The Balance of Guilt (20 page)

Abdul was waiting for them in the doorway, dressed all in black, as ever. They were both regarded in silence and led up the stairs.

The Imam was in his office. Adam and Dan shook hands and were offered chairs opposite his desk. He nodded to Dan, as if to acknowledge seeing him again, but made no comment on his presence.

‘So, how can I help you?’ Tahir asked.

‘It was just a couple of quick questions,’ Adam replied. ‘Firstly, to find out how well you knew John Tanton.’

The Imam studied Adam. Dan had a sense he was debating how much to reveal. Adam saw it too and added, ‘Out of fairness, I should mention we already know he came here regularly.’

Tahir nodded slowly and straightened one of the sleeves of his robe. ‘Yes. He would come in for Friday prayers and occasionally to seek advice about …’ he hesitated. ‘Matters of faith.’

‘What kind of matters?’

‘He would sometimes have difficulty in understanding the more subtle points of Islam.’

‘Such as?’

‘In essence, the differences between cultural and religious influences.’

Adam’s look made it plain that further explanation was required. The Imam stood up and pointed to a series of posters on the wall. One showed a pair of women, dressed in burquas, only their eyes visible. Next to it was a line of women wearing swimming costumes, standing beside a pool.

‘The role of women for example. This poster depicts an Islamic beauty contest,’ he said, pointing to the semi-naked women. ‘Contrary to many people’s belief, Islam is not repressive of women. In fact, it gives them a great many rights, sometimes more so than men.’

The words came easily, clearly an oft-repeated lecture.

‘Yet some countries bar women from everyday things like driving and force them to cover up their entire bodies,’ Adam noted.

‘That is a cultural matter. It comes not from the religion, but the traditions of the country or the inclinations of those in power.’

The Imam pointed to another poster. It showed a kneeling man with a gun placed to his head.

‘There is also the issue of capital punishment and other legal penalties, such as the amputation of limbs. That too is a cultural matter.’

He took a couple of steps and pointed to a final poster. It captured the horror of the day the world changed, one of those rare moments everyone remembers; the Twin Towers, smoke billowing from the wounds inflicted by the airliners.

‘And, of course, terrorism,’ Tahir continued, more quietly now. ‘The concept of Jihad, or holy war. It is a fact that the Koran teaches us the killing of just one person is as morally reprehensible as the killing of millions. Those who preach holy war are distorting Islam for their own ends, usually the pursuit of power and self-aggrandisement.’

‘So,’ Adam replied, ‘John Tanton was asking about these kind of issues?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it’s fair to think he must have been under the influence of radicals and was trying to understand what Islam really did dictate he should be doing?’

The Imam smiled, the expression tinged with sadness. ‘In my experience of young men, what he was going through was common. There are always voices filled with hate and they are loud indeed. And if they are not shouting at the man in person, they can do so on the internet, or via the media. Every time there is some kind of terrorist outrage, the papers are filled with discussions of Islamic extremism. It is well intended, to expose how wrong it is. But it can also have the effect of raising interest in the fanatics and their message, particularly amongst the more impressionable.’

Adam noted that down. ‘Did you have any sense whatsoever of what John was planning to do?’

Now the Imam looked surprised. ‘Of course not, or I should have spoken to you immediately. Chief Inspector, myself and all the people here were as shocked as anyone by the attack on the Minster. We may differ in our beliefs, but it is a place of God. For the avoidance of any doubt whatsoever, we utterly condemn the bombing.’

Abdul had taken a step towards Adam and was looming over him. The detective glanced up. The two men held a stare as hard as a midwinter freeze and Abdul returned to the Imam’s side.

‘There’s one final question – for now,’ Adam said deliberately. ‘How well did you know Ahmed Nazri? I understand he came here to pray too.’

Tahir interlaced his fingers and studied them. Finally, he said, ‘Of all the people who came here, Ahmed was the one I worried about the most. He was bubbling with resentment and in possession of – some of the more radical views.’

‘He was thinking about violence?’

The Imam sighed. ‘I would not have put it past him.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell us?’

Another pause, and then, ‘We believed we could deal with it amongst ourselves. It is our preferred way.’

