Honor Role Read online

  Two hours later, Benazir entered the headmaster’s office. I’d arranged to return at that time and was there when she walked in.

  “There’s a woman here to see you, Benazir,” said the headmaster, Mr. Rawley.

  “Oh?” Benazir said.

  “Hello, Benazir,” I said.

  Benazir started crying softly. She knew my voice. I hugged her. “Tessa!” she said.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” the headmaster said, “if that’s okay with you, Benazir. I’m told this isn’t an official police visit. You two know one another?”

  “Yes,” Benazir said. “Thank you, sir.”

  I too said “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said to Benazir, as soon as the door closed.

  “No, no,” Benazir said. “I’ve just…thought of you often. And Jonathan. Oh, and Ogueri and his family.” Her tears continued. “I miss all of you.”

  We sat in the chairs facing the headmaster’s desk.

  “We miss you too. And your sister.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “How is Jabirah?” I asked.

  “Oh, Tessa,” Benazir said. She cried so hard she couldn’t speak.

  “She left so suddenly,” I said as I walked to her, crouched down and put my arm around her shoulder.

  Benazir nodded.

  “I just want to make sure she’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want to interfere, Benazir. It’s just that I had a few emails from her.”

  Her eyes grew, she turned her face away.

  “The last one said she’d married and her husband didn’t want her to contact me again.”

  “That’s not possible,” Benazir said.

  “Do you know the man she married?”

  “No, Tessa, it’s not possible. None of this is possible. I would know if my sister got married. She would have told me.”

  “Or someone in your family would.”

  Benazir cried. “Not exactly.” She stifled a bitter laugh.

  “I’m not sure what that means,” I said. “Look, I checked a few things. I know your parents are in Pakistan. Where is Jabirah?”

  Benazir cried. She said nothing.

  “She’s here, isn’t she? In the country,” I asked.

  Benazir nodded.

  “Where, Benazir? Is she okay?”

  By now she was sobbing.

  “If she’s not with you and not with your parents,” I said, and thought a moment. “That man on the bus? The one she met; is he involved?”

  Benazir nodded again.

  “What? They went off together?”

  “They ran away.”

  “And your family wasn’t pleased, I suppose.”

  “No. They weren’t,” she said, calming somewhat.

  “So you don’t know where she is?”

  Benazir had stopped crying. She’d gotten hold of herself. “No, Tessa. I don’t. I wish I did.”

  “She’s not in contact with any of you?” I asked.

  “No! She’s hiding from us! My brother would go get her if he knew where she was.”

  There was no point saying the obvious; that Jabirah was of legal age and could marry whomever she wanted. Technically true, yet not really true. I knew that. All I could do was assure Benazir that I would do what I could to check on her sister, to make certain she was well. What I could do in such a situation—looking for a person no one had reported missing—was not much.

  That afternoon I drove back to the Yard. All I could remember Jabirah saying of the man she had met was that he was from a good family and attended university. That wasn’t going to get me far.

  If Benazir didn’t know where her sister was, I doubted anyone did. Maybe her new husband had left school with his degree. Maybe they were in some northern city making a life together, even starting a family. It unsettled me that Jabirah’s husband would tell her not to be in touch with me. Who was he to place such restrictions on his wife? How could our Jabirah marry a man who thought he had such rights? Then again, I reminded myself, hers was not my culture, not my background. I had no right to judge. Maybe Jabirah expected such dictates from a husband. Still, she had fallen for him, so he must have some good qualities. Time would sort things, I hoped. With time, Jabirah might reconcile with her family. I hoped that for Benazir’s sake as much as anyone’s, for I knew how much she loved and relied on her big sister.

  I battled traffic back to work; in London it seemed every hour was rush hour. Had I not needed to reach the depths of Kilburn, I’d have taken the tube. Once I got to the Met, I knew I’d only have a few hours before I had to leave to see Jonathan in a school performance. What I really wanted was a nap. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Jonathan and I got home after seven, tired and hungry. We walked upstairs with post for the Obinnas. The three of them were home. Chika opened the door with a wide grin. Jonathan bolted past to play with Ogueri.

  “Come in! Jonathan has,” Chika said. Her smile lit up the room.

  “Yes, get in here, Tessa,” Ben said. He turned back to whatever he was reading.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” said Chika. “The kettle’s on. Fancy a cup?”

  “I’d love one,” I said.

  We spoke of the usual things, school, weather, life. Sally was working out, I told them. They liked her too.

  “Ogueri still talks about Jabirah,” Ben said.

  Ogueri entered the room, walked to me and climbed on my lap, feeling his way.

  “I do too,” I said to Ben. “I saw Benazir today.”

  “Benazir!” Ogueri said.

  “She says hi to you, Ogueri,” I told him. Turning to Ben and Chika, I said in a hushed voice, “Benazir said Jabirah ran away with her boyfriend. Must be the one she mentioned to me a few times. They met on the bus, I think. Her family was not happy about them running off.”

  “At least she’s okay,” said Chika. “Isn’t she?”

