“I suppose it's a stupid question to ask whether you have enemies, Mr. Iqbal,” Thackeray had said after he and the convenor had taken a cursory glance around the offices.
“Where do you want me to start, Mr. Thackeray?” Iqbal had asked derisively. “You know as well as I do who's creating mayhem around here. I'm just waiting for you to arrest them.” Behind him the crowd of young Muslim men who had gathered overheard his words and murmured their agreement.
“I can't arrest anyone without evidence,” Thackeray had said.
“Well, perhaps we'll get you your evidence,” Iqbal had promised in a lower voice. “If you can't protect us maybe
we'll have to protect ourselves.” Thackeray had ignored this threat and changed tack.
“Do you think this could have any connection with your dispute at Earnshaws?” he asked.
“Dâyou mean is Frank Earnshaw resorting to fire-bombing?” Iqbal had asked. “I doubt it. I think if he wants to get rough he'll use the courts, not this sort of crude assault. But you never know. His father was always accusing us of getting âuppity' â isn't that the word they used to use about black slaves?”
“So, what have we got? Some sort of race war?” Laura asked after listening to a summary of all this. “I've been up to my neck in it myself today, what with sexist Muslims and butter-wouldn't melt neo-Nazis. You don't really think Earnshaws could be getting up to dirty tricks themselves, do you? The last thing they want at the moment is a strike, that was very obvious when Frank Earnshaw came to talk to us at the
Gazette.
I think it would put a very large spoke into his plans.”
“I wish I knew,” Thackeray said. “I know I'm in for a long session with Jack Longley in the morning to work out how to investigate all this on top of the murder of Simon Earnshaw. It's going to be a bit like disarming a time-bomb in the middle of an ammunition dump.”
“My father's pretty annoyed about the strike threat too, though he's hardly likely to be pouring petrol through letterboxes,” Laura said. “I had a quick drink with him at the Clarendon on the way home. I don't think things are going his way. I know he was hoping to have wrapped up whatever it is he's planning by now but he says he's off to London tomorrow for meetings and then back here by the weekend. I'd dearly love to know what he's plotting.”
“Well, I may need to have a word with him when he
comes back. I hope whatever he's up to is something which will keep Earnshaws going,” Thackeray said. “If all those jobs go down the tubes it will just crank up the tension another notch. The hotheads on both sides are just itching for an excuse to let rip.”
“I've stumbled on another story that won't help race relations either,” Laura said thoughtfully and told Thackeray about the missing student Saira Khan. “Whether the family's shipped her off to Pakistan, which is what her friends believe, or whether she's run off with an unsuitable boyfriend, which is what I suspect, people are going to get upset if I use Saira's story. Her brother was absolutely furious that the
Gazette
was asking questions.”
“I know Sayeed Khan,” Thackeray said. “He's a popular defence lawyer in his community, always keen to find excuses for some of the less reputable Muslims who find themselves in court.”
“Isn't that his job if he's defending them? Or are you turning into one of those coppers who believes if you charge someone they must be guilty?” Laura asked, tartly. “Anyway, it's not only the disreputable ones he's helping. He was advising the Malik family when I went to interview them the other day.”
“Yes, he would be. He doesn't let us get away with much, doesn't Mr. Khan.”
“As I say, it's his job,” Laura said sweetly.
“Just as yours is to poke around where you're not wanted, I suppose,” Thackeray said, though without much heat. “I wish you'd be careful, Laura.”
“Can you investigate Saira Khan's disappearance if her friends lodge a complaint?” Laura asked.
“Difficult if her family don't report her missing,” Thackeray said. “It's not illegal to drop out of your university
course, is it? Her friends' only worry seems to be that she's not answering her phone.”
“I'm not sure I believe her brother,” Laura said.
“That's as maybe, but we're not exactly underwhelmed with investigations at the moment. We're working flat out, Laura. I'd need a bit more to go on than feminine intuition, yours or Saira's friends,” Thackeray said with a faint smile, knowing he would annoy her.
“Oh, of course, Chief Inspector,” Laura mocked. “Don't let's have intuition getting in the way. Seriously though, I thought you had a Muslim DC on the strength now. Couldn't he make some discreet inquiries about this girl?”
Thackeray sighed, serious now and his weariness showing.
“Laura, before you take over CID completely, can I just remind you that I have a murder inquiry on my hands, a vicious attack on a young girl, which incidentally has outraged the Muslim community, and now an arson attack which could be racially motivated as well. Don't you think all my DCs are fully occupied?”
“Sorry,” Laura said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. It's just that I got really bad vibes from Sayeed Khan. Nothing he said sounded quite right.”
“And I've no doubt you'll burrow around until you find out why,” Thackeray said, his expression a mixture of worry and amusement. “But I'm serious, Laura. Do be careful. There's a lot of tension around and extremists on both sides just waiting their chance to whip up a riot or worse.”
