The Common Enemy Read online

  About the Author

  PAUL GITSHAM started his career as a biologist, working in such exotic locales as Manchester and Toronto. After stints as the world’s most over-qualified receptionist and a spell making sure that international terrorists and other ne’er do wells hadn’t opened a Junior Savings Account at a major UK bank (a job even less exciting than being a receptionist) he retrained as a Science teacher. He now spends his time passing on his bad habits and sloppy lab-skills to the next generation of enquiring minds.

  Paul has always wanted to be a writer and his final report on leaving primary school predicted he’d be the next Roald Dahl! For the sake of balance it should be pointed out that it also said ‘he’ll never get anywhere in life if his handwriting doesn’t improve’. Over twenty-five years later and his handwriting is worse than ever but millions of children around the world love him.*

  You can learn more about Paul’s writing at www.paulgitsham.com or www.facebook.com/dcijones

  *This is a lie, just ask any of the pupils he has taught.

  Also by Paul Gitsham, featuring DCI Warren Jones

  The Last Straw

  No Smoke Without Fire

  Blood is Thicker than Water (A DCI Warren Jones novella)

  Silent as the Grave

  A Case Gone Cold (A DCI Warren Jones novella)

  The Common Enemy

  PAUL GITSHAM

  HQ

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

  Copyright © Paul Gitsham 2018

  Paul Gitsham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  E-book Edition © 2018 September ISBN: 9780008301170

  Version: 2018-09-06

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Also by Paul Gitsham, Featuring Dci Warren Jones

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Saturday 19th July

  Prologue

  Sunday 20th July

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Monday 21st July

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Tuesday 22nd July

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Wednesday 23rd July

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Thursday 24th July

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Friday 25th July

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Saturday 26th July

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Sunday 27th July

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Monday 28th July

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Tuesday 29th July

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Wednesday 30th July

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Thursday 31st July

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Friday 1st August

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Saturday 2nd August

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Monday 11th August

  Chapter 85

  Acknowledgements

  Read on

  Dear Reader

  Keep Reading

  About the Publisher

  To Cheryl – with me every step of the way!

  Saturday 19th July

  Prologue

  Waste containers with sliding lids made the narrow alleyway even harder to navigate. Tommy Meegan bent over, hands on knees, breathing heavily. Behind him he could hear the sounds of fighting continuing. He smiled, baring his teeth, his blood singing from the adrenaline surging around his body.

  It had gone better than he could have hoped for. He’d seen crews from the BBC, Sky News and ITN, all perfectly poised to capture the action when it finally kicked off.

  Untucking his T-shirt, he bunched it up and used the front to wipe the sweat from his shaved head, leaving a red smear on the white of the St George’s flag. He reached up, wincing as his fingers found the cut above his temple. He hoped the TV cameras had caught that. He had no idea what it was that had actually struck him, just that it had come from the crowd of anti-fascists loosely corralled behind the cordon of under-prepared riot police.

  Already he was planning the evening’s tweets and a press release for the website. A two-pronged strategy, he decided: they’d pin the attack on the Muslims and claim that the police hadn’t done enough to protect their right to free speech.

  He touched his head again, another idea forming. The cut was still bleeding, but it was little more than a nick. He’d need to do something about that. If he was going to garner any sympathy on the evening news he’d need some real war wounds.

  He squinted at his watch; he was actually a few minutes early. It had been touch and go with the timing after the police had kept them on the bus. He’d been worried that he’d get to the alleyway too late. Fortunately, the protestors had finally broken through the police line and the party members had scattered every which way.

  He’d found himself running alongside Bellies Brandon and been concerned that he wouldn’t be able to find his way to his rendezvous unseen; his contact had made it very
clear that he was to come alone. Fortunately, the fat bastard was so unfit Tommy had soon left him behind.

  A whoop of sirens in the distance finally signalled the arrival of more riot police. Tommy smiled again. Assuming that all had gone to plan and everyone had done as they were told, all the party members should have left the scene long ago. The only fighting should be between the Muslim-lovers and the police. Even the left-wing, mainstream media couldn’t bury that.

  The alleyway remained silent. He pulled the battered Nokia from his back pocket – no new messages. He’d made certain to empty the inbox; he didn’t want to make things too easy for the pigs if he got arrested.

  The lack of any communications irritated him and worried him in equal measure. The promised reinforcements hadn’t transpired, meaning he’d had to scrap some of his speech. And what if his contact had changed their meeting point or the time of their rendezvous? He wished he had his smartphone with him so he could access his email or Facebook, but everyone knew that the little devices would betray you in a million different ways if they fell into the wrong hands. He’d have to trust that any changes to their plans would be sent the old-fashioned way, by text or phone call.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, the adrenaline had made it dry. As excited as he was about the meeting, he hoped it wouldn’t drag on. The beers on the coach that morning seemed a long time ago and he’d worked up a thirst. The landlord of The Feathers was an old mate, sympathetic to the cause. He’d treat them right until the bus arrived to take them home.

  The sound of a boot scraping the tarmac behind him caused him to spin quickly, bringing his hand up into a boxer’s stance. He squinted at the newcomer.

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Tommy asked. ‘What’s that in your hand?’

  Sunday 20th July

  Chapter 1

  ‘Tommy Meegan, leader of the British Allegiance Party, found stabbed in the alleyway between the Fry and Tuck chip shop and the Sparkles nail bar.’

  DCI Warren Jones pointed to the mugshot glaring across the crowded briefing room. The face was that of a shaven-headed, middle-aged white man sporting a few days of dirty yellow stubble. The man’s file on the Police National Computer didn’t detail if the missing front tooth was a casualty of the same incident that that had left a three-inch scar on his cheek or the same fight that had re-shaped his nose. The headshot extended to shoulder level, showing the top of a Union flag tattoo poking out of his T-shirt.

