The Balance of Guilt (19 page)

“In the search for your so called ‘radicaliser’, you should look for someone sufficiently committed to his cause to appropriately be termed a ZEALOT. He will be CUNNING AND MANIPULATIVE, and quite probably CALM AND CONTROLLED, able to withstand considerable pressure during interrogation. The person you seek will be HIGHLY ADEPT at disguising his views. That is not to say they will be ENTIRELY HIDDEN, but often instead cloaked in MODERATE and seemingly REASONABLE terms. It is the classic case of the iceberg – what you see is only a SMALL FRACTION of the MASS of feeling which truly exists – and it is that mass which is BY FAR THE MOST DESTRUCTIVE.”

Dan turned the page. “In conclusion, you should expect to have CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTIES in identifying and bringing the perpetrator to justice. It is likely he will leave behind NO PHYSICAL EVIDENCE, meaning you will possess only the option of ensnaring him with questioning. I suspect this will prove EXTREMELY PROBLEMATIC with such a focused, calm and intelligent person.

“I can offer one element which may be of assistance. The perpetrator’s weakness will perhaps be his own HIGH SELF-REGARD. The circumstances of this case suggest your radicaliser had a burning desire to witness the act you are investigating, but the fact he did not carry it out himself indicates a powerful instinct of SELF-PRESERVATION.

“I wish you GOOD LUCK.”

Adam waited for Dan to finish the report, before saying quietly, ‘He’s never wished me luck before.’

Dan nodded. ‘He’s saying it’s a tough one.’

‘And I would say, in that at least, he’s certainly right.’

‘But he’s given us quite a bit to go on too.’

‘Yeah, but that profile of the radicaliser could fit all our suspects – Ahmed, Parfitt, Kindle, the Imam and his minder.’

‘But not Alison Tanton.’ Dan observed.

‘Did we ever really think she might have sent her own son to carry out a suicide bombing?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Then at least that’s some progress, however slight. But Stephens is right, isn’t he? That’s the problem with the case. We have no physical evidence. So we’re left with our own wits to try to trap the radicaliser. Plus it looks like we’ll have to free Ahmed soon, so time’s running out.’

The rain beat harder on the windscreen, the running rivulets warping the view of the outside world. The car’s clock said it was coming up to one.

‘So, to the Islamic Centre?’ Dan asked.

‘Yep. Let’s go see if we get any further there. Later we’ll go back to Charles Cross to have a brainstorming session.’

Dan was about to start the car when his mobile rang. It was Lizzie, and the tirade was even more impressive than usual, and roughly a third full of obscenities.

‘What is it?’ Adam asked, when Dan had hung up.

‘Can you spare me an hour, and a story?’

‘What?’

Dan quickly explained. Six months ago,
Wessex Tonight
had joined the future of television news. Instead of recording all the programme’s reports onto video tape, a computer server had been installed. It was promoted as offering a whole gamut of dazzling advantages; in brief, it was simply wonderful, incredibly advanced and utterly and comprehensively infallible.

And now, naturally, it had gone wrong.

In fact, that was something of an understatement. It was news Armageddon.

The server had managed to atomise every single one of the reports for the lunchtime bulletin in a whim of a computing mindstorm. Lizzie had fourteen minutes of airtime to fill and nothing to put in it. All the reporters were being frantically called and asked if they could come up with any kind of story about which they might simply sit in the studio and talk.

The bulletin was on air at half past one. They had just over 30 minutes.

‘Do you know what?’ Adam said slowly. ‘There might just be a story you could put out which could help us. I think it’s time to put a bit of pressure on our suspects.’

I
T HAD LONG BEEN
a belief of Dan’s that on some days life is a supportive friend who’ll uncomplainingly run with you, but on others it can grow mischievous and contrary, and decide to have a little jape or two at your expense. He didn’t have much of a religious faith, despite being born a Catholic, just some nebulous sense of there being far greater powers at work in this inscrutable universe than mere humans could ever hope to understand.

