Innocent Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  He looked from one parent to the other. ‘So am I to understand that Yasmin was defying you by going to Suzanne’s?’

  ‘She was defying me, not her mother.’ Akram glared at his wife. ‘After I left the house on Tuesday morning, Shanila allowed Yasmin to go.’ The accusation was there along with the obvious source of that additional tension.

  Shanila Akram made a weak show of sticking up for herself. ‘Yasmin was threatening to go to Suzanne’s anyway,’ she said to her husband. ‘I thought it much better that she should go with our blessing than deceive us. I thought if she was allowed to go once it would be less of an issue — she would get it out of her system.’

  ‘So you encouraged her to collude with you in deception.’ Mohammed Akram’s anger was plain.

  But his wife was equal to it. ‘I would have told you when you returned.’

  ‘Do you approve of Suzanne, Mr Akram?’ Mariner asked. There followed enough of a hesitation to confirm Mariner’s suspicions. The antagonism simmering there was palpable.

  ‘It’s not a question of approval,’ said Akram tightly.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘You went to see Yasmin’s friends. You’ve met Suzanne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you’ll know that she is very different from Yasmin.’ Full marks for tact.

  ‘And that bothers you?’

  ‘As we’ve already said, Yasmin is relatively inexperienced at life. It would be easy for her to be influenced by a stronger, more . . . worldly personality, someone who has different values.’

  ‘So you’ve discouraged the friendship,’ said Mariner.

  ‘We have been realistic. We can’t prevent Yasmin from mixing with whoever she wants to at school. Let’s just say that we haven’t done anything to encourage it.’

  ‘How does Yasmin feel about that?’

  ‘Kids get angry, you know, especially if they can’t get their way,’ Akram said. ‘Have you got kids?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yasmin said—’ Shanila Akram stopped abruptly.

  ‘What did she say, Mrs Akram?’

  ‘She said we might regret it if we tried to stop her from doing things.’

  ‘So that was why you decided to allow Yasmin to go and stay with Suzanne,’ Mariner concluded.

  ‘Yes.’ She addressed her husband. ‘I was concerned that being too strict on Yasmin might push her away from us. I thought that once it had happened and you saw that no harm had come of it and that Yasmin appreciated the gesture, it would be for the best.’

  ‘For the best?’ Her husband snorted contemptuously. ‘How can you possibly say that now? Look at what has happened. Now we have no idea where our daughter has gone.’

  ‘Of course I can see that now, but at the time—’ Mrs Akram’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘How did Yasmin react when you told her she could go to stay with Suzanne after all?’ Mariner intervened, keen to maintain the momentum.

  ‘She was excited, happy. She hugged me. But I know she was mindful of her dad’s feelings, too.’

  ‘Mindful how? Do you think Yasmin really intended to stay with Suzanne, or could she have decided to get back at you for making life difficult for her? Could she have run away?’

  ‘Yasmin isn’t like that,’ said Akram. ‘Even if she was angry I don’t believe she would take it this far. If she’d decided to punish us it would be a gesture, that’s all. She would go somewhere safe, to someone within our family. I believe Yasmin thought of her duty to me and was intending to come home. Something prevented her from doing so. Something has happened to her, Inspector, and I really think your time would be better spent out there looking for her instead of dissecting our family life. I don’t understand why you are persisting with this. I told you about the trouble we’ve been having. Why aren’t you talking to Peter Cox?’

  ‘We’re following that line of enquiry,’ Mariner assured him. ‘But we do have to ensure that all possibilities are covered. Tell me about Abdul Sheron.’

  ‘How do you know about him?’ Akram stared.

  ‘That doesn’t really matter,’ said Mariner. ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Abdul is an old friend. Things have been a little strained because we felt that we couldn’t meet the needs of his youngest child in our school. It can be hard to accept but it is for the good of the child.’

  ‘I understand he was angry about that.’

  ‘At first he was, yes, and that was to be expected. His daughter has lots of problems and it is hard for him. But our families have known each other for years. Abdul would not do anything to hurt us. It’s out of the question.’

