The Common Enemy

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

A Deadly Lesson (A DCI Warren Jones novella)

Forgive Me Father

At First Glance (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: 2019-11-11

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.’

Warren changed slide to one showing a wide angle shot of a narrow gap between a fish and chip shop and a nail and hair bar. Large waste bins took up three quarters of the width, leaving barely enough room for a large man to squeeze past. Blue and white crime scene tape demarked the entrance. A large pool of dark red blood was clearly visible.

‘So we have a gap of almost four hours between the last known photograph of him and his body being discovered. Do we have a time of death yet?’ This time it was Detective Constable Gary Hastings who asked the question. The young officer was currently applying for promotion to sergeant and was no doubt desperate to ask a question in the presence of senior officers. Unfortunately, he was standing at the back and nobody bothered to turn around to see who had spoken.

‘I’m afraid the weather was so warm that his core temperature had yet to fall by a significant amount, DC Hastings. The pathologist may be a bit more helpful after the post-mortem is completed, but I doubt we’ll narrow the window of opportunity very much.’

Even if ACC Naseem didn’t know Hastings’ face, Warren could at least name-drop the young officer.

‘What about cause of death?’ asked DC Karen Hardwick.

‘Preliminary finding is stabbing; you can see how much blood was lost. He has some other superficial cuts and bruises that may have arisen during the riot. Again, the PM will tell us more.’

‘What about CCTV?’ DSI Grayson was the questioner now.

‘We’ve pulled the footage from all of the cameras on the high street and all the businesses in the vicinity, but, as you can see, there are significant blind spots.’

A simple, top-down line drawing of the alleyway and the surrounding street replaced the photograph. The locations of fixed cameras were marked, along with arcs showing their fields of view.

‘Unfortunately, there was only one camera covering the opening of the alleyway and none at the rear. Irritatingly that camera was broken a couple of days ago and hadn’t been repaired.’

ACC Naseem shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Premeditation?’

‘A good question, sir. It was taken out by a brick on Thursday night. Since there were no break-ins or crimes reported in the area, it was logged as petty vandalism and no one attended.’

‘I hope that oversight has been addressed, DCI Jones.’

Warren let the implied rebuke slide; pointing out that the unit’s strategic priorities placed low-level criminal damage well down the list would have been unwise, given that several of the people responsible for deciding those priorities were seated in the room.

‘Yes, sir. We’re looking at other cameras in the vicinity from that time period to see if we can identify the culprit.’

‘What is the status of the crime scene?’

‘The crime scene investigators are still there, doing a fingertip search for the murder weapon. We’ve blocked off most of the town centre because we aren’t sure what route Mr Meegan took to the alleyway. Sunday trading laws mean we have the area to ourselves for another couple of hours, but I’ll need authorisation to keep the area closed much longer.’

Naseem nodded to Grayson.

Warren clicked to the blank slide that signalled the end of the presentation.

‘It’s going to be a big investigation, people. We have a team from HQ down in Welwyn Garden City joining us later to boost our numbers. In addition, the fire that broke out at the Islamic Centre at about the same time has been confirmed as suspicious. It looks as if it might also be upgraded to homicide if two victims sheltering in the centre when it caught fire don’t pull through.’

‘How likely do you think it is that the fire was linked with Tommy Meegan’s murder?’ asked the Superintendent sitting to the left of ACC Naseem. ‘Could it have been tit-for-tat?’

‘Based on the timings, it looks as though a direct retaliation either way is unlikely, ma’am. However I believe that some sort of link is likely.’

‘Thank you, DCI Jones.’ Naseem stood up and turned to address the assembled officers.

‘As you all know, it takes a lot to get me out of my office.’ A few polite chuckles passed around the room. ‘Unfortunately, this is going to be a big deal. I think we can all agree that the death of Tommy Meegan is no great loss to humanity, but his murder is going to cause us significant problems going forwards. Middlesbury’s a small town, with pretty good community relations for the most part, but this could cause all manner of trouble. You don’t need me to tell you that what is likely to happen if it transpires that the fire at the Islamic Centre and the protest march are linked. You also don’t need me to tell you that yesterday’s counter-protest policing didn’t go to plan. Clearly, not enough resources were deployed. The decision was then made to reassign other resources, leaving the Islamic Centre vulnerable.

‘The press are all over us. We’ll be announcing a review in due course but in the meantime I want to make it absolutely clear that all communication with the media goes through the press office.’ He fixed the room with a glare. ‘Anybody caught going off-message with members of the fourth estate will be in my office explaining themselves. That includes social media. Keep your mouths shut and stick to posting pictures of kittens on Facebook.’

