by A. A. Dhand
‘Because you would have been straight over?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sugar?’ she said, waving the pot at him.
‘Just milk.’
‘Have you seen Gurpal?’
‘No. But I’m going to. After this.’
Her hand shook, just enough to spill the tea she was carrying towards Harry on to the floor. She placed it on the counter and hurriedly cleaned the floor.
‘You don’t have to be afraid, Indy,’ said Harry.
‘Nuisance phone calls. A brick through my window with the word “slut” wrapped around it. Police fobbing me off – even when I asked for you personally. What’s to be afraid of?’
Harry looked around the room and saw no signs of an alarm.
‘Security in this place?’
She shook her head. ‘I moved here and left everything behind. Didn’t tell anyone I was here, so didn’t think I needed some posh alarm. Everything was perfect until Gurpal got out of prison.’
‘How soon after did it start?’
‘The calls started the very first night. The brick a few weeks later. Yesterday his brother was waiting outside the school I work at.’
‘Kashmir? Seriously?’
Indy took a seat opposite Harry. ‘I confronted him.’
‘And?’
She hesitated.
‘And?’ said Harry.
Her face twisted into a hatred Harry recalled from years earlier when the case with her husband had exploded. ‘I … told him that if he or Gurpal came near me, I would kill them.’ Indy stared hard at Harry. ‘I meant it.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Harry, understanding the bite to her voice.
Gurpal’s family were well known to Bradford police. Rich, outlandish owners of several strip clubs and bars in Leeds, they were frequently in trouble with the law. Fighting, intimidating their workers and illegally pimping out some of the girls. Yet Gurpal and his brother Kash had got arranged marriages to girls from India; subservient women designed to fulfil traditional roles, trophies they could show off to their community. But they’d misjudged Indy; she hadn’t tolerated their bullshit and after four years of abusive marriage, she had left Gurpal.
For a white guy.
That was when it had all kicked off.
The video recording of Gurpal cutting off Indy’s hair, the highest insult for a Sikh woman, had been intended to be shared online as a kind of warning to others not to betray their heritage.
During his trial, Gurpal had fiercely protested that a video camera he had used to record the attack would prove that he acted in self-defence. He may have been guilty of grievous bodily harm but not murder.
‘I can see you playing it back in your mind. What you did with the camera.’
Indy had guessed at what Harry had done. He’d never confirmed it.
Harry focused on the mug of tea in his hand.
‘He deserved to die for what he did to Tony,’ she said.
Still, Harry stayed silent.
‘Do you regret it?’ she asked.
Harry had asked himself the same question when he first saw Gurpal’s name come up on his case search. At the time, he had been dating Saima, the relationship serious enough that Harry knew he was going to have tough times ahead with his parents. The footage of Gurpal cutting off Indy’s hair had only strengthened his hatred of his community’s customs and traditions. It had made Harry’s blood boil.
Still did.
Did he regret it?
Did he, fuck.
He looked at Indy. He didn’t say anything but made sure his eyes said what his lips wouldn’t.
She smiled and nodded in agreement.
‘I’ve asked for panic alarms to be installed in the house. They’ll be round tomorrow. You good with that?’ said Harry.
Indy nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Harry removed a pen and a notepad from his pocket and scribbled his number down. ‘Anything happens. You call me direct.’
Harry pushed his number into her hands and stood up, his tea untouched.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Indy.
‘I’m going to pay the son of a bitch a visit. Remind him you’ve got more friends in this city than he has.’
‘But he knows what you did.’
‘Exactly,’ said Harry.
TWENTY-FOUR
SAIMA ARRIVED AT her sister Nadia’s house, now a Tuesday evening routine.
It had been a chance encounter at a supermarket which had broken the ice. Nadia hadn’t been able to have children and had immediately taken to Aaron. Saima ruffled his hair as they walked up the path to the front door. Seemed her boy was able to break down barriers neither she nor Harry had managed to dent.
