Chapter 23
It’s strange having Scott in the house. Nadeeka had forgotten how much space he takes up, how much noise he makes.
He has music on constantly, leaving it playing in whatever room he has recently vacated, and has now commandeered Nadeeka’s breakfast bar as an office, setting up a tripod to film content for his ‘side-hustle’.
‘Success comes from the five to nine, not the nine to five,’ he tells Nadeeka, when she comes downstairs at half-past seven on Monday morning. She ignores him and puts the kettle on. Had he been this much of a knob when they were married?
‘How was the sofa?’ she asks. Nish would have happily given up her room – any excuse for a sleepover with her big sister – but having Scott upstairs feels too intrusive, too permanent. This is strictly a practical arrangement.
‘I’ve slept on worse.’
‘Yes, how are things with Gabriela?’ Nadeeka says, stress making her uncharacteristically bitchy.
‘Miaow!’ Scott takes a slurp of some green concoction. ‘We’re on a break, actually, thanks to the police poking their nose in.’
Nadeeka would never give Scott the satisfaction of telling him, but there is some comfort in being aligned on their views of the police. Lauren might make out they want to find Jamie’s murderer, but the change in their focus is obvious: in the police’s eyes, Jamie is as much a suspect as a victim.
Nadeeka has dropped the girls at school and is on her way to work when she notices a black car behind her.
She’s not sure how long it’s been there, but it keeps a steady distance, dropping back at junctions, just far enough that Nadeeka can’t make out who’s driving it.
She thinks of what Lauren said – We don’t know to what extent New Dawn were aware of Jamie’s relationship with you – and takes the next left turn without indicating. The black car takes the turn too.
It’s suddenly too hot in Nadeeka’s car and she turns on the air-con, blasting herself with icy air. She takes a right, and then another left, and now she’s back on the main road and the black car is there too, and there is zero reason for it to have made that detour if it isn’t following her.
If you notice anything at all suspicious it’s imperative you tell us, DI Stratman had said, and so, with one eye on the road, Nadeeka dials Lauren’s number.
‘I’m being followed,’ she says, as soon as Lauren answers.
‘Where are you?’
‘Ring road.’ Panic snatches the words short. ‘A black car. BMW.’
‘Can you get the licence plate?’
Nadeeka looks in her rear-view mirror. Her back windscreen is smeared, and the car has dropped back again, making it hard to read the letters.
Is that a K or an H? She reads out the licence plate as best she can, remembering too late that it will be back to front.
She slows, realizing she’s almost at her exit, and the BMW slows too.
The vast depots of Echelon Warehousing can be seen from the ring road, the company so huge it has its own signposted exit.
Nadeeka takes it now, and, as she does, the BMW picks up speed and disappears into the ether.
‘It’s gone,’ she tells Lauren. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. ‘I’ve just got to work.’
‘I’ll run a check on the BMW. Try not to worry.’
Easier said than done, Nadeeka thinks. Why would someone follow her? Maybe they know she went to see Jamie’s parents; is there something of his they think she has? Or were they following to see if she was going to the police again?
Last night, Nadeeka read everything she could find online about radicalization.
Withdrawing from friends and family, being evasive about movements, expressing unusually extreme views.
She thinks about Jamie’s reluctance for Maya and Nish to join the school’s multi-faith production; about how cagey he was in the weeks before he died.
Radicalization often stems from a desire to reclaim authority or identity, Nadeeka read, on a government website.
Was that where it had come from? Had Nadeeka been too overbearing, too controlling?
Had she not left enough space in their new life for Jamie to feel needed?
The questions are still spiralling as she walks down the long corridor next to the warehouse that leads to her office.
On the other side of the glass, a hundred pickers-and-packers move between the racked shelving and the waiting boxes.
One of her newer recruits, Stefan, is wrapping a board game in recycled paper.
He looks up as she passes, but when she waves he looks away.
Nadeeka frowns. She hopes he’s settling in okay; the huge warehouse can be overwhelming for new starters.
He’s not the only one behaving oddly.
‘The paper ran a piece on the job fair,’ Helen says, when Nadeeka reaches their shared office.
‘That’s great . . . isn’t it?’ Nadeeka is confused by Helen’s guarded tone. ‘I sent over the press release, but you never know what they . . .’ She tails off as she sees the newspaper on her desk. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘Exactly,’ Helen says grimly.
Nadeeka’s press release had been titled Echelon Warehousing opens its doors: job fair offers career opportunities for all.
The news headline reads Local Jobs For Local People!
Nadeeka’s eyes travel over the copy. There is scant mention of what the job fair will entail; instead, the journalist has used Nadeeka’s release as a hook for an ‘in-depth’ article on local unemployment.
Local man Robbie Bowers has been out of work for nine months, reads a box-out featuring a photograph of a dejected-looking white man, despite applying for multiple suitable jobs.
Next to it is a second case study. Bulgarian-born Stefan Petrov received a ‘golden handshake’ on his first day at Echelon Warehousing.
Nadeeka’s mouth drops. ‘A golden handshake? It’s a twenty--quid voucher!’
‘Hopefully we’ll still get a decent turnout for the fair,’ Helen says. ‘But it’s not exactly the publicity we were after.’
Nadeeka folds the newspaper. ‘I need to speak to Stefan.’
She finds him in the break area, nursing a cup of coffee and scrolling through his phone. He looks up when she approaches, his expression cautious.
‘Hey,’ she says, pulling out the chair opposite him. ‘Did you see the article?’
Stefan snorts. ‘Hard to miss.’ He turns his phone to show her the comments section of the online article. ‘Apparently I have personally stolen about twenty jobs.’
‘I’m so sorry. It’s complete rubbish.’
‘I know this. You know this. But a lot of people do not want to know this.’ He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee.
‘Stefan . . .’ Nadeeka hesitates. ‘What do you know about white supremacy groups?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘It is not exactly my thing.’
‘Have you heard of an organization called New Dawn?’
Stefan gives a slow nod. ‘They fucked over a mate of mine.’
‘Do you know anything about them?’
‘Nothing, really. Why do you want to know?’
‘I . . .’ Nadeeka falters. ‘I’m worried about what they’re doing. Their influence in the area.’
Stefan nods again. ‘You are right to be worried. There is a lot of anger under the surface around here. It would not take a lot for it to boil over.’
‘So how do I find out more about them? How they operate, how they recruit?’
‘You don’t. Not looking like that.’ Stefan shrugs. ‘And nor do I. You wish for insider information on a group like New Dawn, you need a white guy.’
It’s a throwaway comment, but, as Stefan goes back to work, Nadeeka stays in the break room, thinking about what he’s said.
If she’s going to prove to the police that Jamie was a victim of radicalization, she needs to know more about the people who recruited him, and Stefan’s right: the person asking questions needs to look like a prospective member of New Dawn.
Nadeeka knows exactly who to ask.