Friends outing
On what was a relatively warm December afternoon, three ladies stood together at the western end of Silbury High Street just outside the Furlong Inn and Labrooy’s Ladies Outfitters. They were waiting for a coach to take them to Brigstow, where they were due to have a long planned evening out together. Fatima Dieng, Kamala Peiris and Anna Kaboré were about to indulge a shared passion for operetta. Their plan was to get to Brigstow by mid-afternoon and then take a leisurely stroll through the old heart of the city to the Mistry Hall. Following the performance of the Cornwellian Privateers by the world famous Didi Bahini Opera Company, they would sup, at some considerable expense, at the renowned Inner Woman Restaurant on Tiny Kate Street before going to a suitable bed and breakfast to spend the night. They would return the next morning, which, being a Sunday, was not a work day, at least for Fatima and Kamala.
The Brigstow Omnibus coach arrived from London the regulation half hour late. They paid their 12 shillings and 6 pence fares to the conductor and took their seats, having placed their baggage - each carried only a small duffle bag - in the overhead racks. Then they settled down to the journey that would see them stop in Monkton, for a cup of tea and the toilet, before arriving in Brigstow two and a half hours later. Fatima settled back with the library book she had been meaning to read this last week. Anna had a form guide that she wanted to research for the upcoming weekend’s horse races. Kamala would have time to complete both the cryptic and quick crosswords in The Times.
Already their outing was proving to be as enjoyable as they had each hoped it would. The journey passed quickly, and they arrived at the Brigstow Bus Station at a quarter to three. Taking their bags, they made their way via a pedestrian crossing from the bus station to the shopping centre on the other side of the ring road. This was completely different from anything they had in Silbury with its High Street full of small shops, where the first supermarket, all of three aisles, had only fairly recently opened its doors. Here were multi-storey department stores, and the three ladies enjoyed walking through them from one side to another, rather than navigating the streets around.
Coming out of the shopping centre, they crossed over Cider Street and wandered into Castle Park intending to walk in the park beside the inner harbour. And that’s where everything started to go drastically wrong.
Sauntering around the ruins of the old Brigstow Castle, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a group of four young women dressed in black leather jackets and with bandanas hiding their faces. Not hidden at all were the stiletto knives each of them had to hand.
“Ello, my lovers.” Youth number one had a thick Brigstow accent. “You ladies got lost, is it? Don’t seem to know this here piece of property is not a safe one for nice folks.”
Fatima reached into her bag to retrieve her police whistle, only to realise that she had left it attached to her uniform, which in turn was in her wardrobe back in Silbury. Without the whistle, she would not be able to create the stir that would be needed for the three of them to escape. Now their only hope was to talk their way out of the situation.
“Let’s have our hands where we can see them.” Youth number one was the only one of them speaking so far.
“You know,” said Fatima, “that you could get yourselves into a lot of trouble, if you don’t leave us alone. I happen to be a police officer.”
“Yes,” youth number one again, “there do seem to be lot of off duty police around town today. It be the number one thing half of our customers says when we does business with them.” She smirked at her own joke. “Don’t suppose you has a warrant card with you, Chief Inspector?”
Fatima’s warrant card was with her police whistle in her uniform pocket. “It’s Inspector, not Chief Inspector, and no, I don’t have my warrant card with me.”
“Then,” said youth number one, “we’ll continue with our business. Hand over the duffle bags.”
“We’d better do as they say,” said Fatima to Anna and Kamala, and the three ladies proffered their bags. Youths numbers two, three and four took possession of the bags and went through their contents. Each yielded toiletries, nightwear and a change of underwear, as well as their purses with all of the money they had brought for the trip, their theatre tickets, their meal and their lodgings for the night.
“Jewellery!” hissed youth number two, also, as far as Fatima could tell, with a strong Brigstow accent.
“Don’t have any,” shot back Anna, holding out her hands. They had all decided that it would be risky to wear anything valuable in the city.
“What about watches?” They took off their watches and handed them over. “Cheap rubbish,” scoffed youth number two.
“It’s what we can afford,” said Kamala. “We’re just ordinary country folk.”
Youth number one saw an opportunity for more of her crass humour. “Ordinary country folk has a nice bit of lolly in their purses. Thank you, my lovers. Not hiding any more is you?”
“As you can see,” Kamala responded dryly, “we don’t have any pockets in our clothing. All we have are in those bags. At least return the bags, our clothing and toiletries.”
“All can be sold,” interjected youth number three, also broad Brigstow. It seemed the young women were going to keep everything and leave their prey with just what they stood in.
“Now, if you please, sit down on the ground with backs to the wall,” ordered youth number one. “We’re going to make sure you gives us a bit of getaway time.”
Youth number four now produced a ball of twine and proceeded to wind it around Fatima’s ankles. She kept her legs little apart, so that the twine might come off easily when she wanted it to.
“Legs tight!” Youth number four completed the Brigstowian quartet. She finished tying Fatima’s ankles, whilst youths numbers two and three did the same to Anna and Kamala.
“And now we bids you farewell.” Youth number one did a mock curtsey. “Have a wonderful visit to our big city, ordinary country folk.”
And the four young women ran out of the castle ruins and off into the shopping centre.
It took Kamala, who had been a girl guide, only a couple of minutes to undo the knots of the string that bound her ankles. She then helped Anna and Fatima to get out of their bonds.
Then she looked at Fatima. “Police station?” she asked.
Fatima thought for a minute, then faced her two friends. “We could do that, but I’m certain it would not achieve any end. They’ll just have us make statements and then tell us that petty criminals such as these almost never get caught, except if it’s in the act. They’ll also make a point of ridiculing me for falling into such a crude trap. The thing is, I could have tackled one of them easily and disarmed her. I might have stood a fair chance against two. But four were too many, and I couldn’t risk harm coming to either of you.”
