After fielding questions and listening to suggestions, Emily ended the meeting. As the detectives dispersed, she took a hefty swig of her water and came to join Barbara.
“Well?” she said. “The Asians. How did it go?”
“Muhannad's not threatening anything at the moment, but he's not backing off the racial bit.”
“He's been singing that song as long as I've known him.”
“I'm wondering, though,” Barbara said. “Could he be right?” She told Emily of the incident with the two children which she'd witnessed near the pier that afternoon.
“Not bloody likely,” Emily said when she'd finished. “Not with a trip wire, Barb.”
“I don't mean that it's an arbitrary killing based on race,” Barbara said. “I mean, couldn't race actually be behind it, even if the killing was premeditated? Couldn't culture be behind it? Cultural differences and all the misunderstandings that come from cultural differences?”
Emily appeared to consider this, her attention on the china board but her eyes not actually focused on its lists and data. “Who're you looking at, then?”
“Theo Shaw can't be wearing that gold bracelet for nothing. He had to have a relationship with the Malik girl. If that's the case, how would he feel about her marrying? It's a cultural deal, the arranged-marriage bit. But would he be likely to back out of the picture just because he's told to exit stage left? And what about Armstrong? His job went to another bloke. Why? Because it's the done thing: keeping positions in the family. But if he didn't deserve to be given the sack, wouldn't he want to do something to put things right?”
“Armstrong's alibi checks out solidly. The in-laws confirm. I spoke to them myself.”
“Okay, but aren't they likely to confirm, no matter the truth? He's married to their daughter. He's the breadwinner. Are they going to say something that might put their own kid out on the streets?”
“A confirmation is a confirmation,” Emily said.
“But it isn't in the case of Muhannad,” Barbara protested. “He's got an alibi as well, and you aren't buying it. Right?”
“So am I supposed to put Armstrong's in-laws on the rack?” Emily sounded impatient.
“They're relatives. That makes their confirmation weak. Muhannad's not related to this bloke Rakin Khan, is he? So why are you supposing that Khan would lie? What's his motivation?”
“They stick together. It's part of who they are.”
But there was a patent lack of logic to that. “If they stick together, then why would one of them kill another?”
Emily drained her bottle of water. She shot the empty towards a wastepaper basket.
“Em?” Barbara said when she didn't respond. “That doesn't really follow. Either they stick together—which means it's unlikely that a fellow Asian offed Querashi—or they don't stick together—in which case it doesn't make sense that Khan would lie for Muhannad Malik. You can't have it both ways. It seems to me—”
“This is gut,” Emily interrupted. “This is instinct. This is a basic feeling that something stinks and I've got to track it down. If the trail goes into the Asian community, I can't help that, all right?”
There was no question of its being all right. Emily was, after all, directing the entire investigation. But Barbara felt a sense of disquiet with the entire idea of instinct. She'd been on cases before where instinct turned out to be just another word for something else.
“I s'pose,” she said uneasily. “You're the guv.”
Emily glanced her way. “That's right,” she said.
ACHEL WINFIELD DIDN'T WALK DIRECTLY ONTO THE pleasure pier. Instead, she paused at its land end. She stood between the Pier End Hotel, whose windows and doors were boarded against the sea, and the row of kiddie-car rides that flagged each side of the pier's entrance. It was dinner time, so a lull had come in the day's activities. Rides still ran and the beeps and blasts of noise from the arcade games still drowned out the cries of gulls, but the time of day had reduced the number of pleasure seekers and the ringing of bells and the bleeping of horns from fruit machines, pinball machines, and other games of chance were intermittent now.
Thus, it was the perfect time to talk to Theo Shaw.
He was still on the pier. Rachel knew that from the sight of his BMW, parked in its usual spot just beyond the Lobster Hut, a tiny yellow and green striped cabin beyond the abandoned hotel that had never sold lobster and probably never would. She stared at the cabin's handpainted sign—BURGERS, HOT DOGS, POPCORN, DONUTS—and while she watched an elderly couple make a purchase of popcorn, she chewed on her lip and tried to consider all the ramifications of what she was about to do.
