‘Good.’ He looked at the newspaper again. ‘How did this get out, DI Montalban?
‘No idea.’
‘There’ll have to be an investigation.’
‘I know. But we also mustn’t lose sight of the bigger picture. Aziz Shah has fingered his brother-in-law in connection with this hooky “Light of True Belief” mob …’
‘Who passed the two boys who lodged with Huq onto him?’
‘Yeah. Well, this brother-in-law, Vakeel Uddin, lives in Forest Gate,’ Montalban said. ‘He’s a local solicitor and he’s also a person of interest up at Forest Gate nick. Associates with known Islamist radicals, although nothing concrete on him, so far. Has his law practice on Green Street where he specialises in asylum and immigration. Course all of this is unofficial until you’ve spoken to the Super in Newham …’
‘Superintendent May is one month into the job, should be interesting.’
May’s predecessor, Superintendent Venus, had left Newham amid accusations of consorting with criminals and fraud. Eric May, his permanent replacement, was still struggling to get up to speed with the complications involved in running a large, inner-city police force.
‘Who did you tap up in Newham?’ Vine asked. ‘Just between us.’
Montalban trusted him. ‘DI Collins,’ he said without hesitation.
Vine smiled. ‘Vi,’ he said. ‘Straight down the line copper.’
‘Which is why I tapped her.’
Vine looked at the newspaper again. He read the headline.
‘“Brick Lane Trader’s Dirty Sex Secret”. Talks about Christ Church! Says the “source” is close to the investigation.’
‘Which seems to imply an insider, but may not,’ Montalban said.
‘Of course, not helped by Huq’s strange request for asylum and your, quite frankly, bizarre decision to allow him to do that,’ Vine said. ‘Everyone knows he’d holed up in Christ Church!’ His anger got the better of him. ‘What were you thinking, man?’
Ricky had already been through this once, but he did it again. ‘Sir, with the way things are round Brick Lane at the moment, I thought the sight of police officers dragging a Muslim man out of a church might not play well for us, for community cohesion or for Huq. I’ve got serious doubts about his guilt and at least like this we know where he is.’
‘We’d also know where he is if he were banged up!’ Vine shook his head. Then he sighed. ‘So what does DI Collins make of this Vakeel Uddin?’
‘Seems he’s in contact with members of the local Syrian community, amongst others. Most of ’em are just ordinary folks going about their business in a foreign country. Don’t want no trouble. But, according to Vi, there are exceptions,’ Montalban said.
‘Names.’
‘Not yet. Mr May’d have to sign off on names.’
‘Yes, but knowing DI Collins …’
‘Uddin regularly communicates with a bloke in the caliphate,’ Montalban said. ‘She wouldn’t say who. I don’t know she even knows.’
Vine looked back at the newspaper and scratched his head.
‘Do you want me to call your daughter?’
‘No …’
‘Abba, she will have to know,’ Asif said. He looked up at DC Iqbal. ‘I’ll phone my sister, thank you.’
‘No!’ Baharat shook his head. ‘Your sister must go away on business next week! I don’t want her to worry.’
‘So you want Mumtaz to find out by accident?’
The old man slumped. ‘Go home, Asif,’ he said. ‘Look after Tracey, she needs you.’
‘It was Tracey who told me to come,’ Asif said. ‘Her mum’s with her. She’s fine.’
DC Shamima Iqbal had been assigned as Family Liaison Officer that morning. She’d walked into a house where the mother had locked herself in her bedroom and was crying and Baharat Huq and his son had been sitting in stunned silence.
‘Ali told me he had stopped the homosexual acts when he finished his relationship with Rajiv-ji,’ the old man said. ‘And I believe him. Who would say such things about my son?’
‘The allegations come from the two boys who lodged with him,’ Shamima said. ‘But they are unproven, at the moment. We’ve no idea who leaked the story to the press, Mr Huq.’
‘Bastard!’
‘What we need to concentrate on now is getting Ali to leave the church voluntarily and, most importantly, quietly,’ she said. ‘It’s calling way too much attention to the story.’
‘He ran because he was frightened.’
