Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(226)

Azhar continued. “My uncle—a devout man—would have known nothing about this scheme of Muhannad's, and I suggest to you that a complete search of his factory as well as a scrutiny of the papers of his Asian employees will prove this fact.”

“You're not suggesting that Muhannad's in this business alone,” Emily said. “You heard Kumhar earlier. There were three men. A German and two Asians he said. And there may have been more.”

“But not my uncle. Muhannad would have had partners in Germany, true. Other partners here, no doubt. I don't question Mr. Kumhar's word on that. This scheme could have been in place for years.”

“He could have cooked it up in university, Em,” Barbara pointed out.

“With Rakin Khan,” Emily acknowledged. “Mr. Alibi. They were at university together.”

“My money says that a recce of Klaus Reuchlein's past will show a history among all three of them,” Barbara added.

Azhar shrugged his shoulders in acceptance of this theory. “Whatever the genesis of the scheme, Haytham Querashi uncovered it.”

“With Hegarty, as he himself told us,” Barbara noted. “That night when they were at the Castle Hotel.”

“Haytham's duty as a Muslim required he put a stop to it,” Azhar explained. “He pointed out to Muhannad that his immortal soul was at risk. And at risk for the worst possible reason: his lust for money.”

“But what about Querashi's own immortal soul, if it came to that?” Barbara persisted.

Azhar looked at her directly. “I should guess he would already have dealt with that problem, by justifying his behaviour in some way. It's easy for us to excuse our physical lust. We call it love, we call it seeking a soul mate, we call it something bigger than and beyond ourselves. We lie that we might have what we want to have. And we call our behaviour answering the demands of the heart, preordained by a God who stimulates hungers within us that are meant to be satisfied.” He raised his hands, palm upward, a gesture of acceptance. “No one is immune to this sort of self-deception. But Haytham would have seen Muhannad's sin as the greater one. His own sin affected only himself. People can do good in one area of their lives even when they're committing a wrong in another area. Murderers love their mothers; rapists treasure their dogs; terrorists blow up department stores and then go home to rock their children to sleep. Haytham Querashi could have worked for the betterment of the people enslaved by Muhannad and still lived a sinner in one small area of his life that he set aside and excused. Indeed, Muhannad himself did that, organising Jum'a on the one hand and the gangmaster scheme on the other.”

“Jum'a just kept him looking good,” Emily argued. “He had to demand an investigation into Querashi's death because of ]um'a. If he hadn't, everyone would have wondered why.”

“But if Querashi wanted to bring an end to Muhannad's scheme,” Barbara said, “then why didn't he just expose it, turn him in, and get the police involved? He could have done all that anonymously. It would have served the same purpose.”

“But it would also have served to destroy Muhannad. He would have gone to prison. He would have been cut off from his family. And I expect that Haytham didn't seek that. He sought a compromise instead, with Fahd Kumhar as the guarantee that he got it. If Muhannad had closed down the operation, nothing more would be said about it. If he didn't, Fahd Kumhar would come forward and expose the smuggling ring from Karachi to Hamburg to Parkeston Harbour. I expect that was the plan. And it cost him his life.”

Motive, means, and opportunity. They had it all. What they didn't have was the killer himself.

Azhar rose. He would, he said, return to the Burnt House. Hadiyyah had been sleeping peacefully when he left her, but he did not wish her to awaken without finding her father at her side.

He nodded to them both. He went to the office door. Then he turned back, hesitantly. “I've forgotten altogether why I came here,” he said apologetically. “Inspector”—this to Emily—”there's one thing more.”

Emily looked wary. Barbara saw a muscle move in her jaw. “Yes?” she said.

“I wanted to say thank you. You could have kept going. You could have captured Muhannad. Thank you for stopping and saving my daughter instead.”

Emily nodded stiffly. She moved her eyes away from him to the filing cabinets along one wall. He left her office.


EMILY LOOKED DEAD knackered. The incident on the sea had drained them both, Barbara thought. And Azhar's words of gratitude—so completely misplaced—could only have added another weight to the DCI's conscience, in addition to the other burdens that she was already carrying. Her own character had been revealed to her on the North Sea. That exposure to her own darker side and base inclinations had to have been a painful one.

“We all grow with the job, Sergeant,” DI Lynley had said to her more than once. “And if we don't, we need to turn in our warrant cards and walk away.”

“Em,” Barbara said to ease her load, “we all cock up sometimes. But our mistakes—”

“What happened out there wasn't a mistake,” Emily said quietly.

“But you didn't intend to let her drown. You just weren't thinking. And you told us to throw the life jackets out. You just didn't realise that they wouldn't reach her. That's what happened. That's all that happened.”