Every set of lights on the East Lancs Road went red. And there are many sets. I tried not to get tense but the car was hot and my temples were starting to thump. I had a raging thirst. I hadn’t had a drink since breakfast and the smoky air at the Centre had added to my dry mouth. I pulled in at a garage, bought a bottle of mineral water and glugged it all the way to town.
I drove round for almost half an hour before finding a parking space. The cordon still barricaded off Cross Street, Market Street and Cannon Street, and although many of the buses and the Metro Link were now running, the traffic-flow through town was still at a snail’s pace.
Manchester does have some beautiful buildings, and the Central Library is one of them. Like a cross between the Coliseum and the Parthenon, it’s a delight in white marble, albeit smeared with grey from the pollution. It has large round pillars supporting the porch at the front and repeated on a smaller scale around the dome and the upper floors. The libraries inside are circular, light and airy from the glass ceilings. And plastered with notices warning of pickpockets and bag thieves.
I walked up the stairs to the Social Sciences library and headed for the microfiche newspaper archives. The local papers along with the national dailies were all there. I sought out issues from just after New Year. There were no local papers until 2nd of January. Coverage of the murder of Ahktar Khan dominated the headlines. NEW YEAR STABBING TRAGEDY. Ahktar in a classic school-photo pose took up most of the front page. I read the reports, which were sketchy and speculative. I scrolled forward, winding the film on to the next front page. KHAN KILLING – POLICE DENY RACIAL MOTIVE and the next: SCHOOLBOYKILLING – SUSPECT HELD. Later in the week they proclaimed: KHAN MURDER – POLICE CHARGE SCHOOLFRIEND.
There was a picture of the two boys next to a drum kit with two friends. Their band.
I made photocopies of the relevant stories to take away. The papers had covered the murder for most of that week, but the speed with which they had charged Luke Wallace with the crime put an end to the press interest.
My mobile rang just as I got back to the car. I answered it and paced back around the car park, ducking and weaving in an effort to improve the reception. The phone crackled. ‘Hello,’ I shouted. ‘Can you bear me?’
