by Kia Abdullah
Farid held her tight. ‘Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘We didn’t do it, Ammi. It isn’t true.’ He closed his eyes and prayed that his parents would one day forgive him.
Chapter Six
‘Rough day?’ Mia stood to shake Zara’s hand.
‘Something like that.’ Two weeks had passed since they had seen each other last and now they stood together awkwardly. Neither had spoken about the press leak but it hung there between them, silent and heavy like a family secret.
In the two weeks since publication, the leak had sprung wide open. In three days, the boys’ names had been discovered and plastered all over social media. In five, Jodie’s name was out. On day six, there were injunctions but by day ten, there were too many messages, notices, threads and posts to stamp out. ‘Justice 4 Jodie’ was fast becoming a war cry.
Mia pointed to a chair. ‘I called you here because we’ve caught a break – two in fact.’ She placed a file on the desk. ‘First, our mysterious “Sophie” from Jabdam is Sophie Patel who left Bow Road Secondary School in 2017 after an alleged sexual assault by Amir. She’s given us a statement and it’s possible she can testify.’
Zara felt a quiet triumph chased by nostalgia for the job she’d left behind. These breakthroughs were both the best and worst thing about working with the law. They signified tangible progress but also took someone else’s pain and reduced it to a piece of evidence, a mere cog in the machine of justice. This moment of pride for the team had cost a young girl something irretrievable.
Mia pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘And here’s our second break.’ She pointed to a section. ‘This is Amir Rabbani’s DNA profile and this is the semen we collected from Jodie’s top.’
Zara swallowed. ‘They match.’
For the first time that morning, Mia smiled. ‘There’s a one in one billion chance that the semen from Jodie’s top is from someone unrelated to Amir Rabbani.’
Zara’s voice was thready with relief. ‘That’s fantastic news.’
‘What’s more, we found a strand of Jodie’s hair on Mohammed Ahmed’s shirt. It’s less damming but it helps. The evidence against Hassan Tanweer and Farid Khan is more tenuous but we can place them all there and we can prove that Amir at the very least was intimate with Jodie.’ Mia paused. ‘We’re waiting on the CPS but I’m betting we can charge those boys.’
Zara exhaled slowly. ‘Good news for Jodie.’
Mia nodded. ‘I thought maybe you’d want to tell her.’ She caught the surprise on Zara’s face. After a beat, she leaned forward to speak. ‘Look, we’re essentially going into battle together and I want to know that people by my side are going to have my back the same way I’m going to have theirs, so do I like what you did? No. Do I think it lacked professionalism? Yes. But that girl trusts you and she’s relying on you – on us. You and I are never gonna go on a spa day together or braid each other’s hair, but we have to work together so I want you to know that I have your back. No matter what.’
To Zara’s horror, sudden tears welled in her eyes. ‘I appreciate it,’ she said, then stood up quickly. ‘I have yours too.’ She shook Mia’s hand and said goodbye.
Back in her car, Zara thought over the events of the last two weeks. Luka had left for Nepal and she hadn’t let him say goodbye. A dull sense of anger welled in her chest as she recalled that night in Dalston. This is so fucking boring, she had told him and fled instead to Michael Attali, the self-assured stranger from Port & Port. She recalled the two nights she had spent with him since – he so bold and eager and she always coldly casual – and wondered if she’d had an honest reaction to anything this year.
When she was seventeen, Zara worked at a market research company in Richmond. Every Saturday and Sunday, she would wake up, travel an hour and a half across London and spend eight hours cold-calling people and convincing them to answer survey questions for large corporations. Among the group of East London kids was a dour-faced girl called Shamima. She was quiet and contemplative and said nothing for stretches of time as if she were pondering a great problem of the universe. One lunchtime, one of the kids remarked that it was a great shame Shamima had changed so drastically after her father’s death. They spoke of a fun, gregarious version of the girl, one free with words and easy with laughter, a version Zara herself had never met. Shamima had drawn into a shell; a bland, anodyne shell of her former self. Zara thought of her now as she drove from Aldgate to Limehouse and parked outside her mother’s home. She rang the doorbell, wondering if Shamima ever found herself again.
