by Ruth Rendell
'He must be getting money. Have you looked at his bank account?'
'I've had no grounds to do that till now. It's my next step.'
With undertakings (neither would adhere to) to keep in touch, meet for a meal when the Phillips's were in Sussex visiting Pauline's aged mother, they parted. Wexford took the Birmingham Post he had bought that morning out of his raincoat pocket and read it in the train while Vine, aficionado of Donizetti, listened to Leilira damage on his CD Walkman.
When he was reading a newspaper belonging to a distant city or even specifically to London, he always looked at the births, marriages and deaths. Time was when people he knew were getting married, then having babies, now some of them were dying. The last name in the deaths column was Trelawney. He knew no one called that, yet . . . 'Trelawney, Medora Anne, beloved wife of James, on 31 October at Sutton Cold field, sadly missed. Funeral at All Saints' Church, 3 November at 10 a.m., no flowers, please. Donations to the British Heart Foundation.'
It was almost certainly the same one. The boyfriend who had tried to blackmail him she had called Jim and Trelawney was a Cornish name. No age was given for her, he noticed. It looked as if she had died of heart disease. What had she been doing in Sutton Cold field? Living there with Jim, no doubt, and maybe children who sadly missed her. He folded up the newspaper and went back to thinking about Targo. There was very little doubt now that Targo had disappeared.
Chapter 16
Hannah Goldsmith picked Jenny Burden up at the school gates at four thirty in the afternoon. It was pouring with rain which meant that everyone had covered their heads or put up umbrellas and was scurrying through the downpour. This suited Hannah well. She didn't much want to be seen having secret or at any rate private meetings with Mike Burden's wife. The cafe they went to in a side turning off Queen Street would have been called when Wexford was young a 'pull-up for Carmen'. If they had heard the phrase they would have supposed it something to do with the opera.
It was a shabby little place, ill-ventilated and with condensation running down the windows. The tea was the mahogany-coloured kind they used to say you could stand a spoon up in but now was called 'builder's'.
'I wanted to share with you what I'm doing,' Hannah began, 'because I know you're concerned about Tamima Rahman the way I am. I went along to see the family with the guv yesterday – it was about something quite different – but Yasmin Rahman happened to say that Tamima had gone to London to stay with her auntie. Her brother Oman – he's the nurse – drove her up there the day before.'
Jenny nodded. 'So she's there, is she? Where exactly is she?'
'Auntie's called Mrs Asia and she lives in Kingsbury. That's a London suburb in the north-west, sort of west of Hendon if you know where that is. But as to whether she's there I don't know. They say she is and maybe it's all right. But I found Mrs Asia's phone number and called her and asked to speak to Tamima. That was this morning. She said Tamima was out with her cousin. Apparently she's got a lot of cousins, all of them in that sort of area. They'd gone to Oxford Street shopping, she said. I asked when she'd be back but Mrs Asia didn't know. I phoned again at three and this time there was no answer. I left a message.'
'What is it you suspect?' Jenny asked.
'I don't know. All these weeks since Tamima left school in July I've thought there was a possibility the Rahmans would arrange a marriage for her.'
'Not force a marriage?'
'I think they are anxious to keep her and Rashid Hanif apart but sending her to London shows they haven't succeeded. Now this is perhaps the point where the idea of an arranged marriage becomes a forced marriage.'
'You mean send her to London and introduce her to some relative, of whom there are dozens up there, and if she's OK about the idea so well and good but if not . . .'
'If not it would be much easier to compel her to marry in London than down here where everyone would know what's going on.'
'And if she won't, she refuses, what then?'
'I don't want to go there. Not yet. First of all I want to find if Tamima's with Mrs Asia and more to the point if she's happy to be there.'
But Tamima didn't call her back as Hannah had asked her. Nor did she call Jenny, though she had her number. Teenagers don't write letters but they send emails. Jenny got an email from her, though there was nothing to prove Tamima was the source of it.
Hi Mrs Burden. I am having a great time in London with my auntie Mrs Asia at 46 Farmstead Way, Kingsbury, and my cousins. I didn't really know them till now and it's so cool. I may decide to stay for a while and get a job.
