Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(79)

“Sorry to disappoint your hopes.” He didn't wait for an answer. He disappeared into the building. Azhar nodded at Emily, then followed him.

“He's quick,” Barbara noted grudgingly. “But he ought to deep-six those sunglasses.” She repeated the question she'd asked a moment before Muhannad's arrival. “So how do you reckon Kumhar's a man?”

“Because Sahlah didn't know him.”

“So? Like Muhannad just said—”

“That was bullshit, Barbara. The Asian community in Balford is small and it's tight. If there's an F. Kumhar among them, believe me, Muhannad Malik of all people knows him.”

“So why wouldn't his sister?”

“Because she's a woman. The family's traditional—witness the marriage bit. Sahlah would know the community of Asian women, and she'd know the men who work here at the factory. But it doesn't follow that she'd know other men unless they're married to her acquaintances or boys from her schooldays. How would she? Look at her life. She probably doesn't date. She doesn't go to pubs. She doesn't move freely round Balford. She hasn't been away to school. She's as good as a prisoner. So if she's not lying about not recognising the name—which of course she could be—”

“Right. She could be,” Barbara cut in. “Because F. Kumhar could well be a woman and she could know that. F. Kumhar could be the woman, in fact. And Sahlah may have sussed that out.”

Emily rustled in her bag and brought out her sunglasses. Absently, she rubbed them against the front of her tank top before she replied. “The cheque stub tells us that Querashi paid Kumhar four hundred pounds. A single cheque, a single payment. If the cheque's been written to a woman, what was Querashi paying her for?”

“Blackmail,” Barbara offered.

“Then why kill Querashi? If he was being blackmailed by F. Kumhar and he'd made a payment, why break his neck? That's killing the goose.”

Barbara considered the DCFs questions. “He was going out at night. He was meeting someone. He was carrying rubbers. Couldn't F. Kumhar be the woman he was boffing? And couldn't F. Kumhar have come up pregnant?”

“Then why take the rubbers if she was already pregnant?”

“Because he wasn't meeting her any longer. He'd already moved on to someone else. And F. Kumhar knew it.”

“And the four hundred pounds? What was that for? An abortion?”

“A very private abortion. Perhaps, even, a botched abortion.”

“With someone seeking revenge afterwards?”

“Why not? Querashi had been here six weeks. That's long enough to put someone in the club. If word got out that he'd done it—to an Asian woman, no less, for whom virginity or chastity is a big deal in capitals—maybe her father, brother, husband, or other assorted relations were looking to set things right. So. Have any Asian women died recently? Have any been admitted to hospital with suspicious haemorrhaging? It's something we need to look into, Em.”

Emily shot her a wry look. “Have you gone off Armstrong so soon, then? We've still got his dabs on the Nissan, you know. And he's still sitting inside that building, happily working Querashi's job.”

Barbara looked at the building, once again seeing the copiously sweating Mr. Ian Armstrong being put through his paces by DCI Barlow. “His sweat glands were giving a power performance,” she admitted. “So I wouldn't cross him off the list.”

“What if the in-laws corroborate his Friday night phone call story?”

“Then I think I'd start sifting through BT's records.”

Emily chuckled. “You're a real pit bull, Sergeant Havers. If you ever decide to leave the Yard for the seaside, I'll have you on my team in a flash.”

Barbara felt a rush of pleasure at the DCI's praise. But she was never one to take a compliment and run with it, so she shifted her weight and fished her car keys out of her bag. “Right. Well. I want to check out Sahlah's story about the bracelet. If she tossed it from the pier on Saturday afternoon, then somebody probably saw her. It's not like she isn't noticeable, what with the gear she wears. So shall I track down this bloke Trevor Ruddock as well? If he's working on the pier, I can kill two birds.”

Emily nodded. “Sort him out. In the meantime, I'll see about this Rakin Khan that Muhannad's so hot to have me talk to. Although I've little doubt he'll confirm the alibi. He'll be wanting his brother Muslim to—how did our Muhannad phrase it exactly?—be able to hold his head up high. Now, there's a delicious image for you to dwell on.” She gave a short laugh and headed towards her car.

With a wave, she was on the road, pointed towards Colchester and another alibi.


BEING ON THE Balford pleasure pier for the first time since her sixteenth summer wasn't the trip down memory lane that Barbara had expected it might be. The pier was greatly changed, with a rainbow sign over its entrance that spelled SHAW ATTRACTIONS in colourful neon. Still, the bright fresh paint, new planking, crisp-looking deck chairs, refurbished rides and games of chance, and a modern arcade offering everything from old-fashioned penny slides to video games didn't alter the smells that could never wipe from her memory her annual visits to Balford. The scent of fish and chips, hamburgers, popcorn, and candy floss mingled sharply with the brine of the sea. And the sounds were the same as well: children laughing and shouting, arcade games ringing cacophonously, the calliope playing as the roundabout horses rose and fell on their shiny brass poles.