Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(42)

What had Layla said to Bish? My sister would never forgive me if I put Noor’s child at risk. “Jocelyn Shahbazi. She’ll know where they are.”

“Doubt it,” Grazier said. “The Shahbazi family don’t like fuss, and front-page Violette is a whole lot of fuss.”

“Ali Shahbazi doesn’t want fuss,” Bish corrected. “His wife could be a different story.”

Bish hung up and joined the women for tea. Katherine and Sadia were discussing their daughters as they had been before the bombing. Manoshi, it seemed, was a vivacious, acid-tongued girl with a quick wit. It made Bish wince to compare that description with the girl he’d just seen.

“The doctors have suggested a day out,” Sadia told him, “but Manoshi doesn’t want to know about it. I think she’s frightened of the world outside now.”

According to Katherine, Lola’s moods now swung between extremes: one moment listless, the next bordering on hysteria.

“Does she get picked on at school?” Bish asked, remembering Lola’s earlier comment.

“Bitchy little high school girls,” Katherine said. “Slumber parties every second weekend and she is never invited. They make it seem as if the worst thing someone can offer the world is unbridled joy.” She shook her head in bitterness. “My punishment. I was one of those catty girls at her age.”

“I do not believe punishment works that way,” Sadia said.



The moment he stepped outside with Saffron, they were surrounded. Cameras and microphones were thrust at their faces, questions barked at them. The press pack had a vicious energy about it. The media presence had tripled now that the kids were in Dover, the hometown of Julius McEwan.

“Chief Inspector Ortley, do the parents care that the French are offended by the transfer?”

Any other question and he would have continued walking in silence, but he stopped. “The care and compassion shown by the medical staff in Boulogne will not be forgotten,” he said. Bish had no idea if that was the truth, but it’s what he’d want to hear if he were French. “The transfer across the Channel comes down to one thing and one thing only: the commute has been difficult for the families, who are desperate to see their children whenever possible.”

Weak, but better than nothing.

“Do you know anything more about Violette LeBrac and her companion?” the journalist persisted.

“I’m just here as a father of one of the students on board the bus. I’m not privy to talk about the investigation.”

“Not even about the fugitive suspects?” another journalist asked.

“Well, I’d hardly call them fugitive suspects,” Bish said. “They are persons of interest.”

He went to lead his mother away, but it was not going to be that easy.

“What was Violette’s relationship with the other students?”

“Does your daughter believe Violette’s a terrorist, Chief Inspector Ortley?”

“Are you able to offer advice to the families of the dead, having experienced it yourself?”

He stiffened, clenched his fist. Advice on how to deal with your child’s death? The next question involving his family would result in his second assault charge for the month.

“This is a difficult time for the families involved,” Saffron said, taking his hand. “They’ve expressed their gratitude for all the well-wishes, but they’ve also emphatically asked that you give them space. That’s the advice I’d give on how to deal with families who have lost so much.”





19



Bish’s hunch about Jocelyn Shahbazi had paid off. While scouring CCTV that afternoon, Elliot caught a glimpse of Violette and Eddie coming out of St. John’s Wood tube station, a couple of minutes’ walk from the Shahbazi home. It confirmed that the two hadn’t just arrived from France. The footage was four days old.

Jocelyn’s husband was the son of a Tehran-born banker. The story was that Ali Shahbazi saw Jocelyn Bayat at the wedding of his housekeeper’s son and went courting the very next day. He was considered the simpleton of his family, the one most likely to be tied to his father’s purse strings, but a few shrewd investments soon had him running his own show. Some said it had to do with an ambitious wife who had come from nothing, without whose consent Ali never made a decision. If true, Jocelyn’s influence had made him wealthier now than his parents had ever been.



Jocelyn Shahbazi was wary when she saw Bish and Elliot at her front door. “My husband will be home any minute and I’d advise you to be gone by then.”

She went to shut the door, but Elliot was too fast and held it open with the flat of his hand. “If you don’t let us in, Mrs. Shahbazi, we’ll come back with a search warrant.”

“Really? Because if a police car so much as drives up to my gate I will call our lawyer. I will call The Guardian. I will call anyone interested in your practice of interrogating people based on their race.”

Bish removed Elliot’s hand from the door. “Mrs. Shahbazi,” he said, “my daughter was on that bus in Calais. Her name is Bee and she’s worried sick. What’s happened to Violette and the boy is affecting more people than you think. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

That last statement was more of a warning to Elliot than a promise to Jocelyn. She stared at Bish, still suspicious. “Two minutes.”