By Death Divided (7 page)

‘So you agreed?’ Sharif said quietly, trying to hide his shock.

‘I was far away. It seemed like a gesture, a way to ease the relationship that had been soured.’

‘But the debt was called in?’

‘Imran wanted to come to England and had not been able to get a visa. The marriage offered a way. He already had a wife but he divorced her. There were no children.’

‘And Faria agreed to this…?’ Sharif hesitated, trying to conceal the anger which threatened to overwhelm him as he thought of the pressure which must have been brought to bear on his beautiful, intelligent young cousin. ‘She agreed to this arrangement?’ he asked at last, keeping his voice level.

‘In the end,’ his uncle said. ‘She could see that this was a debt of honour that her grandfather could not deny.’

‘Do her sisters know?’ Sharif asked, thinking of the two younger girls with their ambitious plans for the future and a more liberated lifestyle and wondering how bitterly they might be disappointed.

‘No, Faria simply told them that she accepted my choice of husband for her in the traditional way.’

‘I don’t think they believed her,’ Sharif said flatly.

‘That is not important,’ Faisel Sharif said, although his nephew thought he could hear a lack of conviction in his voice. The younger girls would not be so pliant, he thought, and guessed that Faisel knew that already. He was sure that there would be storms in this family for years to come.

‘So do you know where Faria is now?’ He knew now why his uncle had remained silent about Faria’s unexplained absence but he wanted to hear him spell out his fears himself. ‘Has she gone to Pakistan for some reason? Just what is going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ Faisel said. ‘Neither of them has said anything to me. Everything seemed normal, although there were not children yet, which grieved us. And then Faria lost
contact. She used to telephone her mother every week or so.’ Faisel glanced at his wife, who nodded in confirmation. ‘And she came to see us regularly. But for two months now – nothing.’

‘And Imran Aziz has offered no explanation?’

‘Imran Aziz answers the telephone and says Faria is not there at that moment and he will ask her to telephone. But she does not telephone. This has happened three or four times now.’

‘You haven’t been to Milford to look for her?’

Faisel shook his head and Sharif suddenly realised the extent of the older man’s impotence in the face of this disaster. Having acceded to his own father’s demand that the long-ago arranged marriage should be implemented, in spite of being aware that it was no more than a convenient way around the immigration rules, he felt unable to confront Imran Aziz, no doubt afraid that whatever he did would re-ignite a quarrel half a world away between two old men over a patch of dusty earth.

Controlling his anger carefully, Sharif took a deep breath and broached the question he knew was tormenting his aunt and uncle.

‘So you’re afraid she has run away from this marriage?’

His uncle shrugged helplessly.

‘It is a possibility,’ he conceded. And obviously one which Faisel could not bear to contemplate, Sharif thought. With two more daughters coming up to marriageable age, the scandal would reverberate around his family and the community, in Bradfield and Pakistan, damaging their prospects of a good match and no doubt encouraging Imran Aziz and his dishonoured family into taking whatever steps they could to
find the runaway wife and deal with her. He shuddered.

‘I realise she may have run away of her own free will,’ he said carefully. ‘And that is bad enough. But there are other possibilities.’

Faisel nodded and his nephew almost had the feeling that he might prefer any other possibility – even Faria’s death – to the dishonour of her deserting her husband.

‘There are a lot of questions you should be asking, and I should be asking not just as her cousin but as a policeman. We need to know she is safe. Just because she is married doesn’t break all Faria’s ties with our family. I want to see her, or at least speak to her on the telephone. I’d also like to know a bit more about why Imran Aziz was so desperate to get to England that he would divorce one wife and take another. And I may not be the only one asking that question. Did it never cross your mind that there might be something odd about that? That he might have an ulterior motive in coming here?’ Sharif refrained from spelling out his worst fear of what that ulterior motive might be, but he knew his uncle understood him very well when he saw the flash of alarm in his eyes. The older man licked his lips while his aunt stared at him as if mesmerised by a snake.

