The past days have not been kind to her. Her own fault, of course. If she’d been worthy, she’d have been allowed to proceed with her life. Observe as the shadowy figure enters from the gloom and hovers behind the specimen. It’s the captive’s reactions that are so intriguing. Her hands are tied and clasped in her lap, with rope binding her chest to the death chair, so her responses are restricted. However, take note of how her right leg judders up and down, up and down. As she nears the end, she holds her head high, stares at the blinking light, eyes dull, yet focused. A fascinating study of the human meeting his maker.
Note how the wounds across her chest have scabbed and crusted. Each one at a different stage of repair, each bearing testament to her valiant struggle to prove her worth. She lasted well. Tried so hard – harder perhaps than the rest. She has surpassed all the others before her – yet still she has failed. More than seventy cuts – one for each failure. So many opportunities, so many failures. If it wasn’t so necessary, I’d almost feel sorry for her. Note how she, unlike those who have gone before, has carried herself with dignity. Pride – spirit even. We’re in the home stretch. Watch and learn. Bear witness, for you are privileged to be party to this.
As the camera zooms in, focusing on the captive’s face before cutting away to sweep downwards, we see despair etched across her forehead in rivulets of blood and sweat. Visible as we pan down over her body are each of the punishments she has endured and yet, still, she is unable to justify her entitlement … or indeed her inability to fulfil her potential. One is bad enough, the two together are unforgivable.
Watch as the figure, like a bird of prey, circles the captive female, prodding her on the thigh with a live cattle prod. The captive’s response is sluggish, her groan half-hearted, a sure indication that her strength is dwindling. Alas, my dear audience, I feel her time with us will be short. However, pay attention to her final moments, as she is challenged for one last time. I guarantee, you will not regret your dedication.
‘Look at the camera. You have proven time and time again that your privilege is stronger than your brains. That you are lacking – undeserving of the opportunities that have been offered you at the expense of those more deserving. You have one last thing you can do. One last thing you can leave behind – a last chance, if you will – to redeem yourself in the eyes of those who matter to you. A chance to prove that there is more to you than unearned advantage.’
The detail we are privy to has never before been recorded. You, my dear audience, are witnessing history in the making. As we zoom in, we can focus on her open eyes with their pinprick pupils. Panning down, we see the pulse at her neck, weak and erratic. Ha! Observe her stare. I wonder if she too senses the importance of what is about to unfold. These last few special moments have a significance all of their own. Let them not be in vain as the captive is released to her death aware that her last request is recorded for posterity. Closure at the end of a long struggle which so nearly ends in victory.
‘Are you ready to relinquish your privilege and admit your shortcomings?’
Ouch! As the cattle prod engages with her thigh, she barely reacts – a single jolt of the head, no more.
Oh dear, don’t judge the figure, after all his hard work indulge him his enjoyment. It’s good to be happy in your work. After all, this is what all of this is about – a commitment, a dedication to your life choices.
‘You can do better than this? No? Show your audience some strength.’
Despite his plea, and the added incentive of the cattle prod, you can see our captive refuses to respond. Look at the way her mouth tightens. Her defiance is admirable, if ill placed. Let’s see if she can be tempted.
‘Right. The floor is yours. Your chance – your final chance – what is your last request? Make it count. This time you won’t get a re-take.’
Look how our figure moves into position behind our captive, lifting her almost lifeless head, making sure you, his captive audience, miss nothing.
The figure’s words ring out. ‘Your turn. Make it good – make it clear. You only have one shot at this. It’s your final-night production. What is your last request?’
See how her eyes flicker. Her mouth opens, her tongue flicks out, licking her lips. I’m sure you agree. Her final performance – her swan song has, to date, been inspirational. Let’s hope she makes it count. I can feel you willing her on, wishing her the strength to complete her last request. But only a gurgle of unintelligible words reaches our ears.
‘Noo … my … mmm …’
You can see how much she’s trying. How much she wants to do this. This is her legacy. Her final chance. I’m sure we’ve all got our fingers crossed that she doesn’t stumble at the last hurdle. She’s tried all the way along the trial – given a stellar, almost successful performance. Let’s give her a round of applause to spur her on. Come on now, don’t be mean. Applaud her efforts.
Sound-over: raucous applauding.
