City of Sinners

by A. A. Dhand

  He sighed and reached for his water.

  ‘I cannot change what he did.’

  ‘You made sacrifices, hard sacrifices to make it work here.’

  ‘I did,’ Ranjit nodded firmly.

  ‘We could not change what the customers thought of us back then. Yet, we did.’

  ‘That was different. We had to succeed.’

  ‘And we sacrificed some of the things we had been brought up with. Eating meat. Drinking alcohol. Smoking cigarettes. Did you do all those things to fit in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it a hard sacrifice?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Yet, for our boy …’

  ‘He’s not my—’

  ‘Okay,’ she snapped, ‘my boy. For my boy, there is no sacrifice?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk—’

  ‘We are going to,’ said Joyti, determined. ‘Today, we are going to.’

  Joyti leaned against the radiator, its heat massaging her back. ‘What do you think his wife is like?’ she asked.

  ‘Like … them,’ replied Ranjit, his voice full of contempt.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘A Muslim. They are all the same.’

  ‘You think Hardeep married “one of them”?’

  ‘They can twist anybody’s mind, these people.’

  ‘Even Hardeep’s?’

  ‘If they can brainwash people into killing themselves in the name of their religion, you think our boy is any different? Any more of a challenge?’

  Joyti broke into a tried and resigned smile. ‘I think our boy could never be brainwashed. I think that, just like us on that estate, in that shop, when the English people got to know us, they realized we were not so different. In fact, we had more in common than we thought.’

  ‘We can adapt. Those … those … people cannot.’

  ‘And if we met her and she proved us wrong.’

  ‘I don’t want to meet her. The breath from her mouth will poison the air.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Joyti snapped. Ranjit was too stunned to reply. ‘Enough. Three days ago, your heart stopped beating. Tomorrow when they put you to sleep, you might never wake up, and yet still you are prepared to leave this world – to leave me – with such hate in your heart for our boy?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more.’

  ‘We will stop when you tell me what you think she is like.’

  Ranjit thought on his answer. ‘She will be pretty. Their girls usually are. Kept well. Protected. She will wear a headscarf. Maybe with western clothing. Maybe not. They are not shy about being who they are and what they are. She will speak her language fluently. She won’t integrate like we have.’

  Joyti nodded, resigned to his rhetoric.

  ‘Do you think she cooks nice food? Makes my boy tea like I used to?’

  ‘Filth. They can’t cook.’

  ‘And if you were proved wrong? If you met her and she was … normal?’

  ‘Impossible. I know these people. You don’t, woman. You haven’t seen the world like I have.’

  Joyti looked down at the floor. She was suddenly unsure of her plan.

  When she eventually looked up, she saw that Saima was waiting outside the door.

  Joyti took a deep breath.

  ‘You are going for your operation tomorrow. Would you grant your wife a wish? In case you do not return.’

  ‘I am not forgiving Hardeep.’

  ‘I won’t ask that. But could you give me your kasam that whatever else I ask for, you will do.’

  Ranjit fixed her with a stare.

  ‘In thirty-nine years I’ve never asked anything of you.’

  Ranjit nodded. Reluctantly.

  ‘Say it,’ said Joyti.

  Ranjit swore his kasam.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Joyti.

  She moved towards the door, put her hand on the handle and paused.

  ‘The doctors told you that when you came in, a nurse in A&E saved your life.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Joyti opened the door, smiled in hope more than confidence and gently pulled Saima into the room.

  ‘This is the nurse who saved your life,’ said Joyti, a quiver to her voice. Ranjit looked over, confused by his wife’s tone.

  ‘This nurse is your daughter-in-law, my daughter-in-law. She’s Harry’s wife, Saima.’

  FORTY-NINE

  HARRY DIDN’T HAVE time to wait for half an hour while the students finished their class. Bishop took him down the corridor into the Clinical Skills suite, a large room with dozens of lab-benches, each one accommodating two students, everyone wearing clinical white coats. They passed a mocked-up pharmacy dispensary and Harry was shown to the room next door, a makeshift hospital ward with two beds and baskets full of medical supplies.

  He didn’t have to wait long before Bishop brought a tall, slim Asian girl into the room, Rabeena Akthar. Bishop confirmed she was Aisha’s lab partner and left them to speak.

  Harry introduced himself and indicated for her to sit down.

  ‘What’s this about?’ she asked nervously, eyes darting between Harry and the lab in progress outside.

  Harry closed the blinds, which unnerved Rabeena. As he’d hoped it would.

  ‘A sensitive matter,’ said Harry. ‘Aisha Islam.’

  ‘She wasn’t in class today.’

  ‘I know that. Are you two close?’

  She hesitated. A twitch in her lips. ‘No.’

  ‘Really? I’m told you and Aisha have been lab partners for what? Three years now?’

  ‘Yeah, I know her. Of course I do. But we’re not friendly.’

  Harry searched her face. Until she felt uncomfortable enough to look away.

  ‘Mind if I see your phone?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Don’t you need a warrant?’

  ‘Only if you have something to hide. Let me tell you how this works. I’m here in a friendly capacity to find a missing girl.’