‘I know. But it’s not helping. Reverend Reid and Imam Yusuf are both with him.’
‘I want to see my son!’
‘You’ve seen him.’
‘Not since this newspaper vileness!’
‘He doesn’t know about that, Mr Huq,’ Shamima said. ‘And we want to keep it that way.’
‘Why?’
‘We want Ali to be calm,’ she said. ‘He knows what the two boys have alleged and that they have been examined by a doctor. They will be questioned again. Your son’s business premises is being searched.’
‘For what?’
‘For evidence,’ she said.
‘Evidence of what?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Huq,’ she said. ‘But for the moment there’s nothing we can do. We just have to wait.’
The old man lit a cigarette.
‘Abba …’
‘Oh don’t lecture me about smoking, Asif!’ he shouted.
‘You gave up five years ago.’
‘Yes. And now I have started again. Leave me be!’ He looked at Shamima. ‘What has happened to Brick Lane, eh? Suddenly we have murderers, perverts and terrorists!’
Shamima said nothing. The Lane and its environs had always been volatile. But of course all the old man could see was how things had been so much better in the past.
Asif stood up. ‘I’m going to call Mumtaz,’ he said.
Baharat Huq slumped. ‘If you must.’ Then he said to Shamima, ‘When will we have peace, eh? Not even Rajiv-ji’s bereaved sister can take up her life. He is not cremated and she remains away from her home.’
‘I’m sure that the funeral will happen soon,’ Shamima said. ‘I’m not part of that investigation, Mr Huq.’
Ricky Montalban parked his car on Fournier Street, to the side of Christ Church. When he walked round to the main entrance, he clocked the woodentops either side of the front door. What a fucking waste of manpower. Ali Huq must have been totally off his head with fear when he claimed sanctuary. Now he had to tell him that the medicals on the boys were inconclusive. Both of them had taken part in anal sex. Both were damaged. But the kids were refugees and so who knew what they’d had to do to get out of Syria and across Europe? People traffickers took what they wanted from their ‘customers’ in any form that suited them. But the kids were still sticking to their stories about Ali Huq in spite of testimony from Zayn Chaudhuri and his mate Sultan to the contrary. They still claimed to have seen them the night Rajiv died. Perhaps they were both right? Maybe Huq had fucked them and then they’d gone out and killed Rajiv Banergee? Sort of a proof of their own straight manhood thing?
Ricky walked into the church and down into the crypt. Shamima Iqbal reckoned Ali’s parents weren’t coping well but luckily the other brother, Asif, was remaining calm. He was going to tell Ali’s sister, Mumtaz Hakim. That name brought Newham to Ricky’s mind.
His phone had rung as soon as he’d got in the car to come out to Christ Church. The Super had told him that Vakeel Uddin, the solicitor from Forest Gate, was not to be touched. Newham had him in their sights and the last thing they needed was intervention from Tower Hamlets. Not that Ricky really needed more to do. But he had hoped to follow the trail Aziz the tailor had begun.
Ali Huq and the Reverend Reid were having coffee. Sitting together, talking quietly, they looked almost relaxed. The vicar cracked a smile. ‘Ah, DI Montalban,’ he said. ‘I expect you’d like to talk to Ali on your own.’
He didn’t especiall
y. He had nothing to tell him except that the tests on the boys were inconclusive. For a moment he wondered whether Aziz had told the press. Why would he?
‘No, it’s alright, Reverend,’ he said.
Ali Huq didn’t react when Ricky told him about the medical reports on the two boys. The vicar made them all more coffee, which struck Ricky as a really ‘vicary’ thing to do. Then Ricky said, ‘Look, Ali, both of those boys are over sixteen and so whatever may or may not have happened to them while they’ve been in your care, we are not talking about the abuse of minors here.’
‘I didn’t—’
‘Forget all that,’ Ricky said. ‘What really interests me is Rajiv Banergee’s murder. Now we’ve got two witnesses who claim to have seen your two lads out and about around Arnold Circus the night Rajiv died. Now you, Mr Huq, say you thought the boys were out at a meeting. Did you see them go?’
‘No. But the house was quiet that night and they told me later on that they’d been to a meeting in south London.’
