Dishonour (19 page)

‘So what is the answer?’ she asks.

‘That we turn our face to Allah,’ I say, ‘and accept the one true religion.’

Lilly heaped two spoons of coffee into a mug, then added another.

She’d barely slept all night, snatching twenty minutes here and there between long periods of staring out into the night.

Despite her efforts to reassure herself, the man taking photos of her office had spooked her and she was beginning to wonder if it was more than a coincidence that she’d also seen someone creeping around the cottage with a torch.

Her mother, Elsa, had been a fond of sayings, some traditional, some entirely of her own making. Lilly recalled one of her favourites: ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.’

Though a firm pragmatist, Elsa taught her daughter to watch her back.

Lilly replayed the moment when her cottage was firebombed over and over in her mind. She could still see the flash of orange, still smell the smoke.

When Jack finally came home in the early hours he’d slid between the sheets and fallen instantly into a deep sleep.

She was glad he was getting stuck into his work again. He habitually went through periods when he questioned whether there was any point to what he did. And she loathed that.

At these low points it wasn’t just the cynicism she balked at but the fact that since she told him she was pregnant Jack redirected all his energy towards her. Lilly just wasn’t used to that level of attention and found its glare uncomfortable. She certainly wouldn’t confess her
unease to Jack or his attention would refocus in a nanosecond.

She stirred her coffee and sipped, watching morning unfold in her garden. The rabbits were out in force, nibbling and crapping, like a scene from
Watership Down
, and a little chaffinch tapped rhythmically on the window with his beak.

She needed to be in court in an hour and a half, and certainly needed a shower beforehand, but she couldn’t summon enough energy to rush.

Jack strode into the kitchen, a heady purpose in his step. If he noticed the dark circles under Lilly’s eyes he didn’t comment.

‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready?’ he asked.

Lilly leaned against the counter. ‘I’m psyching myself up.’

‘Right.’

He whistled as he poured hot water over a slice of lemon.

Lilly watched him over the rim of her mug.

‘I’ve got to go into school today,’ she said. ‘Mr Latimer wants to speak to me about Sam.’

‘Right,’ he repeated.

Was he not going to ask why?

Jack drained his cup and headed to the door. ‘See you.’

Obviously not.

Too late she noticed his mobile lying on the counter. It skipped through her mind that she should run after him, but she didn’t. She knew her response was linked to his lack of interest.

She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt. Though grateful not to be the target of his all encompassing anxiety, she would have liked a small enquiry as to her health. She
was
pregnant, after all. And although Sam wasn’t Jack’s son, he’d always looked out for him, so his indifference was unsettling. She was being utterly irrational and she knew it. She could put it down to hormones but hadn’t she always been this way? She fingered the keys on his phone. He’d probably come back for it.

The chaffinch came knocking again. He hovered briefly, then tap, tap, tap.

Sam had once told Lilly that birds saw their own reflection in the glass and thought it was an interloper.

Lilly knew how they felt: she was a past master at fighting with herself.

Ismail Hassan was nervous. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, like just before an exam. Or even worse, just before the teacher gave you the results.

He and his elder brother, Imran, were meeting some men in this café on the High Street. They called themselves the PTF and were supposed to be some sort of religious group.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Ismail asked.

Imran shook his head, his disgust obvious. ‘Do you want to get Aasha back or not?’

Ismail let his arms drop to his sides. Mum had already spoken to Jack McNally—the policeman who came to the house yesterday—and he hadn’t even managed to speak to Aasha, let alone bring her home.

Mum had been crying all morning.

Two men arrived and Imran shook their hands.

‘
Assalamu alaikum
, brother,’ they said in turn.

‘
Wa alaikum assalaam
,’ Imran responded.

Ismail wondered if he should greet them but the words caught in his throat.

They took the seats across the table and waited. One was much larger than the other, his neck thick, his chest bursting out of his polo shirt. He folded his hands in front of him and Ismail could see scratches crisscrossing his knuckles. The smaller one had a wiry intensity, and a nervous tic in his left eye.

‘You want our help?’ the bigger man asked.

‘We’ve tried the official route,’ said Imran, ‘but the police don’t want to know.’

The man nodded. ‘Why should they care if a Muslim girl disobeys her family?’

