The drive to Thurnscoe had been uneventful. A47, A19, A1 A635. Throughout the journey he had played a dolorous combination of Sibelius and Nielsen on the car stereo. It suited his mood and fed the black dog. He thought of who would miss him if he were not there. The simple answer....No-one! He led a solitary existence that revolved around two main things: his work and his Masters Degree. Khan had destroyed his one hope of family life. He had never got over Anjii. It was now possible that Khan would destroy his professional life! Well, if that were the case at least he would have a say regarding Khan's professional life!
As he drove into the outskirts of Thurnscoe he thought that the town dovetailed the music and his mood. The devastation wreaked on Thurnscoe by the ravages of the miners' strike and its aftermath was plain to see. Rows of red brick terraced houses devoid of any windows or doors lined both sides of the road. They were all boarded up with either ugly grey corrugated iron sheeting or grey concrete blocks. The rust on the former contributing to the general feeling of decay. Nearly every house had been desecrated or decorated, whichever took your fancy, with graffiti. It ranged from the locals' thoughts on Margaret Thatcher to their views on matters sexual: and sometimes a combination of both.
Every so often a gap appeared in the terracing exposing a plot of waste ground overgrown with grass, weeds and litter. Also visible were those other examples of the detritus of urban deprivation: old sofas and chairs. All the metal, if it had ever been there, had been removed: it had a scrap value.
The scene worsened as he reached the centre. Shell suited residents occupied the street. They moved at a speed that indicated that they had nothing to hurry for; and they didn't. No education, no jobs and certainly no prospects beyond the state's hand-outs. Most of the shops were boarded up apart from a couple of charity shops, a newsagents and a couple of fish and chip shops. Also inhabiting the street were two large boarded buildings that had obviously been respectively a cinema and a sizeable supermarket. No doubt when the mine had been open this had been a thriving community. Every board a testimony to, and nail in the coffin of, a once relatively prosperous past!
Rafique Khan's constituency surgery occupied a room in the local community centre. One of the few buildings without boarding and graffiti! He knew he had arrived because Khan's dark Jaguar XJ8 presented a discordant juxtaposition with its surroundings. Blunt wondered how the deprived residents viewed such a symbol of a lifestyle at odds with their own
Blunt's ploy was to act as a local constituent from one of the more affluent small villages in the Wath and Dearne Valley constituency. He would be a Mr Murgatroyd wanting to question his MP on the Council Tax he had to pay.
The small waiting room contained a gaggle of elderly women in headscarves, a couple of men with flat caps, trainers and shell suits and a young woman with a squawking child in a battered pram. Blunt took his seat amongst these people who could be termed the great unwashed. Eventually his turn came and he was shown into the room in which the great man sat.
On walking into the room the policeman immediately noticed the two heavies sitting in the far corner of the room. He thought it silly of him not to realise that a member of the security committee would have bodyguards.
Khan instantaneously recognised Blunt and his stomach churned. Of all the things that he had expected of Blunt this was not one of them. He had also not expected the trouble that the man had just caused him. He was having to expend a good deal of time and energy in a damage limitation exercise.
Seeing his old college 'friend' after all these years brought back the physically painful memories of his broken nose: not to say the indignity of rolling around on the floor. What had he come for? To talk about Anjii? To talk about his approach to Saeed? Or had he found out about his other interests? Best to send the bodyguards away as soon as possible: to hell with the risk.
Blunt had to give it to Rafique. A slight stiffening in the chair had been the only discernible sign of surprise at seeing the policeman.
'Well John. What a pleasant surprise.' Khan said smilingly as he rose from his chair and extended his right hand.
'The unctuous bastard' thought Blunt as he walked towards the desk. He could tell that Khan was still not quite comfortable. Did not know what to expect. The policeman ignored the proffered hand. Felt the doubt in Khan's mind. Divined that the bodyguards had also picked up on the tension as they had started to move towards him.
'Take a seat John and have a look at what we need to discuss' he motioned towards the chair in front of the desk. He then turned to the bodyguards and instructed them to wait outside. Noticing the concern on their faces he assured them that he was fine and would shout if he needed them.
Once they had gone he turned again to Blunt, 'To what do I owe this pleasure John? I assume it's not a social visit'.
'Tell me about Anjii, Rafique' came the quiet order with a slight sibilant inflection that added a touch of menace.
'What is there to tell John?' the MP paused 'she chose me over you. We had a happy life together until she became ill. Then unfortunately whilst of unsound mind she took her own life'
'Bollocks' hissed Blunt.
'I presume you are referring to a letter that she wrote to you. John, she was completely out of her mind at the time. She wrote one to me as well saying that you had made her life a misery' an emboldened response.
That momentarily took the policeman aback. What if it were true? A thought immediately dismissed when he considered the comments of Anjii's aunt.
'You are a piece of work Rafique'
'John, John' the other raised his arms as if in supplication 'I will post you a copy of the letter. We both loved Anjii.' He then started to twist the knife, 'But she chose me over you. Why can't you accept it?' Seeing the haunted look cross the other's face he continued, 'If she thought anything about you, she would have tried to contact you before she fell ill. Not after!'
'God Rafique, knows how to wind me up!' the policeman thought to himself.
'Now John. I have to bring this to an end I am a busy man. Greaves, Coleman' Khan ended by shouting to his bodyguards.
As they came back into the room Blunt recovered,
'I will get you Khan. Believe me I will get you.' stated quietly through gritted teeth.
They eyeballed each other for a moment before the MP broke the silence
'John, I will ignore that remark. I think the pressure of dealing with the failure of your new unit is getting to you. You better be careful that you don't have another breakdown.' Blunt gripped the arms of the seat as the man goaded him, 'You haven't found out anything about the Patel murder yet. You have hardly dented the Russian operation. But you have caused a lot of trouble. Your chickens are coming home to roost John and sooner than you think'. The MP ended with a patronising sneer.
'I will get you Khan. I am part of the way there' Blunt flashed back, 'and if I do not manage it there are others who will'
'Gentlemen escort Mr Blunt from the premises' Khan instructed his bodyguards then turned once more to the policeman fixing him with a patronising glare, 'I think that you better leave John. I believe that you are in more than enough trouble as it is. And there's more to come!'