsessed.
My niece is about the same age, said Hardwick. At least choosing a birthday present was easy this year. She paused. Is the little boy in the picture with her the other victim, Abbas? Both children were dark-haired, with light brown skin and faces smeared with ice cream.
Yes, theyre cousins. My sisters little boy. Theyre almost exactly the same age.
So that means Mrs Fahmida must be your grandmother?
Mehmud nodded sadly.
Im very sorry, I had no idea.
The man in front of them was in his late thirties, wearing a white dishdasha over his jeans and trainers. By all accounts hed been awake for pretty much the entire past twenty-four hours, comforting his congregation and, Sutton now realised, dealing with his own shock and grief. He was clearly running on adrenaline and little else, given that he was still fasting during daylight hours to mark the Muslim holy month of Ramadan.
Have you heard anything more from the hospital? asked Hardwick.
Mehmud shrugged helplessly. Nani is in intensive care. They arent very hopeful. Abbas is poorly but stable. We are praying for his recovery, inshallah.
Mehmud stood up suddenly as if filled with an energy he didnt know what to do with.
I havent told Fatima anything yet. Ill wait to see what happens in the next twenty-four hours or so. If he well, shell be devastated. My sister and I are very close and Fatima and Abbas are like brother and sister.
I realise that its been a trying time but could you take me through what happened that day, asked Sutton after a respectful pause.
We knew all about the BAP march of course, but Id tried to persuade people to keep their heads down and not get involved. Mehmud shrugged. Not everyone listened. We found out that the BAP were due to arrive about midday. It was easy enough to find their plans on the internet. Wed spoken about it the day before at Friday prayers. We had a higher than usual attendance; there were some brothers and sisters that I didnt recognise.
People from outside Middlesbury? asked Hardwick.
I think so. Not many, but I got the feeling that they werent there by chance.
You think theyd arrived specifically to join the counter-protest?
Yes. I tried to counsel against it the last thing we as a community need is to be involved in violence, especially with the planning hearing for the mosque and community centre coming soon.
So what happened on Saturday?
There was an informal gathering here after dawn prayers. Some of the more fiery members of the congregation wanted to take part in the protest marches. A few went off to join in, but most stuck around until midday prayers.
What happened then?
A few more went to the protest and about half went back to lock up their shops and businesses. In the end there were about thirty, mostly women and children, who chose to stay here. I decided to lead by example and stick around.
Why did they stay? asked Hardwick.
They were scared. There were all sorts of rumours on the internet about Muslims being targeted on the street or having their houses vandalised. All nonsense, of course, but I decided that anybody who wanted to remain was welcome.
He closed his eyes briefly. They should have been safe here. We locked the doors and there was a police car outside. His voice cracked and his bottom lip started to tremble. But they werent, were they? We were trapped like rats.
Tell us what happened inside the centre.
It was pretty tense. As the protests got more violent the BBC started to cover it and there was loads of activity on Twitter. We moved the older children upstairs with some toys and the rest of us stayed downstairs to watch the telly. His voice hardened, and for the first time an edge of anger crept into his tone. We still thought we were safe. There was a police car up the street, and all of the action was happening in the town centre. Nobody told us the police car had He stopped, unable to continue the sentence.
We havent been able to get inside the centre yet, said Sutton, so youll have to help us with the layout. Where were you watching TV?
In the kitchen area, out the back. As you enter through the front door there are shelves for footwear and some sinks for ablutions, straight on is the kitchen, to the left the musallah, the prayer hall.
And where are the stairs?
To the right of the entrance.
And what do you have upstairs?
There are several rooms. The largest is a function room, then there is a storeroom, some bathrooms and another couple of rooms that we use for wedding guests to get changed etc.
Did you know everybody? asked Hardwick.
Yes, the visitors had all gone off to the march.
Did you see anybody strange hanging around outside?
There were a few brothers outside, but they left eventually.
What do you mean by brothers? questioned Sutton.
Other Muslims.
How did you know they were Muslims if you didnt know them?
Mehmud blinked. Well, they were dressed in thawb with full beards and well, you know, they were Asian.
Sutton decided to move on.
When did you realise the building was on fire?
About two-thirty we heard breaking glass out the front. I told everyone to head into the musallah, since it doesnt have any windows. However, as we went into the hallway, we saw that the area in front of the door was on fire. I told the women to go through the kitchen and leave through the back door, whilst me and the men ran to get the children.
The mans eyes took on a faraway cast.
The mats in front of the stairs were starting to catch, so I sent the rest of the men upstairs whilst I tried to put the blaze out with a fire extinguisher. And then my wife came back through to tell me that the back door wouldnt open.
He closed his eyes briefly and his voice dropped to a whisper.
I didnt know what to do. We couldnt stay downstairs and I couldnt put the fire out. So I sent them all upstairs to join the others. Wed called the fire brigade and I figured theyd be able to rescue us from the top floor more easily. His voice broke slightly. The smell was horrible. Some of the shoes had caught fire and there was thick black smoke everywhere. Nani couldnt get up the stairs unaided though, shes almost ninety, I had to carry her. By the time we got to the top floor shed passed out and Abbas was having an asthma attack.
He looked imploringly at Sutton. Did I do the right thing? Perhaps I should have gone and tried to force the back door open instead. Then she could have got out. But if Id done that, maybe wed have ended up trapped downstairs.
I dont know, said Sutton softly, but I do know that your quick thinking made a big difference. You bought everyone valuable minutes for the fire service to arrive.
It was the best he could offer.
It was the best he could offer.
Mehmud smiled his thanks.
Before we go any further, do you have any thoughts about who might be responsible?
For the first time since theyd arrived, the mans politeness slipped.
Bloody obvious, isnt it? A coach-load of fascists and Islamophobes turn up in the town centre and distract the police, then we get torched. It doesnt take a rocket scientist.
