Dishonour

by Helen Black

‘He lives near me.’

  ‘Is he PTF?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Raffy. ‘But he’s bad news, if you get me.’

  Lilly nodded. ‘Could he have killed Yasmeen?’

  Raffy screwed his eyes tight shut.

  ‘You have to start giving me something, Raffy,’ said Lilly.

  He exhaled loudly. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Raffy,’ Lilly warned.

  ‘Maybe.’

  The maple syrup Lilly had poured over the spare ribs was blackened and bubbling in the oven, filling the kitchen with the smell of the Deep South.

  Jack rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s a pity Sam is missing this.’

  Lilly felt a stab of sadness. She’d arranged for Sam to spend a few more days with his dad.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ David had asked.

  Lilly had assured him that she just felt under the weather, that she was tired. In truth, she was avoiding Sam or dealing with the situation. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and a stand-up fight would help no one.

  ‘Is there any potato salad to go with those?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I thought you were sticking to the greens,’ said Lilly.

  Jack patted his stomach. ‘I think the odd tatty wouldn’t hurt.’

  ‘Even a tatty smothered in mayonnaise?’

  ‘I’d survive.’

  She unveiled a deep bowl full of New Orleans’ finest, which she’d assumed she would be eating on her own. Thank goodness she always over-catered.

  ‘You are a very good woman,’ he laughed.

  As she laid the bowl on the table, with a completely unnecessary loaf of home-made bread, he caught the top of her thigh.

  ‘I love you, Lilly,’ he said.

  She caught her breath. ‘I know.’

  He waited for a second for her to say it in return—but it stuck in her throat.

  She busied herself with the ribs, transferring the sticky, sweet meat to a platter and adding a pack of hand wipes for good measure.

  ‘Dig in,’ she said.

  He smiled at her and put four juicy ribs on his plate with a mound of potatoes and a thick slice of bread.

  ‘I am starving.’

  Lilly grinned. She hadn’t seen him eat like this in months. ‘We haven’t done this in a long time.’

  ‘Too long,’ he agreed.

  She watched him tear the meat from the bone, his lips slick with the sauce.

  ‘How did you get on with Malik?’

  Jack scooped a huge forkful of potato salad into his mouth and groaned with pleasure.

  ‘I asked him all about Ryan and Aasha.’

  ‘And?’

  He covered his bread in a thick layer of butter and took a bite. ‘And he said he’d never heard of either of them.’

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked.

  ‘Just about.’ Jack shrugged. ‘But I threw him in the cells anyway.’

  Lilly dropped her knife. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘There’s a chance his blood is all over the scene,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll know tomorrow.’

  ‘And what if it isn’t his blood?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘Then I’m in deep shit.’

  Lilly stared, open-mouthed, but Jack just helped himself to another dollop of potato salad.

  ‘You think he did it?’ she asked.

  ‘I think he’s lying about something.’

  Lilly let a smile spread across her face.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Jack pointed his knife at her.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘You’re thinking that if this guy is part of the PTF, then there’s a chance he did Yasmeen.’

  She couldn’t deny it. The sight of Raffy, in the medical centre with all those other poor kids, was branded upon her mind’s eye. She had to try to get him out of there.

  Chapter Eight

  March 2009

  ‘Are you on that thing again?’ Yasmeen stands over me, trying to look at the screen of my laptop.

  Instinctively I try to shield the page I’m viewing.

  ‘What are you so embarrassed about?’ she teases.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘You’re so secretive these days.’

  I pause. I’m not secretive or embarrassed, just careful. As the teacher regularly points out, ‘Not everyone will understand our path.’

  I decide I will trust her. Although the path I have chosen is the right path, God’s path, it is often lonely. Perhaps Yasmeen will walk with me.

  I move aside and let her see the website I have been posting on.

  Pakitalk—the social networking site for young men and women of Pakistani descent.

  ‘A chat room.’ Yasmeen is incredulous. ‘You spend all these hours in a chat room.’