“No,” Anna assured her, “no one blames you for what happened, Fatima. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who would have thought we could be robbed in the middle of the afternoon? And in a public place too, although there was no one around today to witness what happened to us. Perhaps the locals know to avoid this place precisely because of the risk of getting robbed.”
“Then what shall we do?” asked Kamala. “We don’t have any money, so we can’t go to a guest house or a hotel, and we can’t even eat.”
It was Anna who answered. “My grandmother lived in a very rough part of London and was always being stopped by ne’er do wells that wanted some easy money. She would always claim to be poor without two pennies to rub together. But she always had a little money stashed away inside her shoe. She said it was uncomfortable to walk with a coin in each shoe, but it meant that she could still get what she needed and not get robbed. I loved that story and took to doing it myself. Of course, I don’t need to be uncomfortable, like my grandma, so I just always keep a ten bob note under one foot. I’ve never had to use it till now, but perhaps it will at least buy us supper.”
“Not around here,” said Kamala, who had worked in Brigstow in the past. “This part of town is far too expensive for us to get three meals out of ten shillings. We’ll need to go to the area by the railway station. There’s a few decent cafés around there. It’s about thirty minutes to walk from here. Let’s do it now. I could do with a decent meal and good cup of tea. Then we can decide how we’re going to spend the night, and how we’re going to get back to Silbury.”
Shafeea’s Café was behind the railway station. They approached it by taking a side road from the main ring road. Going along it they passed a number of small factories and warehouses. Fatima could see that the road was poorly lit and was happy they were making this trip by daylight. She did not relish the thought of another encounter like the one they had just had.
Though the café was considerably less fancy than the restaurant where they had intended to have their evening meal, the three friends found it cozy and comfortable. It was certainly very popular among the working women of the district. The fare was simple: fish and vegetable curries served with rice and/or rotis and washed down with strong hot tea laced with condensed milk. Their bill, when they paid it, came to just six shillings all in, which left them with four shillings for the rest of their trip, clearly not enough even to get home, let alone have a decent bed for the night.
The owner of the café, Shafeea Didi, was interested in the three well-dressed ladies who had come into her establishment, used as she was to a different class of clientele. With the lull in custom that generally occurred with the departure of workers to their homes, she came and sat with Fatima, Anna and Kamala.
“You ladies aren’t from these parts, are you?” she asked.
Anna answered. As the landlady of a public house, she was used to doing exactly what Shafeea had just done. “You don’t sound like a local yourself.”
“No,” said Shafeea, “we moved here from Wales just after the war. Me mam wanted to get out of working in the coal pits. She opened this place, and I took it over five years ago, when she passed away after suffering years of asthma. The coal dust got her after all.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Anna continued “How has it been here?”
“Business is quite good,” said Shafeea. “I have a regular clientele with all the factories and warehouses around here. Working women like the wholesome food that I prepare. There’s some rough elements about, so you need to have some protection. I have some young women who look out for me and keep the ruffians away.”
“You pay for protection?” asked Fatima.
“Yes, but it’s a very good arrangement,” answered Shafeea. “They do provide the protection that they promise, and the fee is very reasonable. But tell me, what are you doing in Brigstow, and what brought you to this part of town?”
“We’re from Silbury,” said Kamala. “It’s about fifty miles east of here in Shoatshire. We all love operetta, so we came to see the Cornwellian Privateers at the Mistry Hall. It’s being performed by the Didi Bahini Opera Company. That’s no relation to you, is it?”
“No,” Shafeea responded. “My family name is there, but I think it means something different.”
“Anyway,” continued Kamala, “when we got off the coach at the bus station, we decided to take a walk through the shopping centre and then the historic heart of Brigstow. We were at the old castle ruins, when we got waylaid at knifepoint by four youths, who took our bags, purses and all our money, apart from ten shillings that Anna here had hidden in her shoe. I worked in Brigstow some years ago, so I knew that, with only ten shillings, we were unlikely to find anywhere in the city centre that would give us a decent meal, but this area was always known for good inexpensive cafés. And here we are. At least we’ve had some good food and a cup of tea, even if we have no money now for a bed for the night.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” answered Shafeea. “Tell you what. If you end up with nowhere else to stay, do come back here. My husband, who looks after the kitchen, and I sleep here in the café, once we’ve moved the tables and chairs out of the way. There’s room for three more, if you don’t mind roughing it a bit.”
“Thank you,” said Anna, “we may take you up on that. What time do you close?”
“We have a few people come in after work for their dinner,” Shafeea responded, “but there’s no one wants food after about eight o’clock - they all head for the pubs instead - so that’s when we shut up shop for the night.”
It was half past five and already dark when the ladies left Shafeea’s café. They had two and a half hours until they might return and decided to go for a walk around the adjacent area. They began by making their way to the River Abona, that runs through the city, and proceeded along the bank of the river in a westerly direction. Kamala decided to play tourist guide to take their minds off their predicament.
“You know,” she said, “Brigstow used to be one the most important port cities of England. You wouldn’t believe it to look at the river here, would you? At low tide, as it is now, it’s just a trickle of water flowing along the bed, certainly not enough to float one of the great ships of the last century. Who would have thought that the Grand Empress could have been built here and made numerous transatlantic voyages, before ending up in the Malvinas Islands, where it is today? I have heard though that a group of prominent women in the city has a plan to bring it back for permanent display.
“Well the river does fill completely at high tide, and the ships would come and go from Riverhead on the coast up to the inner harbour that made the old city of Brigstow into an island surrounded by a wide canal. Here’s one of the places where the inner harbour connects through a lock to the river.”
They had come to Banjul Basin and crossed over the road bridge to Cumbria Drive, where there were allotments on the river side and an imposing old gate and sections of wall on the land side.
“This is the old gaol,” Kamala continued pointing to the gate and wall. “It was sacked during the riots in 1831.”
