Poisoned Ground: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery 3) (12 page)

Susan closed the fridge. If the worst came to the worst she could always make Lee macaroni cheese or some soup. And if he didn’t like either of those options she’d buy him a Chinese. Noodles were dead easy to eat, especially with a big splash of soy sauce. She went into her bedroom to get ready for another night at the American roulette wheel. Maybe she’d see poor old Kenny again, although Susan hoped that she didn’t, for his sake.

Rashida knew the signs. It always started with an inability to speak anything but Arabic and then progressed to obsessive cleaning. Her mother didn’t know what to do and, without her father, her mind fell apart. She’d had a phone call from Rashida’s school.

‘I should’ve bought you a ticket and put you on a plane as soon as I found you at the lock-up,’ Salwa said.

‘It’s the middle of term, Omy,’ Rashida said. ‘If you take me out of school now they’ll know you’ve sent me back to Cairo. Then they’ll come for you.’

Salwa chewed her bottom lip. ‘Who?’

‘Immigration,’ Rashida said. Without her husband, Salwa had to rely on men like the local imam, people who were strangers. She didn’t always trust what they told her. Frightened, she was relatively easy to manipulate. Rashida inwardly blessed her school and all her teachers.

‘Immigration?’

‘Of course,’ Rashida said. ‘It’s against the law to keep a child out of school in this country. Remember how Baba was so careful to take me in the holidays for my operation? They’ll deport you and the children and then Baba will be here all alone.’

‘Oh no.’ Salwa sat down beside Rashida on her bed. ‘Oh no, we
can’t have that, that would break him. And what about the private detective and her investigation? What shall we do?’

Her mother had the key to Rashida’s locked bedroom door in her pocket. If she felt so inclined, Rashida knew that she could easily overpower Salwa and just take it. But what good would that do her? She had nowhere to run to and her mother had probably primed the imam and all his followers to keep a look out for her in case she escaped. What she needed was time – to think and to plan.

‘Let me go back to school,’ Rashida said.

‘No.’

‘So get arrested,’ Rashida said.

‘I told them you were sick,’ Salwa said. ‘Now I think I must get you an air ticket.’

Rashida rolled her eyes. She was going to have to play this very carefully. Her mother was frightened but she wasn’t a fool. ‘Now? Omy, if I disappear now, they will know you’ve sent me away to get married. They’re always suspicious about girls who suddenly leave before the end of term. One of the Pakistani girls left a week into last term and everybody knew why.’

‘Did they catch her?’

‘No. But that was because her whole family went to Pakistan too,’ Rashida said. ‘For good.’

Salwa shook her head. ‘Maybe you are just saying that to trick me, Rashida. How do I know that if I let you go back to school you won’t just run away?’

‘Run away? Where?’

‘Or maybe you’ll do something worse,’ Salwa said. ‘What you said about betraying your father. Although for what I can’t …’

‘I didn’t mean it. I was upset.’ Rashida realized that she’d used the biggest lever she had too early on in her negotiations with
her mother. Now she had to be as sincerely sorry for that error as she could be. What she needed was time, and being at school until the end of term was one way of getting some.

Her mother shook her head. ‘I can’t trust you,’ she said.

Rashida leant back against her pillows. ‘Even if I swear on the Holy Koran?’

One thing Rashida knew was that her mother was entirely convinced of her daughter’s adherence to her religion.

‘Swear what on the Holy Koran?’

‘That I won’t run away and I will stop my hunger strike,’ Rashida said.

Her mother, frowning, said, ‘Until the end of term?’

‘Unless you want to send me away now and get deported,’ Rashida said.

Salwa shook her head. ‘No.’

‘No?’

She stood up. ‘You think I’m stupid, Rashida? If I let you go back to school you will spend the rest of the term looking for ways to get out of marriage.’

‘I will swear on—’

‘No!’ Salwa stood up. ‘Today I will go to the travel agent and I will buy you ticket for Egypt.’

Rashida began to cry. ‘But, Omy, they will …’

‘I will take my chances with the British immigration people,’ Salwa said.

Rashida wanted to yell, ‘Then I’ll starve myself to death in this room!’ But she couldn’t. She’d been sure that offering to swear on the Koran would work. And she wouldn’t have broken her promise. She wouldn’t have run until the day that term ended. Hopefully by that time, she would have worked out where she might go.

As her mother left, she said, ‘You’ll be in Cairo by Sunday.’ Then she locked Rashida’s bedroom door behind her. The girl cried and then she pulled herself together. There was still a back-up plan, even though it was very unlikely to succeed.

