by Anne Coates
“It’s their culture, isn’t it? Not much I can do about that, I’m afraid.”
She looked anything but afraid. Resigned. Dismissive. She glared at them, daring comment.
Joe made a few notes and looked up. “Quite. But I’d like to think that all my constituents were encouraged to gain the best from our education system. What are your procedures when you get a pattern of absence?”
The woman snorted her derision. “We have the home-school contract. A meaningless scrap of paper if you ask me.”
“So what would you do instead?”
Hannah was watching the woman’s face which was a picture of self-righteous indignation. She looked at her watch. “Actually, Mr Rawlington you’ll have to excuse me now. I have a senior management team meeting.”
“Perhaps I could sit in on that?”
“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid. Confidentiality and all that.” She stood up and extended her hand. “Good to meet you. It will be interesting to see how you fare in this constituency.” She opened the door and Hannah had the impression that she would have liked to physically kick them out. Hannah felt a waft of pity for her staff and pupils.
Now sitting in the cab taking them back to Westminster, Hannah thought about the male head of the one co-ed school. He had wrung his hands and looked genuinely upset when he described how two years previously a fourteen-year-old had gone missing in the summer term. He later discovered from a family member that she had been sent to Pakistan for an arranged marriage.
“I contacted the appropriate authorities – and our then MP,” he said with a wry glance at Joe, “but it seemed nothing could be done. The marriage had taken place… They did send someone from the Embassy to seek her out but nothing came of it.”
He paused and stared out of his office window, which overlooked the empty playground. His expression was tortured. “I have two daughters aged eleven and thirteen. I want them to have every opportunity they can grab. And I want that for my pupils as well. All of them. That former pupil has a baby now. What hope does she have?”
Hannah and Joe left feeling increasingly despondent.
“So,” Joe broke the silence. “What now?”
“Hope that the girl who wrote to you goes to Claymore school.”
“That’s not very likely is it?”
“I know. Perhaps you could run some sort of information campaign? With contact numbers. There must be something…”
“I hope so.” The taxi was pulling up outside the Members entrance to the Palace of Westminster. “This place will be deserted, I expect. John Smith’s funeral is in Edinburgh tomorrow.” His sadness shadowed his face. “Are you going on to The News’ offices?”
“Yes, I’ll do some more digging. You never know what I’ll turn up.”
She smiled as Joe kissed her on the cheek. “Keep me posted. And we’ll see you for dinner on Saturday.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
DI Turner looked up and smiled at the young policewoman who’d just knocked and entered her office.
“Ma’am, DS Benton asked me to bring this straight to you.”
Claudia nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging manner.
“I logged a call from King’s College Hospital. Apparently there’s a young pregnant woman who was brought in after a fall down some stairs. She was in a pretty bad way for a few days – it was touch and go if she’d lose the baby. But the call was from the sister on the ward. This patient, Sasha Bhat, is anxious to speak to us.”
Claudia was finding it hard to keep track of the meandering. “And this concerns me because?”
“It’s about the ring, Ma’am. She thinks she has information on Amalia Kumar’s ring. But she doesn’t want her husband to know.”
“Doesn’t she now?” Claudia looked thoughtful. “Okay. Lucy, isn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Right, Lucy, go and change into your civvies and pay a visit to Sasha. No point in alerting anyone with uniforms. Find out what you can.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s a while before visiting hours so contact the ward sister and let her know you’re coming.”
“Yes ma’am.” Lucy still stood before her looking awkward.
“What?”
“Are you sure about sending me? Not one of CID?”
“Doubting my judgement, officer?” Claudia’s face looked stern.
“No, ma’am.”
Claudia relented. “Look, she’s probably about your age and she won’t feel intimidated by you. Get what you can from her. Oh, and tell DS Benton I want to see him, please.”
Claudia picked up her phone as the officer left but there was no reply to the number she’d dialled.
