Stephen Leather - Dead Men

Shepherd finished his coffee and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Next time the coffee’s on me,’ he said.

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Shepherd went back to his house, feeling guiltier than he’d ever felt in his life. He liked Elaine Carter, he liked her a lot, and despised himself for lying to her.

Frank Khan hated shopping. And he especially hated shopping with his wife. On the rare occasions that he ventured into a shopping mall or a department store, he did so knowing exactly what he wanted and how much he was prepared to pay. But his wife had a totally different approach. Shopping was a hobby, perhaps even a sport, a recreational activity to be relished and, if possible, shared. It was his day off and he had no good reason to refuse when she asked him to go with her to the local shopping mall. He had been working late for the last couple of weeks so he had decided that a shopping trip would get him into her good books, but within an hour he was bored and wanted to go home.

‘What do you think?’ said his wife, holding up a green dress that shimmered under the overhead fluorescent lights.

‘How much is it?’ She inspected the price tag and winced. ‘I think I’d better wait outside,’ said Khan. ‘I need a cigarette.’ He walked out of the shop and lit one, inhaled deeply and blew a smoke-ring.

‘Women love to shop, don’t they?’ said a voice. An Asian man in his thirties was standing next to him. He was good-looking, with skin the colour of polished teak and amused dark brown eyes. He was wearing a long black cashmere coat over a suit and tie and his hands were in his pockets. ‘They’d shop all day if they could.’

Khan smiled. ‘If it was an Olympic sport, we men wouldn’t stand a chance. Is your wife inside?’

‘I’m not married, Chief Superintendent,’ said the man.

Khan frowned. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’

‘We almost met at your niece’s funeral,’ said the man. ‘The Saffron Hill Cemetery.’

‘Ah,’ said Khan. ‘You were a friend of Sara’s?’

‘Not exactly,’ said the man. ‘I know you, of course. Chief Superintendent Frank Khan, one of the highest-ranking Muslim police officers in the country. A role model for all British-born Muslims. You must be very proud.’ Khan took another drag on his cigarette and squinted at the man through narrowed eyes. ‘Except, of course, Frank isn’t your given name, is it?’ continued the man. ‘That would be Farook. But I suppose you changed it to make life easier, didn’t you?’

‘They called me Frank at school.’

‘Because Farook was too alien? Too different? And you wanted to blend?’

Khan moved a little away from him. ‘Really, I have to go,’ he said. ‘It’s been nice meeting you.’

‘You were close to Sara, weren’t you?’ said the man. ‘I could see at the funeral how upset you were. It was such a terrible death.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Khan. ‘Such a waste.’ He looked pointedly at his watch.

‘A terrible death, but not necessarily a waste,’ said the man. ‘At least something can be gained from a terrible death. And if something can be gained, there is no waste.’

Khan dropped his cigarette on to the pavement and ground it out with his heel. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

The man smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘You can call me Hassan. My name isn’t important. But that doesn’t mean what I have to say to you isn’t of the utmost importance.’

‘Forgive me, but I must find my wife.’

Khan started to walk back into the shop but Hassan gripped his elbow. Khan tried to pull away but the man’s fingers dug into his arm like steel claws. Hassan was still smiling, but his eyes were ice cold. He put his mouth close to the policeman’s ear. ‘I’m going to show you something,Chief Superintendent,’ he whispered. ‘Something that will upset you. But for your sake and for your wife’s sake, you must remain calm.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Khan.

‘Take a good look at the man who is standing behind your wife over there,’ said Hassan.

Khan’s frown deepened. She was talking to a middle-aged saleswoman and holding up the green dress. Behind her stood a tall, good-looking Asian man with gelled hair and a gold earring. He was wearing a shiny leather jacket with the collar turned up.

‘You see him?’ said Hassan. ‘The man in the leather jacket with his hands in his pockets?’

‘Yes, I see him,’ said Khan. ‘What’s this about?’

‘I want you to look at this,’ said Hassan, taking a mobile phone from his coat pocket. ‘It will upset you, but you must keep calm because the man who is standing behind your wife has a knife in his pocket and if you react badly he will stab her in the throat, then run off to the street where a motorcycle is waiting to spirit him away.’

Khan’s jaw dropped.

‘Smile, Chief Superintendent. Smile as if you haven’t a care in the world.’ Hassan held up the mobile phone, the screen facing Khan. His thumb pressed a button and a jerky video began to play.

Khan bent closer to the screen. A woman in jeans and a T-shirt was lying on her back on a floor. Her mouth was taped so all he could hear were grunts. An Asian man grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides. Khan’s stomach lurched as he realised it was his niece, Sara. A second Asian man unfastened her jeans and pulled them down her legs. He tossed them to the side, then ripped off her panties. Sara was kicking out but the first man was holding her tight. The man who had ripped off her panties looked into the camera and Khan caught his breath. It was the man now standing behind his wife in the shop.

‘Keep smiling,’ said Hassan, ‘as if you haven’t a care in the world.’

Khan stared at the screen in horror. The man who was holding Sara let go of one wrist and the second man pulled off her shirt. Sara was tiring. Although she was still struggling there was no strength in her movements.

The camera moved closer as a knife cut through her brassiere. Her full breasts fell free and Khan wanted to look away but he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. She was naked now and he could see the tape round her mouth pulsing as she breathed.

The first man grabbed Sara’s hair, grinned at the camera and raised the knife. It flashed downwards and blood spurted across her throat. Khan gasped.

Sara thrashed around for a few seconds, then went still. Blood formed a pool round her body. For the first time Khan realised she had been lying on a sheet of plastic.

The man put away the phone and shrugged. ‘Stay calm,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to hurt you or your wife.’

‘Who are you?’ said Khan.

‘I told you. You can call me Hassan.’ His thumb flashed over the phone’s keyboard.

‘You killed her?’

‘Actually, the man standing behind your wife killed her. Then we took her to the alley where her body was found. There is nothing to connect us to her murder. Trust me on that. Nothing other than the video on this phone. And I have just deleted it.’

Khan’s wife was still deep in conversation with the saleswoman, and behind her stood the man from the video, his hands deep in his pockets. Khan’s mind was spinning. He’d just seen a video of his niece being brutally murdered, and the man who’d done it was standing behind his wife. He knew that as a police officer he should run over and grab the killer, pin him to the ground and arrest him for the murder of a pretty young girl who had never done anyone any harm. Dear, sweet Sara. He clamped his teeth together.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Chief Superintendent,’ said Hassan. ‘You’re thinking that you should be acting like a policeman. Calling for back-up. Pressing charges against me for the murder of your niece. That was your first impulse and, of course, it’s understandable. But I’m sure you realise now that the reason I went to Sara’s funeral was so that I could follow you home. I know where you live, Chief Superintendent. I have stood outside your house and watched your son and daughter go to school. I have watched your wife go shopping. I have watched you come home at night. And the man who killed your niece is just as capable of killing your wife and your children. So take a deep breath, stay calm and try to smile.’