‘Is it?’ Adam grunted. ‘It doesn’t seem to have been working so well.’

Tahir frowned. ‘I understand your concerns, but that was our judgement. You may not agree with this, but we felt your intervention would only make matters worse. We tried to calm Ahmed, I can assure you of that, but it can be difficult to reach such a closed mind.’

‘And he knew John well?’

Tahir nodded. ‘Yes. They would often come here together. I did try to talk to Ahmed on several occasions, but my efforts were rebuffed. He was a young man filled with far more emotion than understanding.’

The towering black edifice folded his arms and emitted a low grunt. Adam looked at him. ‘Yes?’ he said, but the wall didn’t reply.

‘Go ahead, Abdul,’ the Imam added gently. ‘You have something you wanted to say?’

Finally, in a deep and gruff voice, Abdul said, ‘Ahmed went on a bit, but it was all talk. We had a guy in here once and he was preaching holy war, going to Iraq and Afghanistan to fight the invaders, all that. We got rid of him fast when we knew what he was up to. But before we did, he tried it with Ahmed.’ Abdul nodded hard and added scornfully, ‘He didn’t want to know. Ahmed could talk a lot, but he didn’t have the guts to get involved in anything serious.’

A surprise was awaiting when they got back to Charles Cross, and it was by no means the Christmas morning kind. The spooks were standing at the end of the Major Incident Room, whispering to each other. Oscar was smirking and had the briefcase by his side.

‘It’s the man from the telly,’ he sneered.

Dan just shook his head, but Oscar pointed to Adam. ‘I meant him.’ He put a hand over his heart. ‘Lovely interview at lunchtime. So emotional. And just so impressively discreet, giving out details of the investigation.’

‘It was for a reason,’ Adam replied levelly.

‘Oh, really? I’d never have known. Let me try a wild guess – perhaps something like trying to prompt a reaction from your suspects? When the hell will you get this into your head? You’re not dealing with sheep rustlers now. The people you’re after will know exactly what you’re up to. The only reaction you’re likely to get from them is laughter.’

Adam gave Oscar a glare. ‘Thank you for your input to the inquiry. It’s been as helpful as ever. Now, if you’ve nothing else to add, I’d like to get on with
my
investigation.’

He opened the door of the MIR and added, ‘You’ll find the exit …’

Sierra interrupted, her voice softer but still forceful. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

‘What are you …’

‘The mosque. We warned you to take it easy. And you go blundering in there, stirring the place up.’

‘I was doing my job. There were potential leads. I was following them up. Funnily enough, it’s what detectives do. Why don’t you go do your James Bond stuff, I’ll get on with my investigation and we’ll see who gets the results.’

Oscar appeared about to retaliate, but Sierra coughed meaningfully. He looked over, grabbed the briefcase and followed her from the MIR.

When the door closed, Adam uttered a couple of words that Dan had last heard when a builder who was doing some work on the flat dropped a toolbox on his foot. He gave his friend a few seconds to calm down, then asked, ‘How did they know we were at the mosque?’

Adam shrugged. ‘Their “asset” probably. More to the point, what are they doing here in Plymouth?’

‘Investigating the case?’

‘Or maybe keeping an eye on us. They’re up to something, I can sense it. Anyway, forget them for a moment. What did you make of the Imam and Abdul?’

‘Well, the Imam comes across as committed to peace.’

‘Yeah, but maybe too much so? He just seemed – I don’t know, perhaps too polished. He had all the answers, didn’t he?’

Dan nodded. ‘Maybe. But I didn’t get any feeling he was trying to put us off the track.’

‘And Abdul?’

‘All he really came out with was that little speech about Ahmed. And that made it sound like he wasn’t the type to get involved in anything dodgy, let alone a bombing plot.’

‘Or perhaps he’s exactly the type but doesn’t have the guts to do it himself so he sets up John Tanton. Remember what Stephens’s report said? That could fit Ahmed. Do we suspect either the Imam or his minder?’

‘Well, they were there in Exeter, so we can’t rule them out. But I didn’t get the sense they might have been involved.’

‘So Ahmed remains our prime suspect?’

‘I think so.’

