Khurrum Rahman - East of Hounslow

*

Idris stood in front of the large‚ pine desk. Files and documents were stacked neatly in the corner. The half-eaten remnants of a breakfast bar and a sealed fruit yoghurt sat in a small Tupperware box. A computer whirred breathlessly‚ as if exhausted by the punishment it had to endure. The Chief’s eyes were on him. Idris glanced down at the empty chair next to him‚ waiting to be asked to occupy it. Her phone had the audacity to ring and‚ without taking her eyes off him‚ she answered it before the first ring had faded. She greeted the caller with a stern ‘ Not now! ’ and the phone was back safely in its cradle. It would be a very long time before that caller tried to ring again.

Idris was not about to play a game of who blinks first.

‘Ma’am?’

Wakefield inhaled through her nose and then expelled air through her mouth. ‘We have shown a great deal of faith in you‚ Zaidi.’

‘Yes‚ ma’am.’

‘You got a first in Law from Queen Mary University.’ It wasn’t a question‚ so he didn’t answer. ‘We saw the potential in you from very early on and we admitted you in the Fast Track Promotion and Development Programme‚ a decision which was not roundly popular amongst your peers‚ especially those senior to you. The Fast Track Programme duration is three years‚’ she squinted at him ‘You completed it in two.’

‘Yes‚ ma’am.’ What else was there to say? Idris wondered why his CV was being regurgitated at him.

‘You were out of uniform‚ sub-heading and then heading teams in a remarkably short space of time. Your record speaks for itself.’

‘Yes‚ ma’am. Thank you‚ ma’am.’ Idris felt like he’d said too much even though he had hardly said anything.

‘With your Law degree you chose to uphold the law rather than stand in a court and pick holes in it.’

Idris chose to say nothing.

‘So‚ my question to you is this: Why did you choose to become a police officer?’

Idris cleared his throat. He knew the answer to this. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this very question. In fact‚ he remembered smashing this very question when he’d first been interviewed for the Met.

‘I was attracted to the diversity of the role. Every new day brings a new challenge‚ which I thrive on both mentally and physically. The opportunity to help people make better choices and the opportunity to save lives. Being able to lead a—’

‘Stop. Start again. This time you tell me. I don’t want hear extracts from a handbook.’

Idris swallowed‚ his throat was dry‚ his palms sweaty. His pupils floated to the far right of his eyes as he tried to recall the real reason that made him apply for a life in the force when he had other‚ easier and certainly more lucrative options.

‘My father‚ actually‚’ Idris said‚ smiling at the memory. ‘Yes‚ my father. He would say to me time and time again: Son ‚ there is too much violence and evil in this world which we cannot control. But we can control what is happening on our doorstep. It’s funny but I’ve never told anybody that before.’ Idris looked at the Chief for some sign of softness or emotion. There was none. Wakefield’s eyes were steady and steely.

‘We grew up in a bad neighbourhood. My dad wanted to be part of the force but all he could manage was a job as a security guard. A job which he took very seriously. Sometimes to a fault.’ Idris shrugged. ‘And I wanted to emulate that attitude‚ that mentality. One day I’m going to have kids and I want them to grow up in a safe environment‚ which I know is probably just a pipe dream. But I have to try‚ and it’s not just for my children‚ it’s for everyone who cannot protect themselves. I want to protect them as my father protected me. I am sick and tired of the scum that litter our streets.’

Wakefield smashed the palm of her hands on the table. The sound reverberated around the room. The neatly stacked pile of documents shuddered and dislodged‚ the top sheet decided to make a break for it and lazily arced through the air before landing itself in the bin. The shudder also disturbed the mouse and the PC monitor came to life‚ lending a harsh glow to Wakefield’s face.

‘So why is it that you have been seen on many occasions with a known drug dealer?’

There it was.

Jay.

Wakefield calmly tucked a stray hair behind her ear which had become loose during her outburst. A feminine gesture which seemed out of character.

‘What’s happened?’ Idris asked in a low‚ measured tone.

‘Do you know how it would look for you‚ for us ‚ if word got out that one of our own has been associating with a drug dealer?’

Without taking her eyes off him‚ Wakefield opened up the top drawer to her right and picked out a brown envelope. She threw it down on the desk.

Idris picked it up and slipped out several photographs printed on 7 x 5 glossy card. There were three photos‚ all taken within a very short period. Minutes.

The first was of Idris and Jay in a Vauxhall Nova‚ Jay’s arm hanging out of the window with a dubious roll-up in his hand. The second appeared to show a third person peering through the driver’s window‚ seemingly in conversation with Jay.

The third photo showed a clear exchange of currency and a small package.

Idris calmly slid the photos back into the envelope and placed it back on the desk.

‘He’s a friend‚’ Idris said quietly and clenched his jaw waiting for the onslaught.

‘You stupid boy. The front page of every bloody tabloid‚ if this gets out. I can see it as clear as day. What do you think is going to happen to you‚ Zaidi? Hmm? Sitting in the bloody car with a criminal whilst a drug deal takes place right under your bloody nose.’

‘With all due respect‚ ma’am‚’ Idris countered. ‘He’s a low level juggler. He only deals to mates. It’s not like we’re looking at him.’ Idris’ eyes fell on the envelope. ‘Why are we looking at him?’

‘ We ’ re not‚’ Wakefield said. A small change in her expression led Idris to believe that she had given away far more than she wanted to.

‘I haven’t done anything wrong‚ ma’am.’

‘You have a bright future ahead of you Zaidi and you are in real danger of jeopardising all that you have worked towards‚ and all the trust we have placed in you… Am I making myself clear‚ Zaidi?

Idris gritted his teeth and held his tongue.

‘I insist that you cut off ties with Javid Qasim.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘You are not to see him again.’

Idris knew how this was going to sound but he said it anyway. ‘He’s my friend.’

‘Make a choice‚ Detective Inspector .’ Wakefield said‚ emphasising his title to hammer home the point.

‘ This is bullshit ‚’ Idris muttered under his breath‚ purposely loud enough for the Chief to hear. Wakefield let it slide as she replaced the envelope back in the top drawer.

‘Dismissed.’

Idris stood his ground for a moment‚ his blood bubbled and threatened to spill over. He eyed the Chief momentarily before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. He placed his hand on the door handle but didn’t turn it. A question had been burning through his mind as soon as he had seen the photographs. He looked down at his hand and his knuckles had turned white. He released it and turned to face the Chief.

‘Who was that man you were talking to outside?’

‘I said you’re dismissed‚’ Wakefield said‚ her head down‚ avoiding eye contact.

Idris couldn’t let it go. ‘Is this anything to do with him?

This time Wakefield’s head snapped up and her eyes locked into his.