On the days when life wasn’t favouring him, Dan would often conclude the best way was to tread water. The forces he was facing were far too powerful to thrash out against; that would only lead to ever increasing frustration and exhaustion. Instead just waiting calmly until the tide turned was the better choice.

But sometimes that wasn’t an option. Sometimes the issue had to be forced.

He turned the key in the ignition, the car emitted a couple of forlorn coughs and entirely failed to start. Dan tried again, this time without even the encouragement of any mechanical grindings or grumblings.

The rain beat in harder.

‘There’s something wrong with the car,’ the master journalist and observer of life noted.

‘Brilliant deduction,’ Adam replied. ‘Yet again you’ve reminded me why I like having you along.’

‘I guess that’s the lunchtime news idea scuppered then.’

‘Never. Come on.’

Adam was out of the car, a hand raised as an ineffectual shield against the downpour. The road was quiet, with few cars parked and only the odd vehicle passing by, their wheels cutting through the weight of water. Dan and Adam ran along the pavement, splashing through the growing pools, the stinging raindrops firing into their faces. The cars by the side of the road were all empty.

A church bell chimed one.

Adam swore and turned along another street. Ahead was a car, two people vaguely visible in the front seats. He ran towards it, pulled the back door open and tumbled inside, spraying rain with him.

The couple in the front put their hands up in a gesture of surrender.

‘Don’t kill us,’ the woman pleaded. ‘We’re only pensioners. We don’t have any money or drugs. And we fought for you in the war.’

Dan blinked away the rain which was blurring his vision. At a generous estimate, the woman might just have been conceived around the time the Second World War ended.

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Adam replied, in the voice that always made Dan think being alarmed was exactly the right course of action. ‘I’m a police officer.’ He thrust his warrant card forward. ‘This is an emergency. I’m commandeering your car.’

‘You’re what?’ the man asked slowly.

‘I need your car. It’s an emergency. Swap seats so I can drive. Quickly please.’

The man tugged at an impressive thicket of silver hair which was growing, carrot-like, from an ear.

‘My insurance doesn’t cover anyone driving but me,’ he replied at last.

‘That doesn’t matter right now. This is an emergency.’

‘I don’t know if that makes any difference. What do you think Ethel?’

‘I don’t know either Frank. You’re always the one who does the insurance. Those forms are far too complex for me. I can’t read that tiny print either. They do it deliberately, you know, to stop you from claiming half the time.’

The clock on the dashboard said the time was almost five past one. Adam emitted a low noise which sounded like a jet preparing to take off. ‘Look, I don’t have time to argue. Would you mind driving us then, please?’

‘Driving you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘Up to Mannamead. To the
Wessex Tonight
studios.’

Ethel turned around and stared at Dan through thick-lensed glasses. ‘Oooh,’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought I recognised you. You’re that man off the telly.’

Dan put on a forced smile, but thought it best not to comment.

‘Will you please,’ Adam said forcibly, ‘Start the car and drive.’

And so began what was surely one of the strangest emergency responses in the history of law enforcement.

Frank was the antithesis of a police driver. Every single junction, roundabout and set of traffic lights was treated with a respect bordering upon reverence. He would begin slowing several hundred yards before reaching them, and even if the way was obviously, entirely and utterly clear would crawl the car across the potential obstacle, looking left and right the whole time.

Such was Frank’s conscientiousness that Dan wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d also started looking skywards, just in case some hazard might be approaching from that direction too.

Adam’s urgings succeeded in increasing the rate of progress not at all.

‘I’ve never had an accident in my life,’ Frank said proudly, poking at the brim of his trilby with a finger. ‘And I don’t intend to start now.’

‘Quite right, dear,’ Ethel piped up, adjusting her own hat, one of the crocheted bobble variety. ‘I don’t know, these young people, always in a rush.’

Adam forced himself back on the uncomfortable plastic seats and closed his eyes.