  “I suppose, but I’d like to know for certain. I remember she said he was in university. She never told me his name.”

  “Hamza,” Chika said.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “She told me. We spoke too, you know.”

  “Of course. Hamza. Did she mention a surname?”

  Chika shook her head. “He’s at Brunel University, though. That I know. In Uxbridge. Mechanical engineering.”

  I took a moment to mull this over. “I could get an address…” I stopped midsentence, again quiet. “Should I butt out, Chika? Ben? I just want to know she’s okay. Am I meddling too much?”

  “No, Tessa! I’d do the same thing,” said Chika. I liked her saying it. “She vanished. Probably it was a secret elopement and she told no one. Maybe she and this bloke are blissfully happy, but it would be nice to know.”

  “I think so too,” I said. “I…I need to know.”

  * * *

  —

  That night something woke me before dawn. I got up, walked in the dark to the window and looked down into the street. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear but silence. A small dog sauntered across the street and between two parked cars; otherwise, things were still and hushed. As I turned back to bed, the digital clock switched to four a.m. exactly. Not sure if I could fall back to sleep, I nevertheless thought it worth trying. The day ahead would be long, with so many grains of sand falling through the hourglass before I’d be in my bed again.

  An hourglass. Sand descending, hands flipping it on its head to begin the process again. How many grains of sand did an hourglass hold? The answer depended on the size, of course. How did they know how many grains of sand made for a three-minute egg? I must have dozed off contemplating the question. The next thing I knew, it was morning.

 
A few days later, I found myself in Ealing with Peter, investigating something unrelated to the Hayworth matter. He was intent on getting lunch at a curry house he liked in Ealing Broadway. He’d taken me there before. Once was enough. I was about to nix the notion, but as he turned into the Uxbridge Road, I reconsidered.

  “I’ll agree to lunch at that dump if you’ll take a slight detour with me,” I said.

  “What now? And it’s not a dump. Yelp it. Great reviews.”

  “Make a U-turn soon as you can.” He did.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You know Brunel University?”

  “Going back to school, are we?”

  “I’m already too bright for my own good, mate. Drive.”

  “Want to enlighten me on our plans?”

  “You remember that woman who worked for me, Jabirah?”

  “Sure. She quit, right? Beautiful girl,” Lazarus said.

  “She didn’t quit, she left. Without notice, which was so not like her.”

  “And she’s at Brunel?”

  “No. Try to follow, Peter.”

  “Try to explain clearly, Detective Inspector.”

  “Her sister told me Jabirah ran off with this guy. Her family wouldn’t like that at all; they’re very conservative. The guy, husband by now I guess, goes there, or went there. I want to see if they have contact information.”

  “So you’re going to throw your weight around about something that’s not police business,” Lazarus said.

  “Yes, actually,” I said. “Like you’ve never done it.”

  “Good point. That and I actually don’t give a fuck.”

  “Oh, I got that point a long time ago.”

  I smiled at Peter, who kept his eyes on the road and a grin on his face.

  The administrators at Brunel were brisk but ultimately helpful. A flash of my warrant card prodded the man behind the reception desk to pull up from school records three men named Hamza who had taken classes in the past two years. I didn’t know what Jabirah’s beau looked like, but I knew it wasn’t the first Hamza. His age was listed as fifty-seven. The other two were age appropriate: one was twenty-two, the other twenty. Their photo IDs, which came up on the screen, showed two young men, both nice-looking. Their home addresses, which I took down, didn’t help much as I didn’t know where Jabirah’s Hamza lived.

  “I’m not sure which,” I said. “I know he studies engineering.”

  “Let’s check out their course load then,” the man said. With a few clicks he did. He then printed out the photo and information for Hamza Parwaz and handed them to me. “That’s your man.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Hamza number two is a film studies major. Never took an engineering course in his life.”

  “Thank you so much. When did this Hamza Parwaz leave school?”

  “Oh, he’s still here. He’s enrolled in three courses this term. His marks look quite good.”

  To my surprise, this time the food at Babi India was outstanding. I gave Peter grudging credit and enjoyed the meal, although my appetite wasn’t the best. Our last stop had unsettled me. Jabirah’s boyfriend was alive and in London. Well enough to attend university. So where was she?

  “You’ve got the guy’s address, Tessa; let’s go there now,” Peter said. I shook my head. “Why not?”

  “This is my problem, not yours. Thanks, though. A little interest in the matter of Freddy Hayworth would be appreciated, however.”

  “Fuck Freddy Hayworth.”

  “Apparently a lot of women did,” I said.

  “There’s your motive. Bad sex.”

  That one I left alone.

  In the evening, I ordered take-away from a restaurant I knew Ken Larson loved. He had earned it, for he was going to watch Jonathan while I took an evening drive.

  Hamza Parwaz’s home address was on file with the university. He lived larger than Jabirah. At least his family did. Once I rang the bell, a teenage girl quickly opened the door. The sizeable house was situated on an upscale street. I had to steel myself for this. I didn’t want to cause a scene.

  “Yes?” she said, barely opening the door.

