Scimitar (A Kate Redman Mystery Read online

  By this time, Martin and Rav had arrived and the office gradually settled into the usual routine. Kate turned her attention to her emails and began to write her usual daily list. Witness interviews… She sighed at the thought. After a moment, she spun her chair around and called over to Martin.

  “Any luck on tracking down Mohammed whatsisface?”

  “None whatsoever.” Martin raised one shoulder in a non-committal gesture. “I’ve got his last known address and I’m going there this afternoon, but he’s not there, I know that for a fact.”

  Kate thought quickly. “I’ll come with you.”

  Martin looked startled. “Really?”

  “Yep.” Kate had made her mind up. “I feel totally stuck with this, Martin. Anything that might get us the slightest bit of the way forward…”

  “That’s true.”

  Kate got up and went over to Martin’s desk. “What’s the address?”

  “Bristol.” Martin obligingly tilted his computer screen towards Kate so she could see the details.

  “Do you mind driving?” Kate had been leaving her car at home when she could for the past few weeks, figuring that she could get fit and help the environment by walking to work, rather than driving. Win-win.

  “Of course not.”

  All traces of the Indian summer had seemingly departed, and the weather was typical of a late British autumn: grey skies, cold winds, an intermittent sprinkle of rain. Unlike Chloe, who liked to drive listening to Radio Five Live (purely, as Kate couldn’t help but think, so she could shout abuse at the radio) or Theo, who favoured the most appalling rap and drum and bass, Martin preferred nineties indie tunes, which made driving with him a much more appealing prospect. Kate leant back into her seat, nodding her head to the Manic Street Preachers and Oasis.

  The district of Bristol that they drove into was one of the more run-down ones. Boxy little terraced houses lined the roads. Every street corner seemed to be home to either a betting shop, a fried chicken outlet, a charity shop, or a Wetherspoons pub. Litter lined gutters that looked as though they had never seen a street sweeper. Martin sought a parking spot, a difficult task in the narrow roads clogged on either side with cars parked nose to tail.

  The former address of Mohammed Abib was strikingly similar to the bedsit that Samir Minhas had rented. Two small rooms, bare of furniture except the most basic kind—a bed, a cupboard, an armchair. The difference was that they could actually see that someone lived here, thanks to the clutter, the paperwork, the clothes, computer games and magazines strewn amongst the general detritus of everyday life. The bedclothes on the bed were tumbled about, as if the occupant had only recently got out of them. It smelt stale and dust lay thickly on the surfaces.

  Thankful for her gloves, Kate dug through drawers and felt under the armchair cushions. There was little here to go on—the most exciting thing they found was a bag of marijuana under the bed and an empty plastic packet that had probably once contained cocaine. An empty whisky bottle in the bin made Martin shake his head.

  “I thought Muslims weren’t supposed to drink?”

  Kate gave him a cynical look. “It’s nothing to do with being Muslim, is it? They’re just psychopaths. They just like hurting people. It’s just that they’re dressing it up in ideology because it sounds better—it gives them an excuse.” She got up off the floor where she’d been looking under the bed and dusted off her knees. “I mean, look at ISIS,” she went on, warming to her theme. “What is it, really, other than a psychotic death cult?”

  “True.” Martin stepped back and looked around the shabby room. “Anyway, should we try and interview the neighbours, see if they can tell us anything?”

  “Yes, we should.” Kate looked around herself. A thought struck her. “Actually—”

  The pause made Martin look at her. “What’s up?”

  Kate slowly shook her head. “I’m an idiot.”

  That made Martin grin. “Why?”

  “I don’t know why I haven’t thought of this before.” Kate raised her hands to her head and ran them through her hair. “Why haven’t we gone into Samir? Why haven’t we found out more about him? That’s what Anderton—” After a moment, she realised that Martin had never worked under her partner and former DCI and hastily amended what she had been going to say. “I mean, I used to have a boss that would always tell us the clue to the crime comes from the victim.”

  “Well,” said Martin, always reasonable, “We didn’t know who he was at first and then he turned out to be someone totally different.”

  “Yes, I know.” Kate paced the floor of the tiny room. “Okay, well, that’s somewhere to start.” Out of nowhere, she realised that of all the people who was probably best placed to tell her about Samir Minhas, it was Ricky Khan. She felt, simultaneously, a surge of excitement and guilt. “I can do that,” she added hastily. “Martin, can you do the neighbour interviews, or try and get through as many as you can?”

  “Of course.”

  Kate remembered that Martin had driven them here. “I’ll get a cab back. You crack on.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Have you called Magda yet?” were Anderton’s words of greeting when Kate got home that night.

  “Not yet. Give me a chance, I’ve been flat out all day.”

  “Okay. Have you looked at those links I sent you?”

  Kate stamped down on the rush of annoyance. “Not yet. Like I said, I’ve been flat out all day.” Oops, annoyance visible anyway…

  “Okay, grumpy pants.” Anderton folded her into a hug, and Kate sighed and sagged against him.

  “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “It’s okay. I know what it’s like.”

