Honor Role Page 21

  “You say they vet their employees?” I asked. It seemed a reasonable question.

  “Yes, but you’d have to ask them how,” said Ms. Gupta.

  “I intend to. I’d like their contact information,” I said as I took out my smartphone.

  The name of the company, Exacto Maintenance, PLC, meant nothing to me. The address was in Mayfair, however, which seemed a trifle tony for a janitorial services headquarters.

  “I’d like to speak with some of the other children. Ask them about Andy,” I said.

  It was as if a mask fell over them. Heads shook.

  “Definitely not,” said Ms. Gupta. “Not without parent or guardian present.”

  I didn’t accept that answer and took matters into my own hands. School was in session. I turned, looked over the busy children in a nearby classroom, and saw one I knew Jonathan was friendly with. Sam, I believe. I walked to him.

  “Sam,” I said, “do you know Andy?”

  The boy looked up at me, shocked to be addressed so brusquely. As well he should. What was I thinking? Sam nodded.

  “Have you seen him lately? Maybe outside school?” I asked.

  Poor Sam, bewildered, looked at the grim faces on Ms. Gupta and Ms. Carrolton. Tears came to him.

  “I didn’t do anything!” he cried as he buried his head on the table as if trying to hide. Ms. Carrolton rushed to him, leaned in, and hugged him.

  “No, Sam, of course not. Nobody said you did,” she said. She looked up at me. “I think you should go.”

  I did, shame accompanying me. I’d had no right to do that. I should have apologized. It’s just that I was too upset to think properly. But why? A grown man who showed kindness to my child wasn’t necessarily a criminal, after all. But who was he?

  Ms. Gupta had a phone number for Exacto Maintenance. I rang it. The call immediately went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message, figuring I’d try back later. Was I overreacting? Possibly. I would continue doing so until I knew why Jonathan Hanay had his own official NBA basketball.

  I was also going to look for a new school. Perhaps I was being too rash. I didn’t care. Jonathan was my responsibility, mine alone. I could never be cautious enough. If his school—one I paid very well to teach and care for my child—could not or would not keep him safe, unquestionably safe while he was there, he was going elsewhere.

  This time I waited for Benazir to be dropped off for school. Then, as soon as Ahmed turned the corner, I borrowed her for a while. I figured I could explain things later to the headmaster. Benazir was wary of going anywhere with me. What a far cry from half a year ago, when she loved spending time with us. I drove to a nearby café and let her order what she liked, which was tea. Benazir didn’t look so well.

  “You’ve lost weight,” I said after we sat down.

  “Tessa, I still haven’t heard from Jabirah. Everyone says she’s fine, but she wouldn’t just stop speaking with me, even if she’s halfway round the world. She could send me an old-fashioned letter, you know? Snail mail? She knows braille. But nothing!”

  “I got an email from her not that long ago,” I said. “She asked me not to contact her again.”

  “She’d never do that,” Benazir said. “Not you. Not Jonathan either. Never.”

  It felt good hearing her say so. “Honestly, I didn’t think she wrote it. The Obinnas were mentioned; she sent them her best. Their surname was misspelled, with one ‘n’ instead of two. Jabirah knew how to spell their name. She sent them an invitation to your birthday party, remember?”

  Benazir cried. “I’m very afraid, Tessa.”

  I moved to the chair next to hers and embraced her. She held on to me fiercely. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I miss my parents as well as Jabirah. They’ve been gone months now.”

  “How is it at home with Ahmed?” I asked.

  “Grim. He’s mad at the world. Or maybe he’s just mad.”

  “When are your parents coming home?” I asked.

  “Good question. They say they don’t know.”

  “Benazir, do you think your parents would arrange for Jabirah to be married in Pakistan?”

  She looked shocked at the question. “No!” Another flood of tears came. “What am I saying? Of course they would. They said nothing to me. Neither did Jabirah. Why would they hide something like that if it was going to happen? Marriage is supposed to be a time of rejoicing, isn’t it?”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “Tell me, Tessa; do you know something I don’t? Is that what has happened to my sister? You said before you think she never left the country, but she did?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Benazir. Look, maybe we should keep this conversation to ourselves.”

  Benazir nodded. “Ahmed wouldn’t like this at all. You’re a ‘corrupting influence.’ That’s how he put it.” She gave a tired laugh.

  “I haven’t been told that since I was thirteen,” I said, smiling.

  Benazir laughed halfheartedly. “A detective inspector in the Metropolitan Police, a widow with a fine young son. If you’re a bad influence, who is a good one?” She wiped her tears.

  “You have my number, don’t you?” I asked.

  “I do and I don’t,” Benazir said. “It’s in the contacts on my phone, but Ahmed has taken the phone away from me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  Gently, I put a hand on her shoulder, which steadied her. “I’ll give it to you again. Wait, I can’t…” What good would it be to write it down?

  “If you tell me again I’ll remember. I’m good with numbers; I think of historical dates to remember the number. You know, ’39 is the year World War II started, ’47 is Pakistan’s independence from Britain—India’s too—that sort of thing.”

  I gave her my email address as well. Benazir recited them back twice.