“We learnt about that in school. Weren’t the riots connected with demand for electoral reform?” asked Fatima.
“That is what they taught us in school,” Kamala responded, “but a local historian I used to know when I worked here had another interpretation, and it has a connection with Silbury. Bear in mind that the proposed reform bill only extended the franchise from landowners to other women of property. The poor, and, of course, men, didn’t stand to benefit at all. This did create resentment, but my historian friend said she thought there was a bigger connection to the price of bread, which had risen steeply at the time. The corn used to make the bread was all controlled by Lady Merveille Kabeya, who had a monopoly on corn warehousing in the city. Yes, that’s the same Lady Merveille Kabeya who was a big landowner in Shoatshire and after whom the good citizens of Silbury named its primary school and the square in front of it. She had organized some big parade, connected with a family festival of some kind, and this really enraged the poor women of the city, who rioted. They broke into the gaol to free other women whom they felt were unjustly imprisoned, most of them being there due to their inability to pay their debts.”
Now Kamala waved her arm around the great square to which they had come. It was lined by impressive houses, built in the latter part of the last century around a very large village-style green, the road running diagonally through the middle.
“Then they came here to Princess Square, where Lady Merveille was closeted with the Mayor of Brigstow in the Mansion House. The mob had previously broken into nearby bonded warehouses containing mostly alcohol, dragged out the barrels of brandy and rum and drunk themselves into a stupor. Then they set fire to the Mansion House just as the cavalry arrived. They were so drunk that the soldiers had no difficulty routing them. In fact, the cavalry butchered the mob. Those that survived were rounded up, summarily tried and consigned to transportation.”
“What do you think, Fatima? Has the law changed much from then to now?” asked Anna.
“Thankfully, yes,” Fatima answered. “At the same time, can we really say that our society today is as equitable as it should be?”
It was now beginning to get quite cold, and they decided to start making their way back to Shafeea’s café. As they walked along the dark and narrow road on one side of the railway station, they talked again about the incident in the ruins of Brigstow Castle.
“You seemed very frustrated,” Anna said to Fatima. “Was it because you didn’t have with you your warrant card and whistle and couldn’t deal with the incident as you would have in your position as a police officer?”
Fatima pondered for a minute, then said: “That’s part of it, I’m sure. The main thing was that I felt powerless to do anything, whether as a police officer or just as your friend. I should have been able to protect you. That’s why I joined the police: to protect innocent people.”
They continued to chat among themselves as they came to a bend in the road, where the street light was flickering, providing almost no illumination onto the pavement below. Suddenly they found themselves confronted by a masked youth dressed all in black and holding a knife.
“Can I help you, ladies? You look like you might be lost in this neighbourhood.” From her accent the young woman was clearly not from the city.
Fatima had had her fill of humiliation for one day. She walked swiftly straight toward the blade in front of her and grabbed the arm that was holding it. At the same time she put her right leg behind the woman’s ankle and levered her to the ground. Then she stamped on the youth’s wrist forcing the knife from her hand.
“Get up!” she shouted.
“Can’t. You’ve broken my wrist!” screamed back the youth.
Fatima caught her by the collar and dragged her to her feet. Just then Anna stepped forward from the shadows.
“Auntie Anna?” the young woman exclaimed. “What? I didn’t expect to see you here. I’m so sorry!”
She removed her mask. Anna let out a small cry.
“Buivasa! What are you doing down in Brigstow?”
“Anna, you know this woman?” asked Kamala, astounded at the turn of events.
“Yes, this is Buivasa Radaveta. The last time I saw her was five years ago in London just before we moved to Silbury and took the tenancy at the Red Cow. She was just a teenager then. Her mother, Vitiana Radaveta, had become a close friend, and our families would often go on outings together, you know, picnics and that sort of thing.”
Anna went on to explain that in London she had been a social worker with the local authority, whilst her husband to be, Paramanga Boly, was a sous-chef at the renowned Île des Soeurs restaurant. Anna had worked primarily with women who were undergoing long term imprisonment. She would visit them as they were coming to the end of their sentences and counsel them on reintegration to society. When they left prison she would also help them to connect to various services for benefits, employment, job training and so on. In the course of her work, she was contacted by a gang member, who wanted her to take special packages to members of her gang that were in one of the prisons she visited regularly. When she refused to do this, the gang member threatened that she would meet with a nasty accident unless she changed her mind.
Not knowing what to do, Paramanga suggested that he ask the owner of his restaurant. It turned out that the Île des Soeurs, like many other establishments in that part of London, was under the protection of the Radaveta family, a service they provided at a cost and that included dealing with the London gangs. This they did very effectively and entirely to their clients’ satisfaction.
“In fact, and I’m sorry to say this, Fatima, they were much more effective than the police, some of whom were just as bent as the criminals they were supposed to pursuing. Paying a fee to the Radavetas was much better than the escalating bribes some of the crooked coppers were asking for.”
Vitiana Radaveta had come to see Anna. She told her that she knew of her work, as she had had some relatives in prisons that Anna visited. They had told Vitiana good things about Anna. Anna should not worry any more about the gang. The Radaveta family would take care of everything, and, because of what Anna had already done for the Radavetas or their friends, there would be no charge.
Later Vitiana had come again to see Anna to let her know that she had dealt with the gang issue, and Anna did indeed hear nothing more about it. In the course of her conversations with Vitiana though they found they had a lot in common, so they started seeing each other more frequently for a cup of tea and a chat, and then the Radavetas had attended Anna’s wedding to Paramanga, and the two families had become friends. Vitiana said it was so relaxing to know people who had no part of the London underworld and to just be able to do normal things with normal friends.
“Anna, you never cease to amaze me. What a colourful life you have led, “ said Fatima. “And was it the London underworld that sent you scuttling to boring Silbury?”