Rounding one corner, heading towards a parade of shops, Dan received confirmation of what he had suspected. The rain had been a little too hard, the run along the street too chaotic to initially be absolutely sure of the vehicle they had piled into. But now, captured in the reflection from a newsagent, was an image of the offending automobile.

It was a toad of a car and an anachronistic one at that; a brown Austin Allegro, with an S registration plate.

The time was a quarter past one. They were almost at the studios. Adam kept knotting his fists, then unclenching them again. To distract the detective, and to save time, Dan outlined his idea.

‘Look, I think you should do the broadcast. Because – one, it’ll sound more dramatic coming from you. Two, you know exactly what you want to say. If you have to brief me it’ll take more time, and we don’t have much. Three, this’ll ensure it’s the lead story and that it’s picked up on all the radio stations and websites, which is exactly what we need. And four, it should bank me some credit with Lizzie which will mean I’m pretty much free to keep working on the case with you.’

It wasn’t the hardest argument to win. Not only did Adam stop tightening his fists, he slipped into his familiar mannerism and began straightening his already pristine tie. The detective was even shameless enough to glance in the car window and check his reflection.

‘You look lovely,’ Dan sighed.

‘I’ll need some face powder.’

‘There’s plenty in the studio.’

‘A hair drier.’

‘We’ve got one of those too.’

The detective ran a hand over his beard line. ‘And a quick shave.’

‘There’s a razor in the dressing room.’

Adam flicked some fluff from his sleeve and added ruefully, ‘And this is one of my oldest suits.’

It was far more stylish, fashionable and expensive than Dan’s best. ‘It’ll look fine,’ he said patiently.

‘I’ll need to make one quick call then, to set up the operation.’

‘When you’ve finished adjusting your ensemble, obviously,’ Dan muttered.

They reached the
Wessex Tonight
building at twenty past one and quickly thanked Frank and Ethel.

‘Anytime you need my help again, just call,’ Frank said, with no trace of irony. ‘Hard driving like that was really rather exciting.’

The low speed scramble would no doubt become the talk of a hundred bingo nights and whist drives. Dan pulled Adam away before he could comment. He ushered the detective into the studio and strode next door to the gallery to explain his thoughts to Lizzie.

‘Done,’ she said instantly. ‘But – but …’

There was always a but with Lizzie, and usually more than one. Dan sometimes wondered if But was her maiden name. It would suit her.

‘Yes?’ he asked warily.

‘How come you were with him when I called? You’re not trying to be a detective again, are you?’

‘No, no,’ Dan soothed. ‘I was just doing my job. Meeting up to check the latest on the case, to see if it could make a story for us.’

The glare of suspicion would have made a nun uncomfortable. ‘Right then. But don’t go vanishing like you have before. You’re a hack, remember, and I want stories.’

Not a word of thanks for saving the bulletin, Dan noted. He wandered upstairs to the newsroom to watch Adam’s performance.

The opening titles played and Craig came in. ‘We can bring you exclusive revelations in the Wessex Minster bombing case,’ he intoned. ‘The police have made what they believe to be a major breakthrough. The man in charge of the investigation, Detective Chief Inspector Adam Breen joins me. What is it that you’ve found?’

Adam looked calm, smart and authoritative, not at all flustered by the unexpected live interview.

‘We have discovered that John Tanton made a phone call, just minutes before he exploded his bomb. We believe that may have been to the person who radicalised him.’

‘Saying what?’ Craig interrupted.

‘It’s my view he was calling for support, or to be reassured he was doing the right thing in his bombing mission. He wanted to be told his plan for murder and suicide was justified.’ Adam’s voice fell. ‘And difficult to believe though it may be, I can come to no other conclusion than that he was given that reassurance. That, in itself, tells you much about the person we are hunting.’

Dan noticed the newsroom had stilled, journalists stopping to watch the monitors. Craig paused to let the drama of the detective’s words linger.

‘And how much does this development help you?’

‘We are currently in the process of tracing the phone which Tanton called and who was using it. I believe that will allow us to bring to justice the person who took advantage of a vulnerable young man and turned him into a killer.’