“Ah, Mike, come in. I’ve sent Lucy to see this patient, Sasha Bhat, in King’s.” Mike looked doubtful. “I’ve told her not to go in uniform – less threatening. This could be just the breakthrough we’re looking for. If it is Amalia’s ring …”
Each was lost in thought for a moment until Claudia asked, “Mike, have we had the PM for Yasmin Sagar through?”
Yasmin Sagar, they had discovered, was the name of the girl found stabbed in Peckham Park. She was fifteen. Her distraught parents seemed inconsolable and they too had cast iron alibis.
“No guv. I’ll chase it up.” He tapped his fingers on the desk not noticing Claudia’s irritation. “I can’t help thinking there must be a connection that we’re just not seeing.”
“Agreed. But apart from being Asian and of a similar age there’s no other common denominator. Not the same school. Religion. Killed in different ways… I think I might have a chat with Hannah Weybridge. See where her research is going.”
Her sergeant’s face told her what he thought of that idea.
Sasha was reading an article on birth plans in Practical Parenting. She caressed her bump and the baby kicked. She and her baby were still alive. When she’d woken up in hospital she couldn’t remember what had happened until Ahmed came and said a neighbour had found her at the bottom of the stairs in a pool of blood. Amazingly, apart from the head wound she’d only broken her wrist and twisted an ankle. Ahmed had wept at her bedside, swearing he would find them a better place to live.
She looked up to see the staff nurse, the friendly one she liked, not the bossy one, walking into her four-bed ward with a girl by her side. The girl was wearing a denim jacket, jeans and Doc Martens. No chance of her catching her heel in a threadbare carpet.
“Sasha, this is Lucy. She’s a police officer. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Lucy sat down in the chair beside the bed. “How are you feeling, Sasha? I hear you had a nasty fall.”
“I’m okay thanks. Caught my heel in the carpet on the stairs.” She looked tearful. “I thought I was going to lose the baby. I was so scared.”
“I bet you were.” Lucy pulled out her notebook and a pen from her shoulder bag.
“I was coming to see you lot.” Lucy looked at her blankly. “About the ring,” Sasha said. “Pass my bag, will you.”
Lucy obliged and Sasha opened a zip compartment and produced the ring everyone had been searching for. “It’s that girl Amalia’s ring. It says so inside.”
“So how come you have it, Sasha?” Lucy’s voice was gentle, inviting confidences.
“Ahmed, my husband, gave it to me. I think he bought it from a pawn shop up the road from where we live.” Lucy made a note of the address. “He’ll be angry with me but my mum saw a picture of it in the newspaper and said it looked like my ring. Course I knew it was the same one because of the inscription.”
She looked at the ring. Turning it over in her hand. “That poor girl,” was all she said before handing it over to Lucy.
“Where will Ahmed be now, Sasha?”
“At work. He won’t be in any trouble, will he?”
“I don’t know. We’ll just check where he bought the ring.” She smiled. “He might even get a refund, you never know.”
> “He works at the Post Office in Peckham High Street.”
“Right.” Lucy closed her notebook. “Do you live in a private rental, Sasha?”
“Yeah – we’ve got our names down with the council but it’s a long list. Why?”
“I’d make a complaint to the landlord. He’s responsible for the stair carpet that caused your accident. Check with that Legal Advice Centre in Peckham. They have solicitors working there.”
Sasha nodded. “I will. Thanks, Lucy.”
Lucy smiled. “Take care and good luck with the baby.”
Ahmed was picked up soon after Lucy had phoned through her findings to DS Benton. It was done with the minimum of fuss and his colleagues probably thought he’d been called away because of his wife who was in hospital.
Sitting opposite DI Turner and DS Benton, Ahmed Bhat looked uncomfortable. He had been told this was a voluntary interview, he was not under arrest and could leave at any time and had been cautioned. While he was being brought to the station DI Turner had run his name through the system – nothing. Not even a parking fine.
“Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Mr Bhat?” DI Turner had never seen Benton acting so sensitively. It was a revelation.
Ahmed Bhat shook his head. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“What was, Mr Bhat?”
“The ring. I went for a drink in The Nags Head with my mates after work. I don’t usually go as we’re saving all the money we can for the baby. But it was Jim’s birthday. Anyway, there was a guy in there who said he had a really nice ring to sell. Said it belonged to his mother who’d just died and he needed the money.” Ahmed paused as though remembering the scene.
“I didn’t really consider it but one of my mates took a look and when I saw it I just knew it was perfect for Sasha. I asked him how much. I gave him fifty quid for it.” He put his head in his hands.
Benton handed him a glass of water. “Take your time, Mr Bhat.”
When he looked up he had tears in his eyes. “It’s brought us bad luck. Sasha falling, nearly losing our baby…”
“Had you seen this man before?” DI Turner’s initial elation at finding the ring was fading fast.
“No, but as I said I don’t go to the pub much.”
“Can you describe him?”
“He was just an ordinary bloke, really. Bit older than me. My height. Spoke with a London accent…”
“Mr Bhat, there is one thing I must ask you. Your wife implied that you’d be furious with her for going to the police. Is she right?”
Ahmed looked genuinely shocked. “No. I’m cross with myself for being such an idiot. But not with Sasha. Never.”
Let’s hope that’s true, thought Turner as Ahmed Bhat had signed his statement then left the station. They were not much further forward.
“Okay, Benton, let’s go for a drink at later on at The Nags Head and see if anyone remembers this man and his ring.”
“But it’s Friday, guv…
“Perfect timing. We’ll go early to catch the after-work crowd. I promise not to keep you out too late, Cinders.”
Mike grinned. He was more of a Prince Charming with his wife these days.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Joe put the finishing touches to setting the dinner table.
“That looks splendid.” Phil stood behind him, arms around his waist. “I see we’re out to impress.” He nuzzled Joe’s neck.
“We are. Hannah’s one of my oldest friends. We’ve been through a lot together and recently she’s had a tough time. Anyway, it’s a compliment she’ll appreciate.”
“And will she appreciate me?” Phil sounded less certain than he normally was. He knew how important Hannah was in his partner’s life and if he were honest, he felt a tiny pang of jealousy.
Joe turned to face him and kissed him long and lingeringly.
“Of course not, she’ll hate you on sight.” It took Phil a moment to realise he was joking.
The entry-phone sounded. Joe went over and pushed the buzzer. “Come on up, Hannah.”
Joe opened the door in anticipation, but it wasn’t Hannah who arrived in their doorway but a courier, his face mostly hidden by his helmet, asking Joe to sign for an envelope, which he did. No sooner had he gone than the buzzer went again and this time it was Hannah and so the envelope was placed on the hall table and momentarily forgotten.
Phil stood up as Hannah came into the sitting room. “We meet at last,” she said holding out her hand. “I was beginning to think you were Joe’s imaginary friend.”
Phil smiled. “No, I’m real. And I at least know you by repute.”
Hannah looked questioningly at him.
“Your journalism.” Hannah was amused at just how many people seemed to read The News while claiming to detest the ‘Red Tops’.
“And what do you do, Phil? Joe has always been so vague about you.”
“Advertising. Graphic designer. That’s how we met. Joe’s PR company employed me on a campaign. I’m freelance.”
“And he’s now got a studio here,” Joe said as he brought in a tray of nibbles and drinks. The highball glasses were Art Deco. Everything Joe collected was exquisite but bought to be used. Nothing was for show only. Except the paintings. And Hannah noticed a few additions which she assumed were Phil’s.
“Cheers,” he said after handing round the Martini cocktails.
Phil was looking at Joe oddly. “I hope that’s not the dinner I can smell.”
They all inhaled, aware of an odour, which was not at all appetising.