Inside the house, she was surprised to find her family gathered like a council of elders: her mother and brother in the centre with Lena and Salma on one side and Amina on the other.
‘Phoonsayn,’ started her mother, her frown lines etched deep in her face.
Zara stiffened. The appeal for her to ‘listen’ spoke ill of that to come.
‘Your auntie from number twenty-six heard something today.’ Her mother’s voice was low and strained. ‘That case against those poor boys from Bow? She said that you were involved.’
Zara bristled. She was amazed by the speed of Asian aunties in finding and spreading news. Given a chance, they’d make excellent hacks. She tried to quip as much, but her mother was unmoved.
‘Is it true?’
Zara blinked, her gaze flitting to her sisters. ‘Yes, it’s true.’ Her lips were tight in defiance. Had she been summoned here to deny a crime?
Amina stood and left for the kitchen. They listened to the hollow rush of water fill the kettle and the low thud of the switch turning on. The hiss of heat filled the room and then the clink of china: six cups on saucers filled with sugary tea.
Rafiq received a cup first, but pushed it aside. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.
Zara took a cup from Amina, grateful for the discreet squeeze on her wrist. Her sister-in-law sat down beside her, opposite the rest of the family. Lena stood and took a pastry from the table. Casually, she too sat next to Zara. Their unspoken solidarity strengthened her resolve.
Rafiq pointed a finger at her. ‘What’s going through your mind? Why are you so fucking determined to drag our name through the mud?’
Their mother drew up in her seat. ‘Thuy mukh bonkhor,’ she ordered, her sharp tone reminiscent of the matriarch of old. The demand for silence was directed at Rafiq, but all four children were chastened. ‘We are going to discuss this calmly and fairly,’ she said.
Zara was maddened by the sheer presumptuousness of it all. She felt no compulsion to plead or explain, and her mother’s magnanimousness in allowing a fair trial was almost as enraging as Rafiq’s resentment.
‘What would you like to discuss?’ she asked obsequiously.
Fatima’s features hardened with reproach. ‘Why are you getting involved in this case?’
Zara sighed. ‘I’m just doing my job, Mum.’
‘But why you?’
‘Because someone has to.’
‘She has a point though, Zar,’ said Salma. ‘It doesn’t have to be you.’
Zara flinched, surprised by the break in ranks. Whatever mistakes she had made in the past, her sisters had backed her up. Sometimes, Salma abstained from a sense of decorum, but never had she openly opposed her. Her question now felt disloyal and Zara floundered for footing.
Salma pointed at the TV. ‘It’s been all over the news and everyone in Bow knows you’re involved. It’s only a matter of time until your name hits the papers and you know what they do to women of colour.’
Zara cocked her head to one side. ‘What is it they do?’
Salma sighed. ‘Come on, Zar. Don’t be like that – not with me. I’m trying to do what’s best for you.’
Zara searched her face, torn between her instincts, to defy and disobey, and feelings that ran deeper: hurt, confusion, betrayal. Could she do this without her sisters’ support?
Lena beside her picked up her tea. ‘Maybe Zara can decide what’s best for herself.’ She took a sip. ‘I mean, I
know she’s only thirty …’
Rafiq smirked. ‘Who asked the oondur to speak?’
Lena stiffened at the use of her childhood nickname. Oondur, or ‘mouse’, was not only a reference to her ears, which were outsized in her youth, but her quiet and thoughtful nature which occasionally sank to melancholy like when she failed to gain admission to her chosen university, or broke up with the man she thought she’d marry, or – most deeply and dangerously – when their father passed unexpectedly.
Zara felt a flash of anger. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t use me to get at her.’
‘Oh, you think this is bad?’ Rafiq flung an arm at Lena. ‘Wait ’til she has reporters howling at her door.’