“No,” Anna responded, “we just wanted to have a quieter life and spend more time together. I worked mostly week days. Paramanga had evening, and often weekend, shifts at the restaurant. We looked for a situation outside London that might suit us both, and the tenancy at the Red Cow was the one we most liked, and most liked us.”
“Very interesting,” interjected Kamala, “but meanwhile we have a predicament of our own to deal with. What should we do now?”
It was Buivata who answered her. “There’s a café nearby that we protect in our Brigstow operation. It’s owned by a woman called Shafeea Didi. If you would come with me there, I can telephone my mum, and you can tell her about your situation. Whatever it is, she’ll know what to do.”
“Well that’s also interesting,” said Kamala. “We were ourselves on the way to Shafeea’s Café.”
They stopped only briefly at Shafeea’s Café. Buivata made a quick telephone call, and fifteen minutes later a black transit van pulled up outside with one of Buivata’s sisters at the wheel. They all got in and were whisked off to what looked like an ordinary terraced house in the Weston district of the city. Once through the front door though, they saw that three houses had been converted into a mansion with sumptuous furnishings.
Vitiana Radaveta rose from the armchair in which she had been seated watching a news programme on the television and came over to Anna giving her a huge hug.
“Anna, my old love, this is such an unexpected pleasure. What’s it been? Five years? And am I getting you out of trouble again, or are you getting my lackadaisical daughter out of trouble? You have to tell me everything. But first please introduce me to your friends, and then let’s have something to eat and drink.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you too,” replied Anna, “and I also want to know how you come to be just fifty odd miles away from me, and I only come to know of it by getting into trouble on a visit to Brigstow. But, yes, that can wait. These, my dear Vitiana, are my best friends in the world. Kamala Peiris is the manager of the Western Provincial Bank in our sleepy little town of Silbury. And Inspector Fatima Dieng is in charge of our local police station. Don’t worry by the way. Fatima is not on duty, and she even forgot to bring her warrant card and whistle with her on this friends’ outing.”
Fatima smiled: “Anna’s right, and my oversight did not help us when we got into trouble. Also I have no jurisdiction in this city, and I don’t want to add to my already considerable embarrassment by getting into contact with the Brigstow Constabulary.”
“We don’t mind the police,” said Vitiana, “at least the honest ones. With them we have a very good relationship, because we help them keep crime under control in many parts of the city, something they know they can’t do on their own. And we are also beginning to help root out the bent coppers that you’ll find on any force. Now let’s go and eat, and we can talk some more.”
They moved from this very spacious living area to a cozy dining room. The dining table was spread with pies, sandwiches and crisps. On a sideboard there were whisky, beer, fizzy drinks and tea. They all helped themselves to food and drink.
As they ate and drank, Anna first recounted what had brought the three ladies to Brigstow that weekend: their shared love of operetta and the opportunity to see it performed by the Didi Bahini opera company. She went to on to relate how they had failed even to get as far as the Mistry Hall before losing almost all their possessions. When she heard about the robbery, Vitiana immediately called over one of her daughters, the one who had driven the transit, and asked her to see what she could find out about the youths that had accosted Fatima, Kamala and Anna at the Brigstow Castle ruins.
Vitiana then went on to recount how she and her family had come to Brigstow.
“We had a good thing going in London, too good as it turned out. You know how someone has a great business idea, say, a new product that they make and market on a small scale? Then a big company spots the chance to make big profits from that product and starts selling it as its own brand. No one buys anymore from the small producer, who also can’t ever succeed in a claim that her idea - what they call intellectual property - has been stolen from her.
“Well, we got hustled out of business by a consortium of some of the gangs against which we had been protecting small businesses in London. Our thing worked as long as we had to deal only with one gang at a time. But when a few of them got together, we couldn’t compete, and they didn’t give our clients any option to stay with us either.”
“That’s a bit like what you said about those four youths who robbed us, Fatima,” Kamala interjected. “You would have been able to deal with one or two them alone, but not all four.”
“Yes,” continued Vitiana, “that’s a good comparison. Anyway, if you are a small fish in a big pond, one thing you can do is look for a smaller pond, not literally, of course. I’ve always liked the west of England, so we decided to come down to Brigstow. Once we got here, we found that our business was in huge demand due to the preponderance of petty little gangsters, not to mention bent coppers, here in the city.
“I did know, Anna, that you were close by, and I did plan to come one day for a visit. It’s just that it took all my time and energy to get set up here.”
“Including some pretty comprehensive house conversion, I see,” joked Anna.
It was at this point that point that Vitiana’s daughter returned from her errand, and she was holding three duffle bags. She was followed by the four young women who had earlier at knife point robbed the three ladies of their possessions. Now they were a lot less cocky, all of them with their eyes fixed on the floor.
Fatima, Kamala and Anna each took their own bag, which they recognized immediately, and went through its contents. Nothing was missing, not even the cash in their purses.
Youth number one was prompted to say a few words. “We apologizes deeply for inconveniencing you. We didn’t know as how you was friends of Mrs Radaveta, or we’d have left you alone.”
Anna looked at Vitiana. “We have all of our possessions back, and I’m convinced that the robbery was not done primarily to inconvenience us. What are you going to do with these young women now that they have returned our possessions? Is there any way in which they might be helped to relinquish their life of petty crime?”
“It’s interesting you should mention that,” responded Vitiana. “As I might have said, since moving down here to Brigstow, my business has been booming. I need a lot more people on the ground than just my girls, so I’ve been looking out for promising local talent I could employ. These four have volunteered not only to return everything they took from you but also henceforth to work on my orders, for which they’ll receive a generous wage, I can assure you.”
“And you’re not afraid they might be tempted into a little extortionary private practice on the side?” Fatima asked.
“No, they know better than to try that with me. There’s a price for disloyalty, but you don’t need to know about that, do you?”
