Paul Gitsham - The Common Enemy

The masked protester straightened her shoulders slightly.

‘Many of us think it is symptomatic of the institutionalised racism that still exists within the police and their widely held view that the concerns and well-being of minorities are less important than those of others.’

There were ripples of disgust from the officers watching the TV. Fortunately, the reporter was too professional to let the slur go entirely unchallenged.

‘That’s a rather sweeping statement.’

‘Kay’ shrugged.

‘How do you answer charges that the actions of the protestors in breaking through the police line meant that the officer-in-charge had no choice but to call in as many reinforcements as possible?’

Again ‘Kay’ shrugged. ‘Yet more evidence that the police’s priorities on Saturday were wrong.’

‘Are you suggesting that the police should have allowed protestors to assault the marchers? After all, there is clear footage of protestors throwing stones and bottles at both the police and the BAP.’

‘Kay’ paused, realising the dangerous waters she suddenly found herself in.

‘At last some balanced journalism,’ somebody muttered from the back of the office.

‘No, what I meant was the police had clearly under-resourced yesterday’s operation, even though it was obvious that there was potential for significant trouble…’

‘Caused in part by the actions of some of the counter-protestors,’ interjected the reporter.

‘… caused by the police not taking seriously the concerns of local residents – from all sections of the community – who have repeatedly said that they did not want fascists marching through their town.’ She paused for breath.

‘If the officer in charge of the operation and his or her superiors had taken the threat posed by the BAP to minorities seriously, they would have deployed enough officers to not only adequately police the march but to protect the targets of this group’s hatred. Not just the Islamic Centre but the synagogue, the Afro-Caribbean centre, meeting halls for the Sikh and Hindu communities and pubs and bars associated with the LGBT community among others.’

‘Anywhere else you’d like us to stand outside?’ grumbled the voice from the back again. Warren decided not to turn around but made a note to address the discontent later.

‘That would be an expensive operation at a time when police budgets are under increasing pressure,’ noted the reporter.

‘You can’t put a price on people’s lives,’ the protestor responded primly. ‘I’m sure that with enough motivation Hertfordshire Constabulary could have policed the event proportionately and cost-effectively.’

‘But doesn’t that require the cooperation of all parties involved?’

‘Of course. We made it clear that we would be counter-protesting at the march; yesterday was entirely predictable.’

‘But was it? According to sources involved in yesterday’s counter-protest, steps were made to conceal the true numbers of protestors planning on turning up to the march.’

For the first time, ‘Kay’ seemed to be lost for words.

‘According to an email seen by the BBC, organisers were told to “keep it quiet” and “not let the pigs get a handle on numbers”. In fact, they were deliberately told to “go old school and keep clear of social media” and make arrangements by word-of-mouth.’

‘Hah! Burned!’ came the voice from the back.

Suddenly on the back foot, ‘Kay’ mumbled something about not having seen the email and being unable to comment. The journalist let her stew for a moment before thanking her for her time and returning to the studio.

‘Could have gone worse, I suppose,’ said Sutton.

‘Well, at least we’re trending on Twitter,’ said Gary Hastings, holding up his smartphone.

‘Is that a good thing?’ asked Warren.

Hastings scrolled for a few seconds and winced.

‘No, not really.’

‘Well, let’s leave Twitter to sort itself out.’ Warren raised his voice slightly, and pointedly addressed the back of the room. ‘I shall repeat the Assistant Chief Constable’s instruction, “stay off social media”.’

A few muttered assents, including from the back corner, were enough to satisfy him.

A brief circuit of the room revealed nothing urgent that couldn’t wait until the following morning and so Warren decided to check his email for anything pressing and finally head home.

The blinking red light on his telephone console told him that he had a voicemail waiting for him.

‘DCI Jones, it’s Andy Harrison here. Check your email, we’ve found the murder weapon. I’ve taken a photo and sent it to you.’ The man’s voice sounded more serious than Warren could ever remember. ‘If it’s what I think it is, the shit’s about to hit the fan big time.’

Warren’s gut tightened as he typed his username and password into his computer then clicked straight to the message from Harrison, with its attached image.

Warren felt as if he’d been punched.

Middlesbury was going to burn.

‘It’s a Kirpan. A ceremonial knife worn by baptised Sikhs.’

A groan rose from the officers assembled for the 8 a.m. briefing.

‘SOCO have already done a presumptive blood test on the stains on the blade and it’s come up positive. We’ll need a DNA match obviously, and Professor Jordan will be checking it’s consistent with the wound, but I wouldn’t want to bet against it.’

The knife on the screen had a wicked-looking curved blade made from stainless steel. A blade covered in blood. The handle was made of brass with elaborate engravings in Indian script.

‘They’re using acrylate to pull some partial prints off the handle. Hopefully there will be enough reference points for a positive match. They also found a dark blue nylon fibre caught on the edge of the blade. It doesn’t match anything on the victim and they’re trying to exclude contamination from the bin.’

DSI Grayson cleared his throat, taking over from Warren.

‘Confirmation that the leader of the BAP was murdered by an individual from one of our minority communities has the potential to spark rioting or even worse.’

‘I thought the BAP were marching against the new super mosque?’ said a middle-aged sergeant on loan from Welwyn. ‘What would one of them be doing with a Sikh knife?’

‘The BAP are a threat to anyone who doesn’t fit their notion of what modern Britain should consist of,’ answered Warren, uncomfortable with the man’s usage of the tabloid term ‘super mosque’. ‘There were counter-protestors from lots of different sections of the community.’

Grayson took over again. ‘We can all imagine the significance of this find – and the need for discretion.’

He looked around the room, making eye contact with everybody present. ‘I shall repeat what ACC Naseem said yesterday: there will be no contact with the press or the general public without my direct say-so. Any queries are to be directed specifically to the press office. Have I made myself clear?’

There were nods all around the table.

* * *

‘This is bad news, Warren.’ The two men were sitting in Grayson’s office. ‘You were in that meeting yesterday. That was a clear warning about the future of Middlesbury CID if we don’t solve this quickly. It’s personal for all of us.’

Warren remained silent. He’d worked for Grayson for three years, and whilst the two men were hardly close, he could see that the older man needed to get something off his chest.

Grayson stood up, and walked to the window, staring out onto the car park below.

‘Tommy Meegan was an arsehole. Part of me is relieved that he’s dead. But the fallout from this could be devastating.’ The man’s shoulders bunched as he gripped the window ledge.