Nadia opened the door wearing a plain green Asian suit, fully made-up as usual, despite never quite learning how to apply her eyeshadow properly. You’d never have known they were sisters. Nadia had followed the traditional route and had entered into an arranged marriage to Imran, her second cousin from Pakistan, when she had been only nineteen. She had never worked or completed her education. Hers was a small and simple life.
‘Hello, hero,’ said Nadia, opening the door and beaming a warm smile at Aaron. He immediately left Saima’s hand and rushed towards her.
‘Sweetie,’ he said.
‘Not a chance,’ said Saima to Nadia, stepping inside and closing the door. ‘He’s already had an ice cream today. What have you made?’
‘Nice to see you too, Sis,’ replied Nadia, taking Aaron with her into the kitchen.
‘Starving,’ said Saima, and again dismissed Aaron’s pleas for a sweetie. Her sister was far too generous with them.
‘Daal. Chapattis,’ said Nadia.
Saima turned her nose up.
‘Look at little miss White girl! Too good for Asian food now?’ Nadia put Aaron down and he immediately went to the drawer where the sweets were kept. Saima went to intervene but was stopped by Nadia.
‘Don’t worry, I emptied it. Let him open it. Only way he’ll eat his tea.’
Saima relaxed and watched Aaron’s disappointed face as he stared into the empty drawer.
‘You want this or not?’ said Nadia bluntly to Saima.
‘Hospitality never was your strong suit.’
‘It’s that or a bowl of cereal.’
‘Charming.’
Nadia picked Aaron up. ‘You want Auntie’s food, don’t you?’
Aaron nodded. ‘Then I have sweetie?’
‘Deal,’ said Nadia.
The sisters were eating their tea in the kitchen, Aaron sitting on Nadia’s lap. She stole a kiss every time she put food in his mouth. Saima smiled, momentarily saddened that Nadia would never have children of her own.
‘He back here now?’ asked Saima, nodding her head towards the living room where the sound of Asian TV was playing loudly. She’d never liked Nadia’s husband, even less so now Imran was messing Nadia about through their divorce.
Nadia shrugged. ‘He’s got the flu. Think his mistress kicked him out. Seems the cow takes him to bed but she won’t nurse him.’
‘Neither should you,’ said Saima bitterly. ‘Can’t believe you let him live here, knowing that he’s got another woman. You’re not part of our parents’ generation, you know. You don’t have to put up with that shit.’
‘Divorce will come through soon enough. Then he’ll piss off for good.’
‘You all right?’
‘I just want to be free, now.’ She paused then sheepishly added, ‘Maybe go out on a date.’
Saima choked momentarily on her chapatti. She took a sip of water and hammered her hand on her chest.
‘Date?’ she said incredulously. Nadia had never dated anybody.
‘Why not? Plenty of guys out there. Might even get another freshie from back home. They’d treat me proper for a green card.’
Saima shook her head. ‘You do not want another freshie,’ she said fiercely.
‘I can’t have kids. Doubt anyone here will want me.’
<
br /> ‘So? Stay single.’
‘Can’t afford it.’
‘Then get a job. Don’t rely on a man.’
‘All right for you with your degree and Harry. I need a man like yours. Someone who would do anything for me and look after me.’
Saima smiled, resigned. ‘Men like Harry don’t come along too often.’
Nadia squeezed Aaron’s cheeks. ‘Maybe I just keep this little guy then,’ she said. ‘You want to live with me?’
Aaron nodded his head. ‘I live here. With Auntie.’
The mood shifted instantly as Imran entered, wearing traditional Asian attire and dragging his feet on the floor. He grunted some sort of greeting towards Saima, ignored Aaron completely and took a drink from the fridge. He muttered for Nadia to heat him some food up and left.
‘I can’t believe you put up with him when he’s got another woman,’ said Saima, scowling.
Her sister had seemed to accept that Imran had found another woman when they’d discovered she couldn’t get pregnant. It wasn’t uncommon in their community but it made Saima’s blood boil.
‘It’s just how it is, Saima. You get used to it.’
‘I wouldn’t. Ever.’