And so concluded an afternoon and evening that ended up being a lot more adventurous, and a lot less musical, than the three ladies had bargained for when they had boarded their coach earlier that day.
Having rested and breakfasted very well in Vitiana’s mansion, Fatima, Kamala and Anna were about to make their way to the bus station for their return journey to Silbury. Vitiana though had other ideas.
“It’s completely out of the question for you to go back to Silbury in a dirty old coach. Buivata and I will drive you there, so, Anna, you can show me where you live now.”
They all piled into the minivan, with Buivata doing the driving and Vitiana most of the talking, and took the scenic route to Silbury stopping at the Ridgeway Café for cup of tea on the way. Before leaving, Anna had telephoned her husband, and he had prepared a slap up dinner for them all, including Fatima and Kamala’s husbands and children. It was Sunday, a holiday alike for bank managers and - there being no crime reported that day - police inspectors. Sunday lunchtime was also generally very quiet at the Red Cow. Its regular clientele of grooms and punters were all still sleeping off the excesses of Saturday night, when they were either celebrating wins or commiserating losses at the racetracks.
Relaxing after their dinner the ladies talked among themselves, whilst their husbands looked after the dishes and then put the kettle on for tea.
“How is it,” asked Vitiana, “that you three came to be so close? I can see the police inspector and the bank manager having things in common, but how does the publican fit into their respectable world in this little country town?”
Anna knew Vitiana well and that it was her habit to be direct in voicing pretty much anything she might be thinking, so she was not offended in the least.
“You’re right. Fatima and Kamala look like they come from a different world, but don’t forget that I also used to be a professional when I worked with the Greater London Council. When Fatima first arrived in Silbury, she started doing things in a completely different way from her predecessor. The old inspector used to sit around in the police station waiting for crimes to be committed and only dealing with the town’s law and order when it was placed in jeopardy, that is except when she came out to attend fancy town functions and suck up to the Mayor and Councillors.
“Fatima got out and about, making herself known to the local businesses, including the market stall holders. That way she came to know about what makes Silbury tick, who are the people of real influence, what happens below the surface, and so on. This is how she’s been able to prevent problems before they surface with a few quiet words to some of our less scrupulous neighbours.
“I started out as one of Fatima’s informants, but we soon saw that we had quite a lot in common. We have similar senses of humour, and we both love operetta. About the only thing we don’t have in common is that Fatima doesn’t drink, while my whole life is getting people to drink and pay me for it. Quite soon we became close friends, and that friendship then extended to Kamala, whom I knew since I bank at the Western Provincial, but whom I really came to know through Fatima.”
“And,” Kamala interjected, “what could be more respectable than Councillor Anna Kaboré?”
“Councillor?” Vitiana was genuinely flabbergasted.
“Well,” Anna said with a grin, “I’m not sure it’s that respectable. I got elected when one of the councillors resigned because Fatima caught her making and spreading counterfeit currency. And not even her family connection with the Chief Constable could save her from prison. If respectable were another way of saying courageous and honest, then the label definitely belongs to Fatima Dieng. Knowing she’s around certainly keeps the rest of us away from any temptation!”
They all laughed.
“Well, Inspector, what do you think?” asked Vitiana. “You and I don’t actually seem to be that different. Our common business is crime prevention and preservation of the peace. You do it for the government. I do it as a private business, because the government doesn’t seem to be doing such a good job of it.”
“I’d say three things about that,” Fatima replied. “First, yes, you are right about the similarities and about the shortcomings of public policing. Second though, I do believe earnestly that you should go out of business, because it is through good public policing, as well as other good public policy, that we should be tackling crime prevention, not through protection rackets, whether done for honest effect or fraudulently, no disrespect intended. And third, you can call me Fatima.”
“That proves it,” declared Vitiana. “You are just as blunt as me, which I like very much. And you look well beyond the surface. If all police were like you, I’d happily embrace bankruptcy, or at least the pursuit of a different business opportunity.”
And they all laughed again. Indeed the afternoon passed with much laughter among these four women, so much so that they quite lost track of the time. Eventually it was Buivata, who had been out exploring the town, that broke up the gathering by announcing it was time for Vitiana and her to return to Brigstow and their evening patrols there. They said their goodbyes with promises to meet again soon.
Monday morning found Fatima in her office at the police station catching up on some reports, when the telephone rang. It was Sergeant Bidhya Rai, personal assistant to Chief Constable Meena Desai.
“Inspector Dieng, Ma’am, the Chief Constable has ordered that you must come this evening to Scowbridge. Tomorrow morning you will present yourself at the County Constabulary, where there is to be a Board of Inquiry into recent events that concern you. I’m afraid, Ma’am, that I am not at liberty to expound any further on the matter, so please don’t ask me any questions. A reservation has been made for you at the Bridge Arms on Market Street. I’ve been told you should expect to stay there for three nights.
“The Chief Constable wants to know that you have received and will comply with this order. Could you please confirm that to me, Ma’am?”
“Yes, Sergeant. Was there anything else?”
“No, Ma’am.” And Sergeant Rai put down her receiver.
Fatima thought about this for a while. Then she went into the adjoining office to see Sergeant Joyce Banda and Constable Nguyen Chi Man. They both stood as soon as she entered the room.
“Do sit down,” Fatima said to them both and pulled up a chair to sit between their two desks. “I’ve been ordered to Scowbridge this evening and shall be away for three days. Is there anything you think may be any cause for concern during the time that I’m away?’
Banda spoke first, as always. “What’s happening in Scowbridge, Ma’am? Is it good news? Are you going to get a promotion?”
“No, I don’t think so, Sergeant,” Fatima said, responding to the latter question. “I don’t recall straying into anyone’s good books recently.”
Nguyen smiled. She loved the Inspector’s dry sense of humour.
