‘And you saw this man blown apart?’
Talpur nodded. ‘No question.’
‘But what about shrapnel? Why were none of you hurt? An explosion like that in a confined space…’
‘There was this metal screen hanging from the roof. Shahid pulled the guy behind it before he set off the vest.’
‘So you didn’t actually see the explosion?’
‘No, we saw it. And we heard it. There was a blast and blood and there was a leg.’
‘A leg?’
‘Part of a leg. A foot. In a trainer. Blood and bone and…’ He shuddered. ‘It scared the shit out of me. Out of all of us.’
Gillard wrinkled his nose. ‘I think that was the intention,’ he said.
Talpur frowned. ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at, sir.’
‘Shock and awe, Kash,’ said the chief superintendent. ‘He wanted you to follow instructions and for that he needed you terrified.’
‘We were, no question. Like I said, I was sure we were going to be killed.’
Kamran was watching the interview through a one-way mirror with Chris Thatcher. ‘What do you think?’ asked Kamran.
‘He’s nervous, but that’s understandable,’ said Thatcher. ‘But all his body language and micro-expressions suggest he’s telling the truth. He feared for his life, there’s no question of that. He really believed Shahid would detonate the vest he was wearing.’
Kamran nodded thoughtfully. ‘Let’s see what the rest of them have to say for themselves.’
Gillard left the interview room and a few seconds later joined Kamran and Thatcher. ‘What d’you think?’ he asked Kamran.
‘He seems to be telling the truth. And it makes sense. They thought they were going to die.’
‘Shahid killed one of them, I get that,’ said Gillard. ‘Blew him to bits in front of them. But why the fake explosives in the vests? If he had access to the real thing, why send the rest of them out with dummies?’
Kamran shrugged. ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it?’
‘We need to check that Talpur is telling us the whole story,’ said Gillard. ‘And we need to do that quickly. I suggest you and I lead the initial interviews. I’ll take Bhashir, Ahmed, Malik and Masood. You take Pasha, Hussain, Chaudhry and Osman. We need to find out if they’re all singing from the same hymn sheet.’
INTERVIEW WITH RABEEL BHASHIR (8.40 p.m.)
Rabeel Bhashir was sitting at a desk wearing a paper forensic suit and with paper shoe covers on his feet. He had been given a cup of tea and a chocolate muffin but didn’t seem to have touched either. Chief Superintendent Gillard introduced himself and the detective sergeant who had accompanied him, Kevin Barlow, an SO15 detective, who was one of the anti-terrorism unit’s best interrogators. Gillard stood with his back to the wall as Barlow sat down opposite Bhashir. Barlow had an A4 notepad. He placed it on the desk and took out a cheap biro. ‘So you’re an ISIS warrior, are you?’ asked Cooke. ‘You must be the first real adult ISIS member I’ve come across. They’re usually kids who don’t know any better. But you’re, what, fifty?’
‘I’m forty-five,’ said Bhashir. ‘And I’m not a terrorist.’
‘The suicide vest you were wearing tells a different story,’ said Barlow.
‘They forced me to wear it,’ said Bhashir.
Barlow smiled and sat back in his chair. He slowly tapped his pen on the notepad. ‘Do you seriously expect me to believe that, Mr Bhashir?’
‘It’s the truth,’ said Bhashir. ‘Check the vest for yourself. The trigger didn’t work. It could only be detonated by remote control.’
‘By your boss, is that what you’re saying?’
Bhashir shook his head. ‘Not my boss. I don’t know him. He said his name was Shahid. He said if I didn’t do as he said, he’d kill me.’
‘But he didn’t, did he? You’re still alive.’
‘Maybe because I did as he wanted. I don’t know.’ Bhashir slumped in the chair.
‘Why did you let him put the vest on you?’ asked Barlow. ‘Why didn’t you resist?’
‘It happened while I was unconscious,’ said Bhashir.
‘And how did that happen?’ said Barlow, his face suggesting that he was sure Bhashir was lying.
‘I left the mosque last night after the Isha’a prayers. I walked by a van. Someone called my name, I turned around and something was pressed over my face. When I woke up I was tied to a chair and I was wearing the vest.’
‘You were tied to a chair all night?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. I don’t know how long I was unconscious for.’
‘You have to admit, Mr Bhashir, it sounds very unlikely.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ said Bhashir. ‘Your life wasn’t on the line. You didn’t see a man blown to pieces in front of you, like I did.’
Barlow leant forward and lowered his voice, for the first time sounding sympathetic. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘We were all tied to chairs and had the vests on. One man kept arguing and Shahid told him to shut up but he wouldn’t so Shahid used his mobile phone to detonate the man’s vest.’ He shuddered. ‘It blew him to pieces. He said the same would happen to anyone else who disobeyed him. Do you think you would have done any differently?’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, you would have done as you were told. No one wants to die, not like that.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘Shahid put the hoods back on our heads and we were put in a van. Then he dropped us off one by one. When I left the van he removed the hood and told me to read the instructions in my waistpack. That’s what I did.’
‘What I don’t understand is why your wife didn’t report you missing,’ said Barlow. ‘You said you were taken after prayers. That means you didn’t go home last night.’
‘I work nights,’ said Bhashir. ‘I am a cleaner. Sometimes I go straight to work from the mosque.’
‘And the man who was giving you your orders. This Shahid. What can you tell me about him?’
‘He always wore a mask.’
‘But you could tell if he was young or old?’
‘Not young. Not old. Thirty, maybe. Or forty. He looked like he exercised. Like he went to the gym.’
‘And his accent?’
‘He spoke English well. But all accents sound the same to me. Except Scottish. I can never understand Scottish.’
‘But did he sound like he was born here? Or from another country?’
‘Born here, I suppose. Now, please, can I go home? I want to see my wife.’
‘We are arranging transport for you, Mr Bhashir. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you about your daughters. They are in Syria, correct?’
Bhashir nodded but didn’t reply.
‘They both married ISIS soldiers?’
‘They decided that was what they wanted to do. There was nothing I could do to stop them.’
‘Jaleela was only fifteen. Still a child.’
‘Do you have children?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Barlow said. ‘And as a father I would not have allowed them to travel abroad on their own at fifteen.’
‘They left without my knowledge.’
‘Did they?’
Bhashir frowned. ‘You think I sent my children to Syria?’
Barlow ignored the question. ‘What are your feelings about ISIS?’
‘I have no feelings.’
‘Do you agree with their aims?’
‘They fight for their religion,’ said Bhashir. ‘Who cannot agree with that?’
‘And do you agree that people of other religions should be killed?’