by Helen Black
Raffy laughed, the noise travelling upwards.
‘Is something funny?’ asked the inspector.
‘Not really.’
‘Then why don’t you tell me why you’ve been brought here, unless you want to share the joke?’
Raffy licked his lips and nodded. ‘OK then, I’ll tell you what I think.’
DI Bell’s smile stayed in place, his hands crossed on his lap.
‘I think there’s a war going on,’ said Raffy.
‘In Iraq?’
‘In Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine, you name it.’
Anwar put a hand on Raffy’s shoulder. ‘This is not the time or place.’
‘Brother, this is exactly the place,’ he shrugged Anwar’s hand away, ‘and this is definitely the time.’
‘Powerful is he who controls himself in anger,’ said Anwar.
DI Bell leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. Lilly’s mind began to whirr. If she stopped the tape it would look as if she were preventing her client from incriminating himself. If she let him carry on he might alienate everyone who ever saw and heard this tape.
Did Raffy realise he was digging a deep hole for himself? Did he care?
‘Most of all there’s a war going on right here, and you,’ Raffy pointed at DI Bell, ‘are on one side and we are on the other.’
‘Do you see yourself as a soldier then?’ asked Bell.
Lilly had to do something. She couldn’t let Raffy condone any sort of violence. His outburst was as much about Yasmeen as a conflict thousands of miles away. Or at least in any juror’s mind it would be.
‘Could we move away from politics and stick to the matter in hand?’ she said. ‘I suggest you stop playing games, Inspector, and put the charge to my client.’
DI Bell’s disappointment darkened his face. ‘This isn’t a game,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to hear what Raffique had to say for himself.’
Lilly gave the policeman a hard stare. ‘Then put the charge to him.’
Bell paused. No doubt he was hoping the loose cannon opposite would fill the silence. Lilly tightened her grip on Raffy’s thigh, held her breath and hoped it would restrain him.
At last the inspector continued, ‘Raffique, it is my belief that you poisoned your sister. Is that true?’
‘Nope.’
‘So you didn’t crush Perocet and OxyContin tablets and put them in her drink?’
‘Nope.’
‘You didn’t leave Yasmeen to die?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re a strict Muslim, Raffique,’ said DI Bell.
Raffy shrugged. ‘Not particularly.’
‘You sounded fairly extreme a few moments ago.’
‘There’s nothing extreme about my politics. Every Muslim feels the same.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
Raffy sneered at the police officer. ‘And how many Muslims do you actually know?’
They stared hard at one another. Lilly was surprised it was Bell who was the first to look away.
‘I think you expect your sisters to be good Muslim girls,’ he said.
‘My sisters are good Muslim girls,’ Raffy snapped.
‘I think you discovered Yasmeen had a boyfriend.’
Raffy shook his head furiously. ‘She did not have a boyfriend.’
‘And I think you decided to teach her a lesson.’
‘That’s rubbish.’
‘I think your family honour needed to be avenged,’ said Bell.
Raffy shrugged towards Anwar and laughed. ‘You’ve met my brother. Do you think he gives a shit about family honour?’
‘I can’t speak for Anwar but I think you care very much,’ Bell replied. ‘I think it matters to you that other people see you first and foremost as a Muslim. And your sister carrying on with her boyfriend just didn’t fit.’
‘Why don’t you stop chatting this crap and listen?’ Raffy jabbed his ear. ‘My sister didn’t have no boyfriend.’
DI Bell let the satisfaction slide across his features. What did he know that they didn’t? Lilly tensed her muscles, waiting.
‘Well, I’m not a Catholic, Raffy, and I don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception.’
Raffy pursed his brows but alarm bells were already sounding in Lilly’s brain.
DI Bell slid a folder across the desk to her. ‘Autopsy report,’ he said. ‘It says Yasmeen was ten weeks pregnant.’