Tamima
'Anyone might have sent that,' Hannah said
'Yes, I don't know why she would send it. After all, I haven't made any enquiries about her since before she went to Pakistan. Why not contact you?'
Hannah said thoughtfully, 'Let's give it a few days. If we haven't heard any more would you feel like going to London on Friday or Saturday and paying this Mrs Asia a visit?'
'Saturday would be best for me. No school.'
But on Friday, when Hannah went with Wexford, to check with the Rahmans that Ahmed had heard nothing from the missing Eric Targo, Oman had the day off and was at home.
Looking very much like his father and half smiling in the same supercilious way, he told Hannah that he knew she 'took a great interest in Tamima's activities'. 'You may care to know that she's going to share a flat with her cousin and a friend for a while and get a job. Quite enterprising, don't you think?'
It was one of those areas of not-quite-outer London that still retain vestiges of countryside, spoilt countryside where chain-link fencing, concrete and abandoned factory buildings scar the fields but where the fields still exist. You could see how Farmstead Way got its name. The road Hannah drove along to reach it skirted the Brent reservoir and there was even a small herd of black-and-white cows chewing the cud under a stand of chestnut trees. The rain had cleared away but only temporarily and the blue sky would be short-lived. It was Saturday when Hannah should have had a day off and Jenny had no school
Fatima Asia's home was a bungalow, semi-detached, as were all the houses in the street, though their designs had been varied and there were green-tiled roofs among the red. Hannah had phoned to warn Mrs Asia of their coming and she let them in very promptly. Both she and Jenny had expected a black-robed woman who would have covered her head before answering the door, but Tamima's aunt was dressed very much as her non-Muslim neighbours might be in a black-and-white dogtooth check skirt, black sandals and a red polo-neck sweater.
When the introductions had been made, she said she would make tea. Jenny and Hannah sat down in a living room in which not a piece of furniture or ornament had its provenance in an Asian sub continental culture. Hannah was reminded that Mrs Asia was Mohammed Raman's sister. His home had taken on a similarly indigenous British end-of-the-twentieth-century atmosphere. A bookcase was full of English books and, even more to Hannah's astonishment, a bottle of sherry stood on a tray next to two glasses.
The tea came, much like the tea in the Queen Street cafe, strong, aromatic, dark chestnut colour when a drop of milk is added to it.
'Now,' said Fatima Asia, sitting down to pour, 'I'd like to begin by setting you right on a few matters. I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your faces. It's written all over them, if you don't mind me putting it that way.' She passed Jenny's cup, indicated the bowl of loaf sugar. 'You expected to see a downtrodden old woman in a burke, didn't you? You think all Muslim women are like that and your mission in life is to set them free and emancipate them. But I don't quite fit the picture, do I? I'm a teacher –' she looked at Jenny '– like you. But I'm not married. I was and my marriage was arranged but we were each shown pictures of possible people to marry and we chose each other. We met and liked each other and went out together. Arranged marriages are a tradition in our family. My brother's marriage with Yasmin was arranged and you couldn't find a happier one. I'm divorced now. My husband didn't say "I divorce yo
u" three times and throw me out, like the newspapers say. We were divorced properly in the court. I've a man friend – I refuse to call a man of fifty a boyfriend – and eventually we shall get married.'
Hannah received her teacup and the sugar pushed towards her. 'My brother was born in Pakistan but I was born here and English is my native tongue. I was born a British citizen of enlightened intelligent parents. I don't cover up my head because there's nothing in the holy Koran about a woman having to cover her head. I try to be a good Muslim and I don't drink alcohol. Yes, I've seen you looking at the sherry bottle – that's for guests. Would you like a glass? No? A bit early in the morning, I expect.'
'Mrs Asia,' Hannah began, 'we don't mean to –'
'No, I know you don't mean to. I know you think you're quite without prejudice but you're racists like English people are. Benevolent racists, is what I call you. OK? Now we'll talk about what you came for.'
