‘And Janusz . . .?’
‘It was so hard for him!’ She cried.
Shazia didn’t know what to do, and so she went to the bathroom and got a handful of tissues.
‘Sorry! Sorry!’
She gave them to Ludmilla.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘This is not easy stuff to talk about. I know. Naz Sheikh made my family’s life a misery. I’m glad he’s dead. I really am.’
‘But Janusz didn’t want to kill him! When I take Sheikh upstairs to have sex – he thinks – Janusz is like a man about to die himself. And Sheikh, he laugh, you know? At first he laugh because Janusz he can’t do nothing. It is only when I see him put a hand in his pocket, I think he have a gun, I jump in front of Janusz and push the man to the floor. Janusz had to kill him because he had the knife, but I hold him down.’
She cried again. ‘We ran.’
‘And then I went in the house,’ Shazia said. ‘I found him.’
Ludmilla put a hand out to her. ‘I am so sorry.’
Shazia gripped her fingers. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘Until these people can be put away in prison, what can we do? We have to protect ourselves. You know I always thought that when I grew up I’d be a lawyer. I thought I’d use the law to help people like us, but the Sheikhs and your Russian have lawyers in their pockets, you understand?’
She nodded.
‘That’s why they’re safe. I don’t think I want to be a lawyer any more.’
‘So what you do now?’
Shazia smiled. ‘Now I have so much fury in me, I just want to punish them. I want them to hurt and I know I need to do that myself.’
‘To hurt them?’
‘If I join the police I can break their doors down, terrify their families – just like our family was. I want them to fear me,’ she said. ‘Because when I was watching Naz Sheikh die on the floor of that house, it made me feel good. I was afraid. I called my mum and she called an ambulance, but I knew he’d bled too much. I knew he was going to die and I didn’t feel even one little bit of pity or shame or anything. And I will go to hell for it, I know that. Our religion teaches that taking a life is unforgivable, whatever the reason. So if I’m going to hell anyway I may as well take a few more of them with me.’
‘Oh, Shazia,’ Ludmilla said, ‘that is such a terrible thing to say. You are a good person, you—’
‘No, I’m not,’ she said. ‘My mum is. You know, if she knew what I’d really done, she’d want nothing more to do with me.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. And I doubted her, when he told lies about her,’ she said. ‘My amma, that’s what we call “mum”, she’s the most wonderful person in the world. And if I can become a police officer, I can protect her.’
*
‘When you are in a position like that of my family, honour must be satisfied. And it must be seen to be satisfied too,’ the old man said. ‘When your husband was promising and then failing to pay his considerable debts to our family, it made my brother ill.’
Rizwan Sheikh had suffered a stroke during that time. Whether it had come about as a direct result of Ahmet’s failure to pay his debts, Mumtaz didn’t know. Naz Sheikh had always said that it had.
‘That was why your husband had to die,’ Wahid said. ‘There was a lot of anger in the family. Your husband’s lack of respect was appalling. If our competitors got to know about such things it could ruin our business. The modern world is not for the fainthearted, Mrs Hakim.’
Mumtaz looked down at the floor. He wanted something. What was it?
‘So when Ahmet Hakim’s daughter was found at the place where my nephew died, well, some in my family felt that she should pay for her mistake.’
‘Mistake? Shazia made no mistake, she tried to save his life,’ Mumtaz said. ‘She did not kill your nephew, Wahid-ji, and you know it.’
Ah,’ he smiled. ‘A spirited defence of a young girl you have sought to protect ever since you found out what her father did to her. We have her interests at heart, too.’
‘Don’t say that you saved her from abuse by killing her father,’ Mumtaz said. ‘I would have found a way. In the end, I—’
‘Would have what? Killed him yourself?’
She looked away.
‘Mmm. You’re a dangerous woman, Mrs Hakim. I think you could kill.’
She didn’t like him anymore.
‘You don’t know me. Get to the point,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Ah, that western bluntness!’ he said. ‘I don’t imagine that your father conducts his business affairs in such a fashion.’
Mumtaz said nothing. There was a form, a pace and a style of doing business that was entirely Bengali, but she’d been born in London.
‘You don’t know my father,’ she said softly.
‘No. But I know of him,’ the old man said. ‘I have also heard of your brother, Ali.’
Wahid wore traditional clothes. He had probably been to Ali’s shop on Brick Lane. She shrugged.
‘I know he currently harbours a boy some would call a terrorist,’ he said.
She felt her heart jolt. Her face flushed.
‘An Arab. He has been fighting in Syria, I understand. A very pious boy.’
Could Ali have such a person as a guest in his house? If he did it was nothing that she knew about. Ali was a bit more radical than he’d been before, but a terrorist . . .?
‘If you don’t believe me, go and see who is sleeping in Ali’s spare bedroom,’ the old man said. ‘It is important to people in business, like my family, to know as much as possible about those who are in debt, in whatever way, to us. So let us recap. We know you have no money, we know that your brother harbours a terrorist. Your stepdaughter was found with my nephew when he was dying—’
‘And tried to save him.’
He shrugged.
‘The point is, Mrs Hakim, you still owe my family. I may decide to cancel your fiscal debts. As I’ve said, they can be seen as not strictly fair. However . . .’
Mumtaz became cold.
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
Why had she liked this old monster, even for a second?
He smiled. ‘Well, for some time now,’ he said, ‘I have been looking for a wife . . .’
*
People didn’t usually hammer on his front door. Maybe the doorbell was broken? Lee sauntered through the lounge and into the hall. Whoever was out there was making a helluva racket for a quiet Saturday afternoon.
When he opened the door a flurry of trench-coat and scarves bowled in at him.
‘Mumtaz!’
She was shaking and crying and her face was so white he thought she might faint. He put his arms around her and all but carried her into the lounge.
‘What the . . .?’
Chronus, who had been asleep, opened one beady eye.
Lee sat her on the sofa.
‘I’ll get you some water.’ He ran to the kitchen. She was in shock. If she hadn’t been a Muslim he would have dug out the brandy he kept for emergencies.
He came back with a glass of water and put it in her hand. She drank some, almost choking.
‘Slow down! Slow down!’
He could see she was trying. But the tears kept coming and the choking continued. He put an arm around her shoulders. He was desperate to know why she was like this, but he had to calm her down.
‘Ssshhh. Ssshhh.’
He felt her fall against the side of his body as her sobs began to subside. What could have happened to make her like this? Had her father died? Shazia gone missing? No, the kid wouldn’t do that. Not after all she and her mother had been through.’
‘It’s Shazia.’
Maybe he was wrong. He looked down into her eyes and said, ‘What?’
‘The Sheikhs want her,’ Mumtaz said. She closed her eyes briefly, probably in order to help steady her nerves. ‘The head of the family wants to marry her.’
‘What?’
&n
bsp; ‘And if I don’t agree to it, then they will take everything I have left and they will destroy my family.’
Overwhelmed by her sudden appearance, her panic and the fear that vibrated in her eyes, he looked down at the floor. Then he said, ‘What do you . . .?’
‘I want you to help me,’ Mumtaz said. She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it hard. ‘I want you to save Shazia, Lee. And I want you to save me, too.’
Acknowledgements
Thanks go yet again to the people of Newham for sharing their stories – particularly friends at the Newham Bookshop. Thanks also to Sarah for showing me the joys of Broadway market.
Enough Rope: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery) Page 30