‘I think I agree, and we’re running short of time to get him. His lawyers have been on the phone to the legal department again, talking about raising a writ of habeas corpus. I reckon I’ll probably have to release him tomorrow unless we can come up with some evidence.’

‘So, where do we go from here?’ Dan asked.

‘See if my little TV trick has any effect on our suspects. They’ll be under surveillance all day. I take it you can arrange for the story to be aired again tonight?’

‘Yep.’

‘Then you look after that. We’ll talk later when we see if the surveillance teams come up with anything interesting.’

Dan drove back to the studios, noting the car struggled so badly with one hill that he wondered whether he should open the door, stretch out a leg and start scooting. The mercurial weather had turned dry again. It was only mid afternoon. There was no need to go into the newsroom yet, so he took a walk around the block. It was time for some thinking.

He took out the piece of paper with the list of names and numbers from Ahmed’s phone and gazed at it as he walked. An old lady tutted loudly as he almost collided with her, and Dan muttered an apology. Despite spending most of the circuit thinking, he came up with no ideas about what the list could mean.

The last few minutes of the walk Dan reserved for answering the text messages from Sarah and Claire. Even the decision about who to reply to first took some agonising. Surely it was a statement about which was more important to him? Dan found he couldn’t make up his mind, so he left it up to fate. If the registration plate of the next red car was an odd number it would be Sarah, if even, then Claire.

He looked up. A red van was approaching. Dan groaned. He hadn’t thought about whether to include vans and lorries. He decided he should, screwed up his eyes and picked out the plate.

971.

Issue One resolved. Now, the far trickier matter of what to text. Dan realised he still hadn’t discovered any feelings for Sarah, whether he wanted to see her again or not, so it would have to be a holding reply.

Hi tiger. Sorry no speak, been busy with work. Just on a story at the mo. Will give you a ring as soon as I free up some time, fear not. x

Dan studied the words. Texts were so unsatisfactory when it came to communicating. Just a few short words to get it right and so easy to misunderstand. Yet the younger generation seemed to survive on little but. Some even appeared to have evolved with a mobile phone permanently stuck in their hands, their fingers blurring across the keypad.

Maybe he should rewrite it. But then again, he was almost back at the studios and wanted time to write a better text to Claire. Dan sighed, but sent the message.

Claire’s text was even more problematic. Five times he typed out a message and five times deleted it. A drizzle of rain began floating from the sky, but Dan didn’t notice. The studios were just ahead.

Finally, he wrote,

No worries, it was a bit of a shock for me too – but a nice one. Yep, would love to have a chat. Perhaps meet for a drink in Plymouth one evening? x

More fusillades of doubt. Too keen? Too formal? Or informal?

And that word “nice”. So bland and meaningless, one he detested and always tried to avoid, but on this occasion his uninspired mind could come up with no other options.

Dan swore at himself and sent the message, dried his hair in the toilets and trooped upstairs to face Lizzie.

He spent all afternoon waiting for a reply to his texts. And all afternoon he was disappointed.

Some days, no matter how much you prodded, cajoled and implored it, life obstinately refused to respond.

Come the evening Dan found he wasn’t sure what to make of the day, so he did as he often would when he needed to unwind. He put Rutherford on his lead, they crossed the road and began running around Hartley Park. The dog wore his tongue-out smiling face, and Dan found his mood improving too. How many times now had he been so glad the awkward, ungainly Alsatian puppy he spotted at the back of the litter had been the one he chose.

The dog was that rarest of wonders, an unconditional friend.

Night was falling, the air clear and fresh after the earlier rain. The boundary of the park was patterned with fallen leaves, a tapestry of shapes and colour.

Dan tried to work through the day in his mind. First, and most straightforwardly, his job. For that evening’s report, he had used some of Adam’s interview from the lunchtime news and packaged it around pictures of the attack on the Minster. It was a simple task. Adam had been besieged by inquiries from other media about doing an interview, but – after a call to Dan, who had gently suggested it – cited pressure of work and declined. The exclusive was theirs.

Lizzie professed the report “reasonable”, and naturally demanded another follow-up for tomorrow. Dan adopted a patient expression and said he would see what he could do.