Take your pick, theres fucking hordes of them.
Warren had to ask, but he already knew what the answer was going to be.
The fucking Pakis. The Muslims, the Sikhs, the Jews, the place is full of them. Half the bastards live in this building. Go out there and start arresting them, youll find who did it quick enough. Fingerprint them all and youll probably solve most of the unsolved crimes in town.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hastings trying to keep a blank face. The Family Liaison Officer looked bored; no doubt hed been hearing this all morning. Unfortunately, Jimmy Meegan was only just getting started.
Warren had dealt with racists a lot over his career. You didnt spend your early uniform years in such racially diverse cities as Coventry and Birmingham without encountering your fair share of bigots, from all communities. Sometimes it could be dealt with as a public order offence; a verbal warning about use of abusive and racially charged language would usually quieten most of the people he encountered. If that didnt work, and especially if alcohol was involved, handcuffs and the back of a police van would at least remove them from the scene and ultimately make them the custody sergeants problem.
In circumstances such as this, the heavy-handed approach wasnt really appropriate. Warren recognised that Jimmy Meegan was grieving the death of his big brother. Furthermore, the dilated pupils, reddening of the nostrils, and the obsessive scratching of his left forearm suggested that a presumptive cocaine test on the traces of powder on the mans top lip would come back positive.
Warren chose his next words carefully, but before he could mouth them he was interrupted by an unexpected source.
Ive told you not to use that language in this house.
Mary Meegans voice was rough, but had the edge of one used to being obeyed. Jimmy Meegans eyes flicked towards his mother. For a moment he looked as though he was going to protest, before he shrugged and stalked across the room to one of the armchairs, where he grabbed a grey hoodie.
You know Im right, he muttered. Pigs dont care about us. They dont care who killed Tommy. Were an endangered species in our own country. He sounded as if he was about to start again, but his mother silenced him with a glare.
Boys, were going to the pub.
Ideally, Warren would have liked to interview them there and then, but he could see that Jimmy Meegan was not going to be any help and he decided hed rather have him and his two cronies out of the way for the time being.
Jimmy, Id like to talk to you later. Do you have a number I can contact you on?
Warren tried to make his tone as conciliatory as possible.
Hell be here, said Mary Meegan.
And what about you gentlemen? Im sure you have plenty of information youd like to share.
The two men entering the apartment from the balcony obviously shopped at the same clothing outlet as Jimmy Meegan, and shared his tastes in hair styling and body art. But that was where the similarities ended. The first of the men was hugely obese, his enormous belly straining through the T-shirt. His florid, sweat-spotted face and wheezing made Warren mentally bump him to the top of the interview list, if only so they could speak to him before he dropped dead of a massive coronary. He walked past Warren and Hastings without even looking at them.
His companion was exactly the opposite, the man looked almost emaciated. A gold earring in his right earlobe matched his right incisor, which flashed as he sneered at Warren. Ill make sure my assistant contacts your office to compare diaries.
Warren resisted the urge to respond in kind. It didnt really matter if they refused to give their addresses, he recognised both men from the briefing notes he had read that morning. Harry Bellies Brandon and Marcus Goldie Davenport were well known and could easily be picked up for questioning back in Romford if necessary.
The police officers waited until the three thugs swaggered out the door, before turning back to Mary Meegan.
As I was saying, Mrs Meegan, Im very sorry for your loss and I promise you that my colleagues and I are doing everything we can to catch your sons killer.
The older woman stared at the floor for a few moments without saying anything and Warren debated whether or not he needed to repeat himself. Perhaps a little louder hed just noticed the discreet hearing aid.
Sit down and take the weight off. Can I get you boys a cup of tea?
She started to get up. Warren blinked in surprise; he hadnt expected this. Before he could respond, the Family Liaison Officer spoke up.
Ill get it, Mary.
As the officer busied himself in the kitchen, Warren mentally changed tack. Hed been anticipating a hostile reception from Mrs Meegan a woman who it was reported had experienced more than her fair share of run-ins with the police, albeit indirectly through her late husband and wayward sons. An offer of a sit down and a cup of tea was the last thing hed expected.