‘OK, that’s fine.’ He quickly looked at the vicar and then back at Ali. ‘Mr Huq, we don’t, as yet, have any evidence those boys killed Mr Banergee. But we do have anecdotal evidence that they were indeed out. So it’s like this: did you have sex with those boys early that evening …’
‘No!’
‘I’m sure you understand the notion of consensual sex …’
‘I did not have sex with those boys!’ he said. ‘They’re lying. I’ve had sex with no one since Rajiv! I promised and I have kept that promise!’
Ricky scratched his head. Bob Khan had found the magazines within seconds of searching Huq’s shop.
‘Mr Huq,’ he said. ‘We found certain magazines at your shop.’
It seemed that Ali would never speak. Ricky felt like a bastard. There’d been three copies of a magazine aimed at the Gay community in a drawer in Ali’s desk. Bob had told him that it contained a few photos of men in mildly suggestive poses. But these were basically news and views mags, keeping people in touch with the wider gay world.
‘We found them easily in an unlocked drawer,’ Ricky said. ‘While I’ve been wondering how the boys found out about your sexuality …’
‘They know nothing,’ he said.
‘What if they saw your magazines?’
Ali lowered his head.
‘Because they could’ve done, couldn’t they, Mr Huq?’ Ricky swallowed. ‘You’ve been charged, accept we have to clear this up and come quietly. Being in here is not doing your case any good at all.’
‘No,’ Ali said. ‘Why should I? You’ve already made up your mind that I’m guilty.’
‘That’s not true,’ Ricky said. ‘No one’s made their mind up about anything.’
Maybe, Ricky thought, allowing Huq to claim sanctuary had been the wrong thing to do.
Running a shop was sometimes a dangerous business. If you didn’t please your customers, you could go bankrupt, stock could fall on your head and kill you and gangsters wanted to ‘protect’ you from time to time. Running a convenience store was not a game for sissies and Aftab Huq was in no way a sissy. But he’d had trouble with the Sheikh family before and so approaching Wahid Sheikh wasn’t easy.
He came to the shop to buy things, like a regular customer. But unlike a regular customer, straightforward purchase was not his principal aim. When he’d first started coming he’d just looked at Shazia, but now he’d begun to leer. Even George, whose eyesight wasn’t what it had once been, had noticed.
Unless you looked into his eyes there was a lot of the ‘dear old man’ about Wahid Sheikh. He was polite, courteous, he shuffled a little as if his feet hurt …
‘I’d be obliged if you didn’t bother the young lady.’
Wahid Sheikh looked up. ‘Bother?’ he said. ‘What do you mean?’
Shazia, who had been stacking toilet rolls, went outside to the back of the shop.
‘I mean standing so close it makes her feel uncomfortable,’ Aftab said. ‘And talking to her. She’s a good girl …’
‘If she’s a good girl, then why doesn’t she cover herself?’
‘Because, as you well know, Mr Sheikh, covering is a choice. Or it should be,’ Aftab said. ‘The girl’s said nothing to me, just to be clear, but I’ve noticed she’s nervous when you’re around. Come into my shop, you are welcome. But I’d ask you, respectfully, not to make my staff uncomfortable.’
He smiled. ‘Mr Huq,’ he said, ‘and just to clarify what we both know, my late nephew had trouble with you and with that girl. My nephew who died in most strange circumstances, in the presence of that girl.’
Aftab didn’t know how Shazia had come to be with a dying Naz Sheikh in a deserted house in Forest Gate. She’d told the police a man she didn’t know had come in and stabbed him and they had believed her. Naz Sheikh had died before he could say anything. Aftab had never asked Shazia or Mumtaz about those events. All he did know was that the Sheikhs had issues with his cousin that had once led them to threaten him and his business.
‘You’re leering,’ Aftab blurted.
‘Leering?’ he laughed. ‘That’s what you think?’
‘Yeah.’
He moved towards him. Aftab backed up.
‘I am not leering, my dear man. Oh no. I am merely fascinated by the sight of such a young girl simply getting on with her life while my nephew rots in his grave.’
‘She never touched him!’
‘Ach. So some people think.’
