Michael Fowler - Cold Death

Hunter watched him roll his eyes up towards the ceiling.

Pervez unfolded his arms and wiped the palms of his hands down the thighs of his trousers.

“Now I know you have been shown the CCTV evidence of you following Samia in Meadowhall and then your involvement in her attack down in the car park and that you chose not to respond when that evidence was presented, well now I want to show you some more footage we have recently acquired, which you might find interesting.”

Grace switched on the DVD player and started to play the footage, which Barry had shown to the team that morning.

Hunter watched the sweat trickle down the sides of Pervez’s forehead. He brushed away the trickles before they rolled onto his neck.

Hunter heard Grace switch off the machine. He leant across the table and locked together his fingers. “We have now found yours and Ari’s flat. As we speak forensics are going through the house with a fine tooth comb. We already know this was where Samia was held and where she was killed and you have seen from that CCTV footage that we now have you on camera taking out her body to dump in the lake. Now as I say you have every right not to say anything, but I hope your brother will be as loyal when he sees this.”

Hunter watched Pervez’s face change. He was rigid with fear.

“Ari raped and killed Samia,” he barked out. “I thought we were only going to kidnap Samia and force her to go to Pakistan. That’s what Ari told me. He said Uncle Mohammed wanted to teach his daughter a lesson because she had brought shame on the family and that we were to take her to our place and hold her there.”

“Is that what happened then after you put her in the back of the van at Meadowhall?”

He nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes. We took her back to our flat and Ari tied her up in the bedroom. He phoned Uncle Mohammed and told him we had her and asked us what he wanted to do with her.”

“What did your uncle say?”

“I don’t know. Ari was always the one who talked to Uncle Mohammed, though he did come to the flat the next day and started hitting Samia. Swearing at her and saying she had brought dishonour to him and she didn’t deserve to live.”

“Is that when she was killed?”

“No, no, he busted her mouth and nose and I cleaned her up with a towel from the bathroom. She was still alive. She begged me to let her go and then Ari came into the bedroom and dragged me away. Uncle Mohammed left and I could hear him and Ari talking in the hallway.”

“What were they saying?”

“I don’t know I couldn’t hear. They were sort of whispering together.”

“What happened then?”

Pervez’s eyes started to glass over. He dabbed at them with the back of his hand. “Nothing that night, but the next day Ari told me to go out and get some food for us. I went to the local Spar and when I came back Samia was dead. Ari had killed her.” Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes. “That’s the truth. I swear on the Prophet Mohammed.”

“When you say she was dead. Describe what you saw.”

“There was blood everywhere. Up the walls and a huge puddle around her head. She was lying on the carpet in the lounge near the armchair. When I left her she was tied up in the bedroom. When I got back he was pacing up and down and he had that knife-thing in his hand. He’d cut her throat with it.”

“Was she still tied up?”

“Her hands were behind her back but he’d untied her feet.” Pervez gulped and look down towards the table. “She wasn’t wearing her jeans or her knickers. I knew what he’d done.”

“When you say she was dead did you check at all to see if she was still alive?”

“I looked at her but you could tell. There was a big pool of blood. Her eyes were wide open. She wasn’t breathing.”

“What did you do?”

I freaked out. I couldn’t believe he’d done that. We argued and I asked him why. He said Uncle Mohammed wanted him to do it. I didn’t know whether to believe him or not.”

“What happened then?”

“Ari said we had to get rid of the body. He wrapped Samia in the carpet, wiped the knife-thing and put it in with her and then he asked me to help bind her up. After that he rang Uncle Mohammed.”

“Did Ari tell your uncle what he had done?”

“Yes he told him he had slit her throat. But I don’t know what my uncle was saying. I couldn’t hear that part of the conversation.”

“Is that when you brought Samia across to Barnwell and dumped her in the lake?”

“No we kept her body in the flat a couple of days. We put the rug in the bath so no more blood seeped out. Ari said Uncle Mohammed was going to ring him and tell him where to take the body. Then that Friday evening Ari took a call from Uncle Mohammed and said he had found a place to hide Samia where no one would find it. That’s when we drove to the lake and dumped her.” His voice started to quaver. “That is the truth. I didn’t kill Samia. It was Ari. My Uncle Mohammed told him to do it.”

* * * * *

It was after six pm when Hunter and Grace finally returned to the incident room having completed a second interview with Mohammed Hassan. He had been more stubborn than his nephews. He had refused to accept the testimonies and evidence presented and had continually bleated that everyone was lying against him — including his wife. However as they had walked him back to his cell they had witnessed the first signs of him cracking. As Hunter had slammed the heavy, reinforced door into its metal frame he had inspected him through the door’s hatch. Mohammed had looked up at him from the bench with glassed over eyes, quickly followed by a pained look as he had hung his head into his chest.

With a satisfied smile Hunter had slid the metal hatch shut with a resounding clang.

Feeling energised despite the long day he bounced into the MIT office. It was full; the Office Manager, Detective Inspector Gerald Scaife, and the SIO, Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw, were amongst the team waiting.

Hunter could see them searching his face. He guessed Grace would be experiencing the same. He surveyed the room before flashing a wide grin.

“Result. Pervez has coughed. And he’s given us enough to hang his brother and Mohammed.”

The cheer was deafening.

* * * * *

Hunter swilled the remaining dregs of his pint around the bottom of the glass as if it was the finest brandy and swallowed. “That never touched the sides,” he said nudging Barry Newstead, “fancy another? I owe you one.”

Barry drained the remaining half of his pint in one mouthful and wiped the froth from his dark, bushy moustache with the back of his hand. “I’ll not refuse a free pint.”

Hunter made his way to the bar weaving between members of the team. They had all congregated into small groups as they usually did at these celebratory gatherings. A couple of his colleagues gave him a congratulatory tap on his shoulder as he squeezed past.

As he plonked the empty glasses down on the bar he cast his look around monitoring the faces of his workmates and couldn’t help but bring to mind the first few words which had been instilled in him that first day in CID after Barry Newstead had taken him out and got him rolling drunk.

‘The spirit and bonding of a team is created in the pub’ he had said. ‘Putting a frustrating, complicated and exhausting enquiry to bed with a celebratory drink is what gels everyone together.’ How true those pearls of wisdom had been proved over the years.

As he waited to be served he mused over the hurried briefing Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw had given less than a half hour ago. He had watched the SIO make energetic scribbled notes on the incident board, but out of those had come cohesive actions for tomorrow.