Our figure leads the clapping and the sound of our encouragement seems to have the desired effect. Our captive starts, and her eyes flicker again.
Come on, you can do this, lass. You can do this. You need to do this. You know you do.
‘My mum – love my mum – tell her – love her.’
Didn’t she do well? Her last request duly recorded. Now for the finale. Focus now. Watch as with all the gravitas fitting such an auspicious occasion, our figure lifts the hammer above her head.
Game over – last request denied.
Last request recorded and denied: Julie Katch 03.22.
Chapter 11
Nikki stumbled to the front door and yanked it open, leaving Khalid’s father standing in her kitchen. She had a vague recollection of Sajid marching in and directing both her and Burhan into the front room. At some point he must have made tea, for she was cradling a comforting mug that smelled sugary enough to cause instant tooth decay. She took a tentative sip and looked over at the old man – Khalid’s dad. Sitting in her oversized favourite chair next to the fire, he looked to have shrunk in this short space of time and he was shivering. Sajid must have given him a fleece because Charlie’s leopard skin one was draped round his shoulders and Burhan was pinching it beneath his chin. She wanted to speak, but no words would come. What could she say? She was still trying to make sense of it. How could the bones under the Odeon car park belong to Khal? Plonking her mug on the coffee table, Nikki began plucking at the elastic band she wore round her wrist. It soothed her, calmed her, made her feel a little more in control.
Sitting beside her on the sofa, Saj angled his huge frame towards her, the slight frown across his forehead the only indication that he wanted answers from her. Nikki closed her eyes and sighed. Of course, he’d expect an explanation. Why wouldn’t he? They’d been partners for nearly three years and she’d never mentioned Khal to him. Not even once. She’d never told him she’d been married. Never told him about Charlie’s dad. Now that it appeared to be out in the open, he’d expect her to confide. But Nikki was determined to closet her emotions away. Nobody would ever know just how deep the scars from Khalid’s disappearance had gone. Few people would ever see the emotional wounds that stayed with her and she was not going to bare all to a work colleague – not even one who was a friend.
Steeling herself, she placed her cup on the stained old coffee table next to the sofa, folded one leg under her bottom and willed herself to ignore the dull ache that mangled her heart. If she stopped to analyse her feelings too closely, she’d be lost. That was something for later. Removing all emotion from her face, she gestured towards her father-in-law. ‘How did they find him?’
Sajid shrugged and settled himself more comfortably in the chair, making it dip with his weight as he moved. ‘They found Khalid’s passport in with his remains. It had his father’s contact details and the Cold Case lot contacted Mr Abadi here. He flew straight over and it was only when he mentioned you, that DS Springer realised that Khalid was your husband. Thank God she passed that onto Archie or …’
Yes, Abadi had said that earlier, hadn’t he? Nikki knew exactly how things would have panned out had Springer been the first to land on her doorstep. No doubt Springer would be en route on her broomstick. God only knew what she made of Abadi’s accusations against her. She was glad Saj had got here first. She could do with a friendly face in her camp. She risked a quick glance at her friend. The look in his eyes told Nikki that Sajid was upset that she hadn’t shared this with him. Why should I though? It’s private. When Khalid had gone off, everyone assumed he’d gone home to his family – chosen them instead of her. She hadn’t talked about Charlie’s dad to anyone outside her immediate family.
That’s why Sajid was here. That’s why Archie had been phoning her. Then, the real reason for Sajid’s presence hit her. She wasn’t being treated as a grieving widow, she was a suspect and she guessed Abadi had been only too keen to fuel that speculation. He’d already accused her, hadn’t he?
‘They’re coming for me?’
Sajid had the grace to avert his eyes as he nodded. ‘Yes, Hegley wanted to give you a heads-up, but bearing in mind Mr Abadi hasn’t left Ramallah for the past twenty years, you’re their next best suspect.’
Her phone started to ring – Charlie’s ringtone. She answered, keeping her voice low, hoping Charlie wouldn’t pick up on her distress. ‘Yep.’
As Charlie explained what had happened to Haqib, Nikki stood up and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Once sure that she couldn’t be overheard, she said, ‘Charlie, wait there. I’m coming. Don’t move and don’t let that stupid little turd do owt else daft.’
