“Of course. I’ll do my best for you,” Nick reassured as Mahmoud placed both his hands on Nick’s shoulders, conveying the weight of his words upon him.
“I know you and Adilaah were friends from a young age, and you want to do right by her by bringing her murderer to justice, but she wasn’t perfect. She made plenty of mistakes in her life and bringing those mistakes into the public eye, will only serve to damage her memory,” Mahmoud reasoned.
“I’m not sure what you want of me?” Nick asked, searching for clarity in the request.
“I’m asking for you to honour my daughter’s memory by not dredging up her past. I’m asking for you to keep certain things within the family, as though it were your family. As if she were your sister, and you were protecting her honour,” Mahmoud pleaded.
Nick contemplated the words of the old man, and he was still unsure what the old man wanted. Of course, he would work tirelessly to ensure that Adilaah’s murderer was brought to justice, but he wasn’t sure that the justice he wanted was the same that Mahmoud Khan wanted. Mahmoud wanted a justice that meant Adilaah’s reputation and indeed his own remained untarnished. But did Adilaah do something that might have already tarnished it? Their relationship was a well-kept secret – Adilaah saw to that. But was this the same girl he once knew, or like Ashraf did she too evolve into something that was unsavoury and somewhat warped, hiding her indiscretions from behind a hidden world that he was only slightly privy to. Was this the reason that such a high-ranking case was tossed in his relatively naïve lap so quickly, so that he would fail, and no one would be the wiser, then the world would just carry on the way it is? Unresolved and uninterrupted. The questions began to overwhelm and create anxiety, swirling about his mind. He could use a drink, but then that would do him no good.
6
Nick could remember distinctly the next time he saw her. It was three years ago. She was no longer that little bird in the sun-drenched window, longing for freedom from within the Khan mansion. She had grown into a majestic, graceful swan emanating an aura of pure angelic white. She had a full and voluptuous figure, endowed with ample heaving breasts and generous peach shaped rear, all shrouded beneath a flowing pale green and shimmering gold Salwar Kameez. The silk made her movements seem effortless, as if she glided amongst those around her, who instantly became smitten by her beauty, adoring her benevolent presence.
The boredom of the ageless ceremony had set in and as it was customary at all Indian weddings, large portions of the male attendees had congregated in the hotel bar, leaving behind frustrated woman folk who had the customary task of child minding and idle gossip. The Pundit had managed to make it into his second hour of incongruent Sanskrit chants that barely held the consciousness of the bride and groom, let alone the audience of well-wishers. The Hawan fire pit had reached epic proportions filling the hall with acrid grey smoke created by the fuel of butter-ghee, mango sticks and camphor, meant to signify blessing but instead tempting the fire alarm and staining the interior decoration of the opulent five-star building.
Nick swallowed the double Jameson’s with sanguine determination, taking refuge in its sweet burning sensation as it disappeared down his throat. Whisky was the drink of choice at most Indian weddings and they would certainly go through a few cases tonight before the ensuing hazy debauchery and accusatory chaos. Nick was tempted to get another drink, but he resisted the temptation, reminding himself of his role as usher to his poor cousin – the groom on stage.
Perhaps the belt of whisky alerted his senses in the noisy nuptials, but he spotted her from the bar, making her way to the table in the adjoining hall. Her presence haunted the mundane dutiful actions as his gaze seemed fixated on her and nothing else. He found himself gravitating slowly towards her, almost as if he was powerless to the force she emitted, pulling him toward her. The rows of patterned Saris and striped Suits lead to her like a serenading pathway. As she settled in she looked around, and then just as indiscriminately, she caught sight of him too. And for a brief moment the whole room seemed silent and still, and they were all alone. Something stirred deep down, and they wanted to retreat to their individual lives, but something kept them fixated on each other.
But then his family yanked him back to reality and back to his duties. Nick looked back at her, trying to maintain his connection. She watched him too, slightly bemused.