  I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I should have realised that she wouldn’t understand.

  Yasmeen’s eyes flash. ‘I’m surprised that someone with your intelligence would want to waste it on something like this.’

  I shake my head, flustered. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  She puts her hands on her hips, challenging me to explain myself.

  ‘This is my duty,’ I stutter, ‘a wajib.’

  ‘Reading the inner thoughts of sex-starved teenagers is not a duty.’

  She is making it sound so pointless, so dirty.

  ‘Come on then,’ she taps the keyboard. ‘Let’s see what Banglaboy has to say about the war in Iraq.’

  I try to push her hand away.

  ‘Or what about Niqab Ninja?’ she says. ‘Any interesting opinions on Guantanamo Bay?’

  I slam the computer lid down, crushing her fingers.

  ‘Shut up,’ I shout.

  She tries to prise her hand out but I press down with all my strength. I know I’m hurting her but she is too proud to show it.

  ‘You’re a joke,’ she says, tears in her eyes.

  I press down even harder and she takes a sharp breath. If I carry on her fingers might break and I wonder if I’d be prepared to do that.

  ‘Pain is part of any war,’ says the teacher. ‘We must not be afraid to receive it or give it.’

  At last her chin begins to tremble. ‘Please,’ she whispers.

  I release her immediately. I have made my point.

  When she has gone I go back to my work.

  Pakitalk is not one of my favourite websites. In fact, of the fifty or so I post on, I don’t like many of them. But this is something we all do.

  When the teacher asked if I would consider joining a group of Muslims who wanted to take things to the next level, I took my time to answer for the sake of seeming thoughtful. In all honesty, I didn’t need to consider anything because I was desperate to start turning my beliefs into actions.

  ‘Islam is not just a religion, it is a political system,’ he said. ‘And like all systems it must reach out to as many people as it can.’

  ‘The crowds at the mosque are growing every week,’ I pointed out.

  The teacher smiled. ‘We must think far bigger than that.’

  He is right, of course. We need to raise the consciousness of every Muslim so that they can come to see that our way is the right way. But how? We are so few.

  ‘We already have the perfect tool to reach thousands, if not millions, of our brothers and sisters,’ he said.

  I waited patiently while he pulled from his bag a slimline laptop.

  ‘The weapon of the future,’ he said. ‘The internet.’

  Now a handful of us spend every free moment surfing. We seek out forums with any connection to Islam, however tenuous. And we post.

  By Freedomfighter on 28.2.09 at 22.25

  Wake up, brothers and sisters. All around the world Muslims are being slaughtered or starved. How much longer will we continue to allow this?

  By Islamist on 1.03.09 at 03.05

  Chechnya, Palestine and Kashmir are Islamic issues and every Muslim must try to solve them. Will you ignore these genocides until it is the tur
n of British Muslims to be cleansed?

  Sometimes I post well into the early hours. Often I’m abused or ridiculed, but I continue none the less.

  I once complained to the teacher and he nodded patiently.

  ‘Not everyone is ready to hear.’

  ‘Then why do we do it?’ I asked.

  ‘Because the dream of an Islamic state may be a dream but it is not an illusion.’

  ‘Sometimes it feels that way,’ I said.

  The teacher pointed into the distance. ‘It is just out of sight, but it is on its way.’

  So I fight on, hoping that Allah sees, that he is pleased with my efforts, that he will lead me where I can be most useful.

  ‘You do not have to say anything…’

  Jack read the caution slowly, enunciating each syllable. He had barely slept, tossing and turning into the small hours. Lilly had literally kicked him out of bed around five.

  ‘Go to the station,’ she mumbled from under the duvet, ‘before I kill you with my bare hands.’

  He’d kissed her head and jumped into his car.

  He prepped the interview room and waited. And waited.

  ‘Shall I wake him up?’ the custody sergeant yawned. It had been a quiet night and he was clearly looking for something to keep him awake.