  “Call me anytime,” I said. “From a call box if you can still find one or from school. And I do mean anytime. Listen to me; if you ever feel like something’s bad at home, something’s wrong, you’re welcome to stay with us. For as long as you like, including forever. I mean that. There’s lots of room. Jonathan thinks you’re great. I do too.”

  Benazir hugged me again. “Thank you. I should get back to school.”

  “Yes, you should,” I said. We drove back to school. I went in with Benazir and gave the headmaster a benign explanation for Benazir’s brief absence, every word of it a lie, but a good lie. The truth was possibly much worse.

  The problem would be getting Benazir to help me find Jabirah. Benazir was already upset, justifiably so; I had no intention of adding to her worries. Ahmed’s close watch on her made any kind of communication difficult. Nevertheless, at some point she and I both would have to find out what had really happened to her sister. If Jabirah had, somehow, gotten to Pakistan, perhaps she was at least well, if not happy. I pushed the thought away; the Jabirah I knew wouldn’t be pleased with an arranged marriage. She might have acceded to such a setup when we first met, but not anymore. Not after two years in the “corrupting influence” of Potential House. I knew Jabirah had been snatched from Hamza Parwaz, the man she loved. And I knew she hadn’t been seen since her abduction. I didn’t have it in me to tell Benazir all of this, but someday she would know, with or without me. Still, before I became the one to shatter Benazir’s world, I needed to figure this out, and on my own.

  Within days, Jeff Wanger had definitively confirmed that Jabirah was not a dual national. That meant she’d renounced her Pakistani citizenship when she became a UK citizen. So there was no second passport for Jabirah to use to leave Britain.

  Which clearly meant she never left.

  Greg Shafer hadn’t yet started work for the day when I showed up at his studio unannounced. Clad in a jacket and sweats, he was about
to step out. He had a scruffy, newly awake look.

  “Latte fix,” he said. “I’ve got a bit of a habit going.”

  “Mind if I walk with you?” I asked.

  “Do I have a choice?” His tone didn’t match the words; he grinned as he said them. I ignored the question.

  “How’s your work going?” I asked him.

  “Fitfully. Spurts of good, spurts of shite. Goes with the territory. I assume you’re here about Freddy and not the state of my oeuvre?”

  I nodded. “When did your dog die?” I asked, although I didn’t even know if he had a pet, now or as a child. All I knew was that somebody had.

  Greg stopped walking and turned to me. “What?” He seemed perplexed by the question. “What dog?”

  “When you were a child? Didn’t you have a dog that died?”

  “Uh, no,” he said, incredulous. “I think I’d remember that. My mother was allergic to dogs or many of them. Wouldn’t let them in the house. What a strange question.”

  “You never had a dog die on you? You found it dead?”

  “Where are you getting these crazy ideas, Detective Inspector? No and no.”

  “Maybe a cat? Some other kind of pet?”

  “Uh-uh. We had a goldfish once. Didn’t last long. This was before the sushi craze reached Britain, so we flushed it down the toilet.” That grin again.

  We arrived at Starbucks and both ordered. I paid.

  “Thanks,” Greg said. “Want to tell me what’s going on? Why the off-the-wall questions?”

  “I…No, no more questions. I had some, but not now.”

  “What am I not getting?”

  “I’m asking myself the same question.”

  We sat and talked art for a while. Actually, Greg talked, and I listened. I liked him expounding on his work and that of others. I wanted to know more about his craft; I wanted to hear his thoughts on which young artists he liked, whose work I should check out sometime. Greg Shafer was good, that I could see, but probably not in the top league. What happens to someone like Greg? Could he make a living as an artist? I liked to think he could. Then again, how the hell would I know?

  Growing up, Scott Kramer had a dog, a series of them, each an Irish Setter, his father’s favorite breed.

  “I’d have one today, if I could,” he said.

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Work, for one. I travel too much. And the building I live in doesn’t allow pets. Right meanies they are.”

  “Do you remember going on a bike trip last year with Freddy Hayworth and some of your other friends?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Scott said. “Freddy cooked up the idea, of course. It was him, me, Greg, Mungo, and David. I assume you’ve met them too?”

  I nodded. “Do you recall visiting the Jameses’ farm? Outside Sheffield?”

  “Yes. They had this amazing greenhouse. Orchids, roses, beautiful things. I think Freddy knew them. It was on our route. Freddy was seeing their girl at the time. That was it. Their daughter, I mean. Or maybe Mungo was. They did a bit of sharing, you know, or passing around, or something. A shade shady, if you ask me, which no one ever did.”

  “Do you remember seeing a dead bird on the property when you were there?”

  “At the Jameses’ place? Can’t say I do. We saw a few of them squashed on roads on that trip, I remember, but nothing at their place other than the flowers. Really lovely.”

  “You met the owners, obviously.”

  Scott nodded. “Very nice. She’d baked a cake, and we all had some. The husband was less talkative, but also nice. Showed us around a bit. They’d won prizes for their roses.”

  “Yes. Do you remember a conversation about his cat?”

  “His cat? I didn’t even see a cat,” Scott said. “What’s with the interest in domestic animals, Detective Inspector?”

