‘New contract?’ Kevin interrupted.
The family firm. First Fabrics. We’re in the rag trade. We deal both ends-with the fabric importers and with the middlemen who buy finished articles for the retail trade. I don’t know anything about who he was meeting in Brighouse, it was news to me. So, did something happen over there? Did he get in a ruck with somebody?’
‘Do you know what he was driving?’ Kevin asked.
‘He was driving our cousin Imran’s van: A1 Electricals. See, Yousef’s van needed some work doing, and Imran was off to Ibiza for a few days, so it made sense to borrow his wheels. Save on a rental, right? Look, for the last time, is one of you going to tell me what all this is about?’
Kevin’s eyes slid round to Paula’s. She could see he really didn’t know how to say this. ‘Sanjar,’ she said, ‘can you think of any reason why Yousef would have been at Victoria Park this afternoon?’
He looked at her as if she was crazy. ‘Yousef? No, you’ve got it wrong. Raj was at the game.’ He gave a nervous little laugh. ‘I don’t know how, but there’s been a mix-up. Raj gave his name to a cop, I don’t know how it’s ended up coming back as Yousef. Yousef didn’t give a toss about football.’
‘What was Yousef wearing when he went out?’ Paula asked.
‘Wearing? Shit, I don’t know.’ Sanjar shook his head and twisted his face into a thoughtful expression. ‘No, wait. He had black trousers and a shirt on at dinner. A plain white shirt. And when he was going off, I saw him putting Imran’s overalls on. He said the clutch kept slipping and if he had to get out and mess around with it, he didn’t want his shirt getting all mucky. He likes to make a good impression, my brother.’
‘You see, here’s the thing,’ Paula said gently. ‘Obviously you know what happened this afternoon, because of Raj.’
Sanjar nodded slowly, a new look of caution on his face. He wasn’t stupid. ‘You’re telling me Yousef’s dead,’ he said. ‘You’re telling me he was at the football? And now he’s dead.’ His face begged to be contradicted. He didn’t want to believe what he thought they were telling him.
‘Not quite,’ Paula said.
Kevin, conscious of the time slipping by, said, ‘A man wearing A1 Electricals overalls and driving your cousin’s A1 Electricals van was responsible for delivering and setting off the bomb in Victoria Park. Yes, we think Yousef’s dead, but not because he got caught by chance. We think your brother was a suicide bomber.’
Sanjar skidded backwards on his chair, only saved from falling by his closeness to the kitchen cupboards. ‘No,’ he shouted, stumbling to his feet, ‘No fucking way.’
‘That’s how it looks,’ Paula said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ Sanjar looked deranged. ‘Sorry? Fucking sorry? Don’t give me sorry.’ He waved his hands at them. ‘You are so wrong. My brother’s not a fucking terrorist. He’s…he’s…he’s just not like that.’ He punched the wall. ‘This is so fucked. So totally fucked. He’s going to walk in that door and laugh at you, man. No way. Just, no way.’
Paula put a hand on his arm and he jerked away as if he’d been contaminated. ‘You need to get yourself together,’ she said. ‘We are the nice guys. Very soon, the Counter Terrorism Command team are going to be here and they are going to tear your house and your lives apart. I know what we’ve told you is a terrible shock, but you have to be strong, for Raj and for your parents. Now, you and me are going to sit down and make a list of all the people Yousef knew and hung out with. And my colleague is going to go upstairs and search Yousef’s room. Which one is it?’
Sanjar blinked hard, as if he was trying to orientate himself in a world turned upside down. ‘Straight ahead at the top of the stairs. He shares with Raj. Yousef’s bed’s the one on the left.’ He felt behind him for the chair and slumped into it as Kevin left the room. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he mumbled. ‘There’s got to be some mistake.’ He looked up at Paula, his dark eyes red-rimmed. ‘There could be a mistake, right?’
‘It’s always possible. Tell you what, let me take a DNA sample from you, that’ll speed things up.’ She took a buccal swab kit from her bag and popped the lid. ‘Open wide.’ Before he could think twice about it, she swabbed the inside of his cheeks and sealed the tube shut. She opened her notebook and patted his hand. ‘Come on, Sanjar. Help us here. Everybody you can think of that Yousef knew.’
Sanjar reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. Paula knew by instinct that his mother didn’t allow smoking in the house. It was a measure of how distraught he was that he was even contemplating it. But if he went for it, so would she. Without a second thought. ‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘But these other people that are coming?’
‘The Counter Terrorism Command?’
‘Yeah. Are they going to like, arrest me and my family?’
‘I won’t lie to you,’ Paula said. ‘They might. The best way you can avoid that is to be totally honest. Never mind holding back anything you think they don’t need to know. Because they will find out, believe me. And if they find out you are not telling them the whole truth, then it will be very hard on you. Now, let’s have these names.’
Carol sat in her office and seethed. The most challenging investigation of her career, and she was effectively sidelined. Already her HQ building was crawling with the CTC personnel. According to Brandon, there were two hundred and fifty of them either there or on their way. They already had dedicated lines set up between the HOLMES suite and Ludgate Circus. When she’d gone through to find out what they wanted from her team, she’d been told her services were not required, though they wouldn’t mind having Stacey Chen on a free transfer for the duration.
She’d gathered the tatters of her dignity around her and withdrawn. Back in the MIT office, Stacey was already co-ordinating the transfer of digital CCTV footage around the stadium. ‘They want you next door,’ Carol said.
Stacey sniffed. ‘Is it a request or an order?’
‘At this point, it’s a request. That could change, though.’
Stacey glanced up from the screen she was working. ‘I’ll stay here, then. I take it we’re not just walking away?’
Carol shook her head. ‘We’ll keep our fingers in the pie. It’s our patch. And we do still have Robbie Bishop’s murder to solve. Do you want a brew?’
