Dark Enough to See

by Katherine Pathak

  “No, it’s fine. I think that would make us conspicuous.”

  “Okay but please take it easy. You aren’t meant to be doing any police work right now. I don’t want to end up in trouble with Fergus.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “I’ll be perfectly okay. I can call a cab from there and be dropped off directly at home.”

  “Message received. I’d better get back to the station anyway.” Andy stood and watched his colleague walk slowly away, thinking he might hang around for a little while longer, just to be sure.

  *

  The coffee shop was buzzing with young clientele. Alice took a seat by the counter and examined the extensive tea menu. When a young woman with sleek dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and chestnut brown eyes approached her table, Alice read her name badge: Layla.

  “What can I get you?” She asked.

  Alice waved the menu card in the air. “Do you have any recommendations for a worn-out pregnant woman?

  Layla smiled and pointed to a couple of items with her pen. “Rooibos tea is excellent, because it’s full of antioxidants and its caffeine free. Or Ginger and Mint is nice and helps if you are experiencing nausea. We’ve also got some items on the food menu, specially balanced with seeds and herbs by our chef that we recommend for our pregnant customers.”

  Alice was impressed. She wished she’d visited this place earlier in her pregnancy, when she had terrible morning sickness. “I’ll go for a cup of the Rooibos, thanks. I’m trying to avoid caffeine. Then another time I can come for lunch, perhaps.”

  “Great, that’s a good choice.”

  The detective watched the Vogels’ eldest daughter at work whilst she waited for her drink. Layla was of average height and slim build. Her skin was the colour of caramel. She cleared one of the tables and wiped it down before carrying over Alice’s tea.

  “Thank you,” Alice said, adding quickly, “if I come in again and want some advice on what food to order, how will I find you?”

  She gestured to her name badge. “My name is Layla. I work every day except Wednesdays. If I’m not out front, just ask for me at the counter. Sometimes I help the chef.”

  “That’s a lovely name,” Alice added. “It doesn’t sound very Scottish?”

  She laughed. “I was born in Tunisia. My family come from a place just outside Tunis.”

  “Wow, it’s a beautiful place to be brought up.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it is. We go on holiday there a lot, to see my Grandma.”

  Alice creased her face. “Have your family been over here long, only you have a very strong Glasgow accent?”

  Layla rested her weight on the adjacent table. “I was adopted when I was eight. My parents are Scottish, but they try hard to make me aware of my heritage.”

  “Ah, I see. When I was quite young, my parents took me on holiday to Sousse. I absolutely loved it. Those long, white sandy beaches, it was like paradise.”

  “My birth family are originally from Tabarka. It is just as beautiful.” Layla glanced over at the counter, where an older man with an abundant beard was glaring at her. “Sorry, I’d better get back to work.”

  “That’s fine, and it’s me who should be sorry. I didn’t want to get you into trouble. Hopefully, we can speak again.”

  Layla gave her a wary smile before drifting off to take an order from another table.

  Alice let her body relax into the chair and sipped the Rooibos tea, carefully considering the information she’d just heard.

  *

  Dani was about to go to bed when her mobile phone began to buzz. She reached forward to scoop it off the coffee table.

  “DCI Bevan?” She declared sleepily.

  “Oh, hello, it’s Pete Watts, from Pioneer Associates. We spoke the other day in the beer garden?”

  Dani shifted up and gave the phone her full attention. “Of course, Mr Watts. What can I do for you?”

  “You took me by surprise when you asked me about that trip to Marseille. I hadn’t thought about it in two decades, but since you cornered me in the pub, I’ve thought of little else.”

  “Have you remembered something?”

  “I can’t be certain, but maybe I have. It’s difficult to decide whether you’re just imagining things, when it’s twenty odd years after the event. But my wife said you could always check it out, so I should tell you anyway.”

  “Your wife was quite right.” Dani hardly dared to breathe. “Tell me what you think you recall.”