  And on that note of certainty Mariner allowed Millie to take them home.

  * * *

  ‘What do you think?’ Mariner asked Knox after they’d gone.

  ‘He’s working very hard at trying to steer us towards the racist angle,’ said Knox with rare lucidity.

  ‘And away from anything else? My thoughts exactly.’

  As a follow up, Mariner had suggested a few directions for Millie to take with the ‘informal conversation’ on the way back. When she returned to the station, he was waiting for a debrief. ‘What else did you find out?’ he asked.

  ‘About as much as I would if I’d been making a social call,’ said Millie. ‘But I do think Shanila is beginning to open up and talk to me more as if I was a friend of the family than a police officer.’

  ‘That could be helpful.’

  ‘Maybe. It depends on how much they decide to patronise me and how much they disapprove of my role.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘They still hold a fairly traditional view of the female role. Not outright disapproval, but probably not what they’d want for their girls.’

  ‘Yasmin’s older sister lives abroad?’ Mariner said.

  ‘Yes, we talked about Amira. She was married earlier this year, apparently.’

  ‘Quite recently then. And how often does she see Yasmin?’

  ‘Often, according to Mum and Dad. Amira’s husband is a successful lawyer and travels extensively. They were over here just a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Was it an arranged marriage?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘Sounds like it, in that the two families already knew each other and the match was obviously approved by both sets of parents.’

  ‘That’s a scenario that Yasmin might have wanted to escape.’

  ‘It depends on how strictly it’s followed through,’ said Millie. ‘Arranged marriage is not always a bad thing. Usually these days the son or daughter has the right of veto. This couple are a mix, like their dress: her in traditional, him in western. On the one hand Shanila Akram seems very western and liberal, but at the same time I get the impression that Mohammed likes to keep Yasmin on a tight rein.’

  ‘By not allowing her to stay overnight with her friend,’ said Mariner.

  ‘Although I can see why Suzanne might be viewed as a less than ideal playmate.’

  ‘This kind of conflict isn’t so uncommon, of course. Yasmin’s parents want her to have all the advantages of growing up in western society, as they so successfully have, but within the confines of their religious rules. Problem is, the two are not always compatible and it’s hard to find a balance. It can create a fair amount of tension. To Yasmin, at her age, it probably seems as if she gets the worst of both worlds. She gets to work hard to achieve what her parents want, but without the social life enjoyed by her friends.’

  ‘So they limit her.’

  ‘They’d say they’re protecting her,’ Millie said. ‘Family life is important to them.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it any easier for Yasmin.’

  Millie shook her head. ‘You have no idea.’ She spoke with feeling and Mariner realised for the first time how little he knew about his colleague’s own background.

  ‘I asked them again about Abdul Sheron too,’ Millie said. ‘Neither of them believes it would be him but they have at least agreed that we can go and ta
lk to him.’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  Millie pulled a face. ‘Sorry, sir. I’ve a few calls to make.’

  ‘That’s okay. Tony!’

  CHAPTER 11

  Sheron’s residence turned out to be a hardware store down the Stratford Road from Allah T’ala, between a shop that sold wedding sarees and an Indian sweet shop. At ground-floor level was a family-run hardware business that flowed onto the pavement outside, with stacks of plastic buckets and storage containers arranged in neat rows, mops, brooms, cleaning cloths and tubs of cheap batteries. The family, Millie had been told, lived in the flat above. Mariner’s opening words established that Sheron didn’t speak English, so one of his brothers came to interpret for him — while Mariner gave himself a mental kicking for not having waited for Millie instead of bringing Knox, who was chewing grimly on some menthol-smelling gum.

