The Facebook Killer Read Online Free PDF Page A

got me mixed up with someone
else mate,” he replied nervously.
    Kalif clapped his hands together.
    “Na man,” he said smiling broadly, “it was
deffo you. Man, you were out of it. Abdul bought some weed off of
ya. Gimme a minute,” he paused as though thinking, “Robert. That’s
your name innit?”
    “Yeah,” He replied looking a little
bewildered.
    “Man that was the best smoke I’d had in
years,” he said clapping again.
    “Well I don’t do that shit anymore,” he said
sternly.
    “Man, do you ever see Abdul? I ain’t heard
from him since all that bullshit started, we were best brothers
man.”
    Kalif had read the words of support on
Hamid’s web pages, words written by this man driving the car next
to him. “Word on the street is that she was gagging for it anyways,
been around the block a few times, little slut.” “ I know you’re
innocent mate. Keep your chin up. If you go down for this her old
man is gonna be London’s most wanted. Yeah, I hope you read this
you stuck-up old prick!”
    “I ain’t seen him since the party that night
he got off. Fuck that was a blow out. His folks laid on everything;
the Jacuzzi was full of bottles of champagne on ice, man.
Unbelievable.”
    “Nice,” said Kalif, nodding his head, “wish
I’d been there.”
    “Do you want to give her a go?” asked Chapel
pulling into a layby.
    “Yeah man. Why not?”
    The driver got out and Kalif took the
wheel.
    Now I bet you’re thinking that at this point
Kalif picked the apple? But you’d be wrong. This one wasn’t ripe
enough yet.
    After another half hour, they took the car
back to Chapel’s house by the old brick factory. Shaking hands,
Kalif promised to be in touch within a few days, explaining that he
had to fly to Pakistan the next week for a family wedding. Chapel
wrote down his phone number and handed it over.
     
    Three days later Kalif had purchased
everything he needed. I was excited about this one. I knew for a
fact that Chapel had lied. I knew he was Hamid’s main supplier of
drugs. I had seen him at the trial, sitting along from me in the
public gallery, giving the thumbs up to my family’s murderer. I had
always assumed that Hamid and his cousin were high the night they
torched my home and I was about to make a large bet that Robert
Chapel had sold them those drugs. He was as guilty as they were and
he was about to be sentenced. Kalif-style.
     
    It took fifteen minutes of negotiation before
Chapel would let him take the BMW for a second test drive by
himself. Kalif had shown him that he had the cash and eventually
left his passport as security. Chapel knew that Kalif was going to
Pakistan soon and would need it. This was a sure guarantee that he
would return with the car.
    “OK but you’d better be back in half an
hour,” he said.
    “That’s all I need,” Kalif smiled.
    Kalif had driven to Chapel’s house in the
other BMW. He had parked it near the old brick factory. Out of view
of any houses and there were no through roads.
    I had found it very quickly on Ebay. The same
year and same model. “Norman” had tinkered with it in the hotel’s
rear car park for a couple of nights. The mileometer was adjusted;
a couple of scratches added in the right places and of course the
apple-picking device was added. Something that could never have
been done in the space of a half hour test drive. All Kalif had to
do now was switch the number plates, seat covers, air freshener,
gear knob, tax disc and personal contents and Hey Presto!
    “Sorry man but it doesn’t feel so good the
second time around,” Kalif said as he handed the keys back to
Chapel.
    “What the hell do you mean?”
    “I mean I ain’t gonna buy it man, sorry.”
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “Take it out yourself man, there’s a rattle
coming from somewhere. It don’t sound good brother.”
    Chapel looked angry when he jumped into the
car, the squeal of the tyres just confirmed it. He roared off down
the street. Oblivious to