Ismail couldn’t help think that they didn’t seem religious. They looked more like those men you saw outside pubs. Bouncers. He had a very bad feeling about getting them involved.

‘They did say they’re looking into it,’ he ventured.

The man grunted. ‘And how long will that take? A week? A month?’

‘They didn’t say.’

‘And in the meantime you’re being dishonoured.’ The man splayed his fingers on the table. ‘We need to deal with this matter ourselves, before she makes a laughing stock of you.’

Imran gave one short nod and the men left.

‘I still think we should leave this to the police,’ said Ismail.

‘You’re a fool,’ said Imran.

‘What if they hurt her?’ Ismail asked. ‘She’s not a bad girl, she’s just made a stupid mistake.’

Imran had always expected Aasha to do exactly what he told her and didn’t stand for any backchat, but surely he still cared about her. She was their sister, after all.

Imran didn’t look at Ismail. ‘She needs to be taught a lesson.’

Lilly met Taslima outside court one in Luton Crown Court.

‘Looking good,’ Taslima grinned.

Lilly glanced down at the buttons of her white shirt straining over her bump. She tried to cover it with her gown but the ends wouldn’t meet.

‘At least I don’t have to wear a wig for full comedy effect.’ Her hands went to her hair where a ponytail was disintegrating, tangles of curls escaping on all sides. ‘On second thoughts.’

Taslima tapped her hijab. ‘Never a bad hair day for us Muslim sisters.’

Lilly laughed until the sight of Kerry Thomson thundering towards them cut her short.

‘What are the defence asking for?’ she snapped.

‘Good morning to you too,’ said Lilly.

Kerry wrinkled her nose.

Lilly sighed. ‘I want all the unused material.’

‘You have it.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ Lilly asked.

Kerry rolled her eyes and went into court.

Lilly followed and found Saira Khan sitting patiently
at the back of the room, her hands resting neatly in her lap.

‘Anwar couldn’t come,’ she explained, ‘and Mum isn’t well.’

Lilly smiled kindly. ‘It’s fine, Saira. I’m sure Raffy will be very glad to see you here.’

Saira gave a stiff nod as if she remained unconvinced.

Lilly felt a wave of sympathy for the girl and her elder brother, both forced to act as unofficial parents.

Judge Francis Chance glided in. He was newly appointed and new to Luton. Lilly hoped that he wouldn’t be trying to make a name for himself. Bell’s ambition and Kerry’s animosity were more than enough to contend with. Lilly shuffled to her place.

‘Good morning,’ he smiled.

‘Good morning,’ Lilly smiled back.

‘By all means take a seat, Miss Valentine.’ The judge waved at her bump.

Excellent. Not only was he reasonable but thoughtful into the bargain. This should be painless.

Kerry made a tutting sound. ‘Your Honour, I would like to set this matter down for trial at the Court’s earliest opportunity.’

The judge put up his finger. ‘Indeed, Miss Thomson, but first I wish to speak to the defendant.’

He took off his glasses. It was an affected gesture, reminiscent of a hundred ITV dramas. But the judge was new so Lilly wouldn’t hold it against him.

‘Young man,’ he frowned at Raffy, ‘you should know that this is not the youth court and I will not tolerate any outbursts from you.’

‘I didn’t say nothing,’ said Raffy.

‘You do not speak to me except through your solicitor, and if you do not show this Court the respect it deserves I will have you taken back down, do you understand?’

Raffy didn’t respond.

‘Do you understand, young man?’

Lilly coughed. ‘Your Honour just told the defendant not to speak directly.’

‘Don’t play semantics with me,’ the judge ordered. ‘Now does your client understand what has been said to him or not?’

Lilly sighed. Her hopes of a reasonable judge had been well and truly dashed. She nodded at Raffy in the dock.

‘Fine,’ he said, ‘I understand.’

‘Then let’s get on,’ said the judge. ‘Are there any applications?’

Lilly got to her feet. Somehow it didn’t seem appropriate to remain relaxed with Judge Chance. ‘I’d like an order for the unused material,’ she said.

‘Your Honour, she has it,’ Kerry sighed.

The judge scowled at Lilly. ‘I would encourage you to check all the paperwork beforehand.’

