Michael Fowler - Cold Death

Whilst Hunter had been checking out the bedroom with Mr Hassan he had been conscious that Grace had slipped away. He found her in the lounge with Mrs Hassan. She was making attempts to talk with Samia’s mother but the woman was having nothing of it, all she kept repeating was, “No speak English.”

Hunter knew this would be a good time to withdraw and reconvene back at the station to discuss the next steps.

“Well Mr Hassan thank you for your time. You have been most helpful. You have put our minds at ease I’m sure this can be sorted out now.”

“I hope it can officer, I hope it can,” he responded.

* * * * *

Hunter and Grace sat in the unmarked CID car, which they had left parked by the side of the store. Hunter had turned over the engine but was sat motionless running his hands repeatedly around the steering wheel and staring out through the windscreen, not focussed on anything in particular.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

“You bet I am. It is Samia we’ve found in the lake isn’t it?”

Hunter nodded in agreement. “Having just done that search and watching Mohammed and his wife whilst you were talking I’m more than convinced that they’re either responsible for or involved in her death. We’ve got some digging to do to match our hunch.”

* * * * *

The entire Major Investigation Team regrouped at two pm having been called together by DS Michael Robshaw who had been sat in with the HOLMES team most of that morning listening to the team’s updates. The information had come in so thick and fast that for the first time since the investigation had started over a fortnight ago he could see a clear picture emerging as to where the murder enquiry was heading.

The time line sequence on the incident whiteboard had been reorganised and updated and new photographs had been added. Only ten minutes earlier DC Isobel Stevens, the HOLMES manager, had been feverishly writing, putting the finishing touches to the display panel so that it was ready for the meeting.

Michael Robshaw took a last look at the board and slipped off his glasses to address the team. “Okay guys firstly well done everyone, you’ve made some significant inroads this morning. As a result of your feedback from the tasks you were given, without being one hundred per cent sure, I think it would be fair to say that we now know who our victim is.” He folded his spectacles and popped then into his shirt breast pocket. “Hunter, you and Grace have been to see Samia Hassan’s parents. Would you tell the team what you have learned?”

Hunter pushed himself back into his chair and scooted it out from beneath his desk.

“As you know Samia’s parents — Mohammed and Jilani Hassan — are the owners of a convenience store in Hoyland. They have lived there for the past fifteen years and have been resident in this country for twenty-four years.” He glanced down at the scribbled notes he had made in the car before he and Grace had left. “Samia was born here twenty one years ago on the twenty-fifth of July nineteen-eighty-four.” As accurately as he could he recounted the morning’s visit to the Hassans, only occasionally reading from his notes.

“I managed to tease out of him that his family, and the place where he says Samia has gone to marry and live is a very small village set into the foot of the mountains twenty miles from a town called Sul Banda. It’s apparently in the North East of Punjab, at least a day’s journey from Lahore. He says the cousin she has married is also called Mohammed.” Hunter’s blue eyes moved around the room. “Because of the way he answered those questions, although he was edgy, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen the news bulletins that were put out yesterday. I think if he had done he would have been far more guarded. However from now on there is no doubt he will be — and especially when he sees this week’s local newspaper.”

“You did a cursory search as well I understand?” enquired Detective Superintendent Robshaw.

“Yeah — without making it too obvious.” He recounted what he had done. “There is nothing left in that flat that would indicate that Samia ever lived there. All her personal effects have gone and there are no photos of her anywhere. Grace managed to check out the lounge whilst I was looking over her room and there were no pictures of her there either. It’s as if she had never existed.”

The SIO thanked him. Hunter wheeled his chair back under the desk.

Det Supt Robshaw turned and fixed his gaze on Detective Sergeant Mark Gamble, supervisor of the other MIT team. “Mark will you input what your team has found out?”

The Sergeant slipped off the edge of his desk where he had been perched and made his way to the front of the room. He ran a hand through his fair hair before leaning against the side of the incident white board near to where three new photos had been blue-tacked to the panel. The colour shots were of Samia Hassan amongst a group of girls of a similar age. They were smiling, happy images and from the background lighting and red-eye effect it looked as if they had been taken either in a pub or nightclub. There was little doubt that the pictures of Samia were a striking likeness to the facial reconstruction done by Frankie Oliver.

Hunter scrutinised the photographs. This has to be their lady from the lake he thought to himself.

“My team were given the job of tracking down the girls named by doctor Woolfe who had associated with Samia during her time at Sheffield University. We have so far caught up with four of her closest friends. They all describe her as a very bubbly girl who was intelligent. Two of the girls shared rooms with her for several months, prior to her moving in with the doc. She discussed much of her relationship with all of them at some point and there is no doubt she had formed quite intense feelings for him — well until she informed her parents about him. Samia told every one of her friends that her parents completely disapproved of the relationship and one of the girls told us that one Friday afternoon both her mother and father turned up at the flat they were sharing and had a stand-up row with her and tried to get her to come home, which she refused to do. She saw Mr Hassan smack Samia across the face before they left. Apparently after the visit Samia ended up in floods of tears and said that her parents were threatening to disown her because she had brought shame on the family.” The DS looped an arm over the top of the panel and sauntered one leg across the other. He leaned comfortably. “All of them have told us about the attack on Doctor Woolfe by the two Asian guys. They said it happened one Friday night just as they had all come out of a wine bar near the University. The girls confirm that he was punched and kicked to the ground and that one of the men tried to drag Samia into their car. They describe it as an old battered white Corsa. Anyway they all jumped in to try and help and one of them phoned the police and that was when the guys drove off. Two beat cars turned up with uniform but Samia persuaded the doc not to make an official report and that she would sort it out. She later told the girls the two men were her cousins. They also confirm the damage to the doctor’s flat as well and they have confirmed that the e-fits which the doc has done are very good likenesses.” He uncrossed his legs, pushed away from the incident board and straightened himself. He tapped three photos stuck to the board. “These pictures have come from Samia’s Facebook site. They were posted after she had finished uni. She kept in touch with all four girls and occasionally phoned them. They all say she was down; that her parents were continually pestering her to marry a cousin who lived back in Pakistan and that she didn’t want to. The last contact anyone had with her was on the twenty-ninth of July. They have tried to phone her mobile many times but there is no ringing tone. We have a record of her number to see if the ‘techies’ at headquarters can trace it. We’ve also posted messages on her Facebook site but that’s not been updated since the twenty-ninth either.”