“It's not the West Bank out there, you know,” Laura complained.
“No, but there are times when I think it's going that way. What's all this about neo-Nazis?”
“Oh, I just needed a quote from that bastard Ricky
Pickles,” she said airily. “He behaved like a pussy cat, don't worry. It's just what he's thinking that's so alarming. He doesn't succeed in hiding where he's really coming from.”
“Please be careful, Laura,” he said quietly. “I mean it.”
“Fine,” she said. “Have a shower and I'll sort you out something to eat. I'm sure your colleagues in uniform have the like of Pickles under control.”
Later, when they had eaten and Laura had treated herself to a couple of glasses of wine, she luxuriated for a moment in domestic contentment as they sat watching the late night news, but she sensed that Thackeray was edgy and she wondered if it were just the pressures of work bothering him, or something else. In the end he turned and put his arm around her.
“I went to see my father last night,” he said.
“Ah,” she breathed. “I wondered why you were so silent when you came back yesterday. And how was he?”
“As unforgiving as ever. It would be nice to think that after the hard life he's had he could enjoy his retirement, but he's eaten up with resentment. He never wanted to retire. I think he hoped he'd end his life out on the fells one day with his dogs and his sheep, not sitting like this, waiting for death to creep up on him while he could still be active and working if things had turned out differently.”
“Joyce finds it hard too,” Laura said. “Her mind is still sharp but her body won't let her do what she wants to do any more. It's very frustrating.”
“And then I go blundering in, reopening old wounds,” Thackeray said.
“You told him what we're planning?”
“He has a right to know, though I'm sure he didn't want to. Frank Rafferty was there and he was more sympathetic than my father was.”
“I met him once,” Laura said. “He seemed a reasonable man, for a Catholic priest. Perhaps they're getting more tolerant of human frailty at last.”
“The Church may be, but not my father.”
“You must do what you think is right,” Laura said, tentative now. “I can live with it.”
“I think it's right to make an honest woman of you,” Thackeray said firmly, tightening his grip on Laura. “I've got a lot of things wrong in my life, but I'll not get this wrong. My father can go to hell, though I'm sure he thinks that's the last place he'll end up. He's got a place there reserved for me.”
Laura turned her face up to kiss Thackeray and was infuriated when his mobile phone rang. He pulled away and listened to the call impatiently, but as Laura watched him his expression became grim.
“Right, thanks for calling, even if somewhat late in the day,” he said at last. “I'll get one of my officers to come to see you in the morning to take a statement.”
“Bad news?” Laura asked.
“That was Simon Earnshaw's tutor. Calls himself his friend, though in the circumstances I have my doubts. This is strictly off the record as far as the
Gazette
is concerned, of course, but he says that he's discovered who Earnshaw's girlfriend is â by putting two and two together he claims, but I wonder if he knew all along. She's Muslim, her name is Saira and she's a student at the university.”
“And she's gone missing?” Laura breathed.
“She's not been seen at the university, apparently, since Simon was killed.”
“Of course she hasn't,” Laura said, her stomach tightening with fear. “But the question's not just where she is, Michael, is it, but what she is? Is she your murderer or is she another victim? I think she's probably dead.”
DCI Thackeray could feel the tension in the cramped interview room as soon as he walked in. Sayeed Khan, smartly dressed in a dark suit and silk tie sat behind his father, who wore a dark jacket over white shalwar kameez, and was puffing heavily on a cheroot which had filled the stuffy room with acrid smoke. Sergeant Kevin Mower, who was sitting across the table from the older Khan, glanced up as the senior officer came in and shrugged almost imperceptibly. The fourth man in the room, DC “Omar” Sharif, was leaning against the wall opposite the door and continued to stare down at his shoes, evidently happier to allow events to proceed without his direct participation.
“Mr. Khan asked if he could talk to you personally, sir,” Mower said, not making much effort to disguise his displeasure with this turn of events. “I told him you were extremely busy ⦔
“Not too busy, surely, given the delicate nature of this inquiry, Chief Inspector,” Sayeed Khan said smoothly, directing his remark exclusively to Thackeray. “I don't think you've met my father, Chief Inspector. There's never been any reason why you should. My father, Imran, like the cricketer, though sadly not so famous. Merely a businessman in this country although in Pakistan his family is distantly related to the other Imran.”
Thackeray nodded in the direction of the older man without enthusiasm. In spite of his credentials as a Yorkshireman, cricket was not his game and he was aware he was being humoured and not very skilfully at that.
“I see nothing particularly delicate in trying to trace
someone who seems very likely to be a material witness in a murder inquiry, Mr. Khan,” he said. “And my officers are entirely competent to talk to you and your father and, I would hope, as an officer of the court, you are entirely ready to help us with our inquiries.”