Zara caught the flash of fear on Lena’s face. Would it really get that bad? Would she – who spent her schooldays protecting Lena from bullies – bring them right to her door? Would this fight be worth that?
‘Let them come,’ said Lena solemnly. ‘I’m not worried.’
Their mother tutted. ‘Don’t be so naive, girl. There are many things to fear in this country. You think the police can protect your sister if someone decides she’s a traitor?’
‘Is that what you think?’ Zara’s voice was strangely shrill, like a freshly plucked violin string. ‘That I’m a traitor?’
Her mother hesitated. ‘I’m worried that’s what people will say.’
‘Of course that’s what she thinks,’ Rafiq interjected. ‘She doesn’t understand why you’re doing this.’ He gestured to the window, Zara’s car framed perfectly in the glass. ‘You don’t have enough money already?’
Zara swallowed. ‘This isn’t about money. This is about doing what’s right.’
Rafiq laughed. ‘Since when are you interested in doing what’s right?’
Zara’s voice grew hard. ‘What does that mean?’
He smirked. ‘A broken marriage, a tanked career. Tell me: are you still clinging onto that car because it makes you feel more than what you are?’
Zara regarded him for a moment. ‘Tell me: does it make you feel less than what you are?’
Silence cracked through the room and Rafiq rose to his feet. A vein in his temple throbbed and his fingers drew into fists. He met Zara’s gaze with a sneer. ‘You’re going to lose,’ he said. ‘There’s no way anyone’s going to believe that dogface, so good luck.’ With that, he turned and marched out.
In his wake, the tension caved. Conflict segued into strained cordiality as it so often did in their family. Zara wanted to flee, but resolved to remain for the evening lest her departure be taken as guilt. She and Salma studiously avoided being left alone, their earlier exchange too fresh for post-mortem. They sat primly in the living room, Zara distracted as her thoughts climbed and clashed over each other, making her tense and restless. She could do this without her mother’s support – had expected to even – but what did it mean when her own blood was rooting for her to fail? She cared little for Rafiq’s rhetoric, but Salma’s words weighed heavy on her mind. Her sister would not have opposed her lightly and her concern was therefore real.
Zara’s unease was compounded by Lena who cornered her in the kitchen later, distinctly less cavalier in candour. She begged Zara to be careful, to mind the whims and deeds of men. ‘Your name is out there, Zar. People know who you are,’ she warned.
Zara, filled with gratitude for her sister’s support, kissed the top of her head. ‘Don’t worry, little sister,’ she said, her voice carrying only the slightest of tremors. ‘For I am Zara the Brave.’
The reputation of William Stark QC ran at odds with his gentle grey eyes and compassionate smile. Aged forty-eight, he was six-foot-two with the kind of salt and pepper hair irresistible to young women who craved authority. A cohead at his Bedford Row chambers, Stark was known as a strategic virtuoso unencumbered by obligation to truth and justice. In person, he was affably direct, unfailingly respectful and, to Mia’s chagrin, wholly disarming.
He addressed her now with a self-aware smile, revealing perfect teeth only two shades off his pristine white shirt. ‘At the risk of sounding like a Miami Vice extra, shall we cut to the chase, Miss Scavo? If you have evidence against my client, let’s hear it.’
Mia held his gaze. ‘I would prefer to ask the boy some questions first.’ She gestured at Amir who had been resummoned to the station for questioning.
Stark nodded once genially. ‘May I request that you refer to “the boy” by his name?’
Mia reined in a sneer. ‘Of course,’ she said with icy politeness. She refused to be cowed by his cut-glass charm and Hublot watch, peeking now subtly from the sleeve of his suit. It was rare for a barrister of his stature to take on a case at this level. Mia suspected he had a personal connection with Amir’s father whose business activities, though not entirely clear, could fund a lawyer like Stark. Still, he was on her territory now and the windowless interview room was no fit stage for theatrics.
She addressed Amir. ‘Mr Rabbani, do you know why you’re here?’
