Nick Oldham - Critical Threat

‘Didn’t you think it odd that she didn’t try to contact you in any way?’ Henry had been shocked by Khan’s injuries, but not so much that he was going to be deflected from getting to the truth. It could all still have been a big lie.

‘Not really. She would’ve been kept like a prisoner, everything taken away from her, maybe even guarded.’

‘Let me get this straight: she was dragged away in the middle of the night, you were beaten senseless and you thought she’d still be OK? Call me a cynic, but …’ Henry shrugged and gestured with his hands as his voice trailed off, lost for words.

‘As I said, I was under threat.’

‘And the threat was?’

‘Death.’

‘Carry on … convince me.’

‘I was told that any attempt by me to contact her, or to tell the police, would result in my death … and I believed that.’

‘And if you’d phoned the police on the night she was kidnapped, she might still be alive now.’ Henry sighed, looking at him with undisguised disgust.

The train moved a good quarter of a mile. Then stopped. Henry gazed out at the countryside, sipping his fourth coffee of the morning and wondering when the caffeine overdose would kick in. He had watched Khan from across the table with little sympathy as the doctor cried uncontrollably. He let him cry himself out, not interrupting, just letting him outpour his grief and personal shame. The photographs Eddie Daley had taken were on the table between them, almost taunting Khan. In them Henry saw a couple very much in love.

Then he started to imagine what sort of life they would have had.

It would have been hard to the point of impossible, Henry thought. The husband would have always been there, his spectre always at their shoulders.

‘Where does the receptionist, Aysha, fit into all this?’ Henry inquired, looking at the photo with her in the background.

‘She became a friend to Sabera. I introduced them and Aysha took her in. She’s the only one who knew about me and Sabera, and the only one who knew what happened that night.’

Henry had reached the stage where he believed Khan and needed to get a statement down.

Khan raised his bloodshot eyes. ‘Mr Christie? How did she die?’

‘I’m not sure you really want to know that.’

‘Oh yes, I do.’

Against his better judgement, Henry told him, but not in gory detail. Even so, it had the effect of destroying Khan and as Henry took the statement he guessed that the doctor would be in for a worse time emotionally than he was already experiencing.

When Henry had finished taking the statement, he then released Khan on police bail — Henry wanted to keep some hold on him — to return to the police station in two weeks’ time.

‘What happens now?’ Khan asked as Henry led him to the custody office door.

‘The investigation continues. I’ll let you know what you need to know.’

‘Thank you — and sorry for hitting you and running away. It’s something I’ve been doing for six months and I’m glad you caught up with me, in a strange sort of way.’

Henry shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘There is one more thing. Could I have a copy of the photographs?’ It sounded a helpless request. ‘It was a tragic night, but before the tragedy it was magical. I’d like to hold on to that.’

Henry handed them over and Khan looked at them with dewy eyes. ‘That necklace was the first thing, the only thing, I ever gave her,’ he said, pointing at the close-up of Sabera’s face and neck. ‘I bought it when I was in India a few weeks before. That night seemed the right night to give it to her.’

At 11.15 p.m., the worn-out Lancashire detective had jumped into a cab and headed back to the Jolly St Ermin, where he had left his luggage and where he hoped to be able to get another room for the night. He was fortunate and after a bar snack and two pints of Stella, followed by a quick call to Kate, he had hit the bed and crashed out.

… And the Virgin Express started to move and tear through the countryside again.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Henry breathed and held out a dithering hand with an empty cup and almost pleaded for another shot of coffee from the stewardess.

He took out his note pad and jotted a few things down to collect his thoughts.

Sabera Ismat? Rashid — abducted/murdered

Eddie Daley — shot thru head/ murdered

Sanjay Khan — lover boy

Mansur Rashid — husband/killer — Eddie’s killer? Eddie’s employer?

Sabera’s family — accomplices? Knowledge

Honour killing — as per PM

Is Eddie’s death connected to Sabera?

Darren Langmead amp; Johnny Strongitharm? Class Act?

Is Eddie’s death linked to them, not Rashid?

Connection?

Coincidence? Don’t like ’em

He read through what he’d written several times, trying to get a handle on it all, scratching his head.

Eddie Daley traced people. It was a big part of his job, probably something he was very good at. Sabera had done a runner from her husband and it looked as though the red-faced Mr Rashid had hired Eddie to find her.

So good, so far.

Eddie did the job.

But how far did it go? Did Eddie play a part in Sabera’s abduction that night? Henry doubted it. Not his scene. He was more likely to be the one who guided the husband in once he’d located her, a bit like an army recon squad. Henry knew that Eddie was not great at the physical stuff. He packed a good punch, but that was as far as it went. Henry had no reason to believe things had changed, especially when he recalled Eddie’s massively overweight corpse on the mortuary slab. Not the sort of physique associated with bursting into a house and kidnapping someone. Once he’d pointed out where Sabera could be found, Eddie would back off.

Milton Keynes whooshed by.

Then there was the Langmead/ Strongitharm case Eddie was working on. This was the one Jackie believed to be the key — hence her tragic confrontation with Langmead. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, then smiled as his mind span off at a tangent: maybe he could get a trip to Spain out of this? A jolly to visit Johnny Strongitharm on the Costa del whatever?

Not a chance in hell, he thought, and returned to his notes.

The word ‘coincidence’ jumped out at him.

The night of Eddie’s murder.

Was it a coincidence that it occurred on the same night as the Crimewatch appeal? The appeal in which — and it stuck in Henry’s craw a little — Dave Anger had revealed some top-class information which could lead to a positive ID of the unidentified murder victim?

The facial reconstruction

The geological origin of the deceased

The necklace

Had Eddie Daley put all these things together? From everything that Daley would have known about the deceased, he could easily have added up the sums and worked out that the woman he had located was now dead and that there could easily have been something monetarily in it for him.

Henry knew that whilst Eddie wasn’t good at the physical side of things, he didn’t hesitate to put the squeeze on people. Had he leaned on Mansur Rashid? Was that why he had hurriedly left Jackie Kippax alone that night? To call on his ex-client and say, ‘Remember me?’ And was that why he was killed? He’d chosen the wrong person to lean on. Which, Henry thought back to a conversation he’d had with Jackie Kippax, would explain why Eddie had made the international sign for cash — rubbing his finger and thumb together — when he left her that night, just as the news was starting — just after Crimewatch had ended. And if Rashid knew that Eddie had used his computer to assist the search for his missing wife, that would explain why it was missing from the office, together with Eddie’s mobile phone, which could well have revealed a number which could have linked him to Rashid.