Nick Oldham - Critical Threat

Even though the complication of Henry being a detective from Lancashire operating without the knowledge or blessing of the locals was quickly dealt with, his prisoner was not. After pinning Khan down and dragging him back to the north gate, Henry had called 999 on his mobile and waited patiently for the promised response, which took about twenty minutes.

The circumstances took another ten minutes to explain to the two PCs who arrived in a Transit van and then conveyed him to the police station on Fulham Road, via Starbucks where he collected his briefcase and made his apologies. Unsurprisingly, Aysha had disappeared.

Booking the prisoner in took an interminable length of time.

Southwest London must have had a busy morning. Henry was told he had to remain with his prisoner until the booking-in was done. He wasn’t required to remain physically by the side of Khan, but was instructed to stay in the custody area. Khan was put into a holding cage with six other prisoners who all looked like serious armed robbers.

Henry paced the cell corridor, straightening his thoughts, wondering what the best course of action would be.

As ever, he decided to wing it.

‘DCI Henry Christie, Lancashire Constabulary,’ he introduced himself to the Met custody sergeant. He pushed Khan up to the desk, caused the sergeant to look at him, then at Henry, then back to Khan.

‘Hello, Dr Khan.’

Khan nodded miserably.

‘Do you know this person,’ the sergeant said to Henry, ‘is one of our police surgeons?’

Henry gave him a pained look. ‘How would I know that?’

‘You wouldn’t.’ He smiled thinly at Henry. ‘What’s this about?’

‘I’ve arrested him on suspicion of murder.’

Once again the sergeant glanced from one person to the other. ‘Murder?’ he said in disbelief.

‘Murder,’ Henry confirmed.

‘Which murder?’

‘That of a woman called Sabera Ismat, whose body was found in Lancashire about six months ago. I was the SIO,’ he concluded.

‘Do you have anything to say, Dr Khan?’

Khan shook his head, but he was clearly affected by what Henry had just said. The sergeant again gave Henry a stare which said it all, and with a heavy sigh began the process of detaining Khan under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, not impressed.

It was four miserable hours before a duty solicitor became free and the time was approaching 3 p.m. Henry had expected to be on his way back to Lancashire by now.

His newly formulated plan was to have a quick interview with Khan and then arrange for him to be transported up north where he could be dealt with properly.

They were in a grotty interview room with peeling paint on the walls and a strange smell of sewers. Henry had the tape on and had cautioned Khan.

‘I’m investigating the murder of Sabera Ismat whose body was found six months ago in a field in Lancashire,’ he began. It was the first time Henry had actually been face to face with Khan properly. He was a good-looking Asian man around about the thirty mark. As he spoke the words, the colour of Khan’s skin faded to a grey. He looked as though he was about to say something, but nothing came out.

‘You knew her, didn’t you?’

‘That doesn’t make my client a murderer,’ the weasley-faced brief interjected. ‘I already have the feeling that this is a purely speculative arrest.’

Henry ignored him. ‘Please answer the question. Did you know her?’

‘I knew her. She used to be a locum for the practice.’

‘How well did you know her?’

Khan rubbed his head. ‘Not that well.’

‘How well would you say on a scale of one to ten?’

Khan thought. ‘Four, maybe.’

Henry gave him a withering look.

‘I’d met her back in med school, but then I didn’t see her again until a few months ago when she came asking about a job.’

‘Which you got her?’

‘I did.’

‘Without even a formal interview.’

Khan’s face turned stonily towards Henry. ‘It was based on her references, qualifications and my personal knowledge.’

‘Yet you say you didn’t know her that well?’ Henry paused. He liked waiting. It made people feel uncomfortable and often they had the urge to fill in the gaps. If used well, silence could be a deadly trap, a void into which the unwitting could tumble. Khan, though, just looked down at his hands as his fingers intertwined in anguish. His chin shook.

‘Where are her employment records?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, they seem to have disappeared from the filing cabinet in which all the health centre employment records are kept.’

‘No idea.’ His eyes closed and opened slowly as he said the two words.

‘How come you haven’t asked me more about the fate of one of your employees? Someone you knew from university, someone you gave a job to, someone who then suddenly disappeared? Aren’t you curious about what happened to her? Or is it that you already know?’ Henry was still aware that he did not have a hundred per cent proof that the dead woman was Sabera Ismat and that Khan could feasibly tell him where she was, alive and kicking … although his marked reluctance to say anything convinced Henry he was on the right track.

The woman in the photos was Sabera Ismat and Dr Khan, renowned police surgeon, damn well knew something about her.

And yet, there was something about this man that made Henry doubt he could have killed her … but he’d been wrong about killers before. Everyone — everyone — was capable.

Khan remained silent. He was sweating and Henry almost believed he could hear the man’s heart beating against his rib cage.

‘Dr Khan, you have a lot of questions to answer. I’m going to arrange for you to be conveyed to Lancashire for further questioning. You are a very good suspect for her murder. You knew her, you employed her, and I’ll prove you pulled her records when she mysteriously disappeared. And while I’m waiting for transport from Lancashire, I’ll be going to arrest your receptionist too. She can have a trip up north, because you’re obviously both in this together-’

‘No!’ Khan erupted. ‘Neither of us hardly knew her! Aysha …’ His voice tapered out.

Henry reached down for his briefcase at his feet under the interview table. He laid it on his lap, opened it and pulled out two sheets of paper, which he positioned face down in front of Khan.

‘For the benefit of the tape I am showing Dr Khan two photographs. The first shows him sitting at a restaurant with the victim, Sabera Ismat.’ Henry slowly turned the photograph over and slid it across to Khan so it was right under his nose. Henry’s eyes remained firmly fixed on Khan’s reactions. ‘The second is a photograph of Khan embracing the victim, as though they were lovers.’ He did the same with this one, the photograph taken of Khan and Sabera holding each other on a bridge. Khan’s face was a picture to behold. ‘So, Dr Khan, just run that past me again, will you? How well do you know Sabera Ismat?’

The next problem was arranging transport from Lancashire to come down to London and pick up the prisoner. Not the easiest thing to arrange because it meant two uniformed bobbies coming down from Blackpool, as that was the division in which the body was discovered, who had to be released from other duties to tear down south.

Henry wrestled with it, working it all through his head; how long it would take to get them down to London, how long back, how it would all impact on the time factor in relation to the prisoner. He was sitting in the police surgeon’s room, weighing up the factors, hand on the phone, when the custody sergeant came in.

‘Guv,’ he said, ‘Dr Khan wants to see you. Says he’s got something to tell you.’