‘Naturally I’ve done that, Your Honour,’ she said, biting back a retort.

‘Then you’ll know it’s there,’ said Judge Chance. ‘I’ve seen the list myself.’

Lilly took a deep breath. ‘Then Your Honour will know that there is no information about any other lines of enquiry.’

‘Perhaps there was none,’ said the judge.

Lilly shook her head. ‘I want to know who else was considered a suspect, who was interviewed.’

‘Read my lips, Miss Valentine,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps there were no other suspects.’

‘Then I want confirmation here and now from the Prosecution that the police made no other investigations.’

The judge glared at her but she wouldn’t back down. At last he turned to Kerry.

‘Miss Thomson, can you give Miss Valentine the assurances she wants?’

‘Not at this very second,’ said Kerry. ‘I’ll get back to her as soon as possible.’

‘Not good enough,’ said Lilly.

The judge banged his gavel. Another gesture stolen from gritty Sunday night telly and wholly unnecessary in the circumstances.

‘I will decide what is and what is not good enough.’ He nodded to Kerry. ‘Miss Thomson, you have a week.’

Lilly and Taslima descended to the gaol.

‘You were good out there,’ said Raffy.

‘I am good,’ said Lilly. ‘Bloody good.’

‘What do you want it for anyway?’ he asked. ‘This unused stuff?’

Lilly smiled. ‘I want to prove that the police didn’t bother looking in to the boyfriend or anyone else because they had already made up their minds.’

‘How will that help?’

‘I want to show the jury that the police jumped on the latest bandwagon. A Muslim woman was killed so it had to be her brother,’ she said. ‘They made the evidence fit their theory rather than the other way round.’

Raffy grunted with what could have been appreciation.

‘I will do everything in my power to help you,’ said Lilly, ‘but you have to help yourself.’

‘I’ll try,’ he replied.

She nodded at some cuts on his knuckles. ‘So tell me you haven’t been fighting.’

He gave a lopsided smile, the first she had ever seen on his face. ‘I haven’t been fighting.’

Jack hadn’t felt this chirpy for as long as he could remember. Dinner at Mara’s had been great. Just a simple salmon steak and salad.

‘I don’t like a heavy meal at night,’ she’d said.

Jack couldn’t agree more. The pasta frenzies Lilly put together were indigestible after eight. No wonder she was up half the night with heartburn.

They’d discussed Ryan, though he had to admit not for long, then Mara had put on some music. She loved jazz and spoke passionately about Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton.

When he fell into bed in the early hours, Lilly was fast asleep. Of course, he’d felt guilty but that had soon dissipated this morning at the sight of her sour face. A text from Mara had sealed the deal.

I enjoyed last night so much. U?

He bought a fresh fruit salad in Marks and Spencer’s and skipped to his desk. He picked out and ate all the mango before dialling the chief super’s office to ask for permission to enter Ryan’s flat.

‘McNally,’ the chief barked.

‘Could you spare a moment, sir?’ asked Jack.

‘I can spare ten,’ said the chief super. ‘Get up here now.’

Jack had expected to have to make his case over the phone. Doing it in person was a bonus. He took the stairs two at a time and rapped on the Chief’s door.

‘I’m grateful for the time, sir,’ he said, but stopped when he saw DI Bell standing at the window. ‘Sorry, I’ll wait outside.’

The chief beckoned him in. ‘For God’s sake, man, I’ve been calling your mobile all morning.’

Jack patted his breast pocket for his phone. It was conspicuous by its absence.

The chief’s nostrils flared. ‘Tell me what’s going on with the Asian girl that disappeared yesterday.’

Jack couldn’t imagine how the chief had got to know about it or why a detective on another case needed to be there.

He spoke slowly, not at all sure where this was leading. ‘I think she may have run away from home.’

‘Do you know where she is now?’

Jack’s throat felt dry. ‘I have an idea.’

The chief leaned over his desk and glared at Jack. ‘And have you acted on this idea of yours?’ he asked.

‘I went round there, sir,’ Jack answered, ‘but nothing doing.’

‘Then what? You went to the pub and forgot all about it?’

Jack blushed, not least because that adequately summed up his evening.

‘I thought it was too late last night, sir, that it would be better to discuss it with you first thing this morning.’