Backlash by Nick Oldham

fist or a knife to ram home his point of view.
    â€˜It’s our custom,’ Saeed stated.
    â€˜And it’s a necessity for me to talk directly to witnesses – unless they don’t speak English, in which case I’ll use an official interpreter. And I know that your sister speaks English, so while I respect your customs, I have a job to do here and not much time to do it in – so we’ll achieve more, quickly, if you let me get on without interruption, OK?’ He spoke to Naseema, ‘If that’s OK with you?’
    Throughout the exchange Henry had noticed that she had been glowering stonily at Saeed. Henry knew, therefore, he was on to a winner. She smiled radiantly, if falsely, at Henry. ‘That will be just fine, Inspector,’ she said with a hint of triumph.
    Henry shot Saeed a quick warning glance and he backed down with an angry snarl of his lips, eyes blazing at his sister.
    Henry wondered what the undercurrent of tension was all about; maybe Dave Seymour had hit the nail on the head with the Shakespearean scenario. It was obvious there was a sparking friction between the two siblings and Henry began to suspect that maybe the family had lost control of Naseema. Was she a wild child? Was she seeing one of the Costains? If so, this whole job could be a tricky one to handle. For the most transient of moments Henry was glad that his only involvement was the ID parade . . . but it was only a passing shiver of thought: secretly he would have given his back teeth to be the Officer in Charge.
    â€˜Good,’ said Henry. ‘You’ve already made a statement, I believe.’
    â€˜Yes, she has,’ Saeed interrupted rudely, ‘which says that Joey Costain assaulted our father in her presence in an unprovoked racist attack. This parade will just confirm that.’
    â€˜Saeed!’ Naseema clucked with hostility. ‘Let me speak, please.’
    â€˜And don’t give me the pleasure of showing you out of the police station. Just let her answer – OK?’ Henry had had enough of Saeed now.
    Saeed’s nostrils flared wide.
    Henry turned slowly back to Naseema. ‘Did you actually see Joey Costain assaulting your father?’
    She thought hard for a few seconds. ‘They had a push and shove while I was there, but nothing much. I saw them walk away together towards the bus station. I knew they were going to fight. Next time I saw my father he was being put in an ambulance.’
    Henry nodded. He was about to say something when suddenly the office door burst open, no knock. A huffing and puffing Dave Seymour stood there, his bulk filling the doorway, tie askew, shirt stretched over his expanding gut. But for the hair – Seymour’s was short, neatly trimmed – he reminded Henry of Kojak’s sidekick, Stavros. The journey from the CID office, with his insides recently filled with kebab and cola, had exhausted him. ‘Henry . . . can I have a quick word?’ His eyes took in the Khan brother and sister, then returned to Henry. ‘In private . . . urgent.’
    â€˜I’ll be back in a moment.’ Henry smiled at Naseema, stared coldly at Saeed, then followed Seymour outside. As he closed the door, Saeed launched a verbal assault on his sister in Urdu.
    â€˜What is it, Dave?’
    â€˜Bit of bad news, actually.’ Seymour flinched. ‘Mo Khan clocked out about half an hour ago. We’ve now got a murder investigation on our hands.’
    â€˜Fuck,’ said Henry eloquently.

Three
    â€˜H ow would you feel,’ Henry demanded, ‘if I knew your father was dead and I didn’t tell you?’ He raised his eyebrows, daring a response. ‘If we don’t tell them, they’ll have good grounds for a complaint and we will look completely and utterly stupid and insensitive. We have no justification for it at all.’
    Detective Inspector Roscoe swallowed and stared coldly at Henry. Roscoe had been the