Dishonour (7 page)

‘Because I’m warning you,’ Lilly pointed at him, ‘I will bring a halt to it if you try any more tricks like this.’

Bell narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply.

‘And think about it,’ said Lilly. ‘If Raffy was guilty, why wouldn’t he cover his tracks, throw the packets away? Why on earth would he put them in his locker?’

DI Bell’s eyes were two dark slits. ‘Who knows what goes on in someone’s mind after they’ve murdered their sister?’

Raffy sat upright in his chair and stared at the wall. Lilly wondered if he was frightened. He certainly was not prepared to show it.

‘The police believe you killed Yasmeen,’ she said.

He didn’t look at her. ‘I’d worked that out myself.’

Lilly glanced at Anwar, who had agreed to attend as his brother’s appropriate adult. Anwar seemed much more frightened than his younger brother and chewed his bottom lip.

Lilly took a deep breath. ‘They say you put Perocet and OxyContin in her drink.’

‘Is that right?’ said Raffy, his eyes locked on the wall behind her.

‘Do you know anything about those drugs?’

‘Nope.’

‘The police searched your school locker,’ she said.

Raffy’s eyes darted to Lilly, then returned to their spot behind her. ‘And?’

‘And they found packets of those drugs.’

Raffy shrugged. ‘Planted.’

Lilly nodded. It was not unheard of for the police conveniently to find evidence, but it was not as common as her clients would have her believe.

‘Right then, let’s do it.’ Lilly stood to let herself out.

‘Is that it?’ asked Raffy. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

‘What were you expecting?’ Lilly’s hand hovered on the door handle. ‘A preprepared statement?’

Raffy grimaced. ‘Some advice might be helpful.’

‘You don’t seem to want my help, Raffy.’

The boy gave a low snort in his throat.

‘Just keep your answers short, say as little as
possible.’ She opened the door. ‘Don’t give them any ammunition.’

The interview room was silent as DI Bell ensured the video equipment was working. He was deliberately checking and rechecking the plug, the leads, the angle of the camera, letting the tension ratchet. Certainly Lilly could feel the terror emanating from Anwar but the old police tactic wasn’t working on Raffy, whose every pore radiated unalloyed resentment.

‘OK then,’ said DI Bell, and took his seat.

Raffy lifted his chin and stared at the ceiling.

DI Bell placed his suit jacket on the back of his chair. In just his shirt Lilly could see how slight the man was, his frame almost boyish. Still he puffed out his chest like a robin, enjoying his position.

He cleared his throat. ‘For the sake of the tape let me introduce myself as DI Bell. Also present is Miss Valentine, the suspect’s solicitor.’

‘Correct,’ Lilly nodded.

‘We also have Anwar Khan, the suspect’s brother, acting as his appropriate adult,’ said DI Bell.

Anwar mumbled something.

‘I’m sorry,’ said DI Bell, ‘you’ll have to speak up.’

‘Sorry,’ Anwar coughed, ‘sorry.’

Lilly passed him a glass of water, which he gulped loudly.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been in a police station before and I’m very nervous.’

‘That’s perfectly understandable,’ said DI Bell. ‘Take your time.’

Anwar set the empty glass down carefully in front of him.

‘I just wanted to confirm that I’m Raffy’s brother.’

DI Bell was a study in calm. ‘Excellent. Now everyone’s been introduced I want to remind Raffique that he’s still under caution. Do you know what that means?’

‘I’m not stupid,’ said Raffy.

Lilly cringed. The last thing anyone should be in an interview was cocky. Frightened, yes. Angry, possibly. Cocky, never. While Lilly understood that bravado was often the refuge of the terrified child, juries imagined only those with lots of experience of the criminal justice system would have the temerity to be cocky.

DI Bell smiled. Lilly wasn’t the only one in the room who knew how juries thought.

She put her hand on Raffy’s thigh hoping to remind him of her advice to say as little as possible; not to give them any ammunition.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’ asked DI Bell.

‘Like I said, I’m not stupid.’

Lilly sighed. Her client was doing nothing except harming his own chances of getting out of here.

‘Then humour me,’ said DI Bell. ‘Tell me in your own words why you’ve been arrested.’

Raffy laughed, the noise travelling upwards.

‘Is something funny?’ asked the inspector.

