Helen Black - Dishonour

‘When did she die?’ Lilly asked.

‘Two days ago.’

Lilly smiled kindly. Two days wasn’t very long in the circumstances, though she understood it must seem like for ever to the family.

‘Have they given you any indication when they will release it?’

Anwar shook his head. ‘That’s why we’re here. We want someone to speak to them, make them understand how important this is.’

Lilly looked from Anwar’s poor stricken face to his mother, who seemed oblivious to her surroundings. Her heart sank. She had promised Jack that there would be no more stress. No more clients needing to lean on her. She had to think of the baby.

‘I’m not sure you actually need a solicitor,’ said Lilly. ‘Can another family member not help?’

Anwar pushed the heels of his hands into his forehead. ‘Mum can’t deal with this, Miss Valentine.’

A cursory glance told Lilly he was right. Deema Khan was nothing more than a shell.

‘What about your father?’

‘He’s dead,’ said Anwar. ‘I’m the head of the family so it falls to me to ensure my sister has a proper Islamic funeral.’

Lilly saw that the burden of responsibility was physically weighing the boy down, and sighed.

‘Give me the officer’s details and I’ll see what I can do.’

Lilly parked in a side road and walked towards the police station, wondering why the Khans hadn’t chosen a local solicitor. Perhaps they thought she might have more sway with the police. The idea made her laugh out loud. Still, there were plenty of others she could have redirected them to.

She swallowed down her guilt, telling herself this wasn’t going to be a difficult case. It wasn’t even a proper case. Just a chat with a copper. Absolutely nothing stressful. She knew Jack wouldn’t be pleased but if he’d seen the look on Anwar’s face he’d understand.

The High Street in Bury Park was throbbing with shoppers laden with carrier bags and trolleys. Grocers piled their stalls high with melons, oranges and custard apples, their skins covered with indentations like a thousand dirty fingerprints. Lilly stopped to smell a plastic container of lemons, their leaves still attached.

‘A pound a bowl,’ the shopkeeper called from inside.

A woman reached past Lilly for a handful of okra. She was enshrouded in black, even her eyes covered. Only her toes were naked, brown and soft, peeping out from under her burka, in leather flip-flops.

Behind her, a girl of about sixteen rattled into her phone in Urdu. The startling cerise of her hijab matched her nail varnish and handbag. She handed over a pound and took her fruit without stopping for breath.

The traffic crawled to a standstill as drivers stopped on double yellow lines to collect waiting relatives or chat to friends in the street. The smell of incense wafted through the air.

After the stuffy environment of Manor Park it made Lilly smile. It made her feel alive.

‘Saag, very good for baby,’ the shopkeeper shouted, waving a bunch of spinach at Lilly.

He wore a beige Afghan-style hat that Lilly was sure he didn’t need in the May sunshine.

‘How can I resist charm like that?’ Lilly laughed.

By the time she arrived at the station she had spinach, ginger, a can of coconut water and an interesting fruit called a pow pow. And it had taken a lot of willpower not to buy a jewelled sari in peacock blue.

At the front desk she looked at the notes she had taken during her meeting with Anwar and pressed the buzzer.

A blonde WPC came into the reception. Her shirt was tucked neatly into her trousers and displayed a tiny waist and flat stomach. Lilly stood as near to the counter as her own pumpkin-sized belly would allow.

The WPC’s eyes couldn’t resist a flicker towards Lilly’s girth. It was quick but Lilly clocked it. When she’d been pregnant with Sam she’d bloomed. The apples of her cheeks had a rosy glow and she’d worn her jeans until the sixth month. This time, she felt like the bloated corpse of a humpback whale.

‘Can I help you?’ The WPC’s smile was as perky as her chest.

‘I’d like to speak to DI Bell,’ said Lilly.

‘Is he expecting you?’

Lilly tried a smile. ‘I called to say I was on my way.’

The policewoman nodded and skipped away. Lilly lowered herself into one of the metal-framed seats. She could feel the steel tubes tattooing their pattern onto her bum.

At last the WPC returned and ushered Lilly through. She gave a puzzled look at Lilly’s shopping, shrugged and led her through the corridors at such a sprightly pace Lilly could barely keep up. When they arrived at the foot of a steep staircase Lilly let out a groan. Plastic bag in one hand, she grabbed the banister and hauled herself up. By the time she arrived at the inspector’s room she was gasping for air.

‘Good grief,’ said DI Bell, leading Lilly to a chair, ‘are you OK?’

Lilly took a deep breath. ‘The stairs…’

The DI frowned at the WPC. ‘Why on earth didn’t you show Miss Valentine to the lift?’

‘I didn’t think.’

DI Bell waved her away with an impatient flap of his hand. ‘Young people these days can’t put themselves in anyone else’s shoes, can they?’

He didn’t wait for Lilly’s reply but turned instead to pour her a glass of water.

Despite the fact that it was her own wellbeing in discussion, Lilly didn’t like his tone with the young woman and gave her an apologetic smile as she left. Everyone had been young once, hadn’t they?

‘So…’ DI Bell smiled and displayed perfect, even, white teeth. ‘What can I do for you?’

Lilly clamped her lips over her own crooked teeth and wished her mother had made her wear a brace as a child. Sam and all his friends sported matching train tracks; some even had the hugely expensive ‘invisible’ ones that turned a disgusting brown when they drank Coke. When they came off they would all troop back to their dentists for the obligatory bleaching.

‘I understand you’re overseeing the death of Yasmeen Khan,’ she said.

DI Bell nodded and handed her the glass. His fingers were surprisingly small, the nails clean and buffed.

‘I’ve been instructed by the family to ascertain when you intend to release the body.’ Lilly sipped her water. ‘I’m sure you understand that they are very keen to bury their loved one.’

DI Bell nodded again. ‘It’s natural for any family to want to make arrangements.’

His accent was public school. In the past this might have grated, but Sam sounded exactly the same.

‘And as Muslims, they would be expected to carry out the necessary prayers and ablutions as soon as possible,’ she said.

DI Bell raised an eyebrow. ‘And as a police officer I would be expected to carry out an investigation into any death for as long as necessary.’

‘I’m not suggesting otherwise,’ Lilly smiled. ‘I’m just asking you to take into account the family’s religion.’

‘I will of course take that into account,’ DI Bell straightened his back, ‘whilst continuing with my investigation.’

Lilly gathered her patience. She was tired and uncomfortable. Her feet were bursting out of her shoes. Why did coppers have to turn everything into a row?

‘The girl killed herself. What exactly is it you need to investigate?’

‘I simply want to assure myself that this matter is as cut and dried as it seems,’ said DI Bell. ‘And I would assume Yasmeen’s family would want the same. Whatever their religious affiliations.’

Lilly levelled the man in her sights. Now she listened carefully, his voice was all wrong—too stilted, trying much too hard. He said all the right things but it was as if he were reading from a script.

‘Why don’t we speak again in two days?’ she said. ‘I’m sure that will give you ample time.’