Aasha calls in at a café on the way home from school. She tells herself that she’s thirsty and orders some chai but she knows it’s a delaying tactic. She doesn’t want to get home before five when starvation will force her brothers to swallow their pride and help themselves to whatever Mum’s left for them to eat.
Honestly, those boys are going to make terrible husbands. Whenever her mum and dad go out her mum leaves a pan of dahl or something in the fridge. They only have to bung it in the microwave but they moan about that.
‘Aasha will get everything ready,’ her mother assures them.
Well, not tonight. Tonight they can do it themselves.
She takes one of the plastic orange seats in the window and blows over the rim of her mug. She feels satisfied by the small stand she is making.
‘Hello, beautiful.’
Aasha nearly spills her drink when Ryan sits in the chair opposite.
‘Hi,’ she says, hoping she hasn’t turned completely beetroot.
‘What you doing here?’ he asks.
Aasha nods at her mug. ‘Take a guess.’
She immediately regrets her tone. She was trying to be funny but it came out all sarcastic and wrong.
She needn’t have worried because Ryan just laughs. That’s one of the nice things about him, actually: he doesn’t take offence. He’s always easy-going.
When Lailla calls her a geek and laughs at her, Aasha wants to punch her in the face and grinds her teeth to make the feeling go away. Ryan’s not like that. Sometimes, during art, Lailla says horrible things to him about his clothes being scruffy or cheap or whatever, and he just makes a joke of it. Aasha wishes she could do that. One time he drew a cartoon of Lailla’s face and stuck it onto the body of some porn star. He’d got into masses of trouble for that, but it had been funny.
‘So what are you doing here?’ she asks.
‘Following you, innit.’
Before Aasha can work out if he’s teasing her, he grabs the plastic menu and casts his eye along the list of specials.
‘There ain’t no sausage and chips,’ he says.
Aasha giggles and points to the stamp certifying that all meat sold on the premises is halal.
‘So why can’t I get halal sausages?’ he asks.
She shakes her head at him as he orders a doner kebab roll, chips and a can of Lilt. When the heaving plate arrives Ryan pushes the lettuce and tomato into a napkin and tosses it to the other side of the table. He takes an enormous bite of his roll and grins.
‘They don’t feed you at home?’ asks Aasha.
Ryan frowns and she worries she’s offended him but he barks out another laugh.
‘My mum can’t cook for shit.’
Aasha tries to imagine what would happen if her mum couldn’t cook. Her father and brothers would have to fend for themselves. Unthinkable. That’s something else she likes about Ryan, his independence.
Ryan offers her a chip. She isn’t hungry but she takes one all the same and nibbles the end.
‘So what you up to after this?’ Ryan asks.
‘I’ve got to finish my history assignment,’ she says.
He sucks in his breath. ‘Living dangerously.’
‘Shut up,’ she laughs.
He finishes every last scrap of his food and licks ketchup from his fingers.
‘You need to have some fun,’ he says.
‘I have plenty of fun,’ says Aasha.
‘Like what?’
‘Like…’ Aasha smoothes back her ponytail, tucking stray strands of hair behind her
ears, ‘well, I’m not going to tell you, am I?’
Ryan wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and closes it over hers. She can see the greasy streak gleam.
‘Why don’t we do something really bad?’ he says.
Aasha gulps. Her throat feels like she’s swallowed his dirty plate whole. She knows Ryan has had a lot of girlfriends and maybe this is how it is with other girls. Maybe they just speak freely about stuff like sex. She swallows down the dregs of her tea where the sugar has settled. It’s sweet and grainy in her mouth.
He leans in towards her so she can smell the lamb on his breath. ‘Let’s do a runner,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Let’s have it away on our toes without paying.’
‘Oh.’ She can feel sweat starting to prickle in her armpits. ‘I thought you meant…’
He cocks his head and half closes one of his eyes. ‘You’ve got a dirty mind.’
Aasha feels embarrassment open every pore in her body and she jumps up to leave. There is only one thought in her mind: escape.
‘Come on then,’ she stutters, and heads for the door.
