Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(24)

“We began with the knowledge that Mr. Querashi's death appeared suspicious,” she'd told him. “Once we'd determined that, we asked for a pathologist from the Home Office. He'll arrive tomorrow to perform the postmortem.”

“Is this an English pathologist?” Muhannad asked. The implication was obvious: An English pathologist would serve the interest of the English community; an English pathologist would hardly take seriously the death of an Asian.

“I have no idea what his ethnic background is. We aren't allowed to put in requests.”

“And where does the investigation stand?” Taymullah Azhar had a curious way of speaking, courteous without being at all deferential. Emily wondered how he managed it.

“The moment the death was deemed suspicious, the site was secured,” Emily replied.

“Which site is this?”

“The pillbox at the foot of the Nez.”

“Has it been determined that he died in the pillbox?”

Azhar was very quick. Emily had to admire that. “Nothing's been determined yet, aside from the fact that he's dead and—”

“And it took them six hours to determine that much,” Muhannad put in. “Imagine the fire that would have been lit under the bobbies’ pink bums had the body been white.”

“—and, as the Asian community suspected, it appears to be a murder,” Emily finished.

She waited for Malik's reaction. He'd been shouting murder since the corpse had been discovered thirty-four hours before. She didn't wish to deny him his moment of triumph.

He took it quickly. “As I said/’ he asserted. “And if I hadn't been dogging you since yesterday morning, I expect you'd be calling this an unfortunate accident.”

Emily steadied herself inwardly. Argument was what the Asian wanted. A verbal brawl with the investigating officer would be helpful as a rallying cry for his people. A meticulous conversation reporting the facts would be far less useful. So she ignored his jibe. Instead, she said to his cousin, “The forensic team spent approximately eight hours going over the site yesterday. They bagged evidence, and they've taken it to the lab for analysis.”

“When can you expect the results?”

“We've let them know this is a top priority.”

“How did Haytham die?” Muhannad interjected.

“Mr. Malik, twice I've tried to explain to you over the phone that—”

“You don't expect me to believe that you still don't know how Querashi was murdered, do you? Your medical examiner has seen the body. You admitted on the phone that you saw it yourself.”

“Looking at a body doesn't reveal anything,” Emily explained. “Your own father can tell you that much. He made the formal identification, and I dare say he's as much in the dark as we are.”

“Are we correct in assuming there was no gun involved?” Azhar asked quietly. “No knife either? No garrotte? No rope? Because, of course, the use of these would have left marks upon the body.”

“My father said he saw only one side of Haytham's face,” Muhannad said. Then he enhanced the implication behind his comment by continuing with “My father said he was allowed to see only one side of his face. The body was covered with sheeting which was rolled down to the chin for less than fifteen seconds. And that was that. What are you hiding about this murder, Inspector?”

Emily poured herself water from a jug on the table behind her desk. She offered some to the men. They both declined, which was just as well since she'd taken the last of it and she didn't much feel like sending for more. She drank thirstily, but the water tasted vaguely metallic and it left an unpleasant flavour on her tongue.

She explained to the Asians that she was hiding nothing because there was nothing this early in the investigation to hide. The time of death, she told them, had been set between half past ten and half past midnight on Friday night. Prior to concluding that they were dealing with a homicide, the pathologist had determined that Mr. Querashi's death was not a suicide and not the result of natural causes. But that was the extent—

“Bullshit!” Muhannad offered the expletive as the only logical conclusion to her remarks. “If you can tell it wasn't a suicide or natural and you still say it appears to be a murder, do you really expect us to believe that you can't tell how he was killed?”

To clarify matters further, Emily told Taymullah Azhar as if Muhannad hadn't spoken, everyone living in the vicinity of the Nez was being questioned by a team of detective constables to determine what might have been seen or heard on the night of Mr. Querashi's death. Additionally, appropriate measurements had been made at the site, clothing had been bagged, tissues would be taken from the body for microscopic analysis, blood and urine samples would go to the toxicologist, background information—

“She's stalling, Azhar.” Emily had to give Muhannad credit for the observation. He was very nearly as quick as his cousin. “She doesn't want us to know what happened. Because if we know, we'll take to the streets again and this time we won't clear out till we have the answers and justice. Which, believe me, is exactly what they do not want at the beginning of their tourist season.”

Azhar raised a hand to silence his cousin. “And photographs?” he asked Emily quietly. “You took them, of course.”