‘He is from a very respectable family,’ Faisel said.

‘So is bin Laden,’ Sharif snapped. The two men stared at each other, both outraged, until the younger Sharif gave a shrug.

‘I’ll make more inquiries in Milford,’ he said. ‘Do you know where Faria was working? I’ve not had time to track down her employers yet. She may have talked to someone at work about going away.’

His uncle shook his head.

‘A travel agent’s. That’s all I know.’

‘And will you contact Imran’s father back home? We’ll all look foolish if Faria is safe and sound there on a visit to her mother-in-law.’ But he knew that was a forlorn hope. There was no reason why Imran Aziz should not have told either him or Faisel if Faria had gone to Pakistan. The situation was a whole lot more threatening than that.

‘I will speak to my father,’ Faisel said, and his nephew knew how much that concession cost him. ‘God willing, she is there.’

‘God willing,’ Sharif said grudgingly.

He turned his attention to his silent aunt.

‘Did Faria ever give you a hint that the marriage was an unhappy one for her?’ he asked more gently. ‘Could she have run away from Imran, do you think?’ But when his aunt shook her head he did not think she was simply lying to avoid the shame that would bring on the family, although he doubted very much that she would tell him all she knew.

‘She said nothing,’ she said. ‘Nothing like that at all.’

Sharif turned back to his uncle.

‘I will have to talk to my boss about this,’ he said

‘Why?’ his uncle came back angrily. ‘This is a family matter.’

‘It may be. But Imran is behaving very strangely. Perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit that his wife has deserted him. Or perhaps there’s more to it than that. I got the impression that there were some wild young men at the mosque in Milford. I have to report things like that. I have no choice.’

‘You were a fool to join the police,’ his uncle said bitterly. ‘It will pull you in two eventually.’

‘Perhaps,’ Mohammed Sharif said. ‘And perhaps you have
pulled Faria in two yourself by insisting on this marriage. You chose to come here and produce British children. You can’t expect them to live by the rules of some backward village in Pakistan. It’s not reasonable and it’s bringing us nothing but trouble.’

Sharif had never spelt out his feelings so clearly to his uncle and he could see how unwelcome the message was. But his own anger made him bold.

‘I will speak to your father,’ Faisel Sharif said through clenched teeth.

‘My father is not responsible for me any longer,’ Sharif said, realising how absurd this conversation would sound to his white friends and colleagues. ‘I live in another world,’ he muttered. ‘I have to.’ And with that he left, closing his uncle’s front door carefully behind him. He doubted that he would ever be invited to cross the threshold again.

Julie Holden flung open the office door at the women’s refuge, startling the two women inside.

‘Have you seen Anna?’ she blurted, oblivious to the frosty looks that greeted her. Carrie Whittaker, whose interview with one of the refuge’s clients had been interrupted, shook her head irritably.

‘Isn’t she with Polly in the kitchen? She enjoys helping her.’

Julie turned on her heel, unzipping her jacket as she hurried down the corridor to the kitchen where an evening meal was being prepared, only to find it deserted, a few pans simmering steamily on the stove. Still clutching a chemist’s bag in one hand she rushed back up the stairs calling for her daughter. Anna had promised to stay in her room finishing her Harry Potter book while her mother went out for half an hour or so to do some shopping, but when Julie had returned she had found the room empty and now, as she stood between the two narrow beds, her heart thumping, she realised that Anna’s coat, which had been hanging on a hook on the door, was missing. When she looked round more carefully, she could
see that Anna had taken her book and that some of her other most precious possessions – her teddy bear, her school pencil case and a battered old briefcase of her father’s, which she loved and had carefully arranged around her bed – had also disappeared.

Julie’s heart felt as if it had frozen and she began to shake. She sat down heavily on her bed and tried to swallow down the panic that threatened to engulf her. But even before she had managed to collect her whirling thoughts, Carrie put her head round the door.

