Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(25)

“That's always done first. The entire site is photographed, not only the body.”

“May we see these, please?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Why?”

“Because as we've determined the death is a homicide, no element of the formal investigation can be shared with the public. It just isn't done.”

“And yet information is leaked to the media quite frequently in the midst of an investigation of this kind,” Azhar pointed out.

“Perhaps it is,” Emily said, “but not by the officer in charge.”

Azhar observed her with large, intelligent brown eyes. If the room hadn't been insufferably hot already, Emily knew she would have flushed under his scrutiny. As it was, the heat was her alibi. Everyone in the building—save the Asians—was crimson with discomfort, so her own colouring was indication of nothing.

“In what direction do you go from here?” he finally asked.

“We wait for all of the reports to come in. And we place everyone who knew Mr. Querashi under suspicion. We'll begin interviewing—”

“Everyone brown who knew him,” Muhannad concluded.

“I didn't say that, Mr. Malik.”

“You didn't have to, Inspector.” He made her rank too polite a title to indicate anything other than his scorn for it. “You have no intention of pursuing this murder into the white community. If you had your way, you probably wouldn't bother to pursue it as the murder it is. And don't bother to deny the accusation. I've a bit of experience associated with how the police treat crimes committed against my people.”

Emily didn't rise to this additional baiting, and Taymullah Azhar gave no indication he'd even heard his cousin. He merely said, “Since I didn't know Mr. Querashi, may I have access to the photographs of his body? It would set my family's mind at rest to know the police are hiding nothing from us.”

“I'm sorry,” Emily said in reply.

Muhannad shook his head, as if he'd expected this answer all along. He said to his cousin, “Let's get out of here. We're wasting our time.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Come on. This is bullshit. She's not going to help us.”

Azhar looked thoughtful. “Are you willing to meet our needs, Inspector?”

“In what way?” Emily was immediately wary.

“Through compromise.”

“Compromise?” Muhannad echoed. “No. No way, Azhar. If we compromise, we'll end up watching the carpet being lifted and Haytham's murder being swept—”

“Cousin.” Azhar glanced his way. It was the first time he'd even looked at him. “Inspector?” he repeated, turning back to Emily.

“There can be no compromise in a police investigation, Mr. Azhar. So I don't understand what you're suggesting.”

“What I'm suggesting is a way to assuage the community's most pressing concerns.”

She decided to read the implication at its most potentially efficacious: He could be suggesting a way to keep the Asians in line. That would certainly serve her interests. She replied carefully. “I won't deny that the community's foremost in my thoughts,” she said, and waited to see where he was heading.

“Then I would propose regular meetings between you and the family. This will allay all of our concerns—not only among the family but also among the larger community—as to how you're proceeding with your enquiry into Mr. Querashi's death. Will you agree to that?”

He waited patiently for her answer. His expression was as bland as it had been from the first. He was acting as if nothing—least of all peace in Balford-le-Nez—depended upon her willingness to cooperate. Watching him, Emily suddenly realised he'd anticipated every one of her previous answers, having planned to end up with this suggestion as the logical outcome of everything she'd said. She'd just been outmanoeuvred by the two of them. They'd played a mild variation of good cop/bad cop, and she'd fallen for it like a schoolgirl arrested for pinching sweets.

“I'd like to cooperate as fully as possible,” she said, choosing words with care to avoid committing herself. “But in the midst of an investigation, it's difficult to guarantee that I'll be available when you want me.”

“A convenient response,” Muhannad said. “I suggest we end this charade, Azhar.”

“I suspect you're drawing an inference I don't intend,” Emily told him.

“I know bloody well what you intend: letting anyone who raises a hand against us get away with it, with murder as well.”

“Muhannad,” Taymullah Azhar said quietly. “Let's give the inspector an opportunity to compromise.”

But Emily didn't want to compromise. In an investigation, she didn't want to find herself obliged to have meetings at which she would have to watch her every step, guard her every word, and maintain her temper. She didn't have the inclination for the game. More important, she didn't have the time. The investigation was already behind schedule, and mostly due to Malik's machinations. She was already twenty-four hours behind where she should have been. But Taymullah Azhar had just given her a way out, even if he did not realise the fact. “Will the family accept a substitute for me?”