She crept along the hallway. Sajid’s jacket was on top of her leather one, so, with all the dexterity of the Artful Dodger, she rummaged in his pocket and took his car keys. Her car was parked on the main street, so she hoped they’d assume she’d left in it and she’d be able to buy herself some time. Shuffling into her trainers, she grabbed her leather jacket and eased the front door open. Closing it gently behind her, she stepped outside. If they wanted to interview her about Khalid, they’d have to wait – she’d family things to deal with first. You’ve waited this long, Khal, you can wait another few hours.
Without considering the consequences of her actions, she ran down the stairs, vaulted over the neighbour’s fence to keep herself out of sight of the living-room window and headed down the path. Taking a second to remove the battery from her phone, she placed it behind a plant pot in Mrs Shah’s garden. Sajid’s Jaguar was parked a few hundred yards up the street and without hesitating she opened it and started up the engine, savouring the roar as it sprung to life … She was off, hotfooting it to Bradford Royal Infirmary. Her boss and Sajid would both be pissed off, but sometimes you just had to crack on with life. Khalid would still be dead in a few hours, but Haqib was alive and she needed to make sure the stupid little sod stayed that way.
Chapter 12
‘I don’t know how she managed it. Her daughter rang and she went into the hallway to take the call.’ Sajid grimaced and held the phone away from his ear as Archie Hegley yelled at him.
‘You were supposed to get her side of things before Springer pounced. For fuck’s sake, Sajid, couldn’t you keep her in sight for five minutes?’
Hegley was all bluster and fat rolls and Sajid could imagine them wobbling as he paced the office, his face becoming redder and redder with each step. The man was a heart attack waiting to happen. What Sajid had told him wasn’t exactly true either. He did know how Nikki had managed it. She’d managed it because he’d cut her some slack. He’d let her have privacy to take a phone call and had compounded his error by being slow to notice she’d gone. But in fairness, sometimes those calls with Charlie could go on for half an hour or more. Besides, he’d been sent to break the news about her husband’s death – the husband nobody had realised she even had until a few hours ago – not to apprehend her.
It was suspicious that when Khalid Abadi had disappeared off the face of the earth, Nikki hadn’t even registered a missing persons report. ’Course it was, but hell, they were talking about Nikki. She was no murderer. At least he hoped she wasn’t. ‘Yes, yes, I’ve sent out a BOLO, first thing I did, Sir. No sightings of her car yet.’
‘And the father-in-law?’
‘Well, in the circumstances I thought it best to have him taken back to his hotel. He’s at the Midland Hotel in town, so I got a uniform to drop him off and stay with him. He’s been mouthing off, accusing Nikki. Didn’t want him here when Springer landed.’
‘The Cold Case lot not there yet?’
‘CCU are on their way.’
‘Keep me updated.’
Sajid took a deep breath. Hegley’s bark was worse than his bite, but hell, it was ferocious nonetheless. What the hell, Nikita? What are you playing at? Picking his phone up, he dialled Charlie’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Pissed off now, he brought up the tracking app he and Nikki had on their phones. Nikki’s app was inactive, but the last registered position was right here. Shit, she’d clearly ditched her phone in the street. What the hell was she up to? She needed to get her ass back here pronto before Hegley burst a gut.
The back door opened and a small Indian woman in jeans and a T-shirt, black hair falling to her shoulders, came in. Aw no, why did Nikki’s mum have to turn up right then? Hoping she’d leave before the CCU officers arrived, he smiled. ‘Hallo, Mrs Parekh, you all right?’
Lalita Parekh had her daughter’s height and her down-to-earth Yorkshire accent. The two women were clearly mother and daughter. ‘Don’t you Mrs Parekh me, Sajid. I’ve told you before, it’s Lalita. Nikita nipped out, has she?’
Pleased that she’d provided her own reason for her daughter’s absence, Sajid nodded, ‘Yeah, something like that. She’ll be back in a bit.’ Well, he hoped she damn well would.
Lalita proceeded to dump a couple of Morrisons’ bags-for-life on the table and began putting groceries into cupboards. ‘Pop the kettle on, love. I’m gasping for a tea.’
Sajid hesitated. What was he supposed to do? If he could, he’d rush Lalita out of the kitchen and into her own house down the street, but that was out of the question. This wasn’t his story to tell. Nikki would kill him if he told her mum, but what other option did he have? He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake the tension out of them.