  ‘Not till seven,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t want to give him any excuse to say he can’t be questioned.’

  So Jack let him sleep, wash, eat a slice of toast and have a chat with his brief. At eight o’clock he pulled on a tie and got Malik into the chair opposite with a camera pointing at him.

  ‘You know why you’re here?’ said Jack.

  Malik shifted in the chair, his bulk took up the space of two men and his solicitor was forced into the corner next to the wall. He stared Jack down.

  ‘No comment.’

  Jack nodded. ‘Then let’s run over it one more time. Someone went to the Clayhill Estate and attacked Ryan Sanders. He was beaten unconscious and remains in a coma. His friend Aasha Hassan, was kidnapped and remains missing.’

  The butcher stroked his neck, the muscles bulging. ‘No comment.’

  Jack breathed deeply. He had promised himself that he would stay calm.

  ‘I put all this to you yesterday and you said you hadn’t heard of either Ryan or Aasha.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You said you hadn’t been to Ryan’s flat on the Clayhill Estate.’ Jack pretended to check his notebook. ‘That you never went to that shithole.’

  Malik leaned back in his chair and Jack wondered if it would take his weight. The man must be close to seventeen stone, every ounce solid muscle.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Now I was tempted to believe you, but here’s the funny thing,’ said Jack. ‘A heap of your blood was found at the scene.’

  Malik’s solicitor coughed. ‘You said a smattering of blood was found at least fifty metres away.’

  Jack waved away the discrepancy. ‘Your client said he hadn’t been there, now why was that?’

  Malik sniffed loudly, drawing mucus into his mouth.

  ‘If there was any reasonable explanation then why not give it?’ Jack continued.

  Malik swallowed the mouthful of mucus. ‘No comment.’

  Jack resisted the urge to gag. ‘See, I don’t think you have a reasonable explanation because I think you were there and you did beat an innocent kid to within an inch of his life.’

  They glared at one another, the room silent around them.

  ‘I’ll tell you something else I think,’ said Jack. ‘If Ryan dies you’ll go down for murder.’

  Something flitted across Malik’s face. Jack wasn’t sure what, but it was a reaction. He pressed harder.

  ‘You love this tough-guy image, don’t you? All your mates looking up to you?’

  Malik cocked his head to one side.

  ‘But there are lots of tough guys in prison,’ said Jack, ‘and they don’t like kiddie killers.’

  Malik opened his mouth to speak and Jack thought he’d got him. If he could get him denying and defending he could tie him in knots.

  ‘No comment.’

  Jack smoothed down his tie. He hated ties with a vengeance, wearing them strictly for funerals and giving evidence in court, but he’d seen a DI on a murder case make exactly the same gesture whenever he became agitated. It gave frustrated fingers something to do and the long stroking motion had a calming effect. Jack had mused on why this type of tactic wasn’t part of every copper’s training. Maybe it was if you were fast-tracked. Either way he’d adopted it himself for difficult interviews.

  ‘As for a young girl going missing, well, some might get the wrong idea about that.’

  Malik ran his finger through his beard. It occurred to Jack that this was a stress mechanism like his tie. This one was good.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Cards on the table,’ said Jack. ‘If you tell us where the girl is, any judge is going to give you credit for that.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘But if things carry on and Aasha is kept away from her family, they’re going to throw away the key.’ Jack tossed something imaginary over his shoulder. ‘And you’ll end up collecting your bus pass inside.’

  Malik leaned forward, his hands pressed into the table. He snarled so close to his face that Jack could smell the toothpaste on his breath.

  ‘No comment.’

  Taslima hurried down the hospital corridor.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  Lilly nodded. ‘I’m having a scan. You don’t mind being here, do you?’

  ‘Shouldn’t Jack be with you?’ Taslima asked.

  ‘He’s arrested Abdul Malik.’

  Taslima’s mouth made a perfect ‘O’ shape.

  Lilly laughed.