*

The pub, which was called The Butterfly, was more than half empty. And of the patrons who were drinking, most were elderly men like Ken Rivers.

Lee Arnold bought himself a Diet Pepsi and sat down opposite the old geezer. There wasn’t going to be any easy way he could introduce himself. He put one of his business cards on the table. ‘Mr Rivers?’

The old man looked up, squinted and then looked down at the card.

‘My name’s Lee Arnold, I’m a private detective. I’ve been engaged by your son Philip’s wife …’

‘Sandra?’

‘Yes. I’ve been engaged by Mrs Rivers to track Philip down.’

Ken Rivers shook his head. ‘He done a terrible thing to her, taking all her money,’ he said. ‘She wants it all back off him, I s’pose.’

‘No. She just wants to talk to him.’

‘So she says.’

The old man picked up Lee’s business card. ‘Why should I believe you?’ he said. ‘You could be anyone.’

‘So phone Sandra.’ Lee found her number on his phone and gave it to Ken Rivers. ‘Go on.’

He looked at it for a few moments and then said, ‘Nah. I’ll call her later.’

‘Mr Rivers, do you have any idea where your son is?’ Lee asked.

Ken drank his glass dry and then said, ‘I could do with another.’

The ambiance wasn’t nice. The Butterfly was one of those pubs where the carpet was forever sticky and the beer looked and probably tasted like piss. Lee looked at the old man and raised his eyebrows. So this was a bribery situation.

He picked up Ken Rivers’ glass. ‘What you having?’

‘Pint of Stella.’

Even when Lee had still been drinking, he’d never bothered himself too much about lagers. Although far from being a fully paid-up member of CAMRA, he had always been more of a bitter man. He went to the bar, bought the beer and sat down again.

‘Well?’

The old bloke supped, slowly. The way he behaved made Lee feel vindicated. Susan had been sorry for ‘Kenny’ when he lost so much money at the casino, but ever since Lee had first spotted him he hadn’t been able to shift the idea that Kenneth Rivers was a nasty piece of work.

‘I haven’t seen Phil since last Boxing Day,’ the old man said.

‘Did he come down to see you?’

‘Yeah. We had a couple of pints and then he went back to the Smoke. He never said he was selling Sandra’s house.’

‘Have you heard from him since?’

‘Shit!’ A lone twenty-something put some coins in a slot machine and lost the lot.

‘No,’ Ken Rivers said.

‘Did you try to contact him?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘We wasn’t close,’ the old man said.

Sandra Rivers had told him that Phil often went down to Southend to see his mum and dad. But in view of what Barry
Barber had told him maybe Phil had been visiting men for sex rather than going for tea with his folks.

‘And your wife?’

‘She don’t know which way’s up,’ Ken Rivers said. ‘Didn’t Sandra tell you that?’

‘She told me your wife was suffering from dementia.’

He shook his head, drank and then said, ‘You don’t know the half.’

‘You look after Mrs Rivers?’

‘Who else is there?’ he said.

So the old woman was in the flat. Somewhere. Lee remembered all those silent, apparently empty rooms he’d seen through the windows.

‘What do you do, Mr Rivers, apart from looking after your wife?’ Lee asked.

He shrugged. ‘No much. Get out for a pint when I can. Have a cuppa somewhere …’

Lee couldn’t help himself, he wanted to know. ‘Who looks after your wife when you go out?’

There was a long silence before Ken answered. And when he did, his cold blue eyes burnt into Lee Arnold’s face. ‘You said you come here about Phil,’ he said. ‘Not my old woman.’

‘I was just—’

‘Well, don’t “just” nothing,’ the old man said. ‘I ain’t got nothing to tell you about Phil and I ain’t got nothing to tell you about my old woman neither.’

He turned his head away. Lee waited for him to turn back, but in vain. Ken Rivers remained silent until Lee got up and left. He said, ‘Look, call me if you do see Phil, will you, Mr Rivers? Bottom line is his ex-wife is worried about him. Money’s not important, she just wants to know he’s safe.’

But Ken Rivers didn’t so much as twitch.

Out on the rainy seafront, Lee walked back to his car. His meeting with Ken Rivers hadn’t gone as well as it could, but at least he was now almost certain the old man hadn’t seen him at the casino. Lee had been careful not to make any sort of eye contact with him but then Ken Rivers had only had eyes for the roulette wheel. It was doubtful he knew anything about his surroundings once he was playing.

