A Measure of Trouble (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 2) Page 9

  “Okay, okay, don't get so touchy. Fulton called him an Afghani, and he's complaining about racism. Worse still he's calling it institutional racism and stating he was only arrested because he was considered to be Asian. To cap that, he's not even from Afghanistan. He is a Moslem but he's a Yemenite. Admittedly, he has travelled to Afghanistan, but that hardly helps.”

  “But we caught them with the weapon and the money.”

  “If you remember the details, we have three suspects in custody and they all live in the same building in Allison Street. Mohammed and Faisal are cousins living in the apartment where we found the evidence and Abdallah has his own flat across the landing. Then we had two witnesses who picked out Abdallah at the crime scene.”

  “Right, so what's the problem?”

  “Our witnesses are not so sure about the identification now and say that, while it was definitely someone who looked like him and with Asian complexion, they can't be certain it was him.”

  “Oh Christ, not the `all blacks look the same to me' argument?”

  “Not exactly, but not too far removed.”

  “Do you think someone's got to them?”

  “It could be, but we could never prove it.”

  “Our next problem is that Abdallah's from a different country from the other two, and Fulton sticking his foot in it certainly makes it worse. Then to cap it all, Mohammed and Faisal are Shi'ite Moslems. That's fairly unusual for Afghanistan but not that rare. Abdallah is a Sunni and they traditionally hate one another. There's nothing to say they didn't act together and, personally, I'm pretty certain they did, but if we take this to court it could turn out to be a hornet's nest.”

  “What about the other two?”

  “No problem there, but I think we're going to have to release Abdallah. We can't afford to give him a platform to preach about racial hatred and police brutality. If we had a strong prospect of a conviction, it would be worth it, but the case is disappearing before our eyes.”

  “Oh Shit!”

  “No Shi'ite, I already explained,” Anderson retorted. “On a lighter note, I heard a story from my cousin which might amuse you.”

  “Go on.”

  `He'd been on holiday in France where he has a second home in the Dordogne. He's a bit of a couch potato normally and, experiencing dry weather for the first time in months, he overdid it a bit playing petanque and jiggered his shoulder. He practiced his best French before going to see a local doctor, only to find the doctor spoke better English than he did. The doc took one look and prescribed him a heat rub and some painkillers. It worked fine but on his return home, he thought he'd better report to his own G.P. to make sure it was on his medical record. He went to see Doctor Singh. Singh had been his doctor for the last twenty years and they'd become friends, quite often socialising together. Singh sneered and asked what the `French' doctor had given him, showing great disdain. My cousin showed him the prescriptions and Singh hummed and hawed, saying, `I suppose it's okay and won't do you too much damage.'

  “My cousin challenged him saying, `Christ, man, you're a bloody Indian, you're not even British. What have you got against the French? How can you look down on French doctors?' He answered, `Well I've got my degree from Edinburgh University. Who's ever heard of the Sorbonne?”

  Alex laughed as he stood to leave. “The whole world is prejudiced. Whether it's race, nationality, religion, gender, wealth or education, there's always an excuse for snobbishness. It's a natural phenomenon, people are different and the mere recognition that the difference exists is technically a prejudice. It's not wrong unless it's used to hurt or disadvantage someone. But the law has gone overboard with multiculturalism.”

  “Thanks for coming in, Alex. It's always good to see you.” The two men shook hands before Alex made for the door.

  Chapter 10

  It was already dark when Alex emerged from the office. He checked his watch and to his surprise saw it wasn't five o'clock yet. Ordinarily he'd have returned to his office to put in another hour or three of work, but he was due to take the boys swimming tonight and he sensed urgency in Andrew's request and didn't want to let him down by being late.

  He knew someone would call him if he was needed, so he decided to make it a very rare early finish. It had been a long and arduous day and Alex was apprehensive about Andrew's problem. It was so unlike the boy. He always took everything in his stride, so for him to be seeking help on `a problem, something important' indicated something serious.

  After leaving the Court car-park, Alex drove back to his flat in Shawlands and was there inside fifteen minutes. He didn't like to eat anything substantial before swimming so he lifted a tub of his home-made vegetable soup from the freezer and placed it in the microwave. While it was being converted from ice cold to piping hot, he cut and buttered a couple of slices of crusty bread to help mop it up. Alex relaxed and savoured his food, then collected his swimming shorts, goggles, a towel and shampoo and slung it all in a sports bag. By the time he had scanned through his emails to delete the spam and check there was nothing urgent, it was already time to leave.

  Alex's marriage to Helen had broken down some three years before, but amidst the considerable acrimony of that time, he had consented to her retaining the family home, a three bedroom bungalow in Clarkston, to minimise the ill effects on the boys. He retained his relationship with his two sons and he took every opportunity to utilise his limited custody rights. He had now rebuilt an acceptable working relationship with his ex-wife and their dialogue had re-established a cordial tone, verging on friendliness at times.

