Slow Burn (2 page)

 “I`m sure that a thorough analysis of the wreckage will reveal vital pieces of information, Detective Naylor. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it at this early stage,” Chief Carlton tried to recover his damaged self-esteem.

 “That`s why we investigate major incidents, and you chase burglars. The vehicle has been wiped clean, Chief Carlton,” Will replied politely. His mobile rang and he turned away to take the call before the Chief could manufacture a suitable reply.

 “That man is beyond belief,” he fumed. His lip quivered as he spoke. It wasn’t the first time he had been on the receiving end of his tongue. “He has no respect whatsoever!”

 “He`s a good detective, Chief. I`ll have a word him about his people skills.”

 “I`d have him disciplined.”

 “What are your thoughts on a plan of action?” Alec ignored his remonstrations. There were bigger priorities to deal with.

 “I intend to collect all the evidence from yourselves, and the terrorist unit, evaluate it, and then react with the appropriate measures,” Chief Carlton blustered. He sprayed saliva as he ranted. “I`ll send our findings onto you, when we`re finished assessing it.” The Chief turned to walk away, stumbling off the kerb as he did so. Alec followed him with his piercing blue eyes, doubting that forensics would find anything incriminating. The bombers had planned this operation with precision. They`d also planned it so that they wouldn`t leave any evidence behind. Will disturbed his thoughts.

 “Now Sherlock has gone, what do you think?” he asked.

 “The first mosque in Britain reopens, and a bomb goes off outside, Uniform Division will arrest the usual suspects, local fascists, neo-Nazis and right wing sympathisers. They`ll shake them up and see what falls out.”

 “Okay, now answer the question. What do you think?” he raised his eyebrows as he spoke. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, just the ghost of a smile behind his words.

 “If I had planned this attack, I`d have loaded enough explosive into the van to blow the front off the building. There would be forty dead, not four.”

 “My thoughts exactly, something doesn’t smell right,” DI Naylor grinned, looking more like a young football star than a senior detective.

CHAPTER THREE

RICHARD BERNSTIEN/ School days

Fifteen years earlier, Richard Bernstein waddled down the stairs of the three-bedroom semi-detached that he shared with his parents, older brother and younger sister. He was fourteen years of age, fat, spotty, and Jewish; not a great combination for making friends and keeping a low profile in the schoolyard.

 “Straighten your tie, Richard,” his mother fussed. “Tuck your shirt in for heaven`s sake. Have you brushed your teeth properly?”

 Richard rolled his eyes skyward and screwed up his face as he walked into the tiny kitchen, making his older brother laugh. His brother was his hero, slim and handsome, and as hard as nails, which was very handy at school. He never teased Richard about his weight, unlike his sister, who teased him all the time. The kitchen was warm, and he could smell the familiar odours of toast and strong coffee. His father was reading the Daily Telegraph, a broadsheet which almost hid him completely from the rest of the family. It was his barrier at the breakfast table, and no one spoke to him unless the newspaper was folded up and put down on the table.

 “Here Einstein,” his brother David laughed as he handed him a small plate loaded with four pieces of hot buttered toast. Einstein was his pet name, because of his unusually high IQ. Richard Bernstein was top of every class he studied. He was also the best chess player in his year, only a few of the older students could still beat him, and he was improving every year.

 “You`re so gross,” his sister Sarah moaned. Richard shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth in one go, and then showed her the contents of his mouth as he munched it. He loved his younger sister, even though she avoided him like the plague at school. She was part of the trendy set in her year, and far too pretty to be associated with her nerdy fat brother. She had beautiful deep brown eyes and dark hair, inherited from her Jewish ancestors. Richard noticed with humour that her school skirt seemed to get shorter every term, and boys flocked around her like bees to a honey pot, much to the annoyance of his brother David. David got into a few schoolyard scraps with boys who were pestering her. Mr Bernstein was also becoming aware of her ever-decreasing hemline.

 “I need a note for games, Mum,” Richard said. Toast sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.