  ‘Do you think he’ll admit anything?’ Taslima asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Lilly.

  Taslima’s face fell.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Lilly. ‘Hardly anyone ever confesses.’

  ‘Then what’s the point?’

  Lilly held up a finger. ‘To see if he’ll trip himself up, give something away.’

  Lilly’s name was called and she went through to the ultrasound room. Taslima helped her on to the bed and wrinkled her nose when Lilly pulled up her top and exposed the tight skin of her belly, covered in stretch marks.

  ‘Don’t look so horrified. Your time will come,’ said Lilly.

  Taslima gave a thin smile.

  The sonographer covered Lilly’s bump in cold jelly and began pressing the wand against her. The monitor jumped into life. There on the screen was the baby, curled tight, his hand in his mouth. The steady heartbeat filled the air.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Taslima whispered.

  And it was. Very beautiful. Lilly felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She and Jack were the parents of this perfect little soul growing inside her, but she couldn’t even be sure they would still be together by the time he was ready to join them.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ said the sonographer.

  If only that were true, thought Lilly.

  The chief super called Jack up to his office. To his dismay, DI Bell was already there, leaning on the window, coffee in hand.

  He took a sip. ‘How’s it going, Jack?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ Jack replied.

  ‘I meant the case.’

  Jack didn’t answer. Who the hell did the DI think he was, cross-questioning him? This was Jack’s case and he intended to discuss it with the chief, not his monkey.

  He placed himself with his back to DI Bell. ‘Sir.’ He spoke directly to the chief super.

  ‘Has Malik told us anything?’ asked the chief.

  Jack shook his head. ‘No comment all the way.’

  ‘You’ve applied some pressure, I assume?’

  ‘As much as I dare.’ Jack ignored the sighs from behind. ‘As you know, this whole thing is very sensitive and we don’t want any whiff of undue pressure.’
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  ‘Performing a robust interview is hardly brutality,’ said the chief.

  ‘There’s a fine line,’ said Jack, ‘and I’m standing well back from it.’

  DI Bell approached the desk. ‘Then we should let him go.’

  ‘What?’ said Jack.

  ‘You don’t have anything concrete on him,’ said DI Bell. ‘Without a confession you have to let him go.’

  Jack loosened his collar and smoothed his tie, determined not to lose his cool. He had deliberately ignored the gossip about Bell but could see now that some of it was true. But he had kept control with Malik and he could do it with Bell.

  The chief super tapped his desk with the tip of his nail. ‘What exactly have we got on him?’

  ‘Bugger all,’ said DI Bell.

  The chief waved him away. ‘Jack?’

  ‘We know he was close to the scene,’ said Jack. ‘His blood was found in the stairwell nearest to the Sanders’ flat.’

  ‘It’s at least fifty metres away,’ said Bell.

  ‘Have you been over there with a tape measure?’ Jack snapped.

  The chief held up his hand to stop them. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He lied about it when questioned,’ said Jack.

  ‘But not under caution,’ DI Bell pointed out.

  Jack could feel his temper beginning to swell. He turned to face Bell. ‘Why are you so keen for me to let this animal go?’

  ‘I can see how easily this could be turned against the Force,’ he answered.

  Jack let out a cold laugh. ‘Are you sure you’re not just worried that I might have picked up the real killer of Yasmeen Khan?’

  ‘Now you really have lost the plot,’ DI Bell laughed back. ‘Have you been taking tips from that girlfriend of yours?’

  ‘Enough.’ The chief super slapped his hand against his desk. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’

  Jack needed to think fast. He knew he didn’t have enough evidence to charge Malik and that the chief super would do anything to avoid bad press. But he wasn’t ready to give up. The man was involved, he could feel it.

  ‘Give me an extension, sir,’ he said. ‘Let me hold him another twenty-four hours.’

  ‘To do what?’ asked the chief.

  ‘He didn’t act alone,’ said Jack, ‘which means there is someone out there holding Aasha.’