  “I’m looking for Hamza Parwaz?” I said.

  The door opened another two inches. “Why, may I ask?”

  “It’s a matter to do with someone he knows.”

  “I’m not sure what that means,” she said. “Look, I’m his sister. Who exactly are you?”

  “Right,” I said. I took out my warrant card and showed it to her. “He’s done nothing wrong; I’d like to ask him a few questions is all.”

  “You’d better come in,” she said. As I did, she yelled, “Hamza!”

  Somewhere in a back room a television shut off. Shuffling steps approached. Around a corner came the man in the school photo I’d seen earlier that day. Clean-shaven, dressed in sweats. He stopped when he saw me but said nothing.

  “Hamza, this woman wants a word with you. She’s a cop.”

  Hamza startled. “Is this about…Well, what is this about?”

  “I’m Detective Inspector Tessa Grantley, Metropolitan Police. Why don’t you finish your line of thought.”

  “I don’t think I need to; I know who you are.”

  “From Jabirah?” I asked, although it was more of a statement.

  Hamza nodded.

  “Who’s Jabirah?” asked the sister.

  Hamza looked at me. I wasn’t following. What did she just say?

  “She’s a child-care worker I know. This is not a police matter, sis. Could you give us a minute?” Sister had other plans. She didn’t move.

  Hamza grabbed my arm and took me out the front door.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken in front of her,” I said.

  “My sister’s nosy but harmless. Where is she?”

  “Where is who?” I asked.

  “Jabirah. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Wait a minute. She’s not with you?”

  “Of course not! I can’t find her. Her phone doesn’t work. Her email address is invalid. I nearly came to you!”

  I couldn’t take this in. I kept shaking my head in disbelief. “I don’t understand. Didn’t she run away with you? That’s what her sister told me. At least I thought it was you. I’m sorry; I don’t mean to upset you, but there wasn’t some other man, was there?”

  “What are you saying? Of course not!” Tears came to Hamza’s eyes. “What the hell are you saying?”

  “Why would Benazir tell me that? Why did she lie?”

  “She didn’t lie. We did run away together!”

  The sister couldn’t help peering out the window. This time, I took Hamza by the arm and led him to my car. We got in and continued the conversation, windows up.

  “Then where is she? I don’t understand!” I cried.

  “We got caught,” he cried. “Oh my God.” Hamza gasped for air. His head curled to his knees.

  I put my hand on his back. “Caught? By who?”

  “Her father and brother,” he said. “I don’t know how, but they found us.”

  “When was this?”

  Hamza cried so hard he had trouble speaking. “Hours. It was only hours after we left. At a petrol station near Birmingham. They showed up in a car.”

  “Her father and brother?”

  “Yes. I knew who they were. Jabirah had shown me family photos. I’d gone into the station to buy us something to eat. They arrived, jumped out, and forced her out of my car. When I came out, they were driving off. I saw her through the back window of their car. She was screaming.”

  “My God. Look, Hamza, what you’re describing is kidnapping. It’s a felony.”

  “Come on, Ms. Grantley. It’s her family. How can a father kidnap his dau
ghter?”

  “He can when she’s an adult,” I said. “In the eyes of the law, Jabirah’s an adult. They can’t take her away against their will. Nobody can. Not even her parents.”

  “Maybe not in your world. Look, no offense, but you’re being very naïve,” he said, straightening up, wiping his eyes.

  Hamza was right. I was being naïve. “But Benazir said—”

  “Maybe Benazir doesn’t know,” he said.

  “She’d have to know. Where else would they take her but back home?”

  Hamza didn’t have an answer to that one, but he had more tears. Finally, I got the point. Then I went a little crazy.

  “Oh, no,” I yelled. Now I too was crying. “No! It’s not possible!”

  “Oh yes, it is,” Hamza said. Now he was the one consoling me. “Look, it might be they took her back to Pakistan. That happens. Married her off to some cousin with three goats in the middle of nowhere.”

  Maybe, except I knew better. Through tears I nodded as if acquiescing, but I knew Jabirah’s parents had left the country without her. If Jabirah wasn’t with Hamza and hadn’t been in touch even with her sister in months, I feared the worst. Hamza, however, didn’t need to know this, at least not yet. Let him hold on to that shred of hope, however thin. I’d break it some other time, but only when certain I’d no choice. What I had to do was calm down, which wasn’t easy. I willed myself to stop crying.

  “I may be able to check on that,” I said. Of course I could. I already had.

  “Please,” he said. “Will you please? That’s probably what happened. If we can find her, maybe we can…” Hamza couldn’t continue. Because, of course, absent a miracle, nothing could be done.

  I hugged him. “Yes, of course. I love her too, you know. So does my son.”

  “She thinks the world of both of you. I hope you know that.”

  I gave Hamza a business card. “If you hear anything, please call me,” I said.

  He gave me his mobile number, which I added to my contacts. I wanted to leave Hamza with some hope. I wished I could share it.

  “Will you find her?” he asked as he opened the car door.

  “I’ve got to.”

  “Alive and well, Ms. Grantley. Please!”