  Although Alex's natural disposition was to be punctual, over the years the pressures and obligations of his job frequently required him to attend to emergencies and change his personal plans at the last minute, often resulting in him missing or being late for domestic arrangements. This placed a great strain on his marriage and was certainly a contributory factor to its ultimate demise. Now being in the more senior position of Chief Inspector, Alex had a little bit more control of his schedule and, being more sensitive to his past failings, he went to great efforts to avoid the boys seeing him as unreliable.

  The earlier rain had abated and, as the traffic was unusually light for the time of day, it took little time for the journey from his Shawlands flat across to the family home. Alex glanced at the clock on his dashboard and noted with satisfaction it showed only six-forty as he mounted the pavement to park in front of the house.

  Heralding his arrival, Alex's heavy footsteps crunched on the pathway and he heard Jake, barking a welcome.

  A few seconds later, the door flew open and the dog bounded out, bouncing all around him trying to land a lick in the region of his face. Alex caught the mutt in mid-air and hugged him close, struggling to carry his squirming three stone bulk through the doorway, while Jake was endeavouring to slaver over his ears. Alex stumbled into the house and deposited the dog on the floor. Andrew looked on, clearly amused by Jake's antics.

  In the few days since he'd last seen his son, Alex was certain he'd grown and his face looked thinner. Andrew could never have been described as fat but he was muscular and well built with a rounded, healthy look and he had a full face. Today Alex felt the boy appeared rangier.

  “You look as if you're taking a stretch.”

  Andrew was pleased. “Yes, I'll soon be catching up on Craig and then he won't be able to boss me around as much.”

  “Where is your brother? I was hoping you'd both be ready so we could go straight out.”

  “It's okay, he has his kit ready but he disappeared up to his room about half an hour ago. I think he's on his iPhone talking to his pals or else he'll be on Facebook. I don't know, maybe he's talking to his girlfriend,” Andrew added, grinning, showing he was giving away what was meant to be a secret

  “Oh, what's all this about?”

  “You don't know about Craig's girlfriend?”

  Alex said nothing but looked questioningly.

  “Her name is Jenny and the
y've been out to the cinema together. I saw them kissing and Craig's been telling me about things … you know?”

  “I don't know if you should be telling me about this. Is it right for you to be telling tales about your brother?”

  “It's not telling tales. You're a policeman. I thought you relied on informants to let you know what goes on.” Andrew couldn't suppress a wide grin.

  “That's all very well for work, and yes, I want to know what's going on. I want to know if a crime's taking place and I want to know if anything dangerous is happening so I can do something about it. But that's different to talking about people's private lives. If Craig wants me to know about something then he'll tell me himself. And if he's got a question then he'll ask it.” Alex was caught between natural curiosity, wanting to hear the gossip and trying to advocate an acceptable code of behaviour.

  Andrew looked crestfallen. “I thought I was doing good.”

  “I'm sure your intentions were good and we'll say no more about it. Now, I take it that's what you were anxious to talk to me about?”

  “No, Dad. There's something else and it's a lot more serious, but I wanted to speak to you alone and it could take a while. Can we do it after the swimming because Craig might walk in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Alex was both concerned and intrigued. “But can't you give me a clue?”

  “It's to do with a teacher at school.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before Alex heard the thundering footsteps of Craig racing down the stairs from his attic bedroom.

  “Hi, Dad. I thought I heard you come in.” Alex looked up and saw the tall gangly form of his son walking towards him. It struck Alex how the boys were growing up. Craig was not far off becoming a man already and was starting to look the part. Although thin to the point where his bones were evident, he was tall with broad shoulders and there were distinct signs of facial hair. Being blonde he'd get away with it for a bit longer, but a requirement for regular shaving wasn't too far away.

  “Yep, are we all set, `cause the time's going in.”

  Both boys lifted their bags and headed for the door,

  “We've changed into our swimmies already, so it will take less time to get ready when we get there,” Craig said.

  “That was good thinking. Is your mum at home? I didn't see her.”

  “She's out with Colin, they said they'd be home sometime after eight so she should be home when we get back if you want to have a word.”

  “That's okay, just make sure you lock up properly because nobody's home.”

  “Jake's there,” Andrew replied.

  “Lock up anyway.”

  They settled into the car and clicked their seatbelts. Craig being the senior claimed the front seat next to his father.

  “I thought we might try Barrhead Baths this week. The last time we went to Eastwood, of an evening, it was very busy.”

  “Okay, let's give it a try,” the boys echoed in unison.

  Alex turned the ignition and started to accelerate.

  “Hey, I was just talking to my Jenny on the phone. She told me `Chippie' the maths teacher's been suspended. There's been some funny business that's being hushed up,” Craig informed them enthusiastically.

  “Oh no. It's awful. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Dad. It's so unfair.”

  “You'd better tell me all about it.”

  “I wanted to talk to you in private, to see if there was anything you could do. But if Jenny knows about it and told Craig, I suppose the story's already out so there's no point trying to keep it secret.”

  “So, what's the problem?”

  “Mr Carpenter is my maths teacher. He's great, probably the best teacher in the school. He put my class forward for the national maths challenge and I won an award, you remember? He's meant to be taking four of us through to Paisley next week for the prize-giving.