‘Did you find her?’ she asked. Julie felt the tears coming.

‘She’s gone,’ she said. ‘She’s taken some of her things…her precious Harry Potter book, her pyjamas, her teddy bear…She must have slipped out while I was out shopping. I was only gone twenty minutes.’

‘Are you sure?’ Carrie said, putting a hand on Julie’s shoulder. ‘Have you been round to ask everyone? She might be with some of the other children.’

Julie shook her head vehemently, knowing that Anna was uncomfortable with some of the younger children, some still in nappies, who seemed to spend most of their time grizzling and squabbling in the communal rooms downstairs, but she followed Carrie on a tour of the building which, as she expected, failed to find anyone who had seen Anna recently.

‘Surely the doors were locked?’ Julie protested as the two women stood in the hall facing each other impotently.

‘Anna would probably be able to reach the lock,’ Carrie said. ‘They’re fitted too high for small children but not for a child of her age. We’re not in the business of locking people in, after all, only keeping unwanted visitors out.’

‘I must ring the police,’ Julie said urgently. ‘They must start
a search.’

‘Are you sure you need the police?’ Carrie said quietly. ‘Isn’t it quite likely that she’s headed off to see someone? I know she’s not been very happy here, has she? You’d only to look at her to see how fed up she was. These things take it out of kids, you know that. Could she have gone to see her father?’

‘No,’ Julie almost screamed. ‘After the way he’s treated me? She couldn’t have gone to see her father. Don’t be stupid.’

‘Look,’ Carrie said quietly. ‘We’re not going to get anywhere like this. Just sit and think calmly and rationally for a moment. You say she’s taken some of her stuff so she must be heading somewhere she thinks she can stay. Has she got any money?’

Julie swallowed hard and tried to concentrate.

‘Not very much. A couple of quid maybe, saved from her pocket money.’

‘So enough to take a bus but not enough to get out of town. She hasn’t taken any more out of your bag?’

‘No, of course not,’ Julie snapped back, but then calmed down enough to check.

‘I had my bag with me when I went shopping,’ she said more calmly. ‘There’s nothing missing as far as I can see.’

‘So she obviously knows she can’t go far. She’s a bright girl. If she waited until you left her on her own, she must have planned this quite carefully. Would she know which bus to get to get to your family home?’

‘She might do,’ Julie conceded, feeling sick. ‘If she could find the right bus stop in town. I don’t know, do I? I simply don’t know.’

‘Calm, calm,’ Carrie said. ‘Has she got a mobile?’

‘No,’ Julie said. ‘She was badgering us to get her one, but I thought she was too young. She didn’t need one yet. She’s only eight.’

‘Has your husband got a mobile?’ Carrie persisted.

‘No. He hates them. Won’t carry one.’

‘So come down to the office and we’ll call him from there. Is he likely to be at home?’

‘Yes, no, I don’t know,’ Julie muttered but she followed Carrie downstairs and dictated the number to her, but it was obvious after they had both listened to the ring tone for several minutes that there was not going to be a reply.

‘Is there anyone else Anna might have decided to visit?’ Carrie asked. ‘A schoolfriend, maybe? Any other relations?’

Julie ran her hands through her hair, close to desperation now.

‘Her grandmother, maybe.’

‘Then let’s give her a call, shall we?’

Julie pulled out her own mobile and called her mother-
in-law
, and this time the phone was answered quickly.

‘Vanessa? Is Anna with you by any chance?’

There was an unexpectedly long silence at the other end before Vanessa Holden spoke.

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘But Bruce called me. He says Anna has turned up there saying she wants to stay at home. He said you’re not to worry. She’s fine. She’s with her daddy now.’

‘Oh no,’ Julie said, tears coursing down her cheeks now. ‘Please, no.’ Vanessa began to say something else but Julie broke the connection abruptly.