  The 8 a.m. briefing was even more crowded than usual, with many of the evening shift still in attendance. The update was the third that Warren had given in the past twelve hours. The snatched sleep between two and five had been supplemented by several cups of strong coffee, but his brain was starting to feel mushy.

  He glanced at the front row, then wished he hadn’t. Ordinarily the only uniform visible in Middlesbury CID belonged to his immediate superior, Detective Superintendent John Grayson, and even he reserved his dress jacket and flat cap for formal events such as press conferences and visits by senior brass. Assistant Chief Constable Mohammed Naseem certainly qualified as senior brass, as did the two chief superintendents, tablet computers resting on their laps.

  Warren took a sip of water and continued.

  ‘Mr Meegan spent thirty-nine years on this planet, with a total of eleven residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for football hooliganism and racially aggravated assault. For the past three years he has been chief spokesperson for the British Allegiance Party. I’ll not go into too much background detail about that for the moment, I’ll leave that to Inspector Theodore Garfield of the Hate Crime Intelligence Unit.’

  Warren switched slides, immediately noticing a small typo on the second line of the timeline. He cringed inside, hoping nobody else saw it – or if they did, that they were generous enough to see it in the context of almost twenty-four hours on shift.

  ‘These are the facts as we know them.

  ‘At midday yesterday morning a coach containing forty-three supporters of the British Allegiance Party, including Meegan, his younger brother, Jimmy, and other senior members, arrived in Middlesbury after setting out from Romford, Essex. As you are no doubt aware, they were due to hold a protest and march against the proposed Middlesbury Mosque and Community Centre, referred to by some as a “super mosque”.’

  Warren switched briefly to a photograph of twenty or so men posing in front of a single-decker coach, like a touring pub football team. All were white, most with shaven heads, and they sported a remarkable collection of tattoos between them. All wore England football shirts or T-shirts with the stylised version of the Union flag that had been filling the rolling news channels for the past few hours. If nothing else, the British Allegiance Party had brand recognition now.

  ‘They tweeted this along with the hashtag #NoSuperMosque on several of their social media accounts.’ Warren used the laser pointer to circle a face in the centre. ‘There’s Tommy holding the banner with Jimmy, his brother next to him. These are the less camera-shy members; there are a similar number out of shot.’

  He flicked back to the timeline. ‘They were met on arrival by riot control police and led to the agreed rally point. As I am sure you already know, their plans to march down Sparrow Hawk Road, where the current Middlesbury Islamic Centre is located, were blocked by the city council, so they agreed to a symbolic march to the council offices before holding a rally then dispersing. As I’m sure you also already know, the Islamic Centre caught fire yesterday afternoon at the same time that the BAP were holding their rally. I don’t believe in coincidences and so DI Sutton will be running a separate but linked investigation that he’ll brief you on after this one is concluded.’

  Warren took another sip of water.

  ‘The demonstration was supposed to start at midday but was delayed after there were problems clearing the route of protestors.’ Warren moved on quickly. The blame game for what happened later had already started and he wanted nothing to do with it. As far as he was concerned Tommy Meegan’s murder, and the fire, were where the responsibility of CID started and ended.

  ‘Eventually they made it to the front of the council building where they set up their stall.’ Another photograph, this time the image was time-stamped and had the constabulary’s logo in the corner. ‘As you can see, a number of those present, including Tommy Meegan and his brother, addressed their supporters with loudhailers.’ Another photograph, taken at a wider angle, showed the gathering encircled by a ring of fluorescent-jacketed officers, arms linked against a much larger crowd of protestors.

  ‘As you know, there was a vigorous counter-protest held by a wide range of anti-fascist and anti-racism groups.’ Vigorous was an understatement. ‘Unfortunately, protestors managed to breach the police line and confronted the BAP supporters directly.’ The next photograph was taken from a helmet-mounted camera.

  ‘This is the last photo we currently have of Tommy Meegan before he disappeared and his body was found.’

  The image was blurry, but showed the man brawling with a masked protestor. His face was split by a huge toothy grin and despite the cut on his forehead, it was obvious that the former football hooligan was loving every second of the confrontation. The time stamp read 14:36:11.

  ‘As you can imagine, the scene was pretty chaotic and it was some hours before order was restored. Eight BAP supporters and seventeen protestors were arrested at the scene, with the rest disappearing into the surrounding streets.

  ‘It looks as though there was some contingency planning on the part of the BAP as they eventually regrouped at The Feathers pub.’ The bar was a dive frequented by the sort of clientele that would welcome members of the BAP with open arms.

  ‘When did they realise Tommy Meegan was missing?’

  As usual it was Detective Sergeant David Hutchinson who asked the first question.

  ‘Apparently his brother tried to ring him at about 4 p.m., but the phone went straight to voicemail. He wasn’t worried at first, he
figured he was either in custody or taking cover somewhere. He and a couple of others rang him again between four and five and eventually assumed that he had been arrested. They already knew that at least some of their friends were in the back of a police van.’

  ‘So nobody raised the alarm?’

  ‘No, although I don’t think that’s too surprising. I doubt their first instinct would be to call the police. Besides which, they were enjoying the hospitality of The Feathers. They weren’t planning on going anywhere for a few hours.’

  ‘When was the body found?’

  ‘The switchboard received a call at 6.31 from the owner of the chip shop to the left of the alleyway. They’d closed for a few hours when the trouble kicked off and were putting the bins out prior to reopening when they found him.’