Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(131)

“He reports it,” Emily finished.

“But the entire picture changes if Querashi's lover actually saw something suspicious that night.”

Slowly, Emily's head turned from the photographs until she was meeting Barbara's eyes. She said, “If the lover saw …Christ, Barb. Whoever Querashi was going there to meet must have known it was murder when he fell.”

“So Querashi's lover is out of sight, waiting. He sees the killer string the tripwire, a shadow on the stairs moving about. He doesn't know what he's watching, but when Querashi takes the tumble, he figures it out directly. He even sees the killer remove the wire afterwards.”

“But he can't come forward because he can't let it be known that he's been having a fling,” Emily went on.

“Because he's married,” Barbara said.

“Or involved with someone else.”

“In either case, he can't come forward, but he wants to do something to signal to the police that this is a murder and not an accident.”

“So he moves the body,” Emily finished. “And he tosses the car. Jesus Christ, Barb. D'you know what this means?”

Barbara smiled. “We've got ourselves a flaming witness, Guv.”

“And if the killer knows that,” Emily added grimly, “we also have someone who could be in danger.”


YUMN WAS STANDING at the window, changing the baby's nappie, when she heard the front door close and the sandaled footsteps head down the path towards the street. She looked out to see Sahlah pulling her amber dupattā over her thick hair as she hurried to her Miera, parked at the kerb. She was late for work again, but doubtless Akram's wondrous little precious would be forgiven this unfortunate lapse.

She'd spent half an hour in the bathroom with the water running into the tub to cover the sound of her morning retching. But no one really knew that, did they? They thought she was washing herself, an unusual rite for her in the morning—Sahlah was a nighttime bather—but one that was understandable given the mind-numbing heat. Only Yumn knew the truth, Yumn who'd stood outside the door listening carefully, gathering information to store like kernels of corn against the potential famine of Sahlah's failure to please the sister-in-law to whom she owed respect, allegiance, and cooperation.

Such a little whore, Yumn thought as she watched Sahlah climb into the car and crank down both of the windows. Sneak out to meet him in the night, Sahlah, invite him into your room when the house is sleeping, spread your legs for him, join your bodies, rotate your hips, and still the next morning manage to look so pure so innocent so fragile so lovely so precious so …Little whore. Like a rotten egg that's perfect on the outside but, once cracked, reveals the corruption within.

The baby whimpered. Yumn looked down to see that instead of removing the soiled nappie from him, she'd inadvertently wrapped it tightly round his leg.

“Beloved,” she said, quickly removing it. “Forgive your thoughtless ammī-gee, Bishr.”

He cooed in response, waving arms and legs. She gazed down at him. Naked, he was magnificent.

She used the washing flannel to clean him, drawing it through his legs and carefully wiping his tiny penis. She eased the foreskin back and smoothed the flannel round it. She sang, “Ammī-gee's little love, Bishr. Yes. Yes. You are. You're Ammī-gee's one true love.”

When he was clean, she didn't reach for a fresh nappie at once. Instead, she admired him. From the shape of him, the strength, and the size, she could tell that he would be just like his father.

His masculinity affirmed her place as a woman. It was her duty to give her husband sons, and she'd done that duty and would continue to do it as long as her body allowed her the privilege. As a consequence, she would not only be cared for in her old age, she would be treasured. And that was more glory than loathsome little Sahlah would ever attain in a thousand lifetimes. She could not hope to be as fertile as Yumn, and she'd already transgressed the tenets of their religion so seriously that she could never redeem herself. She was damaged goods, soiled beyond redemption and ruined beyond the hope of reclamation. She was, indeed, good for nothing more than a life of servitude.

It was such a lovely thought.

“Yes,” Yumn crooned at the baby. “Yes, yes, what a lovely thought indeed.”

She caressed the insignificant appendage between his legs. How incredible it was that such a small scrap of flesh could determine the role this child would play in life. But that is how the Prophet decreed it.

“Men are in charge of us,” Yumn crooned to the baby, “because Allah made one to excel the other. Little Bishr, listen to Ammī-gee. Do your duty: shelter, protect, and guide. And seek a woman who knows how to do hers.”

Certainly Sahlah did not. She acted the part of obedient daughter, dutiful younger sister and sister-in-law, subservient and docile as required. But that was only a role she played. The real girl was the one who lay in a bed whose springs creaked rhythmically in the dead of night.

Yumn knew this. And she'd been intent upon holding her tongue about it. True, she'd not completely held her tongue. Some types of hypocrisy were not to be born. When Sahlah's morning vomiting had been followed so closely by her agreement to marry the first young man presented to her as a potential husband, Yumn had made the decision to act. She would not be party to so great a deception as the family's flower-like Sahlah had obviously intended to perpetrate upon her fiance.