Were keeping an open mind at the moment, said Sutton, cautiously.
Mehmud took a deep breath. Of course, youre right. I apologise.
Have you had any other incidents recently? Hardwick took over.
Mehmud shrugged helplessly. Some graffiti appeared a couple of nights ago. I didnt have any paint to cover it up. Before that, nothing really. We get on pretty well with the neighbours. I know that some of my brothers and sisters have been insulted in the street, especially if they are wearing the veil, but Middlesbury is a lot better than some places. The community centre hasnt been attacked in years, not since nine-eleven or the London bombings.
Sutton looked at his notes. Can you remember what night the graffiti appeared?
He thought for a moment. Wednesday night or Thursday morning, I think. We hosted a meal after sundown to celebrate breaking the days fast. I locked up about midnight and there was nothing on the wall then.
The same night the CCTV cameras had been vandalised.
Chapter 5
Visiting the newly bereaved was something that Warren never found easy. Today promised to be even trickier than usual.
To the casual observer, Middlesbury was a quiet, prosperous market town, populated by well-to-do professionals attracted by its semi-rural location, close proximity to Cambridge and Stevenage, and trains that could get you to central London in less than an hour.
All that was true the house prices certainly favoured the upper-middle classes but you only had to scratch the surface of anywhere to see its true character. A closer look showed the towns real inhabitants, its beating heart.
Just under half of Middlesburys inhabitants earned less than the median adult wage for the UK. The proportion of residents claiming out-of-work or disability benefits were broadly in line with the regional average and the number of households requiring housing benefit was typical for a town of its size. But as is often the case, such raw statistics obscured the real story.
Three-quarters of Middlesburys poorest households lived in a single area, known locally as the Chequers estate the six tower blocks being named after Prime Ministers from the first half of the twentieth century.
The name was the grandest thing about Churchill Towers, the ten-storey block that Mary Meegan lived at the top of. Had it not been for the two uniformed officers standing conspicuously at the entrance to the building, Warren would have thought twice about leaving his car unattended in the only parking bay not occupied by either a police car or dumped furniture.
Warren peered up at the balconies jutting out of the side of the building. Some had washing on clothes horses, a few had pot plants. Most had people staring at him.
Fuck the pigs! spray-painted across the doors completed the montage.
Ever get the feeling we arent welcome here? muttered Gary Hastings as he joined Warren.
The call button for the lift remained unlit and it was only the loud clanking and whining from the mechanism that reassured Warren that the stairs wouldnt be necessary. He almost wished hed opted for the exercise when the elevator finally arrived. A potent smell of urine, stale beer and cigarette smoke somebody had tried to burn the no smoking sticker engulfed the two men as they climbed into the empty lift. Hastings beat him to the number ten button. Turning so that he could face the doors, Warren felt the soles of his shoes sticking to the linoleum flooring.
Do you think thats dog? asked Hastings, his face an even sicklier colour under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Warren eyed the sticky brown mess at the edge of the lift. I hope so.
Apartment ten-fourteen was a dozen steps down the corridor. The uniformed police officer standing outside greeted Warren and Hastings politely, before ringing the doorbell and stepping to one side.
Warren didnt know what to expect when the door opened into the two-bedroom flat that Mary Meegan, her husband and their two boys had lived in since the late Seventies. Before hed arrived, Warren had been prepared for everything from Nazi memorabilia and a swastika carpet to snarling Rottweilers and St Georges flag wallpaper. Then upon arrival at the tower block hed feared hed be stepping into a dwelling from one of those dreadful how clean is your home filler programmes that Channel Four seemed so fond of.
He wasnt expecting tasteful floral-patterned wallpaper, deep, shag pile carpet and shelves of carefully chosen miniature porcelain figurines. The leather couch was plainly well used, but the polished wooden arms were evidence that the glass drinks coasters werent just because Mrs Meegan had visitors. The building around her might be filthy and neglected but she clearly had her standards.
Mary Meegan was a smoker that much was evident from the thick crevices that lined her face and the staining of her teeth. Nevertheless, the room smelt of air-freshener and furniture polish. A faint breeze carried the smell of cigarette smoke from the open balcony, where Mrs Meegan no doubt partook of her habit and banished similarly addicted visitors.
Through the window, Warren could see the backs of two men seated at a metal table, flanked by large earthenware flower pots containing lovingly maintained bonsai trees. Both had shaven heads. Both of them, hed want to speak to.
Mary, this is Detective Chief Inspector Jones. The Family Liaison Officer was a young man with sympathetic eyes.
Mary Meegan turned her head slowly, almost dreamily. The FLO flicked his eyes towards the breakfast counter, where a bottle of whisky sat, half empty.
Hello, Mrs Meegan. Im DCI Jones and this is my colleague Detective Constable Hastings, were part of the team that are investigating the death of your son. Were very sorry for your loss.
Bollocks.
The speaker had emerged from a doorway that Warren assumed led to the bathroom.
Even without seeing the mugshots that morning, it was clear that this was the brother of the murdered man. Dressed in a white England football shirt and black tracksuit bottoms, he did nothing to hide the tattoos crawling up the side of his neck and covering his sinewy forearms. He stepped forward and Warren caught the whiff of cigarettes and whisky on his breath. He forced himself not to recoil.
Jimmy Meegan, I presume?
The man ignored him.
Why are you around here, harassing my mum? You should be out there on the streets arresting the bloke that killed my brother.
It wasnt exactly how Warren had planned to open the questioning, but he decided that since Meegan had brought it up, he may as well go with the flow.
Thats what we are intending to do. Perhaps you could help us with that. Do you have any suggestions about who may be responsible?
Meegan stepped even closer.
Take your pick, theres fucking hordes of them.