  There were no cooking smells emanating from the kitchen. On impulse, Kate gave him a kiss and said, “You know what? I’m taking you out for dinner.”

  “I do love being a kept man.”

  They went to a new Japanese restaurant, on the other side of Abbeyford, and ate quantities of sushi and sashimi and seaweed and gyoza. Kate felt her shoulders drop with every bite—and with the three glasses of wine she washed it down with.

  “God, I could live on this stuff. It’s so delicious.”

  “Me too. And yes, I agree.” Anderton chopsticked more seaweed onto her plate. “Any news from Stuart yet?”

  “He wants us all to catch up next week. Can you come?”

  “Of course.”

  After they’d finished, Kate sat back in her chair with a sigh. This would probably be the optimum time to bring up all the questions and worries that she’d been keeping inside her for weeks, but, faced with the prospect of answers, she just couldn’t manage to form the words. Instead, substituting touch for words, she reached over and took her partner’s hand.

  “I love you.” At least that was something she didn’t need to fake. Whatever her attraction to Ricky Khan, whatever her misgivings about the age gap, she knew she loved Anderton.

  “I love you too.” Anderton squeezed her hand. “But I can’t help feeling that we’ve been drifting apart a little over the last couple of months, Kate.”

  Kate’s shoulders rose a little. “Really?”

  Anderton looked down at his plate. “I know it’s… I know I’m not always the easiest person to be around—”

  “Nor am I,” admitted Kate.

  Anderton took both her hands. “Kate, one thing I’ve learned, at my advanced age—” Kate laughed, but a little uneasily, before he went on. “One thing I’ve learned is that once you’re middle-aged, nobody gets to be here without being a bit fucked up. It’s just—I suppose…learning to live with that and knowing that nobody—literally nobody—is perfect.”

  Out of nowhere, Kate thought of Roman and his life cut short so abruptly, never a chance to find out what the rest of his life would hold. She blinked away the sudden hot sting of tears and squeezed
Anderton’s hands back.

  “All I’m saying, I suppose—”

  “It’s okay,” said Kate. “Things have been a bit difficult, but it’s been a strange time, hasn’t it? All round.”

  Anderton released her hands and sat back, sighing. “I don’t think I’ve ever known such a strange time, to be honest. Personally and, well, politically.”

  The thought of poor Roman was instantly replaced by that of Ricky Khan and his kiss on her cheek. She felt, simultaneously, a rush of guilt and desire. God, what is wrong with you, Kate? Your partner is having a heart to heart and you’re thinking about another man…

  Out loud, she said, as firmly as she could, “I’m glad we’re talking about it.”

  “So am I. And let’s do that. Keep talking, I mean.”

  They went home. Normally, they would have made love but tonight, Kate just didn’t feel like it. She told Anderton as much. Surely, the fact that she could be open and honest with her partner counted for something? He gave her a hug and told her to go and sleep.

  “I’ve got some serious binge watching to do.”

  “Would that be with Pornhub?” Kate said with a grin, but she kissed him and made her way upstairs, a million different thoughts running through her mind.

  Chapter Twenty One

  “What the hell is this?”

  “What do you mean, what the hell is this?” Kate looked across at Theo, who was shaking a printed menu at her. “It’s a bloody menu.”

  “Is it? What kind of food is this?” Theo prodded the paper with a long finger. “’Bang bang jackfruit? Wild leaves? Herb crumbs?’ It makes no sense.”

  “Look, just because you’re an utter philistine—”

  Olbeck spoke up. “Actually, Kate, he may have a point. ‘Herb crumbs’?”

  “What comes next?” Rav asked, grinning. “Herb dust?”

  “Herb specks,” Theo said, starting to laugh.

  “Alright, alright—”

  “Memories of herbs,” contributed Stuart.

  Theo was almost horizontal by now, gasping with laughter. “Herb atoms.”

  “Let’s just imagine the herbs in the food…”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Alright—”

  Stuart was laughing himself now. “’Wild leaves’. Were they caught or were they herded?”

  “Look, you chose the bloody restaurant, you idiot,” said Kate, beginning to giggle despite herself.

  “If I’m going to have leaves, I damn well want them farmed, sterilised and processed accordingly. Who knows what kind of nomadic lifestyle these leaves lead? And you’re going to serve it to me on a plate and charge me fifteen quid for it?” Stuart held up a statesmanlike finger.

  “For Christ’s sake—” Unfortunately, Kate was sat too far away to give him a punch on the arm.

  Grinning, Stuart winked at her. “Actually, you know, the food is pretty good here.”

  “It had better be.” Theo was still laughing.

  At that moment, the waitress came up and they all subsided into comparative seriousness. At the same moment, Anderton came hurrying over to the table.

  “Hey, team, sorry I’m late. Traffic…”

  There was a chorus of welcomes. The men got up to give manly hugs—shoulders barely touching, firm slaps on the back. Anderton kissed Kate on the mouth and drew out a chair.

  “God, it’s good to see you guys. And Stuart! My god, it’s been years.” He noticed Chloe was sitting opposite and got up again to kiss her on the cheek. “Good to see you too, love. I’m glad you decided to come.” He paused, looking around the table and then sat back down again. “Well, my god. All back together again. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”

  “Tell me about it.” Stuart poured him a glass of wine from the bottle of red standing on the table. “I don’t know what happens to time.”

