Babel

15

B rock made some phone calls, getting the address of a refuge in East London where he could take Nargis. He also spoke to the duty inspector at Tooting police station, and was advised that Mr Manzoor and his companions had been interviewed under caution, then released pending further inquiries. They had claimed to be mourners who had become involved in a minor scuffle when Mr Manzoor had attempted to make contact with his runaway daughter whom he had recognised at the scene. The so-called clubs they were carrying were in fact traditional Kashmir walking sticks. Manzoor demanded that the police execute the warrant issued by the magistrate for the return of his daughter and prosecute anyone who attempted to obstruct it. In particular he wished to make a complaint against a woman police officer at the scene who had made a racist attack on him, injuring his right arm.

‘That’s nonsense,’ Brock said. ‘I was a witness to the whole thing.’

‘That may be so, sir,’ the inspector said, ‘but I’ve had to follow procedure and notify CIB.’

Brock’s heart sank. The Complaints Investigation Bureau would follow up any accusation of racial abuse against an officer with vigour. ‘Where is Manzoor now?’ he asked.

‘He was given a medical examination here, sir, then taken to hospital for X-rays and further treatment. He had quite a bit of swelling and bruising, and he’d worked himself up into a fair old state. You say you were a witness, sir? Maybe you could come over and give a statement.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Brock shook his head impatiently, wishing now that he’d used some other way to shake off the purple car.

‘And what about the daughter, sir? Any information on where we can find her?’

‘I think you’ll find that the warrant he referred to covered the East London area,’ Brock said vaguely. ‘You might speak to Shadwell Road. They have the details.’

‘Very well…’ Brock could hear the caution in the inspector’s voice as he tried to pick his way through what was becoming a minefield-a race complaint against an officer, a DCI from Serious Crime, a warrant for an abducted girl… ‘You won’t be approaching Mr Manzoor yourself, will you, sir? Only, if you’re a witness it might be…’

‘Thank you, Inspector,’ Brock said tersely and rang off. All the same, he knew the man was right.

While the three women sat huddled together around the gas fire, discussing what they should do, Brock took Kathy into the kitchen and told her what he’d learned. She went pale when he mentioned CIB.

‘Now, look, you’ve got plenty of witnesses, Kathy. You used minimum force to prevent a serious assault.’

‘I don’t know for sure he was going to assault her,’ she said, feeling her heart thumping, adrenalin flushing through her as surely as if the assault on her was a physical one. ‘I didn’t know it was him, or his daughter.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And I can’t remember if I identified myself before I hit him.’

‘There was no time. It all happened too quickly. I saw it very clearly, Kathy. You acted quickly and properly.’

She looked at him directly. ‘But then, you would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re my DCI. That’s what CIB3 will say.’

There were three complaints departments. CIB1 was administrative and advisory, while CIB2 investigated serious allegations. The third department, CIB3, was different. Its task was to search for police corruption and racism in an undercover, proactive way, even without complaints. The case against Kathy might be investigated by CIB2, but Brock and the others might be tainted by it and become a target for