  ‘Aisha is missing?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Now, if you lie to me and it turns out something bad has happened to Aisha and you have information which might have helped me, then this,’ he said, pointing to the lab behind her, ‘all goes up in smoke. You must have worked hard to get into this department. Smart girl. Just tell me the truth and you can go back to your life.’

  Rabeena stared at her phone. She unlocked it and handed it to Harry, clearly nervous.

  ‘You know who Aisha Islam is? Right? Who her father is?’ asked Harry, accessing her favourite contacts.

  Rabeena nodded.

  ‘How many other people do?’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘But you knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which means she trusted you.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Even though you weren’t close?’

  Rabeena shrugged.

  ‘Did she have a boyfriend?’

  More hesitation. An involuntary fidget in her hands.

  ‘Not … that I know of.’

  ‘Why are you lying to me, Rabeena?’

  Harry turned her phone so she could see. ‘Aisha is listed third in your favourite numbers. Yet you’re not close?’

  Rabeena chewed her lip. ‘She’s my lab partner. We need to speak about—’

  Harry suddenly leaned forwards aggressively. Holding her eye contact, he pushed a stern finger into Rabeena’s shoulder with every syllable.

  ‘Cut. The. Shit.’

  ‘Hey,’ she said, backing away, afraid.

  ‘Your mate is missing.’ While he didn’t want to divulge anything too sensitive, he needed to know what she knew. ‘She didn’t come home last night and, bearing in mind who she is – who her father is – your pratting around is making me cross.’

  Harry backed off, opening Rabeena’s Facebook app on her phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘My job,’ he said, scrolling through her feed. There w
ere dozens of posts involving her and Aisha.

  ‘BFF for life?’ said Harry, showing her the screen.

  Rabeena sighed. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘We won’t know that until we find her,’ said Harry. ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘I … I … can’t.’

  ‘What?’

  Rabeena shook her head. ‘It’s … complicated.’

  ‘Tell me who Aisha’s boyfriend is,’ snapped Harry.

  ‘No,’ she said, suddenly forceful.

  ‘Fine. On your damn feet.’

  ‘Why?’

  Harry saw she was young enough not to realize that he was bluffing. He removed a pair of handcuffs. ‘Rabeena Akthar, I am arresting you for obstructing the course of justice.’ He turned her around and pinned her hands behind her back.

  ‘Ow! That hurts!’

  ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Harry cuffed her.

  ‘You cannot do this!’ she said, and started to cry.

  ‘I can and I am.’

  Harry turned her around. ‘Aisha is missing. And you want to play some stupid game of “hide the boyfriend”? Grow up. If she is your best friend, act like it.’

  She whimpered.

  Harry shook his head.

  ‘I’m going to march you out of here, past all your mates and the professor, and tell him why I’m arresting you. Might ruin your career, I reckon.’

  She started to cry harder, trying to stifle it so as to not alert her classmates outside the room.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ she said.

  ‘Last chance,’ said Harry, pointing to the door. ‘Once we leave, there’s no turning back. I don’t do second chances and I’m shit out of patience with you.’

  Rabeena cried harder. Confused. Conflicted.

  She was hiding something.

  All over her face; the deceit.

  He wanted to scare her, get her to confess.

  He didn’t have the time to actually book her.

  Christ, this had better work.

  ‘Ten seconds.’

  Rabeena slumped on to her stool, lowered her head, tears dripping on to her knees.

  ‘Time,’ said Harry.

  She shook her head. ‘No!’

  ‘What is it you don’t want me to know?’

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Take these off. I’ll tell you everything.’

  Harry unlocked the handcuffs.

  Rabeena looked at Harry with sore eyes. ‘He’s going to be mad,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her boyfriend.’

  Harry raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Andrew Lightfoot.’

  ‘Should I know who that is?’

  ‘Professor Andrew Lightfoot,’ she said.

  Harry’s shoulders sagged. He frowned and although he didn’t need confirmation, asked anyway. ‘In this department?’

  Rabeena nodded. ‘He’s head of Pharmacy Practice.’

  FIFTY

  RANJIT’S FACE WAS blank.

  Saima wasn’t sure what she had expected.

  Something.

  Anything.

  The monitor by Ranjit’s bed continued to bleep. He turned his face away.

  Outside, the snow which had threatened all week finally began to fall, turning immediately to sleet as it hit the window.

  Joyti grasped Saima’s hand.

  ‘Leave us, Joyti,’ said Ranjit without looking at the women.

  Joyti looked to Saima, concern on her face.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Saima, letting go of Joyti’s hand and squeezing her arm. ‘It’s okay. Really.’

  Joyti hovered, unsure how to proceed.

  ‘I will say one thing before I go,’ she said quietly. ‘This might be the one and only time the two of you meet. Nobody knows what will happen tomorrow when they operate. Ask yourself how you want to leave this.’

  Without Joyti, the room felt cold.

  Saima stood by the door, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

  She’d imagined this so many times but nothing she’d rehearsed sounded right.

  ‘Say whatever it is you’ve come to say,’ said Ranjit, still turned away from her.

  ‘I …’

  Suddenly a wave of guilt went through Saima.