She can feel Ryan following closely behind.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ shouts the owner from behind his counter.
Aasha looks back, hesitates, but Ryan pushes her outside.
‘Run,’ he shouts.
She dashes across the road, hearing the blare of a horn, the screech of brakes and her feet pounding down the pavement. Three Polish girls block her path, chatting and smoking as they compare the waistbands of their skinny jeans. Aasha bursts through them, knocking them sideways in their plastic high heels. They shout after her but she doesn’t miss a beat.
She streaks past Bangla Groceries, the skips outside overflowing with stinking vegetables and bubble-wrap. A group of old men have gathered outside the Holiday Shop next door, pointing at the special offers on flights to Kashmir advertised in the window. They stare as she races past them but she doesn’t care.
She keeps on going, her strides long, until she reaches the other side of Sainsbury’s car park. She pauses at the trolley station, her chest heaving. Ryan arrives seconds later and sinks to a crouch to catch his breath.
‘What kept you?’ she asks.
Ryan is still panting but laughs. ‘I’ve just eaten, you cheeky cow.’
‘Maybe you should change your diet,’ she says.
Ryan stands and pushes his hair out of the sweat on his forehead. ‘Maybe I should kiss you,’ he says.
She looks at him, crippled by embarrassment. She has no idea what to do next.
Ryan cocks his head to one side. ‘So you going to let me then?’
‘OK,’ she says slowly.
Ryan smiles, his eyes greedy.
‘But you’ll have to catch me first.’ Aasha laughs and sets off at a run.
Raffy banged his head against the cell wall.
‘Stop,’ Lilly said.
He didn’t register that she was there, let alone that she had spoken. Instead he continued to headbutt the wall with frightening ferocity.
‘Raffy,’ Lilly shouted, and pulled him by the shoulders.
The grey plaster was smeared with blood, Raffy’s forehead grazed and angry.
‘You need to listen to me.’ Lilly held his shoulders tightly.
His eyes were blurry, his face contorted.
‘They are going to charge you with murder,’ she said. ‘Do you understand?’
Raffy didn’t answer. A drop of blood trickled between his eyes.
‘You must not say anything else,’ she said.
She led Raffy from his cell to the custody sergeant’s desk, where DI Bell was hovering.
The sarge nodded at Raffy’s head. ‘Is that one of them bindi things?’
‘No,’ Lilly sighed. ‘It’s a cut.’
‘How did that happen?’ asked the sarge.
‘Don’t ask.’
The sarge shrugged. If the boy’s solicitor wasn’t worried that was clearly good enough for him.
‘Raffique Khan,’ he said, ‘I am charging you with the murder of Yasmeen Khan.’
He read out the caution and looked towards Lilly. ‘Does your client have any reply?’
She shook her head and was about to sign the documentation when Raffy stuck out his chin.
‘I do not accept the jurisdiction of British law,’ he said.
‘Say what?’ the sarge laughed.
Raffy’s nostrils flared. ‘You asked me if I had anything to say and I replied that I do not accept the jurisdiction of British law.’
Lilly couldn’t believe it. She had advised Raffy to say nothing at all. Didn’t he realise that his answer to the caution was on the record?
‘I am a Muslim and I do not bow to your rules of evidence,’ Raffy continued.
Lilly closed her eyes. This was an utter disaster.
‘Are you having me on?’ asked the sarge.
‘Just write it down,’ Bell instructed, rubbing his hands together.
Smoke hung in the air. Lilly coughed and felt her way down the office stairs to the old cellar where the fuse box was located.
After her hideous day she had decided to set up the espresso machine for a coffee. Jack had stopped drinking caffeine, said that she should try it, that her energy levels and concentration would increase tenfold. Maybe he was right, but Raffy’s performance at the nick had left her with no willpower. A tiny, brutishly strong espresso with at least two sugars was definitely in order. No doubt the pregnancy police would be up in arms but millions of Italian women survived, didn’t they?