“Of course,” Sayeed Khan said, with only the briefest of glances at his father who remained grim-faced. “But I think what my father and I need to discuss is your basic premise. As a family we have no evidence at all that Saira knew Simon Earnshaw. She has never mentioned his name at home to any of us, not even to her sister, Amina, who is her closest friend. As I understand it, Mr. Earnshaw was a post-graduate student in another department at the university. We have no reason to suppose that they've ever even met.”
“And if Saira was having a relationship with Simon Earnshaw would she be likely to tell you, or her sister?” Kevin Mower broke in sharply. “Do us a favour, Sayeed.”
Imran Khan began to speak to his son quickly in Punjabi, but then with a glance at Sharif, who had begun to pay attention now, he switched to English.
“I have given my daughters a great deal of freedom and encouragement to pursue their education,” he said. “But I know my daughter would not have a relationship with a man who is not a Muslim. She would not have a relationship with anyone who was not known to me and my family and who met my approval. Saira is a good Muslim and an obedient daughter. Whoever is suggesting otherwise is slandering her name and dishonouring my family.”
Thackeray sighed and sat down beside Mower at the table.
“Then when we speak to her she will be able to confirm all this,” he said.
“Who is making these allegations about Saira, Chief Inspector?” Sayeed Khan asked quickly.
“You know I can't discuss that,” Thackeray said. “Let's just say that whoever it may be is in a position to know. He's sufficiently reliable for us to feel the need to speak to Saira urgently. So if you will just tell us where she is â¦?”
“Not the gossip of girlfriends then?”
“Not the gossip of girlfriends,” Thackeray said. “But it was her girlfriends at the university who alerted us to Saira's unexplained absence. They were worried about her and I believe someone in your family told them that she was safe and that they didn't need to be concerned.”
“I'm not aware of that,” Sayeed Khan said, glancing at his father again.
“Is Saira in Pakistan, Mr. Khan?” Thackeray asked, not disguising his anger. “This is what her friends seem to think. Have you sent her abroad for some reason? Any reason.”
The Khans, father and son, seemed disinclined to answer this direct challenge, and Thackeray's face hardened perceptibly.
“Mr. Khan,” he snapped, addressing himself to the younger man. “You're a practising solicitor and I'm engaged in investigating a murder case in which your sister appears to be involved in some way with the victim. I want to know where Saira is. If she's in this country I need to see her, and if she is out of the country I need to speak to her on the phone. I can arrange to interview her wherever she is â in Pakistan if necessary.”
Khan senior spoke rapidly to his son again in Punjabi and Thackeray turned quickly to Sharif.
“Translate, please.” Sharif looked uncomfortable but did as he was asked.
“Mr. Khan says how strange it is that English men only become very interested in women's rights when they can use it against Muslims.” An image of Laura flashed briefly
in front of Thackeray's eyes and he allowed himself a half smile.
“If that's a convoluted way of calling me a racist, Mr. Khan, I assure you it's unjustified,” Thackeray said. “I'm not accusing you of harming Saira in any way. But there is a possibility which I am surprised hasn't struck you. It's what suggests to me that you really do know exactly where Saira is and that she is probably quite safe. From where I'm sitting, it's conceivable that Saira herself could also be a victim of whoever killed Simon Earnshaw.”
Saira's father and brother both drew sharp breaths at that but still neither of them spoke. Thackeray's face darkened again.
“Mr. Khan, there is an offence of perverting the course of justice, as I am sure you're very aware, and if you refuse to help us find Saira I think it could be argued that you are coming dangerously close to committing it. I doubt very much if the Law Society, as your professional body, would be much impressed with that.”
Sayeed Khan turned to his father and said something in Punjabi. Thackeray swung round to DC Sharif again.
“Mr. Sayeed Khan said to his father that he has no choice but to answer our questions,” Sharif mumbled.
“That's the first sensible thing I've heard since I came into this room,” Thackeray said. “Is Saira in Pakistan, Mr. Khan?”
“No, she's not,” Sayeed Khan said. “We didn't know about this alleged relationship. As my father said, we believed Saira to be a devout young woman, like her sister.”
“It is a slander,” the older Khan said bitterly. “Saira would not be seduced by your western so-called morality.” Thackeray was checked for a second by that. This man could be his own father in shalwar kameez, he thought. So much for cultural differences. But he knew he had to press on now he had started this interrogation.
“So where is she?” he persisted.
Sayeed Khan shrugged wearily.
“We don't know,” he said. “We haven't seen her since last Saturday, more than a week ago now. We've been worried sick.”
“So why the hell didn't you report her missing?” Kevin Mower asked explosively.