 “Do not speak with your mouth full, Richard Bernstein,” his mother scolded him. She clipped him gently behind the ear. Richard worried her. He was by far the most intelligent child that she had ever encountered, but he was a loner. She knew why he had no friends; it was because he was fat and Jewish. He had no confidence and was awkward in company. The only real friend he had was his brother David, but he was growing up so fast, and she didn’t think he would be around forever to look after his younger brother. “Why do you need a note for games?”

 “Because he`s too fat to run,” Sarah sniped. She pulled out her tongue and grinned.

 “Sarah!”

 “I`m only joking,” she said. Richard blushed and sat down, staring at the piece of toast in his hand. He laughed but the comments always hurt inside. Another dollop of lime marmalade numbed the pain slightly.

 “Well, you`re not funny, young lady. That was very cruel,” his mother cleared the plates and dumped them in the sink. Richard managed to salvage one last piece of toast as she whizzed past him.

 “We`re supposed to be doing cross-country running today,” Richard explained. He hated all sports, full-stop. Getting changed in front of his schoolmates was far too traumatic. Not only embarrassed by his weight but also he was not as sexually developed as his classmates were. Most of them had pubic hair, but he had none yet. He had a small penis compared to the other boys that he had seen naked. Some of them had hair on their arms and chest already. His body was way behind the average adolescent, which the other boys were very quick to point out. Richard would rather sit in the warm library and read than run anywhere.

 “Why would they want you to run across country, you`re such a clever boy?” his mother tried to soothe his embarrassment. “It`s such a waste of your brains, I`ll write you a note before you leave.”

 Sarah rolled her eyes and pretended to vomit, making both her brothers giggle. A knock at the front door prompted a flurry of activity. David slipped on his blue, fur-lined parka, kissed his mother and ruffled Richard`s hair as he left.

 “That`ll be Nick,” he said as he opened the door. “Hiya mate.” David high-fived his best friend, which wasn’t easy because Nick was so tall. He towered above his schoolmates. His height and exaggerated features made other students wary of him.

 “Why don’t you let Richard walk with you to school?” his mother shouted after him. She tried hard to slot Richard into the mix with his brother at every opportunity. David looked at his brother uncomfortably. Nick and David had a crafty cigarette when they walked to school in a morning, and he didn’t want his younger brother to see him. 

 “I`m not ready yet, and I need my note for games,” Richard smiled at his brother, knowing that he had let him off the hook. David smiled back and put up his thumb.

 “See you later, Einstein,” David shouted. The front door was still ajar, and Sarah made a dash for it, before her mother made her walk to school with her fat brother.

“Bye, Mum,” she called as she slammed the door.

 “I don’t know why everyone is in such a rush these days,” his mother muttered. She fumbled in her handbag for a pen, finally rescuing one from the deepest reaches. “I`ll say that you have a chest infection, and you`re not to do games for a month.”

 “Thanks, Mum,” Richard felt a wave of relief sweep over him. School was torture. He enjoyed the academic side of things but he was the target of bullying and ridicule from morning to dusk. Things had become almost unbearable lately. There was an influx of Asian kids the previous year, and they were particularly cruel to the white students, and especially to Richard because of his religion. They called themselves the `Asian Invasion`, and they ran riot at school, ridiculing pupils and teachers alike.

 “Here, get yourself some sweets from the shop on your way to school, and don’t tell your sister,” his mother winked at him, handing him a crisp green pound note. She knew that she shouldn’t encourage him to eat rubbish, but she could tell that school life was going to be difficult for her middle child, and if she could brighten his world, then she would do it.

 “Thanks, Mum,” Richard kissed her on the cheek and struggled into a grey duffle coat as he headed for the door. The toggles stretched over his chest and belly. “Bye, Dad.” He shouted as he closed the front door, knowing that his father would grunt from behind his paper.