If that’s what she wanted, then she shouldn’t have pissed off like she was guilty of something, then should she? Picking up the kettle, he walked to the tap and filled it. ‘Lalita, something’s come up. Maybe you should sit down. Leave the shopping for now. We need to talk.’
Lalita froze, her dark eyes studying his face, and then without saying another word, she put the tins she was holding on the worksurface and sat down at the kitchen table, resting her clasped hands on the brightly coloured plastic table cover. ‘What’s she done this time? Is she okay?’
Sajid put the kettle on, flung a tea bag in one mug and a spoonful of coffee in another before replying. ‘She got some …’ He frowned, trying to think of a suitable word to describe the information his colleague had been confronted with a couple of hours earlier and settled with ‘… troubling news.’
A small frown pulled Lalita’s eyebrows down. Unlike Nikki who was full of anger and passion and activity, Lalita possessed a calm stillness that instantly reassured. The pressure across his back diminished a little. Lalita Parekh had not had an easy life, but here she was exuding soothing vibes, ready to face whatever he had to tell her. He filled the mugs, stuck a teaspoon in Lalita’s tea and took a carton of milk from the fridge. Before he had a chance to pour it into his coffee, Lalita stretched out her hand, a smile teasing her lips. ‘I wouldn’t risk that. Knowing Nikki, it’s three weeks out of date. There’s some fresh in the bag.’
Sajid sniffed the milk, grimaced and poured it down the sink. He settled opposite the older woman and studied her face. Nikki hadn’t told him anything about her mother’s past, but police stations were notorious for gossip and Trafalgar House was no different. It was funny how the fact that Nikki had been married and somehow misplaced her husband, had passed the gossipmongers by completely.
According to the rumour mill, Lalita Parekh had been through a lot and yet, despite her own trials and tribulations, she’d raised two daughters single-handedly. Okay, Anika was a bit loopy and Nikki carried a chip the size of Concord on her shoulders but, all in all, she’d done all right. Shame neither of the girls had inherited her serenity.
Conscious that time was running out, Sajid blew on his coffee and then told Nikki’s mother about the Odeon remains, the passport identifying them as belonging to Khalid Abadi, and his dad flying over from Ramallah and accusing Nikki of killing his son.
As he spoke, Lalita’s grip on her mug tightened. Her face paled, her frown deepened and a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. He wanted to put his arm round her shoulders and hug her, take away the pain that had dulled her eyes. Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand and wiggled her nose as if that would stop the onset of more tears.
‘Fifteen years.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘We thought he’d left her, gone back to his family. His dad put pressure on him, you see? We thought he’d chosen his family, the business, everything they could offer and … all the while …’ Her breath hitched in her throat and she stood up, scraping the chair back and began pacing the room. ‘Oh, my poor beti, my poor Nikita. How is she?’ As if noticing her daughter’s absence for the first time, she looked round the room, apparently expecting her to materialise.
Sajid wished to hell she would! Time was running out. Springer would be here soon and there was no love lost between her and Nikki. The last thing Nikki needed, was to give the other woman more ammunition.
‘Where is she? Is she next door with Anika?’
This was the tricky bit. How could he explain to Nikita’s mum that her daughter was a suspect in her husband’s death and that instead of waiting to be interviewed, she’d run? For fuck’s sake, Nikki! ‘That’s just it. I don’t actually know where she is. But that’s not all. Khalid’s dad’s accusing her of having something to do with his son’s death. She’s a person of interest.’
‘Phuh! Person of interest indeed.’ Lalita, her eyes reproachful, glared at him. ‘If you’d seen her when Khalid disappeared you wouldn’t be standing there telling me that. She was devastated – broken.’
‘Aw, hell. I don’t think she did it, Lalita. But I’m not the one investigating. She never filed a missing persons report – it looks suspicious. The Cold Case Unit will be all over her till they can prove either way. She dumped her phone and took off. We’ve no idea where she is, none at all.’
Lalita moved over to the sink and began washing up her mug. ‘Well, she can’t have gone far, can she? Her car’s up the street.’
Sajid paused, processed that thought, then it dawned on him. This was Nikki they were talking about. She’d have been one step ahead of him. Slamming his cup on the table, he ran to his coat, rummaged in the pockets. ‘Aaaagh.’