  “It’s just that I tried to picture everything we did, from the moment we got our flight from Prestwick, to the moment we got back. And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember Mark being with us on the way home. I mean, he was at the football match. I was sitting near him in the VIP box, but I’ve no memory of him after that point. Not until we were all in the office a few days later. That’s something you could check, isn’t it? You can contact the airlines to see if Mark Vogel was ever on that return flight?”

  “Yes, Mr Watts. It’s certainly something we can enquire about. I’m very grateful you decided to make the call.”

  Chapter 35

  Although it was early morning, Dani still found the heat intense. Their flight had landed at Tunis airport a couple of hours before and Ravi was driving their hire car towards the north coast of Tunisia.

  “Have you been here before?” Dani asked her companion.

  Ravi glanced across at her, a pair of dark shades masking his eyes. “No, but Rupali and I went to Morocco once, before the kids were born.”

  “Yeah, I’ve not been either. It’s very beautiful.”

  The road led them through the arid landscape and out towards the coast. When they spotted the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean, Dani consulted the map and decided they must have reached the outskirts of Tabarka.

  “I suggest we find somewhere to park in the main town. Then we can use the tourist map I picked up at the airport to find the house,” Ravi said.

  Dani nodded her agreement. She was staring out of the window at the glorious tableau unfolding before them. The town itself was characterised by a cascade of white-washed villas set out across the hillside, each one possessing striking sky-blue windows and doors and a terracotta roof.

  Across the bay was a small, rocky island, lush with vegetation and topped by an ancient fortress. As they drew closer, Dani could see it was connected to the coast by a narrow causeway, upon which were more of the lovely stone buildings and a long sweeping beach of ivory sand.

  Ravi parked the car near to a small harbour, constructed from the local stone, it stretched far out into the bay. The detectives climbed out and surveyed their surroundings.

  “This coastline is full of five-star resorts, stretching right around the northern tip of Tunisia. But I’m sure the tourist industry has struggled since the terrorist attack in 2015. It’s such a shame. This is a beautiful place.”

  “It isn’t the height of the season yet,” Dani commented. “More holiday-makers may come later.”

  Ravi opened out the map and laid it on the bonnet of the car. The sun blazed down upon the paper, causing Dani to squint to make out what was printed there.

  “The address we have is further out of the town.” He pointed inland. “Up on the hillside.”

  “Can we walk?”

  Ravi nodded. “Yes, it isn’t far.”

  “The lady who lives there is called Chouhanda Farhat,” Dani clarified. “Will she speak English?”

  “This is a tourist town. I expect her first language will be Arabic, but she may also speak French. I’m hoping, because she has worked in the hotels, she will know some English.”

  Dani hoped so too. They’d come a long way for nothing if she didn’t.

  They climbed up a road closely flanked by pretty houses which provided the detectives with much needed shade. It was nearly midday and the heat was slowly building in intensity. Dani could smell the fragrance of juniper coming from the bushes which covered the hillside.

  As
they ascended higher, it became clear that the address would not be easy to find. There was no clear numbering system on the houses. It was difficult to tell where one property ended and another began.

  Dani stopped to take her breath, placing her hands on her hips and gazing out at the panorama of sea and sky.

  Ravi paused beside her. “Mrs Farhat is in her sixties. According to the newspaper and police reports Fergus passed on to me, her eldest son, Batuhan, had travelled to Marseille with his brother to watch the match between England and Tunisia during the World Cup of 1998. The young men did not drink, but still got caught up in the throngs of revellers who spilled out onto the streets of the French city after the match had finished.”

  “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Despite the crowds, the only witness who ever reported what happened was Batuhan’s younger brother, Daran. According to him, they were set upon by a group of English supporters, who appeared out of control from drink. Batuhan was badly beaten up, receiving several kicks and punches to the head. They were taken to a French hospital, and when Batuhan was stable, flown back to Tunis.”

  “Was Daran also injured?”