You know, they arent bad boys. Not really. The old womans voice was gravelly and slightly wistful, but it had lost its dreamy quality. Warren detected no slurring and he suspected that whilst Mary Meegan may have had a glass of whisky to settle her nerves, most of the bottle had been consumed by her visitors.
She indicated towards a picture on the wall. It was him that made them the way they are. The photograph of Ray Meegan enjoyed a prominent place above the three-bar electric fire. On the mantelpiece, flanked by yet more porcelain statuettes, a colour wedding photograph showed far younger versions of the man in the portrait and somebody immediately recognisable as Mary Meegan. Whilst Ray Meegan was never what you would call handsome, something that his lank moustache and purple velvet suit hardly helped, Mary Meegan had been a real head-turner back then. Even her thick-rimmed NHS glasses could do little to hide her pretty features; in the same way that the large bouquet of flowers barely concealed her large bump. A shotgun wedding, it would seem.
I knew he liked a drink with the boys when he went to the football on a Saturday, but it wasnt until he was arrested that I realised the truth, silly bastard. She shook her head. The first time, it was for knocking a policemans helmet off. He thought it was all a bit of a laugh. A night in the cells and that was it.
She sighed. Or so I thought. The next time he got arrested, it was more serious. He glassed someone in the pub. He claimed it was self-defence. He and his mates were celebrating a win when the losers attacked them.
Now her expression turned to derision. I took his word, if you can believe that?
I went to court expecting him to get off, but the prosecution produced a dozen witnesses, some of them supporting his own team, who claimed that Ray and his mates started the fight. That theyd spotted the two lads on their own and started calling them names. One of the lads was Asian and he reckoned Ray called him a Paki and told him to go home. Nobody else heard that, so the magistrate dropped the racially aggravated bit, but he still got six weeks for assault.
Warren had only skimmed the file on Ray Meegan, since he was more interested in his son, but his gut told him that Mary Meegan had things to say worth listening to.
When he came out, he claimed he was done with the football and the violence, but it didnt last. He used to be a taxi driver, but the council were tightening the rules and didnt think he was suitable. He drove minicabs for a while, but there were too many foreigners prepared to work for peanuts and he couldnt earn enough to put food on the table.
Warren could see where the story was going now.
I guess it colours your view of folks when you think theyre out there taking your job. It certainly did for my Ray.
She sniffed. By the time the boys were at secondary school a load of immigrants had turned up to work on the building sites. My Ray kept on applying he was a big bloke and not scared of a hard days work but they turned him down. Reckoned he was too expensive. The Asians would do it cheaper.
She sniffed again. At least thats what he said. I reckon it was because he had a criminal record. Besides, these young lads were half his age and twice as fit. Still, he blamed it all on the Indians or the Pakistanis. He used to talk about it all the time at the dinner table. I told him not to use the P word in front of the boys, but he ignored me.
And then he started taking the boys to the football. I didnt want him to, but he promised me hed keep away from any trouble and said that he wouldnt be a real dad if he didnt take the boys to the footie. For some of his mates Saturday at the match followed by the chippie was the only time they spent with their kids. I was just glad that we werent like that.
She paused again, taking a mouthful of her tea, grimacing at the cold temperature.
Let me get you a top-up, Mrs Meegan, interjected Hastings.
She smiled at him and handed him her teacup, which he carried back to the kitchen.
Do you think their fathers employment situation helped form the boys political views? Warren asked carefully.
Mary Meegan laughed throatily. By forming their political views, do you mean is that why they are nasty racists? She answered her own question. Course it is. I believed Ray when he said he was keeping the boys away from any trouble at the football, but you tell me where the hell a nine-year-old learns to throw a banana at the TV when a black player comes on the pitch? I threatened to tan Tommys backside if he ever used that language again, but Ray laughed and said it was just a bit of fun.
Mary Meegan slumped into her seat, as if the wind had been let out of her, and for the first time Warren saw the pain in her eyes.
Mrs Meegan, do you have any idea who might have attacked your son?
Warren wasnt expecting any great insights, but Mary Meegan was a lot more clued-in than she might at first seem.
Its like Jimmy said take your pick. They think Im a fool, that I dont know what they get up to. Until today theyd never really made the news and I dont think they had any idea how much I know about them. She smiled sadly. I dont exactly bring it up over Sunday lunch not that I ever see them for Sunday lunch these days. The smile disappeared and her bottom lip trembled. I just want my boys with me. The way it used to be.