Instead there was a fizz, a bang, the fishy smell of wires burning, then the office had been plunged into darkness.
Lilly patted her hand along the cold plaster of the cellar wall. It felt moist and crumbly to the touch. Rising damp. Fantastic. There wasn’t enough money in the kitty to decorate, let alone deal with mould.
Her fingers searched for the control board, hoping against hope that she had simply overloaded the system and tripped it. When she finally found the row of switches she crossed her toes and flicked.
The lights came on.
‘There is a God,’ she muttered and ambled back to the stairs, studiously ignoring the dark wet patches that scaled the cellar walls and the telltale lines of mice droppings that littered the carpet.
Back in the reception she surveyed the complete disarray. What had she been thinking of, setting up her own firm? She had never been any good at organisation. The only reason Rupinder hadn’t sacked her was that she admired Lilly’s unwavering commitment to her clients. And in the end, even that had proved too much, leading to chaos and disaster for all concerned.
When Rupinder retired due to ill health there was no question of the other partners allowing Lilly to continue and she had been left with the choice of getting another job or working for herself.
Now her decision was beginning to look somewhat rash.
She had promised both Jack and Sam that things were going to be different, that she would stay well away from any children who happened to find themselves in the centre of terrible crimes. Hell, she had promised herself that she would no longer put herself on the line. The emotional fallout was simply too great let alone the danger that she seemed to attract.
Yet here she was again with another fifteen-year-old charged with murder. But what was she supposed to do? The kid had no father, and his mother wasn’t exactly a rock. Could she really turn her back so easily?
Lilly sank into a chair, exhausted. What Raffy had said in answer to that charge played through her mind on a loop. Any jury that heard it would conjure up, not a frightened boy devastated by the loss of his sibling, but a cold and arrogant youth, capable of committing a terrible act to uphold his family’s honour. Perhaps that was exactly what he was. In which case he was hardly the vulnerable child she was painting him.
Then there was Bell. Ambition radiated from him and Raffy was fuelling his fantasies. Did Lill
y really want to get into a fight with him?
Lilly poked at the unopened post. How on earth could she take on a high-profile and difficult case when she was incapable of even the smallest of tasks?
‘Impossible,’ she muttered to herself.
‘I was brought up to believe everything is possible.’
Lilly turned to the voice. In the doorway was the face of an angel.
‘Sorry,’ said Lilly, ‘we’re not open.’
The angel smiled. Her caramel skin was so even it was as if she had been dipped in liquid silk. Her features were so perfect, so timeless, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that they were framed by a circle of black chiffon.
‘I can see you’re in a bit of a muddle,’ she said.
Lilly laughed. ‘There are ship wrecks tidier than this place.’
‘You need help,’ said the woman.
‘Have you been talking to my shrink?’
The angel smiled again, her eyes twinkling. She stepped into the reception and Lilly could see she was tiny, no more than five feet. Even the jacket of her black trouser suit, which fell past her thighs, couldn’t disguise her doll-like frame. Not even an angel then, but a cherub.
She looked around the room and nodded as if unpacked boxes were commonplace in solicitors’ offices.
‘You really do need an assistant,’ she said.
She let a surprisingly long finger slide across the pile of envelopes.
‘My name is Taslima.’ She handed her CV to Lilly. ‘I have a degree in law.’
As tempting as it would be to have anyone, let alone this beautiful young woman, helping out, Lilly knew there was no way she could afford another member of staff.
‘I’m in no position to hire anyone,’ she said, and popped the CV in her bag.
‘I can answer the phone and use a computer.’
Lilly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
Taslima gestured to the espresso machine. ‘I could get that working in a jiffy.’
‘I think I broke it,’ said Lilly.
‘Not at all. You’ve just overloaded this adaptor plug.’
Lilly frowned and tapped the plug. ‘I followed the instructions.’
‘Electrics can be tricky,’ said Taslima.
‘You’re telling me.’ Lilly pushed the adaptor away in disgust.
The office was once again plunged into darkness.