‘Not really.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me why you’ve been brought here, unless you want to share the joke?’

Raffy licked his lips and nodded. ‘OK then, I’ll tell you what I think.’

DI Bell’s smile stayed in place, his hands crossed on his lap.

‘I think there’s a war going on,’ said Raffy.

‘In Iraq?’

‘In Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine, you name it.’

Anwar put a hand on Raffy’s shoulder. ‘This is not the time or place.’

‘Brother, this is exactly the place,’ he shrugged Anwar’s hand away, ‘and this is definitely the time.’

‘Powerful is he who controls himself in anger,’ said Anwar.

DI Bell leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. Lilly’s mind began to whirr. If she stopped the tape it would look as if she were preventing her client from incriminating himself. If she let him carry on he might alienate everyone who ever saw and heard this tape.

Did Raffy realise he was digging a deep hole for himself? Did he care?

‘Most of all there’s a war going on right here, and you,’ Raffy pointed at DI Bell, ‘are on one side and we are on the other.’

‘Do you see yourself as a soldier then?’ asked Bell.

Lilly had to do something. She couldn’t let Raffy condone any sort of violence. His outburst was as much about Yasmeen as a conflict thousands of miles away. Or at least in any juror’s mind it would be.

‘Could we move away from politics and stick to the matter in hand?’ she said. ‘I suggest you stop playing games, Inspector, and put the charge to my client.’

DI Bell’s disappointment darkened his face. ‘This isn’t
a game,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to hear what Raffique had to say for himself.’

Lilly gave the policeman a hard stare. ‘Then put the charge to him.’

Bell paused. No doubt he was hoping the loose cannon opposite would fill the silence. Lilly tightened her grip on Raffy’s thigh, held her breath and hoped it would restrain him.

At last the inspector continued, ‘Raffique, it is my belief that you poisoned your sister. Is that true?’

‘Nope.’

‘So you didn’t crush Perocet and OxyContin tablets and put them in her drink?’

‘Nope.’

‘You didn’t leave Yasmeen to die?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re a strict Muslim, Raffique,’ said DI Bell.

Raffy shrugged. ‘Not particularly.’

‘You sounded fairly extreme a few moments ago.’

‘There’s nothing extreme about my politics. Every Muslim feels the same.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

Raffy sneered at the police officer. ‘And how many Muslims do you actually know?’

They stared hard at one another. Lilly was surprised it was Bell who was the first to look away.

‘I think you expect your sisters to be good Muslim girls,’ he said.

‘My sisters
are
good Muslim girls,’ Raffy snapped.

‘I think you discovered Yasmeen had a boyfriend.’

Raffy shook his head furiously. ‘She did not have a boyfriend.’

‘And I think you decided to teach her a lesson.’

‘That’s rubbish.’

‘I think your family honour needed to be avenged,’ said Bell.

Raffy shrugged towards Anwar and laughed. ‘You’ve met my brother. Do you think he gives a shit about family honour?’

‘I can’t speak for Anwar but I think you care very much,’ Bell replied. ‘I think it matters to you that other people see you first and foremost as a Muslim. And your sister carrying on with her boyfriend just didn’t fit.’

‘Why don’t you stop chatting this crap and listen?’ Raffy jabbed his ear. ‘My sister didn’t have no boyfriend.’

DI Bell let the satisfaction slide across his features. What did he know that they didn’t? Lilly tensed her muscles, waiting.

‘Well, I’m not a Catholic, Raffy, and I don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception.’

Raffy pursed his brows but alarm bells were already sounding in Lilly’s brain.

DI Bell slid a folder across the desk to her. ‘Autopsy report,’ he said. ‘It says Yasmeen was ten weeks pregnant.’

Aasha calls in at a café on the way home from school. She tells herself that she’s thirsty and orders some chai but she knows it’s a delaying tactic. She doesn’t want to get home before five when starvation will force her brothers to swallow their pride and help themselves to whatever Mum’s left for them to eat.

Honestly, those boys are going to make terrible husbands. Whenever her mum and dad go out her mum leaves a pan of dahl or something in the fridge. They only have to bung it in the microwave but they moan about that.

‘Aasha will get everything ready,’ her mother assures them.

Well, not tonight. Tonight they can do it themselves.

She takes one of the plastic orange seats in the window and blows over the rim of her mug. She feels satisfied by the small stand she is making.