  “Yes, but not as badly as his brother. Batuhan was transported to the intensive care unit at the Rabta Hospital. They treated him there for a couple more weeks before he was declared brain dead. The family made the difficult decision to switch off his life support.”

  Dani felt anger bubbling up into her chest. “And no one was ever prosecuted for his murder?”

  “The incident happened down a quiet side street in Marseille. The city was chaotic that night, full of marauding groups of drunken fans. There was no CCTV coverage on the street where the attack happened.”

  Dani tutted. “But we believe that Mark Vogel may have known something about the assault?”

  Ravi nodded. “When Alice spoke to Layla Vogel, she mentioned her birth family originated from Tabarka, and that they came back here to visit her grandmother. When I checked Fergus’s notes and realised that one of the men who was assaulted in Marseille in June 1998 also came from Tabarka, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.”

  “It’s certainly worth checking out. Even if it did mean sacrificing some annual leave.”

  Ravi gave a thin smile. “Rupali wasn’t impressed.”

  Dani glanced about them, at the warren of stone dwellings. “So, the address is somewhere around here?”

  Ravi noticed a middle-aged woman leaning out of a window, draping pillow cases over the sill to dry. “Excuse me,” he called up to her. “Do you speak English?”

  “A little,” she called back.

  “We are looking for Mrs Farhat’s house?”

  The woman leaned further out of the window, pointing to a blue door several properties down. “She lives there.”

  Ravi beamed with gratitude. When they reached the blue door, he knocked without hesitation. Dani tried to peer beyond the wooden shutters at the ground floor window, but they were firmly sealed.

  Dani felt her hopes plummet. The detectives sat on the dusty stone step and waited. It was all they could think to do.

  Within half an hour, their patience was rewarded. A short lady with a wide cotton dress and two heavily filled shopping bags by her sides, turned down the street and approach the house.

  The detectives automatically got to their feet.

  When she saw them, the lady froze to the spot, the bags slumping to the hot ground. She glanced about her, as if contemplating a possible route of escape. But Chouhanda Farhat seemed to suddenly realise she had no way of fleeing these two young officials, so she put a hand up to her eyes to deflect the bright sun. “What are you doing here?” She called out, surprisingly defiantly. “What do you want with me?”

  Chapter 36

  The cool atmosphere in the house was a welcome relief. Ravi had helped Mrs Farhat to carry her groceries into the modest kitchen.

  “I suppose you will want a cold drink,” she grumbled. “Having travelled such a long way.”

  “We would certainly appreciate that,” Dani said with feeling.

  “Your English is very good,” Ravi commented.

  “I worked in one of the resorts for twenty years. And my granddaughter speaks only English.”

  She placed three glasses on a tray and brought a jug of pale yellowish-green liquid out of the fridge. “Help yourselves. It is lemon juice. I make it myself, from the lemons I grow in the courtyard.”

  Dani set about pouring a drink for them all, her mouth was parched.

  “Thank you for letting us into your home,” Ravi began. “We just have a few questions to ask you.”

  Chouhanda nodded. “I knew you would come eventually. Policemen from Scotland. I’ve been prepared for it.”

  Dani frowned. “Why did you think we would come?”

  She leant forward, her dark, lined skin creasing with anguish. “Because they did a bad thing. I went along with it, for the sake of Daran. But now I am alone, it plays on my conscience.”

  “Can you tell us more about the bad thing?” Ravi edged closer.

  “My eldest son, Batuhan, he was a very good boy. He had a job at the harbour and worked hard. I remember the day he told me that his wife, Yasmin was expecting a baby. It was the proudest of my life.”

  “I didn’t know Batuhan had a wife?” Ravi asked in confusion.

  Tears misted the lady’s eyes. “It was a terrible birth. Yasmin lost a great deal of blood and did not survive. It was a dark time for my family. But we pulled together. Batuhan moved in here with me and we looked after the baby together. Yasmin’s family were very poor and could not help, they farm goats down in the south.”