Amir shifted in his seat. ‘Yes,’ he replied, short and simple just as advised.
Stark loosened his tie and sat back in his chair, the subtext clear to all in the room: I don’t even have to try.
Mia trained her gaze on the boy. ‘Why do you think you’re here?’
Amir cleared his throat. ‘Because you want to ask me more about Jodie.’
Mia smiled. ‘That’s right.’ She flipped open a file. ‘In your first interview with us, you said you had no physical contact with Jodie Wolfe. Is that correct?’
Amir glanced at Stark. ‘I put my arm around her but that was it.’
‘Did you have sexual intercourse with her that night?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘Have you ever engaged in sexual activity with her – consensual or not?’
‘No.’
Stark raised a forefinger an inch off the table. ‘Get to the point, Miss Scavo.’
Mia looked at him coolly. She flicked through her folder, retrieved two pieces of paper and pushed one towards Amir. ‘Mr Rabbani, can you tell me what this is?’
The boy leaned forward and scanned it. ‘It says it’s a DNA test.’
‘Do you know whose DNA that is?’
‘No.’
‘The profile on the left illustrates your DNA. The one on the right you see there? That’s the DNA of the semen we found on the top Jodie was wearing that night.’ Mia paused to savour the moment, then went in for the kill. ‘Can you tell me what’s interesting about the two profiles?’
A film of sweat spread on Amir’s skin. Before he could speak, however, Stark slid the sheet back across the table. ‘Enough of the theatrics. What do you want?’
‘If Amir confesses, we can talk about a plea.’
Stark laughed. ‘Next option?’
Mia appealed to his good sense. ‘Look, William, you heard him. He denied any physical contact with Jodie. How is he going to explain this away? It’s better for him – and you – if he tells us the truth. This is going to become a media circus and when the boys are found guilty, there’s going to be so much worse waiting for them behind bars.’ She pointed at Amir. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Nice story, Miss Scavo. What’s your next option?’ said Stark.
‘Next option: we go to court.’
He scoffed. ‘On this flimsy evidence?’
Mia frowned involuntarily. ‘We have DNA evidence that directly contradicts what your client claims as the truth. We have witnesses who saw him leading the complainant to the warehouse, proving that he lied to us. How does your client hope to explain this away? He—’
‘It wasn’t rape.’ Amir’s voice was low and soft, his gaze fixed on the sheet beneath him.
‘I’m sorry?’ Mia leaned back in her seat, not wanting to spook him.
He cleared his throat and repeated: ‘It wasn’t rape.’
Mia resisted the urge to smile. ‘Then what was it, Amir?’ Stark interrupted, but the boy was already talking.
‘It was just a blowjob and it was completely consensual.’ He cut off Stark’s objection: ‘It’s okay. I shouldn’t have lied in the first place.’ To Mia he said, ‘I swear to you that’s the truth. Look, when a girl – even one that looks like her – starts whispering in your ear that she’s gonna get on her knees and do this and that to you, how am I going to say no to that? But I swear to God, she started it. The boys can tell you that.’
‘They watched?’ Mia remained neutral, taking care not to betray her glee. Amir’s about-turn could cripple his credibility. Citing a consensual blowjob sounded like mere contrivance, an impulsive attempt to explain away the evidence.
Amir glanced over his shoulder as if his friends might be standing behind him, monitoring his answer. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but that’s all they did. They just watched.’
‘Did any of them have intercourse with her?’
Amir shook his head with vigour. ‘No. She was ashamed afterwards. They were laughing at her so she left. I had no idea she was going to make all this up.’
Mia raised a doubtful brow. ‘So why did you lie to us, Mr Rabbani? And how do we know you’re not still lying?’
‘I swear to you that’s the truth.’
She scoffed. ‘Ah, if only our justice system were based on pinky promises.’ She stood. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Mr Rabbani. You’re going to be here a while.’
Stark held up a hand. ‘Are you charging my client? If not, I’d like to leave with him.’