She had to talk to him. Theo may have made his mistakes in life—and certainly not leaping immediately to Sahlah's rescue upon the death of Haytham Querashi was one of them—but he was not a bad person at heart. Rachel knew that he would make things right in the end. After all, that's what people did when they were in love.
True, it hadn't been wise of Sahlah to keep the news of her pregnancy from Theo. And it had been even less wise to agree to a marriage to one man while she was carrying another man's baby. Theo could do his maths as well as anyone, and if Sahlah had married Haytham Querashi and produced a child—supposedly by that marriage—in less than eight or nine months … Well, Theo would have known the child wasn't Haytham's, and what would he have done then?
Of course, the real question was what had he done three days ago, on Friday night, out on the Nez. But this was a question that Rachel didn't want to answer and could only pray the police didn't ask.
This is all about love, she told herself stoutly. This isn't about hate and killing. If Theo had done something to hurt Haytham—which she didn't for a moment actually believe—then doubtless Haytham had provoked him to do it. Accusations might have been hurled. Nasty comments might have been made. And then all in a terrible instant, a blow might have been struck in anger, a blow from which this terrible situation that Sahlah was in had grown.
Rachel couldn't bear the thought of Sahlah submitting herself to an abortion. She knew it was the anguish of the moment that was propelling her friend in this direction, anyway. Because Haytham was dead and it appeared to Sahlah that no other immediate solution to her troubles was available, she wanted to take a course of action that Rachel knew quite well she would live to regret.
Girls like Sahlah—sensitive, creative, protected from life, completely gentle and without guile—didn't get over abortions as easily as they thought they would. And they especially didn't get over abortions of babies whose fathers they obviously adored. So Sahlah was mad to think that ending the pregnancy was the only option she had. And Rachel was set upon proving that to her.
What bad could really come from Sahlah's ending up in a marriage with Theo Shaw? It was true that her parents might be peeved for a while when they discovered she'd run off with an Englishman. They might not want to speak to her for a few months, even. But when the baby was born—their own grandchild, the son or daughter of their own beloved child—then all would be forgiven; the family would reunite.
But the only way that any of this could happen was if Rachel warned Theo that the police might try to tie him to Haytham Querashi's murder. The only way that this could happen was if he got rid of that damning bracelet before the police connected it to him.
So her path was clear. She had to warn him. And she had to nudge him, however delicately, towards doing what was right by her friend and doing it before another day passed. Not that Theo Shaw would need nudging, of course. He may have been hesitating over the last few days because of what had happened to Haytham, but he'd be determined to do his duty once he learned that the clock was ticking on an upcoming abortion.
But still Rachel hesitated. What if Theo failed Sahlah? What if he didn't do what was right? Men often ran the other way when responsibilities cluttered their paths, and who was honestly and absolutely to say that Theo Shaw wouldn't do the same? Clearly, Sahlah believed he'd abandon
her, or she would have told him about the baby in the first place. Wouldn't she?
Well, Rachel thought stoutly, if Theodore Shaw didn't take up the burden of his obligations to Sahlah, Rachel Winfield would step in. That last flat of the Clifftop Snuggeries still remained to be sold, and Rachel's savings account still contained the money to put down towards a purchase. So if Theo didn't behave the way he ought to behave, if Sahlah's parents disowned her as a result, Rachel herself would provide a home for her friend. And together they would raise Theo's child.
But that probably wouldn't happen, would it? Once he learned about Sahlah's intention to be rid of their child, Theo Shaw would act decisively.
With all the ramifications explored, Rachel turned from the Lobster Hut and set off down the pier. She didn't have far to go, however. Just inside the arcade, she saw Theo Shaw talking to Rosalie the Psychic.
