First Response

INTERVIEW WITH ZACH AHMED (9.00 p.m.)

Zach Ahmed’s hand trembled as he put the plastic cup on the desk and tea slopped over his hand. ‘I can’t stop shaking,’ he said to Chief Superintendent Gillard, who was standing by the door. Lynne Waterman was sitting in on the interviews and was standing next to him, her back against the wall.

‘It’s a natural reaction,’ said Gillard. ‘It’ll pass.’

‘I was sure I was going to die.’ Ahmed shook his head. ‘That was all I could think about, that one minute I’d be here and the next I’d be in a thousand pieces. I kept wondering if it would hurt or if it would be like a light switching off.’ He shuddered. ‘My heart’s still racing.’

‘Do you want to see a doctor?’ asked the chief superintendent.

Ahmed forced a smile. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘And I need to thank you for saving me. The police did an amazing job. No one was hurt, right?’

Gillard nodded. ‘Everyone is safe.’

‘Except for the guy they killed at the start,’ said Ahmed. He shuddered again.

‘We need you to tell us what happened,’ said Sergeant Barlow. ‘But this time from the moment you entered the coffee shop, and work backwards.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Ahmed.

‘I need you to go through it again, but this time in reverse. Going backwards in time.’

‘Why?’

‘It helps us check the facts,’ said Gillard. ‘Sometimes thinking about things in reverse brings up details you’d forgotten because the brain has to work harder.’ In fact retelling events in reverse order was the best way of catching someone out in a lie. It was an interrogation technique he’d used on many occasions. When someone was telling a lie it was much harder to remember the details when the time frame was changed.

‘Just take it step by step, from the time you walked into the coffee shop,’ said Barlow.

Ahmed grimaced. ‘I had read my instructions. You have those, right? They were in the waistpack I was wearing.’

‘We have it,’ Barlow said.

‘I was to go into the coffee shop and handcuff myself to someone close to the door. Then I was to reveal my vest and tell everyone to do as they were told, to start tweeting that the ISIS Six had to be released.’

‘And before that?’

‘I was in a van. A white one. I had a hood over my head. Shahid took off the hood and told me to walk away from the van and not look back. I did and he drove off. I was in Edgware Road, near Marble Arch, about fifty yards from the coffee shop.’

‘And before that?’

‘We were driving. We were sitting in the back of the van with hoods over our heads. We kept stopping and Shahid would open and close the doors as he let us out, one by one.’

Barlow smiled and gestured with his pen for Ahmed to continue.

‘Before that we were in the warehouse where we had been kept. We were tied to chairs and we were hooded and put in the back of the van. Our hands were tied behind us. He only untied us when he dropped us off.’

‘And before you were put in the van?’

‘We were sitting in a circle. Hooded. The vests were already on us. One of the men was arguing with Shahid. He wouldn’t stop. He kept shouting that he wasn’t going to do what Shahid wanted. Eventually Shahid dragged him behind a metal screen and used his mobile phone to detonate his vest.’ He shuddered and folded his arms. ‘It was… horrible. I mean, there were bits of him everywhere. There was this trainer with a bit of his leg sticking out. Bits of brain and skull and blood… I really thought I was going to die the same way.’

Gillard nodded. None of the men had been told that the vests were fake, that they had never been in any danger of being blown up. The police needed to be sure that all the men had truly been coerced and so far there seemed no doubt that they had all been in fear for their lives.

‘So you were taken yesterday?’ asked Barlow.

‘In the morning.’

‘And held all day and night?’

‘When I woke up I was on the floor with a hood over my head. They took it off and put on a blindfold and gave me a sandwich to eat and water.’

‘They?’

‘I’m sure there was more than one person,’ said Ahmed. ‘Maybe three or four.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I heard them moving. And talking, sometimes.’

‘What did you hear them talking about?’

‘Just voices. The hood muffled what they were saying.’

‘And definitely more than two people?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe. It just felt as if there were more. They let me use a toilet once and there were definitely two men then.’

‘And no one reported you missing?’

‘My family’s in Leicester,’ he said.

‘No girlfriend?’

Ahmed smiled. ‘No one wants a man with no money these days,’ he said. ‘I’d really like to go home. I’ve got to work the early shift tomorrow.’

‘What is it you do?’

‘I’m a security guard.’

‘Where do you work, Mr Ahmed?’

‘It varies. They move us around to stop us being complacent. I’m in the East End tomorrow.’

‘Wouldn’t your employer have been worried that you didn’t turn up for work yesterday?’

‘Of course. But they would probably have assumed I was sick.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Really, I’d like to go now.’

‘We’d like you to give us a DNA sample and your fingerprints before you go.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s just procedure.’

‘I’m not being arrested, am I?’

‘No, there’s no question of that.’

‘Because I was forced into it. I had no choice.’

‘We understand that,’ said Barlow.

‘How do you feel about ISIS, Mr Ahmed?’ asked Gillard.

‘They’re a bunch of murderers who give Islam a bad name,’ said Ahmed. ‘They haven’t been released, have they? The ISIS prisoners in Belmarsh?’

‘No, they’re all back behind bars.’

‘That’s something at least,’ said Ahmed. He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, please, I’d like to go home.’

‘It might take us a while to arrange a car,’ said Gillard. ‘And we will need to keep your shoes and clothing, I’m afraid.’

‘But I can get compensation, right? For my clothes?’

‘I’ll make sure you get the requisite forms,’ said the chief superintendent.

‘What about my wages?’ asked Ahmed. ‘Can I have a letter or something that explains what happened? I’m on a zero-hours contract and they’ll use any excuse not to pay me.’

‘I’m sure we’ll be able to do something for you,’ said the chief superintendent.