‘Hello, beautiful.’

Aasha nearly spills her drink when Ryan sits in the chair opposite.

‘Hi,’ she says, hoping she hasn’t turned completely beetroot.

‘What you doing here?’ he asks.

Aasha nods at her mug. ‘Take a guess.’

She immediately regrets her tone. She was trying to be funny but it came out all sarcastic and wrong.

She needn’t have worried because Ryan just laughs. That’s one of the nice things about him, actually: he doesn’t take offence. He’s always easy-going.

When Lailla calls her a geek and laughs at her, Aasha wants to punch her in the face and grinds her teeth to make the feeling go away. Ryan’s not like that. Sometimes, during art, Lailla says horrible things to him about his clothes being scruffy or cheap or whatever, and he just makes a joke of it. Aasha wishes she could do that. One time he drew a cartoon of Lailla’s face and stuck it onto the body of some porn star.
He’d got into masses of trouble for that, but it
had
been funny.

‘So what are you doing here?’ she asks.

‘Following you, innit.’

Before Aasha can work out if he’s teasing her, he grabs the plastic menu and casts his eye along the list of specials.

‘There ain’t no sausage and chips,’ he says.

Aasha giggles and points to the stamp certifying that all meat sold on the premises is halal.

‘So why can’t I get halal sausages?’ he asks.

She shakes her head at him as he orders a doner kebab roll, chips and a can of Lilt. When the heaving plate arrives Ryan pushes the lettuce and tomato into a napkin and tosses it to the other side of the table. He takes an enormous bite of his roll and grins.

‘They don’t feed you at home?’ asks Aasha.

Ryan frowns and she worries she’s offended him but he barks out another laugh.

‘My mum can’t cook for shit.’

Aasha tries to imagine what would happen if her mum couldn’t cook. Her father and brothers would have to fend for themselves. Unthinkable. That’s something else she likes about Ryan, his independence.

Ryan offers her a chip. She isn’t hungry but she takes one all the same and nibbles the end.

‘So what you up to after this?’ Ryan asks.

‘I’ve got to finish my history assignment,’ she says.

He sucks in his breath. ‘Living dangerously.’

‘Shut up,’ she laughs.

He finishes every last scrap of his food and licks ketchup from his fingers.

‘You need to have some fun,’ he says.

‘I have plenty of fun,’ says Aasha.

‘Like what?’

‘Like…’ Aasha smoothes back her ponytail, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears, ‘well, I’m not going to tell you, am I?’

Ryan wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and closes it over hers. She can see the greasy streak gleam.

‘Why don’t we do something really bad?’ he says.

Aasha gulps. Her throat feels like she’s swallowed his dirty plate whole. She knows Ryan has had a lot of girlfriends and maybe this is how it is with other girls. Maybe they just speak freely about stuff like sex. She swallows down the dregs of her tea where the sugar has settled. It’s sweet and grainy in her mouth.

He leans in towards her so she can smell the lamb on his breath. ‘Let’s do a runner,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Let’s have it away on our toes without paying.’

‘Oh.’ She can feel sweat starting to prickle in her armpits. ‘I thought you meant…’

He cocks his head and half closes one of his eyes. ‘You’ve got a dirty mind.’

Aasha feels embarrassment open every pore in her body and she jumps up to leave. There is only one thought in her mind: escape.

‘Come on then,’ she stutters, and heads for the door.

She can feel Ryan following closely behind.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ shouts the owner from behind his counter.

Aasha looks back, hesitates, but Ryan pushes her outside.

‘Run,’ he shouts.

She dashes across the road, hearing the blare of a horn, the screech of brakes and her feet pounding down the pavement. Three Polish girls block her path, chatting and smoking as they compare the waistbands of their skinny jeans. Aasha bursts through them, knocking them sideways in their plastic high heels. They shout after her but she doesn’t miss a beat.

She streaks past Bangla Groceries, the skips outside overflowing with stinking vegetables and bubble-wrap. A group of old men have gathered outside the Holiday Shop next door, pointing at the special offers on flights to Kashmir advertised in the window. They stare as she races past them but she doesn’t care.

She keeps on going, her strides long, until she reaches the other side of Sainsbury’s car park. She pauses at the trolley station, her chest heaving. Ryan arrives seconds later and sinks to a crouch to catch his breath.