‘That’s why you left. We can’t all be like you.’
‘Put a tablespoon of chilli in his food. It’ll burn the flu out of him and get him out of your house.’
The sisters looked at each other, then at the pan of food on the stove. They burst out laughing, continuing until tears rolled down their faces. Aaron joined in, becoming excitable at the laughter. For the second time that day, Saima felt buoyed; a sense of familial normality, absent ever since she had married Harry.
TWENTY-FIVE
IT WAS RARE for Harry not to be home for seven p.m. but tonight he had made the call to finish his day by visiting Gurpal Singh. Harry had collected Palmer from the station en route to Gurpal’s house in the Five Lane Ends area of Bradford. It seemed Palmer’s meeting with Usma’s family had not proved fruitful. They had been alarmed at finding out that Usma had such a large amount of cash in her bedroom, and even more surprised to learn she had been working at the nail salon. But Palmer hadn’t discovered anything else they didn’t already know.
The tech guys had done a sterling job though. The footage of Burka-man, as they were calling him, had been compared to footage they had of Gurpal Singh. Their height and build were similar and, more importantly, they shared the same shoe size.
‘Great work, Simon,’ said Harry.
‘Thanks, boss. They rushed it through for us. Think this has got everyone on edge. It’s the wasps. Who does that shit?’ said Palmer, opening a family-sized bar of chocolate that he clearly wasn’t planning on sharing.
Harry shook his head slowly; the wasps had been niggling him too.
‘And your new best mate, Xavier – he’s got an airtight alibi.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Guy was in Amsterdam all weekend at a stag do. He got back into Leeds–Bradford late Sunday night.’
‘Didn’t fancy him for it,’ said Harry. ‘Just wanted to give him an uncomfortable day. Guy thinks he’s God’s gift.’
‘Yeah, I heard all about it.’
Harry glanced at Palmer, the two men sharing a smile.
‘Right,’ said Harry, turning off the main road, ‘let’s see if we like this prick for Usma’s murder.’
Harry drove down the winding driveway, a quarter-mile covered in turquoise glass chippings and white limestone gravel. Ahead, the main house loomed large and overbearing. It was like something from a movie.
Harry pulled up beside a large outbuilding, the size of his own home. Palmer finished the chocolate bar and stuffed the wrapper inside his pocket. He put a firm hand on Harry’s arm.
‘Let’s not start a riot. Eh?’
‘Course not,’ said Harry.
‘You want to let me do the talking?’
‘Nope.’
‘I’m serious. Conway had a word in my ear. Doesn’t want another shitstorm with this lot. Last time was quite enough.’
‘That’s why you’re with me. No more accusations about me tampering with evidence. He was a nasty piece of work and got what he deserved, but this is different.’
‘You wait in the car. Let me at least make sure he’s here. They see you and they’re going to kick off soon as.’
Harry relented. ‘Fine.’
He watched as Palmer approached the front door, pushed the electronic keypad and waited. He stooped to show his face to a monitor and a few moments later the door opened, an elderly woman in a sari – Gurpal’s mother, Harry assumed – speaking with him.
Harry glanced at the rest of the house for any signs of curtains twitching. The upstairs lights were all on, the house looked warm and welcoming. Harry didn’t see any movement at the windows.
The woman pointed to the outbuilding next to Harry’s car then closed the door. Palmer returned, opened Harry’s door, pointed to the outbuilding and said, ‘The boys live in there. Apparently.’
Harry got out of the car. ‘Boys?’
‘Both sons.’
Harry gave the two-storey building a once-over. ‘Bachelor pad for the pricks having a mid-life crisis?’
‘Probably.’
‘Come on.’
Harry strode past Palmer and hammered on the door, making it shake on its hinges. His heart was racing and he was clenching his teeth, unable to ignore visions of Indy slumped on the kitchen floor, blood pouring from her mouth, hair cut from her head.
The door opened and Kashmir Singh, ‘Kash’ as he was known, stood there, sweat pouring down his face, dressed in gym-wear. He took a moment to register who Harry was and immediately stepped forward so he was only inches from Harry’s face.