Jenny said, 'I think you've taken the wind out of our sails a bit. Out of mine, at any rate. What we came for was really to ask if your niece Tamima is all right, if she's staying here, and if – well, if you're happy about her sharing a flat with your daughter and a friend. I mean, they're very young, aren't they? Tamima's only sixteen and I don't suppose your daughter's much older.'
'My daughter is also sixteen,' Mrs Asia said, 'but when Tamima speaks of her cousin she doesn't mean Mia. She means her cousin who is my sister's daughter – we are a large and united family, Mrs Burden – and who is twenty-seven. The friend is my niece's friend Clare and they have been sharing a flat for five years.'
Hannah asked, 'Would you give us the address of that flat and your other niece's name, Mrs Asia?'
'My niece who owns the flat is called Jacqueline. Her father is an Englishman, you see. But I don't think I shall give you the address. I would if you had an order or a warrant or whatever you call it but you haven't. Tamima has done nothing wrong and nor have Jacqueline or Clare. As you must know, Tamima is in London with the full approval of her father and mother. She intends to return home at the end of the year. At Christmas, I believe. You see, I celebrate that like any other British citizen while not believing in the faith behind it – again like most British citizens. Incidentally, Tamima was here until yesterday. She left with Jacqueline and Clare just about the time you phoned to make this appointment. If you want her address I suggest you ask my brother for it.
'By the way,' she added, speaking to Jenny, 'the email Tamima sent you was written at my suggestion. It seemed a sensible and polite thing to do.'
The interview had turned out very differently from the way Hannah had expected. Much as she hated being called a 'benevolent racist', she was obliged to admit, if only to herself, that Fatima Asia had been precisely correct when she described – in cringe-making detail – the kind of woman she and Jenny had expected to find. Some of the expressions she had used, especially with regard to dress and marriage, were the very things they had discussed while driving along the road from west Hendon. She, who had prided herself on her utter lack of race prejudice, her persuading of herself that all people, regardless of race and skin colour and origin, were equal, must now thoroughly examine her attitudes and revise them. She felt humiliated, an unusual sensation for her. But she was anxious not to show it.
'Tamima lived here with you for how long?' she said.
'About a week. It was like a holiday for her. Jacqueline works from home so she could take days off and she took Tamima about in London. To a theatre matinee, you know, and the cinema and to museums. We are not entirely uncultured, our family. Then she and Clare suggested Tamima got a job at the Asian supermarket Spice field and moved in with them. She asked her parents if that would be all right and they agreed.'
'I believe,' said Jenny, 'that it's a fact that Mr and Mrs Rahman were anxious to separate Tamima from a boy she was friendly with, Rashid Hanif.'
'I know nothing about that. Tamima never mentioned him.'
Hannah spent the rest of the weekend preparing a report for Wexford. It outlined her suspicions but also contained incontrovertible facts. There was no proof that Tamima Rahman had ever been in London, only the word of her parents and her aunt Fatima Asia. Mrs Asia had refused to give the details of her niece Jacqueline's flat so Hannah had no idea where it was, who the friend was apart from her being called Clare, or which branch of Spice field was supposed to be employing Tamima.
Preoccupied with Targo, Wexford nevertheless took the time to read it.
'I've asked you this before, Hannah, but I'll ask you again. What is it you suspect?'
'That they're forcing her to marry someone.'
'But what makes you think so?'
'It's in the report, guv.'
'I've read the report. Now I'd like you to answer a few questions I'm going to put to you. Has Tamima or anyone in the family ever spoken to you of forced marriage, as something they favour or, conversely, are opposed to? Have any of them ever told you they disapprove of Rashid Hanif? Or named someone they prefer over him to be a boyfriend or fiancé or husband for Tamima? You say – though not in the report – that the Rahmans are an enlightened Westernized family, yet you suspect them of inflicting on their daughter a cruel and ancient custom. Why? Above all, why have you, whom I always take to be particularly pro- Muslim and anti-racist, suddenly begun showing what seems to me like unreasoning prejudice?'