“Ma’am, you do remember those burglaries on the housing estate? There was no leads about who did do them. Well I think I knows someone as might talk now, but I aren’t sure for another few days. That do mean that, for me, there don’t be anything urgent, while you be away.”
“Thank you, Constable, and good luck with whatever may be your new lead. Anyway, I’ll have to go and pack, and let my husband know I’ll be away for a few days. Sergeant Banda, you’ll be in charge in my absence.”
Again, the telephone rang in Fatima’s office, and she went back there to answer it, closing the door carefully as she entered. It was Superintendent Hema Mirchandani. Superintendent Mirchandani had been sent some months before to Silbury to take charge of a high profile investigation into the death at Silbury College of the daughter of the Home Secretary. The Chief Constable had not thought Fatima capable of dealing sensitively with the matter and had removed her from the case. In fact, she had collaborated closely with Superintendent Mirchandani and had helped her to find the real culprit, when false clues had pointed to someone else. The two policewomen had become close friends.
“Fatima, I heard you are coming to Scowbridge. Tell me, what brings you here?”
“Actually, Hema,” Fatima responded, “I don’t have any idea. It’s all very cryptic. I was wondering if you would know more.”
“I’m afraid not. The chief has pretty well excluded me from her inner circle since the Silbury College affair. But I’ll see what I can find out. Look, I know where you’ll be staying, so I’ll give you a ring there, and we’ll arrange to get together.”
Fatima walked home, packed a suitcase, said a quick goodbye to her husband, and then climbed into the police car driven by Constable Hiranthi Senanayake for her one and a half hours’ journey to Scowbridge.
The following morning at a quarter to nine, Fatima presented herself at the office of the County Constabulary. She had to wait some time. It wasn’t until half past ten that she was ushered into an interview room to face a Board of Inquiry chaired by the Chief Constable herself, accompanied by Assistant Chief Constable Aïssatou Kamara and Chief Superintendent Layla Woldemariam. Both were known to owe their respective swift advancements to Chief Constable Meena Desai and to be fiercely loyal to her.
The Chief Constable sat silently, as Assistant Chief Constable Kamara began the proceedings by announcing, for the purposes of the tape recording in progress, the composition of the Board of Inquiry and its object. She then went on to address Fatima directly.
“Inspector Dieng, thank you for presenting yourself at this Board of Inquiry. Our reason for holding it is that we have received information, disturbing information, that you have been consorting with criminal elements in the city of Brigstow. Had this information concerned the town of Silbury and its surrounding villages, over which you have authority as its chief police officer, we should have understood that your contact with criminal elements must be in the pursuance of a legitimate police matter. However, Brigstow is well out of your jurisdiction. Moreover you seem to have been on a personal visit there in the company of a bank manager and a publican. Do you have anything to say before the Board asks its questions? It will be helpful for you to be completely candid with the members of this Board.”
Inwardly Fatima was filled with both anger and trepidation. She knew that the Chief Constable was attempting to retaliate for her part in the downfall of her cousin, former Silbury Councillor Priyanka Patel, and possibly other issues that she had only vaguely sensed in the course of other inquiries. Outwardly though she maintained a calm visage.
“Thank you, Ma’am. Chief Constable, Assistant Chief Constable, Chief Superintendent, I was indeed in Brigstow last Saturday and Sunday on a personal trip with my friends Kamala Peiris, who is manager of the Western Provincial Bank in Silbury, and Anna Kaboré, proprietor of the Red Cow Inn in the same town. Whilst we were in Brigstow we were subject to a robbery of all our personal effects. That was the only unfortunate circumstance we had to deal with in that wonderful city. At the café, where we had our tea, thanks to Mrs Kaboré having hidden a ten shilling note in her shoe, we were offered free accommodation for the night, if needed. Eventually we were housed and fed and driven back to Silbury by an old friend of Mrs Kaboré’s whose daughter we met by chance.”
Fatima ended her initial remarks, and Assistant Chief Constable Kamara continued: “We are curious to know why, when you suffered the robbery, you did not report it to the Brigstow Police. Wouldn’t that have been what any normal person would have done, let alone a police officer herself?”
“Ma’am, what was taken from us was of very low value, only some clothing, toiletries, a little cash and some cheap watches,” Fatima said in response. “We had deliberately not carried any jewellery on our trip. We were in Brigstow only for one night and did not want to take up either the time of the local police, on a matter that would most likely not be resolved, or our own time. To be honest, I was personally embarrassed that I had not been able to protect my friends from the attention of petty criminals, and my embarrassment would have been doubled by having to admit this to fellow police officers.”
“And,” continued Assistant Chief Constable Kamara, “the person who provided you with accommodation and a ride home was a certain Mrs Vitiana Radaveta, isn’t that so? Isn’t it also true that Mrs Radaveta arranged the return of the personal effects of Mrs Peiris, Mrs Kaboré and yourself, something you said the Brigstow Police would not be able to do?”
“Yes, that is the case,” Fatima replied.
Now Chief Superintendent Woldemariam intervened: “This Mrs Radaveta, isn’t she actually a criminal running a protection racket in Brigstow, having done something similar earlier in London? Do you think it appropriate for a police officer of some seniority to be consorting with someone who exploits owners of small businesses?”
Although she was seething inside, Fatima did not let her temper show in her response. She did though feel the need to put at least one member of the board in her place.
“Personally I have not done a forensic investigation of Mrs Radaveta’s business activities, nor of her personal life. I would not suppose that you have done so either, Chief Superintendent, since both Brigstow and London are outside of your jurisdiction. From what I observed, however, Mrs Radaveta, her daughters and associates offer a valuable security service to their clients, one of whom was the proprietor of the café I mentioned earlier. Mrs Shafeea Didi volunteered to us that she greatly appreciated the protection service provided to her, without mentioning at the time that she received these services from Mrs Radaveta. Mrs Radaveta also told us that she frequently collaborates with the local police. All of that did not appear to me to be indicative of criminal activity. However, if the panel might possess evidence, possibly provided by the Brigstow County Constabulary or the Metropolitan Police in London, please enlighten me so I might correct my mistake.”
