Paul Gitsham - The Common Enemy

Warren was suddenly struck with the thought that perhaps if Tommy hadn’t abandoned his friend, he wouldn’t have been in the alleyway on his own… karma?

‘So you and Mr Davenport must have emerged onto Ackers Street at about the same time as Tommy?’

‘No, we had a bit of a head start.’

‘And you didn’t see Tommy come out?’

For the first time since the interview had started, Warren saw something other than anger and contempt in his eyes.

‘Yeah. I never saw him again.’ He put his head in his hands, hiding his face. Warren waited patiently. He knew better than to offer the man tissues or even acknowledge his distress.

Finally, with a loud sniff, Meegan straightened.

‘Did you see any other possible witnesses along the way?’

Meegan started to shake his head, before suddenly pausing. ‘Hang on, we wasn’t the only ones in Stafford Road.’

Warren raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, I remember now. There was some bloke hanging around the back of the shop next to the key-cutter’s.’

‘The Starbucks?’

‘Yeah, must have been.’

Warren made a note to prioritise any CCTV from the rear of the coffee shop and other businesses along Stafford Road.

‘Can you describe this person.’

‘Skinny, Asian, wearing a black turban.’ Meegan’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘There’s your suspect, DCI Jones. Round up all the Pakis, you’ll solve it before sundown.’

Warren ignored the man’s language.

‘Can you remember anything else about him?’

Meegan thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

‘OK, let’s go back to The Feathers, just so I have the complete timeline sorted. When did you arrive?’

Meegan shrugged. ‘Dunno, I didn’t check the time.’

‘Was the pub empty or were there others already present?’

‘We were pretty much first.’

‘And did the rest of your friends arrive soon after?’

‘Yeah, most of them.’ He grinned. ‘A few got a bit lost on the way, but they made it there eventually with the help of a few friendly natives.’

According to the switchboard at least a half-dozen callers had complained about intimidation and foul language as the BAP supporters made their way to their rendezvous point. However, that had been the least of the police’s worries by that time, with riot control officers still arresting those protestors who had yet to disperse peacefully and, on the other side of town, uniformed officers hastily dismantling roadblocks to make way for fire engines rushing towards the Islamic Centre.

‘Why The Feathers?’

‘Why not? It’s a free country. Besides, I have a thing for overcooked chicken Kiev.’

‘Did anyone not make it to The Feathers on time?’

‘Bellies, but he got there in the end.’

Warren paused for a moment.

‘When did you realise your brother was missing?’

‘I figured Bellies was late ’cos he’d gone back to find him. When Bellies said he hadn’t seen him, I tried to phone him, but he didn’t pick up.’

‘What time would you say that was?’

‘Probably about four.’

‘So what then? Weren’t you worried?’

Meegan shrugged. ‘Not really. He’s a big boy. I figured he’d either decided to lie low somewhere or he’d been nicked.’

‘And so you kept on drinking?’

‘Thirsty work.’ Meegan looked away. Was that a hint of shame?

‘Some of the lads kept on calling him,’ he continued, ‘but it kept on going to voicemail. By about five-thirty we reckoned he’d been nabbed and we’d hear from him later.’

‘When did you hear about your brother’s death?’

Meegan looked down at the table again, and Warren worried that he wasn’t going to answer. Eventually, he started to speak, his voice soft.

‘About eight o’clock, four coppers came into the bar. We assumed they were there to escort us out.’ He smiled humourlessly. ‘Perhaps give us a bit more aggro before we left. We’d already given up on Tommy, the coach was waiting to take us home. I’d left a message telling him to call me when the pigs let him go and that he’d have to crash at Mum’s if they didn’t keep him overnight.’

He paused as he remembered.

‘They knew exactly who they were looking for. They came straight for me.’

For the first time since the interview had begun, Meegan paused and reached for the polystyrene water cup.

‘They asked if I had seen Tommy. I said no, obviously.’

Whether he meant that obviously he hadn’t seen his brother, or that he’d have denied seeing him even if he was sitting next to him, just because, Warren was unsure.

‘They asked for a private word and I said that anything they had to say to me, they could say in front of my esteemed colleagues.’

He took another sip of water.

‘And then they told me.’

‘Well, that was enlightening.’ Warren sat opposite Theo Garfield, who’d been watching the interviews via CCTV. He felt exhausted. He’d had no idea how hard it would be to maintain his professional detachment, or to empathise with the victim. He said as much.

Garfield grimaced. ‘Par for the course, Warren, I’m afraid. I’d offer to help, but none of them know me and I need to keep it that way. You get used to the language eventually. They’re just words.’ He leant back against the wall. ‘It’s the hatred I struggle with. I really do think that there is something fundamentally wrong with these guys. They need that hate. There has to be something for them to direct their anger towards, it’s cathartic. If they didn’t have a target, they’d explode.’

Warren looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So you think the racism and bigotry is secondary to their need to let out their frustrations?’

Garfield shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I’m not a psychologist, but I reckon they’ve some sort of innate tribalism. If you brought them up from birth in an environment where they never met others with different-coloured skin or from a different culture, they’d divide the world by eye colour. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that these guys are fanatical football supporters. Often they don’t even support their local team; they almost arbitrarily pick a team who they have no personal connection with and take part in the most extreme violence in the name of that club, literally risking life and limb. It makes no rational sense.’

Warren sighed. ‘These guys aren’t the biggest arseholes I’ve ever interviewed, but they’re close. Still, I got a few leads and their stories pretty much match, so either they were in it all together or they’re telling the truth. What about you? Anything useful?’

Garfield shrugged again. ‘I think it was interesting that they largely only had a go at Muslims. These guys are full-spectrum far-right, they usually bring in Jews, blacks, Asians and homosexuals whilst they’re at it.’

He scratched his chin. ‘It confirms something I’ve suspected for a while. Ever since Tommy Meegan took over the BAP, we’ve seen a ratchetting up of the anti-Muslim rhetoric, at the expense of some of the other crap. That might just be because of recent events; Islamic State, Boko Haram and Al Quaeda are stealing all the headlines lately.’ He shifted his stance. ‘The thing is, forget idiots like Bellies Brandon and Goldie Davenport, they’re just foot soldiers who couldn’t find their arse with both hands. The brains are people like Tommy Meegan. He definitely wasn’t an idiot. He knew the way the wind was blowing.

‘Old school racism against blacks or other minorities just because they look or speak differently hasn’t completely died out, but it’s generally social suicide if you express it publicly. When was the last time you saw anyone admit to owning a Bernard Manning DVD? Overt homophobia is also a no-no. Plenty of prejudice still exists, but opponents of gay marriage are seen as out of touch and embarrassing in this country; if the thought of gay sex is icky to you, you keep it to yourself. You can’t even criticise Israel without making it clear that you aren’t an anti-Semite first.