‘And are you confident you will be able to get this person?’

Now it was Adam’s turn to pause. The camera crept in on him, emphasising the calm determination in his face. It was a look he did well.

Finally, he said simply, ‘We will get him.’

The rain was continuing to pound down as they drove to the Islamic Centre. Dan borrowed a car from the
Wessex Tonight
pool, a modern, energy-efficient and scrupulously green model. It looked pretty and boasted outstanding environmental credentials, but drove like a lawnmower.

They stopped at some traffic lights. Out to sea, a couple of forks of lighting split the glowering sky. Dan checked his mobile again. He was still struggling to believe it. How much entertainment the great game of life could have at the expense of the hapless human race. Just as he and Adam had been about to leave the studios two text messages came through simultaneously.

The first was from Claire.

Sorry if I was a bit off earlier. Didn’t mean to be. It was just the shock of seeing you again. Hope we get the chance to talk more – if you want to, of course? x

Dan stared at the screen. She’d sent a kiss. Some people, when texting, littered their messages with kisses so that the screen resembled a
Spot the Ball
coupon. Dan often thought of it as the mark of the superficial. But not Claire. She was precise. Kisses were special and reserved for people she would give them to physically.

Her presence was so powerful she could have been sitting in the car, her breath teasing the hairs on the back of his neck.

The second text was from Sarah Jones.

OK
, I give in, you can see me again. The tiger is hungry! Grrr … xxx

Dan shook his head. Some days, it was an effort not to shake your fist at the sky. Suddenly, he felt the need to sit in a bar, have a beer or two, and do some thinking.

‘How did it go?’ asked Adam, for the third time.

‘What?’ Dan replied distractedly.

‘Come on, concentrate. How did it go?’

‘Your TV appearance?’

‘What else?’

‘Well, it was still great, just the same as the last time you asked. Still very dramatic and still effective.’

‘Do you reckon it’ll work?’

Dan slowed for a zebra crossing, a party of young schoolchildren winding their way across the road. Some kicked at the puddles in the gutter. They all looked happy, despite the rain. It was always sunny in the land of childhood.

‘That’s what’s bothering me,’ he said. ‘Surely our radicaliser will have suspected you knew about the call Tanton made to him?’

‘Probably, but not necessarily. He might have thought Tanton’s phone had been destroyed in the blast. And he’d know Tanton hadn’t said anything to us about who’d been manipulating him, or we’d have arrested him by now.’

‘And so you give him a little poke and see what it does.’

‘I did turn the screw a bit, with that talk about the kind of person we’re hunting. And it’s worked in other cases. Look at some of the crimes that using your little television advantage has helped us crack.’

‘We haven’t come up against terrorists before though.’

‘They’re still criminals,’ Adam said forcefully. ‘There’s nothing special about them whatsoever.’

Dan put the car into gear and drove on. They were almost at the mosque.

‘And your phone call, before you went on air. Is it all in place?’

Adam nodded. ‘Yep. It was a bit of a rush, but we’re used to these things. Everything’s in hand.’

Dan found a parking space at the rear of the Islamic Centre. The rain had abated a little, a small and forlorn patch of blue sky lingering above them. As they walked up to the building Adam announced he would take the lead in questioning the Imam and his minder.

‘Because of what the spooks said, about there being an informer in the mosque,’ he explained. ‘We’d better be a little cautious.’

Dan found himself relieved at the suggestion. His mind was full of Claire and Sarah. That list of names and numbers from Ahmed’s phone was also flitting through his thoughts. There must be something in there, some clue, perhaps even the solution to the case. He would take it to the Geeks later, to see what they might make of it.

The pavement was soaking, streams of rain water cascading along gutters and driveways. Leaves were starting to fall from the trees, dislodged by the force of the storm. Shoppers hurried past, making the most of the gap in the downpour to head for their cars. The sudden change in the weather had brought a chill to the air, a reminder of the coming autumn.