Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(129)

“But where does that put Kumhar? And what about the four hundred pounds changing hands from Querashi to him?”

“Wouldn't four hundred pounds make a nice start on a dowry? Perhaps Querashi was in the process of setting Kumhar up for one of his sisters. He has sisters, hasn't he? Surely I read it in one of these blasted reports.” She indicated the mess on her desk.

Emily's reasoning made sense, but her certainty roused an unease in Barbara. This uneasiness wasn't mitigated when Emily went on.

“The killing was planned to the last detail, Barb. And the last detail had to be an ironclad alibi. No one who took the time to dog Querashi's nighttime movements, to string a tripwire, and to make sure there was no evidence left behind would fail to make certain that he also had an alibi for his whereabouts on Friday night.”

“Okay,” Barbara said. “I'll go with that. But since everyone but Theo Shaw has an alibi—and more than one person also had a motive to off Querashi—don't we need to look for something else?” She went on to tell Emily of the other phone calls that Querashi had made. But she got only as far as the unintelligible message on the answering machine in Hamburg, when Emily interrupted her.

“Hamburg?” she asked quickly. “Querashi phoned Hamburg?”

“The Hamburg numbers were on the computer print out. The other call was to the central police station, by the way, although I didn't get far in trying to suss out who received the call. Why? Does Hamburg mean something special?”

Rather than reply, Emily pulled a plastic bag of trail mix from her drawer. Barbara tried not to look guilty about the breakfast she'd consumed earlier: a hefty plate of eggs, potatoes, sausages, mushrooms, and bacon, all swimming in cholesterol and fat. But it wouldn't have mattered had she been wearing the face of Judas. Emily was so deep in thought that Barbara quickly realised that she wouldn't have noticed.

“Em?” she said. “What is it?”

“Klaus Reuchlein.”

“Who?”

“He made a third at that dinner in Colchester on Friday night.”

“A German? But when you said a foreigner, I thought you meant …” How easily her own natural predispositions and unconscious prejudices influenced her thinking. Barbara had assumed the word foreigner meant an Asian when “assume nothing” was one of the first rules of policework.

“He comes from Hamburg,” Emily said. “Rakin Khan gave me his number. If you don't believe me, and obviously you don't, he said, confirm Muhannad's alibi with this. And he handed it over. Where did I …” She sifted through papers and folders on her desk and brought forth her notebook. She flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. She read the number out.

Barbara wrestled the print out from her shoulder bag and found the first of the Hamburg telephone numbers. She said, “Bloody hell.”

“Which I take to mean that you found yourself phoning Mr. Reuchlein last night?” Emily smiled, then threw back her head and clenched a fist in the air. “That's it, Barb. Mr. Man of His People. Mr. Politico. I do believe we've bloody well got him.”

“We've got a connection,” Barbara agreed cautiously. “But this could just be a coincidence, Em.”

“Coincidence?” Emily's voice was incredulous. “Querashi happens to have phoned the very same person whose name is produced as one half of Muhannad Malik's alibi …? Come on, Barb. This is no coincidence.”

“Then what about Kumhar?” Barbara asked.

“What about him?”

“How does he fit in? He's obviously living in the vicinity of Clacton market square, in the very same area where Trevor claims he saw Querashi doing some cottaging. Is that a coincidence? And if it is, how can we say one fact in the case constitutes a coincidence and the other points to Querashi's killer? And if the Kumhar business isn't a coincidence, what have we got? A major conspiracy to murder Querashi, orchestrated by members of his community? And if so, why?”

“We don't need to know why. Why is the job of the prosecution. We just need to hand them a who and a how.”

“Fine,” Barbara said. “Okay. Accepted. But we know a boat was heard offshore that night. And the Shaws have a boat. We know Ian Armstrong benefitted directly from Querashi's death. And his alibi's a hell of a lot weaker than anyone else's. We also have a claim that Querashi was a real bent twig. And we know he was going to the Nez to meet someone, a person he met regularly. I don't see how we can dismiss all this in favour of pursuing one line of enquiry leading to Muhannad. I don't think that's decent policework, Em, and I don't believe you think it's decent work either.”

She knew at once that she'd gone too far. Her tendency to blab, argue, accuse, and confront—never a problem in working with the affable DI Lynley in London—had undermined her self-control. The DCI reacted by straightening her spine while her pupils contracted to the size of pinheads.

“Sorry,” Barbara said hastily. “Bloody hell. I'm sorry. I get caught up in things and I just don't think. If you'll give me a moment, I'll try to pull my foot out of my mouth.”

Emily was silent. She was also unmoving, save for the index and middle fingers of her right hand. These she tapped rapidly and alternately against the top of her desk.