Where had Ken’s money come from? He’d frittered away thousands on the one occasion Lee had seen him gamble. Was Phil putting cash into his dad’s account? The old man had said that they hadn’t got on, so if Phil was giving him money, then why? But then Sandra Rivers had been sure that her husband had been to visit his parents often and that they were close. Had Ken been lying to her about that? If so, why? Had Ken been covering up his son’s infidelities? Had Phil’s mother also colluded in the deception? And where was the old woman anyway?

When he got back to his car, Lee called Derek Salmon.

‘I’d go back into the shadows for a bit if I were you,’ the solicitor said. ‘If Ken Rivers is that hostile just watch him for the time being.’

‘OK.’ Then Lee called a man he’d first met when he’d been on the force. He was called Leslie and he could go places that other people only dreamt about.

*

‘Miss Huq?’

Mumtaz turned. She’d never really got used to ‘Mrs Hakim’, which was useful now.

Dr el Masri smiled. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to see you.’

‘Oh?’

She was on her way to meet Shirley and Mandy in the advocacy office. She had to pass the doctor’s offices to get there.

El Masri leant out of his open door and smiled. Behind him, Mumtaz could see an embarrassed expression pass across his secretary’s face. ‘You know, I think that you and I may have got off to a bad start,’ the doctor said.

‘Really?’

He looked at her with soft eyes. Mumtaz knew all too well when a man was flirting with her.

‘I believe I was a little harsh about your qualifications,’ he said. ‘And, in fact, when I thought about what you said, I realized that you are probably the most qualified advocate we’ve ever had.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A conversation between us might be both useful and enjoyable,’ he said.

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’

‘I found what you said about advocate impartiality, particularly as pertaining to ex-service users, really offensive,’ she said. Only afterwards did she think that might not have been the best thing to say. But at their first meeting he’d made her cross.

He looked down at the floor. Was he a little cowed?

‘I’m sorry for that, Miss Huq,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I speak before I think.’

She waited for him to raise his head again so that she could see his eyes.

‘Well …’

He looked at her and smiled. ‘An old doctor’s lack of manners and understanding,’ he said.

And there, covering his face like a sheen, was lust. Everything
inside Mumtaz cringed. But it was an opportunity and she had to take it.

‘A conversation about psychology would be very pleasant,’ she said.

‘Excellent.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Have a word with Sylvia –’ he waved a hand in the direction of his secretary – ‘and she will book you in. Late afternoons are generally best for me.’

‘Very well,’ Mumtaz said.

Dr el Masri bowed. ‘Then I will see you,’ he said and he went back inside his office and closed the door.

‘Wear metal pants.’ A hand landed on Mumtaz’s shoulder. Mandy.

‘He’s always trying his luck,’ she continued as they walked towards the Advocacy office.

‘Did he ever try it on with you?’ Mumtaz said.

‘Nah.’

‘Why not?’

Mandy snorted. ‘What, an ex-service user? Yeah, right. No he only tries it on with “sane” advocates.’

‘Is that why some of the others left?’

She laughed. ‘I dunno. Rattled your cage, though, didn’t it?’

Mumtaz shook her head. ‘You are terrible.’ Then she said ‘What about actual service users?’

‘On the wards?’ Mandy shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. When I was on Acute One, I was too ill to know what my name was. But there have been stories.’

‘About el Masri?’

‘About doctors, nurses, everyone. When you’re off your nut you’re fair game because nobody is going to believe you. They might say that they do, but they don’t. Me and Roy told you about Shirley, didn’t we?’

‘Yes.’

They reached the Advocacy office door. ‘You have to make up your own mind, Mumtaz,’ Mandy said. ‘If you think that what a service user’s saying is true then you have to do something about it even if Shirley don’t want you to.’

‘Yes, but you—’

‘Me and Roy can’t do nothing off our own bat. We’re ex-service users and so nobody will believe a word we say. The hospital only listens to people like you and even then it’s hard.’

Mumtaz went to open the door, but Mandy stopped her. ‘Shirley won’t help you,’ she said. ‘But if you take the lead, me and Roy will always be behind you.’

‘Did you try to be behind the advocates who left?’

‘Yeah. We did but they all left anyway.’ Mandy looked sad. ‘As you will.’

Mumtaz put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I won’t,’ she said and instantly regretted it.

Mandy shook her head. ‘You will. This place is its own little world with its own rules,’ she said. ‘One way or another, in the end, it won’t let you stay.’