“We preferred to make our own inquiries first,” Khan said. “As my father said, there is great shame in admitting that a young woman has run away, particularly for the older generation. My father didn't want it widely known. He preferred to make inquiries within the community first ⦔
“So that's what you thought, is it?” Thackeray's voice was full of scepticism. “Isn't that just a little contradictory? You say you knew nothing about the relationship with Earnshaw, but when Saira fails to come home you assume she's run away, presumably with a man.”
“What else could we assume?” Khan said.
“Well, most families might be afraid she had come to some harm, had an accident, been attacked or worse. Most families might have contacted not only the police, but hospitals, her university, anyone who might know anything. Is this shame you talk about so profound that you can't make the most obvious efforts to find a daughter who goes missing?”
“Yes,” Imran Khan said explosively. His son put a restraining hand on his arm.
“We have been looking for Saira,” he said. “In our own way, in our own community.”
“Making use of the young men who allegedly seek out errant daughters?” Thackeray asked, stony faced. “Who will allegedly kill rather than allow a family's honour to be blemished?” He heard Sharif draw a sharp breath behind him and
the two Khans flushed darkly but this was a gauntlet he was determined to run to the end.
“I know of no such young men,” Sayeed Khan said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I'm pleased to hear it,” Thackeray said. “Because as a lawyer you know as well as I do that what such young men do is illegal in this country, that we do not hound and harass young adults who choose to marry or live together, regardless of their religion or their ethnic background.”
“If Saira was having such a relationship, and I don't believe it, we knew nothing of it,” Sayeed Khan said, his face set and his eyes angry.
“Which leaves us with the evident fact that she is missing and I need to speak to her on the assumption she may have been deceiving you,” Thackeray said flatly. “So I'll tell you what will happen next. We will report her missing and put out a national call for her to be traced urgently. We'll also need to carry out a search at your home. Our forensic people will no doubt be able to obtain DNA samples from Saira's room which may match samples found at Simon Earnshaw's flat. That should prove pretty definitively whether there was a relationship between the two of them or not.”
“Not publicity in the newspapers,” Sayeed Khan objected. “Her photograph, all that?” Beside him, his father groaned.
“It may well be necessary,” Thackeray said. “I think you're still not quite appreciating the seriousness of my interest in your sister, Mr. Khan. She's a possible suspect in a murder inquiry. And if she had nothing to do with Simon Earnshaw's death herself it seems at least possible that she has been killed as well. Do I need to make myself any clearer than that?”
Â
Laura had been surprised that morning when she got to the office to find an urgent message from Radio Bradfield asking
her to find time to go in to see the station manager some time that day. She called Kelly Sullivan but she was not available, so Laura arranged to walk across town to the station during her lunch hour, wondering just what might have gone wrong with the plans for her to fill in for Kelly while she was away. She was kept waiting ten minutes in the reception area, surrounded by potted plants, copies of what's-on leaflets and a feed of the local lunchtime radio news, before she was allowed through the security doors and shown into the station manager's office. It was immediately obvious from the slightly cool handshake Steve Denham offered across his desk that this would not be as cosy a chat as they had had last time she had been there. Kelly Sullivan, who was one of two other people waiting for her in the office, half-smiled as she came in and Denham introduced the man sitting next to her as his “legal adviser” Colin Makin.
“Thanks for coming, Laura,” Denham said. “I just wanted another chat before you go ahead with these interviews you're planning for when Kelly's away. To be perfectly honest, and on reflection, with what's going on in the town at the moment, we're beginning to have second thoughts about the wisdom of such controversial subject matter just now.”
“Controversial?” Laura said, feeling stupid because for a second or two she simply did not understand what Denham meant. “I didn't think I was doing anything particularly controversial.” Denham raised an eyebrow at that.
“With the state of race relations at the moment, with the attack on the young Malik girl, I think you have to admit that raising the issue of women's rights in the Muslim community could be construed as â how shall we put it â a tad provocative.”
“On the contrary,” Laura said angrily. “If the Muslims are closing ranks and being defensive about their women and
girls, I think that's just the moment to raise the issues I want to talk about. That's certainly what some of the Asian women I've been talking to think. As they put it, they're worried about being set back a generation by what's happening.”
“It's a subject we ought to explore â with some sensitivity,” Denham conceded. “But I think not now. It's too inflammatory.”
“You obviously haven't heard the latest news here at Radio Bradfield,” Laura said waspishly. “It'll be in the first edition of the
Gazette
, of course. The police are looking for a young Asian woman who seems to have run away because she was having a relationship with Simon Earnshaw.”
This was clearly news to Denham and Kelly Sullivan worked hard to stifle a smile at her boss's discomfiture.
“Of course that raises even more issues worth discussing,” Laura went on. “Why did she feel it necessary to conceal her relationship? Will she be pursued by her family? Or has she already been bundled off to Pakistan to get her out of the way? Or, worst of all, has she been killed as well?”