  “Well, there's this boy in our year, his name's Sean Connelly and he's a complete troublemaker. He's a bully and he goes around threatening other kids. He's always disrupting classes and causing bother. He's had loads of warnings but he doesn't seem to care.”

  “You've never mentioned this to me before. Has he been giving you trouble?”

  “No, not me. He's not in any of my classes, well not normally. Well, anyway, today Mrs Simpson was off and there weren't any spare teachers so her class was split and half of them joined my class, with Mr Carpenter.”

  Alex's attention was divided between his driving and taking in what Andrew was telling him. He rounded Clarkston Toll and, when the road straightened out, he took a moment to glance in his mirror. He could see Andrew was quite animated and looked upset, not far from tears.

  “After the lesson started, Sean began to make a fuss, shouting and screaming. None of us could concentrate on our work. Mr Carpenter told him to be quiet, but Sean took no notice. Instead he climbed up onto his desk and threw books and pencils and things all around the class. It wasn't just the disruption, he was hurting people. Mr Carpenter shouted at him to get down and go and sit in the corner and still Sean ignored him. Then Mr Carpenter went over and lifted him off the desk and took him by the arm and dragged him out the door. He called to us that he was going to the Rector's office and would be back in a minute and we should continue with our work.

  “Well, he did come back about ten minutes later, without Sean and everything seemed normal. But later in the day, Sean was in the playground and he was telling stories. He said he'd got his parents to make a formal complaint that Mr Carpenter had assaulted him and that he'd touched him where he shouldn't. From what I heard, Mr Carpenter was called out of class and sent home.”

  “Well if he is a perv, we don't want him in our school,” Craig interrupted.

  “He's not a perv. He's a great teacher and a really good person. It's Sean Connelly who's an evil little shit. He thinks by making an accusation against Mr Carpenter that it'll get himself out of trouble,” Andrew countered.

  “I'm afraid when an accusation of that type is made then it has to be taken seriously and properly investigated. When it's a teacher who's been accused, it's even more serious because of the school's responsibility,” Alex replied.

  “But it's so unfair,” Andrew cut in. “He's done nothing wrong. I thought you were meant to be presumed innocent, unless proven guilty, but this is the other way around.”

  “I can't argue with you, Andrew. But like I just said, when an allegation of this type is made, it has to be investigated. In my experience, even when an accused proves their innocence, they are still damaged. Mud sticks and there are always people who choose to believe the worst. I'm sorry but that's the truth.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to help him?”

  “I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can find out. I'll call Brian Phelps, the deputy head. I've known him for years. We were at University together and we were quite good friends. I'll see if there's anything he can tell me and if there's anything I can help with.”

  “Thanks, Dad, I knew you'd be able to do something.”

  “Don't get your hopes up too much. I said I'd look into it but the chances are I won't be able to do anything. I will try though.”

  The miles had passed as they'd been talking and they were already in Barrhead. Alex turned the car into the sports centre car-park and squeezed into the only available space. They opened the doors, being careful not to scratch the adjacent vehicles, walked through the doorway and up to the reception desk. They each lifted out and showed their East Renfrewshire `All Access' discount cards. Alex handed over a ten pound note and asked for one adult and two juvenile tickets.

  “You know it's a fun night?” the receptionist replied, her low seat almost hiding her behind the counter.

  “We're here for a swim, so yes, we were hoping for a fun night,” Alex replied.

  “No, I mean from six till eight it's a fun time in the pool. The big inflatable slide and toys are put in to play with so there's not much room for swimming. Go take a look and s
ee what I mean.”

  Alex, Craig and Andrew walked through the cafe to the large window overlooking the pool. They could see what the girl meant. A massive inflatable platform with a tall built-in chute took up half the swimming area. Children were jumping about and screaming. They were climbing up and sliding down the chute or trying to swim close-by, but there was very little available water to swim in and what area there was had a high concentration of people sharing it.

  “This is no use,” Alex said. “Let's go back and try to get into Eastwood instead.”

  With a curt wave of thanks to the receptionist, he jogged back out to their car, followed by the boys.

  As they sped past the recently built housing estates, Alex was aware of the diabolical state of the road surface, no doubt exacerbated by the construction traffic and the deep frost of recent months. He manoeuvred past the potholes and trenches and was relieved to turn into Darnley Road which was considerably wider although still quite badly chewed up.

  It took only a few minutes to arrive at the Eastwood complex but almost as long to find a parking space. They arrived at reception at seven-twenty.

  Alex asked for the tickets and was told that the pool was only available until seven forty-five. He glanced at his watch and considered for a few seconds while he did the calculations. If they were quick, by the time they had changed and showered they would still be able to swim for close to twenty minutes.

  “Go on then,” he replied. “We'll just have to make the most of the time we have,” he added, turning to the boys.

  The boys rushed to the changing rooms, found lockers, and quickly stripped down to their swimwear. Alex followed, needing slightly longer as he required a cubicle to change.

  Craig and Andrew were already in the pool by the time Alex reached the showers and he was dismayed to see that the bottom third of the pool had been roped off and was being used by a water aerobics class. The upper two thirds of the pool was crammed with four times as many people as the exercise class. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, thinking this evening was not working at all as planned.