‘I’ve got to get her back,’ she sobbed. ‘She’s not safe with that man. No one is.’

‘It may not be so easy.’ Carrie’s arm was around Julie’s
shoulder now. ‘You can’t report her missing if she’s with her father and seems to have gone to him of her own free will. Has he ever hurt her?’

‘What?’ Julie looked aghast.

‘Has he ever hurt her? Physically, I mean. Has he ever hit her?’

‘No,’ Julie said. ‘I swear I’d have killed him if he’d tried.’ Carrie drew a sharp breath.

‘Not a good idea to let anyone hear you say that if you’re going to get into a custody battle with your husband.’

‘Custody battle?’ Julie said, appalled. ‘The man’s mad. Mad and violent. Anna’s not safe with him for a moment.’

‘That’s something you may have to substantiate before you can get Anna back,’ Carrie said. ‘Believe me. I’ve seen it all before. This may not be easy.’

‘Oh, Anna, Anna. What have you done, you silly, silly girl?’

‘I think you need a solicitor,’ Carrie said. But Julie just stared at her, still in shock, each coherent thought a massive effort.

‘I’ll go up there,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ll talk to Anna. She’ll come back with me if I explain to her why she can’t stay with Bruce.’

Carrie glanced at her watch.

‘I’d come with you but I’ve got a meeting of the trustees shortly. This place is going to have to close if we can’t raise some more money soon. I daren’t skip the meeting. But honestly, Julie, it’s not a good idea rushing about banging on doors and having a public row with your husband. It will only make the situation worse and damage your chances of keeping Anna with you. Believe me. I’ve seen so many of these cases. They don’t always work out well for mothers and kids.’

‘I’ll keep calm,’ Julie said, her face obstinate. ‘I’ll see if I can get a friend to go with me. We’ll have a rational discussion.’

‘With an irrational husband? I don’t think so.’ Carrie’s patience was obviously wearing thin. ‘Look, I really have to go. Why don’t you stay here until I get back and then I’ll find time to drive you up to – where is it? – Southfield? Keep on trying to contact them by phone by all means, but don’t go steaming up there in a fury, please. It won’t do you or Anna, or your chances of getting her back, any good at all. Believe me.’

Julie nodded dully and turned to go back up to her room. She sat on her bed for a while until she heard the heavy front door close and she guessed that Carrie had left the building. She tried her home number again but when it rang unanswered she tried Laura Ackroyd’s number instead and explained what had happened.

‘Do you have time to come up to Southfield with me?’ she asked. ‘I need to go. I need to see Anna. But I think Carrie’s right. I need a witness and I can’t think of anyone better than you.’

Michael Thackeray sent for DC Sharif halfway through the morning. With a dry mouth and thumping heart which he feared might be heard as he opened the DCI’s door, the young detective was not surprised to find a man he had never seen before closeted with the DCI.

‘This is Doug McKinnon from the new anti-terrorism unit in Manchester,’ Thackeray said by way of introduction. ‘He’d like you to go through what you’ve already told me about your cousin and her husband, and your trip to Milford.’

Somewhat hesitantly, Sharif did as he was told, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm was not obvious. This interest
from MI5, because although that had not been spelt out, he was sure that McKinnon was one of the ‘spooks’ given the unenviable task of working with specialist police officers and trying to anticipate terrorism, was not unexpected. But Sharif still hated exposing what might still be merely a family problem to this level of official scrutiny. Once a name was on MI5’s radar, he was quite sure that it would never be eradicated and he still felt he had little real reason to suspect his cousin’s husband or the intense young imam in Milford of anything criminal at all. Even worse, if their names went into the intelligence files, he had no confidence that some sort of question mark might not be inserted into his own record too. Guilt by association, he thought bitterly, was what this was all about, if your skin was the wrong colour and your religion, however nominal, suspect.