‘The fuck do you want?’ he said, breath stale.
Harry stepped back. ‘Need to speak to Gurpal.’
‘The hell you do.’ Kash moved closer.
Palmer put his arm between the two men and pulled Harry back a little further.
‘We need to speak with your brother about an ongoing investigation.’
‘He isn’t here,’ said Kash, never taking his eyes from Harry.
Palmer stepped in front of Harry. ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Nope.’
Kash tried to close the door. Palmer placed his foot in the way. ‘If you want to do this the hard way, we can. But it only ends one way and you’re smart enough to know that. So give us five minutes now or we’ll come back with a full patrol and a warrant, and then you’re going to have to redecorate.’
‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ said Kash finally. He nodded towards Harry, ‘But I ain’t talking to him.’
The downstairs was an open-plan kitchen-cum-living-room. By the far window was an impressive range of fitness equipment. Whilst Kash didn’t have the intimidating physique of his brother, the weights stacked on the bench-press machine were heavy enough to ensure he wasn’t a man to be taken lightly if things kicked off. Posters of The Godfather and Al Pacino carrying a machine gun in the movie Scarface covered the far wall.
‘What do you pigs want?’ said Kash.
Harry sighed; everything about Kash pissed him off, especially his arrogance.
‘When’s Gurpal going to be home?’ asked Palmer.
‘I’m not his babysitter.’
‘We need to speak to him.’
‘You got a warrant?’
‘Gurpal’s on parole. If we process a warrant, that might make his life tricky with his parole officer. We thought we might try this the nice way.’
Kash grunted and pointed at Harry. ‘The nice way? Like destroying evidence which would have proved my brother acted in self-defence?’
Harry folded his arms across his chest. ‘If the video recording you are referring to did exist, it would also have shown him assaulting his wife.’
Kash spat on the floor, phlegm landing inches from Harry’s feet.
‘She deserved what she got. F
ucking slut.’
Harry kept his arms folded but clenched his fists, digging his nails into his skin. He remained quiet.
Palmer pressed Kash again for details about Gurpal and again hit a brick wall.
‘Like I said. He left this morning and I don’t know when he’ll be back.’
‘Do you have a mobile number for him?’ asked Palmer.
‘He hasn’t got one.’
Harry sighed. He was going to have to rattle this guy’s cage.
‘When will he be home?’ asked Palmer.
‘You deaf? I just told you, I’m not his babysitter.’
‘Come on,’ said Harry, grabbing Palmer’s arm. ‘Waste of time. The dumb-bells in this place are smarter than him and his brother put together.’
‘Hey,’ snapped Kash, stepping aggressively past Palmer towards Harry. A wave of stale breath hit Harry in the face. ‘Must be nice having a badge to protect you, huh?’
Harry remained still. He looked Kash up and down.
‘You know what happened to my brother in prison?’ said Kash.
Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t know, but something in the way Kash said it made Harry think of the men’s shower areas in jail.
‘You think you’re so fucking smart. But we know what you did. We know,’ said Kash.
‘Come on, Harry, we’re done here,’ said Palmer.
‘Man beats his wife. Cuts off her hair in some bullshit masochistic act of honour. I’d say that whatever happened to him in prison, he deserved.’
Harry hesitated but couldn’t help himself from adding, ‘Karma has a way of returning to be a pain in the ass.’
He meant the pun and allowed just the faintest of smiles.
Kash’s face broke into a snarl. He backed off, breathing heavily. And smiled.
‘Indy used our family. We brought her over here from India, gave her a good life. She didn’t want for anything and the moment the bitch got her residency, she fucks off with a white guy. But,’ said Kash, smiling a little wider, ‘you’re like her, aren’t you. Don’t give a toss about the right way to do things. Heard from the community that you’d shacked up with a Paki slut.’
Palmer stepped hurriedly between both men. ‘Harry—’
‘Move,’ said Harry, glaring at Palmer with a look that made him step aside.