  “It flows like a river. That’s probably a quotation from something,” said Anderton, smiling.

  They settled to their meal, slipping quietly back into being a team. Kate, whilst enjoying the food and the wine and the banter, was struck with the melancholy thought that they never again would work, properly, as a team. He’s never coming back. You’ve just got to accept it. She put the fork full of lasagne back on her plate, feeling suddenly quite close to tears.

  Olbeck, of course, noticed. “Are you okay?”

  Kate nodded. “Just having a moment.”

  “Oh, we all have moments.” He took a sip of his wine and then added, “When are you coming round for dinner, anyway?”

  Kate nudged Anderton. “When are we going round for dinner?”

  “Anytime you like, if Jeff’s cooking.”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  “Perfect.” Kate added a note to her phone’s calendar as a reminder.

  It was one of those team lunches that you never wanted to end. After two hours, Olbeck started muttering about how they should really go back to work and crack on, but he was met with such a chorus of disapproval that he capitulated and even joined the rest of them as they went to The Arms for a post-lunch drink. Which of course turned into many post-lunch drinks, culminating in Theo drunkenly suggesting a visit to Abbeyford’s one and only karaoke bar, and the rest of them being too inebriated to demur.

  Swaying slightly, Kate propped up the bar with Anderton on one side and Chloe on the other, watching Rav murder a version of My Way. Through the alcohol haze, she thought, this is it. This is the last time we’ll all ever really be together. She put an arm round Chloe and Anderton and squeezed them.

  “I love you guys.”

  Both of them simultaneously squeezed her back.

  “I love you too,” is what they both said, and Kate thought, Yes. I’m having that. That’s as good as it gets.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The hangover Kate had to endure the next morning was enough to put her off the idea of calling Ricky Khan. Surely, the best place to start was with Samir’s relatives and friends? She retrieved the folder from Theo’s desk, where Theo lay face down on his keyboard, groaning about how his head was killing him, and flicked through the contents, looking for address details. His parents apparently lived in Manchester, a city that Kate was thoroughly unfamiliar with. After a moment, she got up and made her way over to Olbeck’s office.

  “Of course you can go,” said her friend when she asked. “Just try and keep the costs down.”

  At least she wouldn’t have to worry about who would look after Merlin (her neighbour, Janet, who always used to do it, had sadly died last year). Kate texted Anderton to check he was okay to stay at her place for a few days and once she’d received confirmation in the affirmative, booked a budget hotel in central Manchester. Should she drive? It was a hell of a long way. But after a moment’s thought, and a quick look at the prices of a train ticket which was roughly the same price as a return ticket to the International Space Station, she decided she’d do that. It was always useful to have a car in a strange city, anyway.

  She set off the next morning, under a grey sky sagging with imminent rain. As the miles passed and she drove further north, however, the clouds began to disperse, and when she finally arrived in Manchester—ironically, well known as a particularly grey and rainy city—it was to brilliant sunshine. She navigated to the hotel and checked in. She’d already arranged a meeting with Samir’s parents for the following morning, which meant she could please herself for the evening. It was with a slightly guilty feeling that she set off to explore a new city. Yes, she was there on work business, but there was nothing particularly useful she could do that night, and God knew, she worked hard enough as it was. Time for a nice dinner out (not to go on expenses—she did have her limits) with a book and a glass of wine and a look around the centre of Manchester. She had a quick shower, texted Anderton her safe arrival with a heart emoji, and set off to explore.

>   Mr and Mrs Minhas lived in a suburb adjacent to the city centre and had lived there since they arrived in the country in the nineteen sixties, a fact that Mr Minhas informed Kate of within the first twenty minutes of their conversation. They seemed a gentle, quiet couple, who continually proffered cups of tea and brought out a plate of fondant fancies, something Kate hadn’t seen since her teens. She took one just for the pure nostalgia rush.

  Grief for their dead son showed in their drawn faces, the dark circles under their eyes, the glassy sheen of unshed tears in Mrs Minhas’s eyes. Kate began to gently probe them on Samir’s history but she barely had to ask any questions at all; they wanted to talk. She heard all about his childhood—happy as far as she could tell—the teenage years, his relationships with his brother and sister. She made notes to contact at least some of these, to see if they could reveal any more; it was a fact that siblings sometimes knew a great deal more about their brother or sister than their parents ever did. “Could I have their numbers? It would be great to talk to them too while I’m up here,” she said.

  After the interview, as she was heading back to the hotel to write up her findings, she felt a glow of satisfaction. It had been the right decision to come here. Samir was finally beginning to emerge as an individual. He’d clearly been intelligent, driven and a loving son. Obviously, most parents, especially those who had lost a child, would give a stranger the most favourable impression of their son as they could, but Kate intuited that Samir had been quite a remarkable person. It made it even crueller that he’d met his death in such a brutal way and at such a young age. Inescapably, her thoughts jumped to Ricky Khan and she batted them away with difficulty.