Cath Staincliffe - Dead Wrong

‘Maybe he’s an informer,’ he said.

‘It’s possible.’ I thought about it, ‘OK, suppose he is informing on the drug stuff. They’ll be after the big players, won’t they – the suppliers overseas as well as Jay. if they’re using Siddiq, they’re not going to want him attracting attention by getting involved as a model citizen in a murder trial. That would only make Jay suspicious, wouldn’t it? Because it comes back to it being out of character.’

Luke rubbed his hands over his head, tired of all the supposition. ‘It’s all “if this” and “maybe that” and “what if” – and yet I’m still fucking here.’ His voice rose in desperation. ‘Can’t you just get me out of here? Can’t you just…’ He covered his face with his hands.

I waited a moment. This place was crushing him: the harsh regime, the pervading culture of hard men and bad boys, the smell, the ceaseless noise, the constant bullying.

‘I’m sorry. I realise how hard this must be, being in here. We are making progress,’ I said gently. ‘I’m going to see Pitt. Think about it: so far we’ve found new evidence about the murder weapon – Joey D’s knife killed Ahktar, the witnesses are lying about knowing him, and one if not both of them is lying about the whole thing. I’m sure Pitt can use this, Luke.’

He didn’t respond.

‘I’m pushing very hard to see Joey. His grandmother is in touch with him. He knows something, that’s why he’s hiding. I’ve given them an ultimatum: me now or the police will be after him. And you’re seeing Eleanor tomorrow for the hypnosis.’

‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly. He looked up at me then, dry-eyed, vulnerable. ‘What do you think happened?’

I took a breath, sat up in my seat. It could be dangerous to speculate as he wanted me to, raise false hopes or paint an untrue version of events, but he needed something to hold onto. ‘I don’t think you killed Ahktar; I don’t believe you even argued with him. I think someone else killed him, with Joey’s knife. I don’t know why Zeb would lie about you two arguing, or why Mrs Siddiq would pretend she was there if she wasn’t, or why Rashid Siddiq wanted to stand up and be counted, but I don’t think you did it.’

‘And the hypnosis. What if it comes out that I did do it? What if it was me?’ He shivered.

‘Luke, you don’t have to go ahead with it, if it’s too much, if the time’s not right.’

‘No, I will. If I can just remember…It’s the not remembering. You start to think – well, maybe I did do it. I could’ve done anything.’

‘Yes. The hypnosis – she won’t get you to remember anything that you don’t want to.’

He looked puzzled.

‘She said it’s got to be relaxed and comfortable – she’ll take it gently. I think you’ll be fine, but if you start blocking things out or get upset, Eleanor will stop. She’s not going to take you any further than you want to go. And you can change your mind; now, in the morning, whenever. OK?’

I let the guard know we had finished and waited while Luke was escorted away. The guard returned for me and took me through to the main entrance.

Outside it was a warm summer’s day. There was a border of shrubs around the car-park, purple hebe full of pointed flowers and a mock-orange blossom shedding white petals with a sweet, tangy scent. There was a carton of juice in the car. I wound the window down so I could smell the air and watch the bees busy combing the hebe while I had my drink.

I watched the bees but I saw Luke lying in his cell waiting for the morning, wondering if the hypnosis would prove his innocence or seal his guilt. And there was a question still to be answered that floored me every time it came to me; if Luke had done it, what on earth was I going to do?

I pulled into a petrol station on the drive back and rang Dermott Pitt. When I had finally bought a mobile phone, I had promised myself solemnly that I wouldn’t be one of those types who blithely use it while driving; one hand on the steering wheel and concentration all over the shop.

I spoke to his secretary. Yes, she had passed my message on. No, Mr Pitt had not offered me an appointment time. No, he had not said anything about my suggestion of turning up at the courts. I checked with her which case he was on and which court it was being heard in.

With all I’d heard about Rashid Siddiq from Emma I wasn’t sure whether I’d be taking a risk with my own safety if I pursued an interview with him. Given he was one of the eye-witnesses, possibly the only eye-witness if Sonia Siddiq hadn’t been there, it really was part of the job to talk to him, but I’d been putting it off. I checked my notebook and rang the warehouse. ‘Can I speak to Mr Siddiq, please.’

‘I’ll get him for you.’ The young woman failed to check out who I was and that could only work in my favour.

‘Hello?’

‘Mr Siddiq? My name is Sal Kilkenny. I’m ringing about the case against Luke Wallace. I’d like to arrange to talk to you about what you saw the night Ahktar Khan died.’

‘I don’t have to talk to you.’ And he hung up.

He was right, he had no obligation to see me but I was angry at the snub. My cheeks burned. I was aware that I was a stone’s throw from where the Siddiqs lived, if he wouldn’t see me then I’d call on his wife, see what she had to say about the allegations against her.

The white Saab was parked outside as before. I banged the lion’s-mouth knocker. Sonia answered the door with the chain on; at the sight of me, her face widened with dismay.

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘I’ve said everything I’ve got to say.’

‘Except the truth.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You arrived at Nirvana at ten o’clock. Had tickets in advance, did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which floor did you sit on?’

‘I don’t see what this has to do-’

‘What did you wear? What was the music like? Did you watch the videos? Did you like the decor? Could you describe it?’

Silence. Her face stony.

‘You had a clear recollection of seeing the murder but everything else is very vague. Were you taking drugs?’

‘No!’ Outrage.

‘People do – a lot of people do at these events. It’s part of the culture, really.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘Did you see people taking drugs?’

She shrugged.

‘You see, I don’t think it’s because you can’t quite remember, I think you just don’t have a clue. Because you weren’t there.’

‘Of course I was there,’ she insisted.

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘That’s rubbish. I was there. Why would I lie about it?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you were told to.’

‘Who said this?’

‘No one saw you there.’

‘Zeb,’ she said. ‘He saw us. You ask him – Ahktar Khan’s cousin, Zeb Khan.’

‘I will. We can check easily enough anyway. They’d have you on tape, wouldn’t they, coming into the club, those cameras? We could even confirm the exact time. Prove it one way or another.’ I was bluffing. I’d no idea whether they did continuously record the club entrance, though I thought it likely. But how long would they keep the tapes before re-using them? She was completely still, her face blank, every ounce of energy going into hiding her reaction to what I’d just said. I had her scared witless. At last she spoke, her voice bright with bravado. ‘Fine, you do that.’ She shut the door.

Driving away from the courtyard I felt I’d gathered even more to relate to Dermott Pitt; much of it was intuitive rather than concrete, but my meeting with Mrs Siddiq had confirmed for me that she hadn’t been present on New Year’s Eve, and that her testimony was invented for someone else’s benefit.