  For what everyone had suffered.

  For marrying Harry.

  ‘I never wanted it to be like this,’ she said eventually, her voice ever so shaky.

  She didn’t know how to say any of this to the back of her father-in-law’s head. She crept a little to her right, so she could see his face and saw that his eyes were closed.

  He couldn’t even look at her.

  After everything he had put Harry through, after everything he had put her through. He couldn’t even look at her?

  ‘Damn you,’ she said bitterly, surprising herself.

  Ranjit opened his eyes. Turned to face her.

  ‘Is that what I have to do to get your attention?’

  ‘You can say whatever you like. I gave a promise to listen, nothing more.’

  He turned away from her again.

  Saima felt her temper rising.

  ‘I saved your life. I worked harder than on any patient before you. And … I … didn’t do it so that you would thank me. I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Harry. I didn’t want you to pass away before the two of you had the opportunity to reconcile and if not, at least to have some final words which might include some sort of forgiveness. I’ve never had you in my life so there was no loss to replace. Harry’s pain is never far from the surface. He did wrong by marrying me? Maybe he did. Maybe I did. We’re not perfect. Nobody is.’

  Saima inched closer. ‘But right here, right now, something perfect can happen. And it’s within your power to make it happen. Forgiving is so much harder than carrying hate. But only initially. After that, doors open and with them, memories are created, new ones which replace the darkness.’

  Saima’s body was now touching the bedframe, she felt hopeful.

  ‘What if I were to show you my respect? Touch your feet like Harry used to touch his mother’s,’ she said, ‘and ask you to forgive me. For any pain I might have caused you.’

  She hovered her hands inches above Ranjit’s feet.

  He opened his eyes, turned to face her and said the one thing which made Saima recoil.

  The one thing which ruined her.

  ‘If you touch my feet with your hands,’ he whispered, voice full of malice, eyes narrowing with pure hatred, ‘I will be forced to cut them off.’

  FIFTY-ONE

  SECRETS.

  How did the killer know something only two other people knew?

  Aisha hadn’t told anyone else about her boyfriend.

  Harry knocked on the door of Professor Andrew Lightfoot’s office.

  ‘Come in!’

  He was tall, blond, muscular. Harry thought he must have had Scandinavian blood.

  He cast an eye around the room, across the frames on the wall.

  A first-class honours degree in Pharmacy from Nottingham University.

  A doctorate from King’s College London.

  He also had a framed picture of himself holding a gold medal, standing on an athletics track.

  No wonder Aisha had fallen for him.

  ‘Professor Lightfoot?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, moving around his desk to meet Harry.

  ‘DCI Harry Virdee. Bradford Homicide Major Enquiry Team.’

  Andrew’s hand paused momentarily on its way towards Harry’s.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, pleasure’s probably not the right word, considering your department.’

  A solid, confident handshake.

  ‘Please,’ said Harry, nodding towards Lightfoot’s chair.

  ‘Likewise,’ he replie
d.

  Harry pointed to the picture of Andrew holding a gold medal. ‘What’s that in aid of?’

  ‘Argh, ego wall,’ said Andrew. ‘I tried for the Olympic team while I was at uni. Missed out by a tenth of a second.’

  ‘Which discipline?’

  ‘Hundred metres.’

  ‘What was your personal best?’

  ‘Ten point four.’

  Harry whistled. ‘Quick.’

  ‘Did ten flat, once. Unofficially.’

  ‘Always the way, isn’t it.’ Harry liked him immediately, it was a gut feeling.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  Harry cut straight to the point, an imaginary clock ticking in his head.

  ‘I’m aware you’re in a relationship with one of your students, Aisha Islam.’

  Andrew’s mouth dropped open. He closed it quickly.

  ‘Sorry?’ he said.

  His transformation was immediate. Face serious, arms crossed across his chest defensively.

  ‘Andrew,’ said Harry smiling, ‘don’t make me jump through hoops. I know. And what I need from you now is the truth. All of it. Every detail. If you do that, it’ll go a long way to saving your job when Professor Bishop finds out, which I’m sure he will.’

  Andrew wasn’t stupid. He simply nodded, uncrossed his arms and leaned them on the desk.

  ‘Can I ask what this has to do with your case?’

  ‘Aisha Islam is missing. And whilst I can’t go into specifics, what I can say is that her life might be in danger and no stone is being left unturned. So,’ Harry leaned back in the hard chair, ‘tell me everything.’

  Thirty minutes later, Harry had it all.

  It had been love at first sight. They’d been together for a year and they’d been able to keep it a secret. Given Aisha’s upbringing with her father in politics, she knew all the tricks. They had never been out together in public, always meeting at Andrew’s house. No one would have seen Aisha arriving or leaving.

  ‘Nobody could know,’ said Andrew. ‘I’d lose my job.’

  ‘That’s some risk to take,’ replied Harry analysing every inch of Andrew’s body language.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Andrew asked, genuinely concerned.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Harry said seriously. ‘When was the last time you saw, or heard from her?’

  ‘Tuesday night, here.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Andrew looked at Harry then dropped his eyes to the floor.