This last was too much for Hannah. She burst out with a passionate rejoinder. 'Oh, guv, I haven't. It's not like that. I'm trying to be open-minded. I'm afraid that if I – well, veer too much to being pro-Muslim I'll lose my judgement.'
'No fear of that,' Wexford said briskly. 'Now there's a lot to do here. We've got someone missing who's almost certainly committed at least one murder. And I've just heard that the Mercedes has been found, parked at the roadside in a village in Essex. Apart from Targo, wherever he is, crime goes on. Petty crime if you like but you wouldn't call it petty if it was your house that had been broken into and pillaged and wrecked. So you can have one more go at finding where Tamima Rahman lives and works and if that fails you have to give up. Are you happy with that?'
'I have to be if you say so, guv,' said Hannah. But she made a mental note that on her own, without backup, without even Jenny's support, she would pursue her enquiries into Tamima's whereabouts. She would start with the supermarket and find which, if any, of their branches employed her.
Chapter 17
This time it was in the Olive and Dove's 'snug' that they met. Ashtrays on the tables were piled with ash and cigarette ends, the ceiling yellow and polished with tar deposits.
'If the day ever comes when they bring in a smoking ban,' Wexford said, 'this place will get a clean-up. They might even get new curtains.'
'More likely to close down. People won't come. Smokers like to smoke while they drink.'
'Or we shall have the place to ourselves.'
Wexford went to get their drinks. The saloon bar was quieter than usual as if in anticipation of restrictions to come. Two girls sat chatting and smoking at a corner table. In his youth, Wexford thought, they would have been in a teashop but they would have offered each other cigarettes then as now. The elderly man who sat alone with his yellow Labrador – did people now refer to him as an elderly man? – had a pipe in his mouth. Pipes would disappear. Even now his grandsons talked of seeing someone smoke a pipe as he when a boy might have spoken of seeing an eccentric in galoshes or using a monocle. The man with the dog brought Targo to mind – not that he was ever far away.
'What we need to know,' he said to Burden, 'is what he was up to in Kingsmarkham between the time he left the Rahmans at around three – say three thirty – and came back to fetch the Mercedes sometime after eight fifteen. We know it was still there after eight fifteen because the girl from the nail bar saw it. So even if he drove it away at half past eight it had been there for getting on for six hours.
'He didn't go home. Mavis Targo says he didn't and why should she lie? He didn't call on h
is children. He didn't go to his Sewing bury office. Because if he had he would have gone in his car. It's too far even for him to walk.'
Burden took a sip of his wine. He wrinkled his nose but made no comment on the quality or taste of what he was drinking. 'Why didn't he have a dog with him? Oh, I know Mrs Rahman wouldn't have a dog in the house but when he'd been there on at least one previous occasion he brought the dog but left it in the car. Why didn't he have a dog this time? Because of what he intended to do after he'd been to the Rahmans? He left the car where it was because there are no parking restrictions in Glebe Road and he went off to do whatever he did.'
'Yes, but what was that? His not bringing a dog suggests to me that he knew he wouldn't be going back home. He was running away. He'd committed another murder and this time he knew he'd been seen going into his victim's garden.'
'But did he know that, Reg? Surely he didn't. If he had he wouldn't have wasted time ordering fancy computer equipment. Wouldn't he have been off as soon as he could pack a bag and be off?'
'You're right,' said Wexford. 'He couldn't have known. He wasn't in a hurry. It looks as if he expected to return home. His wife says he took no clothes with him. So did something happen while he was at the Rahmans or soon after he left the Rahmans to make him realize he might have been seen? Perhaps. Maybe we should go and ask what used to be called "gentlemen's outfitters", but no doubt aren't any longer, if they sold a whole new wardrobe to a single customer that afternoon.'
'What, and carry the stuff all the way back up Glebe Road to the car?'
'I know it's not a brilliant theory, Mike. How about he went to get a false passport from some mate?'
'I know this place has degenerated along with the rest of the countryside but surely you'd have to do that kind of thing in London or maybe his other favourite haunt, Birmingham?'