  They followed the two men through the shop and up a flight of dark, narrow stairs. The room at the top was grubby and dismal, the floor uncarpeted and strewn with piles of newspapers and a few broken toys. From one corner a huge wide-screen TV dominated the room, the sound turned down so as to be virtually inaudible. A long sofa was arranged directly opposite and beside it, on the bare floorboards sat a child of about three or four, pretty, with dark curls framing her delicate face. Her head wobbled as she balanced uncertainly and her limbs occasionally twitched, threatening to throw her off-balance. As they went in, their footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, she seemed to look up at them and smile, but Mariner could tell that her eyes were unfocused. A slender, transparent tube was taped under her nose, the other end draped across the sofa and connected to a tank leaning against the wall. Sheron and his brother completely ignored both the child and the elderly matriarch who sat at the TV end of the sofa, her eyes fixed on the giant screen, and the conversation was conducted with all four men standing in a corner of the room. Most of the communication was with the man who had introduced himself as Hasan, Sheron’s brother.

  ‘I’d like Mr Sheron to tell us about his involvement with the school, Allah T’ala,’ said Mariner first.

  The brother translated and for a few minutes there followed a jabbered exchange in their native language. Then for the first time Hasan acknowledged the child. ‘This is his daughter, Shebana,’ said, looking over at the little girl, who was now gazing intently towards them. ‘He put her name down for the school two years ago. His other children go there and he has given them money. Now it’s time for Shebana to go they are saying that they can’t help her. It’s because she has problems, but they say they haven’t got enough teachers or enough room for her oxygen tank. All her siblings and cousins have gone to the school, but not Shebana. Now you see she is here, she will have no school to go to and it’s the fault of the Akrams. They have been unfair and it made him angry.’

  Still muttering, Sheron walked across the room and retrieved something from one of the piles of newspapers. It was a glossy magazine, a prospectus. He thrust it in front of Mariner, rapping a forefinger down on the page.

  ‘He’s saying: “Look at this. See what it says here,”’ Hasan told them. ‘It’s written in this book, but the words don’t mean anything.’

  Mariner looked. The brochure talked about welcoming all children of all different abilities. He turned the brochure over in his hand. At the bottom of the last page was the name of the printer, presumably the one Akram had been to see on the day when Yasmin disappeared.

  ‘It is an insult to our whole family,’ said Hasan. ‘That’s why he’s so angry.’

  ‘Angry enough to damage Mohammed Akram’s car?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘He knows nothing about that,’ said Hasan immediately, without conferring, and Mariner suddenly wondered if that were true and if the deed had been carried out on Abdul’s behalf. It was pointless to pursue it further, though. It would be impossible to prove. The significant thing was that this was clearly still an open wound, the situation unresolved. The question was how far would Sheron’s demonstrable anger drive him? The Akrams had made a victim of his daughter. Would he want to do the same to the Akrams?

  ‘Does Mr Sheron know Yasmin Akram?’

  ‘Of course we do. She was friends with my daughter,’ said Hasan.

  ‘Was?’ Mariner picked it up straight away.

  ‘Going to that school has corrupted her. Now she thinks she is better than her old friends.’

  ‘Does your brother know anything about her disappearance?’

  Hasan spoke to Abdul. The response came back immediately, with more anger. He pointed a finger emphatically at Mariner.

  ‘How would he know that?’ Hasan translated. ‘He doesn’t care. Now they can know how it feels.’

  It was a predictable response. ‘Where was he on Tuesday afternoon at four thirty?’

  ‘Abdul was here in the shop. We have a business to run.’

  They thanked Sheron and his brother for their time and walked back out onto the busy street to the sound of voices raised in Urdu, the discussion continuing beyond their departure.

  ‘Akram certainly seems to have got up his nose,’ said Mariner.

  ‘They don’t like Yasmin much either,’ said Knox. ‘‘‘Corrupted” is a bit strong.’

  ‘Maybe he just meant she’s got too big for her boots. Yasmin goes to a prestigious school. Sounds as if she flaunts it.’

  ‘Another reason to wipe the smirk off Akram’s face,’ Knox pointed out.

  ‘But if they’ve abducted her, where is she and where are the demands?’ Mariner wondered.

  ‘There might not be any. The Akrams’ distress might be enough.’