Nick was ushered up on stage for the next phase in the laborious ceremony. This part was simple, and had he not been so flummoxed by the gaze of one person in particular, he would have not got it wrong. It was traditional for each side of the family to place garlands on one’s opposite number, in order to welcome them into the family. It was simple. Nick was handed the surprisingly heavy orange Marigold garland and stood third in the queue to complete his part of the ritual. But then he fixed his gaze on her once more, while she tried to hide the all too obvious attention by drooping her head coyly. Nick moved up to his turn, as she propped her head up and stared back at him. He felt the magnetic connection and outstretched his arms, attempting to complete his duties as he kept his eyes on her. Suddenly the hall erupted in laughter, which included his admirer. That prompted him to shift his attention, and then he realised it. He had gone left instead of right and placed the garland on a rather befuddled priest. Quickly he removed it and placed it over the correct person in his soon to be cousin’s family, apologising for the indiscretion. The crowd appointed a chuckle and small applause at the welcome comic relief in such a monotonous affair.
Nick had managed to pry himself away from the family commitments that entangled him for at least another hour. By then the bar had become impassable, roaring with festivity and raucous merriment. He had searched around for her to no avail, and he succumbed with disappointment, realising that she must have gone home. The overwhelming tug of war of family introductions had taken his toll and he was no longer able to submit to any more meetings of long lost aunts and uncles he had never before met, nor endure the inadvertent match making with would be suitors. He decided to slope off to a quiet protracted area of the hotel. He had heard that the hotel had a rooftop pool and bar with outstanding views over the Thames river, so he thought he would explore.
The elevator opened to a minimalist glass, steel and concrete pool area, apportioned with generous potted palm trees, surrounding a neat symmetry of aligned sun loungers and cocktail tables. Royalty or celebrities would not be out of place up here, and it was a world apart from the rowdy coloured pastiche that was the Indian wedding carrying on downstairs.
The all too eager bartender offered Nick a drink as he strolled into the enclosed bar area, but before he could indulge, something caught his eye at the end of the pool, seated on the last two sun loungers. He ventured further, emerging from the covered glass enclosure and into the open air. The sound of errant giggling muffled the sombre flow of running water that made its way into the pool, trying to emulate some sort of contrived paradise.
Nick approached slyly, hoping his intrusion might not offend and be met with scorn. As he stopped before the last two sun loungers, he saw her – sprawled across the lounger that usually accommodated slinky swimsuits rather than elaborate Asian formalwear. She had a degree of casual disregard, a carefree reproach that he had not noticed before. She giggled with bubbly delight, sounds of joy that seemed to compliment her relaxed yet elegant poise. She did not clam up as he stood before them the way her friend did, trying to conceal her half-smoked cigarette like it was forbidden contraband. Her eyes greeted him with a gentle alluring welcome, almost as if she was expecting him – the whiff of her alluring scent was meant to knowingly draw him up to this rooftop haven. Her smile graduated to a grin, invoking a sense that she was overjoyed that he persevered and found her.
“Can we help you?” her friend blurted curtly as she realised that she was becoming redundant in the duet that was unfolding.
“I needed some air,” Nick said politely to the smoking girl and then looking back at his muse. “I hope
I’m not intruding,” he continued.
“Not at all,” she said eager to dismiss anything her friend might say to ruin the encounter.
Her Hijab had dropped from her head and the V-cut of her Salwar Kameez revealed the top of her sweat glistening breasts, unashamedly teasing his eyes toward areas that were previously off limits.
“This is Fatima,” she said, sensing that introductions were overdue. “And I’m Adilaah.”
The name seemed to hang in the air like the note from an audacious Choir.
“Can I get you ladies a drink?” Nick offered politely as Fatima returned a stern expression. “Non-alcoholic of course.”
“Why?” Adilaah shrugged playfully, allowing Nick to smile knowingly as he turned and walked back in the direction of the bar.
“I thought you wanted to get back!” Fatima declared sullenly.
“To what?” Adilaah retorted quickly, quashing her friend’s protests.
“He’s trouble,” Fatima lamented further.