Joe went into the hall. “Shit!”
Phil and Hannah followed and saw him picking up the package that had been delivered just before Hannah’s arrival. He disappeared into the kitchen. A few more expletives followed. Joe emerged carrying a black bin bag. “I’m just going to put this in the bin downstairs.”
He returned and went straight to the bathroom where he spent some minutes scrubbing his hands before returning to the sitting room.
“Sorry about that. Where were we?”
Hannah would have loved to ask what was in the package but restrained herself. Phil went over and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll serve the starter, shall I?”
Joe nodded and gulped his drink.
The rest of the evening went smoothly. Delicious food, good wine and Phil turned out to be excellent company – he and Hannah actually had a several acquaintances in common. She was grateful that Joe didn’t mention Paul’s death and if Phil knew he made no comment either.
On her way home in the taxi, Hannah wondered about the contents of the package. Whatever it was, was offensive. But why on earth had it been sent to Joe? Who had he offended? She hoped it had nothing to do with his being gay and openly living with his partner. Is this what one could expect by becoming a public figure?
On reflection she’d liked Phil. He and Joe seemed at ease and easy with each other. She envied them. Joe had been her friend since university. Now she felt she’d lost a part of him.
Stupid woman, she thought. You’re just never satisfied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Elizabeth slept in longer than usual, so Hannah had the luxury of being able to read in bed. When her daughter did wake, they went downstairs to find the garden bathed in sunlight. It was warm enough for them to have a leisurely breakfast outdoors. As Elizabeth tottered over to her sandpit, Hannah’s mobile phone rang.
“Hi, Hannah,” Claudia Turner’s voice sounded remarkably friendly, “are you free this evening? I wondered if I could pop over for that drink we keep saying we’ll have.”
Hannah hesitated only a moment. “Yes, that would be nice.”
“We could order a takeaway if you fancied it? My treat.”
Hannah laughed. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being buttered up here?”
“Am I that obvious?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “I do want to run a couple of things past you, totally off the record. And it would, of course, be nice to see you.”
>
They arranged for Claudia to arrive at seven.
All day questions rose like champagne bubbles in Hannah’s mind. What was Claudia after? Information no doubt but Hannah hoped it would be a mutual exchange. Why was the detective alone on a Sunday evening? Tom had never mentioned anything about her private life and Hannah had the impression she was indeed a very private person.
However, Hannah had seen a more relaxed Claudia when she’d turned up one evening with a bottle of wine to tell her that Father Patrick had been found drugged and wandering on Waterloo Bridge. Claudia had actually seemed friendly. And later Hannah had had reason to be grateful for her professionalism and determination to see justice done.
While Elizabeth had her nap, Hannah sat enveloped in the sun’s heat, reading.
Claudia arrived a little after seven. “Sorry, I passed by the Indian to get a menu.”
Hannah realised she had no idea where Claudia lived. “Did you walk here?”
“No I caught the bus.” She brandished a bag containing two bottles of wine. “I’ll get a cab home.”
“So where’s home?”
“Kennington. I have a flat at the top of a Victorian house.” She had taken off her jacket and followed Hannah into the sitting room. “I miss having a garden to sit in but I’d never have the patience or the greenness of fingers to cultivate it.”
Hannah fetched some glasses and Claudia poured the wine. “Shall we order first? I don’t know how long they take to deliver.”
What to eat was decided quickly and their order phoned through. Claudia paid by credit card. “So,” she stared at her glass for a moment. “What I am about to tell you is off the record and totally confidential – for the time being at least. Are you okay with that?”
“Ye-es. Does that mean I get a go ahead when and if I want to write about it?”
“Of course. In fact, we may need you to run a story for us.”
Hannah pulled a face.
“Come on Hannah don’t get all holier than thou on me.”
The doorbell rang and Hannah checked the video image. She noticed Claudia watching her. “It’s become second nature now. And our food has arrived.”
