“No. GMP told the contractor, and the contractor fired him. He sent a card to GMP for me. It was an apology, but I threw the card away.”
“Could it be that you're making all this up, Alice?”
Alice sighed. “No, Inspector. I’m not.” She felt another ripple of anger, more difficult to suppress than the last.
“Yet you didn't think your reaction to Samir Hassan was important last night?”
Her voice rose and seemed to echo in the confines of the small room. “You don’t get it, do you?”
Marks lifted his hand and examined his fingernails. “Get what, Alice?”
She squinted her eyes at Marks, and she held her voice steady, loud and controlled, without a quaver of emotion. “Unwanted advances from men. Most of you don’t understand the word no. That night, for whatever reason, I couldn't take it anymore. And you know something? If I was tired of it then, I’m sure as hell sick of it now.” She looked up at the blank expressions on Marks and Gilmore and shook her head. “You think I should do what? Huh? Play along? Humour him?”
She leaned back in the chair and kept her arms folded tight against her body. “No way. I made a promise to myself that I’d resist. That I’d scream no. I’d fight. Now, you can stare at me all you want, but that’s it. I’m not saying another damn word until I get my lawyer.”
26
Marks arrived at Kensington police station around 7:30AM on Sunday and made straight for the coffee machine. Armed with a large black coffee, he logged on to the computer at his desk and when he was certain no-one watched, he let out a long yawn. The next thing he did was arrange for Hassan to be put into an interview room.
After completing those preliminaries, he updated the file on Alice Madsen with his observations from the interview the previous night and clicked his tongue when he saw the transcripts from the interview were marked as pending. Then he remembered the ROTI clerks who did the transcribing didn't work through Saturday night. Not that there was a lot to transcribe, as after a promising start, Madsen had folded her arms and refused to say anything else.
Ordinarily, that would have made Marks suspicious, but her description of the events was plausible, even if he didn't want to believe her yet. It was too early to call Dee Stansfield and confirm the incident between Madsen and Hassan last year. He was eager to talk to Hassan again, but he wanted Gilmore with him. Marks glanced at his watch and was about to call Gilmore to ask why he was late when he saw the door from the corridor open. Gilmore made his way over with deliberate, slow steps, and when in range, he grunted at Marks.
Marks nodded in return. “Hassan’s in room four. You ready?”
“Could do with a coffee first, if that’s all right Inspector? It’s awful early. Only got about six hours kip. I like eight.”
Marks considered an objection, but Gilmore had a point. It was too damn early, so he waved a hand. “Get your coffee. Hassan can wait. I think he wants to talk.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s all bluster now. He’ll blow off a little steam, then he’ll talk.”
Fifteen minutes later, Marks and Gilmore went through the interview procedure in room four under the sullen yet watchful gaze of Samir Hassan.
Marks eyed Hassan up with all the scorn he could muster. “How are you this fine morning, Samir? They treating you all right?”
“Fuck you.”
“Very well then. Tell me about the...” Marks consulted his notes. “... the Grange Michael Productions wrap party last year.”
Hassan curled his mouth and rattled the cuffs that bound his hands to the rings in the table. “Bad people. Alcohol. Drugs. Girls.”
“Oh yeah? Fancy some for yourself?”
“No. It is haram.”
“Girls? You like them, don’t you?”
Hassan shrugged.
“Oh, I get it.” Marks winked at him. “You like boys, huh?”
A flash of anger crossed Hassan’s face. “No. I don't.”
“So, you like girls then?”
Hassan nodded.
“Good. What about the alcohol? Were your drinking at the wrap party last year?”
“It is haram.”
“I don’t care about haram. Were you drinking alcohol? Yes or no?”
“No.”
“All right, Samir. I know you're lying. We have witnesses who say you were drunk at the party.”
“Alcohol is haram.”
“We spoke to your sister. She says you don’t go to the mosque. She says you drink alcohol. That you are not a devout Muslim.” Marks jabbed a finger at him. “You know what else she says? Huh?”
“No.”
“She’s says you’re too stupid to be a jihadi.”
Hassan shrank back in the chair and looked down at his hands. “She is liar.”
“No, Samir. You're the liar. We can prove it too.” Marks flipped through some sheets and took out the police photograph of Alice. He pushed it across the table. “Remember her? What’s her name?”
“I tell you before. Is Zain Aboudan.”
“How do you spell that?”
Marks made a sucking noise through his teeth as he watched Gilmore record the spelling.
“Are you sure that’s her name?”
“Yes.”
“Did you try to kiss her at the party last year?”
“No.”
“Why did you send an apology then?”
“Apology?”
“She said you sent her an apology.”
Hassan pretended to spit on the ground. “Woman is half a man. I don’t apologise to woman. She is liar. All liars.”
“All right then. What about the men that were there that night? Did they hit you?”
“Filthy kafirs. They beat me. Call me names. They insult the Prophet.” He yanked