She cleared her throat loudly and fished a handkerchief from out of her sleeve. Warren picked up his own teacup and joined Hastings and the Family Liaison Officer in the kitchenette. Mary Meegan was a proud woman and would want a few moments to compose herself. By the time they returned a minute later, it was as if nothing had happened. She took the fresh cup of tea from Hastings with a grateful smile.
She pointed at the laptop on the dining table.
They think I just use that for online shopping. It was an old one that Tommy gave me. But theres a silver surfer club at the library. One of the boys that helps out upgraded it. Now I can use it for looking at Facebook and surfing the web. Her face darkened. Im not an idiot. I know exactly what theyre involved in. I even follow them on Twitter. I see what people post on there. The language they use the threats Again, her bottom lip trembled. They used to try and hide it from me still scared of their old mum, she barked. But by the time theyd both been to prison it was obvious. They started showing off their tattoos, horrible things. She shuddered. Its as if they want to be unemployed. Theyre supposed to be painters and decorators, but whod let someone looking like that into their house?
So they arent working?
Not really. Tommy moved down to Romford about five years ago, the last time he was released. He said it was to set up as a decorator he completed a City and Guilds in prison as a mate had some work on. But Im not daft. That part of Essex is full of right-wingers. Jimmy joined him three years ago when he got out and they were supposed to set up a business together.
But they didnt?
I think they tried, but they cant get any work. Of course, they blame the immigrants. They reckon there are too many Poles down there. She shrugged. Maybe theyre right. But who would you rather invite into your house? A nice young Polish fellow who turns up on time with a smile, or some scruffy English bloke who turns up late covered in tattoos with a mouthful of foul language?
And so they hooked up with the local far-right?
Yeah, although they never use that term. They call themselves patriots.
Before today, when was the last time you saw your sons?
Again, her bottom lip trembled. Its been a while. Months.
So they dont visit Middlesbury very often?
She shrugged. I think they still have friends up here. Tommy used to see a girl over in Attlee Place, but they split up ages ago. The ghost of a smile passed across her face. Shes seeing a black fella now got a lovely little boy. I thought it best not to say anything.
Warren returned the smile. Despite everything, he was warming to Mary Meegan, and he felt more than a little sorry for her. It wasnt hard to imagine the life shed found herself trapped in. A man like Ray Meegan couldnt have been easy to live with. Had she been the victim of domestic abuse? He doubted shed admit it even now. And shed had two boys with the man; boys that she loved and feared in equal measures. Boys that shed tried in vain to steer away from the life their father had chosen.
It was easy to blame the parents in such circumstances, but was that always fair? Not for the first time, Warren found himself wondering what hed do in her place. He doubted Ray Meegan was the sort of man whod let her run off with his kids, and he couldnt imagine Mary Meegan leaving without them. Having children seemed the easiest decision in the world, but was it always the right choice?
Suddenly, she grabbed Warrens hand.
Please find the man who killed my boy. I know he wasnt a nice man, but he didnt deserve that. And now hes gone Im afraid of what will happen.
Do you feel youre in danger, Mrs Meegan? asked Warren.
Not me, Jimmy. Despite it all, Tommy was a good influence on him. Jimmys easily led and he can get himself into trouble. Tommy used to hold him back.
Warren had read Jimmy Meegans file. If that was how he behaved when his older brother restrained him, he dreaded to think what the man would do now that he was gone.
Chapter 6
Tony Sutton hated fires. Fortunately, there were no bodies, nevertheless the scene conjured up old memories that hed rather not dwell on.
The Islamic Centre was a converted residential property, and luckily for the neighbours was detached. The blaze had done significant damage to the downstairs, with the windows on the ground floor broken, the frames blackened. The smoke that smudged the centres sign hadnt obliterated the racist graffiti scrawled across it. The front door hung off its hinges where the fire service had smashed it open to tackle the blaze behind. It too had graffiti, along with a couple of crudely drawn swastikas for good measure. A white-suited CSI was taking a swab from the paint in the hope that they could match it to any aerosol cans recovered from a suspect.