A mutter of assent rippled around the room. Warren hoped the rebuke would have effect, these days one ill-thought tweet could go viral and end a career.

With that, Naseem retook his seat and the next speaker stood up.

‘Morning, everybody, I’m Theo Garfield from Hertfordshire Constabulary’s Hate Crime Intelligence Unit. I liaise with the National Crime Agency and other groups such as the Football Intelligence Unit and the Social Media Intelligence Unit. I’m here to make sure that you have all the information you need about the late Mr Meegan and his band of merry men and to place some of yesterday afternoon’s events into context for you.’

Theo Garfield was a whip-thin man with a shaved head and dark olive complexion. His accent remained resolutely Merseyside, although it was clear that he had been living in the south for some years. He too was armed with a PowerPoint presentation, although his was a lot slicker than Warren’s.

‘As you are aware, Mr Meegan was the spokesperson for the British Allegiance Party, or BAP as it is commonly known; apparently all the good names were taken.’ Garfield smiled briefly. ‘They tried a couple of other three letter acronyms, but were threatened with legal action if they didn’t stop using them. Not that their current name is without its problems Allegiance is a difficult word to spell and so Unite Against Fascism have bought the web domain names with the most common misspellings and redirect lost visitors to their own site.’

Laughter rippled around the room.

‘BAP are a motley bunch. As always with these organisations, the hardcore wouldn’t fill more than a minibus, but they can muster a coachload for special occasions, and their numbers appear to be increasing. Pretty much everyone who turned up yesterday was already in our files. Almost everyone on that bus has at least one conviction for violent assault.’

The slide changed to a photograph of Tommy Meegan and his brother in a pub, arm-in-arm, wearing England football shirts and holding half-empty pint glasses aloft.

‘This was taken a few years ago, probably during the 2012 European Championships – we know it’s not this year’s World Cup because they are celebrating a win.’ This prompted more laughter. ‘The driving force behind the party are the two brothers, Tommy and younger brother Jimmy. Local boys, they went to school in Middlesbury before they moved down to Essex. This weekend was supposed to be a bit of a homecoming for them.

‘Tommy has multiple arrests for racially aggravated assault, but he’s an absolute charmer compared to Jimmy who has spent more time since his eighteenth birthday inside than out. Like father, like son. Football hooliganism, racially aggravated assault, beating up homosexuals… you name it, he’s been done for it and there’s almost certainly a whole lot more besides.’

The slide switched to a photograph of an older man. Even without the bent features of his two sons, the family resemblance was immediately clear. ‘Meet the late, unlamented Ray Meegan. A veteran of the Seventies’ and Eighties’ hooligan scene he also did time for armed robbery. In fact, he was wanted in connection with an attack on a post office when he dropped dead of a heart attack seven years ago.’

He smiled. ‘The family tried to talk down the far-right connections and play the victim when the local paper interviewed them after anti-fascist protestors gatecrashed the funeral, but a half-page photograph of the coffin in the background draped in swastika-shaped wreaths kind of scuppered that.’

Garfield was an engaging speaker and the team were enjoying the break from the typical dry presentations, however Warren got the impression that if he let him, the man would chatter on all day.

‘You said that we know who the hardcore of the party are?’

‘Yeah. The party has only existed in its current form for about five years and most of its founding members came from other organisations that we were tracking. Ideologically it is not a political party and is unashamedly racist. The far-right scene has been undergoing serious ructions in the past decade or so with many of the slightly more moderate believers joining quasi-political parties such as the BNP, the EDL or, more recently, UKIP.

‘BAP on the other hand claims to have no belief or faith in the democratic process and draws support from the real nasty end of the political spectrum, including former members of Combat 18 and the National Front. They are openly affiliated to some of the European neo-Nazi parties, such as the Austrian Freedom Party and populist anti-Islamist movements, such as Pegida.

‘Yesterday’s march was their biggest event to date. Apart from a few so-called “direct action” events, most of their presence is internet-based.’

Garfield switched slides. ‘They may be uneducated thugs for the most part, but somebody in the party has clearly been on a few social media training courses. Their website is pretty slick, but their main strength lies in their use of Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and the like.

‘The big social media firms remove some of their more racially charged and offensive posts, but for the most part they stick within the rules. Perhaps more insidious are their subtler campaigns. This is typical…’ He clicked to another slide, a picture of a homeless person and a banner urging viewers to ‘share if you think it’s a disgrace that former soldiers starve whilst immigrants get free housing’. Warren recognised the image from his own Facebook feed. He’d deleted it without sharing.