‘The police.’
He shrugged.
‘Look, just leave her alone, right?’ Aftab said.
‘Mmm.’ The old man turned away.
As he left the shop Aftab heard him say, ‘For now.’
When he went out the back to see Shazia, Aftab found her crying on old George’s shoulder. As soon as she was able to talk, she said, ‘Will I ever be free of those people?’
SIXTEEN
The computer kept beeping to attract her attention. It was him.
Under her breath, Mumtaz said, ‘Fuck off.’
Abu Imad with more instructions, more demands, more pointless, childish declarations of love. He’d even sent her a video clip. A vile thing featuring women being beaten by other, completely covered women, for so-called ‘hijab-violation’. This was the al-Khansaa Brigade, which Abu Imad suggested she might like to join. Bastard. Her life was in free fall and yet still she was getting ready to go on this hare-brained mission. What had she, and more significantly, Lee been thinking?
Asif had told her about Ali the night before. She hadn’t slept. How could Ali be those things? A murderer? A rapist? His views had become rigid and sometimes extreme in recent years, but she felt his relationship with Rajiv-ji went some way towards providing an explanation. Why had she never realised that Ali was gay? Rajiv had even told her he had been involved with a Muslim. Had Rajiv wanted to tell her everything?
Now Ali was hiding from the storm that was raging around him in Christ Church and the world apparently knew what he was supposed to have done. Someone had told the press. Her dad said he thought it was Mr Bhatti in the electrical shop. But he didn’t want to confront him. He didn’t want to go out.
Then there was Shazia.
In spite of her efforts, Wahid Sheikh had continued to hang around Aftab’s shop, unnerving the girl. Would she have to call the old man again?
Mumtaz slipped her passport into the side of her rucksack. She’d have to remember to put it away as soon as she cleared immigration. Abu Imad couldn’t see it. Once she was with him, Lee would follow. Only if/when she was alone with this man would she broach the subject of the tooth. With Lee, figuratively, at her back, she could be pulled out of the situation. This was all assuming, of course, that Abu Imad turned up at the airport …
What if he didn’t?
Mumtaz put a packet of aspirin in her bag. She knew the flight to Amsterdam only took an hour but her father had always been paranoid about deep-vein thrombosis – a fear which had rubbed off on her.
Lee would probably laugh at her. Maybe she deserved to be ridiculed?
Suddenly weary, Mumtaz sat on her bed. The computer beeped again and again she ignored it. She’d need to go shopping. ‘Mishal’ wouldn’t wear the white shirts and black trousers that, for Mumtaz, were almost a uniform. Even pious teenagers dressed more interestingly than that. She would need to go to Stratford and visit the massive Primark in the Westfield Shopping Centre. Most of their stuff was aimed at teenagers and it was cheap. Shazia went there with her friends all the time.
It was Sunday, but Westfield was open. It was open every day. She had to go to the office on Monday, same as usual. So she could only go shopping now. But then once it was over she’d have to go and see her parents. Even the thought of it filled her with dread. How were they going to be? When Asif had phoned her she hadn’t even heard them wittering on in the background, like they usually did.
He was distracted and he knew she knew it. It was pretty bloody obvious.
‘If you say “it’s not you, it’s me”, I’ll lamp you,’ Vi said as she pulled her jeans back on and rearranged her T-shirt. Thin but muscular, she had a good body for a woman in her late fifties even if she herself described her own face as ‘a dried apricot’. Forty years of smoking would do that.
But, as well as being good in bed, Vi was a mate. In his own way Lee loved her. Just not on this occasion, it seemed.
‘Sorry.’
She lit a fag. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘If you think this has never happened to me before, you’re wrong.’
He smiled. But he didn’t know why he’d been unable to perform. He’d called her, after all. Maybe it was anticipation of the flight? He’d never liked flying. He’d been sick for most of the journey when he’d gone out to his first tour in Iraq. But then maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe it had more to do with what was going to happen once he and Mumtaz got to the Netherlands. Would Fayyad even be there? And even if he was, what was his agenda?
‘So when you and Mumtaz coming back from your little trip, then?’ Vi asked.
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