Vicky Newham - Turn a Blind Eye - A gripping and tense crime thriller with a brand new detective for 2018

Psychologist VICKY NEWHAMgrew up in West Sussex and taught in East London for many years, before moving to Whitstable in Kent. She studied for an MA in Creative Writing at Kingston University. Turn a Blind Eye is her debut novel. She is currently working on the next book in the series.

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Vicky Newham 2018

Vicky Newham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008240684

Version: 2018-09-17

PRAISE FOR TURN A BLIND EYE

‘A remarkable portrayal of a crime investigation in modern, multi-cultural Britain’

Paul Finch, Sunday Times bestselling author of Ashes to Ashes

‘A clever, gripping debut with a courageous DI at its heart’

BA Paris, author of Behind Closed Doors

‘Maya is wonderfully complex and human’

James Oswald, Sunday Times bestselling author of the Inspector Mclean series

‘A sensational debut; a current, timely police procedural featuring a DI like none you’ve ever seen. I loved this book!’

Karen Dionne, author of Home

‘Perfectly recreates the melting pot cultural atmosphere of East London; punchy and twisty. A terrific start to an important new series’

Vaseem Khan, author of the Baby Ganesh Detective Agency series

‘Assured and beautifully crafted, with a tempting array of clues to keep crime lovers glued to the pages’

Amanda Jennings, author of In Her Wake

‘DI Maya Rahman is the heroine I’ve waited a lifetime for’

Alex Caan, author of the Riley and Harris series

‘A fresh and enthralling read which smacks of authenticity. A different take on the usual, tired detective story, too. I loved it’

Lisa Hall, author of Between You and Me

‘Slick, fresh and current’

Mel Sherratt, author of The Girls Next Door

‘Stands out from the crowd. Filled with cryptic clues, this will keep you entertained throughout’

Caroline Mitchell, author of Silent Victim

For my father, who believed in kindness.

‘You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.’

—WILLIAM WILBERFORCE (1791)

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Epigraph

Kala Uddin Mosque, Sylhet, Bangladesh Thursday, 21 December 2017 – Maya

Wednesday, 3 January 2018 – Steve

Wednesday – Maya

Wednesday – Maya

Wednesday

Mile End High School, 1989 – Maya

Wednesday – Dan

Wednesday – Steve

Wednesday – Maya

Wednesday – Steve

Wednesday – Maya

Wednesday – Steve

Wednesday – Dan

Wednesday – Steve

Brick Lane, 1990 – Maya

Wednesday – Maya

Wednesday – Dan

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Steve

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Dan

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Steve

Mile End High School, 1995 – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Limehouse Police Station, 2005 – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Dan

Thursday

Thursday – Maya

Thursday – Dan

Thursday – Maya

Mile End High School, 1991 – Maya

Friday – Maya

Friday – Steve

Friday – Steve

Friday – Maya

Friday – Maya

Friday – Steve

Friday – Maya

Friday – Maya

Friday – Steve

Friday – Maya

Friday – Steve

Saturday – Maya

Saturday – Dan

Saturday – Maya

Saturday – Maya

Sunday – Maya

Monday – Steve

Monday – Steve

Monday – Maya

Monday – Steve

Monday – Maya

Monday – Maya

Monday – Maya

Monday – Maya

Tuesday

Tuesday – Steve

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Steve

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday

Tuesday – Steve

Tuesday – Maya

Tuesday – Maya

Wednesday – Maya

Acknowledgements

Extract

Friday 5th April, 2019, Brick Lane, East London – Rosa

Q&A with Vicky Newham

About the Publisher

Kala Uddin Mosque, Sylhet, Bangladesh Thursday, 21 December 2017 – Maya

No amount of crime scenes and post-mortems could have prepared me for seeing my brother’s charred remains, wrapped in a shroud in the mosque prayer room. Out of the casket, and on a trolley, his contorted limbs poked at the white cloth like twigs in a cotton bag.

Since receiving the news of Sabbir’s death, I’d teetered on the water’s edge of grief. Imprinted on my mind were images of him burning alive in his own body fat, skin peeling away from his flesh. I imagined the flames using his petrol-doused clothes as a wick. And here, now, beneath the camphor and perfumes of the washing rituals, undertones of burned flesh and bone lingered.

In the dim light, surrounded by Qur’an excerpts, it was as though the walls were leaning in. My legs buckled and I folded to the ground, knees smashing on the concrete beneath the prayer room carpet. Tears bled into my eyes, and my hijab fell forwards. All I wanted was to curl into a ball on the floor and stay there forever because my kind, sensitive brother was nothing more than a bag of bones and a handful of teeth.

Burned alive in his flat in Sylhet.

My sister was beside me now on the floor, kneeling. ‘Get up,’ Jasmina muttered in my ear. ‘Remember what the imam said.’ She slotted her arm through mine. Hauled me to my feet and turned me to face the mihrab for prayers.

‘In the name of Allah and in the faith of the Messenger of Allah,’ said the imam .

His words rang out like bells from a far-off village.

In front of us, his back filled my view. I had a sudden image of standing behind white robes at the hospital in London twenty years ago when thugs beat Sabbir into a coma. Hadn’t that started it all? Sent him scuttling back to Bangladesh?

I scanned the room for an anchor. Took in the bulging bookcases, and the carved wooden screen which separated my sister and me from the four local men who’d carried in the casket. It was the medicinal smell of camphor that returned me to familiarity: when we were children, and had a cold, Mum would put a few drops on our pillow. Yet, despite the memories, Bangladesh hadn’t been my home for over thirty years.