“That’s why I like him,” Adilaah countered lasciviously.
By the time Nick returned from the bar, Fatima had left and Adilaah had moved over to a decadent elevated glass version of a wooden gazebo, that partially hung off the roof, surrounded by a vista view of the Thames river. She gazed over it, watching the water irreverently lap onto the shore below from the reckless current. Grey clouds began to move in over the cityscape, permitting gleaming shards of amber light to filter through the water.
Nick moved in close to her as she turned to face him. He gently placed the Vodka and Cranberry Juice into her delicate hands almost as if he wanted to casually touch them.
“Where’s your friend?” Nick inquired.
“She didn’t want trouble,” Adilaah answered suggestively, taking a small sip of the drink via the straw, and becoming overwhelmed by the sensation of alcohol.
“Like it?” Nick asked roguishly, “You’ve never had a drink before, have you?”
Adilaah widened her large brown eyes and stared into his, nodding truthfully. “Here…” Nick offered, attempting to take the poison away.
Adilaah pulled away rebelliously, “I want to,” she declared petulantly taking large gulp of the drink. Her sudden defiance made her flippant and unknowingly sullen as a paltry reality settled over her previously vivacious inviting manner.
“You don’t remember me,” Nick proposed the question as he sensed her mood had changed. “Do you?”
“I do,” Adilaah said contritely turning his back on him, “You’re Ashraf’s friend,” speaking as though it was a subject that she preferred not to delve into. “The driver’s son,” She continued.
“I didn’t think you would,” Nick said with some relief.
“You were in the garden,” Adilaah confirmed as the memory of their first meeting surfaced.
“You were in the window,” Nick replied as he looked into her eyes, enchanted by her.
“They kept me locked away,” she said dolefully, as she lowered her empty glass to the ground.
“Now you are free,” Nick declared as he took her hand in his, releasing the glass and sending it crashing to the floor. He pulled her slowly toward him and she did little to resist. Softly and gently their lips met, as though they were waiting an eternity for them to touch. Their lips caressed as their mouths opened and with one breath took in each other’s sacred essence. For a moment they were one, a complete being, beating from the same heart, thinking the same unitary thoughts. It was love consummate, holy, pure and glorious. For Nick, nothing in his life would ever be the same again. He was conjoined with an angel, and for one fleeting moment she allowed him, this mere mortal to experience the sanctity of immortality.
It was an epiphany.
That was how he remembered it.
7
The memory of his and Adilaah’s first meeting still played like an unrequited anthem in Nick’s mind. Amidst the conflict and clutter, their encounter seemed to resound through the essence of his being, and he felt spurned on to persevere in his solitary quest to find her murderer.
Nick barged through the doors to New Scotland Yard and wasted no time in making a hurried march for the basement to the Coroners laboratory. This time the place seemed brighter than before, despite being devoid of natural daylight. The recesses of the sterile white seemed to sparkle, benefitting from the freshly administered scrub that Aisha had been giving it.
Nick could tell that she was not in the mood for the interruption from visitors, not that she ever was. Aisha seemed to have a morbid attachment to the interior of the laboratory, as though the bleak cold steel surfaces and instruments seemed to harmonise with her personal demeanour. They demanded nothing of her flaccid character, only to be honoured in the ritual of sterilising and polishing. And she did this with a devotion that should have been meant for living things. But something told Nick that this was how she liked to maintain the status quo. Maintaining a subscription to a lifeless, underground existence where maintaining her ordered environment compensated for an internal chaotic struggle. The Met loved her for she was fantastic at her job and indeed many complex unsolvable cases met their end down here in this very lab, with Aisha putting her keen, albeit stifled intellect to work. Nick was hoping that this would be one of those occasions.
As Nick entered, Aisha had just completed scrubbing the main lab in the middle of the room, that didn’t seem that dirty in the first place. Aisha proceeded to pick up her bucket of soapy suds and empty it into a sink as she noted Nick’s entrance. She turned to face him, drying her hands vigorously and volunteering an uncomfortable smile at him. She motioned for him to take a seat at her desk and Nick accepted with a certain welcome relief. The fatigue was returning, and a large sigh erupted from his lungs as he sat down.