This was definitely a positive sign, Rachel decided. Despite the fact that their conversation didn't actually look like a psychic consultation—since instead of his palm, the tarot cards, or a crystal ball, Rosalie appeared to be doing her reading from a piece of pizza in a plate on her lap—there was still the chance that between bites of pepperoni, Rosalie was giving Theo the benefit of her experience in dealing with the problems of her fellow men.
So Rachel waited until their discussion was at an end. When Theo nodded, rose, touched Rosalie's shoulder, and began to come in her direction, Rachel drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. She adjusted her hair to cover as much of her face as she could do, and she walked to meet him. He was wearing that gold bracelet, she saw with some concern. Well, he wouldn't be wearing it for much longer.
“I got to talk to you,” she said without preamble. “It's real important, Theo.”
Theo looked at the colourful clown-face clock that was mounted above the arcade's doors. Rachel was afraid that he was going to say he had to be somewhere, so she went hurriedly on.
“It's about Sahlah.”
“Sahlah?” His voice was careful, non-committal.
“I know about the two of you. Sahlah and I don't have any secrets. We're best friends, you know. Been best friends since we were little.”
“Did she send you to me?”
Rachel was glad to hear that he sounded eager, and she interpreted this as another positive sign. Clearly, he wanted to be with her friend. And if that was so, Rachel knew her job was going to be easier than she'd anticipated.
“Not exactly.” Rachel looked around. It wouldn't do for them to be seen together, especially if the police were lurking nearby. She was already in enough trouble as it was, what with lying to the woman detective that morning and then doing a bunk from the shop. Her position would only worsen if she was caught talking to Theo while he had that gold bracelet on his wrist. “C'n we talk somewhere? I mean, somewheres not so out in the open? It's real important.”
Theo's eyebrows drew together, but he cooperated well enough, gesturing towards the side of the Lobster Hut and the BMW parked near it. Rachel trailed him to the car, keeping a nervous eye towards the Marine Parade, half in the expectation that—her luck being what it was: rotten—she stood a fair to even chance of being seen by someone before they got to safety.
But that didn't happen. Theo disarmed the car's security system and slipped inside, unlocking the passenger door for her. She glanced about and then slid in, wincing as the hot upholstery singed her flesh.
Theo lowered the windows. He turned in his seat. “What is it?”
“You got to get rid of that bracelet,” Rachel blurted out. “The police know Sahlah bought it for you.”
He kept his eyes on her, but his right hand reached for his left wrist and, as if unconsciously, encircled the gold band. “What do you have to do with all this?”
It was the one question she'd have preferred not to hear. She'd rather have had him say, “Bloody hell. Absolutely,” and remove the bracelet without asking anything at all. It wouldn't have been at all disagreeable had he tossed the bracelet into the nearest rubbish bin, which was ten feet away and buzzing with flies.
“Rachel?” he prompted when she didn't reply. “What do you have to do with this? Did Sahlah send you?”
“That's the second time you asked me that.” Even to her own ears, Rachel's voice sounded weak. “You're thinking of her all the time, aren't you?”
“What's going on? The police have already been here, by the way, some heavyset woman with a roughed-up face. She had the bracelet off me for a look.”
“You didn't give it to her, Theo!”
“What else could I do? I didn't know why she wanted it till she'd already had a good look at it and told me she was searching for a similar one that Sahlah claimed to have thrown from the pier.”
“Oh no,” Rachel whispered.
“But the way I see it, she can't know they're one and the same,” Theo went on. “Anyone can own a gold bracelet. She can't prove anything by the fact that I have one.”
“But she knows,” Rachel said miserably. “What's written inside it. She knows. And if she saw the engraving inside of yours …” She saw that there was still a margin of hope, and she went on eagerly. “Except maybe she didn't look inside the band?”
But Theo's expression told her that the Scotland Yard detective had done just that, reading those incriminating words and adding them to the information she'd already gleaned, first from Rachel and then from Sahlah. “I should've phoned,” Rachel moaned. “You and Sahlah. I should've phoned. Only I couldn't because Mum was there and she wanted to know what was going on and I had to get out of the shop directly the policewoman left.”