McKinnon listened sympathetically enough to Sharif’s tale, making a few notes as he went along. When he had finished he glanced at Thackeray, an impassive presence on the edge of the conversation.

‘There’s no record of your cousin or her husband leaving the country in recent weeks, for Pakistan or anywhere else,’ he said, turning back to the detective constable. ‘For what that’s worth.’

Sharif nodded, not knowing quite whether this was good news or bad and unsurprised that passenger lists were being closely monitored. During a relatively sleepless night after he had dropped Louise back at her own flat, he had considered taking some holiday and booking a trip to Pakistan himself to visit family members there, but that idea seemed pretty pointless now. And the last thing he wanted to do was turn up on the anti-terrorist radar himself. He had absolutely no
faith that being a copper would protect him from suspicion now attention had been drawn to members of his family.

McKinnon was looking at him speculatively.

‘I understand you don’t live with your parents any more,’ he said. ‘That’s pretty unusual, isn’t it?’

‘I’m thirty-two,’ Sharif said. ‘Would you live with your parents at thirty-two?’

‘But in your community…?’ McKinnon said blandly.

‘I have my own flat and my own life,’ Sharif said. ‘That’s my choice.’

‘Did the family approve of your choice of career?’ McKinnon persisted. Sharif flashed a look at Thackeray, a covert appeal for support, but he was gazing studiously out of the window and did not meet his eye.

‘I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything we’re discussing,’ Sharif protested.

‘It has if we’re to make use of your contacts in the Muslim community,’ McKinnon said. Sharif froze.

‘Are you suggesting that I spy on my own family?’

‘Not your own family specifically,’ McKinnon said. ‘But you’ve already reported your concerns about the mosque in Milford. You could be very useful to us if you kept your eyes open, got involved a bit more in community life…’

‘My cousin is missing, Mr McKinnon,’ Sharif said quietly. ‘That’s what concerns me.’

‘And if that turned into a more serious inquiry I would certainly not expect DC Sharif to be involved in the investigation,’ Thackeray broke in sharply at last. ‘He’s much too close to it to be objective.’ Sharif made to protest but then thought better of it, turning back to McKinnon, who was still watching him with chilly eyes.

‘I am not known as a religious man, Mr McKinnon,’ he said. ‘I’m not an observant Muslim. If I suddenly started attending prayers and asking questions I would arouse suspicion immediately. I’m sorry. Of course, if information reaches me from my family or anyone else, I’ll pass it on. That’s my duty as a citizen and a police officer. But I won’t be your spy. I’m sorry.’

‘So you’ll do no more than the minimum?’ McKinnon said, not concealing his anger.

‘That’s not what DC Sharif said,’ Thackeray broke in.

‘It’s as good as,’ McKinnon snapped back.

‘Thank you, Mohammed,’ Thackeray said firmly. ‘I’m sure you’ve plenty of work to be getting on with.’ Sharif nodded and left the office, closing the door gently behind him, and leaving Michael Thackeray shaking his head at McKinnon.

‘I told you he wouldn’t buy that,’ he said. ‘He’s an excellent officer with a serious future ahead of him. But in present circumstances, Muslim officers walk a tightrope. You were trying to push him off.’

‘We need intelligence,’ McKinnon said.

‘We all need intelligence,’ Thackeray said. ‘And Sharif will provide it. But not by pretending to be what he’s not. That would destroy his credibility in the community and I won’t have that. And anyway, as he rightly says, it couldn’t possibly be effective. He would fool no one.’

‘He’s ambivalent, like a lot of them.’

‘No,’ Thackeray said flatly. ‘He’s not. He’s as appalled as anyone by terrorism, as are most of the Muslims in this town. I won’t have him tainted by these fanatics who were so secretive that their own families didn’t know what they were planning. If you want intelligence from the mosques you’ll
have to find another source. Sharif’s not the man you need.’

‘If you say so,’ McKinnon conceded, still not looking convinced. ‘But I’ll make a note of it.’