  “Layla was the baby?” Dani whispered.

  “Yes, my beautiful Layla.”

  “We know what happened to Batuhan, Mrs Farhat and we are deeply sorry. Can you tell us about it?”

  “We all had to work for a living, but between Batuhan, Daran and I, we managed perfectly well with the baby. My sons had few pleasures, but they loved football and their country. When we found out our national team was playing in the World Cup, there was much rejoicing in the town. Batuhan decided to save up to visit France and watch Tunisia play. It took a few months, but eventually he and Daran had enough to go. I was happy to look after Layla.”

  Dani felt a lump fill her throat at the enormity of the tragedy. She sipped the lemon juice in an attempt to stem the tears.

  “I did not know what had happened until the boys were transferred back to Tunis. One of my neighbours, who is a taxi driver, took me to see them.” A tear escaped onto her cheek. “My Batuhan was connected to so many wires and machines. His body swollen and black with bruises. The doctors told us he would never recover, he’d suffered a huge bleed on the brain. We prayed for his departed soul.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Dani said quietly. “Did Daran tell you what had happened?”

  She nodded. “They were cornered by a group of men. Most of them were in the English football colours and a couple were not. They taunted my sons, the words they used were insults to people of our religion and race. Then the blows came. Daran tried to protect his brother, but they had encircled Batuhan, forcing him to the ground where their shoes repeated trampled his head.”

  Dani felt sick to the stomach. “Did anyone try to help them?”

  “Yes,” she muttered. “One of the British men was not joining in with the others. Like Daran, he tried to save Batuhan. When the thugs ran away, this other man stayed. He went to get help and remained at the hospital with my sons all night. He even paid for their new flight back to Tunis. We had no insurance of any kind.”

  “This man was Mark Vogel?”

  She nodded. “Mark was appalled at what he had witnessed. One of his friends had seen the commotion and joined in. Mark could not restrain him, he said he was mad with drink and drugs. He wanted Daran to report this British man, but my son would not agree. He said he was one of many thugs and there would be no pro
of who had been the one to kill Batuhan. Accusing this person would just bring further anguish on the family.”

  “Daran was right. Mark would have been under the influence of alcohol when it occurred and his testimony worthless. There was no CCTV to record the incident and the other attackers fled into the night.”

  Chouhanda sighed. “We slowly recovered as a family. Daran became Layla’s guardian and I continued to work at the resort. But Mark Vogel kept in contact with Daran. He said he felt responsible for us. Sometimes, he sent money, but mostly, he and Daran schemed.”

  “In what way?”

  “Mark was consumed with hatred for the man he was with, the one who joined in the attack.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Yes, of course. Richard McGill.”

  “Did Daran share this hatred?”

  “Not at first. He was angry at all the men who attacked them. He was choked up with the tragedy, but wanted to move on, for Layla’s sake. Then, Mark Vogel filled his head with the idea of revenge. He had plans to get even with McGill. He was pretending to be his friend, but behind his back he was scheming.”

  “And this scheme, Mrs Farhat, what did it involve?” Ravi asked.

  “It was a scheme to kill Richard McGill. It was all they ever discussed in their letters. Then, one day, Mark Vogel wrote to Daran and said the time had come.”

  “Do you still have these letters?” Dani asked eagerly.

  “No, Daran threw them in the fire, he knew how dangerous they were.”

  Dani was disappointed. “Then would you be prepared to put what you’ve told us into a formal statement?”

  She slowly nodded. “The time has come for justice. Until now, I have been working all hours in the hotels; cleaning toilets and washing linens. Without Daran around, I could not look after Layla. Mark and his wife offered to give her a home, a decent life. But now I have put some money aside and have a small pension from the state. Batuhan and Yasmin’s daughter should be living in this house, in Tabarka. It is her heritage.” Chouhanda stood up defiantly. “He took my son and granddaughter away from me because of his crazy dreams of revenge. At least now, I can try and get Layla back, tell the world where she really comes from.”