Theo had halfway turned in his seat to face her, but now he looked away to the Pier Approach, that concrete promenade that ran along the strand and separated it from the three rows of beach huts that climbed the hill. He didn't appear so much panicked as Rachel had suspected he might be, all things considered. He looked confused.
He said, “I don't understand how they traced it so quickly to me. Sahlah wouldn't have, …” Then he turned back to her and his voice sounded eager once again, as if he'd drawn a conclusion that painted a picture he'd long hoped to see. “Did Sahlah tell them she gave it to me? But no, she couldn't have if she told them she threw it off the pier. So how …?”
There was only one way, of course, and he appeared to work that out soon enough, because he said, “That police detective talked to you? How did she end up talking to you?”
“Because …” How could she describe her actions in a way that he would understand, when she didn't really understand them herself? Oh, Sahlah had her own interpretation of what Rachel had meant in giving the jewellery receipt to Haytham, but Sahlah wasn't right. Rachel hadn't meant harm. She'd meant only the best: Haytham questioning his fianceé the way any man might and the truth about Sahlah's love for Theo coming out as a result; Sahlah being saved from a marriage that she didn't want; and Sahlah being free to marry where she chose, whom she chose, when she chose. Or if it was also her choice, Sahlah not marrying at all. “Haytham had the receipt,” Rachel said. “The police found it with his belongings. They're tracking down everything connected with him. So they came to the shop and asked about it.”
If anything, Theo looked more confused than ever. “But why would Sahlah have given him the receipt? That doesn't make sense unless she'd changed her mind about marrying him. Because no one else knew …” But then he saw and she could see that he saw. He sharpened his vision on her.
Sweat trickled from Rachel's temples, following her hairline and the curve of her jaw. “What does it matter how he got it?” she said quickly. “She may have lost it on the street. She may have left it lying round somewheres at home. Yumn may have picked it up. Yumn hates Sahlah. You got to know that. And if she found that receipt, you c'n be sure she'd have gave it to Haytham straightaway. She likes to cause trouble, Yumn does. She's a real witch.” And the more Rachel thought about it, the more she was able to convince herself that this fabrication w
as well suited to her purpose. Yumn wanted to keep Sahlah as her personal slave. She'd have done just about anything to make sure her sister-in-law had no chance at marriage, so she'd remain at home, under Yumn's thumb. Had she actually got her hands on that receipt, she would have turned it over to Haytham at once. There was no doubt in the world about that. “Theo, what matters is what happens now.”
“So Haytham knew that Sahlah and I …” Theo'd moved his gaze off Rachel, so there was nothing she could read in his eyes to understand why he sounded so thoughtful. But she could imagine well enough. If Haytham knew that Sahlah and Theo were lovers, then Haytham hadn't been on an informational fishing expedition on that fateful night at the Nez. Haytham knew. And that's why he asked Theo for a meeting and that's why he was so quick to accuse, because it wasn't an accusation at all, it was the truth.
“Forget about Haytham,” Rachel said, words tumbling out to direct him where she wanted him to go. “Okay, it's done. It happened. What's important now is Sahlah. Theo, listen to me. Sahlah's in a bad way. I know you probably think that she didn't do right by you in agreeing to marry Haytham, but maybe she agreed so fast because she thought you didn't mean to do right by her. This sort of stuff happens when people love each other. One person says one thing and it goes misunderstood and the other person says another thing and it goes misunderstood, and before you know it, no one knows what anyone else really means or thinks or feels any longer. People get themselves in a real twist. They make decisions they might not otherwise make. You see that, don't you?”
“What's going on with Sahlah?” he asked. “I phoned her last night but she wouldn't listen to anything. I tried to explain—”
“She wants an abortion,” Rachel cut in. “Theo, she's asked me to help her: to find out where she can have it and get her away from her family long enough for it to be done. She wants it as soon as possible, because she knows it'll take her father months to find her someone else to marry, and by that time it'll be too late.”
Deception on His Mind Page 33