  “A cat he had when he was a child. It died.”

  “Can’t say I do. Why?”

  “Clark James said he discussed with you the time his cat died from eating a rat or mouse that had been poisoned.”

  “Not with me, he didn’t,” Scott said. He sounded convincing, which meant nothing. “That, I’d remember, and not fondly.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “That’s it? What about Freddy? No progress on that front?”

  “A little,” I said. “We’re still working on it.”

  “Apparently,” Scott said.

  I finished the coffee and took my leave. Someone was lying. Or maybe I had no idea what I was talking about, which wouldn’t be the first time.

  The end of that week also meant dinner with Tamir Hussein. I prepared well, looked good, and reminded myself to expect nothing. He’d booked a table at a restaurant with a great river view—not one owned by his family. I had not been there but had heard and read good things. Tamir got there first. The hostess led me to him. He stood as I arrived, looking good enough to eat. We pecked each other’s cheek.

  “How long have you been waiting?” I asked as I sat.

  “Not long. I wanted to watch you make an entrance,” Tamir replied.

  Two flutes of champagne appeared. We clinked glasses.

  “Thank you again for dinner with your son and friends. I mean that; it was nice to be included.”

  “You made a good impression,” I said.

  Menus arrived, which we studied. We ordered and then spoke of inconsequential things. Eventually, we found ourselves talking as we did at our first meeting, of what was really up in our lives. Tamir started it.

  “Do you mind if I ask about your husband?” he asked.

  I stalled with a sip of champagne. “I guess not,” I said, probably none too convincingly.

  “You don’t have to,” Tamir said.

  “No, no, it really is okay. It’s been a while now.”

  “He drowned,” Tamir said more than asked.

  I nodded. “The body was never found.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “How did Jonathan take it?”

  “He was too young. He doesn’t remember,” I said.

  “That might be best.”

  “I think so,” I said. He had no idea how right he was.

  “You must miss him,” Tamir said.

  “I miss the man I met. Let’s put it that way.”

  “Are you going to tell me what that means?” he asked.

  “Ask me again in six months,” I said.

  He laughed. “I think I’d like to. Sorry. It’s not funny.”

  “Like to what?”

  “Be around you in six months,” Tamir said. “If that’s not being presumptuous.”

  I smiled. “It’s hopeful. I’m glad you’re hopeful about me. I am about you too.”

  It was Tamir’s turn to smile. “Tell me about work,” he said, “if that’s allowed. I know you’re working on the Freddy Hayworth death. I know a lot of people didn’t take to him.”

  “That’s definitely true.”

  “Your work must be interesting.”

  “It either fascinates me or irritates the hell out of me,” I said. “Usually it’s a bit of both.”

  “Irritates how? Too much violence, red tape?” he asked.

  I’d been thinking about Jabirah when I answered Tamir’s question, so I went there. “I had a woman working for me, Jabirah Rahman. I hired her to take care of Jonathan, but she took care of me too. And the Obinnas; you met them. Jabirah’s amazing. She has a younger sister who is blind.”

  “Jabirah. Pretty name. She’s no longer with you?” Tamir asked.

  “She’s missing,” I said. “It’s been months now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. She’s missing, and you miss her.”

  I nodded. “I worry she’s dead. It’s very upsetting.”

/>   “Dead? Why do you think that?” Tamir asked, surprised.

  “You’ve heard of honor killings?”

  Tamir’s face fell. He nodded. “I have distant relatives in Syria. My aunt threw acid in my cousin’s face when she found out she’d been chatting with a boy online. It’s…unspeakable.”

  “Oh my God. Did she live?”

  “She did, but what kind of life it is, I have no idea. I cut off all contact with them after it happened. My parents did as well. So barbaric, and it’s never the sons who somehow besmirch the family honor. It’s always the daughters. They’re seen as property to be traded. Love is an afterthought, at best.

  “Was the mother arrested at least?”

  Tamir gave a defeated laugh. “I wish I could say yes, Tessa, but that will never happen. In many countries, if the daughter forgives the parent, brother, or whichever family member attacked her, it ends there. The police consider it a family matter that’s been resolved.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  “I wish I was.”

  “And if they kill the girl?” I asked. “Are they charged with murder?”

  “Rarely,” Tamir said. “Sometimes, if the case somehow draws attention, but it almost never happens. It’s unbelievable. So that’s what happened to your employee?”

  “My friend,” I said. “Jabirah. She worked for me, but she was my friend. I mean that. Friend, confidant. I’m not sure what happened, but I think her brother was involved. I’m also afraid I’ll never be able to prove it. Nobody will ever testify to what really happened.”

  “Same with my cousin. What would have happened to her if she did not ‘forgive’ her mother? She’d be thrown out on the street.”

  “That’s what I worry will happen to Benazir. Jabirah’s sister. They haven’t spoken in half a year. Her parents tell her Jabirah is with them in Pakistan visiting relatives. Her brother, who lives here, says the same thing, but there’s no record of Jabirah ever leaving the UK.” Tears came to my eyes. Tamir grasped my hand over the table.