“You OK?” she inquired with an uncharacteristic kindness in her tone.
“Fine. You have something for me?” Nick replied with graciousness, grateful for her empathy.
“You asked me to keep this quiet, so I haven’t put this on the reports. The compound traces we found in the victim’s uterus was Opium,” Aisha whispered under her breath.
“Opium? Why would she have Opium present in her Uterus?” Nick probed confused.
“Backdoor abortion,” Aisha blurted with indignation. Nick stared at Aisha’s revelation as it ignited a paralysing shock. A few moments passed as the words sank in.
“She was pregnant?” Nick lamented.
“It’s common among Arabic women. Illegal abortions are conducted when a straw is tipped with Opium and it acts as an explosive, bursting the gestation sac and inducing a bleed out, “Aisha declared with deadpan efficiency. “Usually done in secret.”
Nick remained silent as he considered the information.
“My guess is the pregnancy was unwanted,” Aisha continued with a callous disregard that she was speaking about a real person.
“Thanks Aisha,” Nick said genuinely. He now had a friend in the laboratory. “You did well,” He continued, hoping that the gratitude would free some humanity from the mostly cold woman.
“And Nick,” Aisha uttered as he rose to leave. “Taking into consideration who she was, tread carefully. There’s usually a wall of silence around this stuff and they don’t take politely to people asking questions.”
Nick nodded as he realised Aisha’s words were out of concern. He felt himself being swallowed deeper by this thing and suddenly he realised that his choices were taking him to places he did not really want to go. But only one thing seemed to remain – how he felt about Adilaah. And that kept him motivated.
~
The odour of decay had filled the place as though hope had been defeated and what remained was an air of despair. Nick walked down the corridor and peered into each of the rooms. Some women lay on decrepit beds, desperately staring at the mouldy warped ceiling, while others moved slowly through the corridor, blankly floating passed him like possessed ghosts, transfixed by tragedy. The Woman’s Centre reeked of stagn
ancy; of lives stuck in limbo. They stared back at him with some repugnance making him feel like an intruder on their hallowed ground. They detested the fact that he was a man and that meant his action and very presence could not be trusted. He would not have been permitted inside, just as no other man would have been either, if he weren’t a police detective.
He knew of this place. Adilaah mentioned it many times and during one of those times he actually paid attention to her noble and important efforts in helping these forsaken women. Many were destitute with nowhere else to go or no one to turn to. They were shunned and could not return to their families. Many had been turned out into the streets for defiling the protracted honour that they were meant to uphold. Some had fled abusive relationships, fed-up with being the punching bags of their husbands, fathers or brothers. Many had supposedly invited shame upon themselves and their families by being raped, while others had survived suicide attempts and now existed in a convoluted half-life between life and death. But these were only just some of the stories. Nick had known so many more. A life growing up in the inner city without a mother seemed to make these stories all the more prolific. He had tried to ignore them telling himself that ignorance was bliss, and that we all have our battles to fight. Compassion in the ghetto had always been an expensive luxury, especially when it was beyond the need for his own survival. That was how he felt until Adilaah came along. She had brought a ray of transmuting light that opened his cynical eyes and unforgiving heart. She had tried to make the plight of these woman easier, sharing a strange kindred spirit with them and giving of herself selflessly. She had the means to stay clear of this, and she often fought hard to ensure that she could descend from the ivory tower that she did not really belong to, and immerse herself in the disharmony and mayhem that was the human condition. And everywhere she went, and all those whom she had touched, she imparted an other-worldly love and compassion that she presided over them in a holy purity. Now that she was gone a very large vacant hole remained. Just the thought of it made Nick gloomy, that someone so pure could be whisked away so violently. That she was rewarded for her generosity of spirit with such wretched indignity.
A Time Honoured Killing Page 5