He wrenched the front door open, jumped down the steps and onto the pavement. The space that had been filled by his Jag was occupied by a bashed-up Mini Cooper. Fucking hell, Nikki. You better not have damaged my car!
Chapter 13
Nikki parked Sajid’s car on Toller Lane and jogged down the hill to BRI, pausing only to nip into the hardware shop that, for some reason, also sold cheap mobiles. At least now she’d be able to contact Charlie and possibly Sajid, under the radar. Mind you, she might leave Saj for later, he was prone to being a bit possessive about his Jag and she’d enough to worry about without getting beef from him.
Every so often, a sharp pain, like lightening, jabbed her heart. Khal! How many times had she parked in that car park? Passed by? Visited the Chinese buffet? And all that time Khal was there … buried under there. What had happened to him? How had he ended up there? Everybody loved Khal. There was just no explanation for it. Unless, of course, his dad had orchestrated something from Ramallah. He’d plenty of money – more than enough to order a hit on his only son. The question was, would he? If the stories Khal had shared with her were true, then she would put nothing past the old bastard. Of course, if he was guilty, what better way to exert a little more revenge than to point the finger at Nikki. But he had seemed upset, hadn’t he?
If she thought about it, her breath started to clog up her throat, and her heart hammered. She had to keep it under control, had to sort out Haqib and then she could go back and talk to them about Khalid. That old bastard had told them she’d done it to stop Khal returning to his family. Surely they wouldn’t believe that. She was a police officer. Niggling at the back of her mind was the fact that she hadn’t reported Khal missing. That would play against her big time. However, she’d known he was conflicted. Known he was anguished by the pressure from his family. That was why she hadn’t told him she was pregnant.
Turning into BRI, she steered clear of the ambulances, pulled her hoodie up over her hair and the collar of her leather jacket over her lower face. Keeping an eye out for any officers accompanying those with drink- or drug-related injuries, she skirted the Accident and Emergency Department and entered the hospital. Despite it being early in the day, the corridors were bustling with patients, visitors and staff. Hopefully, she’d blend in.
Haqib, according to Charlie, was on Ward Two and Nikki made her way there as quickly as possible. She couldn’t blame Charlie for contacting her instead of Haqib’s mum. Anika had always been useless in an emergency. Nikki had lost count of the times she’d had to break off from work in order to sort out something to do with Anika’s kids – broken arms, split heads. Anika had deferred responsibility to her older sister and Nikki had, as usual, taken it on. She owed Anika a lot. It was because of Anika and her mum’s childcare that she’d been able to focus on her work. Sometimes though, an aching tiredness suffused her body. Sometimes, all she wanted was to curl up in her huge double bed, wrap the duvet around her and block out everything for a week. But she also realised that that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. If she stopped for a minute, let her control slip for even a nanosecond, then perhaps she wouldn’t be able to bring herself back from the brink.
To survive, like a well-trained soldier, she compartmentalised things. Put Khal in his box – the big dusky grey one towards the back of her mind. That one was slightly in front of the ridged black one with the lock and hasp that contained her dad, but behind the rainbow-coloured one that stood, lid ajar, with all her family stuff spilling out, its colourful entrails intertwining in a buzz of love and exasperation and responsibility.
She entered the ward, giving Haqib’s name and identifying herself feloniously as his mother to the busy nurse on the desk. As she moved towards the bed where Haqib lay, all his usual bravado dissipated, face pale and right arm elevated, Charlie got up to meet her. Her beautiful Charlie. Her heart contracted. So like her father, her skin a lighter brown than her own, her eyes the exact same shade as Khal’s, more than a touch of her mother’s drive but tempered with Khal’s patience and ability to reason. She’d protected Charlie from the moment she was conceived, but nothing could protect her from the fallout surrounding the discovery of her father’s remains. How could it? Charlie thought he’d deserted them before she was born and, in self-preservation, Nikki had pretended not to have known him well – a one-night stand. For nearly fifteen years she’d deprived her eldest child of being acquainted with the essence of her dad. His humour, his loyalty, his care and joy. How could she ever square this with Charlie? Feeling the unwelcome tickle at the back of her eyes, Nikki swallowed hard and smiled. ‘You all right, Charlie?’
