The Common Enemy. Paul Gitsham

but they shouldn’t be allowed on the public streets.’ He blinked and paused as if he’d forgotten his train of thought, before brightening again.

      ‘Anyhow, the same should go for those fucking terrorist-lovers at the march, with their ski masks. Traitors to their race they are. They should show some pride in their white skin.’ He looked towards the CCTV camera in the corner of the room. ‘Fucking White Pride,’ he shouted.

      Warren paused for a beat. It was clear that Meegan was a regular drug abuser and it was taking its toll on his mental stability. He wondered what he’d get out of the man.

      Finally, Meegan’s face took on the sullen tone of a teenager. As exasperating as it was, Warren forced himself to remember that the man had just lost his older brother.

      ‘Look, Jimmy, help me put together a timeline here. Let’s figure out your brother’s last moves and then we can work out what happened and bring whoever killed him to justice.’ He locked eyes with Meegan. ‘I know you don’t believe me but I promise you I do want to find your brother’s killer. I’m a CID officer, working the murder squad. Your brother was a victim and I will find justice for him.’

      The silence stretched between them. Would the rhetoric persuade Meegan to cooperate or would it push him further away?

      Eventually, he nodded.

      ‘Take me through the day as it happened.’

      The story was essentially the same as that told before, with the BAP scattering after the police line was breached, Jimmy Meegan and Goldie Davenport going one direction and Tommy Meegan and Bellies Brandon the other, before they too split.

      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.’

       Chapter 11

      ‘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