During all of the exchange up to this point, the Chief Constable herself had remained silent. But now she rounded on Fatima: “We do not need, Inspector, any lessons from you on forensic investigation. We shall withdraw now to my office to consider your responses to our questions. You will remain here. We reconvene in an hour and a half.”
And, with that, the three members of the Board of Inquiry exited the interview room leaving Fatima alone. It was now midday, but Fatima was offered neither food nor drink. No one came to the interview room, and the Chief Constable had made clear that she was not permitted to set foot outside of it. Remembering her experience of having worked in Army Intelligence during her national service, Fatima knew that they were trying to manipulate her psychologically. She also knew well how to counter that. She emptied her mind of thoughts and fell into a shallow sleep from which she would be able to wake at a moment’s notice.
On their return the Board of Inquiry continued to go over the same ground asking for exact timings of everything that had occurred on that Saturday in Brigstow, as well as for precise wordings of everything that had been said. As before, it was Assistant Chief Constable Kamara and Chief Superintendent Woldemariam who asked the questions, whilst Chief Constable Desai sat silently staring at Fatima. They repeated it all again and again to see if they could trip Fatima up with inconsistencies in her testimony. She remained calm but firm.
Eventually, at six o’clock, and after another break around tea time when again Fatima was offered no food or drink, the Chief Constable called time on the proceedings.
“We have heard enough. Inspector Dieng, you shall present yourself here tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp. The Board will then present its findings and disciplinary sanctions. You are free to go now.”
The Chief Constable had obviously made some signal to those outside of the interview room, because as soon as she had finished speaking, Sergeant Bidhya Rai entered to escort Fatima out of the room. She clearly wasn’t to be allowed to ask any questions of her own to the members of the Board.
Back at the Bridge Arms, Fatima was exhausted from the grilling she had just gone through. She was also ravenously hungry. She went straight to the hotel’s small restaurant for an early supper and then she retired to her room, reading for a little while the novel she had brought with her before falling asleep.
The next morning she took a brisk walk along the River Scow, before fortifying herself with a hearty breakfast in case she might be subjected to an experience similar to the one she had had the previous day. As she ate she kept on wondering why she had not heard anything from Hema Mirchandani. She had thought they were friends, and friends normally support one another.
She left the hotel at half past eight. It was time to face the music.
On her arrival at the County Constabulary, Fatima presented her warrant card to the sergeant occupying the front desk. She was not the same one who had been there on the previous day, and this was the first time that Fatima had met her.
“I expect you know where you are going, Inspector,” she said respectfully, “but do let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
“Yes, thank you,” replied Fatima and proceeded directly to the interview room arriving just before nine o’clock. She found it locked so returned to the front desk.
“Sergeant, I was supposed to have a meeting with some members of a Board of Inquiry, chaired by the Chief Constable. We were due to meet in interview room B, but it seems to be locked. Can you help me, please?”
The sergeant at the front desk looked confused. “I don’t know anything about a Board of Inquiry, Ma’am, and the Chief Constable is not here today. Let me ask Sergeant Rai if she knows about it.”
The desk sergeant telephoned to Sergeant Rai’s office and then said to Fatima: “It seems the Deputy Chief Constable wants to see you, Ma’am. Do you know the way to her office?”
Fatima did and made her way there, wondering what would happen next. Deputy Chief Constable Mwassaa Mogwanja had not been associated at all with the Board of Inquiry, as far as Fatima knew, nor was she a particular confidante of the Chief Constable.
“Good morning, Inspector,” said the Deputy Chief Constable on Fatima entering her office. “It’s a pleasure to see you again after a long while. I think it’s been two years, the time that you came for your briefing before taking up your post in Silbury. In the meantime you seem to have been making some waves.”
The Deputy Chief Constable chuckled at her own joke and then continued.
“Well, I was told that you had come here this morning to attend a Board of Inquiry chaired by the Chief Constable. The thing is I’ve not heard anything about it, and the chief has been called away to London at the order of the Home Secretary. Actually, there have been a number of surprises today. As soon as I got in this morning I was told that Assistant Chief Constable Kamara and Chief Superintendent Woldemariam have been placed on administrative leave. I’ve been trying to locate Superintendent Mirchandani to see if she knows anything about any of this, but she doesn’t seem to be in the office. There’s only me and a group of junior officers. I wonder what we might do if any emergency should arise.
“You don’t know anything about this do you, Inspector?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Fatima replied, “but the only matter I know anything about is the Board of Inquiry. I was ordered to attend this, as the inquiry concerns a recent private visit I made to Brigstow and people that provided accommodation to myself and the two friends who accompanied me. The order came from the Chief Constable herself and was delivered through Sergeant Rai. Assistant Chief Constable Kamara and Chief Superintendent Woldemariam were the other members of the Board. This morning I was to have heard its findings and receive possible sanctions.”
“Well, well,” said the avuncular Deputy Chief Constable, “I have already asked Sergeant Rai what she knows, but she told me that she merely passed on the verbal instruction of the Chief Constable. I asked if there was a file, and Rai told me that to her knowledge nothing had been consigned to writing. That being the case, I can only advise you to return to your post in Silbury and continue as if nothing here had happened, at least until the chief returns, and we may hear more on the matter. I’m sorry I can’t help you any further.”
“I don’t think, Ma’am, that you have any obligation to help me,” Fatima responded.
“Quite the contrary, Inspector. Here in the County Constabulary, we may sometimes act as though we are all knowing and all understanding, and we may sometimes believe it. But crime is prevented and solved by those of you who work directly with communities. Our job is to support you in the real police work that you do.