  ‘But Yasmin disappeared a good six or seven miles away from here, near the university. Sheron would have had to be highly organised to operate in a part of the city that he’s not familiar with. Where would he get the means?’

  ‘That’s where,’ said Knox. His eyes were on the opposite side of the street as they watched Hasan Sheron emerge from the shop and climb in behind the wheel of the private hire taxi that was parked on the kerb outside. ‘How convenient is that?’

  * * *

  Impulsively on their way back to Granville Lane, Mariner asked Knox to wait in the car while he called in on Colleen. The end of terrace house had been given a sparkling new coat of white emulsion since his last visit and the rotten windows replaced with uPVC, ill-disguising the fact that it was basically structurally unsound, riddled with damp and — along with the whole estate — should have been condemned years ago.

  The front door was ajar so he called out. ‘Hello. Anyone about?’ She came to the door, her hair hanging lank and unwashed, the inevitable cigarette on the go. Her face displayed a mixture of hope and fear. It was a mistake to have come.

  ‘I’ve no news,’ he said straight away.

  ‘So why are you here?’ She was dressed unflatteringly in a loose white T-shirt over faded black leggings, her bare feet in cheap velour slippers, worn through at the toe. ‘To tell me that you’ve found that missing girl?’

  ‘I can’t talk to you about other cases that we’re handling.’

  ‘How come her parents get to go on the telly?’ she wanted to know. ‘All they’ve done for my Ricky is put up a few posters. Why can’t I go on to ask him to come home?’ The belligerence in her voice belied the desperation.

  ‘It’s not always appropriate,’ said Mariner. ‘It depends on the circumstances.’ How could he tell her that she just wasn’t TV material? That the success of a press conference depended on the public identifying and sympathising with the parents, and that neither of those was likely for a single mother on her third partner in as many years. They would make the same assumptions that his DCI had.

  ‘You think that girl’s more important than my Ricky.’

  ‘I think nothing of the sort, Colleen, and you know it.’

  ‘Maybe not you, but the others do. Just because she comes from a posh Asian family. I’m not stupid, you know. I get what’s going on here.�
��

  ‘We’re doing what we can, Colleen,’ Mariner said. It was true . . . to a degree.

  ‘So where is he?’ She took a step back, her lower lip starting to quiver. ‘Where’s my Ricky? Come and see me when you’ve found him.’ And then she carefully closed the door in his face.

  If it did transpire that Ricky had run away, Mariner would personally lynch the boy when he turned up, for having put his mother through this.

  * * *

  The blatant hypocrisy of such thoughts was spelled out immediately he got home that evening, to find yet another message from his own mother on the answering machine. ‘There’s something I want to talk to you about,’ she said again. ‘I suppose it will have to keep until next time I see you.’ Implying that this ought to happen soon. He wondered if this ‘something’ was what he’d been waiting all his life to find out, but then that’s what she’d be hoping for. She was playing games with him again — one of the things she did for fun, to get back at him for what he’d done to her all those years ago. Not that he could really blame her. He’d once asked her how she felt when, as a teenager, he’d run away from home.

  ‘I just wanted you back, unconditionally,’ she’d replied. Only then did Mariner fully realise how much he must have hurt her. It had taken him weeks before he’d contacted her to tell her he was okay. What kind of hell must he have inflicted on her in the meantime? It was another item on the list of things that they never talked about. Instead she’d found other ways of making him pay. Well, he didn’t have time for her games right now, or to comply with her excessive demands, whatever they might be. But at the same time he couldn’t help wondering how Shanila Akram would be holding up. Had Yasmin run away for the same reasons he had: because she’d felt stifled by her family?

  Instead of his mother, Mariner phoned Anna. ‘How’s the fundraising going?’ he asked, out of politeness.

  The irony in his voice didn’t wilt her enthusiasm. ‘It’s great. Everyone’s being so generous, though we’re still waiting for contributions from certain people.’ It was a blatant hint.

  ‘I’m thinking about it,’ he stalled.