Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(82)

The stairs to the upper storey were inside the arcade, tucked between Rosalie's palm reading establishment and a hologram exhibition. They led up to a single door upon which a black sign was printed with the single word MANAGEMENT.

Inside, a corridor was lined with windows, which were open to catch whatever faint breeze might finally stir the torrid air. Offices opened off this passage, and from them emanated the sounds of telephones ringing, conversations developing, office machinery running, and fans oscillating. Someone had designed the office space well, because the horrific noise of the arcade directly below was almost entirely muffled.

Barbara could see, however, how unlikely it would be that anyone up here might have observed Sahlah Malik on the pier. Glancing into one of the offices to her right, she noted that its windows offered a view of the sea, south Balford, and the colourful tiers of beach huts on the shore. Unless someone had happened along the corridor at the precise moment that Sahlah had been walking past the Red Baron airplane ride below, the only hope of her having been observed came from the office at the far end, the windows of which seemed to overlook both the pier immediately below it and the sea to its side.

“May I help you with something?” Barbara turned to see a toothy girl at the door of the first office. “Are you looking for someone? These are the management offices.”

When she spoke, Barbara saw that she'd had the centre of her tongue pierced and she wore a glittering stud in the hole. The sight gave Barbara the shivers—which were rather gratifying, considering the heat—and she sent a thankful prayer heavenward that she'd grown to adulthood at a period of time when harpooning one's body parts hadn't been in vogue.

Barbara presented her identification and ran Tongue-stud through the routine by rote. But the answer was as Barbara had expected. Tongue-stud had seen no one like Sahlah Malik on the pier. Never had done, in fact. An Asian girl alone? she repeated. Lord, she couldn't recall ever having seen an Asian girl alone. Leastways, not done up like the detective was describing.

But done up another way? Barbara wanted to know.

Tongue-stud played her teeth against her tongue's decoration, tap-tapping it thoughtfully. Barbara's stomach curdled.

No, she said. Which wasn't to say that some Asian girl hadn't been on the pier dressed like a normal person, mind. It's just that if she had been dressed like a normal person, well … she wouldn't have been very noticeable, would she?

That, naturally, was the rub.

Barbara asked who occupied the office at the end of the corridor. Tongue-stud told her that was Mr. Shaw's office. Of Shaw Attractions, she added meaningfully. Did the detective sergeant wish to see him?

Why not? Barbara thought. If he couldn't add anything to what she'd already learned about Sahlah Malik's alleged visit to the pier—which was sod bloody all—then as the pier's owner, at least he'd be able to tell her where to find Trevor Ruddock.

“I'll just check, then,” Tongue-stud said. She went to the far door and stuck her head inside. “Theo? The fuzz. Wanting a word.”

Barbara couldn't hear a reply, but in a moment a man came to the doorway of the office. He was younger than Barbara—somewhere in his middle twenties—wearing fashionable, loose-fitting linen clothes. His fists were sunk into his pockets casually, but his expression was one of concern.

“There isn't trouble again, is there?” He directed a glance out of the windows, towards the amusements below. “Is something out of order?”

He didn't mean with the equipment, she knew. He meant with his customers. A businessman in his position would know the value of a trouble-free environment. And when the police came calling, there was usually trouble in the air.

“Can I have a word?” she asked.

“Thanks, Dominique,” Theo said to Tongue-stud.

Dominique? Barbara thought. She'd expected a name like Slam or Punch.

Dominique took herself off to the office nearest the stairs. Barbara followed Theo Shaw into his. She saw at once that his windows gave him the view she'd suspected he'd have: overlooking the sea on one side, overlooking the pier at the office's far end. So if anyone at all had seen Sahlah Malik, Barbara knew she was down to her last possibility.

She turned to him, the question on her lips. It died in place.

He'd removed his hands from his pockets while she was taking in the view. And thus removed, they presented her with the object she'd been seeking all along.

Theo Shaw was wearing an Aloysius Kennedy golden bracelet.



HEN SHE'D FIRST MADE HER ESCAPE FROM THE jewellery shop, Rachel had only one destination in mind. She knew that she had to do something to mitigate the uneasy situation in which her actions had placed Sahlah, not to mention herself. The problem was that she wasn't sure what that something might be. She knew only that she had to act at once. So she'd begun pedalling her bicycle furiously in the direction of the mustard factory. But when she'd realised the factory was the most logical next place for the detective sergeant to head, she decreased her speed, coasting until the bike glided to a stop on the seafront.

Her face was dripping. She blew a breath upward to cool her steamy forehead. Her throat was parched, and she wished she'd thought to bring a bottle of water with her. But she'd thought of nothing, really, other than the desperate need to get to Sahlah.

By the seafront, however, Rachel had realised that she couldn't possibly outrace the police. And if the detective went to Sahlah's house first, matters could even turn out worse. Sahlah's mum or that slimy Yumn would tell the detective the truth—that Sahlah had gone to work with her father (despite the untimely death of her intended, which is what Yumn would no doubt add)—so the sergeant would take herself off to the mustard factory next. And if she showed up while Rachel was there, trying to rationalise what Sahlah would surely believe was an unforgivable betrayal—not to mention trying to warn her friend of an impending police visit that would be rife with questions to take her by surprise … How would it look? It would look like someone was bloody well guilty of something, all right. And while it was true that Rachel was guilty, she wasn't guilty of the Big Thing. She hadn't harmed Haytham Querashi at all. Only … Well, perhaps that wasn't quite true when one thought about it, was it?