“Anyway, goodbye, Inspector. I hope it’s not another two years before I see you again. And do keep making waves, won’t you?”
Fatima left the County Constabulary and made her way back to the Bridge Arms. If she was confused on her arrival in Scowbridge, now she was even more so. She pushed open the heavy door that led to the reception area and was immediately greeted by the young man behind the desk.
“Mrs Dieng, I mean, Inspector Dieng, I’m glad to have caught you before I end my shift. Your party is waiting for you in the Pacific Room. It’s just down this corridor, second door on the left.”
And this confused Fatima even more. Still she walked in the direction indicated by the receptionist, passed by the Atlantic Room and opened the door to the Pacific Room. On her entry a small cheer arose. Seated at a large round table in the centre of the room were Superintendent Hema Mirchandani, Vitiana Radaveta, Kamala Peiris and Anna Kaboré. Superintendent Mirchandani rose to speak on behalf of the group.
“My dear Fatima, come on in and join us for celebratory cup of tea; I know you won’t take anything stronger, and it isn’t even yet mid-morning. I have also to apologise. I had said I would contact you on your arrival here, and I didn’t. But I have been very busy with the support of these wonderful friends of yours. Sit down, and we’ll tell you all about it.”
Fatima certainly needed a cup of strong tea, and she also helped herself to a couple of sandwiches, even though it was only a little while ago that she had had her breakfast.
Hema continued: “After I spoke to you the day before yesterday, prior to your arrival in Scowbridge, I did some digging into why the Chief Constable had ordered you here. The chief had tried to keep everything top secret, but bosses can’t help speaking to their underlings, and the underlings were happy to talk to me. You know, the chief is not very popular with the staff here. Whereas you are; everyone knows how honest and courageous you are, and they didn’t want to see you stitched up. Since the so-called Board of Inquiry was composed of only the chief and her principal disciples, we all knew what the outcome would be, so I decided to act.”
“Hema telephoned me,” Anna continued. “I was able to fill her in on what happened in Brigstow and let her know about Vitiana and her security business there, including how we had first met in London. Also, as a member of our Borough Council, I’ve been selected to be a member of the Police Authority, which has powers to appoint and dismiss chief police officers and otherwise to regulate their conduct. If there were any reason to suspect, for instance, undue bias or corruption in a chief police officer, it is only the Police Authority that can act, of course, keeping the Home Office duly informed.”
“I can’t speak about bias,” Kamala put in, “but, ever since you caught Councillor Patel spreading counterfeit currency, I’ve been on the lookout for anything of a similarly suspicious nature, not only in my own bank but also through a network of colleagues in other banks and some acquaintances in the Inland Revenue. You can imagine my surprise when it turned out that large sums of money had been regularly deposited in the account of a certain Mrs Meena Desai, at the Western Provincial Bank branch in Oldcastle, that had never been reported to His Majesty’s Inspector of Taxes.”
Kamala smiled as she said this. “When Anna contacted me, I felt it my duty to tell her what I knew, since she’s a member of the Police Authority.”
Now it was Vitiana’s turn. “Anna also telephoned me to let me know about your predicament. It happened, again quite by chance, as they say, that I had heard Meena Desai’s name mentioned by a number of my own confidantes in Brigstow. According to them, Mrs Desai is also in the protection business, but she provides protection to some organized criminal elements around the county of Shoatshire in return for a share in the profits, funnelled through some associates up in Oldcastle. Apparently she goes by the pseudonym of Mrs Big.”
Mrs Big, thought Fatima, wasn’t that the name of the criminal boss behind the fire that summer at the Longbarrow Tea Rooms?
Back to Hema. “With my help, Anna quickly drew up a brief for the other members of the Police Authority, and I used my connection with the Metropolitan Police Commissioner to have it brought straight to the attention of the Home Secretary. And she remembers you and your perspicacity and sensitivity over the case of her daughter’s murder. She was not ready to see you stabbed in the back.
“The Home Secretary ordered the Chief Constable to come to London for an emergency crisis meeting. Right now, in all likelihood, she is being told that she has two options: resign or be dismissed by the Police Authority, on whom the Home Secretary is likely to lean very heavily. The Commissioner of the Met told me our chief will certainly opt for the former to avoid also being prosecuted for fraud. Meanwhile, to investigate their possible links with the same offences, and at the suggestion of the Home Secretary, the Police Authority placed Assistant Chief Constable Kamara and Chief Superintendent Woldemariam on administrative leave. Knowing them, I don’t personally believe they are involved in any criminal activity; they don’t have the gumption. They just craved personal advancement and saw doing the chief’s bidding as the best way to achieve that.”
There was silence as they waited for Fatima to respond to all that she had heard. Eventually she did, after first helping herself to another cup of tea and a sandwich.
“Well, it seems to me that I was not the one to get stitched up here, even though that was clearly the intention. And there’s a second thing that occurs to me: having good friends and friends of friends, and clearly friends of friends of friends, is no disadvantage. If I were on an investigation, I might have some questions on your methods, and the precise sequence of events, but right now I’ll suspend any disbelief and just say thank you.”
They continued to chat among themselves for some time until they were interrupted by Constable Nguyen, who had come to drive Fatima back to Silbury. She was happy to be able to return to her home.
In the course of the next few days news came out of the resignation of Chief Constable Meena Desai and the appointment by the Police Authority of Mwassaa Mogwanja as her successor. Aïssatou Kamara and Layla Woldemariam were cleared of any criminal activity but found to have committed some minor administrative offences - not specified - and were demoted and reassigned to other constabularies, with some facilitation by the Home Office.
For Fatima all went back to how it had been before, with one exception. About a month after all of these events occurred, she received an envelope in the post. It was plain brown and addressed to her at Silbury Police Station. Inside was a single sheet of white paper with the following typewritten words.
“We never forget.”