 It was a bright and breezy morning, and Richard called into his favourite shop on his way to school. They sold mixed bags of toffee for twenty-five pence each. He bought three bags, and two packets of salt and vinegar crisps, leaving enough change for a tin of Panda Pop cola. The cola was nowhere near as good as the real thing, but it was half the price, meaning that he could afford more sweets. The wind was biting as he headed across the park, and he pulled up his hood to keep the cold off his ears. Sefton Park was a mile across, and it was a kidney shape. Richard loved the walk to school, especially passing the boating lake. There was a full size pirate ship in the middle, inspired by the tales of Peter Pan. As he walked by, he would imagine being onboard, sailing around the lake repelling all boarders and firing the cannons at his imaginary foes.

 “Hey, Richard Head,” a voice called out from his left. He recognised the voice and his heart almost froze with fear. “What is short for Richard?”

“I think it`s fat head.”

 “No, It`s Dick.”

“Oh, you are right. I know, Dick. Dickhead!” The taunting continued. He glanced toward the source of the abuse, his throat went dry and he had a sick feeling in his stomach.

 Richard pulled his hood tighter around his head and picked up his pace. He could see his abusers walking along an adjacent footpath. It was the Asian kids from his school. There were seven of them in total. Their leader was Malik, and he was the toughest kid in Richard`s year group. He was also the best footballer, best cricketer and most successful boy with the girls. Everything Richard wasn`t.

 “Have you got any sweets fatty?” another voice called out. Richard stuffed his toffee`s deeper into his coat pocket. They`re not getting their filthy hands on them`, he thought. The gang neared, laughing and jeering at him, egging each other on. Richard wanted to run but he couldn’t out run them. They were fit and athletic. He looked around for help, maybe David would be in the park with Nick somewhere, but there was no one around.

 “I said have you got any sweets you fat bastard,” a lanky kid called Ash snarled. Richard ignored him, putting his head down and walking faster.

 “Hey Jew boy, I`m talking to you,” Ash kicked the back of his trailing leg, and Richard stumbled onto his hands and knees. His knees stung, scraped by the impact with the concrete, and one of his trouser legs was torn. Richard tried to stand up.

 “Are you deaf?” Ash stamped on his fingers. Richard felt his fingers throbbing. He tucked his hand under the opposite arm and concentrated on not crying. Malik and his gang always tried to make other kids cry, but Richard was determined that he would not.

 “Leave me alone. What have I done to you?” Richard whimpered. His voice cracked as he spoke. Clumsily he stood up, still clutching his injured fingers beneath his arm. His pants were wet and torn at the knee, his hands muddy. Tears welled up in his eyes and he could feel his chubby cheeks reddening with embarrassment and anger. He hated being fat, more than being Jewish. The other kids always picked up on one or the other, and usually both.

 Ash didn’t attempt to reply; instead, he punched Richard in the face. The blow stung like hell, stunning Richard. His eyes watered involuntarily, and he could feel blood running from his nose. The second punch hit him square in the mouth, splitting his top lip against his front teeth. Richard fell backward and landed heavily on his backside.

 “What a shot,” Malik patted Ash on the back. The youths roared with laughter.

 “That must sting, does it sting fat boy?” Ash taunted Richard.

 “Fucking bully,” Richard spat blood on the floor, trying to right his bloated frame. Tears of anger ran down his cheeks.

 “What did you say?” the baying teenagers fell silent. Ash leaned over Richard threateningly. His dark eyes flashed with hatred and anger.

 “I called you a bully, you Paki,” Richard sat up. Blood and mucus smeared around his nose and mouth. Months of abuse had finally forced him to strike back in the only way he could, with his words.

 Ash pulled a lock knife from his trendy Farah pants and opened the blade slowly. Richard remembered wishing that he hadn’t called him that. He wasn’t a racist, being Jewish taught him that prejudice was evil, but it was the only thing that he could think of at the time. There was no way that he could fight Ash, let alone the gang behind him. Richard wet his pants as Ash approached with the glinting blade. He remembered being surprised at how many times he could be kicked and punched in the head without being rendered unconscious. The blows came from all angles, and he was sure that he was going to die. Richard struggled to stand up at one point, but the beating was relentless and they hammered him back down again, and again. Ash used the knife several times; if not for his thick duffle coat, the slash wounds would have been much deeper, probably fatal. A voice called from the distance.